#Jorge don’t fuck it up tomorrow

[unreliablesnake]

The last time I was this nervous before the last race of the season was back in 2006.

[foreveia]

palentine’s day ⤨ kuroo tetsuro

⨭ genre; fluff, childhood best friends!trope, valentine’s day special!

⨭ pairing; kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 18.5k

⨭ description; kuroo suggests a “palentine’s day” when you both admit to being adults with no sense of a love life on valentine’s. that being said, obviously he becomes yours.

⨭ warnings; profanity, alcohol, suggestive dialogue

⨭ a/n; guys i made this over the course of like one day. it's literally NOT proofread at all (i am not sober rn and will do so tomorrow morning) so if ur early, deal with it. jk thank u so much for reading my bullshit on ur valentine's if ur reading this also check out 'in full bloom' aka pt 1 of my valentines gift to tumblr

edit; gave up on proofreading so if u find any mistakes. well

song i listened to writing this: 'pretty in pink' by lostboycrow

one.

JFK stands for ‘John F. Kennedy’ International Airport, but as you wait in the masses outside the pick-up zone, you can’t help thinking that it should really stand for ‘Just Fucking Kill’ yourself.

You tend to avoid the airport as much as humanly possible since TSA agents are evil and you always get lost, but today, you’re forced to be here: Kuroo’s flight lands in ten minutes, and he whined so much about the cost of an Uber to your apartment that you finally gave in and agreed to pick him up yourself.

Predictably, you’re already regretting it.

The arrivals area is a literal zoo: people standing way too close, aggressively waving handmade signs that say things like Welcome home, Papa! and Jorge & Melissa 4Ever!, and a seemingly endless stream of passengers getting on and off flights. A man in a suit shoves past you, nearly smacking you in the face with the obscenely large bouquet of roses he’s carrying, and an elderly woman parks herself directly in front of you with a luggage cart, as if she has no idea that you exist. Meanwhile, Kuroo is nowhere in sight.

Leaning back against a pillar, you sigh and clutch your coat tighter around yourself, because despite being a major international airport, JFK still hasn’t figured out how to keep the cold air from blasting in through the automatic doors. The little icon next to Kuroo’s flight says baggage claim, which means you probably have another fifteen minutes before he actually appears—maybe more, if he’s being slow (which he always is).

You pull up your messages.

(3:27 PM) y/n: hurry up tetsu: awh, miss me? 😘 y/n: keep it up and i’m leaving without u

Shoving your hands back into your coat pockets does little to restore warmth, and the irritation building in your chest isn’t helping. You should’ve just let him suffer through the Uber surge pricing. He deserves it: you’re already letting him crash at your place for the week, rent-free.

Your phone buzzes again.

(3:32 PM) tetsu: omw. don’t leave me 🥺 tetsu: remember when u were a baby and followed me everywhere?

You scoff, choosing not to dignify that text with a response.

What a bitch. It’s been years since you last saw him, ever since you moved to NYC for your PhD and he stayed in Japan to work for the JVA, but some things never change: he’s still the same guy who kept you humble your whole childhood, who was your older brother’s—and by extension, yours—sole and only friend, who was the coolest person you knew as a kid because he was in second grade and you were still a kindergartener. You grew out of it by the time you both hit middle school (though he, unfortunately, never grew out of reminding you).

And now he’s here, in your city for a full two weeks as he promotes some upcoming tournament. You guys call semi-regularly, but it really is different when he’s here in real life and in person, because you can no longer just hang up when he starts to get annoying. 

That’s when a pair of arms suddenly loop around your waist.

A startled jolt runs through you, heart seizing in your chest before the familiar scent of his overpriced department store cologne registers. Funny how smells bring back memories; he’s been using the same Armani Acqua Di Gio bottle since your undergrad years (you’re both shocked and impressed that he hasn’t finished it yet). His arms squeeze lightly, then drop away.

“Hi, babyface,” he coos, smirking.

Spinning around, you glare at him for still clinging to that dumbass childhood nickname—he overheard your parents call you that literally once, and has insisted on it ever since. He’s probably the sole person left in the world who refers to you that way, but whatever—you’ll tolerate it for two weeks.

Kuroo stands there, dragging a comically oversized suitcase behind him. Honestly, he doesn’t look all that different from the last time you saw him, three years ago when he and Kenma sent you off at Haneda Airport. He’s still got the same stupidly tall frame, same messy bedhead that somehow makes him look effortlessly cool instead of disheveled and gross, like it should.

But he’s older now. More… grown up. His face is leaner, more refined, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners when he smirks, as smug as always. It’s not that he’s annoyingly attractive, you tell yourself: his confidence is just so in-your-face, it’s impossible not to notice.

“Took you long enough,” you huff, crossing your arms.

He holds up a paper cup from some overpriced coffee joint inside the airport. “In my defense, I needed this. Been up since three in the morning.”

“Oh, poor you.” You roll your eyes. “Let’s just go. I’m sick of this crowd.”

“You Kozumes are all the same,” he grins, but when you turn to lead the way, he swings an arm around your shoulders with easy familiarity, guiding you through the herd of people clamoring for their reunions. The crush of bodies is suffocating—someone smacks into your elbow with a backpack, and you shoot them a dirty look. Kuroo just laughs and steers you closer to him, like he’s shielding you from a crowd of middle schoolers who haven’t learned personal space.

“Where’re you parked?” he asks, glancing around. The overhead speakers crackle as an announcement for a flight to Chicago booms through the terminal.

“Garage 4,” you say, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. “It’s, like, a mile from here, so get ready to hike.”

“Sounds like fun,” he drawls. “Can’t wait.”

A scoff slips out, but the tug at the corner of your mouth betrays you—there’s something about him that makes you nostalgic for days when running around after him and your brother was your favorite activity. You guess old habits die hard; he still reaches back when you fall behind, still makes sure you’re not lost in the crowd.

When you finally reach the elevator, the two of you squeeze in with half a dozen other travelers plus an extremely disgruntled-looking airport employee. Kuroo tries to maneuver his luggage behind him without bumping everyone’s ankles, which, of course, is a losing battle.

“Sorry,” you mutter to the group while jabbing the button for the garage level.

The elevator lurches upward. From the corner of your eye, you catch Kuroo’s sideways grin.

“What’re you staring at?” you ask after a moment, realizing his gaze is fixed on you.

His lips twitch. “You. I haven’t seen you in forever, remember? Trying to see what’s changed.”

You resist the urge to smack him because this space is way too cramped for violence. “What’s changed is that I have zero tolerance for your bullshit now.”

He lets out a loud laugh, drawing a few curious glances from the other passengers that should make him feel more embarrassed than it does. “Sure, you do,” he murmurs, leaning in. “That’s why you came to pick me up, right?”

“I should’ve let you take the subway. You’re lucky I’m so kind and benevolent.”

Unfazed, he grins. “I’m very lucky,” he agrees, voice dropping an octave that sends a weird heat through your cheeks.

Thankfully, the elevator dings and the doors slide open, saving you from having to come up with a retort.

Stepping into the parking garage, the cold air slams into you instantly—JFK has no business being this miserable in February. Tucking your chin deeper into your coat, you exhale sharply and brace yourself against the wind.

Kuroo whistles low under his breath, dragging his suitcase along the pavement with a clatter. “Damn. This city really doesn’t give a shit about warmth, huh?”

“Welcome to New York,” you deadpan. “Now shut up and walk faster before I lose feeling in my fingers.”

He chuckles, shoving one hand into his coat pocket while gripping his suitcase handle with the other. You can hear the low hum of an airplane overhead, the distant honking of taxis below, the way his footsteps fall in sync with yours. It’s strange—how easily he slots back in, like no time has passed at all.

Your car is parked at the far end of the lot, tucked between an SUV and a sedan that’s way too close to the line. “There,” you say, pointing.

Kuroo groans. “You weren’t kidding about the hike.”

You ignore him, fishing your keys from your pocket as you approach the driver’s side. “Just get in, princess. Your chariot awaits.”

He snorts but doesn’t argue, tossing his suitcase into the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat. The moment you settle in behind the wheel, you blast the heater, letting the warmth seep back into your body. Kuroo exhales in exaggerated pleasure.

“Ah, yes,” he sighs, holding his hands up to the vents. “This is the hospitality I deserve.”

You shoot him a look as you adjust the side mirrors. “Buckle your seatbelt. I wanna go.”

“So eager to get me home already? At least buy me dinner first.”

“Get out.”

Kuroo smirks, clicking his seatbelt into place. “Not a chance—you’re stuck with me now, babyface.”

And you just sigh and kick your car into gear, promptly backing up and heading out of the maze of a parking lot, because even if you were to argue, it would be a lie. You’ve been stuck with him for almost two decades, and whether for better or for worse (definitely for worse), you don’t see that changing anytime soon.

two.

Your apartment building’s leasing office has plastered pink and red hearts on just about every open space in the hallway, so it’s safe to say that you’re slightly annoyed as you lug Kuroo’s freakishly huge suitcase to the door of your flat. The wheels squeak in protest, and you’re 99% sure you hear something clanking around inside—like maybe he’s sneaking free weights in there, or some equally ridiculous item you’re going to have to store somewhere in your already-cramped closet.

“Seriously,” you grumble, pausing to readjust your grip, “what did you pack? An entire gym? A small car? Did you kidnap Bokuto or something?”

Kuroo, trailing behind you with his coffee cup that’s somehow still not finished yet, lets out an overdramatic groan. “Oh, come on. I need my suits, my shoes, and, of course, my extremely heavy hair-care products. Gotta keep this—” he gestures at the bedhead that somehow counts as a hairstyle for him “—looking flawless for the cameras.”

“You’re insufferable,” you say.

“It’s okay,” Kuroo replies, stepping around a giant pink heart taped to the floor. “You love me anyway.”

You roll your eyes, key in hand as you finally reach your door. Jamming the key into the lock and wriggling it furiously, you mutter, “I can’t believe I’m letting you stay with me. Your fancy JVA job couldn’t get you a hotel?”

“They could, but the Marriott doesn’t have you,” he says proudly as you drag the suitcase over the threshold and inside your apartment, propping the door open with your hip. “I’d rather stay with my darling friend in her little one-bedroom place on the Upper East Side.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes again—half because you’re exhausted, half because your heart is doing that annoying stutter-step in your chest, and you really don’t want to analyze why. Instead, you drop your keys on the small side table by the door and flick on the overhead light.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, and the words come out more begrudging than you intend. Despite this, he kicks off his shoes very casually, setting his half-empty coffee on your kitchen counter and taking a quick scan of the place. Inside, your apartment is as cozy as ever—small, but comfortable, and the warmth from your radiator is a welcome contrast to the drafty hallway. You drop the suitcase in the living area, exhaling with relief.

He smirks, reaching out to flick one of the pink paper hearts taped to your kitchen cabinet. “Didn’t know you were such a fan of love.”

“The leasing office gets way too into seasonal themes. They gave us all these cut-out hearts to tape up, like we’re in grade school,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “I figured it was better to play along than have them slip passive-aggressive notes under my door.”

“Ah, yes, the joys of city living,” he intones. He peels one heart off the cabinet and sticks it onto his own chest like a ridiculous badge. How appropriate.

“The bathroom’s down the hall to the right. Towels are in the cabinet.” You pause momentarily, considering. “Do you think you can fit on the couch?”

Kuroo regards the couch in question—lumpy cushions, old springs, barely big enough for someone your size—then flicks his eyes to you, expression dry as if to say obviously not. In truth, you aren’t totally surprised. He’s always been freakishly tall, and the piece of furniture doubling as your “guest bed” is basically a glorified loveseat.

“Uh,” you say, slightly distracted as you take in the way his broad shoulders fill your kitchen, “maybe if you sleep diagonally, you could?”

He gives you a slow, sarcastic clap. “Wow, babyface. Thank you for that helpful geometry lesson.”

Your cheeks warm, partly in annoyance and partly because something about him looking so large in your space sets your nerves on edge. “Well, then I don’t know what to tell you,” you mumble. “Unless you wanna sleep standing up against the wall.”

Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly comfortable, either.”

You throw up your hands. “Then what do you expect me to do? I only have a full-sized bed in my room, and that’s barely big enough for—” You stop yourself, but it’s too late. You can practically see the grin forming on his lips.

“Oh?” He shifts his weight, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. “I don’t mind sharing. We used to all the time.”

You open your mouth to retort, but no sound comes out. You can’t deny that a part of you has already considered this possibility. Sure, you’ve known him forever, but the last time you shared a bed, Kenma was also there, and you were eleven-years-old having a sleepover because you were all way too invested in Monsters, Inc.—very different from sharing a bed with him now. 

“Tetsu,” you start, forcing yourself to sound composed, “my bed is also a tight squeeze. There’s no guarantee we’ll both fit comfortably.”

Kuroo shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m not picky. I can do my best to take up minimal space.”

You snort. “You? Minimizing anything? Please.”

He laughs, and the rich sound echoes in your small living area. “I’m not that tall.”

“Pretty close,” you counter. “But fine.” You exhale, feeling the weight of two weeks’ worth of future awkwardness settle on your shoulders. “If you promise not to kick me in your sleep, you can share the bed.”

He smiles with infuriating smugness, like he’s won some big debate or secured a massive deal. “Noted. No kicking, no thrashing. I can be a good boy when I need to.”

At that, you turn away and take a sip of your water, because if you let yourself stare at him any longer, you’ll start overthinking everything (you already are). Like how you’re going to handle waking up next to him. Or how it’ll feel if one of you accidentally rolls over onto the other in the middle of the night. 

“Go shower. You reek,” you say instead, tersely and very much avoiding eye contact. 

Kuroo salutes you with two fingers. “Yes, ma’am.” He starts unzipping his massive suitcase, rummaging around for clothes. When he locates what looks like sleepwear, he straightens and tosses them over one arm. “I’ll be quick. Don’t fall asleep before I get back.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, heart still fluttering at the reality of what you’ve just agreed to. 

You’re about to share a bed with your old friend—your insufferable old friend, who shows up with enough luggage to stock a small department store, calls you babyface, and then makes your heartbeat skip whenever he so much as looks at you a certain way.

So in other words, you think you’re probably fucked.

three.

He emerges from the bathroom a little while later, hair damp, wearing a rumpled t-shirt and basketball shorts that show off way too much of his long legs. You pretend you don’t notice. In the meantime, you’ve perched on the edge of your bed—both of your bed, you remind yourself, trying not to linger on that detail—flipping through your phone for the best takeout options.

“You hungry?” you ask, keeping your voice casual. “I’m too tired to cook.”

Kuroo sets his towel on the back of a chair and rubs at his damp hair a final time. “Absolutely. I owe you for picking me up anyway. Let me buy dinner.”

“Deal,” you say, pulling up a nearby Mexican joint’s online menu—you can almost taste the cilantro and lime already. “I vote burritos. Guac and chips on the side. Whaddya think?”

He moves to sit beside you on the mattress, leaning in to read the menu on your phone. Your shoulders nearly brush, and you feel a flicker of awareness at the close proximity. 

“Let’s do it,” he says. “I’m a sucker for a good burrito. Extra beans, though, or it’s not worth it.”

You snort, tapping in your order. “Fine. But don’t complain if you regret it later.”

He laughs proudly. “I have no regrets. Order some chips and salsa, too.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you finalize your selections on the app. “Fried plantains or no? They have them here.”

“Absolutely. Throw ‘em in.”

Satisfied, you place the order. “Alright, burritos en route. They said it’ll be here in about twenty-five minutes.”

Kuroo drops onto his back for a moment, groaning dramatically into one of your pillows. “I might not last that long.”

“Quit being dramatic or I’ll eat your half when it arrives.”

He pops back up, smirking. “You’d miss me if I starved to death.”

“Sure,” you say dryly, setting your phone aside and hugging your knees to your chest, getting comfortable. “Anyway, what’s been up with you lately? Aside from the glorious JVA life. You haven’t actually told me much.”

Kuroo shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, humming nonchalantly. “Mostly traveling, setting up events. Lately it’s been a lot of PR for an upcoming international tournament—making sponsor deals, meeting with potential partners, that sort of thing. It’s never-ending.”

“Sounds exhausting,” you say, and mean it. “But you seem to thrive on that chaos.”

He smiles. “I like keeping busy, yeah. What about you? Kenma mentioned something about you publishing an article in a big journal.”

A self-conscious warmth settles in your chest. “It’s not that big,” you insist. “Just a decent academic journal. But yeah, I’m pretty proud. Trying to balance that with my research duties and teaching labs at university is… a lot.”

He bumps your shoulder gently with his own. “Still, that’s impressive. Your parents must be bragging left and right.”

You exhale, a small smile tugging at your lips. “They are. Kenma, too, apparently.”

“He’s proud,” Kuroo confirms, then yawns. “Man, I’m wiped. But I gotta stay conscious long enough to demolish this burrito.”

As if on cue, there’s a buzz from your phone. You glance down to see a delivery notification: Your order is arriving soon.

“Perfect,” you murmur. “I’ll grab it in a minute. Might as well eat in here—it’s more comfortable than the couch.”

He grins, reaching to grab his wallet from his bag and handing you a few twenty-dollar bills. “I’m not opposed to an in-bed picnic.”

A few minutes later, you’re answering the knock at your door. Your hallway briefly fills with the mouthwatering scent of fresh tortillas and spices; you’re only realising now that this is practically the only thing you’ve had all day. Once you pay the delivery person, you lug the paper bag back to the bedroom. Kuroo shifts to sit cross-legged, making space for the containers between you.

“Dig in,” he says, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

You unwrap your burrito, steam curling upward, and suddenly you’re reminded of all those nights you spent eating junk food with him and Kenma back in Tokyo—late-night convenience store runs, microwaved meals shared on the couch while you watched random movies. It feels oddly nostalgic; you almost want to put on Shrek 2 (the best one) just for the sake of it.

“Mm,” you manage around a mouthful of seasoned rice and beans. “That’s gas.”

Kuroo tears into his own burrito, letting out a satisfied hum. “New York burritos aren’t half bad. Who knew?”

You smirk. “They’re still not exactly authentic, but they’re decent. We have some good Mexican places nearby—if you stick around long enough, I’ll take you to this hole-in-the-wall joint in Queens that’s even better.”

He perks up. “You sure know how to show a guy a good time.” Then he gestures at one of the pink hearts still taped to your wall. “Speaking of good times, we got Valentine’s Day coming up, right?”

You pause, taking a sip of your soda to stall, humming. “Yeah, next week. Not exactly my favorite holiday.”

“You doing anything?” he asks, fishing out a chip to scoop some guacamole.

You shrug, eyes fixed on your burrito. “No. I’m, uh… single. So it’ll just be another Tuesday for me. Maybe a glass of wine and some Netflix.”

He nods slowly, as if absorbing that information. “Right. Me too, actually. Single, I mean.”

You hazard a glance at him. “Really? I figured you’d have someone lined up,” you tease, trying to keep your tone light. “You’re always bragging about how charming you are.”

He snorts, looking faintly amused. “No takers at the moment, guess I gotta step up my game.” Then he sets his burrito down, brushing stray bits of rice from his fingers. “Honestly, though, I’m not looking to date just anybody. I’m picky.”

The confession sends a flicker of warmth through you. Don’t read into it, you warn yourself. “Well, guess that means we’ll both be alone on V-Day.”

Kuroo’s face brightens with an idea. “Doesn’t have to be alone-alone. We should hang out! Watch a movie, go ice-skating, corny shit like that. We’re in New York City, after all.”

Your stomach does a little flip, and you hope he can’t see the sudden rush of heat in your cheeks. “You want to hang out with me on Valentine’s Day?”

He shrugs, looking casual, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “Why not? Better than moping around separately. We can do the whole anti-Valentine’s vibe. Or, y’know, a Palentine’s Day.”

“Palentine’s Day,” you echo, rolling the phrase around. Part of you wants to jump at the chance, but you’re also cautious—because this is Kuroo. Kuroo, who’s seen you when you were still climbing into Kenma’s bed every time you had a nightmare. Kuroo, who carried you home on his back when you twisted your ankle playing tag at the park. Kuroo, who knows about every embarrassing photo of you in your entire house and is featured in practically half of them. 

Kuroo, who was your first childhood crush, who took you to your senior year formal, who still makes your heart stutter like no one else.

Jesus fuck.

“Sure,” you say at last, trying to sound nonchalant. “That could be fun. As long as you’re not too busy with your JVA stuff.”

He offers a crooked grin, the one that always makes your pulse pick up. “I’ll make time. Promise.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the sound of wrappers crinkling and the hum of traffic outside. You focus on your burrito, but every so often, you peek at him from the corner of your eye—how his long lashes cast faint shadows on his cheekbones, how he smirks just before taking another bite.

When you finally polish off the last of your dinner, you exhale in satisfaction, leaning back against the headboard. Kuroo does the same, patting his stomach. “That really hit the spot,” he says. “Might have to get seconds tomorrow.”

“We can’t keep eating like this,” you tease, crumpling up your napkin. “We’ll both end up broke, living off takeout.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Worse ways to go, babyface.”

You give him a mock glare, but you can’t hide your faint grin. Babyface. Somehow, it doesn’t annoy you the way it used to. Maybe it’s the nostalgia, you think, or maybe you’re just too used to it by now.

“Anyway,” he adds, glancing at the clock on his phone, “you ready to crash? ‘Cause I’m about to pass out any second.”

A twinge of nervous excitement flutters in your chest. You’d momentarily forgotten the whole bed situation. You clear your throat, stacking up the empty takeout containers so you can toss them. “Yeah, I guess so. Let’s clean this up, then… bed.”

He nods, stretching his arms overhead. His shirt lifts slightly, revealing a sliver of toned abdomen, and you quickly look away, pretending to focus on tidying up. Two weeks, you remind yourself. He’ll only be here for two weeks, and then things go back to normal—whatever normal means when it comes to the two of you.

But for now, as you glance up to see him smiling at you—fond, amused, and something else you can’t quite name—you have the strangest feeling that nothing about this trip will be normal. And you’re not sure if that terrifies you or thrills you.

Considering it’s Kuroo, the answer is probably both.

four.

As it turns out, Kuroo lied about being a supposed ‘good boy’, because he grabs just about everything in his sleep, including your comforter, your pillow, and you.

The first thing you notice upon waking is that your arm is asleep—completely, pins-and-needles numb. The second thing you notice is that it’s probably because Kuroo is draped all over you like an overgrown cat: one arm slung across your waist, a leg hooking over yours, and his face half-buried in the pillow you share.

It’s still early. The faint gray glow of dawn filters through your curtains, and the radiator in the corner hisses quietly, pushing lukewarm air into the room. You try to move—gently, so you don’t jostle him too much—but his grip tightens reflexively, pulling you closer.

Your pulse hammers a little faster. Not exactly the start to the morning you pictured when you offered to share a bed. Hesitantly, you lay there, blinking sleep from your eyes as you let the situation sink in. On one hand, he’s so much warmer than the drafty air swirling around you. On the other… well, this is Kuroo.  

He shifts in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. You can’t help noticing how his dark hair flops forward onto his forehead, or how his breathing sounds steady, almost comforting against your ear. A little flutter stirs in your chest, and you decide it’s definitely the awkwardness. Or maybe hunger. Definitely not anything else.

You inch your free arm over to nudge him carefully in the side. “Hey,” you whisper, cringing at how scratchy your morning voice sounds, “mind letting me breathe?”

He stirs again, blinking blearily. When he opens his eyes, for a split second, he looks adorably confused—like he’s forgotten where he is. Then the realization dawns, and a slow, smug grin spreads across his face.

“Mornin’,” he drawls, voice husky from sleep. And he still doesn’t move his arm.

You clear your throat, refusing to let your face heat up too obviously. “Care to explain why you’re suffocating me?”

“Am I?” he says, sounding wholly unrepentant. “Sorry, babyface. Didn’t realize you were so delicate.”

Rolling your eyes, you lift your numb arm and give him another nudge. “At least release my limbs so I can feel them again.”

He finally relents, scooting back a few inches but still remaining obnoxiously close, the mattress dipping under his weight. You sit up, wincing at the twinge in your shoulder, and rub at the pins-and-needles sensation. Meanwhile, Kuroo stretches luxuriously, arms overhead, shirt riding up just a fraction.

“Not a bad night’s sleep,” he remarks, yawning. “This bed’s cozier than it looks.”

“No thanks to you,” you grumble, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Despite your best efforts to stay composed, you can’t quite suppress a tiny shiver at the morning chill. “Next time, keep your limbs to yourself.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you make a great pillow,” he counters, smirking.

Before you can toss a pillow at him in retaliation, your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach over, scanning the screen: a news alert and an email from your department. With a sigh, you set it aside for now.

You flick your gaze back to him, noticing how the sunlight is slowly brightening the angles of his face. “What’s your schedule like today?” you ask, if only to give yourself something normal to focus on.

He scrubs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair—somehow, it still looks frustratingly cool—and shrugs. “Meeting at noon with the local organizers. Press conference in the late afternoon. After that, I’m free.”

“Alright,” you say, pushing yourself off the bed. “I have a lab to teach at eleven, so I’ll be gone most of the morning and early afternoon. I’ll give you a spare key in case you need to step out while I’m gone—just don’t get lost.”

“Aw, you’re giving me a key to your place?” His grin turns positively wolfish. “This relationship is moving so fast.”

You scowl, but the corners of your mouth twitch. “Shut up,” you say, grabbing a sweatshirt from a nearby chair and tugging it on. “I’ll make coffee, then we can figure out breakfast.”

Behind you, you hear the creak of the bed as Kuroo stands. “Coffee sounds great,” he says, padding after you. “But only if you have the good stuff. None of that cheap instant brand.”

He catches up to you in the hallway, and for a moment, you’re hyper aware of how tall he is, how his eyes are still a bit sleepy, how your bedhead probably resembles a hedgehog. Yet, there’s a comforting ease in the way he fits into your space—like he’s been here a hundred times before, even though it’s been years since you last lived in the same city.

You toss him a lazy glare over your shoulder. “You’re lucky I still have some leftover beans from when Kenma visited. Otherwise, you’d be stuck with the dreaded instant.”

Kuroo feigns a dramatic shudder, but his grin stays easy. As you flick on the kitchen lights, he leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. It strikes you again how right he looks here, in your cramped little kitchen, sporting wrinkled sleep clothes and bed hair you’d tease him about if he didn’t look so… comfortable.

“By the way,” he says, voice lower, still thick with morning grogginess. “Thanks for letting me crash here. And, y’know… for not kicking me out of bed for being grabby.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you say, ignoring the warmth creeping into your cheeks as you fill the kettle with water. “Tonight, you stick to your side, got it?”

“Scout’s honor.” He raises three fingers in a mock salute, the picture of insincerity.

You roll your eyes and turn on the stove, waiting for the water to boil. He shuffles a little closer, peering at the kettle. He’s definitely invading your personal space again, but maybe you’re starting to get used to it, if the jump in your heartbeat is anything to go by.

It’s a strange, domestic moment: you, still half-asleep, and Kuroo, leaning in with his arms caging you in, braced on the kitchen counter, with the faint hum of traffic outside. Despite the tingle in your arm and the slight ache in your stiff neck, you realize you don’t hate the idea of waking up like this. For once, you’re not quite as alone in the big city, you justify to yourself. 

He meets your gaze, one brow raised. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, dropping your eyes to the kettle. “Just that the coffee needs to hurry up or I’m gonna be late.”

He chuckles, the soft rumble filling the space. “Sure, sure.”

But he doesn’t push, just stays close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. And for now—just this once—you decide to let it be.

five.

Kuroo looks unfairly good in a suit.

You realise this while you’re curled up on your couch, half-watching the new season of Single’s Inferno on your TV and half-dozing off with a bowl of stale popcorn balanced on your lap. The door swings open without so much as a warning knock—typical—and then there he is, in all his post-press-conference glory: crisp blazer, tailored trousers, tie loosened just enough to give off a casual but effortlessly hot vibe.

Your stomach does a funny little flip. It’s probably the stale popcorn.

“Hey,” he says, shutting the door behind him with a nudge of his shoulder. “You look cozy.”

“I am cozy,” you huff, wriggling deeper into your throw blanket. You drop a piece of popcorn into your mouth and make a face when it crunches unpleasantly. “You look… fancy.”

He glances down at his outfit, as if he’s just remembered it exists. “Right. Forgot I was still wearing this.” A small smirk crosses his face. “Didn’t want to keep the fans waiting, so I came straight from the conference.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure your admirers really appreciated that.”

“Jealous?” he teases, toeing off his polished dress shoes. His shirt collar gapes slightly as he unbuttons the top, revealing a sliver of skin at his throat. Annoyingly distracting, even after all these years.

You pointedly look back at the TV, where two contestants are locked in a tense conversation about who picked whom for a date. “Not even remotely.”

“Ouch,” he says, sounding mock-offended. “And here I was, about to tell you that I saved you some fancy hors d’oeuvres from the event. But if you’re not interested—”

You sit up immediately, dislodging your popcorn bowl. “Wait. Real food?”

Kuroo snickers, pulling a napkin-wrapped bundle from his pocket. He tosses it onto the coffee table with a flourish. “Straight from the VIP section. Mini sliders and some kind of salmon tartare thing.”

You snatch it up without hesitation, peeling back the napkin to inspect the offerings. “See, this is why I tolerate you.”

“Tolerate?” He feigns a dramatic gasp. “Babyface, we’ve been through too much for that kind of slander.”

You grunt, already stuffing a mini slider into your mouth. “I don’t know. If I remember correctly, you used to tie my shoelaces together and push me into Kenma just to watch me trip.”

Kuroo grins, unbothered. “Building character.”

“Being an ass.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” he singsongs, shrugging out of his blazer. As he drapes it over the back of the couch and rolls up his sleeves, you glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying not to be obvious about it. 

Because it’s unfair, really. He’s always been annoyingly attractive, but there’s something different about seeing him like this—sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tie loose, like he’s caught between polished professionalism and the boy you used to know.

Kuroo flops down next to you, stretching out his long legs. “You know,” he muses, “you’re getting a little too comfortable trash-talking your own husband.”

You freeze mid-chew. “Excuse me?”

His smirk widens. “Our wedding? First grade? Ring any bells?”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters treacherously. “Oh my god, not this again.”

“Oh, yes, this again.” He props his chin on his hand, clearly reveling in your reaction. “It was a beautiful ceremony. You wore that little yellow dress with the flowers on it, I looked dashing in my Spider-Man t-shirt, and Kenma officiated with a Pokémon book instead of a Bible. Very classy.”

You scoff, tossing a balled-up napkin at him. “It was a fake wedding.”

“That’s not what you said at the time,” he counters, smug. “You said we’d be married forever.”

You glare at him, but warmth is creeping into your cheeks. “I was six.”

“And yet,” he hums, leaning back against the couch, “you still haven’t divorced me.”

You want to argue. You really do. But the memory of that afternoon—standing in your backyard, clutching a dandelion bouquet while Kuroo grinned at you with all the unearned confidence of an eight-year-old—unfolds so vividly in your mind that you go momentarily speechless.

It’s stupid how much of that day you remember. How he laced his fingers with yours, grinning like he had just won something. How Kenma droned through a “ceremony” while barely looking up from his Game Boy. How, when it was over, Kuroo had squeezed your hand and whispered, Guess that means you’re stuck with me now, huh?

He’d been right, even if you both did eventually grow up and start dating around. And yet, as you sit here—knees almost touching on your too-small couch, the memory of that dandelion bouquet and his smug, gap-toothed grin dangling in the air—you realize there’s a piece of you that never truly left that backyard.

You swallow the last bit of the mini-slider, hoping it’ll ground you. “So,” you say, feigning a dismissive shrug, “we grew up. We definitely child-broke-up.”

Kuroo’s dark eyes glint with amusement as he shifts his weight, the couch cushions dipping under his long frame. “Mm, I don’t recall signing any annulment papers. Actually, I can’t recall you ever giving me back my ring.” He holds up his left hand to wriggle his empty ring finger. “I guess I should’ve at least invested in a proper Band-Aid ring for you.”

You make a face, ignoring how your heart lurches at the implied you he keeps tossing out, like he’s reminding you this is your story—both of yours. “Band-Aid ring, huh? How romantic. You really know how to woo a girl.”

“You always did love Pokémon bandages. Remember how you insisted on Bulbasaur for every scrape?” There’s an unmistakable fondness in his tone, and you wonder if he’s indulging in the same wave of nostalgia that’s been drowning you since you let him through the door.

Trying not to give yourself away, you tilt your head, pretending to examine him. “I see your memory is as annoyingly perfect as ever.”

He flashes a grin. “I have an eye for important details—like your shoe size, your favorite weird pizza topping combo, and the fact that you still haven’t actually denied liking me.”

You snort, heat creeping up your neck. “In your dreams, Tetsu. Where do you get off assuming things, anyway?”

He spreads his hands, tie swaying lightly at his chest. “Can you blame me? You did let me crash at your place. You drove all the way to JFK in rush-hour traffic just to pick me up. If that’s not love, I’m not sure what is.”

You open your mouth to argue but close it again when you realize you’ve got nothing. Yes, you did pick him up. Yes, you did offer him half your bed. And yes, some traitorous part of you is glad he’s here, sprawled out in your living room, reminding you of all the reasons you used to practically worship him when you were a kid.

“You’re insufferable,” you say finally, in a voice so soft it barely carries any bite.

Kuroo chuckles, shifting so he’s angled toward you—elbow braced on the back of the couch, one long leg tucked underneath the other. “Goes both ways, babyface. You’ve always driven me insane.”

The word always lingers in the space between you.

You try to distract yourself by flicking the TV volume higher, but the dating show is a blur. “So how was the press conference?” you ask, setting the empty napkin aside. “Any major breakthroughs? More sponsors falling for your cheesy grin?”

His responding laugh is short, a bit self-conscious. “You know how it is: they ask the same questions—how the tournament’s being organized, who our top competitors are. I say the same rehearsed lines. Then I shake some hands and get out.”

“Bet you loved the attention, though,” you tease, nudging his ankle with your foot.

“Of course,” he deadpans, “you know me too well.”

A quiet pause descends as you both sink further into the cushions. The overhead lamp is dim, casting long shadows on the walls. It feels intimate—too intimate, almost. A far cry from the raucous energy of the press conference he must’ve attended.

“Do you…” You’re not sure why you’re hesitating. Maybe it’s the sudden vulnerability creeping in at the edges of your rib cage. “Do you ever miss being a kid? Everything felt simpler back then.”

His gaze settles on you, something soft reflecting in his eyes. “Yeah. A lot, actually.” He reaches out—hesitates for a second—then pokes the side of your thigh. “But I’m glad some things haven’t changed.”

Your breath catches. “Like what?”

A beat. Then: “Like you still call me out on my bullshit. You’ll still eat half my food if given the chance. You still follow your own weird rules—like never paying for Netflix because you say you can mooch off Kenma forever.” He grins. “And you still look at me the same way. Even if you won’t admit it.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, and you’re too caught off guard to pry. Look at him the same way—what does that mean, exactly? You’re suddenly hyperaware of how close he is, how he’s studying you in the dim light, how the old tether between you two has always refused to snap, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

“Anyway,” he says, shifting back with a little exhale, “got any more of that stale popcorn? I’m starving.”

You clear your throat, trying not to sound frazzled. “Go for it, but don’t complain when it tastes like cardboard.”

He leans over, snagging the bowl from the couch cushion and taking a bite. “Mmm, delicious cardboard.”

His faux-enthusiasm makes you roll your eyes—again. But there’s a familiar warmth curling in your stomach, almost like relief that this little moment is yours to share. Like you’ve both come home, just for a second, to the world you used to know.

You let the show drone on in the background while the two of you work through the stale popcorn in comfortable silence. Every now and then, one of you drops a sarcastic remark or a joke about the contestants on-screen. But beneath the banter, there’s something else stirring—a question you’re not sure either of you is ready to ask.

For now, you settle for glancing sideways at him, at the way his profile looks against the glow of the TV. You let yourself wonder, just briefly, what it would mean to take that childhood promise seriously again. And though you push the thought away almost as quickly as it comes, there’s no denying the giddy little thrill that runs through you when you realize Kuroo might be thinking the exact same thing.

six.

Three days later, it’s the weekend, and you’re free of labs and classes. So obviously, that’s the night Kuroo manages to wheedle you into going to one of his PR parties—with obviously, a Valentine’s theme because the entity in the sky hates you. 

“I still can’t believe I agreed to this,” you say in slight disbelief as you wait in the lobby of your apartment for your Lyft. You’re just the slightest bit wine tipsy already and are stumbling a tad bit on your three-inch heels. Kuroo stabilises you with an arm, pulling you into him. 

“You’re such a lightweight,” he says, amused. 

You scowl at him, nudging your heel against the toe of his polished dress shoe. “Says the guy who made me do a round of shots before we even left.”

Kuroo lifts his free hand in mock surrender, though the grin playing on his lips betrays zero remorse. “Hey, I never forced anything. You’re the one who decided it’d be a good idea to keep up with me.”

“You can probably metabolize alcohol through sheer arrogance alone,” you mutter, leaning into him a bit more when your heel wobbles on the slick tile. The building’s lobby has a floor so shiny you can see your own reflection. You catch sight of how red your cheeks look—definitely from the wine.

He snorts, sliding his arm more securely around your waist. “Arrogance is a powerful superpower.”

Before you can retort, the Lyft driver texts that they’ve arrived, and you and Kuroo shuffle through the lobby’s sliding doors. The crisp February air slaps you in the face, clearing some of the pinot-fueled haze from your head.

“God,” you hiss, crossing your arms over your chest as you walk up to the waiting car. “Why does it feel like it’s negative a thousand degrees out here?”

Kuroo hums sympathetically, tugging you close so you can huddle in his warmth. “Isn’t it romantic? Attending a Valentine’s party in frigid weather, half-tipsy, with your beloved husband—”

You jab him in the ribs. “Do. Not. Start.”

“Ow.” He laughs, not sounding at all wounded, and opens the car door for you. “Alright, princess, let’s get you warmed up.”

You slide into the backseat, tucking your purse by your feet. Kuroo follows, closing the door. The car smells faintly of peppermint and some floral air freshener, and the driver has a local pop station on low volume.

“Party tonight, huh?” the driver says, catching a glimpse of your outfits in the rearview mirror. “Happy early Valentine’s Day.”

You force a polite smile. “Yeah, it’s a work thing for… him.” You gesture vaguely at Kuroo, who’s already fiddling with the seatbelt.

Kuroo pipes up, flashing an easy grin. “She’s being modest. She’s the star of the show.”

You give him a side-eye, but your stomach flips a little at how casually he includes you in his world. “I’m definitely just background noise. He’s the big fancy PR guy.”

He drapes an arm across the back of the seat, leaning in with that smug energy you always pretend to hate. “C’mon, babyface, we both know you’re the real highlight.”

The driver chuckles to himself at your banter and pulls out onto the main road.

The city lights blur by, and despite the wine, you’re keyed-up enough to notice just how close Kuroo is. His thigh presses against yours as the car bumps over a pothole, and you catch his scent—still that overpriced cologne. You almost tease him for using the same brand since undergrad, but some part of you likes the familiarity too much to make fun of it.

Kuroo scrolls through his phone—likely checking last-minute details for the event—and you let your gaze wander. You wonder what you’re walking into: a Valentine’s-themed volleyball PR party probably means pink cocktails, goofy heart-shaped decorations, and sponsors angling to chat up Kuroo for new deals.

You sigh softly, leaning back into the seat. At least you’re not teaching labs tomorrow.

Feeling your eyes on him, Kuroo pockets his phone and glances over. “You okay?” he asks, voice quieter so the driver can’t overhear. “Too tipsy?”

“Barely,” you lie. “I’m fine.”

He studies you for a moment, then nods. “If you get overwhelmed or bored, just say the word, and I’ll whisk you out of there.”

Your heart does that unfortunate flip again. “I won’t hold you back from schmoozing with your sponsors,” you say, trying to sound casual.

Kuroo just shrugs. “Eh. The only person I really need to impress is right here.”

He grins when you roll your eyes for the millionth time, but there’s a note of sincerity in his gaze that makes your pulse stutter uncontrollably (and feeling less and less like it’s the wine).

seven.

The Lyft pulls up to a sleek downtown hotel with a bright red banner above the entrance: Welcome, Pre-Valentine’s Volleyball Gala! The curbside is abuzz with people stepping out of taxis and rideshares, all dressed in varying degrees of fancy.

You thank the driver and step out. Immediately, the cold hits you again, but Kuroo’s hand is there, steady at your back. Together, you make your way through the glass doors into the lobby, which is decked out in pink and red balloons. You spot a heart-shaped ice sculpture near the reception desk and suppress a grimace.

“This is… a lot,” you say under your breath, scanning the crowd. Everyone seems to be brandishing name tags and sipping champagne. A table off to the side offers color-coded wristbands for something—“Single,” “Taken,” “Open to Networking,” and so on.

Kuroo leans in close, lips by your ear so you can hear him over the lounge music. “Brace yourself, babyface. Corporate Valentine’s chic in full force.”

You can’t help a snort. “Don’t call me babyface in front of everyone,” you hiss, trying not to look self-conscious.

He smirks. “Fine. Mrs. Kuroo it is.”

You elbow him gently in the ribs, and he lets out a playful “Ow!” just as a man in a suit rushes over to greet you.

“Kuroo, hey!” The guy beams and extends a hand. “Glad you could make it. We’ve got the sponsors over by the bar, and the press is setting up in the lounge area.”

“Thanks, Daichi,” Kuroo replies smoothly, shaking the man’s hand. “I’ll swing by and say hello in a minute. Oh—this is my plus-one.”

The man’s smile widens. “Great to meet you!” He doesn’t even blink at the slightly flustered expression on your face, just hands you both event badges. “We’re color-coded, so choose whichever suits your mood. And enjoy the party!”

You glance at the bands in your hand: pink for “Single,” purple for “Open to Collaboration,” red for “Taken.” There are even gold ones for “VIP.”

“Seriously?” you mutter, turning to Kuroo. “This is next-level marketing cheese.”

He laughs, plucking a gold band from a nearby tray and snapping it onto his wrist. “I’m definitely VIP, babe. No shame.”

Rolling your eyes, you settle for a purple one—“Open to Collaboration” seems neutral enough, right? You have no intention of wearing the pink “Single” band all night.

Kuroo’s gaze flicks to it, and you catch a slight smirk before he ushers you forward into the main ballroom.

Which, by the way, is massive: vaulted ceilings, floating heart-shaped lanterns, a champagne fountain at the center. You can practically smell the wealth. A DJ in the corner is playing some inoffensive house music that somehow fits the glittery vibe.

“Wow,” you breathe. “They really didn’t hold back.”

“Volleyball PR events rarely do,” Kuroo says, threading his fingers through yours before you can process it. It’s casual and familiar, like he’s done this a thousand times, but your heart jumps all the same. “Let’s grab a drink, yeah?”

He guides you toward the open bar. A bartender in a bright red bow tie greets you with a grin, asking for your orders.

“Champagne for me,” Kuroo says, then glances down at you. “And for my lovely companion…?”

You pause. “Champagne’s fine. Might as well fit the theme.”

As the bartender works his magic, you turn to Kuroo. “So, what’s the plan? Do we mingle for half an hour and then dip? I’m not sure how long I can stand being reminded that Valentine’s Day is literally next week.”

Kuroo’s eyebrow quirks. “Aren’t we hanging out anyway? We promised each other a palentine’s date—remember?”

You feel your cheeks warm. “I remember. Just… these decorations are overkill.”

He hands you a champagne flute, then raises his own in a mock toast. “To corporate romance,” he says with a smirk.

You clink glasses, taking a sip. The fizzy sweetness bursts across your tongue, and you can’t help but think it tastes like anticipation—like something is about to happen tonight that neither of you saw coming. Then you convince yourself that it’s just the alcohol. 

Over the next twenty minutes, you watch as Kuroo does his job—he introduces you to a cluster of sponsors, some old teammates, and a few local sports reporters. He’s charismatic in that effortless way he’s always been: breezing through small talk, sprinkling in jokes, and deflecting every flirty comment from others with easy charm.

You mostly hover by his side, alternately sipping champagne and trying not to feel out of place in your heels. Every so often, his fingers brush your elbow or settle low on your back, like he’s silently telling you: You’re not alone here.

It’s strangely reassuring—even if you can’t quite decide what it means.

Eventually, the crowd disperses into smaller clusters, and you manage to snag a moment of relative quiet near the pink-lit fountain in the center of the room.

“You okay?” Kuroo asks again, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Not too bored?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. It’s actually kinda funny watching you switch between your used-car-salesman voice and your normal voice.”

He snorts. “You want me to hit them with the real me? That might be too much for these delicate souls.”

“I can handle it,” you say, surprising even yourself with your boldness—maybe it’s the champagne.

Kuroo’s gaze flickers, something mischievous in his eyes. “Oh, I know you can handle me, babyface. You’ve done it since you were six, right?”

Your heart skips. He just won’t let you live that childhood wedding down. And, annoyingly, you don’t really mind.

“Stop it,” you say, but there’s no heat in your voice. “Anyway, what’s next on the agenda? Are you supposed to give a speech or something?”

He rakes a hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled. “Nah, not tonight. Just an appearance—shake some hands, charm some sponsors.” He shrugs, then lowers his voice. “We could slip out soon, if you want. Go somewhere else—somewhere less… pink.”

The offer sits in the air between you. You can’t help wondering what exactly he’s proposing. Drinks at a quieter bar? A late-night walk under the city lights? Going back to your apartment to continue that half-finished bottle of wine?

You muster a casual tone. “I’m not opposed. But won’t your absence be noticed?”

“I showed up, I mingled,” he says, brushing off your concern. “That’s enough for them.”

He flashes that signature grin—so easy, so Kuroo—and a flutter of nostalgia collides with the champagne buzz in your bloodstream. You think about how this night started: you, tipsy in your lobby, letting him steady you on your heels. You think about Valentine’s Day looming, and how all of this might be leading to something (which, you’re still trying to figure out if it’s good or bad).

“Alright,” you say, taking another sip from your glass. “One more round of goodbyes, then we escape.”

Kuroo’s eyes linger on you, almost thoughtful. “Deal.”

He downs the rest of his champagne and sets the empty flute on a nearby tray, offering you his arm. The little gesture makes you laugh under your breath; he’s always half-joking, half-serious. But you slip your hand into the crook of his elbow all the same, taking advantage of the moment—you grin. 

He is your date tonight, after all.

eight.

You two end up at a 99cent pizza shop.

It’s one of those shitty ones, where the lights blink every other second and are open 24/7 and catering exclusively to drunk people. You order a pepperoni slice (which is $1.50, absolutely criminal), Kuroo gets a slice with mushrooms and peppers like a weirdo, and a ten-piece garlic knots because you’re both absolute whores for shitty food. 

The cashier barely looks up as you pass over a crumpled bill, his expression one of pure indifference. It’s the kind of place where no one gives a shit if you waltz in wearing a ballgown or, in Kuroo’s case, an untucked dress shirt and a loosened tie that screams former professionalism turned reckless abandon.

Kuroo nudges your shoulder as he grabs the tray of food. “Find us a seat, babyface.”

You glance around. The booths are occupied by a mix of exhausted bar-hoppers, students pulling all-nighters with greasy paper plates in front of them, and one guy hunched over, presumably contemplating his life choices. Classic New York.

You settle for a two-seater in the back corner, mostly because it’s the only spot that doesn’t look like it’ll give you tetanus. Kuroo sets the tray down between you, sliding into the seat across from you with that ridiculous, smug expression that hasn’t left his face all night.

“You’re staring,” you say flatly, reaching for a garlic knot.

He props his chin on his hand, unbothered. “You look cute.”

Your hand freezes mid-air. “What?”

Kuroo, the absolute bastard, takes a slow bite of his pizza like he didn’t just casually drop a grenade into your bloodstream. “I said, you look cute.” He gestures vaguely at you with his slice. “All dressed up in a shitty pizza joint. Very Serena van der Woodsen in Gossip Girl vibes.”

You recover quickly, snorting as you take a bite of your garlic knot. “You did not just compare me to Serena van der Woodsen.”

“Hey, I know my pop culture references.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But seriously. I like this look on you.”

The warmth in your chest spreads far too quickly. You shove it down with a bite of pizza. “If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s not gonna work.”

Kuroo smirks. “You sure? It worked when we were kids.”

You shoot him a look. “I was six. You bribed me with strawberry Pocky.”

“And you fell for it every time,” he says, grinning. “You were so easy to manipulate.”

You kick him lightly under the table, but there’s no real venom behind it. He just chuckles and takes another bite of his pizza, chewing thoughtfully before glancing at you again.

“So,” he says after a moment. “What was the verdict on tonight? Was it as painful as you thought?”

You hesitate, twirling the crust of your pizza between your fingers. The thing is, you actually had fun. Not just tolerable, get-through-it-and-leave fun, but actual, laughing-with-Kuroo-in-the-middle-of-a-stuffy-corporate-party fun. The realization makes your stomach flip.

“It was fine,” you say, playing it cool. “Drinks were good. Company was tolerable.”

Kuroo barks out a laugh. “Tolerable? Damn, I’ll take it.”

You roll your eyes, but the way he’s looking at you—so easy, so damn fond—makes it hard to breathe for a second.

You clear your throat, glancing down at your plate. “Anyway, it was nice to see you in work mode. You actually seemed like a functional adult.”

Kuroo sighs dramatically. “I know, it’s exhausting.”

You snort. “I imagine so. Having to use, like, three brain cells at a time.”

“It’s really pushing my limits,” he says with an obnoxious frown. 

The conversation drifts into easy territory—inside jokes, exaggerated retellings of childhood disasters, a debate about whether New York pizza is actually better than Tokyo’s (you say yes, he remains stubbornly neutral). It feels natural, like slipping into an old sweater that still fits perfectly despite the years.

At some point, he reaches across the table, swiping a garlic knot straight off your plate.

“Hey,” you protest, swatting at his hand too late.

Kuroo just smirks, popping the whole thing into his mouth. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, babyface.”

“Possession is going to be me slapping you in the face if you steal another one.”

“Violence,” he muses, chewing. “That’s how you treat your childhood husband?”

Your face heats. “Tetsu.”

He winks. “Relax. I’ll buy you more next time.”

Next time.

The words hang there for a second longer than necessary. He says it like it’s a given, like this—you and him, nights like this—is a thing that should keep happening.

And the stupidest part? You don’t hate the idea… not even a little bit.

You pick up another garlic knot, breaking eye contact like that’ll do anything to slow your heartbeat. “You better buy me more.”

Kuroo just leans back, watching you like he already knows something you don’t, and you are slightly terrified of whatever that implies.

nine.

Monday night, after you get home from an excruciating day of labwork (like… you entered at 6 AM and left the next day at 2 AM—you’re really going through it these days), Kuroo is already changed and in his pajamas, reading a book and playing a vinyl you bought when you went through your #artsy stage. He looks up with a smile from his spot sprawled across your couch as you come in, drop your keys on the side table, and promptly collapse on the floor.

“I’m so tired,” you wail, fake sniffling, slumped against the wall. Kuroo looked momentarily alarmed until your pleading; he lets out an exhale that’s vaguely close to a laugh when he realises you’re just being dramatic.

“Welcome home,” he says, his smile practically audible in his voice. “Take it you had a long few day… days.”

You sigh, nodding, wobbling over to the couch and plopping on top of him. You’re so tired you don’t even care about the proximity—you want to lie down, right now. “Yeah. But I think I’ve discovered something pretty interesting, so I’m hoping I can get into Neuron this time around.”

“You’ll get it,” Kuroo says completely calmly, sounding insanely confident in you. He doesn’t even look away from his book—just lifts his arms enough to let you put your head on his chest, and then resting them against your shoulder blades. “Smartest girl I know.”

“...Shut up,” you mutter, burying your face into his t-shirt to hide your embarrassment. 

You let out a weary groan, face still hidden in Kuroo’s t-shirt, and he just chuckles under his breath, shifting slightly so you can get more comfortable. His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers raking through it in a surprisingly soothing motion—like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Can’t believe you’re still awake,” he remarks, eyes darting back to his book. “Look like you’re about to pass out any second.”

“Very astute observation,” you mumble into the soft cotton. “Nothing gets past you.”

He snorts, lightly tapping your shoulder in retribution before turning a page. “Hey, just looking out for my genius scientist here. Big day tomorrow, right?”

Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Big day? I mean, I guess I have more lab stuff…”

Kuroo tilts his head, arching an eyebrow at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. “Not that,” he says, exasperated. “Valentine’s Day, babyface. Remember?”

Your heart does a quick, uncomfortable skip. Valentine’s—not Palentine’s. The difference lands in your head like a small explosion, especially considering you’ve both been referring to it as Palentine’s up ‘til now.

“O-oh,” you stammer eloquently, trying to recover. “Right. Valentine’s. Sure.”

He watches you carefully, eyes gleaming with amusement as he gently closes his book. “You didn’t forget our plans, did you?”

Plans. Right. He invited you for something—ice skating or a movie, or maybe both. You’d said yes in that flustered, I’m-pretending-this-is-just-a-friendly-thing way. But the way he’s saying it now, with that particular lilt in his voice, has your mind racing.

You force yourself to sit up slightly, though you don’t leave the comfort of lying half-on-top of him. “I—uh. I didn’t forget. I guess I’m just… used to calling it Palentine’s.”

Kuroo smirks, brushing a thumb across your cheek with casual familiarity. “Oh, right. My bad. I must’ve slipped.”

Slipped, he says, which makes your pulse do an annoying little flutter.

“I mean, it’s not like it matters,” you continue quickly, your words tripping over themselves. “We’re just hanging out—like always. Whether we call it Valentine’s or Palentine’s or ‘Tuesday’… right?”

He hums in response—low in his throat, almost thoughtful—while his hand drifts from your hair to the back of your neck in a comforting weight. “Sure,” he says, a bit too lightly to be casual. “Whatever you wanna call it.”

The tone in his voice suggests that maybe it does matter, that maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t want to hide behind the ‘Palentine’s’ façade anymore.

A moment of silence settles between you, broken only by the faint crackle of your old vinyl spinning and the ever-present traffic outside. Your nerves feel strung tight as a bitch, and you wonder if he can sense how tense you’ve suddenly gone.

“Anyway,” he says, clearly trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness, “I was thinking we could do something painfully cliché tomorrow. Romantic comedy marathon, maybe. Or that ice-skating idea. Hot chocolate, the works.”

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze. “That sounds… nice.” You fidget with a loose thread on his t-shirt, trying not to overthink every micro-expression on his face. “You sure you won’t be busy with, like, sponsor stuff, or—”

Kuroo rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you kidding? I’d rather be with you—binging Netflix, falling on my face on the rink—than stuck in another press conference.” He gives a lazy shrug, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “Besides, I’m all yours tomorrow.”

I’m all yours.

There’s that pesky little flutter in your chest again, ramping up several notches. You wonder if he can feel your heart pounding where you’re still sprawled half-across his torso. Possibly. Probably.

“That’s… good,” you manage, trying not to think too hard about the myriad ways Valentine’s could be interpreted. Trying not to let the prospect of him wanting more—maybe wanting you—send you into a full-blown panic. Because a teeny, traitorous part of you is really hoping that’s what it means.

“Now,” he says, clearly sensing the rabbit hole your mind might be running down. “It’s past midnight, and you’ve had, what, negative hours of sleep?”

“That’s not even physically possible,” you argue, though your eyelids suddenly feel very heavy.

“Sure it is,” he counters, wrapping an arm more snugly around your waist as he tugs a throw blanket from the back of the couch. “I’m pretty sure you’re living proof. C’mon. Let’s just crash right here for a bit.”

You don’t have the energy to protest, and honestly? The idea of dozing off to the low hum of the vinyl, warm against Kuroo’s chest, is downright tempting. Besides, you’ll have to drag yourself to bed eventually—but for now, this cozy bubble is enough.

“Fine,” you mumble, feeling your limbs already going slack. “But if I drool on you, it’s your own fault for not kicking me off.”

He laughs quietly, letting the book he was reading slip onto the coffee table. “I’ll live. I’ve survived worse. Like the time you threw up all over me after that carnival ride in middle school.”

You grumble something incoherent in protest, too exhausted to muster a real comeback. The corners of his mouth twitch in amusement, and he shifts just enough to angle you more comfortably against him.

As your eyes flutter shut, you can’t stop replaying the word Valentine’s in your head. Tomorrow. Kuroo said it so easily, like it was obvious. Like it was a given that you wouldn’t just be celebrating as friends or old childhood buddies. Warmth pools in your chest, a mix of excitement and nerves. Maybe you’ll just have to see how tomorrow plays out—maybe you’ll finally figure out if this… thing you’ve been dancing around for so long is actually real.

Because if there’s one thing you are sure about, it’s that Kuroo has always had a way of turning your world on its axis. And this time, you really hope he doesn’t stop at Palentine’s.

ten.

You wake up to the smell of french toast.

Which, honestly, you lowkey don’t love nearly as much as waffles. But you aren’t going to be picky after your crash out last night. 

You stumble into the kitchen, vaguely rubbing your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, blinking away the sleep to read the Eevee alarm clock Kenma bought you when you moved in. 12:19PM. Honestly not your worst: once, during finals season in your undergrad years, you pulled a three-day all-nighter and passed out for sixteen straight hours after. Kuroo had to practically drag you out of your dorm room after that one; he and Kenma basically froze your phone with the amount of texts they sent in a futile attempt to wake you up. 

Kuroo’s back is to you as he stands at the stove, his compression shirt accentuating his muscle definition. He looks straight up like a model you’d see at the mall in a Calvin Klein billboard, and it makes you flush as you remember he said Valentine’s last night. He senses you without even turning around—he, without even bothering to look up, says, “Mornin’, babyface. Do you want strawberries or whipped cream?”

“You doubt me. Both,” you snort, stepping closer. Despite your attempt at nonchalance, your stomach flips when you get closer and can see just how freakishly good he looks in that stupid ass shirt. The memory of him casually calling it Valentine’s still sizzles in the back of your mind.

Kuroo casts you a brief over-the-shoulder grin. “Both it is, princess.” He deftly flips a slice of french toast on the pan, the sweet, eggy aroma curling toward your nose. “Hope you’re hungry. I got a little carried away.”

“Oh, I’m starving,” you say, eyeing the small stack of bread slices he’s already prepared on a plate. “Seriously, I might eat all of this. If you don’t move fast, you won’t get any.”

He chuckles, dropping another piece of bread into the batter. “Noted. I’ll keep that in mind while I guard my breakfast with my life.”

You open the fridge for the strawberries, and sure enough, there’s also a can of whipped cream on the shelf—Kuroo came prepared. “I can’t believe you actually planned this,” you mutter under your breath, rifling around. “Is this your way of bribing me to be your Valentine?”

He pretends to think about it. “Might be. If it works, I’ll make waffles next time, too.”

You huff a laugh, grateful your face is still hidden in the fridge so he can’t see the fond smile spreading across your lips. Might be. It’s clear he’s leaning full-throttle into the idea of spending this entire Valentine’s Day with you. The thought warms you more than you want to admit.

Sliding the carton of strawberries onto the counter, you catch him drizzling a bit of honey on the toast. “Fancy,” you tease, dragging out the syllable.

Kuroo shrugs one shoulder. “Hey, can’t help being an overachiever. Besides…” He flips off the stove burner and slides the last slice of french toast onto the plate, stacking it neatly. “I missed this.”

You glance up, curiosity and something else tangling in your chest. “This? Cooking breakfast?”

He sets the spatula aside, turns around, and leans against the counter. “Cooking breakfast for you,” he clarifies, pausing as if testing how you’ll react. “Y’know, we used to hang out all the time—before you left for New York. I guess it just reminded me of those days. Late nights, lazy mornings, that sort of thing.”

Your cheeks warm at his candidness. “We still hung out a bit after we graduated,” you offer, though you know it was never the same once you’d moved halfway across the globe for grad school.

Kuroo nods, his hand lingering on the handle of the frying pan as if he needs something to ground himself. “Yeah, but once you officially moved here? We both got busy. Kenma did his whole streaming empire thing, I jumped into work. And you were—”

“Neck-deep in studies,” you finish for him, remembering those endless days in the lab, how you’d chug energy drinks and blink against fluorescent lights until your eyes burned.

Kuroo taps the counter with his knuckles, a soft exhale escaping him. “Uh-huh. And Kenma and I, well… we kinda promised each other we wouldn’t make a big deal about how much we missed you.” He flashes a small, wry grin. “Figured you already had enough to worry about without dealing with our whining.”

You pause, strawberries in hand, staring at him. “Wait. You both made that promise?”

He nods, and for once, you catch the hint of sheepishness in his expression. “We might have texted constantly about how weird it was without you around,” he admits, chuckling under his breath. “But we agreed to keep it low-key so you could focus on your research. Didn’t want you feeling guilty if you started missing home too much.”

Your chest tightens. “I—God, that’s so stupid of you guys.”

He arches an amused eyebrow. “Stupid?”

“I would have been fine!” you insist, though a pang of fondness (and maybe regret) flickers through you. “Yeah, I’d have been sad, but I would’ve rather known. Going months without hearing from you two sometimes was way worse.”

He huffs a laugh, pushing off the counter to move closer. “Yeah, guess in hindsight, it wasn’t the best plan. But we were, what, twenty? Twenty-one? And mostly worried you’d drop out of grad school to come home if we made you feel bad.”

“Drop out?” You roll your eyes. “Please, as if I’d ever let you be that important.”

Kuroo tosses you a smirk, but there’s a gratefulness in his gaze. “Hey, I’m plenty important. Just not more important than a doctorate in neuroscience.”

“Damn straight,” you retort, but your heart is pounding too hard for sarcasm to land with its usual punch. He missed you. More than that—he and Kenma both actively hid how much they missed you, just so you wouldn’t feel sad or guilty. That’s… an annoying level of sweet.

Before you can dwell on it, he gestures to the french toast. “Anyway, let’s eat? Unless you’d rather stand here and get all sentimental.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, but your tone is more flustered than harsh. “Give me the plate.”

He hands it over with a dramatic bow, then grabs the strawberries and whipped cream to set on the table. You both sit across from each other, and he insists on adding the toppings to your serving, swirling an absurd amount of whipped cream atop each slice.

“Seriously,” you scold, swatting his wrist when he won’t stop pressing the nozzle, “we don’t need that much foam sugar.”

He just laughs. “Oh, come on, babyface. Live a little.”

“Hmm,” you reply, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your grin. “Fine. But if I get a sugar crash in like two hours, you’re dealing with the aftermath.”

He mock-salutes you. “Yes, ma’am.”

It’s a small, silly moment, but something in the easy way you banter—especially right after that confession about how hard it was when you left—makes your chest swell with warmth. Perhaps it’s just the Valentine’s vibe that has your mind spinning in circles, but you can’t help wondering what he’s getting at here.

You try a bite, letting the sweetness and cinnamon melt on your tongue. “Damn,” you mumble through a mouthful, “this is actually pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” He sets a hand against his heart in mock offense. “I slaved away in the kitchen—”

“What, for like ten minutes?” you interrupt, snickering. “Yep, truly backbreaking labor.”

He pretends to wipe away a tear. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”

Despite the teasing, he looks satisfied when you reach for another slice. You don’t miss how his eyes follow the movement, nor how his gaze lingers on your face, like he’s taking mental snapshots of you enjoying the meal. It’s disconcertingly tender—especially for a guy who’s teased you your entire life.

Eventually, when you’ve both eaten more than enough, you lean back in your chair, hand resting on your full stomach. “All right, Chef Kuroo. That was acceptable. Now what’s the plan for the rest of Valentine’s Day, hmm?”

He clears his throat, fiddling with a piece of crust on his plate. “Well, we could go ice skating later—like we talked about. If you’re still up for it. Or we could do that rom-com marathon and eat a bunch of store-bought chocolate. Or both.”

“That’s… definitely an option,” you say slowly, feeling a little thrill ripple through you at how nonchalant you’re trying to be. “Which one first?”

He meets your eyes, a hint of a smirk curving his lips. “Why not flip a coin?”

You snort, standing up and collecting the dishes. “No way. I have the worst luck with coin tosses.”

“Then I’ll rig it so you win.” Kuroo grins, pushing back his chair to follow you to the sink. 

“And you call me the overachiever,” you toss over your shoulder, cranking on the faucet. You start rinsing plates, the soap suds foaming around your fingers.

“Mm,” he murmurs, stepping up behind you. “At least let me help.”

He crowds in, reaching to take the plate from your hand. You don’t protest—mostly because your entire body goes rigid at the realization of how close he’s standing. His chin practically brushes your temple, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him in waves.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The only sound is the running water, the faint drip of the faucet, and the thud of your own heartbeat in your ears. You can’t help the way your breath catches.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, noticing your sudden stillness.

“Yeah,” you manage, forcing yourself to relax. “Just spacing out.”

His lips twitch into a small, understanding smile. “Same here.” Then, with a deft motion, he takes the plate from you and resumes scrubbing, shoulders barely an inch from yours in your cramped kitchen.

This shouldn’t feel so charged, right? He’s just helping you do dishes. But everything with Kuroo feels different this morning—like there’s some invisible line you both keep brushing against, neither one wanting to take the leap but both too invested to step back.

When the last plate is clean, he sets it on the drying rack, shuts off the water, and dries his hands with a dishrag. “So,” he says, turning to you. “Breakfast? Check. Next item on the Valentine’s agenda?”

You roll your eyes—can’t believe you’re actually calling it Valentine’s now, you think, but you don’t correct him. Instead, you tilt your head, as if deep in thought. “Well, you did promise me cheesy romance, so maybe we do the rom-com marathon first and ice skating afterward, if we still have time.”

His grin is immediate. “Sounds perfect.” He turns and saunters toward your living room, tossing the dishrag onto the counter. “I’ll pick the first movie?”

You’re about to agree when you suddenly remember—he said he’d rig the coin toss. So you raise an eyebrow. “Wait, how do I know you’re not just rigging this in your favor?”

Kuroo snorts, grabbing the TV remote. “Hey, I’m giving you exactly what you want, babyface. I call that your favor.”

You roll your eyes for the millionth time, but you can’t keep the small smile off your face as you follow him into the living room. For the first time in a long while, you feel light—like maybe the missing piece of your life that you left behind in Tokyo is right here, making you french toast and joking about Valentine’s Day.

eleven.

You easily binge Netflix’s Love Is In The Air recommendations for several hours, to the point where, by the time that you wrap up The Kissing Booth 3, the sun has already started to set. Outside your fourth floor apartment, you have a relatively unobstructed view of the way the sky melds into a blend of purples and blues, casting shadows and making your living room’s lighting feel even warmer.

Somehow (you say, knowing full well that you climbed into this position with full intentions of doing so) you end up curled up in Kuroo’s arms, one of your legs draped over his thigh while his arm wraps snugly around your shoulders. His other hand lazily scrolls through the Netflix homepage, searching for the next rom-com victim. You barely pay attention, though—too busy noticing how ridiculously warm he is, how easy it is to fit against him, and how the dark colors of the setting sun outside look so damn pretty.

Finally, after a half-hearted scroll through the Looking For The One category, you decide: “I’m hungry. Let’s get sushi.”

He perks up, setting down the remote. “Now you’re speaking my language. Which place should we order from?”

“There’s this little spot a few blocks away that does really fresh rolls,” you say, grabbing your phone from the cushion beside you. “They deliver in like fifteen minutes, too.”

Kuroo nods, giving you a light squeeze. “Cool. Just let me know how much I owe you. Or consider it your Valentine’s gift to me, I guess.” He snickers.

You roll your eyes at the terrible suggestion, pulling up the menu on your phone. “I’ve got it, I’m feeling generous. Plus, this place is kinda special to me anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Special? Because the sushi’s that good?”

You shift, trying to type your order without meeting his eyes. “Uhh… well, an ex brought me here once. That was back in like, grad school.”

Kuroo’s hand stills against your arm. “Excuse me?” he says, feigning dramatic outrage. “I can’t believe you’d talk about your sordid affairs on Valentine’s Day, babyface. You wound me.”

You snort, giving him a playful shove that doesn’t move him even an inch. “Relax, it was ages ago. It’s not like it was a big deal. I mostly liked him because he kinda looked like—” You stop mid-sentence, eyes widening.

“Kinda looked like… what?” Kuroo parrots, amused suspicion lighting up his features. “Finish that sentence.”

You clamp your mouth shut and tap furiously on your phone screen instead. “Nothing. Just forget it.”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, no no no, you don’t get to drop that bomb and then pretend it never happened. Spill.”

“It’s none of your business,” you reply swiftly, your cheeks burning. “And for the record, it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.”

He sets his jaw, locking you in place by tightening the arm wrapped around you. “Alright, guess I’ll have to guess. Let’s see—you liked him because he kinda looked like…” He pauses, tapping a finger to his chin in exaggerated thought. “Me?”

“Oh my god, no,” you say, maybe a bit too quickly. “That’d be weird, Tetsu. You’re—well, you’re you.”

Something fleetingly vulnerable flashes across his face. He frowns a little, brow knitting. “Do you really think so?” His tone goes quiet, serious in a way that has your stomach dropping.

Your pulse stutters. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean—” You flail, phone clattering onto the cushion as you try to find his gaze. “I just—look, it’s not weird. Of course I—I mean, you know I—” You exhale shakily, feeling your words tumble over themselves. “I like you, Tetsu. Please don’t be upset.”

There’s a beat of tense silence… and then Kuroo bursts out laughing. Actual, stomach-jostling laughter. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he struggles to compose himself, and you realize, with rapidly boiling annoyance, that he’s been messing with you.

“You jerk!” you sputter, smacking him on the arm. “That wasn’t funny! I thought I actually hurt your feelings.”

He just grins, easily absorbing your weak swats. “Aw, sorry, babyface. You should’ve seen your face, though.”

Your cheeks feel molten. “I hate you sometimes, you know?”

“Mm-hmm,” he drawls, pulling you back against him, his palm smoothing over your shoulder. “But the good news is, now I know you do like me. And that some of your exes looked like me, which is a really nice ego boost.”

You groan, burying your face against his chest. “Shut up.”

He keeps talking anyway, voice taking on a more pensive note. “I mean, it’s not like I can judge. I think about you whenever I meet someone new.”

Slowly, you lift your head, eyebrows knitting. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs one shoulder, as if it’s no big deal. “Just, like, whenever I go on a date, I find myself comparing them to you. They’re never as funny or as smart, or I wonder if they’d get along with Kenma the way you obviously do… that kind of thing.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly open. “Tetsu…” You’re not sure how to respond to that confession. Warmth and a spike of adrenaline rush through you, and you can only open and close your mouth in silence.

At your speechlessness, Kuroo just laughs, scrunching his nose in amusement. “Aw, come on. It’s not that shocking, is it?”

“Uh,” you manage, blinking. “I—uh.”

Your brain is short-circuiting, so you do the only thing that makes sense in your frazzled state: you announce, “I’m gonna go pee.”

“What?” He snorts. “Really? That’s your best response to my heartfelt confession?”

“You think I chose this response?” you squeak, scrambling to your feet. Your cheeks feel like they could combust. “I don’t control your unfiltered romantic drivel, and you don’t control my bladder, okay?”

Kuroo just shakes his head in disbelief, though his eyes gleam with delight. “I’m not stopping you, babyface. Go pee. The sushi’ll be here in a few minutes anyway.”

You nod, fleeing the scene for the bathroom, heart pounding in your ears. Even as you slam the door behind you, you can hear him chuckling softly in the living room.

Leaning against the bathroom door, you take a steadying breath. He compares everyone to you. You literally admitted you like him, too. And he’s laughing, because this is all apparently just… normal. Suddenly, the entire dynamic shifts—like everything you’ve both been dancing around for so long is right there, out in the open, and you’re not quite sure what to do next.

Well, you do know one thing: you really do need to pee.

“Okay,” you mutter, “priorities.”

And as you step toward the toilet, part of you wonders how to keep your composure once you walk back out to him—because from here on out, there’s no more pretending you don’t both feel something real.

twelve.

After peeing and washing your hands with your favorite bougie ass soap (Christmas gift from your boss; you could never afford it at department store rates), you whip out your phone and call Kenma. You know it’s 8 AM over there, so there’s a good chance you’ll be waking up your brother, but you don’t care because you need his objective opinion right now.

It takes until the third call, but on the fourth ring, he finally picks up. 

“What?” he mumbles groggily. “I was sleeping.”

“Sorry, but I don’t care. Give me some good advice right now,” you hiss into your phone, pacing back and forth in front of your shower like a maniac.

You hear fabric rustling, followed by a prolonged yawn. “Fine. I bet it has to do with Kuro.”

You freeze, biting down on your lip. “...Maybe.”

“Ugh,” Kenma sighs. “I literally can’t believe you’re calling me about him at eight in the morning.”

“It’s not that early, y’know.”

He grumbles something incoherent under his breath, then says more clearly, “So what’s the crisis? I’m not sure how many brain cells I have at this hour.”

You rub your forehead, letting out a strangled groan. “Kenma, is it weird if I kinda—I don’t know—wanna make out with him? Like, a lot? Maybe not just make out—maybe, like, really make out—” You shake your head vigorously, cheeks flaming. “But is that weird?”

There’s silence on the other end for a long moment. Then Kenma’s voice, flat as ever: “That’s my sister and my best friend you’re talking about. Gross. But also not really weird. Because I literally officiated your wedding in second grade, remember? You two are basically old news.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, your free hand clenching at your side. “Oh my God, not you too. Kuroo keeps bringing it up, and now you’re enabling him. When did that wedding even become a real memory to everyone but me?”

“Uh, it’s always been a memory. You wore a yellow dress, he had a Spider-Man t-shirt, I was reading from a Pokémon handbook.” He yawns. “I was, like, seven, but I still remember, because Kuro wouldn’t shut up about it. And apparently, still won’t.”

“Yeah, well,” you huff, pacing faster. “He mentions it daily, I swear, and it’s driving me insane—like, I get it, we had a pretend wedding when we were literal children. Does he have to bring it up every chance he gets?”

Kenma’s voice goes deadpan. “He brings it up because he likes you, dumbass.”

Your pacing halts so abruptly you almost trip over the bathroom mat. “...Oh.”

A beat passes; the only sound is your heart thudding in your ears.

“Yeah,” Kenma continues, dry as day-old toast. “He’s liked you forever. You’ve liked him forever. You’re both idiots. Congrats.”

You gawk at the phone, mind spinning. “Wait—he—he’s always…? Does everyone know this except me?”

Kenma yawns again, unperturbed. “Probably. I mean, we weren’t exactly subtle growing up. Dad used to tell me he was more worried about you running off with Tetsu than, like, your middle school crushes.”

You gape. “Seriously?”

“Mhm.” You hear the faint click of a laptop or a Switch—knowing Kenma, he’s probably opening up a game to pass the time. “Anyway, is that all you needed to ask? Because I’d like to get at least another hour of sleep.”

You groan, but you can’t quell the swirl of hope rising in your chest. “This is… surreal. He just told me earlier—like, not directly, but he basically said he thinks about me whenever he meets someone new. And I might’ve implied I like him too—oh God, Kenma, what do I do?”

He’s quiet for a moment, presumably considering. “Make out with him. I don’t know. You literally said that’s what you want to do.”

“That’s it? That’s your profound, brotherly wisdom?”

“What else do you want me to say?” he drones. “You both already know you like each other. This was the most obvious outcome in the world. Just do your thing, get it out of your system. Or get married again if you want. Could be a nice full-circle moment.”

You let out a mortified noise, pressing your forehead to the cool tile of your bathroom wall. “You’re—urgh, never mind. Thanks, Kenma.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Tell Kuro he owes me five bucks for something… I’ll think of a reason later. Bye.”

Before you can protest, he hangs up, leaving you with your phone still pressed to your ear. You stare at the blank screen, a mix of exasperation and relief swirling through your chest.

He likes you. You like him. You’re idiots—Kenma’s words, not yours. And apparently, neither of you has been hiding it as well as you thought.

You inhale slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. Then you square your shoulders. “Okay,” you say to yourself, “I can do this. Just… go out there and act normal. Or as normal as possible while wanting to jump his bones. Easy.”

With that pep talk, you push off the wall, open the bathroom door, and step into the hallway, with completely unfounded confidence in yourself.

thirteen.

That confidence goes straight out the window because as soon as you walk back, you are caught off-guard by Kuroo standing in the middle of your living room, hands behind his back and wearing the guiltiest expression you’ve ever seen, obviously hiding something from your view. You’re scared, and immediately a little suspicious. 

“What are you doing?” you ask warily, taking very slow, careful steps toward him. “What is that?”

He ignores the question entirely, instead breaking into a triumphant grin. “Babyface,” he declares, “I have a Valentine’s Day gift for you.”

All the tension in your shoulders uncoils in one quick moment of relief. “Oh.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “Okay, this should be good. What is it—a frog? A cricket? Remember when you gave me that cricket in fourth grade?”

Kuroo stifles a laugh, as if recalling the memory of your horrified shriek when you opened a tiny shoebox to find a chirping insect. “I was trying to teach you about biology. You always liked science-y stuff,” he defends. “Besides, a cricket is romantic if you think about it long enough.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Please don’t tell me that’s what’s behind your back right now.”

He steps forward, eyes warm with mirth. “I promise. This is way better.”

He produces a small, flat object from behind him—a rectangular folder, sealed by a thin, glossy cover. At first, you’re genuinely perplexed. It’s too big to be a normal card, and there’s no way it’s a book, unless it’s some custom print job. The corners are crisp, the material looks like maybe photo paper. Curiosity coaxes you closer.

Catching your confusion, Kuroo grins wider. “Look inside.”

With a hint of skepticism, you slip your fingers under the cover, peeling it back. Inside is a high-quality color print—like a medical scan or something from a research article. Black-and-gray cross-sections and bright neon highlights fill your vision, and as you blink, trying to parse the image, your mouth goes dry. You recognize the shape of a human brain from an fMRI scan: swirling patterns in vivid oranges and reds indicating activated regions.

“Is this… an fMRI?” you breathe, your hand trembling slightly as you lift the print to the light. Definitely an fMRI, your trained eye confirms—distinct slices, certain labeling, the faint text from the imaging software. “Tetsu, why the hell are you giving me…?”

He shifts, almost shy, scratching the back of his neck. “I asked one of the JVA’s partnered sports med facilities to do a little favor for me.” A pause. “A small, borderline unethical favor.”

Your eyes dart back to the vibrant splotches. “The nucleus accumbens,” you whisper, tapping a bright orange blob near the center. “And the hippocampus. They’re… lit up.” You draw in a sharp breath. “These areas activate when you’re—”

“—experiencing motivation, reward, or strong emotional attachment,” he finishes gently, voice hushed. “Like, for instance, thinking about someone you love.”

Your heart stutters so violently you nearly drop the print. “So, you—this is… from your brain?” you manage, your throat suddenly tight.

Kuroo nods, looking almost bashful, which is a jarring contrast to his usual smug confidence. “They scanned me while I was, uh… focusing on a particular mental image.” He glances away, expression uncharacteristically shy. “I figured you’d like the hard data. You being a scientist and all.”

You force yourself to swallow past the dryness in your mouth. “You’re telling me you literally got an fMRI done while thinking about… someone?” Your voice trembles on the last word, and you can’t quite meet his eye.

He exhales a quick laugh. “Uh-huh. Didn’t take long. I just, you know, had to fill out some forms, promise it was for a PR stunt about brain health or something. Then I, well, closed my eyes and pictured—”

“Who?” you interrupt, not even caring that you sound breathless. You’re clutching the fMRI print so hard you can feel the edges biting into your fingertips.

Kuroo’s grin turns downright sheepish, and he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Take a wild guess, babyface.”

Heat floods your cheeks, your mind flashing back to all the data you’ve read about how the nucleus accumbens is heavily involved in romantic love, addiction, reward. All those nights you taught undergrads about dopaminergic pathways and the hippocampus’s role in forming new memories—specifically, emotional memories.

“You… you were thinking about me?” you ask, voice scarcely above a whisper.

The sheepishness melts into something warmer. “Yeah,” he admits, gaze holding yours. “Obviously.”

For a moment, your living room goes silent—no hum of traffic or whir of appliances registers in your ears, just the thud-thud-thud of your heart as you stare at the bright orange smears on the print. He was literally focusing on you, flooding his mind with thoughts of you, enough to trigger all these hallmark signs of love and emotional resonance in his brain.

“You—” you start, but your voice is shaky. You take a breath, dropping your eyes to the image again. “This is probably the strangest and most… scientifically romantic thing anyone’s ever given me.”

He clears his throat, stepping closer. “I hoped you’d see it that way. I know you’re not into the typical Valentine’s gifts—flowers and cheesy cards. So I thought, you know… I’d show you proof.” He shrugs, but there’s an earnestness in his eyes that makes your chest tighten. “Real, measurable proof that you’re always in my head.”

Overcome, you tear your gaze from the print to search his face, half expecting him to burst into laughter and say it’s another joke. But there’s no sign of teasing. He’s dead serious, a bit vulnerable, and it reminds you painfully of how you’ve known him forever—how under all the arrogance and jokes, he’s always worn his heart right there on his sleeve.

“I—” You can’t find the words, so instead, you lean forward, pressing your forehead gently against his shoulder. The fMRI print stays clutched in your hand at your side, but the rest of you rests against him, trying to steady your breathing.

Kuroo’s arms come up, enveloping you. You feel the softness of his shirt and the warmth of his body, and it’s equal parts comforting and electrifying. “So,” he says softly, voice rumbling through your hair, “was this too much?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “No,” you say, the corners of your mouth tilting up in a shaky smile. “It’s just… a lot to take in.” You let out a small laugh, one that wobbles on the edge of tears. “You literally went out of your way to prove you’re thinking about me with actual neuroscience data. How am I supposed to top that?”

He grins, the tension in his shoulders easing. “You don’t have to. Maybe just trust me when I say you’re stuck in my head, yeah?”

A breathless little chuckle escapes you. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I… can do that.”

For a second, the two of you just stand there, pressed together, the overhead light casting a soft glow on the fMRI print you still clutch in your trembling hand. Then Kuroo’s voice breaks the silence:

“Hey,” he murmurs, “since we’re on the subject of your super-scientific interest in my reward pathways… maybe we can do a little experiment?”

Your brow arches, a half-laugh catching in your throat. “An experiment, huh?”

“Mhm.” He carefully closes his hand around your wrist—the one holding the print—guiding it so you can set it gently on the coffee table nearby. Then he slides his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to his. “I wanna see if I can spike some more activity in that region. Because I’m definitely thinking about you right now.”

Your heart stutters. The last time he teased you about wanting to test something, you were six years old, and he was coaxing you into believing that tying your shoelaces together would make you run faster. This, though? Vastly different stakes.

Still, your lips twitch into a wry smile. “Just… kissing me won’t show up on an fMRI unless you, I don’t know, plan on hooking up electrodes or something.”

He smirks, fingers trailing up to brush the line of your jaw. “Nah, no fancy medical tech needed. I just want an empirical result—like, say, a moan or a heartbeat spike.”

A shiver runs through you, and you swear you can feel your pulse jump beneath his hand. “You’re such a nerd,” you whisper, lips quirking. “But sure. For science.”

He laughs softly, the sound warm and easy, like the last golden light of sunset spilling through half-open blinds. Then, before you can think too much about it, he closes the distance, tilting his head just slightly as his lips brush against yours in a kiss that is warm, lingering, and unhurried. It steals your breath, not in the way a storm might, but like a tide gently pulling you under, enveloping you in something deep and inevitable.

The taste of him is familiar yet new all at once—there’s the faint trace of the sushi from earlier, or maybe just the memory of it, mingling with something sweeter, something unmistakably him. His fingers ghost along your waist, their presence featherlight but grounding, like a silent promise that he’s here, he’s real. And when he pulls you closer, his body pressing flush against yours, you feel it—the way your heart flutters wildly against your ribs, the way warmth spreads through your chest like a sunrise breaking over the horizon.

For a moment, the world holds its breath. Everything fades away—the hum of the city beyond the window, the soft glow of the overhead lights, even the thoughts that usually crowd your mind. There is only this: the way his lips move with quiet reverence, the quiet hitch in your breath as your fingers curl instinctively into the fabric of his shirt, the subtle shift of his body as he deepens the kiss just enough to make your pulse race.

And then, suddenly, you realize—you don’t need a machine or a calculation to tell you how you feel. The answer is already written in the way your entire chest hums, in the way your skin tingles where he touches you, in the way something inside you feels like it’s come alive, like a supernova has replaced your heart.

God, the astrophysics department should be studying this instead.

When he finally pulls back—foreheads brushing, breath mingling—he searches your eyes, his own half-lidded with affection. “So,” he murmurs, “did I succeed in lighting up your hippocampus?”

Your laugh comes out a little breathless. “If you keep that up,” you say, pressing a palm to his chest, “you might just rewire my entire brain.”

He grins, leaning in again to drop a quick peck at the corner of your mouth. “Good. Then I’ll have all the data I need.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another lingering kiss, feeling the warmth of his smile against your lips. In the back of your mind, you’re distantly aware that your own reward pathways might be exploding, nucleus accumbens glowing neon, hippocampus forging brand-new memories like a bonfire. And for the first time in a long time, you’re okay with letting the feelings have free rein.

Because sometimes, science can capture how people feel, but it can’t fully capture why. And right now, with Kuroo’s arms around you and that precious fMRI print still waiting on the coffee table, you think you’ve finally found your “why” in the easiest, most obvious place of all:

He loves you, and you love him back.

fourteen.

Three hundred and sixty-four days later, Kuroo is helping you move into a new apartment. In Tokyo. Because Columbia offered you the chance to do an exchange with the University of Tokyo before the end of your doctorate studies. For two entire years, slicing open human brains and figuring out what’s going on beneath, because your article published in Neuron made the cover page and you got a fat and juicy grant from the school. Two entire years of being close enough to hear your parents bragging about you in person again, and to have shitty takeout dinner with Kenma after his video game streams but before his corporate mojo. 

And two entire years of getting to live with your boyfriend. Kuroo, your very wonderful boyfriend who you love more than life itself and who you want to be buried with one day. The Kuroo who was the first person you liked at six years old and is still who you like at twenty-six. The Kuroo who you have successfully managed an international relationship with because you’ve already went three years apart without the spark dying. Still, you’re absolutely beaming as you carry in boxes and boxes of clothes, because you always love getting to be with him, in person and in real life, and now you get to every single day.

You can’t hang up on him when he gets annoying anymore, but it’s worth it when he makes you breakfast daily and reaches for you in his sleep. 

You heave another box into the apartment—this one filled with mismatched mugs you’ve collected from half a dozen coffee shops—and set it down with a groan. Kuroo flashes you a grin from across the living room, one hand resting casually on his hip as he surveys the chaos of half-unpacked boxes and hastily labeled luggage.

“You brought an entire suitcase just for shoes,” he points out, amused.

“Hey,” you protest, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand, “if I’m living here for two years, I’m not just gonna live in sneakers.”

He ambles over and nudges the box with his foot. “I guess that’s fair—though I’m not carrying that one up another flight of stairs if we end up moving again. You’ll have to bribe Kenma for help.”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips free. “Fine, fine. Now, major question: where are we putting our bed?”

He waggles his eyebrows, eyes bright with mischief. “We?” he echoes, as if you haven’t been living together for all of thirty minutes. “I’m pretty sure I get ultimate bed placement rights, given my extensive experience in interior design.”

“Oh, sure, because black-cat-themed t-shirts and old gym hoodies scream ‘interior design mogul.’”

He smirks. “Hey, I’ve got taste.” With that, he gestures expansively toward the center of a wall in the room you’d marked for the bed, where the largest patch of light from the window splashes onto the floor. “I say we put the bed there. We’ll get a queen, obviously.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A queen? As if you’re actually gonna stay on your side.”

His grin turns lazy. “Exactly. I can find you in the expanse.”

“And you wonder why I think you’re annoying.” You toss him a mock exasperated look, which only earns you another chuckle.

“You still chose to live with me,” he points out, that devilish glint in his eyes returning, “because you’re stuck with me, right here.”

“Lucky me,” you tease, while your heart still does that stupid flutter thing at the thought of waking up next to him every day.

He walks over and presses a quick kiss to your forehead. It’s such a simple, tender gesture that you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

“Speaking of tomorrow,” you say, turning back to break down an empty cardboard box, “it’s Valentine’s Day. Any big plans, or are we just, y’know, gonna eat convenience store chocolates while finishing the bed frame?”

Kuroo shrugs, far too casually for someone who’s obviously up to something. “Mmm, I might have a surprise,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Of course you do. You and your surprises. Is it expensive, by chance?”

His brows lift in feigned innocence. “Depends if you consider a diamond ring expensive.”

You almost drop the box, now flattened and very, very large. “A what now?”

He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “You heard me.”

He’s kidding. He has to be fucking kidding, right now. He did not spend a small fortune on a rock for your finger.

“Fucking return that,” you blurt instantly, your heart skipping not one but multiple beats. “That’s so expensive. Why would you do that?”

“Well, if I’m gonna get my future wife a ring, I’m gonna make it an investment,” Kuroo replies with an ease that makes your chest tighten all over again.

“Wait—what the… Are you—are you serious?”

He leans closer, lips tilting in a secretive smile. “I guess you’ll find out tomorrow.”

Your mind whirls, half in shock, half in outright giddy disbelief. You’re suddenly hyperaware of everything: his calm breathing, the faint noises from the street outside, the way the newly painted walls catch the late afternoon light.

“Are you messing with me?” you finally manage.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says, and then taps the tip of your nose affectionately. “But trust me, you’ll like it.”

It’s maddening and wonderful all at once, and you can’t help but wonder how on earth you got lucky enough to stumble into a future that looks a whole lot like happiness—especially if it involves a ring.

But for now, you tamp down the frantic beating of your heart and glance at the corner of the room. “Right,” you say, clearing your throat. “Queen bed. Got it.”

He laughs. “We’ll get the perfect one tomorrow. After all, we have at least two years of me latching onto you in my sleep, and then… maybe forever.”

And you roll your eyes, but you know what’ll happen tomorrow. Because of course you’re going to say yes. Because Kuroo Tetsuro has been the love of your life since you were a kid marrying him with dandelions, and because in every version of your imagined future, he’s still there, standing across from you at the aisle, regardless of if it’s a Band-Aid or an engagement ring he’s putting on your finger. Because he still makes every reward center in your brain light up (and because you’re putting that fMRI in your office at the university). 

Honestly, love is a system of chemical reactions. Scanners and artificial intelligence will probably take over the world sooner or later, and the scientific community is getting better and better at understanding the whys. You can measure the dopamine flooding your brain, track the firing of mirror neurons, and map out which regions of your cortex light up at the sound of his laugh. But still, science is flawed, because all the scanning techniques in the world can’t replicate the soft, certain rhythm of his heartbeat under your palm, or the way his eyes crinkle in tender amusement when he looks at you.

In this moment, your hippocampus diligently encodes every detail: the slight scuff on the floor, the teasing quirk of his lips, the warm press of his shoulder against yours. The memory crystallizes, even before tomorrow’s promise fully forms, because you already know the answer. You always have.

When you finally pull your gaze away, the last rays of sunlight spill over the spot where you’ll put your new bed—the place you’ll fall asleep entangled in each other’s arms, night after night. You picture the days ahead: lazy mornings that begin with his sleepy kisses, evenings spent side by side, peeling back the layers of the human mind and finding new depths in each other all the while.

And as your heart thrums with a rhythm that science can’t quite pin down—something that defies clean categorization in textbooks—you realize that in this bright, messy, glorious future, every neuron in your body is wired just for him.

And if that’s not proof enough of love, you’re not sure what is.

⨭ closing notes; i love being able to write bc i can create purely self indulgent things like this. i'm a neuroscientist and my bday is nov 14 (exactly 9 months after valentine's day) and im from nyc so this one really has a lil kick to it. did u notice i made it perfectly 14 chapters cause feb 14 lol i rly used my brain for that one. anyway happy day of love!! whether ur celebrating or not, please know i love u all <3

[lowkeyrobin]

Hii!! Is it possible to request a Minho x Reader Angst fic? I don’t have any real ideas for what i just rlly like angst😭

Anyway make sure you’re looking after yourself!!

YES 🙏🙏 I concocted the perfect idea for this so I hope you enjoy! ; thank you for requesting!! ; I wrote like a good chunk of this in geometry and physical science so this is actually kinda good lol ; also this is so damn long for me what the FUCK. ; also a bit of inspo in the end thanks to she by jelly roll...

MINHO ; they

summary ; minho loses you again

warnings ; language, guns & gun violence, explosions/bombs, death, he rips off your wckd jacket & top (not sexual), and a panic attack

disclaimers ; top ten most unneeded deaths in cinema

track ; she, jelly roll (again, not a word)

word count ; 2.5k

masterlist

Minho lost everything he'd been able to remember once he left the Glade, including you.

You were a smart thinker, which confused him as to why you stayed back with Gally and the other skeptics who didn't want to find escape in the maze. He tried so hard to convince you to come, but with such little time, he couldn't.

He'd spent months imprisoned mourning the loss of your presence. He didn't know how to function without you. He wondered where you were all the time, if you were even alive or not. He'd been wishing the best in your fate, in the scorch and back in the hands of WCKD. He missed your dorky smile and infectious laughter, hoping one day he could hear it again, even in the stars that he oh-so-missed gazing with you.

Your name scorched his heart every time it was spoken. Your face was engraved in his brain, to the point every time he thought of or imagined you, he'd fight back tears to stay strong. You were weaponized against him, being used to create false memories and episodes to help them find a cure.

Every time he'd wake up from a real dream where you were present, he'd end up in tears, to then have to cradle himself back to sleep. He'd been confined like this for months, then another few days before the bust. It was so, so much worse in the Last City, he'd rather have died in some horrific train crash then have missed his chance at freedom.

However, you survived. Gally did, too, though, even after Minho pierced his chest with a spear.

You'd joined some revolution gang together, learning to use guns and join the ranks. You'd been given bulletproof vests once you proved your worth, officially becoming part of the team.

Reuniting with Thomas, Fry, and Newt was a story in itself, but knowing, or at least hoping, that you'd see Minho again made your heart race in your chest. Gally took Thomas and Newt out to explore the perimeter of the city, letting you reconnect and catch up with Fry and get to know Brenda and her father figure Jorge.

Brenda grew fond of you quickly, liking your badassery and passion to overthrow WCKD. She knew you weren't into trying to kill innocents and understood that you wanted bullets in Janson's and Paige's heads, and you were willing to do it for free.

You showed her and Fry how to use the electro-guns, two you'd stolen from WCKD guards that defended the city walls. They're good for torture, but it was never your taste of tea, you left the others to do the sick shit. You wanted your friends back, you didn't even know they'd been free up til earlier today.

Once the trio came back, they set up a plan that you and Gally jumped in on to deflect and suggest ideas. It was set for tomorrow night, and you didn't know how to process it. You try not to think of Minho the rest of the night, which you awfully fail at, as you'd fallen asleep thinking of him.

You play out your role over and over again, overthinking every single detail down to the grade of gun you'd have strapped to your side. Gally, now your close friend after all this time together, could see your nervousness and anticipation.

"You okay?" He asks, leaning on the railing to your shared bunk bed. You slept on the bottom, him on the top.

You nod, arms sprawled over the top of your pillow, basically holding it like it was going anywhere. "I'm good. Nervous"

He nods, "It'll be alright, we're gonna get him back"

You'd stolen WCKD gaurd suits, your first priority. You and Gally walk around the perimeter of the building post getting the kids on the bus. Your masks are up to avoid any real guards noticing that you're fakes. He holds his bulky gun across his chest, while yours is angled with the safety on across your back. A hand rests over the pistol on your side.

You can feel your heart pounding behind your ribcage, the anticipation of seeing Minho and taking down WCKD killing you. Gally pats your shoulder for reassurance and nods forward silently, wanting to pick up the pace.

You notice explosions in the distance, firey flames illuminating the sky.

As you walk under the main area, you notice a fire extinguisher land in the modern pool, splashing water into the air as it sinks to the bottom. You hear yells, then three bodies plop into the pool. You and three other guards behind you run to the scene, while you and Gally lag behind, knowing who just showed up.

Thomas, Newt, and Minho rise out of the water, floating over to the side after Thomas sends Janson, standing in the bay of the window, maybe twenty stories high, a middle finger. They wade over to the edge and pull themselves out, guards hold them at gunpoint, leaving their faces shaken and in despair.

Gally acts first, shoving one of the guards into the pool, then you pistol whip the one on your right, and you together knock out the last guy. The boys stare at you two, confused as to why two guards had apparently saved them, their questions are quickly answered as Gally rips his mask off.

"Hey"

"Oh, you bloody genius!"

"Oh, shit"

"What the hell?" Minho mutters.

Laying your eyes on him again, even though that mask, it brought you nearly to tears. Seeing his eyes, so tired, his body clearly so weak from the mental and physical stress, your heart broke for him. You make sure your handheld gun had the safety on before tucking it away properly.

"Long story" Gally replies to Minho, knowing what he was thinking.

Minho, still in genuine shock, adrenaline coursing through his veins, looks to you, wondering if you were maybe Brenda or Fry. You bite the inside of your cheek before pulling your mask off, softly smiling at Minho.

Newt and Thomas smile, Newt much more weak, as he was beginning to crank out.

"Y/n?" He questions in disbelief. "How- am I dreaming again?"

You quickly pound the boy into a hug, the moisture from his body rubbing off onto your red and grey outfit. The mask lays on the concrete, where Gally kicks it into the water, same with his.

You hear him begin to sob, holding onto you so tightly in fear you'd disappear like all the times before. You rub his back with your dominant hand, which trails up his spine toward his nape.

"I thought you were dead" He cries, "They've been using you in those simulations-"

"It's okay." You softly speak, "We have to go, you can tell me all about it later"

He nods, eyes still widened in shock and confusion as you follow the other three as they quickly flee the scene.

You take cover by some bushes, leaving Newt on the side to rip his jacket off as he sweats profusely. The veins in his neck were bulging out of his skin, colored a matte black.

You couldn't help but stare, unable to listen to the others talk. You quickly rush to his aid, wanting to help him be the most comfortable he possibly could be.

You crouch down next to him, giving him some reassuring words that he'd be okay. You help him to his feet, where Minho is at your side.

Gally and Thomas lead the way as another explosion rings through the air near you. You duck your head as some loose shrapnel lightly hits your skin, thankfully not enough force given to puncture your face.

The explosions only become worse as you run through a little diner, having no alternate route around as the city was being blown to smithereens.

"God damnit, we said blow up the entrance, not the whole damn city"

Newt falls to the ground, too weak to walk as black ooze drips from his lips. Glass explodes behind you, in which you quickly shove Minho to the ground in front of you to protect him. You cover your head, letting the glass shards hit your protected back.

He gasps for air for a moment as Thomas and Gally prop him up against a safe wall, trying to talk to him. You and Minho follow suit, making a quick plan to go get the temporary cure from Brenda and Jorge, and run back to give it to Newt.

"Stay strong for me, okay?" Minho speaks, his hands on the blonde's shoulders.

He nods, his eyes clearly lost in a daze, his vision blurry and wobbly.

Minho pats his shoulder before standing up, letting you give him a nod of reassurance. You and Gally follow Minho, weapons drawn to protect him as he leads with his quick sprinting skills.

You three get one last look at Newt and Thomas before fleeing, working your way through the maze of buildings and explosions to get to your friends. Gally shoots a guard at his side while you do the same at about a 10'o'clock radius.

"This way!"

You follow Minho, the explosions so loud that they defeaned gunshots. The battery on your stolen WCKD gun runs out, and you toss it to the side, resorting to using your pistol to defend your friends. Another bomb nearly knocks you off your feet, causing you to stumble into Minho.

"Sorry!" You shout over the noise.

"You okay?" He shouts back, helping you balance on your feet again.

"Yeah!" You quickly reply, nodding forward for him to continue running to get the cure.

You make it down to the Berg, where Fry, Brenda and Jorge await your arrival.

"The cure!"

"We can't leave him here like this"

"We can't take him back-"

"We have to, please"

"It's too dangerous, we won't make it back to the Berg in time, or we'll get blown up carrying him!"

You stand at Minho's side, looking down at the blonde haired boy as he stands up. He wipes the tears from his eyes, looking at you.

"We have to leave him, Minho"

He nods, slowly placing the cure in Newt's cold hand. He takes one last look at him before turning away, waiting for anyone to speak and give orders.

Brenda speaks up again, deciding to get back to the Berg as fast as possible. You all follow her, guns out, ready to shoot whoever you had to at this point.

Minho turns to you as you run side by side, "Why are you here? Why are you putting yourself in the face of danger? To save me or something?"

You give him a little head tilt to act as a shrug, "You called"

"What?"

You shake your head, deciding to explain it once you were in the hands of safety. An explosion, which cause the ground to rumble beneath you, knocks you all off your feet and onto the hard concrete.

You all groan in pain, having fallen all over each other. Brenda had fallen onto Fry, and they both stumble to the side, apologizing to one another profusely. You'd fallen onto Minho, of course, and help him back to his feet.

You feel lightheaded, your face growing cold, odd for the amount of heat and fire and running around you'd been doing. You lean onto the boy, feeling woozy, as maybe you'd stood up to fast.

Then you fall to your knees, some invisible force knocking you down, your cargo pants ripping at the knees from the impact.

"Y/n!" You hear Minho shout, his voice echoey in your ears.

You hear three gunshots coming from each Fry, Gally, and Brenda. You look back, seeing a WCKD guard fall on their back after taking three shots to the head and chest. Minho's hands rest on your shoulder and on your cheek as he calls your name, asking if you're okay. You see his eyes glance down, where he quickly looks back up to not scare you.

You stand up, numb to any pain. He follows, making sure you're able to keep balance on your feet. He quickly rips off the bulletproof vest for you and your jacket, revealing the wound right under your collar bone.

You look down at it, then look back up at him, eyebrows furrowed. You look to the other three, eyes widened in shock and fear. Another explosion pops a few hundred yards away, shaking the ground again, though not enough to knock you all down once more.

Minho quickly shouts for anything he can use to keep pressure on the wound. He held his hand over it, as the bleeding was horrible at the moment. His hands are covered in your blood, considering the bullet that shot you went clear through you. You notice the bullet a few feet away, light flickering off of it as it rolls into the street where multiple bloody bodies lay.

Minho rips a piece of his shirt and stuffs it into the exit wound, ordering you to hold it there. He pulls you along as you continue running through the city. Your left arm rests over Minho's shoulders, not wanting to upset your other side. Considering moving, it would only agitate it more, and you were trying to keep pressure on the wound anyway.

As you reach the final yards to reach the Berg where Jorge and Vince wait, you collapse to your knees again, landing face first in the debris covered concrete. Minho falls with you, your weight having dragged him down. He tries to pull you up but notices the pool of blood forming around you. A thin, but large pool.

He calls your name over and over, then flips you on your back, where blood sputters out of your mouth. He quickly pulls you up, your back now held up by Brenda and Fry, who were quick to turn back. Gally crouches down on one knee and slowly removes the cloth from the wound, absolutely drenched in crimson.

"No, no, no, no. Not now! Y/n, get up, please," He pleads, watching Vince and Jorge rush to your aid. "They were shot by a gaurd, went clean through, there's so much blood-"

You reach your hand out to Minho as the men pick you up off the ground, where you stumble to walk with them. They practically carry you on their shoulders to the Berg.

Another explosion knocks you all to the ground again, leaving bruises on faces, arms, and legs as you're pounded onto the ground. You'd be lucky enough not to get AIDS at this point.

Minho stumbles to his feet, rushing to you as the men pick themselves up before you.

He notices blood spewing from the other side of your chest. He rips the extra layers of clothing off your torso, tossing your pistol to the side as well. Gally looks around, finger on the trigger of his gun, looking for a shooter.

"Stray bullet!" Brenda shouts, "Get them in there! Go! Thomas needs us!"

Minho places his hands under your arms and drags you into the Berg himself, all the children right in view of your slumped body. You choke on blood and air, feeling your face grow cold and pale. The liquid trails up into the aircraft, staining the hard metal red for the time being.

Vince jumps into the driver's seat, ordering the others to help you and how to before it's too late. Brenda stands next to him, trying to get any info out of Thomas through the walkies.

You wrap your arms around Minho, feeling the pain in your chest now as you grunt and cry. You squeeze onto the back of his shirt, the pain causing you to claw your fingers into him. He holds you, his heart breaking in two as you struggle to breathe.

The placement, it wasn't possible to keep you this time. It wasn't possible to keep you and be free in any situation, in any timeline, in any universe.

"I don't wanna say goodbye"

He sits on the beach every morning, talking to the sunrise as if you were there next to him. He didn't mind the sand that would pile up in his boots or the dusty grain that would stick to his hydrophoric hands all damn day if it weren't for the water there to wash it away.

His fingers traced over your name on the rock when he felt lonely, like you were magically there, hugging him again.

He'd never know for sure what you meant when you said that he called. He understood that you definitely didn't hear him call for you after awakening after nightmares, but maybe you did, he wouldn't have known. He guessed in a metaphorical sense, he did call for you, which you both knew, but it still confused him somehow. He wanted you to explain it all so he'd understand, like how you always did.

He regretted never being able to rant about all his feelings to you. He wished he had time to tell you about all he went through so you could reassure him that you'd protect him forever. You'd protect him from the nightmares and the scars, the mental baggage that would weigh him down forever.

He started crying himself to sleep after he began to forget your face.

He just wanted another hug, but your face was beginning to blur out. It sent him into a panic attack right there. No one was there to help him as he cried and clawed into the dirt, trying to ground himself again. He couldn't believe himself, he treasured you so much yet he was forgetting your face after merely a year after your dissapearance?

It didn't help that after a while, he began to forget your voice too, that hurt even more. He'd been forced to talk about his feelings to Thomas like a parent-child conference. He wasn't himself anymore.

His eyes were always swollen, eyebags dark and weighing his happiness down. He was depressed. Every smile he showed was just him trying to make his way through another day's work, distracting himself from the fact that he lost you, for good this time, he watched it.

He wrote letters to you with no address to send to. It didn't help whatsoever that he himself pushed you out into the sea once Thomas regained consciousness so he could say farewell. He watched it all, he knew you were gone this time. At least he had some sense of closure.

He had nothing left of you other than that WCKD jacket you wore, that haunted him as he slept. He only kept it because even with the logo of the corporation that tortured him for years and past the bullet holes in it, it provided him a little comfort that you were still there.

He found that telling stories of you to the younger kids helped.

"They were like the life of the party, bright smile, infectious laughter. They were the one everyone wanted to be around. You could see the sunrise in their eyes."

"Who were they to you?" One little girl asks.

"I don't really know" Minho shrugs, looking down at his hands for a moment.

"Where are they now?" A little boy asks, tilting his head.

"They're in the sky, they have been. They're stuck there. I hope I see them again" He replies with a little nod, looking up at the sun beginning to set up on the island.

"Why are they stuck in the sky?"

"They're afraid of coming down"

[fall0utmind]

MEDICAL LEAK AU PT 5 UP NOW

AO3 here

Gonna link pt 1-4 below tomorrow (I need to sleep) but for now, find them on my medical leak au tag on my page :)

I am so fucking sorry for the delay!!

Work has been manic, I basically rewrote this whole thing cause I hated it and now I am sick - woooooo

Anyways, I hope you enjoy it, I'm actually proud of this one, after the long rewrite.

Please, please, please come talk to me about what you think and what you wanna see!!! I need motivation to finish this.

Normal tags and warnings apply :)

(Tw/ suicidal thoughts, overdoses)

Alex had warned them that this is how Marc deals with things. He bottles it up until he can’t anymore, and then he goes somewhere private where he can lick his wounds and let himself fall apart. Watching Marc be so vulnerable, his usual mask of untouchable indifference falling away, is devastating. Jorge holds Marc closer as he trembles, small tremors wracking his frame. He looks incredibly young, curled up in between the older riders. Marc is completely lost in his thoughts now, distress radiating off him. He has been mostly silent, apart from the occasional miserable noises. Now though, he begins to cry, his face moving to press into Jorge’s shoulder as his body shakes with the force of his sobs, uncaring of who he’s clinging to. Marc and Jorge have never been that close, but the older man feels protective of him, in part because the 2015 fallout centred so much around his championship win, but also because of Dani’s soft spot for Marc. Jorge knows it was a big sign of trust for Marc to allow him to stay and witness this, especially from a man who is usually so guarded.

It’s unclear what Marc is imagining in the depths of his mind, but he has begun to slur words in between his sobs. Most of the words are incoherent, but Valentino’s and Alex’s names are clear, alongside the interchanging wrecked pleas to both end his suffering and let him live. Seeing so clearly the devastation Marc has suffered is horrific for them all, but Alex most of all looks gutted, like his heart has been shattered. He has heard those pleas before, back in 2015 when he found Marc and when he had saved his life.

It is this that prompts Jorge to gently shake Marc to awareness, knowing the pain is too much, too dark. Once the medication wears off, he will be ashamed of his weakness. It does not matter how natural or understandable his reaction is, especially after all the shit he has had to deal with; he hates vulnerability. The only thing his friends can do is sit with him during the fallout.

“Marc”

The younger man stirs slightly, choking on a breath as he sobs. He clutches at Jorge weakly, trying to catch his breath in between his cries.

“Cazzo, Marc, you’re ok, you’re ok.”

*

Marc returns to his body with a pounding head and a sore throat, which only ever occurs when he has cried himself dry. He’s a mess; the memories which assaulted him are still at the forefront of his mind, making him feel sick to the stomach. He is in the weird stage where the medicine is wearing off but still making him feel hazy; everything is soft around the edges. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out. He rubs at his face and notices his cheeks are wet. He would usually be mortified by the idea of crying in front of everyone, but he can't bring himself to care in the circumstances. He feels wrung out and over-tired. He knows his eyes will be red and his face blotchy and he frowns at the thought. Dani breaks the silence first, handing Marc some water.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit, but also somehow better. I’m sorry for losing it like that-”

Dovi interrupts him before he can finish that thought, fury simmering in his voice.

“Don’t you dare apologise. I don’t care what he taught you about having to hide away, but you don’t have to with us. We know you’re strong, but you don’t have to be strong right now. Not here, not with us.”

Marc gulps back more tears and instead smiles sadly at Dovi, unwilling to touch upon the reference to Valentino. Instead, he turns to look at his younger brother, who looks distraught; it makes him frown slightly. He hates the thought of causing his brother’s sadness. In Marc’s opinions, it is the worst thing he can do, and he has done it often in the last few years. Guilt spikes through him. Alex catches his eyes and shakes his head, knowing exactly what Marc is thinking, as fine-tuned as they are to each other's emotions.

“It’s not your fault, germà. I would take all your pain if I could.”

It makes Marc’s heart break a little. He addresses all of them, his little group of friends, of protectors. These people have seen him at his worst; they have refused to leave when Marc was on rock bottom, and they stuck with him when the world hurled abuse at him. Without them, he would be unmoored in the ocean, drowned by the waves.

“Thank you for staying.”

It’s Jorge who answers.

“Of course.”

*

The waning effects of the medication become clear as the bruises splashed across Marc’s body begin to ache. His shoulder is sore, and the muscles surrounding the joint are tight and stiff, causing him to shift uncomfortably. Alex catches his brother’s poorly concealed winces and hands Marc the rest of his approved dose without a comment. Marc tries to protest; the thought of having more drugs, of needing more, makes him feel queasy. Marc’s relationship with the medication is still rocky. It makes him feel weak and defenceless. It reminds him of dependence, hospital visits, and overdoses. Every time he has those little white pills in his hands, he sees Alex’s blurry face hovering over him, shouting his name, his panic choking him. He hates it. But he knows that if he wants to sleep tonight, he needs to take the stronger stuff that he is prescribed. After Jerez and his arm, normal ibuprofen doesn’t do much for his pain. Alex's eyes are pleading, desperately attempting to convey that Marc is safe here. That he can be vulnerable; he doesn’t have to sit with the pain. The others watch on sadly. Dani feels guilt clawing at him that he didn't notice in 2015 and beyond. When they were still teammates, Marc wouldn’t take the pain medication he was given. Dani always thought it was some weird pleasure of the pain that came from racing and crashing. And then later, perhaps a sick self-punishment for making a mistake. Although he now realises the latter is partially true, he is kicking himself for not digging up a further meaning. He’s not the first to notice Marc’s aversion to medication; it had been a weekly fight with Honda between 2015 and 2020. Nobody was aware of the reason. Why Marc went from hating the sight of the tablets to taking as many as he possibly could after Jerez was less of a mystery. For Marc Marquez, when choosing between not riding or traumatic memories, he’ll always choose the emotional anguish. He swallows the pills.

Alex smiles gently at him, pushing a container of pre-prepared food towards him. Marc turns up his nose; he had already eaten something earlier.

“Eat, you’ll be high as hell if you don’t”

“Not hungry”

Marc pouts, and Christ Alex forgot how obstinate and immature his brother could be, especially after taking his medication. The image of 31-year-old Marc behaving like a toddler makes Dovi chuckle in amusement.

“Marc, you have to eat something-”

“No.”

“Marc, for God’s sake, you can’t just not eat.”

“But I don’t want that. I’ll have a protein bar.”

Their fight is interrupted by a loud knock at the door and a voice calling from outside.

“Marc?”

Anxiety grips Marc, argument forgotten. Instead, he imagines another fervent Rossi fan clawing at their door. Alex jumps to his feet, freezing as the voice speaks again.

“Marc, come on, I know you’re in there, the lights are on.”

Confusion engulfs Alex as he approaches the front of the motorhome, trying to place the somewhat familiar voice. He cautiously unlocks the door and peeks outside, blinking against the darkness. Shock colours his features, his eyes widening as he stares before he comes to his senses and attempts to slam the door shut. The only thing keeping it from closing completely is the foot of their surprise visitor.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Alex practically growls

“Is Marc here? I want to talk to him. Please.”

Dani joins him at the door, ready to help if things get out of hand. Pecco glances between the two Spanish men before letting out a melancholy sigh. Bez is fidgeting behind the world champion, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Alex definitely fancies slamming the door then, even more unimpressed by the sight of the younger Italian.

“I hate that all of this has happened, and I hate even more that we’ve been pitted against each other for no reason. I just want to talk; please can I come in?”

Pecco looks so forlorn standing outside their motorhome, his face open and honest. Marc must recognise the voice more than Alex does, as he calls out to his brother.

“Let him in, Alex.”

Marc is most likely not thinking clearly, and Alex is on the verge of saying no. Instead, with a disgruntled sigh, he steps aside to let Pecco in, looks at Bez, and then grudgingly concedes that he cannot tell him to fuck off. After shooting an exasperated look at Dani, he follows him back to the group of athletes lounging on their couches.

It turns out 7 fully grown adults are a few too many in the cramped space. Pecco takes the empty seat next to where Alex has sat back down, Bez awkwardly squeezing next to him. Marc stares with wide, clouded eyes, his hackles raised; he wasn’t expecting Bez. Although his relationship with Pecco is fairly neutral (probably due to his ambivalence to the whole Valentino situation) Bez and Marc have never been on good terms, the younger always jumping at the opportunity to defend his mentor. Marc frowns at them, untrusting, while his friends protectively shift closer to him. Clearly, from their baffled expressions, Bezzecchi and Bagnaia did not expect to see Marc huddled with Andrea Dovizioso and Jorge Lorenzo on the sofa.

*

Pecco is trying his hardest to comprehend the scene before him; he had not anticipated meeting the three retired riders alongside the brothers. He tilts his head slightly, examining the way Jorge and Dovi appear exasperated but pleased to have a clingy Marc Marquez sprawled on them. Marc himself looks pretty content at their proximity, which is strange; he didn’t think Marc was that close to either of them. Bez and he have clearly intruded, obvious from the disarray of everyone in the room. Marc has been crying, which is surprising in and of itself. Additionally, he appears to have taken some pretty strong painkillers – unsurprising after his crash but surprising after the most recent news reports. He turns towards Alex to voice this, but the younger Marquez beats him to it.

“He doesn’t need supervision these days, but if he is bad or, you know, unhappy, I keep his medication and watch over his dosing. He’s fine.”

Pecco nods in understanding, some of his concern lessening. An awkward kind of quiet falls over the group, no one knowing what to say. Strangely, Marc cannot guess the meaning for their visit, too used to other riders only turning up to pick a fight. Pecco is not one for dramatics, preferring to reign in his emotions, unlike his mentor and his friend. Marc breaks the silence first, curiosity beating pride.

“What are you here for, Bagnaia?”

That earns him a wry smile.

“I want to know if you’re okay.”

“Why do you care?”

The others tense in anticipation as Pecco visibly steals himself. He has found the last 24 hours difficult, fighting an internal battle of morality versus loyalty ever since the fateful press conference.

“I don’t hate you, Marc, and I don’t want to. Honestly, I think with time, maybe next year, we could be friends. I respect your talent, and yes, of course, sometimes I think you ride like a maniac, you take risks, and you are brutal on the track. But that is what makes you so good, so impressive. It is why you have 8 championships; I would be a fool to disregard that. Not only that but you love fiercely. I have seen the way you treat your friends and family, and I admire that.”

Marc thinks he might be dreaming; he pinches himself to be sure. Jorge notices and pushes his hand away with a scowl.

“Don’t lie. You all hate me because of him and his lies. I do not need you messing with my head as well. I see the way your academy copies him, echoing his venom, believing every word and taking his side. My life was hell back then, and you weren’t there to witness it. He ruined my life and tore everything from me. I know he thinks that I ruined his career and whatever other poison the man he calls a best friend fed him. I know he was angry and upset. But I was so young. It has been a decade. He won’t leave me alone. Don’t you understand? I raced to die; I risked it all in a passive attempt to not return to the pits. I just wanted him to look back at me; I wanted my hero to forgive me. Then after Jerez, when he didn’t even say anything and I gave up hope, I just took medication to cope. But Valentino and your precious academy can’t see that. No, instead I am reckless and selfish, only thinking of myself. It is not fair; none of it is fair.”

He feels Jorge tense underneath him and that revelation and knows that he has shared too much, but it is too late now. Pecco is observing him with sad eyes and Bezzecchi looks horrified.

“No, Marc, I do not hate you. I am sorry for the loathing you have felt. People like to push Valentino’s legacy onto me. We are not the same person. This is not my battle, and I refuse to be sucked into Vale’s fights from before I was even on the track. It is stupid.”

His eyes are glazed over and wet as he looks directly into Marc's. The anguish in them makes Marc flinch.

“My sister fought similar battles; it was the hardest time of my life.”

He meets Alex’s eyes, sharing a look of understanding at their joint hurt.

“I know you don’t believe me; I see that you have been hurt before. I hate that you have experienced such awful things, and I hate even more how you are being treated for it now. I am sure Alex feels how I do about Carola; it was the worst pain in the world. I would have given my life ten times over for her. It still hurts you and maybe it will always be raw, but I wish it was not like this.”

Bez lays a hand on Pecco’s shoulder, a show of silent support, prompting Marc to turn towards the youngest Italian.

“And you, Bezzecchi? I know you hate me; you have made that abundantly clear, so why are you here?”

Bez looks away at the accusation, guilt filling him. It is not in his nature to question someone he is loyal to.

“I- I realised I maybe took too much at face value. It is true that I did not like you, or more so the way you ride. But I also didn’t understand you or what you were going through. I guess that I want to make amends for that. And I did not want to leave Franci alone.”

Marc hums, considering Bez’s offer, before he nods, too exhausted and intoxicated to give it any more thought. Whatever, if Bezzecchi wants to be here, then fine, so long as he doesn’t cause any more pain. Rather, Marc returns his attention to Pecco with genuineness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry about your sister. It is difficult. I hope she’s in a better place now.”

Pecco’s eyes widen in shock, and Marc huffs out a laugh.

“She’s doing better now, thank you. I think you will get on with her well next year; she comes to all the races with me and the team.”

The Italian smiles tentatively, and Marc smiles back, quietly pleased about this admission from his future teammate. Bez glances between them with a frown, still unsure about the tentative truce they have formed. Instead, he turns towards Dovi, who is still eyeing him suspiciously, and shoots him his very best puppy eyes. The older man rolls his eyes at the display before roping Bez and Pecco into a conversation in rapid Italian about the season so far. Dani and Jorge are whispering quietly, the latter still petting Marc’s hair gently. The atmosphere has returned to its tranquil state, once more lulling Marc into a hazy headspace.

Concern is vibrating through Alex as he watches his brother doze. He can’t help but feel like this has all been a little bit too easy. The boys had looked flustered when they turned up, like they had hurried over, as if something had happened just beforehand. He tries to shake off the feeling, standing up and heading into the kitchenette. He grabs a protein bar from the cupboards and chucks it at Marc when he re-enters the main room, causing his brother to startle and glare at him. Dovi snickers at their antics; of course Alex had not forgotten about their previous scrap, much to Marc’s annoyance.

“Eat it.”

Marc scowls but dutifully rips open the packet and starts munching the bar, not before sticking his tongue out at his brother.

“So mature, Marc.”

This prompts a fit of giggles from the older as he continues to eat. Bez and Pecco look on in bewilderment at this version of Marc, the drugs making him more relaxed than they have ever seen. They are shuffling awkwardly as if they’d be kicked out at any minute, feeling a sensation of imposition at seeing the soft person in front of them. Marc rolls his eyes, looking strung out but content.

“Stay?”

And that settles it.

*

In all his stubborn glory, Marc refuses to move off his friends, citing comfort and fatigue as justifications. Alex grumbles good-naturedly about his perpetual clinginess on pain medication, prompting Marc to snuggle closer to Jorge, rubbing his face into the older man’s shoulder and startling a laugh out of him. Pecco looks at Dovi questioningly, his forehead furrowed into a frown, looking for any indication of jealousy in the older Italian but not detecting any. Jorge instantly notices and does not attempt to conceal his laughter laughter.

“Do not worry about it. Dovi hogs Marc the rest of the time; I am allowed him now whilst he is still high as a kite”

Marc pulls away to pout at him, denial on his lips. Before he can begin his argument, though, Alex speaks up, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Tell me about it; you should have seen them earlier. Dovi was practically eating Marc alive with his eyes; it was fucking ridiculous.”

Marc goes bright red at this comment, spluttering out an excuse. Dovi just looks unabashedly smug, meeting Alex’s eyes.

“Hey, when there’s an attractive shirtless man on the sofa when you enter the room, what else are you meant to do?”

Marc directs his glare towards Dovi, an unimpressed frown on his face at the betrayal, but frankly, with the medication softening him, he just looks cute. Dani and Jorge are cracking up at the thought, which only causes Marc to get more annoyed, his cheeks flaming hot.

“Ah, I did not know that you two-”

Both Dovi and Marc jump to correct that assumption. Stumbling over each other to assure Pecco that they are not dating, despite what it looks like. Dani has been suspiciously quiet for most of the conversation, only now turning towards Marc with an insolent smile, meaning that he’s about to say something that Marc won’t like.

“Didn’t stop you from fucking in the past.”

You could hear a pin drop. Alex is whipping his head between his brother and Dovi, his jaw dropped in shock. Marc somehow goes even redder before shoving his face into his hands and groaning, confirming Dani’s statement and prompting the entire group to lose it. Dovi just looks proud and completely unashamed, turning back to Jorge and Dani with a raised eyebrow.

“Like you two can talk.”

“Touché.” replies Jorge with a shrug, hand on Dani’s knee.

Alex feels like he’s losing grip on reality,

“When? When the hell did you two hook up?”

“Ah, 2017, 2018, on and off” answers Dovi.

The others are laughing hard now, even Bez and Pecco giggling at the horrified expression on the youngest Marquez’s face.

Alex speaks once more, recovering quickly as though he is clearly used to his brother’s antics. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice,

“Jesus Marc, what is it with you and shagging older men?”

Pecco chokes at that comment, wheezing a breath through the shock. The others are basically in tears and even Bez is grinning. Marc just looks at his brother’s smirking face and promptly lobs a pillow in his direction - it hits him in the face, causing Marc to crack up. When they all catch their breath, Pecco broaches something that has played on his mind all day.

“Valentino had mentioned something earlier, about you and Dovi-”

Pecco immediately realises his mistake in bringing up Vale. The room pauses awkwardly, and all eyes turn to Marc, whose eyes are still foggy, his limbs lose. It causes him to speak without thinking.

“Ah, he is being a dick; he saw me in Dovi’s jumper and jumped to conclusions. Lord knows why he cares.”

“When the fuck did you see Valentino?”

“Ah, just before the sprint race, he cornered me, spilling some bullshit about ruining the race and being attention-seeking. You know what he is like. He always has loved to make sure I feel small.”

He turns his doe eyes towards Alex,

“It still hurts to hear him say those things about me. It hurts to look into his eyes and see fury and hatred. Not as much as it did then, but still”

Pecco realises then just how out of it Marc must be to let that slip. He gulps, uncomfortable with the pain in his voice, pain that he would usually hide away from the world. Bez looks away. Watching tonight’s interactions brings some new perspective to the academy riders- the quiet beginnings of doubt about their unquestioned deity. It’s difficult to reconcile Vale, their selfless teacher and friend, to Valentino Rossi, who had a rivalry with Marc so fierce the younger had been left picking up the pieces. The Marc in front of them is not the dangerous, deceiving rider they were taught about. This Marc looks at his brother and friends like they hold the universe; he is strong but soft around the edges. He is funny and unabashed in his affection. He loves fiercely and is loved unconditionally in return, a true sign of his character.

Alex is looking at his brother with such sadness in his eyes, reflecting his pain. He does not respond to Marc; he just holds out his hand. It is Jorge who speaks instead.

“I was so angry at Valentino in 2015. So angry at myself for not warning you. I saw it coming from miles away because Rossi could never deal with threats to his success.”

Bez begins to open his mouth, but Pecco elbows him, hard, well aware that now is not the time to stick up for their mentor, no matter how difficult it is to hear. Jorge goes to continue but is interrupted by another forceful knock on the door; it’s Alex who yet again opens it, finding himself face to face with an uncomfortable-looking Luca. The night is getting weirder and weirder.

“Is Pecco here? Or Bez? Nobody knows where they’ve gone.”

Alex opens the door wider, letting Luca see the two Italians on the sofas.

Luca steps inside, shutting the door softly behind him after glances outside worriedly. He gives the boys a pointed looks as he urges them up.

“Come on, we need to go!”

“What why?”

Bez was just starting to feel comfortable in this company; he doesn’t particularly want to leave right now. Luca looks away,

“Look, we just really need to go.”

There is another harsh knock on the door before it flies open. Valentino is standing at the threshold, staring blankly at the spectacle before him.

“What the fuck is going on?”

[formulapookie]

;)

under the cut to read

it started as something @giuventus asked me to write, amo spero sia bella, l'ho scritta mezza da fatta e l'altra metà da addormentata

They can only dream beznaia, 1.6k words

They’re running late, they both know that, they spent way too much time in the shower making out and jerking off like teenagers and way too little actually getting ready for the press con they have to attend in 5 minutes.

“Pecco I told you we had to be quicker, they're gonna ask for our heads, ITS FIFTEEN MINUTES FROM HERE how are we supposed to make it?”

“We would’ve been there on time if you didn’t tease me back in the room.

Do you think I am a man intelligent enough to not think about railing you when you walk around in just  my jersey and nothing under it?”

“No, that’s why I do it but -PECCO THE LEFT TURN DIOBO”

They almost miss it, but somehow manage to get there in 10 minutes, parking the bike somewhere random next to the Ducati garage and sprinting to the press con room.

“Where were you two?” Carola is furious, rightfully so, but hands them the pass.

“actually I don’t wanna know, just go in there and fucking act normal”

“What do you mean normal?”

“Like you didn’t just fuck maybe? I don’t want this 

type of mess to deal with right now”

Bez is red as Pecco’s jersey now, Pecco throwing Carola a look that kills while pushing Bez to the room.

“She knows?”

“She’s my sister guess it’s like -siblings thing or something”

They make a run for the room and find Martin already sitting there, smiling at Pecco, just waving at Bez. 

Him and the Spaniard don’t have the best relationship, but he knows he and Pecco in the past have shared one too many nights for calling it casual, and one too many moments together for Bez’s liking.

“Bastardo” he says before sitting on Pecco’s left side.

“Stop it Bez we’re live”

“Tell your little friend to stop being an asshole then”

“Bez.”

He shuts up, knowing it’s best to not piss Pecco off if he still wishes to walk afterwards.

The press con goes by pretty easily, they’re asked usual questions about the championship and how they think they will manage a possible title fight up to Valencia.

Then it’s the turn of those bothering personal questions Bez never liked.

Why do journalists care what one does in private he will never understand.

“And for you Bez, do you feel that for Jorge having a girlfriend could be a distraction?”

Now what kind of question is this?

Like what the actual fuck

“Eh I don’t have idea, I’m not currently taken so I don’t know if it can be an incentive to do better or no, you asked the wrong guy sorry” “No girlfriend for you then?” “Not currently no, am free”

He can feel Pecco’s eyes on him, he can’t look back, he’s sure he would combust if he did.

They ask a few more questions to Martin and Pecco about their battles on track and if they think the championship can go to Valencia, Bez doesn’t listen, he’s trying to hide his blush as Pecco compliments him on a last minute action he pulled last weekend.

They get up for the group picture, Jorge’s arm goes to wrap itself around Pecco’s waist and Bez would very much like to push him away from him.

They go out and cross paths with the other three having to undergo presscon, they greet each other, then it’s only them three.

“So Bezzecchi you really have no girl?”

“Nah, focused on racing, plus I have Rubik he’s great company”

“If you say so, see you tomorrow, I have - company waiting for me”

Bez pulls a half disgusted face, turning towards Pecco, who looks everything but relaxed right now.

“Care to come with me to my motorhome Bez?”

“Yeah sure”

He follows Pecco silently, he looks pissed off, he doesn’t know why exactly, could be a question he didn’t bother to listen to during the presscon.

They get to the Ducati garage, they all greet Bez, luckily enough it’s normal for him to be there, so no suspicions arise between the mechanics.

“Lock the door”

Bez does it with no questions, it’s not like they never lock doors to talk, but usually the room doesn’t feel this charged, it’s a space where they usually chill before and after races.

“Everything ok Pecco? You look - I don’t know you look” “Angry?” “Pissed off, did a question bother you or something? I stopped listening after mine, I knew they were stupid questions anyway”

“It’s not the question per se that bothered me, mostly it was the answer”

Pecco goes to sit on the edge of his bed, the other absentmindedly going to find his place on his lap, as Pecco wraps his hands around his hips.

“Did Martin say something bothersome? I’m going to find him if he did” “No no amore nothing like that”

“Then what?”

They are really close now, Bez can smell the shampoo they both used before on Pecco, it’s something mint scented which Bez doesn’t particularly like, but uses anyway because it’s Pecco’s favorite.

“You saying you’re not taken. Saying you are free. I didn’t like it. People are going to get the wrong idea don’t you think? They’re gonna assume they can flirt with you, and touch you here” Pecco’s hands draw small circles on Bez’s hips, that by now is fucking crimson and sweating.

“Or here” he moves his hands lower, to Bez’s thighs, still drawing patterns on them.

“Or even here” Bez lets out a moan when Pecco presses one of his hands against his bulge, feeling him through the jeans he’s wearing.

“Pecco fuck” he smiles, Bez’s head on his shoulder as he keeps palming him through his jeans.

“Imagine what they could think, maybe that they are allowed to kiss you or feel your pretty mouth around their dick mh?”

“Please” he’s hot under Pecco’s touch, burning with need.

“Do you think I liked that, Marco? Seeing their eyes on you like you were a prey? Seeing them thinking that you’re available?”

“I didn’t - fuck - I didn’t mean for them to think that”

“Oh I believe you amore, I do, seriously, but you see, they are now confident they can have you, and I have to make sure you’re seen as off limits the next few days right?”

Bez can feel he’s close, Pecco’s hand working him up without removing any clothes, he’s breathing hard by now, he tries to go unzip his jeans but Pecco doesn’t let him, he wants to be the one in absolute control right now.

“Pecco” 

“I bet they would pay to hear how you sound amore, and I honestly don’t think I could spend my money better than that”

“I’m close Pecco fuck”

“You know what pisses me off more?”

Bez mutters a muffled “no”, biting his lip to quieten his noises as much as possible.

“the fact they’d think about leaving marks here, all over your neck, branding you with their signature”

Pecco does as he says, pressing a light kiss on Bez’s neck, then moving up slightly, biting and sucking on the spot, which becomes purple almost immediately, drawing out a long moan from Bez, who’s fighting for the last drops of dignity.

“I need them to see that you are not available, not for them not for anyone else, you belong to me Marco, I don’t like when others try to take what mine”

He’s been jealous in the past, yes, especially with Mig, always flirting with him, or Cele, but not like this.

And it’s hot.

Really hot, knowing Pecco wants him as badly as he wants Pecco, that he wants to mark him to draw a line.

“You look so beautiful, and you’re all mine”

he’s whispering against Bez’s collarbone now, hot breath making him shiver, as he begins to leave a trail of kisses from the collarbone until the juncture between neck and shoulder that always gets Bez weak for it, slowly reaching his neck, sucking deep purple and blue hickeys on it, Bez still trying to hold back his orgasm, a whimpering mess under Pecco’s teasing.

“Don’t hold back amore, you deserve it”

Bez barely lasts another half second before feeling his orgasm overwhelm him, coming in his briefs and trousers, embarrassingly much like a teenager.

“Look how pretty you look, all marked by me”

Bez turns his head back, facing the huge mirror Pecco insisted on having positioned in front of his bed.

He’s covered in bruises and hickeys, luckily they can all be covered by a high neck sweater he currently has, otherwise he would’ve never walked out of here looking like that.

They spend the rest of the time making out, showering and making out again, Pecco sucking a few more marks on Bez’s neck, smiling after each one of them has taken its place.

“See you later amore, come to my room ok?” “Yeah yeah I will, don’t worry”

Bez puts on the sweater, pulling it as high as he can to cover his neck, until he’s fairly far from it, walking like nothing happened just half an hour ago.

“You found a girl in the end, Bezzecchi?” 

“What?”

“Well it’s either that or you have a very bad reaction to something because your neck looks really…messy”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He checks himself with his internal camera on his phone.

There’s no hiding, they show even if he pulls the sweater higher, and tries to salvage the situation.

“Yeah no, it’s just a uhm a grid girl, nothing special”

“Mh yeah, of course, see you tomorrow Bez”

The curly boy looks as the other goes back inside his motorhome, not failing to notice how he always avoids the same room. 

He thinks it’s hot once again, to be branded by Pecco like he was right now.

[meetmyothersouls]

When is the next part of bty coming out?

Jonah’s POV

After the events of tonight, I’m half expecting y/n to try and slide back into the floor, but she doesn’t. She’s a little embarrassed but I am trying so hard not to pin her down to the bed and make love to her over and over. Those little sounds she makes…dammit they drive me crazy. But I can’t mess this up, so when she lays down and flips on her side, her back to me, I let her be. She’s cracking and I’m praying the more she cracks the more her memory might as well.

I lay on my back and attempt sleep, but it never comes. Y/n’s deep and steady breathing tells me she’s long gone. Good. I reach my hand out and put it on her shoulder and gently run it down the length of her body. She’s heavenly. And she’s mine, whether or not she’s accepted it yet. I’m not giving her up and definitely not to Jorge.

My mind goes back to the story I shared with y/n about how we met, and I recall in crystal clear detail those few weeks in New York and how Jorge had her first. I climb out of bed, and look out the window of our hotel. The snow plows have not made their way down here yet so any plans of meeting Jorge and Haven at the cabin tomorrow are out the window. I look back over and y/n is still heavily asleep. I decide to make my way down to the library.

It takes me a bit, but I find it and place myself in a small desk in the very back. I don’t know why I came down here but I find a notebook and almost instinctively pull it out. There’s a pen already inside of it. So I write what’s on my mind. I write about that day and the weeks that followed.

Back to You

Chapter 9.5

2015

“Let’s go, mate!” Jorge yelled as I fell behind a group of people in a busy street in New York City. It was crowded, a lot more than I remember it being the last time my family and I took a trip to New York. Maybe it was because it was “spring break” or maybe it was because it’s New York. I’m tall enough to see over the crowd in front of me and and I caught Jorge turning the corner like he knows the terrain well enough.

I stopped to try and let the crowd pass, but as I moved to the side, my phone slipped out of my hand and smacked onto the concrete. I rolled my eyes, dreading to see the damage. None. Thank fuck. I made a move to stand back up but don’t even make it all the way when someone slammed directly into the front of my body. The impact of this persons body was enough to cause me to stumble back into several people, one of whom shoved me to the side. I was finally out of the way of foot traffic and caught a glimpse of the woman who ran into me.

She was still on the ground, her long hair touching the concrete as she picked up loose papers that fell out of a folder. She hadn’t looked at me yet but I stood there staring until she did. I smiled at her but got a glare back. And what a gorgeous, heart stopping glare it was.

“A little help?” She shouted over the new crowd of people stepping on her papers and kicking her cup of coffee.

I moved through bodies and made my way to her, kneeling down to help her pick up the now totally destroyed papers.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, “I-”

“What the fuck were you doing?!” She yelled back at me.

“I-”

“Who the fuck kneels down in middle of the sidewalk in New York City?” She looked down at her watch. “Fuck I’m so screwed.”

“I dropped my phone,” I said, like a total idiot.

“Huh?” She had to look up at me even as we were both kneeling.

“That’s why I was bent over.”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes, scraping up a piece of paper and attempting to wipe off the coffee that coated it.

I handed the last paper over to her as we both stood up. “I hope these weren’t too important.”

She yanked it from me, tearing it in the process. “They were.” She shoved past me and I moved my body to avoid another body slam.

“I never caught your name!”

In response she flipped me her middle finger without even turning around.

We got to where we were staying after a 15 minute walk. It was a four bedroom flat decorated quite nicely. It was clean, but you could tell it’s well loved and lived in.

“Hi!” A girl maybe about 22 years old pops out from the hallway and greets us. “My names Haven! We’re super excited to host you guys for your stay in America!”

Jorge and I each shook her hand. And she began showing us around. For a flat, it’s quite roomy surely she has a roommate.

“Is it just you who lives here?” I asked.

“My sister lives with me. She’ll be back tonight she has an important meeting at work she’s been stressing about. She’s pretty cool but spends most of her time reading or writing. Or somehow doing both. And here we are,” Haven said as she stopped in the hall. “These are our two spare bedrooms you guys pick which one you’d like. Make yourself at home! I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything!”

I smiled and nodded, still confused as to how this whole “hosting” situation worked. Almost like we were exchange students without the schooling. Jorge threw is bags onto the bed in one room, which left me with the other one. I tossed my bags into my room and caught a glimpse through the cracked door of the room next to mine. Curiosity getting the better of me, I nudged it open.

One wall was filled entire with tall black bookcases each one holding at least 100 books mainly thriller, horror and psychological. The last one housed books involving journalism and writing. The bed, also black, was still unmade and other than a few articles of clothing the floor was clean. I walked over to the desk and saw an open Mac computer, an old Starbucks cup with a name I couldn’t quite read scrawled onto the side. To the left of the computer was a picture frame holding a photo of two girls. Without thinking I grab the photo. One of the girls is Haven smiling widely next to none other than the girl from the street. I chuckled to myself. What were the odds?

“This is y/n’s room,” Haven said, standing in the doorway. “Don’t worry I won’t tell her you were in here. She’d lose her shit.”

“She already lost in on me earlier today,” I said putting the frame down.

“No way? You met her already?”

“Sort of. She was..”

“Mean?”

“I wouldn’t say-”

“No you can say it. She’s mean. Or..well she can be mean. Life hasn’t been too fair to her recently and she stopped taking her anxiety medication. It’s been rough. I’m sure she’ll warm up to you though.”

I spent most of that evening in my room, mainly out of sheer anxiety of y/n coming home and seeing the guy who wrecked her papers for her important meeting. But there was also a strange excitement I couldn’t place. Even though she was angry and me the entire time, I was enamored by her.

But she never came in. I fell asleep around 9pm, the jet lag of it all getting to me. But a sound in the early morning hours woke me from my sleep. The door slammed and I heard what sounded like keys drop to the floor.

A frustrated groan and a thump on the wall close to my door.

“Fuckkk,” I heard a girls voice slur.

She used the wall for leverage helping her into her room and then the door next to mine slammed shut. Moments later it opened and I heard unsteady foot steps quickly make their way to the bathroom. Then that door slammed. It was quiet for a moment followed by a series of loud crashes. I jumped up from my bed and made my way to the door. Do I go check on her?

I took a few moments to think on it then ultimately decided to see if she was okay. The bathroom door was still shut but I could see the light shining from underneath the door. I knocked on it.

Nothing.

I knocked again.

When I was greeted with no answer my hand went to the door knob. I didn’t even get a chance to twist before it swung open.

She was drunk. Shit faced. Her hair was a mess, her eyeliner and mascara was smeared all over her face, and running like she had been crying. Even then she was still beautiful.

“Whoa,” she said as she swayed in the door way, still not making eye contact with me. She used the door frame for support and finally looked up at me. She stared at me for a few long moments when the realization hit.

“What the FUCK?!”

“I wanted to see if you were okay!” I put my hands up.

“How the fuck did you get in my apartment!?” She was now armed with a can of air freshener pointing it in my face.

Jorge and Haven’s door swung open.

“We’re staying here!”

“We!?” She screamed. “Haven?!”

“Everyone calm down!” Haven yelled as she put her body in between mine and y/n’s. “Y/n, drop the febreeze!”

“What the fuck is going on!”

“I told you, we were going to be hosting a few guys from England while they were on holiday.”

“Holiday?” Y/n scoffed and stumbled. “There’s no holidays coming up.”

“They’re on vacation. Y/n, are you drunk?” Haven questioned.

“Yes!”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s not funny!” Y/n, said and I did my best to drop it. “You’re the reason I got fired!”

“Wait what?” I said, now more concerned.

“You got fired?!” Haven said. “And Jonah caused it?”

“Jonah! That’s your name! Well Jonah, thanks to you and our little run in on the street today, I was 45 minutes late for my meeting and had no papers to present and I got fired! Everyone say thank you to Jonah!”

I stood there dumbfounded. Jorge started laughing.

“You think it’s funny?” Y/n said, now heading over to Jorge.

“Kinda,” Jorge said.

Y/n stood there, staring at Jorge and he stared back. I knew that look Jorge was giving her and I instantly felt possessive over her even though I had no right to be. And she definitely wouldn’t have anything to do with me now that I got her fired.

“Can we just…start from the beginning here? What happened?” Haven said, pulling y/n into the living room.

Y/n flopped onto the couch her long, messy hair fluttering around her.

“I was late for work.”

“You’re always late,” Haven pointed out.

“Not the point! I was super late for work. And this dude was bent over on the sidewalk while I was running to work. And I slammed right into him when he stood up.”

“I dropped my phone.”

Y/n shot me a similar glare from this morning.

“My coffee fell and-”

“You were late and still stopped for coffee?”

“Haven!”

Haven raised her hands defensively.

“My coffee fell and all my papers I stayed up all night preparing were everywhere covered in coffee and I just…I didn’t have anything to present at the meeting because I left my fucking laptop at home and I got FIRED!”

We were all silent. I pretended not to notice Jorge’s hand go to y/n’s back. When she didn’t protest, he sat down next her and she leaned into him.

“I’m so sorry, y/n.”

“Let me help you to bed,” Jorge said gently to y/n. I fought the urge not to punch him in the throat. Jorge supported y/n as he walked with her to her room and shut the door.

I turn my attention back to Haven. “Maybe we should get a hotel?” I asked.

“No! No don’t worry, it’s all going to be okay. It’ll blow over.”

“She got fired though.”

“Seriously she’s got dozens of journalism jobs lined up. She’s one of the best in the state. She was going to get fired from this one anyway. Her attendance was terrible. Seriously don’t worry about. Go back to bed she’ll be fine in the morning.”

But the next morning she was gone and so was Jorge. They came back together around dinner time laughing, Jorge’s arm around y/n as she hugged him.

“You two are getting on well,” I said, trying my best not to sound bitter.

“I showed Jorge the Empire State Building,” y/n said.

“You should have come, Jonah,” Jorge said, knowing that was our plan originally.

“Next time.”

That wasn’t their first outing, either by the end of the first week, Jorge and y/n had spent most of their time together. I wasn’t surprised when the second week followed a similar path.

I tagged a long on some of the events, but to avoid looking and feeling like a third wheel, I did most of these things by myself.

I couldn’t even be mad at y/n, I fucked up. I didn’t blame her for not taking a liking to me. I was mad at Jorge for abandoning me.

The end of our holiday came quickly, I started packing my bags the night before, always waiting until the last minute, when I heard shouting coming from y/n’s room, followed by Jorge’s door slamming shut. I would have let it go, but I heard crying, and that I couldn’t ignore.

I opened my door to find y/n’s open. I stood in the door way and knocked lightly on her door.

“Hey.”

She looked up at me with bloodshot eyes and a bright pink nose. She sniffled and wiped her eyes quickly as if embarrassed to be seen crying.

“You okay?”

“Do I look okay?” She asked, her nose stuffy.

“Mind if I ask what happened?”

“Your friend is a major asshole.”

“Jorge? Yeah tell me about it.” I had to keep this going. She was actually talking to me. “Need me to beat him up for you?

She laughed. Laughed.

“Because I will,” I added.

“No you won’t,” she smiled.

“No really I would.”

“That’d be great yeah.” Y/n wiped her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. She’s silent for a moment and then sighed her eyes filling with tears again. “I should apologize to you.”

“Please don’t. I royally fucked up. I got you fired.”

“I was on the way out anyway, being 45 minutes late was the icing on the cake for them. But I was such a bitch to you. I’m sorry, Jonah.”

My name on her lips made my heart fall into my stomach. I couldn’t believe I was leaving the next day and I finally got her to talk to me. I had to make this work.

“Well maybe you can make it up to me,” I said.

“Okay,” she smiled, “how?”

“Let me take you out to dinner.”

“Like a date?”

“Why not?”

She was silent, almost thinking of a reason to say no. “Don’t you have to catch a plane early tomorrow.”

“That’s tomorrow.”

She bit her lip. “It’s 9:30.”

“So it is.”

She shook her head and flipped her hair. “Let me get dressed.”

An hour later we were seated at a pizza place 15 minutes from her apartment. We talked. Actually talked. About everything. She told me how she hates taxis and loves reading. And I told her how passionate I am about ice cream and how I hate public speaking even though I’m going to school for acting. She talked to me about her depression and her anxieties and I listened. And I think she needed that.

We stayed in the restaurant until they kicked us out. Then we walked. She sighed as we came up to a bench. She sat down and looked up at the moon.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her.

“I wish I would have spent these last two weeks with you instead of Jorge.”

“Me too,” I admitted to her.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize to me anymore. It’s not allowed. You are banned from apologizing,” I smiled as I sat down next to her. She turned her body to face me and I’m not sure if she meant to do it but when she put her hand on top of mine I grabbed it and held it.

She smiled. “I’m…..”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Soooorrr-”

“Y/n,” I warned.

She almost finished her apology but I placed my lips on hers, preventing her from doing so. Gently, her lips fell into a rhythm with mine and we kissed, slowly picking up speed as it went on. We could have sat there for hours kissing but when the sprinklers came on, we jumped up. Soaked, we ran back to her apartment, kissing on and off the entire way.

She shut the door softly as to not wake Jorge or Haven, and pulled me by my hand into her room. She pulled off my wet shirt and I helped her out of hers.

“I’m cold,” she said and walked over to her bed. She slid over on the bed and reached out for me. I climbed into her bed with her and she kissed me again. Kissing led to touching, our touching led to exploring until we found ourselves gloriously wrapped up in each other. I can safely say that anything before that was just sex. This was different.

I’m not sure what time it was before we fell asleep, but the last thing she said to me was, “I don’t want you to go.”

So I didn’t.

I heard my alarms go off.

I heard Jorge pounding on the door. Then I heard him leave. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave her.

She woke up and to me awake next to her, my hand lightly stroking her body. And she smiled at me. And I knew right then and there that I was going to spend the rest of my life with her.

Tags: @danielabetancourth @luna2034 @waqndamaximoffbae @twinkledinkleg-blog @justagirlwholovedtoread @nonsensical-nonsence @paramorelvrr @thedonswife13 @miniemonie2001 1 1 @jonahhauer-kingg @crazyyynyyyy

[foggyfanfic]

The Jorge Situation

Preview: Day ten (night): Crack opened up right in front of me, ran out to the courtyard to ask Casita what had happened. Casita had no clue. Leandra, I know it’ll be pre-coffee when you wake up and read this, but can you ask around to see if anything of note happened last night? Also, your dog is making that weird smell again, it’s worrying the rats.

5. Passing Notes

Day One: Technically this isn’t day one, I know that, but it is day one of taking notes so yeah. Anyways, five new cracks. Casita got really messy today when Amada and Camilo decided juice is for throwing at eachother, not drinking. Casita didn’t seem upset, but maybe Casita is just being very patient with them? They are only kids. Pepa’s hormones are playing havoc on the weather, so she has been trapped in her room all day, Could the cracks be responding to her frustration? Octavia stubbed her toe and said a bad word, one that I certainly didn’t teach her, Leandra doesn’t see what’s wrong with the kids saying bad words every once in a while. No matter how many times I tell her it’s rude, and could get them in trouble. Maybe the cracks happen when somebody in our family is rude? Or when we fail to live up to the miracle’s standards?

-Bruno

To Bruno,

As I said, I don’t want our kids growing up thinking words like “fuck” or “Asshole” should be used as weapons. I am very familiar with the “I only use those words when I want people to know I’m serious” philosophy, and I think it’s immature. If you’re serious then you shouldn’t be cursing, you should be speaking as calmly as you can manage! Stubbing her toe is the perfect time for Octavia to say “shit”, the only better way to use that sort of language is to compliment somebody. For example, “Holy shit! My husband is handsome as fuck”. See! Isn’t that nice, wouldn’t you rather our kids grow up to say things like that? Anyways, if you read this before you come back to bed, feel free to wake me. I worry about you crawling around in the walls all alone (because I love you a fuck ton).

In short, I’m completely correct,

Leandra

Day two: Alright darling, I see your point, I still worry the kids might make trouble for themselves if they get used to using that sort of language. What about when Octavia goes to school? We need to talk to her about when those words are and are not ok. Anyways, one of the cracks from yesterday has sealed itself up, but two more have formed on the opposite end of the wall. Nothing happened that might have upset Casita today. No change with Pepa. Luisa had to get a healing arepa when she twisted her ankle. Is it more likely that her physical pain effected the cracks? Or Julieta’s worry? What about Agustín and Félix? Do they have any effect on the cracks?

-Bruno

To Bruno,

Yeah, you’re right, wake me up when you see this. Let’s figure out what we’ll tell her. About the cracks, if Agustín and Félix affect them, I probably do too.

Be safe,

Leandra

Day Three: Casita in a good mood. No change with Pepa. No injuries in the family. Talk with Octavia went well. Cracks same as yesterday.

Day four: Same as yesterday (except we didn’t repeat the talk with Octavia).

Day five: Had surprise vision, saw Pepa’s newborn son. Asked her if she wanted to know the gender of her baby. She spent the next hour pacing back and forth, trying to make up her mind one way or another. She eventually decided no, I got up to leave, then because I’m the world’s most subtle person I said, “For the best, he was a happy surprise, right? Might as well keep it going”. By her own admission, Pepa is not sure if she wants to laugh or smack me. Says she’ll know when she wakes up tomorrow. Leandra did an admirable job of pretending she wasn’t amused by my being a total disaster. Agustín and Félix did less admirable jobs. All but one of the new cracks have closed.

To Bruno,

Maybe they were laughing about something else? Maybe they both just happened to think of a really funny joke right when you finished telling us what happened.

Love you,

Leandra

Day six: Don’t patronize me. The joke was me, mi amor. Three new cracks, nothing of significance happened to cause them as far as I know.

To Bruno,

You’re not a joke.

Love,

Leandra

Day seven: Tell Camilo that.

To Bruno,

Everything and everybody is a joke to Camilo.

Love,

Leandra

Day Eight: That’s true. Two new cracks, no fucking clue why.

To Bruno,

Dearie me! Such foul language! Gasp! Shock! Horror! Whatever shall the miracle think?

I’ll pray for you,

Leandra

Day Nine: “You’re not a joke” said Leandra, my supposedly loving wife, lying to my face. If you wake up and I’m gone, no need to wonder why. Unbelievable!

To Bruno,

This note is made even funnier by the fact that I woke up to you clinging to me like a lonely koala. You might not be a joke, but you are a true master of comedy.

Your biggest fan,

Leandra

Day ten (morning): Woman, stop complimenting me, I’m trying to be annoyed.

To Bruno,

Have I ever mentioned how beautiful your eyes are when you’re annoyed?

Forever yours,

Leandra

Day ten (night): Crack opened up right in front of me, ran out to the courtyard to ask Casita what had happened. Casita had no clue. Leandra, I know it’ll be pre-coffee when you wake up and read this, but can you ask around to see if anything of note happened last night? Also, your dog is making that weird smell again, it’s worrying the rats.

To Bruno,

I’m just going to write this here, that way we can come back and reference it. The only one who admitted to anything was Camilo, he snuck out to grab a snack and accidentally broke a plate. The poor thing was so worried he was in trouble, maybe the crack happened because he thought he was letting the miracle down. I took him to get a new plate and that seemed to help. Gabriel probably had a bad dream last night, you know how he gets; was extra clingy today, but also didn’t want to let any of the younger kids out of his sight. I’ll admit, I eventually redirected him to Pepa, hopefully it made her feel better to be doted on all day. I asked Julieta outright, since she knows about the cracks, confirmed nothing happened with her, Agustín, or Mirabel (other than the fact that Agustín fell asleep during Mirabel’s turn reading their book, so he slept in the nursery last night). Neither Luisa nor Isabela admitted to anything happening last night, Luisa didn’t seem to be hiding anything, but honestly, who knows with Isabela. Her poker face is pretty damn good. When I asked Dolores, she said “I was reading when it happened” so she definitely knows what’s going on. I’ll follow up with her later. Amada might, as well. But nothing happened with either of our daughters. Asking Pepa was inconclusive, she’s so frustrated with her gift, and going stir crazy that she just sort of unloaded everything. I’m going to organize the kids into getting her another (non-pool related) gift, we’ll see if that affects the cracks.

Love,

Leandra

Day eleven: I have marked and measured each crack, but otherwise left them alone to prepare for your experiment.

To Bruno,

It’ll be two more days, had to give Luisa enough forewarning.

Love,

Leandra

Day twelve: Marked and measured cracks. Going to bed at a reasonable time for once. Would have a much easier time writing this if a certain someone wasn’t leaning half her weight on my shoulders.

To Bruno,

Stop writing and come to bed.

Love, 

Leandra

Day twelve continued: Actually, now might be the perfect time to start writing my memoir. I will title it “My wife just bit me”.

To Bruno,

And I’ll do it again!

That’s a threat and a promise,

Leandra

Day thirteen: More measuring, the experiment is tomorrow, right?

To Bruno,

Considering you wrote that after midnight, knowing I wouldn’t read it until this morning, I have no idea if you meant tomorrow as in today, or tomorrow as in tomorrow. Either way, the kids and I all worked together to bake Pepa a cake. The cake didn’t turn out great, and the frosting melted when Pepa rained on it, but it definitely lifted her mood. Looking forward to reading about the cracks.

Love,

Leandra

Day fourteen: All the cracks I’d measured are gone, but new ones popped up. I am so confused. Going to hold off on taking notes for a while, unless this is helping clear things up for you?

To Bruno,

It is not. This whole thing is weird and makes no sense. I have enjoyed “passing notes” to you though. We don’t get to spend as much time goofing off together as we used to.

Love,

Leandra

Day fifteen: Have officially decided to only take notes if something noteworthy happens that I need you to know about before breakfast. (And yeah, you’re right, there is a distinct lack of goofing off in our lives. Tragic.)

[venicebixch]

Breaking Rules part 1

this series was a request! basically, y/n is famous. like properly famous. and vinnie is her bodyguard. you’ll figure out the rest from there. there will be angst and smut! a little bit of fluff. this part in particular is mostly smut. enjoy :)

“Happy birthday again Kya! I love you, I’ll see you soon,” I say, hugging her goodbye.

“I love you too. Call me tomorrow and let me know you got home safe.”

I smile at her. “I will.”

I turn and walk out of the main door of the lounge, where Vinnie waiting for me.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

“Yeah. Wait! Do I have my bag?”

“It’s right here, you left it on the patio earlier,” he holds it up. “I swear, you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to you.”

“Oops,” I say giggling and taking it from him.

He shakes his head at me, but has a small smile on his face. “Come on crazy woman.”

“Don’t you call me crazy, I’m perfectly sane. Just a little tipsy.”

“No, you’re crazy. But it’s okay.” He smirks at me.

I sigh, giving him a pouty face. “Let’s go.”

We start walking quickly to the elevator.

“You’re lucky I like you, Vin. I wouldn’t let my other bodyguards get away with saying or doing half of the shit you do,” I say giving him a stern but friendly look.

He chuckles. “I know.”

I playfully roll my eyes.

The elevator dings and we go to the ground floor.

We approach one of my other guards waiting at the exit of the building.

“Hey, Jorge,” I greet him.

“Hello, y/n.”

I sigh, already hearing the yelling from the people outside.

“You ready?” Vinnie asks, looking at me.

“As ever.”

Jorge stands to my left and Vinnie stands to my right, putting his hand on my back to cover me as he pushes the door open.

The flashing cameras create a strobe effect. I look down because they hurt my eyes and make me dizzy. People are yelling so much, it’s hard to even think.

This situation isn’t something you ever get used to. It’s hard to believe this many people care this much about me. As overwhelming as it can be, I still typically like to stop and say hi to a few fans but I’m just ready to get back to the hotel tonight.

As we start to approach the black SUV, a male fan starts to run toward me, practically screaming bloody murder.

“God, I hate when they do this,” I murmur.

It’s scary, and you never know if someone has an intention of hurting you. Plenty of celebrities have been shot dead or stabbed. It’s getting to the point that I can’t even leave my house without at least 1 guard with me.

Vinnie turns toward the man just as he approaches and pushes him back, hard.

The guy stumbles backwards, still yelling my name. I try not to look because it’s honestly just an awkward experience for everyone.

He keeps trying to get to me, and Vinnie blocks him from moving forward.

“Get back! Stop!” He says sternly, pushing the guy back again.

The man starts getting more aggressive and lunges forward to swing at Vinnie. It’s rare this happens but it does every once in a while. Still, catches me off guard and I gasp.

Luckily, Vinnie dodges it and bring his fist around landing a solid punch right to the guy’s jaw without missing a beat.

I let out a sigh of relief. I gotta give it to him, Vinnie is damn good at his job. I always feel safe with him. Safer than with anyone else.

Finally the man gives up and walks away, angry. Vinnie shakes his head, and walks back over to us. He opens the car door for me, and then climbs in behind me. Jorge rides in a separate car as he’s done working for the day.

Once safe inside the car, I lay my head back and take a deep breath.

“Fucking animals,” Vinnie says angrily.

“I know. Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah I’m fine. Asshole stepped on my brand new shoes, these things are like 400 bucks,” he says, bending over trying to wipe the scuff marks off of them.

I laugh a little and shake my head. “I’ll buy you a new pair.”

He smirks. “I don’t want your money, woman.”

I giggle. “Suit your damn self, I was just offering.”

He smiles at me, leaning back into the seat. “Thank you, but no thanks.”

“Where to?” The female driver asks.

I look at Vinnie, because I have no idea where or what the hotel is. I should know, but I don’t.

He looks at me for a moment and then realizes I’m waiting on him to tell her. “Oh, uh… The Four Seasons on Barclay in Manhattan.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“What would you do without me?” he winks at me.

“Probably die.”

He starts laughing. “Probably.”

I pull out my phone to check it and sigh. 2 new texts from my ex, Preston. He cheated on me a few months ago and I broke up with him. I was heart broken but also relieved. I wasn’t really happy with him but it’s hard to adjust to being single again after almost 2 years.

“You okay?” Vinnie asks, seeing the expression on my face.

“Yeah. Just Preston.”

“Say the word and I’ll kill him.”

I shoot a harsh glance to him. “And you call me crazy.”

He laughs a little bit. “I never said I wasn’t also a little crazy.”

“A little?” I say, giggling.

“A lot.”

“That’s better.”

“But only when it’s necessary,” he adds.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I smile.

—

We get to the hotel and luckily it’s a short walk to the door and not many people are paying attention. We hop on the elevator and head to the top floor, where my room is.

Vinnie walks me to my door. “Here you are, safe and sound. Lock the door behind you, and let me know if you need anything.”

I nod, smiling up at him. I really don’t want to be alone tonight.

“Vinnie… do you want to come in and have a drink with me? There’s a minibar in the room.”

He looks at me hesitating for a moment but then agrees. “Sure.”

“Yay!” I smile, walking into the suite. “The minibar is in the corner, they have whiskey and wine and all kinds of stuff. Grab what you’d like.”

“Okay, thank you,” he smiles.

I go into the bathroom and change into shorts and a t-shirt. We both get our drinks and head to the balcony.

“It’s so pretty out here at night,” I say.

Vinnie nods, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Yeah, it’s stunning.”

I lean back in my chair and put my feet up on the table in front of me, looking at him. He looks stiff, like he can’t relax.

“Sit back, Vin. Make yourself comfortable.”

He laughs, looking down. “I am.”

“No like, sit back and relax. Take that jacket off, take your shoes off. Get comfortable.”

“Alright,” he says standing up. He takes his jacket and shoes off and sits back down, putting his feet up on the table, too.

“There you go,” I laugh, and lay my head back, feeling the breeze.

I look over at him, smiling. His eyes are closed, his head against the chair. His hair is moving with the breeze. I start admiring his tattoos and facial features. He’s god damn handsome.

And maybe it’s the liquor in my system but I have the urge to touch him. I wanna hold him. I wanna run my hands through his hair and brush his lips against mine.

I know it’s inappropriate because he works for me. But then again, what’s just one night together? It won’t mean anything. I just need the release. And maybe he won’t even want me. All I can do is ask.

I sit up and walk over to him, standing in front of him. He opens his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at me. His expression is peaceful.

I lean over and straddle him, half expecting him to get uncomfortable or tell me to stop. But instead, his relaxed expression doesn’t change. He brings one hand to my thigh, and his eyes move down to my lips.

I brush his hair back and lean in slowly, stopping a few inches from his face to see his reaction.

He smiles then closes the gap, pressing his soft warm lips to mine.

His lips part and I slide my tongue in, tasting the whiskey on his breath.

He starts to kiss his way down my neck, bringing his hand to my waist. With my head leaned back, I let out soft moans as he sucks my sweet spot.

His hard on starts to press against my core and I grind my hips, feeling it through the fabric of our pants.

He leans forward and sets his whiskey glass on the table, standing up. I keep my legs wrapped around his waist as he carries me back into the hotel suit.

He sets me gently down on the bed, laying me back, kissing me again.

I sit up and lift my shirt over my head, exposing my tits. He kisses down my chest, sucking and kissing every part of them, saving my nipples for last.

He kisses his way down my stomach, his breath tickling me, sending and intense sensation through my body.

He nibbles on my inner thigh, and starts gently rubbing my clit through my shorts.

My core is throbbing and my cheeks and red. He’s barely touched me yet and I feel like I could cum.

He takes my shorts off and pulls me to the edge of the bed, getting on his knees. I spread my legs wide as he leans in and lightly teases my clit with his tongue.

I bring my hand and wrap my fingers in his hair, and he starts to really go in. Sucking my clit, tonguing my entrance.

With his tongue inside me, his nose presses against my clit, rubbing it just right. His pretty brown eyes connect with mine every so often, making me smile. God I could watch him eat me forever.

“Fuck,” I moan out, throwing my head back. He starts moaning, I can feel his hot breath against me, his voice vibrating and adding to the sensation.

“I’m gonna cum, Vinnie!” I grab his hand that’s gripping my thigh and lace our fingers together while I ride out my high.

“Oh fuck yes,” I exhale deeply as he moves away from my core to come up and kiss me.

“See how good you taste, pretty girl?” He asks in the moments between our lips locking together.

“Mhmm,” I moan into his mouth.

He stands and takes his shirt off, exposing his body. I’ve never seen him shirtless before this. I figured he’d look good but oh my fucking god, he’s absolutely brilliant to look at.

I move to my knees on the bed as he drops his pants and boxers, exposing his nice cock.

I scan his body from his hard on up to his eyes. He looks down and smiles softly at me, bringing his hand to my face, rubbing his thumb against my cheek.

I scoot toward him and lean forward, grabbing his cock in my hands. I tease him, running my tongue up and down his member, earning deep moans from him.

I take his tip into my mouth and push him all the way into the back of my throat, holding him there until I gag.

As I’m bobbing my head, he leans forward and smack my ass and rubs his hands up and down my back.

His hands come back to the front of me and pinch my nipples, causing me to moan on his cock. He thrusts to meet my movements and gathers my hair into a ponytail shape.

His fucking moans are like music to my ears. I love his voice so much.

He pulls back and kisses me again, bringing his hand to my neck and pushing me back on to the bed. He pulls me forward to the edge and takes my legs, putting them over his shoulders.

He teases my entrance, rubbing his cock up and down my wet slit and over my clit. The anticipation is killing me.

“Put it in, Vinnie. Please,” I whisper.

He lets out a small laugh and bites his lip, still teasing.

“Please Vinnie, I want it. Please,” I say, spreading my legs further apart.

“You want it?”

“Yes,” I nod, practically moaning.

“I like watching you beg for me,” he says, smiling. He brings his hand up and lays a smack to one of my tits.

I throw my head back into the pillow, gripping the sheets. “Ugh, please!”

He smiles again. “Okay, okay,” he whispers, finally sliding himself inside of me. He pushes as far as he can go.

A deep moan rolls out of both of us.

“God damn it, that feels good baby,” I prop myself up on my elbows, looking at him sliding in and out of me.

His hands tightly grip my thighs as he picks up the pace, pulling almost completely out of me before slamming himself back in.

I lay flat on my back again and grab my own tits, feeling them bounce with each thrust.

He takes my legs off his shoulder and leans over me, burying his face in my neck. “God, you’re fucking stunning, y/n.”

He leans back and pushes me further up on the bed and gets fully on it before sliding back inside of me, laying on top of me. His necklaces are cold and tickle my chest.

I wrap my arms around him and wrap my hands in his hair. I can feel another orgasm coming on. My body starts pulsing and my legs close tightly aound his waist.

I moan loudly. “I’m cumming! Fuck Vinnie, yes baby!”

“That’s it. Cum for me, sweet girl. Cum on my cock. Soak it,” he brings his hand to my neck, squeezing it lightly.

His thrusts become uneven and he collapses on to me, filling me up.

“Oh my god, y/n,” he moans. His breathing is fast in my ear.

I laugh a little bit. “I know. Holy fuck,” I kiss his cheek.

He slowly pulls out of me and lays beside me as we catch our breath.

I turn toward him and put my hand to his cheek. “You can stay in here tonight if you want to,” I say softly.

He nods is head and smiles. “Okay.”

[hypnofur1]

My Life as a Hypno Fur Queen - Chapter 2

That incident with the construction workers was an indicator of where my general mindset was at. With each passing day, I was less interested in “Cindy” stuff. Less interested in dealing with PTA things, less interested in dealing with drama from the neighborhood women. I was interested in hypnotic erotic domination, and there was little room for anything else. I knew this was a dangerous road, but I couldn’t stop myself from going down it.

With the kids at school, Nick at work, and the construction workers in the house working on the closet, I spent a lot of time in my bedroom. Most of it was either researching hypnosis stuff online or shopping online. One afternoon, as the closet was almost finished, I found what I thought would be the perfect centerpiece.

The room had originally been a fairly good size office, so as a closet, it was enormous. There was a large open space in the middle. I found a red velvet couch for the middle of the floor. I figured it would be great to hypnotize and fuck on. I sent it to Nick and told him to order it.

“Cindy, I think we need to chill on the purchases for a while. I know we have the inheritance stuff, but this couch is like $2k” he texted back to me.

I’ll be honest, I don’t know if I was pleased or annoyed that he wrote that. Part of me just wanted him to do what I wanted, but the other part of me liked the challenge.

The construction crew was just down to one finish guy, a portly guy name Jorge. Jorge was in his late 40’s. He was very nice, as they all were. He was a little bit intimated by me, which I liked. I’m sure my interaction with the crew the other day exacerbated his level of intimidation. I noticed Jorge get all sweaty and nervous when I was around. I also noticed him sneaking glances as me. At this point though, he was wrapping up for the day. As soon as he left, I went into the closet. It still smelled new in there. I took a selfie and sent it to Nick.

Then I texted him:

Me: Am I beautiful Nick?

Nick: yes

Me: Look past me. What do you see?

Nick: Your furs

Me: Who am I?

Nick: Cynthia

Me: Who is in control? Who do you serve?

Nick: You

Me: Order the couch. Get rush shipping. I don’t care how much it costs

Nick: Yes Cynthia

The power I had over him was intoxicating. I immediately felt the middle of my yoga pants getting wet. All alone in the house, I went back to my bedroom and opened the drawer next to my bed. Nick and I both had little bedside tables. The bottom drawer of mine had glamour magazines right at the top, but underneath those were my little toys. Looking through the drawer, I briefly considered the fingertip vibrator... quick, to the point, very effective. But instead I drew out my other vibrator... anatomically correct, except for the fact that it was purple silicone. I closed my eyes for a moment, holding the toy in my hand, realizing with a smile that it was about the same size as my husband. I reclined on the bed, my thick purple friend turned on low speed, and slowly teased the tip over my clit as I thought about the power I had over Nick My breathing sped up right away. I was so wet already, so turned on, that I slipped the tip of the toy down to the entrance of my pussy almost immediately, moaning a little bit as it pressed inward. Just the tip. Just that tease. Just those little teasing thrusts, the slow rumbling vibrations adding to the sensation as I briefly slipped the tip back up over her clit. The vibrations, those extra sensations, helped to compensate for not having Nick’s hypnotized, obedient, warm body pressing me into the bed. For not having a tongue invading my mouth with mindless kisses, pushing into me with his hard cock. "Oh," I whispered with the toy halfway in. "Oh, shit, feels so good." I said to no one. But I The thrusts were all the way in now. I thought of how silky I made my voice when I was hypnotizing Nick. I thought of how he was so powerless to resist my commands. Further encouraged by this, I reached down to turn up the speed on the vibrator, lifting my hips off the bed and gasping as I pushed against the toy. She reached behind her with one hand, gripping the headboard... Yes, almost there, just a bit more, oh, God... "I’m your hypnotic fur queen!" I burst out as at full volume as I climaxed, reveling in the feeling of bearing down on the realistic toy, riding the waves of muscle contractions magnified by the facsimile inside me. The last gasps of my orgasm took a while to dissipate, the vibrations keeping it going, and I bit my lip again as I rode the toy through the aftershocks. With a satisfied sigh, I finally turned off the vibrator and put it to the side. I laid there for a moment and basked in the post orgasmic glow. I felt relaxed and happy… but I still felt a little bit wicked. I was thinking about Jorge the last carpenter. He probably thought I was so hot. Hispanic guys love blondes, I learned that in Cancun. They are crazy for blondes. I probably seemed so rich to him, so untouchable. If he only knew that I had been masturbating just a few minutes after he had left.

I was thinking about this as I cleaned off the purple vibrator. As I was about to place it back in the drawer, I stopped. The wicked feeling I have prompted me to place the purple, penis shaped vibrator in the closet. I put it on a shelf, next to the furs, and next to a couple books on hypnosis, and a gold pocket watch that I had bought. I knew Jorge would find it the next day. I felt so sexy, so wicked.

But then the kids came home. I was thrust back into a world that was becoming less and less interesting to me. Cindy’s world. Mom Cindy, School Committee member Cindy, and at the particular time that Nick came home that night – sister Cindy.

“Well, why did you give him the keys?” I said with a snarl to my older sister, Denise. She lived in Rhode Island, and her life was always in a constant state of calamity and sadness. Nick could probably tell who I was on the phone with the moment that he walked in the door, he was not a big fan of hers of course. She was telling me some sob story about how her latest boyfriend had taken her car out after a night of drinking and smashed it up. It was always some pathetic adventure or another with her.

Nick gave me a smile and then headed upstairs to get out of his work clothes. Exchanging his shirt and tie for a t-shirt and basketball shorts. That’s what he did every night. Of course, over the last few weeks, he would also check the daily progress the construction crew was making with the closet.

Frankly, I had been so caught up in what was happening with the boys’ school stuff, dinner, and now Denise’s crap, that I had forgotten about the little surprise that I left for Jorge to find tomorrow.

However, I was certainly reminded when Nick and back downstairs and yelled to me in a panic, “Cindy, you left a dildo in the closet!”.

I could barely put my hand over the receiver fast enough so that Denise couldn’t hear. “SHHHHHH!” I admonished. Jeez, not only did I not want Denise to hear that, I didn’t want the boys to hear him too. God, he is such a spaz sometimes.

His face was red and he was totally shocked. His intense reaction was a reminder for me that my actions of late were really out of character. I knew I was spiraling a bit, but I didn’t care. It was sexy and fun, and exciting. So fucking hot. I loved the idea of Jorge seeing the dildo and not being able to stop thinking about me using it. I even loved that it shocked Nick, and that he wasn’t into it.

Denise was blabbering on and on. I just put her on mute, so she couldn’t hear what I said. I looked Nick deep in the eyes. I changed my body language and my tone. Hell, I felt like I changed my whole persona.

“Nick, look at me, look into my eyes” I said to him. “What did you see in the closet Nick?”

“Your purple… you know” he said. I noticed he didn’t break eye contact.

“What else did you see in the closet Nick?”

“A hypnosis book” he answered

“Have you ever been hypnotized Nick?” I asked, calmly and steadily

“Yes” he whispered now. His eyes locked into mine.

“What else is in the closet Nick?” I asked.

“Furs” he said, his breathing now ragged.

“Who hypnotized you Nick?” I asked

“You did”

“Whose furs are those Nick?”

“Yours” he said. I didn’t want to break eye contact, but I had a hunch that if I glanced down, I’d see an erection forming beneath the basketball shorts.

“You are hypnotized now, aren’t you Nick?” I said to him. It was phrased as a question, but it really wasn’t

“Yes” he whispered. I immediately felt my pussy moisten. I took the phone off mute and just blurted out to Denise that I would call her back. I could listen to her whine about her car problems later. I mean, I didn’t love my mini van, but you didn’t see me calling people complaining about it.

That did give me an idea though…. a wicked idea.

“Who controls you Nick? Who do you serve?’ I asked him as my arousal grew.

“you do. I serve you” he answered

“Good Nick. Go deeper now. Looking deep into my eyes, hearing only the sound of my voice. Deeper and deeper into my hypnotic control. Deeper and deeper.” I said, in my hypnotist voice. This was the first time I had ever brought him under without actually having fur present in the room with us. I wanted to capitalize on this opportunity.

“Looking so deep into my eyes. Completely and utterly focused on me. I am your whole world. So engrossed in me. So captivated by me. I am your hypnotic fur queen, and you are mine. Mine to control, mine to hypnotize. Deeper and Deeper. Going deeper and deeper under my hypnotic control. It feels so good to be completely immersed in my hypnotic spell. You love being hypnotized by me. You love to serve me, to please me. Pleasing me and serving me is the most important thing to you.” I said, my own breathing now ragged from arousal.

“You’ll do anything I say. Anything to please me. You can refuse me nothing. I am the most beautiful woman in the world. I am perfection. You find me so sexy. The more aroused you are, the more you obey me. Even if it is something you don’t want to do, your desire to serve me and please me will take precedence. Do you understand?” I told him. I felt a bead of sweat roll down my temple. I was feeling almost frenzied.

“Yes Cynthia” Nick responded immediately.

“Nick, I want you to go upstairs, and go into the closet. When you are in there, I want you to get on your phone and make a reservation for the nicest hotel in Providence for tomorrow night. We are going to drive my mini van down to Denise, and we are going to give it to her. You are then going to buy me a new Mercedes. Do you understand?” I said. I was actually touching myself at this point. Thank god for Fortenight, I knew it would keep the boys so occupied down in the basement that they wouldn’t come upstairs and overhear this.

“I-I” Nick stuttered, I could see he was struggling.

“You serve me Nick. It is so sexy to serve your fur queen. Tell me you will obey Nick”

“I will obey” he said weakly. I fucking loved it.

“Go upstairs and do that. Then, I want you to jerk off looking at the purple vibrator, thinking of me using it, do you understand?”

“Yes Cynthia”

“When you are done. Make dinner”

“Yes Cynthia”

“Go!” I said, almost evilly. I was so turned on that I stuck my hand down my pants. Maybe I should have gone up with him to use the vibrator…

****************

Jorge didn’t have much to finish on the job, less than an hour of work left. He was just replacing two drawer handles that had come in wrong and picking up the final check. However, I knew that he would see my purple vibrator on the shelf, on top of the hypnosis book. I knew that would shock and likely arouse him. I knew that, and I loved it.

I was in the kitchen, listening for him to start making his way downstairs. I looked really good, I had on a tight satin blouse, a short little mini skirt, and some strappy heels. It was a sexy version of a professional outfit. As I heard him start to come down the stairs, I hopped on to the kitchen counter and picked up the phone.

“Yes Mr. Mayor, you hear only the sound of my voice. You are deep, deep in my hypnotic power. You will obey my commands completely…” I said as he rounded the corner. I saw him nervously approach me. I had the final check, so I knew he would have to deal with me.

I looked deep into Jorge’s eyes with a sultry look. “Mr. Mayor. Sink deep into hypnosis. Sleep deep until you hear my voice again.” I said into the phone before hitting the mute button theatrically.

“Are you all done?” I asked Jorge.

“Y-Yes Ma’am” he said nervously.

“Before I give you this check, I want you to look deep into my eyes…” I said to him with a wicked smile.

Jorge’s eyes almost popped out of his head before he immediately diverted them. He said something in Spanish that I didn’t understand, and ran out of the house. I laughed and laughed. I might have even cackled. It was definitely an evil laugh none the less. Now, full disclosure, I stuck the check in the mail right away. I wasn’t trying to get out of paying the construction company, nor was I looking for a law suit. I was just looking for a little fun…

 **********************

It was easy to get my mom to come watch the boys. After all, I was giving Denise my car. My mom was always so overly protective of Denise, which by the way, is a large part of why she is who she is – but that is not the point of this story.

So anyway, my Mom came to watch the boys the next afternoon, which was a Friday so it worked out well. I was dressed very nicely, make up done, etc. Nick shuddered a little bit when he first saw me as he got home from work. I told him to shower and put on something nice as well. He of course obliged.

I didn’t wear the fur out of the house. I didn’t really want to wear it in front of my mom or the boys. I had Nick put a couple of them into garment bags and place them in the mini van. It was all smiles and hugs and “Cindy” when we were leaving the house. I knew the boys would be in good hands with my mom, despite the fact that she would spoil them rotten, and let them eat way more sugar than I would. Oh well, I didn’t really care about that at that moment.

As soon as we were both in the car, it was 100% Cynthia time. I had Nick pull over the second that we were out of view of our house, and get one of the furs out of the garment bag. I wasn’t going to wear it in the car, but I just wanted it out for the psychological effects it would have.

We live about an hour and a half north of Providence. This was a Friday night, so the traffic was thick. I called and got reservations at a restaurant called the Capitol Grille. It was known to be one of the nicest in the city. There was no place to park nearby the restaurant. I told Nick to pull up to the front and drop me off at the door. When we were at the front, I told him to get my fur and put it on me. He did so, opening my car door, taking my hand as I got out, treating me like a queen as he helped me slip into the fur.

I could feel his warm breath on my neck as he helped me into the fur. Part of me wanted to have him take me to the hotel right then and there and ride him like a cowgirl. But, I wanted to enjoy the evening first. I turned to him as I reached down and grabbed his crotch. As I suspected, his cock was rock hard. Perfect! That is just how I wanted it. I figured there was a possibility that the restaurant hostess even saw me grab him, but I didn’t care. I was in full Cynthia mode at this point.

I entered the restaurant with a confidence that I could have only dreamed about in my twenties. I immediately notice a lot of eyes on me. That wasn’t unusual, but in this fur, with this confidence, I felt it was magnified significantly. As I scanned the room, taking a mental inventory of all who noticed me. There were a number of men checking me out. There were a number of women givng me the stink eye. I loved it all.

Then I noticed this one guy at the bar. He was older, like 50’s, and he was well dressed. Expensive clothes. He had a look in his eye that I have seen before. It was the same look that Nick had the first time he saw me in a fur. All the color had drained from the guy’s face. He tried to avert his eyes, likely realizing that he was staring, but he just couldn’t. As a little test, I lightly ran my finger tips down the shawl collar of my fox fur coat as I stared at him. I could see from the guy’s reaction that I had just taken his breath away.

This dude 100% had a fur fetish! I laughed wickedly to no one. It was the same kind of laugh I laughed when I was teasing Jorge. Who the hell was I becoming?

Nick entered the restaurant, I felt him come up behind me. The hostess smiled at us politely and showed us to our seat. I kept glancing over to my starstruck friend at the bar, his eyes never left me. I looked at him and laughed knowingly.

Dinner was fantastic, as were the cosmopolitans. I knew I was getting a bit tipsy, but I didn’t care. At the end of my second cosmopolitan, and idea formed. It was crazy, and bad, and stupid. But… I wanted to be crazy and band and stupid. I knew I needed Nick’s cooperation. I looked deep into his eyes with my hypnotist gaze.

“Nick, I want you to do something.” I said.

“Anything” Nick responded. He was so far gone tonight.

“There is a man at the bar in a blue tie. I want you to go to the bar and get me another Cosmo. Strike up a conversation with him. Make sure you somehow work in that your wife is a hypnotist. Do you understand?” I said.

“Yes, I understand”

“Good. Go now.” I said. Commanding him like this was getting me a little bit aroused. I did my best to not glance over at them while Nick was talking to the guy. He was probably up at the bar for a good 15-20 minutes, which was a good sign that he was likely successful in striking up a conversation.

When he finally came back, I asked him if he was successful in his task. He confirmed that he was. That part of my hastily put together plan was complete, now I just needed to wait for Mr. Blue Tie to get up to go to the bathroom. He had been sitting at the bar for like an hour, I knew it wouldn’t take long.

Sure enough, I only had to wait about ten minutes. I saw Mr. Blue Tie get up and turn towards the restroom. Of course, he snuck a few more glances at me. I knew this was my chance. I had to occupy Nick though. I told him to let his attention wander, to start noticing other things in the restaurant, etc. I told him he wouldn’t notice that I had left the table, and would keep just dazing off until I spoke to him again. It worked perfectly, I saw him start looking around as soon as I had said that.

With part two of the plan in play, I grabbed my fur coat from the back of my chair and slipped it on as I headed to the restroom. Mr. Blue Tie of course noticed this, as his eyes hadn’t really left me all night. Now, I will admit, I really felt the Cosmopolitans when I stood up. Wow, I was definitely a little drunk.

I was able to not stumble over to him though, which was impressive in the heels I was in. I caught him before the bathroom.

"Hi, I see you like this white fox coat I’m wearing”, I said to him as I got close, looking deep into his now… well, petrified eyes.

He tried to say something, probably to make an excuse. As soon as I saw him go to speak, I put my finger on his lips. “Shhhhh. It’s ok I know that you like it. It’s ok.”

I slowly removed my finger from his lips and then held my hand in front of his eyes for a moment. Slowly and seductively, I moved my fingers to the thick fox shawl collar. As I expected, his eyes never left my finger tips.  “That’s right. You are finding that you can’t look away from my gentle, soft caressing of the fur. You are finding that your eyes are locked on finger tips and you can`t look away. It may be that you just find the sight of my feminine hand caressing the thick, soft fur is so pleasant to look at. I`m very glad you find my fingers stroking the fur pleasing enough for you to want to watch me do it just like you`re doing right now. I’m ok with it, I’m letting you just stare, like you’ve wanted to. Just SSssoo natural to just want to reelllaax and watch me caress the fur. SSssoo natural... ssssoo natural to want to stare at me touching the fur and listen to my voice. Nothing unusual. Nothing but just reellaaxxing and staring like you`re doing, and listening to my voice. SSssoo easy....ssssoo natural....ssssoo rreeellaaxing..... reeellaaaxing.....” I could see his jaw was hanging open and his eyes looked glazed. I slowly moved my fingertips up to my face. His eyes followed and met mine. Now our eyes were locked, fixed. I then moved closer to him and placed my thumb on his forehead and my fingers on his head. Speaking to him in a soft, sexy tone of voice, I began to slowly rotate his head. “....reeellaaxing more and more as you look deep into my eyes. Deeper and Deeeeper into my eyes now. You find it impossible to look away from my eyes. You find it impossible to look away. My eyes pull you deeeeper and deeeeeper into them. Feel it...feel them pull you in deeeeper and deeeeeper. Down deeeep...down deeeep into my eyes and you love this feeling of just letting go and sinking...sinking...down deeeep....down deeeep into my eyes. Just let go now and sink all the way down...deep.....deeeeep....deeeeeep into reeellaaxing sleep... sleeeep....sleeeeeeeeeeep....” With that, he collapsed on to me. Slumped right on to my shoulder. I started to freak out, wondering if anyone at the restaurant was noticing what was going on, but it quickly faded away as I realized I needed to keep this moving quickly.

“Hearing only the sound of my voice. You will do exactly as I tell you to do. It feels so good to follow and obey. Now, stand up, open your eyes, but remain deep in hypnotic trance.” I told him.

He did so. Good. That was going to get awkward fast with him draped all over me. Plus, he was heavy.

“Now, I want you to answer me completely honestly, do you understand?”

“Yes” he responded quietly

“Good, that makes me very happy, and you want to make me happy, don’t you?”

“Yes” he responded earnestly.

“Goooood”, I cooed. “You are doing soo well. Now, what is your name?”

“Doug Stumbly”

“Good Doug. I’m pleased that you told me that. Do you like to please me Doug?”

“Yes”

“Good. So good. Are you sexually attracted to women in furs Doug?”

“Yes, women in white furs” he said

White furs. Ok. Geez, these guys and their fetishes are like, sooo specific. Being a guy must be so weird. Whatever. “Good Doug, very good. I am the most beautiful woman you have ever seen wearing a white fur live and in person, aren’t I?” I said/suggested.

“Yes” he responded. I knew it.

“Good, you are doing so well, you are making me happy and that makes you feel even more happy, and relaxed, and it allows you to sink even deeper into hypnosis for me. Now, tell me, are you rich?” I asked, now pretty damn bold.

“Yes”

“How?” I asked. Like, inheritance, hedge fund? I was curious.

“I own Stumbly Motor Group” he said.

Well well well. That could come in handy. Wait, I was getting ahead of myself. “Are you married?”

“No.”

“Were you ever?”

“Yes. Divorced”

“Do you live in Providence?”

“yes”

Frankly, I had more questions. I was pushing my luck here outside the bathroom though. I had to keep this show on the road. “Doug, in a moment, I am going to snap my fingers. You will awaken and take my phone. You will put your number in it. You will then go to the bathroom. When you are finished you will find the manager and pay for mine and my husband’s meal. When you get a text from Cynthia, your Fur Queen, you will obey the instructions completely, do you understand?”

“Yes” he said, then I snapped and handed him my phone. His eyes opened and he took my phone and entered his information. A smile came to my lips as I watched him.

I was definitely drunk, and I stumbled as I walked back to our table as Dougy-boy took a pee. I told Nick that he would follow me passively for the rest of the night, without thinking or questioning anything. Just so happy to be near me that nothing else mattered, nothing seems out of place. I said that as long as he is with me, everything is just fine. He was so deeply in my thrall at that point that he just went with whatever I said.

I looked over and saw him talking to the manager. The waiter came over and told us a gentleman had taken care of the bill for us. I smiled brightly and thanked him. I told Nick it was time to go, and that we were off to the hotel. Admittedly, in his zoned out state, I had to handle a few more of the arrangements than I would have liked. I was pretty drunk, so I knew I shouldn’t drive. I decided to leave the car in the garage it was already in and call an Uber to get us to the hotel. On the way there, I managed to check in via an app and got the room key sent to my phone. It was a pretty slick interactive feature, but it was hard as hell to do when hammered. I pulled it off though.

I texted Doug. Doug, this is Cynthia, your Fur Queen. Come to the Biltmore, room 427 at 10:00. Even in my drunken state, I couldn’t believe I was inviting… or should I say ordering… another man to our hotel room. This was pretty far out, even for the new me.

By the time we got into the room, it was already almost 10. I told Nick to sit on the bed and stare into space. I went into the bathroom and freshened up my make up and brushed my teeth. I also took off my clothes, leaving only my sexy underwear. Then I put back on the fur. I reapplied some perfume and there was a knock at the door.

I opened the hotel door wearing only the white fur coat and my sexy Victoria’s secret satin bra and panties. My coat was open as one of my arms rested on the door jam. I could see from Doug’s face that he was speechless. Frankly, a heart attack on this older guy was like a real concern at that moment.

“come in” I told him, walking away from the door. “close it” I commanded as he entered. He probably would have closed it anyway, but I was just throwing out another command because it felt good.

“Look, I really appreciate meeting you, but I – “ Doug started.

“Shhhhhh” I said as I turned to him, my fingers once again on his lips. This time, I applied pressure with my finger, pushing him. Pushing him down. Down to his knees. My eyes were locked on his. I felt the power coursing through me.

“Nick, get on your knees next to him. DO it now” I said. Nick passively slumped off the bed and hit his knees next to Doug.

“Both of you, stare at me!” I commanded as I backed up and stood in front of them. I grabbed a chair from little desk set up in the room and sat in front of them.

I was still drunk. Not only on alcohol, but on hypnotic, sexual power. “I want you to look at me. See only me.” I said to the awestruck men. ”In fact, I want you to think of me in this fur ... nothing else ...just concentrate on me ... use the beautiful fur coat as a focus to direct your mind so you can concentrate only on me ...... only of me .... nothing else .... not the sounds of the hotel around you ... not the others checked in here ... nothing matters to you, but me .... concentrate only on me..... concentrate on me ....."

I could tell they were both concentrating on me as instructed. It was such an odd situation, both for my husband, and this random dude I basically kidnapped. The wicked part of me laughed inside as I guessed that some part of both of them knew that something was wrong, that he shouldn’t let this happen. But I was going after them hard… and I knew guys like them were weak because of their fetishes.

"Think of me ... only of me ..... concentrate on the sound of my voice and my presence .... You are slipping into a deep . intoxicating hypnotic trance that I have crafted and you find you cannot stop your descent . With every second that passes you feel your will to resist me slipping away and your desire to obey me growing. You want to obey me. You NEED to obey me.... You desire to be my fur slave .. and each second your desire to serve me grows. Every second you look at me and listen to my voice brings you closer to total surrender. Feel your will power dissolve, with every word I speak to you. Feel your desire to be my fur slave grow. "

I could see that both of them were now sporting huge erections. That turned me on even more.

“nothing else else matters but your Fur Queen ..... my voice will lead you and you will follow ... follow me ..... OBEY me ...... you KNOW you want to follow me don't you ... you KNOW you want to obey me .... you want to obey my every command .... you want to be ENSLAVED by me don't you ... think about it and when you know it to be true repeat the words, My fur slaves ..... you WANT to obey me .... you WANT to be my fur slaves ....... say it .... what do you want....."

“to be your fur slave!” each man croaked out.

"Your MIND belongs to me,"  I said, as I started to stroke my own pussy. My speaking voice was now ragged as my breath quickened. “You are hypnotized., my pet. Hypnotized and enslaved by your Fur Queen"

Doug's mouth struggled to form words but he croaked out, " hyp ... no ... tized ....". Nick was just so far gone, he just stared with completely entranced eyes.

"And what do you want to do now, my Fur slaves?" I panted.

"I want to do any thing you command , " Doug said. Nick muttered “obey you Cynthia”. I felt myself on the edge of cumming.

"Then take out your cock and jerk off!” I yelled as I came. Both men obeyed without question. It was crazy. They both came almost instantly and almost in unison. Milky white fluids shooting up in the air. Each of their cum hitting both my leg (either the right or the left) and the floor below. It felt both cold and warm at the same time on my shin.

It was also so taboo, so crazy, so dominant. I was lost in some sort of control mongering haze. I looked at the two weak slaves in front of me. Each with so much power in their regular lives, but now my hypnotized obedient playthings. I laughed my wicked laugh again. I was so absolutely shit faced on power. “Lick it up!” I commanded. Each man immediately took one of my legs and gently started licking his own cum off of me.

Who. The. Fuck. Was I becoming?

[ferrstappen]

she’s my popstar l Arón Piper Imagine.

(a/n): HEYYY! I’m sorry it took so long, but with this whole online classes I've barely had time to eat :( anyway, I hope you enjoy this! 

summary: she’s a popstar and Arón’s shy.

From the moment you were standing on stage on the stage of the 40 Principales Awards, his hard gaze caught your eye. It probably was the way you could perfectly see the outline of his curls with the spotlight pointed at you.

You didn’t want to be obvious, but even on your position on stage, thousands of eyes on you, tens of cameras trying to find the perfect angle for the Versace short dress hugging your body as you presented Dua Lipa.

For some reason, being a famous singer usually spooked every man you showed interest in, so your mind was settled on just admiring from afar before catching a plane to London right after the after party to continue with recording your next album.

The change of scenery was quick. The stylist gave you a long blazer to put over the dress before someone opened the door of the black SUV, blinding your eyes with the hundreds flashes trying to catch a picture worth a few bucks.

Your assistant told you had two hours before heading to the airport. Taking a champagne flute from a waitress, thanking her before walking further inside, stopping to say hello to people you knew.

You didn’t have time to start a decent conversation when a tall mop of curls approached you with a friendly grin.

“(Y/N)!”

Your eyes slightly widened, knowing you knew his face from somewhere, but didn’t know where. “Hey!”

“I’m Jorge, I'm a fan!” He said making you a smile. “I’m starring on a show called Elite.”

“Right! I’ve heard about it, I'm pretty sure it’s on my list!” You smiled at him.

He was great with conversation, it felt like you had known each other for ages, your gut telling you this was the start of a great friendship, even if the music was loud and the lights were dimly lit.

“Jorge, I lost you!” A brunette girl took his hand, diverting his attention. “Oh my God, hi! Long time no see!”

“I knew you had to be around!” You greeted Danna with a hug. You had met a few years ago, you weren’t the closest of friends, but had gone out a couple of times.

“Hey, you should come with us! Aitana is there as well, and I'm sure you’ll love the rest of the crew!” Danna suggested and, seeing as you weren’t in the mood of dancing and drinking that much, you agreed.

Jorge introduced you, and as you were met with a chorus of hellos, you saw him.

Same curls, with his ring decorated hand holding a beer.“(Y/N), it’s been a long time since the Latin Grammys! How’s life?” Aitana asked, giving you a quick hug.

“It’s been busy, but great!” You carefully hid the fact that your legs were slightly shaking, feeling his foreign eyes on your back.

“This is my boyfriend, Miguel.” She introduced you to a tall, handsome lad.

Was everyone on this cast gorgeous? Minutes went by and champagne was flying around like water, you were squeezed between Omar and Danna, both of whom were drunk and loud, making you laugh until your ribs hurt, but he just kept checking you out, not saying a word. “You know, Arón’s working on a few songs!” Omar said, subtly eyeing his on-screen lover.

“Oh yeah? That’s great!” You said looking at him, sipping on your glass as you made eye contact for the first time.

“It’s just a hobby, I don’t think I'll do anything with them.” He spoke for the first time since you arrived.

Yes, he probably didn’t like you. Why? You didn’t know.

Pity, he looked like he would've been a great lay.

“Well, I'll be looking forward to listening to them If you ever release them.” You told him and he gave you a tight-lipped smile. The night went on and you lost track of time, laughing, drinking and screaming with everyone from the cast. You didn’t notice your assistant approaching, telling you it was time to leave.

“Noooo, just a little longer, please?” You pouted, your sight blurring from the sudden movement.

“(Y/N), there’s paparazzi outside and we have to be in London tomorrow, we’re meeting with the producer.”

“Girl, it’s been suck a good time! Don’t leave!” Ester drunkenly said, wrapping her arms around your neck.

You carefully made your way saying goodbye. You sensed Arón was bothered by something, so you were planning on just waving goodbye, but he surprised you by getting up from his seat, his slim frame towering over you.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you.” He said looking for your eyes after whispering in your ear so that you could hear him over the loud music.

You lost your breath for a second. “Likewise.” You held onto his bicep before leaving a kiss on his cheek.

His hand carefully pressed on your back before returning the innocent peck on the cheek.

Your body was covered in chills, not noticing when Jorge hugged you goodbye and whispered on your ear:

“Arón’s just shy, you should give him a chance.”

Next think you knew, you were met with flashes as you were driven to the airport.

On the other side, Arón’s head was spinning, intoxicated by the smell of your perfume.

For him, the night left as soon as you left. He didn’t say much, but he hoped you knew he was infatuated, his eyes eyes couldn’t get enough of your body and his body covered in chills every time he heard your laugh.

He was lying on his bed, his cold hand resting on his naked torso when he got a notification. He rolled his eyes, he only got notifications from verified accounts, so it probably was another Instagram model trying to get his attention.

@(y/n) is now following you.

Fuck, he wasn’t going to sleep.

-

Next morning, you woke up on your bed, your head pounding, not really remembering how you got there. You didn’t even remember getting on the plane, let alone getting home.

The phone buzzed. You tried to ignore it, but when it vibrated for the third time, you know it was your assistant telling you that you were supposed to be in the studio.

The day went by quickly, smiling when you were back home, finally giving you time to check your instagram, where Jorge had tagged you in a story. Now you were remembering that you followed everyone from the cast on your way to the airport last night. And you realized they were following you too.

Yes, Arón included.

Remembering the new pair of underwear Calvin Klein sent you after their newest campaign, you put on the red set with the white elastic with the brand name written on it.

You didn’t think before posting.

@(y/n): thirst trap ;) #MyCalvins

On the other side of the screen, Arón refreshed his feed on the right time, releasing the smoke from his lungs as he cursed to himself, not realizing he was typing.

@aron.piper: it worked. 

Now he was counting the days to see you again, swiftly writing your name to send a private message. 

we should meet again soon.

----------------------------------------

I'm thinking about turning it into a series, so let me know if you like it!

[dansedan]

HAPPY APRIL FOOLS DISCO ELYSIUM COMMUNITY HERE IS MY BOLERO/LATIN POP HARRY DU BOIS PLAYLIST FUCK YOU PAY ME 

(liner notes and English lyric translations under the cut, listen-along with the playlist!)

(warning, LONG LONG post)

BOLERO ELYSIUM:

1.       No Soy Nada- Harry mourning over Dora.

Translated lyrics:

[Verse 1]

My love, how I would like to have you with me

Turn back the clock and feel your heartbeat again

My love, how I wish not to be alive for today

And that you can be born again, walk your way

 [Chorus]

And sorry for crying at your feet, unable to see your face

For the sake of both of us I’ll leave, if it’ll make you smile tomorrow

And now I know that I do not do you as well as I imagined

It is not me that you should love because I am nothing

 [Verse 2]

My love, I never meant to be bad, I swear

And as much as I tried and improved, it is not enough for me

 [Chorus]

And sorry for crying at your feet, unable to see your face

For the sake of both of us I’ll leave, if it’ll make you smile tomorrow

And now I know that I do not do you as well as I imagined

It is not me that you should love because I am nothing

 It’s a good, simple angst chanson. Very accurate for a drunk idiot mourning over a relationship and self-flagellating.

 2. Te Fuiste a Tiempo- battle-tested relationshit/partner-divorce

Translated lyrics:

[INTRO]

You could’ve killed me like this,

So cruel and merciless

 [Verse 1]

You left on time

Because you were starting to be a necessity

How lucky was I

When fate gave me my freedom

 You left on time

Because I was beginning to understand that you were a disguise

And with the cynicism of a mirage

You asked for one more kiss

 [Chorus]

I hung a sigh from the spark of your hair

Like a comet that knew it was going to the ground

I gave you my wings when I was just taking off

I gave you everything and even neglected myself

 [Post-chorus]

You could kill me (Ah, ah, ah)

So cruel and slow (Ah, ah, ah)

But it was better ...

You left on time

 (The ra ra ra ra ...)

 [Chorus]

I hung a sigh from the spark of your hair

Like a comet that knew it was going to the ground

I gave you my wings when I was just taking off

I gave you everything and even neglected myself

 [Post-chorus]

You could kill me (Ah, ah, ah)

So cruelly and slowly (Ah, ah, ah)

But it was better ...

You left o-o-o-on time

 From the point of view of both of them!!! fucking insane dudes. It’s an April fools playlist of boleros so I am not going to pretend to have nuance here they are pining cheesily. Jean and “I gave you my wings when I was just taking off/I gave you everything and even neglected myself” makes me see red. Plus the idea of Very Soppily switching Jean’s attempts at having Harry… Not Do What He’s About To Do as “one last kiss” is. Soppy and amazing ok shut up.

 4.       El Último Trago- the bender of apocaliptic proportions

Translated lyrics:

Drink this bottle with me

And after the last drink we’ll leave

I want to see what forgetting you tastes like

Without putting your hands over my eyes

 Tonight I'm not going to beg you

Tonight you're really going to go;

How hard it is to have to leave you

Without feeling that you no longer love me

 The years have taught me nothing

I always make the same mistakes

Yet again toasting with strangers

And crying over the same pains

 Drink this bottle with me

And after the last drink, kiss me

Let’s hope there are no witnesses

Just in case you were embarrassed

 If one day we accidentally meet again

Do not bend down or speak to me directly;

Let us simply shake hands

And let the people murmur after

 The years have taught me nothing

I always make the same mistakes

Yet again toasting with strangers

And crying over the same pains

 Drink this bottle with me

And after the last drink we’ll leave...

 It’s the LAST DRINK hah see what I did there but also it’s a song about the foibles of drunkenness and drunken romantics so it’s very apt for harry trying to drown his Dora-related sorrows in alcohol. Poor mans. Also Dolores does just mean “pains” in here but. Dolores…

5.       No Soy de Aquí Ni Soy de Allá- Amnesia (hah, get it. Geddit. Yes this is mostly here because of the name but LOOK THERE’S MORE)

Translated lyrics:

[Verse 1]

I like the sun, Alice and the doves

good cigars and bad ladies

Jumping walls and opening windows

And when a woman cries

I like wine as much as flowers

And rabbits, but not tractors

And homemade bread and the voice of Dolores

And the sea wetting my feet.

 [Chorus]

I am not from here, neither from there

I have no age nor future

And being happy is the color of my identity

 [Verse 2]

I like to always be lying in the sand

To chase Manuela on my steed

For all the time, to see the stars

With Mary in the wheat field

 [Chorus]

I am not from here, neither from there

I have no age nor future

And being happy is the color of my identity

 [Verse 3]

I like the sun, Alice and the doves

good cigars and bad ladies

Jumping walls and opening windows

And when a woman cries

 Okay so hear me out: the stupid boiadero rugged macho man listing shit he likes to seem cool? So good for early amnesia Harry. This has Raphael Ambrosius Costeau written all over it. The mild mysoginy is only the cherry on top but all the random-ass nonsense lines that are just there to sound cool is perfect for Harry just. Saying shit and seeing if it sticks. Also the song bops so it’s here. Also like… “bad ladies” = klaasje thirst, “Jumping walls and opening windows” = the jamrock shuffle, “I like wine as much as flowers” = commodore red, forget-me-nots, “the sea wetting my feet”= Martinaise… ey? Ey? Ey?? Am I saying Jorge cafurne predicted disco Elysium? I don’t know but I’m sure saying SOMETHING. Also this would be a great ARB karaoke song.

 6.       Diez pasos hacia tí- getting to know Kim

Translated lyrics:

[Verse 1]

Life left us crossed

In a very casual way

You came like the sun

Stealing my shadow gradually

 Any leak of light

Everything was a sign

Ten steps towards you

A thousand doubts over me

And the fear, naturally.

 [Chorus]

You made me tremble like that (You made me tremble like that)

Like the moon over the water

And then I let go (And then I let go)

To embrace your gaze

And that's how I discovered you (And that's how I discovered you)

But it was in a kiss that I met you

 Uh, uh-uh-uh-uh, ten steps towards you

Uh, uh-uh-uh-uh

 Any leak of light

Served as a signal

Ten steps towards you

A thousand doubts about me

And the natural fear

 You made me tremble like that (You made me tremble like that)

Like the moon over the water

And then I let go (And then I let go)

To embrace your gaze

And that's how I discovered you (And that's how I discovered you)

But it was in a kiss that I met you

 You made me shake like that (You made me shake like that)

Like the moon over the water

And then I let go (And then I let go)

To swim in your gaze

And that's how I discovered you (And that's how I discovered you)

But it was in a kiss that I met you

 Uh, uh-uh-uh-uh, ten steps towards you

Uh, uh-uh-uh-uh

 Okay so clearly they don’t kiss YET but. We’re keeping on the theme of being very very cheesy and romantic because this is a shitpost playlist so here is a song with some vibes of slowly allowing yourself to trust someone who takes a bit of darkness from your life. “any leak of light”, “you arrived like the sun”, sunrise parabellum… also I love Harry being weak for Kim so “you made me tremble like that” is just. Yes thank you.

 7.       Soy un Corpóreo y Dentro de Mí Hay una Actriz Recién Titulada Llorando -superstar cop

Translated lyrics:

[Chorus]

I am a corporeal and within me

There's a newly graduated actress crying

I am a corporeal and within me

There's a newly graduated actress crying

 [Post-Chorus]

And in the official photos

I appear smiling with the children of the place

And in the promo clips

The sobs that inhabit me cannot be heard

 [Verse 1]

The show must go on

Experts indicate that it is the best

Two out of three recommend it

For your daily use

 [Chorus]

I am a corporeal and within me

There's a newly graduated actress crying

I am a corporeal and within me

There's a newly graduated actress crying

 [Post-Chorus]

And in the official photos

I appear smiling with the children of the place

And in the promo clips

The sobs that inhabit me cannot be heard

 [Verse 2]

I have no other life than the one that sweats inside of me

And I don't want it to go, and I don't want it to go

It is that I have no other life than the one that cries inside me

And without her I am nothing, and without her I am nothing

 [Outro]

And without her I am nothing, and without her I am nothing

And without her I am nothing, and without her I am nothing

 OK SO THIS ONE IS HEAVY but for both the tentatively-affectionately-titled “terminal cop brain” that Harry (and Kim and Jean) suffer as well as a touch of his internal struggle with his own self-hate and depression AND Dora shit it is here. Superstar cop just needs to buckle up his disco belt and bring down the law (no he doesn’t he needs a lot of real actual help but uh. Okay harrier.)

 8.       Lo Mal que Estoy y Lo Poco que me Quejo- the jamrock shuffle around Martinaise

Translated lyrics:

[Chorus]

How bad I am and how little I complain

How bad I am and how little I complain

 [Verse 1]

I always get up with my foot looking at the ground

The mute voice greets me from afar

He gives me his silence but I play the idiot

Looking in the mirror

 [Verse 2]

And the mirror gives me its reflection without mine

I assume it and I continue but I do not trust myself

I self-diagnose without even minimal success

And so I get depressed

 [Chorus]

How bad I am and how little I complain

How bad I am and how little I complain

I have my soul in quarantine and my body is broken

What pain, what pity and what torment

 [Verse 3]

I go out to the sidewalks, my walking out of tune

My suitcase full of boulders

My smile upside-down from climbing so many stairs

Without getting anywhere

 [Verse 4]

And history criticizes me because I'm always grieving

And I tell them ‘poor is he who hides his crying’

A brick doesn’t know how to cry

But it doesn’t follow a beat well either

 [Chorus]

How bad I am and how little I complain

How bad I am and how little I complain

I have my soul in quarantine and my body is broken

What pain, what pity and what torment

 [Bridge]

And how my whole life hurts

And the doctor has told me

That calls into question the truest truth

That I'm late to the niche

And that to each new pain I look for a placebo

 [Outro]

My donkey, my donkey's love hurts

Because nobody loves him, only me

And grief greets me when I'm laughing the most

My heart is full of patches

My donkey, my donkey's love hurts

Because nobody loves him, only me

And grief greets me when I'm laughing the most

My heart is full of patches

Chin pon!

 Is this not the most perfect song for the absolute insanity of mr. Du Bois? First, the catchy fucking tempo, let us enjoy how splendidly jaunty it is. Amazing. Then, all the stuff about the mirror, ESPECIALLY “And the mirror gives me its reflection without mine/ I assume it and I continue but I do not trust myself”. Also the line “And history criticizes me because I'm always grieving/And I tell them ‘poor is he who hides his crying’” feels so much like an argument between Harry and skills over Dora shit… this song is also just a bop.

 9.       Algo Contigo- falling in love with Kim (which is a canonical event fuck you)

Translated lyrics:

[Verse 1]

Do I need to tell you

That I am dying to have something with you?

Have you not noticed

How much it costs me to be your friend?

I can no longer get close to your mouth

Without desiring you in a crazy way

I need to control your life

To know who kisses you and who shelters you

 [Verse 2]

Do I need to tell you

That I am dying to have something with you?

Have you not noticed

How much it costs me to be your friend?

I can no longer continue spying

Day and night, guessing when you’ll arrive

I don't even know with what innocent excuse to pass by your house, oh-oh

I have so few roads left

And although it may seem like a folly to you

I would not want to die without having something with you

 [Verse 3]

Do I need to tell you

That I'm dying to have something with you, oh

Have you not noticed

How much it costs me to be your friend?

I can no longer get close to your mouth

Without desiring you in a crazy way

I need, baby, to control your life

Know who kisses you and who shelters you

I have very few roads left

And although it may seem like a folly to you

I would not want die without having something with you

 [Outro]

(Something with you, something with you)

baby, I wouldn't want to die without having (Something with you)

Something with you (Something with you)

Sad the fate that awaits me without being able to get to know you (Something with you)

Something with you (Something with you)

There is no excuse, there is nothing I have to lose

(Something with you)

Like a slave (Something with you)

A slave forever, I wouldn't mind being

(Something with you)

Eternally slave (Something with you)

Girl, I wouldn't want to die without having (Something with you)

Something with you (Something with you)

Sad is the fate that awaits me without being able to get to know you (Something with you)

 Okay so for one it’s pretty clingy as a romance song so it’s already perfect. We’re choosing to ignore it’s sung to a woman shhhh but look, okay. “I can no longer get close to your mouth/Without desiring you in a crazy way” is one of my favorite love song lines ever because I’m that brand of idiot but LUCKILY SO IS HARRY DU FUCKING BOIS OKAY so it makes me think of… devastatingly cool smoking Kim. I laughed a lot at the way “Day and night, guessing when you’ll arrive” paralleled a lot of my friends’ testimonies of getting really bummed out that Kim left with the body and they couldn’t hang out with him anymore. Also the sort of desperate air of “I have so few roads left/And although it may seem like a folly to you/I would not want to die without having something with you” also pings really nicely with Harry’s state of mind and inexperience and the assumed (reasonable lol) reaction that Kim might have at figuring out about this very unstable man’s pining after him. I almost had a different version of this song but despite the cheesiness of this rendition I like the way the ending lines devolve into… even more desperation. You go to therapy Harry, maybe you’ll get to smooch Kim if that works out…

4.       Ya Sé- the final dream with Dora.

Translated lyrics:

[Verse 1]

I know ... that you don't want to see me, I already know

That you are tired of my way of loving

That you don’t understand me and my jealousy does you wrong

That my caresses no longer shine on your skin

And that my nights are full of anxiety

 [Verse 2]

I know ... that you're with someone else, I already know

That you are calm and that you do not plan to return

That he has everything that he could never be

What are you saying that I have no dignity

That you don't care if I'm well or if I'm bad

 [Chorus]

Oh Love! Sorry if I call you to hear your voice

Sorry

I know you’re hating me

I'm leaving now! I want you to know something:

My heart fled, it left, I lost it on your lips

 [Verse 2]

I know ... that you're with someone else, I already know

That you are calm and that you do not plan to return

That he has everything that he could never be

What are you saying that I have no dignity

That you don't care if I'm well or if I'm bad

 [Chorus]

Oh Love! Sorry if I call you to hear your voice

Sorry

I know you’re hating me

I'm going now! I want you to know something:

My heart fled, it left, I lost it on your lips

 [Outro]

My heart fled, it left, I lost it on your lips

My heart fled, it left, I lost it on your lips

 Okay so the final dream kicked me in the emotional nuts and this is such a fucking fitting song. I mean, the phonecall had already killed me pretty hard, and the idea of Dora’s voice being so stuck in Harry’s mind that he can immediately react is… it’s a lot. I like the lip imagery here too bc I’m a slut for parallels between Kim and Dora, sue me. The self-flagellation and repetition and just… “ I know what you’re feeling but I don’t care I’m feeling this about it”  is so very fitting for the two of them… I just think about it a lot…

5.       Ódiame- Jean again… Jean in Martinaise…

Translated lyrics:

Love, don't forget me

Please,

Hate me

 Hate me as a mercy, I beg you

Hate me without measure or clemency

Hate, I want, more than indifference

Because  resentment wants less than oblivion

 Hate me for mercy I ask you

Hate me without measure or mercy

Hate, I want, more than indifference

Because  resentment wants less than oblivion

 If you hate me, I’ll be convinced

That you loved me well, with insistence

But keep in mind, according to experience,

That you can only hate that which you love

 What is worth more, me, humble, you, proud

Or is it worth more, your weak beauty

Think that at the bottom of the burial pit

We’ll be wearing the same clothing

 What is worth more, me, humble, you, proud

Or is it worth more, your weak beauty

Think that at the bottom of the burial pit

We’ll be wearing the same clothing

 If you hate me, I’ll be convinced

That you loved me well, with insistence

But keep in mind, according to experience,

That you can only hate that which you love

 But keep in mind, according to experience,

That you can only hate that which you love

 OKAY SO THIS ONE IS JUICY AS WELL… the whole theme of hate vs forgetting is very directly a Harryjean dynamic but. Please consider the way that this song is very directly interpretable as Jean just. Straight up going into bargaining over the harry amnesia thing. Like, fuck, even if you’re gonna keep being a horrible abusive asshole and pushing me away, at least don’t go an forget me. WHAT A KICK IN THE FUCKING NUTS. Also love the Broderbund bullshit with “Think that at the bottom of the burial pit/We’ll be wearing the same clothing” because. Cop Angst and their equality as partners is Important To Me. Also definitely calling out Jean’s entire being with “ you can only hate that which you love”

6.       Sí Po’- Inviting Kim to the 41st (gay)/post-mart domestica

Translated lyrics:

[Verse 1]

The stars aligned

You can't guess what happened

Do you remember that chore

That they had set me for today

 [Verse 2]

Yea, see, I managed to run it for tomorrow

I have all the time in the world for you

Mmm mmm mmm

Yea, see, just today that you are also free

We will have all the time in the world to do

Mmm mmm mmm

 [Pre-chorus 1]

It’s not like it was planned

Once it touches us

All the time giving up

Always going towards the crash

 Meeting deadlines that do not exist in practice

Fulfilling goals that you never set for yourself

 [Chorus]

"Let’s not go shopping, not today"

" Let’s not go shopping, not today "

You tell me and I’ll shop for you

" Let’s not go shopping, not today "

" Let’s not go shopping, not today "

You tell me and I’ll shop for you

 [Verse 3]

The weight of the glue

It doesn't make sense if it's like this

Dying with the excuse (From!)

That there is no other way to live

 [Verse 4]

No, see, I want to spend more time with you

If a window opens I will take advantage of it

Mmm mmm mmm

Yeah, see, and now that you’re also free

We will have all the time in the world to do

Mmm mmm mmm

 [Pre-chorus 2]

More than enough

And I fully complain

But the time of the world

It's not that long either

 Meeting deadlines that do not exist in practice

Fulfilling goals that you never set for yourself

 [Chorus]

" Let’s not go shopping, not today "

" Let’s not go shopping, not today "

You tell me and I’ll shop for you

" Let’s not go shopping, not today " ("please!")

" Let’s not go shopping, not today "

You tell me and I’ll shop for you

 [Outro]

With you I have the impression of being safe

That you don't always have to be doing something

 LOOK. LOOK. I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE THE TROPE OF THESE TWO ACTING LIKE EMBARASSED TEENAGERS AND THIS IS MY SHITPOST APRIL FOOLS PLAYLIST SO I AM GOING TO THROW IN A COOL TEEN CRUSH SONG SHUT UP. I love the intimacy of just. Groceries for each other, “casually” making time for each other, it’s just the best. Also “But the time of the world/It's not that long either” is HNNG with full game spoilers but you know what. It is also sweet. Fuck you, they want to spend quality time…

7.       Tartar de estár major- literally just a terrible cheesy “things will be better OR ELSE” credits scene type song

Translated lyrics:

Tell that old story

That despite everything some things remain

The moments lived

Memories that will remain

Deep in the soul

Nothing can make you forget

That we walked the same path

And the things that we did

 It was because we wanted to be

Again in this place

Despite the mistakes

Despite the flaws and virtues

I keep in me the best

Moments that will remain

Deep in the soul

 abandon everything and think no more

You can not forget what you lived

And your loved ones

They miss you when you are gone

They don't want to cry for you

 Many times

we had to be apart

And feel that despite the distance

We feel the same as each other always

 Nothing can make you forget

That we walked the same path

And the things we did was because we wanted to be

Again in this place

 Do not overthink it more

There is always a reason

Trying to revive

Trying to be better

 Trying to be better

 A song about memories… and being loved and values… and surviving through those memories and that love in order to try to become a better person……. That’s all I’m gonna say….

[justa-starrynite]

Choices: One

A/N: It is finally here! We have been excitedly talking about and anxiously waiting on posting our first Collaboration story together. We have been working on these for a month or so. Finally we get to share it with you all. We hope you enjoy this little adventure we’ll be taking you all on!

This is new territory for us so bear with us! For now, this page is solely for this story, but you never know what can happen down the road!

If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to leave a comment or shoot us a message!

Co-authors: @justahopelessssromantic & @starrynite7114

word count: 4175

tagged list: @chibsytelford @phoenixhalliwell @lady-pswrld @carlaangel86 @cocotheclown @mrsjaxtellerfan @loveandglamour26 @nakusaych9 @courtrae89 @briannab1234 @vicmackeybullshxt @gemini0410

Felipe had his gun drawn, cautiously making his way up the driveway of an old friend he knew so well. ell. Looking behind him he saw a few of his colleagues surveying the area. Seeing the footsteps and the front door that was wide open, he knew that they were too late. 

“I think we’re too late.” Felipe told his colleague. 

Quickly, they made their way up to the front door and found the place in disarray. The smell of gunpowder was still fresh in the air. 

Felipe heard the cries then. Making his way to the back of the home, he saw his former colleague and his wife, face down, their blood pooling under them. Their daughters surrounded them, crying as their parents became colder and colder.

“Mommy,” Amelia shook her mother, begging for her to wake up. “Arper, she no wakey.” 

Harper frowned, shaking her mother as well with the same result. She turned when she heard the footsteps, immediately wrapping her arms around Amelia. When she realized it was Felipe, her face scrunched up, the tears now flowing down her eyes. Felipe picked her up, his colleague, Jorge picking up Amelia. 

“It’s okay bebita, Tio Felipe is here now.” Felipe kissed her head. 

This was the reason he started anew in California, why he had to keep Angel and his newborn, Ezekiel along with his wife Marisol away from this. The cartel was hardly forgiving, and this was evidence of that. Looking at the two young toddlers in his arm and Jorge’s, he knew he had to do the same for them. 

Harper sat down by the computer in her room, letting out a sigh. Packing was a bitch. Moving from Seattle all the way down close to the border was a feat. It’s not like she couldn’t find a place in Seattle to work. Plenty of hospitals needed nurses, but she wanted to work at an underserved community and well, her recruiter found her a job in Santo Padre. Which was fate bringing the puzzle pieces together.

She’s been wanting to see Felipe, to thank him for everything he’s done for her all these years.

More importantly, she wanted to meet Angel, Felipe’s eldest son and the man who’s had her heart since she was eight years old. It was surreal how this all began over the phone and after all these years, they’ve never met face to face. 

Her adoptive father, Jorge, always spoke highly of Felipe, they used to be comrades of war. He never spoke about it often. But every once in a while, when he had enough to drink to let his inhibitions go, she could get a few things out of him.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but your parents love you dearly.” He would always tell her that, yet, he would never elaborate what happened to them. She knew they were no longer in this world and she had a sister, but from what her father told her, when he found her at an orphanage, it was only her left.

Harper remembered bits of pieces of her childhood, but at times, she felt that she blocked it out. 

Too traumatic or some shit.

Regardless, here she was, spending her last night at her parents home. Her older brothers Oliver and Dominic were having a hard time letting her go, even though they themselves no longer live in Seattle. Oliver was currently stationed in San Diego with the Navy and Dominic was in Arizona. Right now, they were in Seattle since they were going to drive down to Santo Padre with Harper. No matter her age, Harper would always be their baby sister, no amount of degrees or make up could change that.

Her parents taught her the value of hard work. 

They provided a roof over her head, gave her things that she wanted as long as they could afford it. They were never rich in the sense of materialistic things but their family was always rich with love and laughter. Jorge seemed to be a very strict man due to his military background, but he was the biggest jokester of them all. Harper’s friends growing up love coming to her home and just talking to her father, hearing his stories. Her mother, Elia, was an amazing cook and much like her father, a jokester. 

Harper felt blessed to have her family. She couldn’t even say she missed her biological parents cause she never knew them.

But she was grateful for being blessed with Jorge and Elia. Along with her two doofus older brothers.

Dominic was the eldest at thirty four years old. He was currently a manager at a bank in Phoenix, Arizona where he resides with his partner, Brandon. They were in the process of adopting a baby boy, four months old. Oliver was thirty-two years old and was currently an active member of the Navy. He currently resides in Coronado, close to base, with his fiancé, Haley. 

The three were all close growing up, the two boys taking in the toddler than their father brought him. They always wanted a sister and they got one in Harper. Blood or not, Harper was their baby and no one would ever harm her, especially not the people that killed her parents.

“Harp! Is everything packed?” She heard Dominic holler at her.

“Yes! We’ve been over this for the seventeenth time!” She yelled back. 

“Okay smartass, if you fucking forget one thing tomorrow I’m throwing your ass in the lake.” Dominic warned.

Harper laughed before she stopped and rechecked her items. She wasn’t taking everything, this would always be her home after all. The most she took were her clothes and this dresser her father had made for her, she could never truly part with it.

There was a knock on her door.

“Come in!” She called out. “Who knew you knew how to knock Dom.” 

Looking up, she found her father, a small smile gracing his lips. This has been difficult for him. He didn’t want her to move. Though the threat may no longer be there, he was still hesitant to part with his baby girl.

“All packed?” Jorge asked as he sat beside Harper on her bed. The bed where she shed tears over the first boy to break her heart. The bed where he read her endless stories about happily ever afters. The bed where he would hold her and lull her to sleep whenever she dreamt about the night her parents were slayed. The bed where he promised her that no matter what, he would always protect her.

“Yes, don’t believe Dominic, he’s just being an asshole.” Jorge gave her a look and she immediately corrected herself. “A jerk, Dom’s being a jerk.”

“You’re twenty-nine years old Harper, you’re allowed to cuss.”

“Yes well, you’ve embedded it in me that if I get that look, that means I’m not supposed to do something.” Harper gave him a sheepish smile. 

“I know.” Jorge chuckled. “I decided to come along with you and your brothers, it would be nice to see Felipe again.”

“Really?” Harper grinned. “That would be great, you two could catch up and you could ease my nerves about moving to a new place.”

“You’ll be fine mija. If there was one kid I wasn’t worried about, it was you.” 

Harper chuckled. “Thanks dad.”

She was ready for this new chapter. However nerve wracking it may be, she had a good feeling about this, that she was on the right path. 

It was the path that led her to Angel and unbeknownst to her father, her sister. 

Miguel fastened the last button of his white shirt as he walked into the dining room greeting his family. “Buenos días my beautiful familia.” He grinned looking as his two favorite women and his precious little girl. He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek then leaned over cupping his beautiful wife Amelia’s face in his hand leaning in for a soft kiss before turning to the other side and placing a sweet kiss to the top of his daughter, Marisela’s head. He then took his place at the head of the table unfolding his cloth napkin and setting it across his lap. “How was everyone’s night?” He questioned as he looked to Marisela. He had been working all night so he had not come to bed. The last thing he did before shutting himself in his office was tuck his daughter into her bed and read her favorite bedtime story. He was hoping last night was finally the night she could sleep by herself, nightmare free. The poor thing had been suffering from terrible nightmares, waking up crying in the middle of the night before finding comfort in her parent’s bed. He loved her dearly but it could only go on for so long before something had to change.

“I had ‘nother nightmare.” Marisela spoke up quietly looking up at her father with her big brown eyes. “A scary monster came and swooped me away from you and I would never see you again.” She recalled, her little eyes filling with tears. 

Miguel and Amelia’s hearts broke at the sight. They felt for their daughter and wished more than anything to be able to rid her of these fears. “You have nothing to fear mi princesa.” Miguel spoke softly to her, “Papa would never let that happen. You’re safe, surrounded by people who love and protect you.” 

“Like tio Nessy?” She asked, perking up a bit. Nestor and Marisela had a very special bond, the little girl holding a special place in his heart as well. 

“Ella,” Amelia spoke up catching her daughter’s attention. “Did you know Mama used to get terrible nightmares too when she was little like you?” Amelia had suffered from nightmares that would plague her after she was adopted. They were always so vivid and felt real but at the end of the day they were just dreams and eventually they faded with time. Hopefully it wouldn’t take Marisela’s quite as long to disappear for her. 

“You did?” Marisela asked, eyes wide. “How’d you make ‘em go away?” 

“Eventually they just did, baby.” Amelia said, giving her a comforting smile and reaching out to brush a curl behind Madisela’s ear. “Yours will too.”

Miguel watched on intently, Marisela was beautiful looking just like her mother and he thought about how lucky he was to have his family. “So,” he spoke up taking a sip of his coffee, “What are our plans for today?” 

“Well, we’ll probably just have a little girl’s day.” Amelia said buttering her toast, “Do some shopping, maybe get our nails done and then dinner at (restaurant name)?” 

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll make sure we have a reservation.” Miguel said. 

Nestor stepped into the room instantly gaining the attention of Marisela. She perked up at the sight exclaiming, "Nessy!" Nestor smiled at the little girl walking over to her as she bounced on her seat. He'd never get tired of the excitement she had every time she saw him. Looking up at him as he got closer Marisela pouted. Where the nightmares were a terrible feat for her she also knew how to use them to gain the sympathy of those already wrapped tightly around her little finger. "Had 'nother scary dream tio Nessy," She informed him, bottom lip jutting out as her eyes watered over. 

"That's no good," he said brushing the stray tear away that trailed down her cheek. 

Amelia looked to Miguel hoping she could have a moment to speak with him. The nightmares had been at the front of her mind for some time now. She hated seeing her daughter suffer through similar things to what she had growing up. She also missed having the bed to herself and husband again, the frequent addition blocking any and all intimacy between the two. 

Miguel picked up on his wife's silent signal. “Why don’t you go wash up," He suggested to his daughter, "You've got a big day planned ahead, mi princesa. You'll need to be heading out soon."

"I'll take her, Mykie." Nestor offered lifting the girl off her seat and taking her hand. "Come on now little Ella." Amelia smiled at her daughter as Nestor and Marisela walked out of the room to clean up leaving Miguel, Amelia, and Dita still sat at the dining table.

Amelia’s smile faltered as she sunk down in her seat exhausted once her daughter was out of sight. She looked to Miguel again. “We can’t keep doing this Miguel. The nightmares have to stop. Marisela is barely sleeping." She rubbed her temples between her fingers in an attempt to massage the stress away. "Maybe it would be good to seek outside help, find someone she can talk to. Someone who could help her more than us." 

Miguel grabbed her hand, stilling her movement and bringing it down to his lips for a kiss to the back of her soft skin. He held it tight giving it a squeeze as she placed her other hand on top of his “I think that’s an excellent idea, amor." He agreed. "We’ll find someone, look into it together. I promise." 

Dita sipped her tea remaining silent throughout the conversations until now. “She’s a child, they have nightmares all the time.” She spoke up waving it off, “She doesn’t need a shrink messing around in her little mind and filling it with nonsense." She set her cup down on the table looking to her daughter in law "What she needs is for you to stop letting her sleep in your bed every time she has a silly little dream. The sooner she learns she doesn't have you to fall back on she'll get over it." She said sternly. "She's a Galindo, strong like her father." Dita smiled at her son. 

Amelia gave her mother in law a tight lipped smile in return. It took everything in her to keep her calm. She and Dita did not often get along, Dita thinking Amelia belonged in the role of loving mother and doting wife nothing more and certainly not getting involved with the cartel business. What Miguel and Amelia had was a partnership though. She refused to be left in the dark. They respected each other, were a true power couple through and through. It was because of that that their marriage remained strong. 

Amelia was adopted by the Mendoza’s, another powerful cartel that was south of Sonora. Together, their marriage would unite the two powerful cartels, sparing bloodshed between the two. The Galindo’s never crossed a certain border, helping the Mendoza’s retain their power in that part of Mexico, while the Mendoza’s helped the cartel keep their territory intact. After the DOJ’s meddling, the Galindo’s were not as powerful as they used to be. The partnership, forced partnership, with the government made them look weak, leaving distaste to other cartel families. But they also understood why everything occurred the way it did. And now, Miguel Galindo was in power and it was different to his father’s reign. They were unsure of his prowess, but he has proved that he could play their game, they just didn’t know how well he could. Regardless, the Mendoza’s allied themselves with Miguel, strengthening their partnership with a marriage. If they had a marriage, a child, it would be hard to betray one another, the fallout would be far too great. 

Amelia and Miguel knew one another from when they were children, and always had polite conversations. When they were informed that they would be arranged, there was no fight from either as they knew their fates. Powerful families rarely wanted to marry outside of their class. Even though it seemed ridiculous at this time period, with all the progressive ideals that has been put forth, old habits were difficult to break. They’ve been married for 

Miguel made her a promise the night their engagement was announced.

‘I know this is not ideal Lia, but I will protect you. I promise you that no matter what happens, it will be you and me against whatever is thrown against us.’ 

And Miguel has kept that promise. He’s even gone against his mother for her.

Miguel squeezed Amelia’s hand in support as he addressed his mother. “This is between Amelia and I, Mama. Marisela is our daughter. It is our decision to decide what is best for her. Even a Galindo could use a helping hand every now and then.”

Amelia gave Miguel a grateful smile, squeezing his hand back. Dita gave them both a tight smile before leaving the two alone. Amelia didn’t hate Dita, but she didn’t particularly like her either. More often than not, Dita always inserted herself in their marriage. 

Amelia smiled as Marisela slowly awoke from her small nap during the ride over to town. She had to drop off a few things at the post office and she figured no better time than the present to see who her Pediatrician would recommend for Marisela to meet up with. Though, they most likely would go to San Diego as the choices were by far vast. 

Hearing the familiar roar of the motorcycle, she looked as two Mayans passed her by, parking across the street at Carniceria Reyes. Coco and Angel dismounted, taking off their helmets and placing it on their handles. Coco looked back, his eyes meeting Amelia’s. She managed to give him a small smile and he returned it, their past memories running through both their minds. 

What could have been.

What should have been.

“Still can’t believe she’s married to Galindo.” Angel shook his head. “Hola Amelia, come estas?” 

Amelia rolled her eyes and flicked off Angel. 

“Very nice to do in front of your kid.” Angel further teased her. 

Coco smacked Angel’s arm, shaking his head. “Leave it, you don’t want Galindo breathing down our neck because you’re fucking with his wife.” 

“You’re right.” Angel nodded his head, stepping on the sidewalk to make his way over to his father’s butcher shop. 

Coco knew that no matter how he felt, this was the best for Amelia. Like what Miguel told him the night Amelia collapsed in his arms, she was better off with him. He could get her the proper treatment for his condition and he, a nobody, could barely reap his benefits from his military service. It was one of the hardest things he had to do. A relationship that lasted less than a year had such an effect on him, still did to this day. He dreamt of her often, how she would laugh at his corny jokes, take in his words of wisdom and always compliment on how intelligent he was. Those were the most cruel dreams, they were equivalent to nightmares, since it was a taste of what he had and could never have again.

“Yo, you alright?” Angel broke him away from his thoughts. 

“Huh? Yeah, I’m good.” Coco turned away from Amelia, moving towards where Angel was. 

Much like everything else in his life, Amelia and his children, were pushed to the side, because they were better without him. He would just ruin his life, much like how he always fucked up in his. 

The club was the only family he had and it would always remain that way.

Harper walked in, the nerves in her stomach were going inside. Her father Jorge followed after her, smiling at Amelia’s excitement. He was glad that she was finally able to meet her Tio Felipe again after all these years. Ever since Marisol’s death, Felipe’s visits were sporadic at best, but Harper understood she always did. 

“Be with you in a moment,” Felipe had his back turned to them, preparing the meat he was going to place in the display case. 

“Take your time.” She responded. 

“Compadre, you’re moving slower, should we be concerned?” Jorge couldn’t help but tease Felipe.

Felipe froze and turned around. “Jorge?” He wiped his hands with his apron, taking it off as he made his way towards them. His eyes then landed on the young woman beside him and his smile even grew larger. “Harper?”

“Hello,” she shyly greeted him.

“Don’t be shy now, go hug him.” Jorge gave his daughter a slight push.

Harper walked over to Felipe, wrapping her arms around him. The warmth she felt was similar to the one she felt when her father would embrace her. The men who saved her and her sister, wherever she may be. 

“Mija, you’re so grown.” Felipe rarely smiled, but seeing Harper in front of him, even though he had seen Amelia numerous times, it was different. Harper was kept away, just to assure that the two would not be put together and hunted down. It was ironic how Amelia was now married to the family who got her parents killed in the first place. Felipe didn’t know who Amelia was going to be adopted too, he trusted a friend of his to find a good family for her, a family who would be able to afford her condition. 

And those were the Mendoza’s. 

“What are you doing here?” He questioned Harper once he pulled away. “What are you both doing here?”

“Came to help her unpacked, make sure everything is in order at her apartment.” Jorge wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

“I got a job here as an ER nurse, I’ve always wanted to serve underserved communities and my recruiter found me one here.” Harper excitedly told him. “I jumped at the opportunity as I’ve been wanting to see you and Angel as well.”

Felipe chuckled, shaking his head. His eldest son was enamored with Harper. Ever since they were younger, Angel always spoke to Harper. It was odd that they became as close as they’ve been, but Felipe was thankful. He felt that he failed Angel, that he didn’t give him the love that he deserved. He would make it up to Angel eventually, but he was glad Harper was here now, just so the two could finally meet face to face. Every time they would try and meet, it was never the right time. It was upsetting to say the least, but Angel always pushed through. 

“Angel has been looking forward to meeting you for so long, I’m sure it would make him immensely happy to see you.” Felipe chuckled. “Have you two eaten? Let’s go grab some food and bring it back here.”

Felipe went to the back to lock up and change, Jorge following after him. Harper stood by the counter, checking her phone. The bell rang, indicating someone walked in. She looked up and found two men, one taller than the other, wearing leather vests. Giving them a small smile, Harper’s attention went back to her phone.

Angel studied the young woman before him, his eyebrows furrowing. “Amelia, weren’t you just outside?”

Harper looked at the man behind her and gave him a confused look. “Amelia? My name is Harper.”

Angel froze. 

Harper.

He knew that voice. 

It was her voice. 

Angel didn’t know how he could feel so strongly about someone he never met. He’s always felt at ease with Harper. He could even say that he loves her. She’s been his best friend, his confidant for years. And to have her in front of him, he was in disbelief. 

“Is it really you?” Angel studied her face, she looked just like Amelia, but she just looked different, seemed different. The smile on her face was brighter, more genuine. Her hair was burgundy stuck out to him. He remembered when she was nervous about coloring her hair and she looked beautiful. The half sleeve tattoo on her arm caught his eye, a sleeve she had shown him before. 

God, she was gorgeous.

“Want to pick up your mouth bro, it’s kind of embarrassing.” Coco couldn’t help but tease Angel. Though it was eerie how much she looked like Amelia. “Fuck, I owe Gilly money.” Coco took his phone out, preparing to text their third musketeer. 

And the fact she wasn’t a dude really surprised Coco.

His voice registered to Harper then. Her mouth dropped open before she shrieked and ran over to him, jumping in his arms. Angel’s arms immediately wrapped around her. 

“Angel!” Harper buried her face at the crook of his neck. 

“Fuck, you are real.” Angel couldn’t even explain how overjoyed he was to finally have Harper in his arms. He always thought that maybe life was playing a cruel trick on him and he was being fucking catfished, especially since she would never show him pictures of herself. She reasoned that her parents wouldn’t allow it, that people were looking for her and his father explained the same thing to him. Angel never pushed it, which was surprising for him, but he knew it must have been something if even his father and mother advised that it would be best to wait to see Harper

[skamesptranslations]

TRANSCRIPT

SEASON 3 EPISODE 9 CLIP 6 - I CAN CHANGE

E: Girl we get… Pizza, for example. And then we study! Girl, it’s gonna be fun and now that you feel better, I don’t know, we talk about our stuff…

N: No, girl. I’d rather go home and study, I can’t get another 5. Really.

V: Girl but are you sure you want to go home?

N: Yes, totally sure, for real. And you guys should go study too or you know what happens

E: Okay, okay, mommy. No, come on, really. If anything happens…

N: … I’ll call you

V: Yes

E: Eh, no! You call ME

V: No, me!

N: Well

E: Are you gonna be okay? Okay, I trust you, Nora

N: Okay, thanks

E: I love you

N: Me too

E: Friend

N: See you tomorrow

E: Yes

V: See you

N: Bye

E: Bye. Bye, Viri

V: Bye

[Into The Blue by Line Bogh, Maxi Schulze and Moritz Limmer]

M: Don’t- Don’t look at me like that

N: Like what?

M: Like- Like you’re scared of me. I’ve come to apologize.

N: Did you really delete the pictures?

M: Yes. I told you, and I kept my word. Look. 

     Nora, I swear I wasn’t going to post them. I told you that because I needed you to talk to me. I swear I never planned on sending them to anyone. I swear to you, I would never hurt you.

N: But you already have

M: I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m an asshole and I screwed up. Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Sometimes I can’t see clearly and I do stupid shit.

N: Like in the concert? It was you the one who fucked up Jorge’s table, right?

M: Hey, no. I don’t want you to think I’m a bad guy, because I’m not. I know I do things wrong, but I want to get you back. 

      I’ll do anything to get you to forgive me. For real. I’ll change. Do you think I like being this way? Nora, please say something. I love you.

N: Is it true you want to change? 

M: Yes. And I know I can do it with you by my side. Help me. Please, give me a chance.

N: I’m sorry, but I just can’t. I shouldn’t. If you really want to change I’m not the one to help you

M: Of course you are. Nora, of course you are.

N: No, you have to get real help. A psychologist or something like that but not me

M: Don’t leave me, please.

N: And delete me from social media. From Instagram, from WhatsApp, everything. Miquel I have screenshots of the texts and the pictures and everything. Don’t make me report you

M: This can’t be. You’re not for real. Nora, you still love me. You love me. I know it.

N: Don’t you dare touch me.

[Ojos de Serpiente - DORA]

[gnflorida]

im kinda curious about how benji making an account resulted in him manipulating fans if you'd like to explain a little more :)

cause i get how that would be bad for both sides. i've seen so many people just using that accs dms as therapy session which is,,,not good imo. so yeah thoughts?

sure anon! i’m gonna put this under a cut bc it ended up being pretty long. but here’s my ramble on that little case study, and the danger of parasocial relationships in general:

tw // mention of grooming and sexual harassment (not with a fan but just as a point of discussion)

so we have benji krol and jorge garay. maybe you know them from being kinda relevant on tiktok like a year and a half ago, maybe you remember the accusations that practically ended both of their careers. i’m exposing myself heavy here, but i used to run a stan acct on twitter for them. i know it’s embarassing! i regret it too! typing their names still kinda makes me sick tbh! but i used to see a lot of myself in them, and the community was fun, and it was nice to see what i thought was a healthy queer relationship. we move on.

benji had a very close relationship with his stans, especially after quarantine started. he had multiple private/secret twitter accounts where he would take a very active role in the fandom. he’d spend so long on those accounts, to the point where there were times where we would tell him not to use them (and that in and of itself is very showing of what our dynamic with him was like). he would reply and talk to a lot of ppl on stan twt, myself included, but there was a small groupchat of about a dozen people that he talked to very regularly. he would tell them things that were meant to be kept secret even from other stans, and in some cases things that we know for certain he didn’t even tell some of his closest friends.

because they were so close with benji, these stans obviously got a lot of clout within the fandom (as they should have too! they were mostly all rly nice, i’m still moots w a few). but what was going essentially unnoticed there was just how much manipulation was occurring. i honestly don’t believe it was even fully intentional on benji’s part. but over the course of more than a year he manipulated them into defending him against almost every negative accusation he faced. these people would have screenshots and receipts from him personally, ready to pull him out of all potential drama or criticism. and he did this by presenting their relationship as a mutual friendship, as if there wasn’t a blatant and vast imbalance of power.

and then one day last august, the allegations came out. jorge, who was 18, was accused of grooming another influencer who was 15 at the time, and benji was accused of enabling and even contributing to the grooming. over the course of the following days and weeks, as it became apparent that these alleged events did actually happen, the fandom was forced to collectively reevaluate the things that had been going on for over a year, and how we had all ended up in a situation where we unknowingly supported those people. since then, various other information has surfaced that implies that benji himself was somewhat unaware of what was happening. you can watch his yt vdeo if you’re interested in hearing his defense, and the reason he’s not canceled off the face of the earth like jorge is. but the degree to which he may or may not be innocent is not really my focus here.

i cannot begin to express the shock of spending so long idolizing someone, genuinely learning a lot about who they are, only to have something so significant and disgusting revealed about them like that. everyone in the fandom kind of compared receipts and took an outside look at what had been happening and realized just how harmful the close relationship with benji had been. to quote one of my rant tweets from august 22nd: “i just feel so stupid because i would always say ‘we shouldn’t act like we really know them’ and. here i am sobbing anyways bc i still put too much trust in these people who are rly just fucking strangers”. and there were several dozens of people that were much closer to him and much more personally affected than me. plus hundreds of others that were involved in the fandom.

and that brings me into my main point here. this is a firsthand account of a very extreme example of manipulation within a parasocial relationship. i think benji did genuinely care about his fans, even if it was in a very self-indulgent and egotistical manner. but caring about your fans does not do anything to negate the harm that is done by manipulating your relationship with them.

it’s not that a fan doesn’t know what a given content creator is really like, because a lot of them do present their honestly selves to a considerable degree. it’s that there is no way to know what things you don’t know about a CC. no way to tell what will surface tomorrow and completely change your entire perception of them. and no way to interact with them on equal grounds. and because of this, i am extremely wary of any CC who presents their relationship with their fans as one of friendship, especially when a large amount of those fans are minors. it’s not inherently wrong persay, but it’s more dangerous than i think a lot of fans or CCs realize.

[barcaavengers]

Irreversible || Newt Imagine ||Part 3

Note: And now we are getting to the angsty part! I’m still thinking if I should write a prequel cause I think it should be fun but let’s see if I get to it. As always, let me know what you think and if you’d like to see something specific!!

Disclaimer: Gif not mine. Credit to owner!

After Newt left you on the stairs, you stayed there to regain yourself knowing that everyone would be downstairs. Not much time had passed until you heard footsteps behind you, you hoped for it to be Newt, yet you turned to see the boy you thought dead, his hands hidden in the pocket of his hoodie. 

"You alright?" He asks as he leans against the wall.  

"Not really" you voice breaks. "I didn't know things would turn this way" you admit. "I'm starting to think that maybe I should've-"

"Stayed away?" Gally arches an eyebrow. "You can't. Neither of you can. You will all be worried and you all want to get Minho back," he pauses. "We all need clear heads for what's coming, Y/N" and that you knew too well. "You got a short temper when it comes to it, so I suggest you figure this out by tomorrow night." 

"You got Teresa?" You ask straight up, deciding to not reply to him.

"Yeah. She is downstairs removing the tags. You should come down" you quickly get off the wall to head downstairs, but Gally holds your arm. "I know what you are thinking, and trust me I'd do the same but we need her to get Minho, alright?" 

"Just stay close cause I don't make any promises…"

"Oh, I know. I'm the only one who can predict your moves, I taught you those" he says proudly. 

"They have changed" you push him and he chuckles, an arm going around your shoulders. 

"I bet they have" he says as you two walk down. "I don't know what's the fuss of protecting you so much," he says. "You could take Wicked all by yourself if it came to it" he ruffles your hair and runs away, you laugh as you follow him. 

You come down the stairs to see Teresa removing the tags from Newt, the boy was looking down, his arm resting on the back of the chair as he sat with his back to the girl. Your hands turn into fists as she looks at you, yet drops her gaze quickly. Before you know it, your feet are moving, yet Gally catches your arm to stop you. Newt looks up at the two of you and his eyebrows furrow. 

When it's your turn, you don't say a word nor look at her, you sit down and rest your hands on the back of the chair after removing the hair on your neck. She is quick to get to work, you tighten your hand on the chair as she opens the skin, your eyes closing. You hear the metallic cling before the grinding of another one. "How is he?" You can't help but ask.  

"He is fine" she says, but you notice the lie.

"How much blood is left in him, hm?" You ask and grunt as she removes the tag from your neck.

"Y/N, you need to understand-" she says as she places a piece of cloth on your back, yet you stand up abruptly. 

"What is there to understand?! You betrayed us, you betrayed your friends" you snarl taking a step closer to her. "We should've let the Cranks take you" you feel a hand on your back, turning to find Thomas, Newt a few steps back. You look at Teresa before leaving the room. 

"You are bleeding" Newt says from behind you after you left the room a few minutes ago. 

"I'm fine" you say between your teeth.

"May I?" His voice is quiet and you look back at him, nodding your head before looking away again. You pull your hair to the side and he pushes away the rest, one hand rests on your shoulder and you let go a breath at his touch. He is careful to place the cloth on the back of your neck and press on it gently.  

Silence feels the air around you and you bite your lower lip, normally this would be filled with teasing and talks, not silence. He presses his hand on the wound again, and you feel his hands shaking and you look back at him. "Newt?" You call as you turn around, catching him looking at his hands and holding one. 

"I'm fine. It's nothing" he says quickly, turns around and takes a jacket from a table. "This is for you" he hands it to you and you reach for it. "Although Gally probably got you one" he says and you glare at him. 

"Gally is just there for me" you say as you put the jacket on, "What's going on with you?" You nod at his hands. 

"It's nothing, alright?" He waved it off. "We are here to get Minho, anything else doesn't matter."

"So we don't matter? That's what you are saying?" 

"Let's not start with this again," he sighs. 

"Newt, we were just fine a few days ago, we were happy, and we still focused on getting Minho back. We had everything perfectly balanced, and then you just...changed and, I get it, we want to get Minho but you are acting so different with me. You can't possibly be so mad at me trying to get things done."

"No, Y/N" he says and his eyes shift to an emotion you can't tell. "I'm buggin' pissed that you were going to leave without a bloody goodbye. I'm mad because you are being hell bent to get into Wicked" he takes a step closer to you. "I'm pissed that whenever something doesn't go the way you want to, you go on and fight whoever it has to be and it only ends up putting you in danger" he says between his teeth and he is face to face with you. 

"If nobody does it, who will?" You defy and fix your posture to stand up to him, chin up. "You won't let Thomas go on his own so why is it so bad that I want to join him?" You snarl.

"Because you are different!" Newt shouts. "And reckless!"

"Say it, Newt! Just say you don't think I can take care of my own!" 

His gaze softens at this, taken back by your words, "What? No! Y/N, you are the strongest girl I've ever met" his voice soft as he speaks. "You just don't think clearly when they hurt someone you care about and it scares me to death you get yourself killed" he cups your face between his hands and you resist the urge to lean into his touch. 

Maybe he was right, you risked your life when he almost killed himself and got stung, went back to find a way out, stung again, then the attempt against the Wicked guards back at the facility, then at the camp, then Gally's...Okay maybe he had a point. "I'm sorry" because what else could you really say? "But I don't regret any of it" you admit. 

"I know that," he says and smiles weakly. After that night that he held you, he hadn't done that. "Does it still hurt?" His arm lifts to his neck to show what it meant, so you shake your head. "Come on now, let's get ready for the plan tomorrow" he says and you nod your head before following him.  

The next day, you were all starting to get ready to get into the Last City, Brenda and Fry would take care of the transportation, Thomas and Newt will escort Teresa and meet with Gally and you halfway. The boys started getting ready, Brenda spoke with Jorge who will get you out of the City in a Berg, and you were cleaning up the weapons and loading them up. "Y/N" Gally calls from behind you and you jump almost dropping the gun. 

"Damn it, Gally" you hiss. "You scared the living daylights out of me." 

"You shouldn't be so jumpy yet" he says yet he is serious. "Thomas and Newt are talking, I think you should go listen" you eye him curiously after that. "I think it will help you to know what's going on" he says.

"What?" Your features showed how you weren't understanding a thing. "What do you mean it will help me know what's going on?"

"Just go" he says as he stands on your side. You look at him, then the direction he came from. Curiosity got the best of you so you went there. 

You were extra careful to not make any sound that would alert them of your presence. It felt wrong, but you had to know one way or another. You rest your back against the wall as you lean forward to take a look at them. Newt was bringing down the sleeves as he tried his uniform, Fry was changing and Thomas was shaking his head. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," Thomas says. 

"It's the only way, Tommy. It's what's best" Newt says as he bends down to tie his laces, his hands shaking again. 

"She will kill you, man. If that doesn't, she will" Fry says. 

"She won't because she won't know" Newt turns to Fry, glaring at him. "Nobody tells her."

"Newt, we don't know if we will make it out of there" Thomas sounded concerned. "It will break her…" he trials off. 

"It doesn't matter. I'll be bugging past Gone and there's nothing to be done" Newt says firmly. "I can't risk her like that."

"What do you mean gone?" You decide to step in, eyeing the boys. "What is it that nobody is supposed to tell me?" The boys stand there frozen in place. Newt is the only one that makes an exasperated gesture. 

"Newt…" Thomas says. 

"No" Newt holds Thomas' arm, stopping him. Yet Thomas only gives him a certain look that makes Newt release him. Frypan looks at Thomas before starting to head out without a glance at you. Now you were left with Newt. "Y/N, listen…" 

"You are keeping things from me now?" Your voice breaks. "Tell me, how the hell did you move so easily to start lying?"

"I'm not lying" he shakes his head and taps his fingers on his lips nervously.

"You told me everything was fine but apparently things are not" you say and take a step forward. "Damn it, Newt! I'm your girl! Or I was anyway!"

"You still are…" he says quietly. 

"Then make me feel like it!" You were pointing at yourself. "First you act all indifferent and now you keep things from me. What kind of sick game are you playing?"

"It's not a game" he says and takes a step close to you. "I'm bloody protecting you from killing yourself" he is pointing at you. 

"Stop fucking protecting me! I can take it! Whatever it is!" You weren't that mad, but you were hurt, and those things together were an awful combination at this point.

"You want to know so badly!?" He yells at you. "I'll be Gone in just a couple of bloody days. I don't know how much time I've got left" he says through his teeth, his jaw was clenched. 

"What do you mean? You are leaving?" Your voice drops, taken back, he can't mean what you are thinking.  

"I'm not. We will get Minho" his right arm starts shaking and he holds on to it. You eye him and let out a loud breath from your nostrils, frustrated knowing he won’t add more.

"And what the hell is going on with your arm?" You ask and he shakes his head. "Let me see," you hiss and take his arm, struggling, you reach for the fabric and pull it up enough to see something that was not there before. "Newt…" your voice was a mere whisper and you reached to pull it all up once he stopped trying to keep you from pulling the fabric. Your vision becomes blurry from the tears and you feel the world stopping. Your heart was stopping. 

"Now you know…" now it's his voice turn to break.  

"No, no, no…" you shake your head. The black and blue veins were large and his skin was starting to get purple marks as if they were bruises. "How long…?" You trail off.

"A week maybe…" he answers quietly. 

Your hues shot up to look at him, "You have been keeping this from me for a whole week!?" You drop his hand. "When the hell were you going to tell me!? You were just going to turn into a Crank and I would never know a thing!" You shout at him. "Everyone knew except me?" You ask and he drops his gaze and nods his head. "You didn't even-" 

"They promised to keep it a secret...Until I could find a way to say it…" he moves to sit on the chair he was previously on. 

You lick your lips, you are finding it hard to breathe. "Why didn't you tell me?" You lean against the wall to hold yourself, you feel like your whole world is crumbling. 

"Because you'd get in the City without any one of us knowing and get those serums for me, not giving a bloody care in the world" he says. "I opted for pushing you away, that way you would spend less time around and wouldn't notice the changes. Thought that way it would hurt you less when you found out" he admits. "Forgot my girl was smart and sooner or later she'd find out" he smirks rather weakly. 

"Hold on, all of...the fights, the indifference…?" He shrugs and meets your gaze. "I thought so many things but never I thought of this…" you shake your head. "I thought you just stopped-" you trail off and run a hand through your hair to send it back. 

"No" Newt makes his way to you. "Princess," he says quietly, "remember what I told you, I love you no matter what happens. I know that much, and I know I still will when I turn into one of them…" that just does it for you and your knees give up, Newt is quick to catch you, and he helps you to sit down on the floor, sitting down himself. You stare blankly in front of you. "It wasn't going to be the same me...When we’d be together you would probably just see what I would turn into. I don't want to hurt you either, you know how crazy those Cranks are out there."

You frown, "You were afraid I'd see the veins and everything would change for me?" Fingers reach to lift his sleeve and trace his veins. "I don't care about this, you slinthead" you poke his vein, yet he doesn't react, doesn't meet your gaze. "I need to give you time" your eyes closed as a tear leaves your eye. You were trying to convince yourself.

"This is why I didn't want to tell you" he says and jerks his arm away abruptly, you guessed this was the Flare affecting him. "I can't tell you a bloody thing before you storm off like a fucking Griever at night" he hisses, and you notice he has a strong grip on your arm. 

"If I have a chance at that serum, I'll get it" you hiss back. 

"Just get it over with already! In a couple of years you will forget I ever existed!" His hold tightens.

"Newt, you are hurting me…" you look down at his hold and he does as well. He pulls his hand back and scoots backwards quickly. 

"Princess- I- I didn't-" he is stuttering. 

"It's okay. I got you" you reach for his hand. 

"I was hurting you! That's not okay!" He shouts and you reach forward again. 

"Hey! Hey!" He tries to move away from you and when he stops, his hands start shaking. "Newt, look at me. Look at me" tears filled his eyes and it broke you. "That wasn't you…" you assure him and he relaxes. 

"I'm sorry, love" he says quietly. "I can't control-"

"I get it" you move closer. "I got you, okay? You are not alone in this" he meets your eyes and you smile softly at him. "We will find a way" you whisper and rest your forehead against his and you close your eyes, feeling the knot on your throat building again. 

"Come 'ere" his accent comes hard on those words, he pulls your body close, a tad rough for what you were used to, and his lips meet yours. You hold your breath and let it out through your nostrils. His lips are quick on yours, his hand going behind your neck and holding you in place. His other hand goes to your hip and then to your leg, you take the chance to pull yourself onto his lap.

"Newt" you pull away, resting your head on his shoulder. "I didn't say it back…" you said quietly and he wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you close. "I love you too, never forget that."

"Like if I didn't know that already," he says with a chuckle. "No promises on forgetting after I'm past Gone, but I'll try" he says, he even smirks, and tilts his head to press a kiss on your temple. "I'm sorry for pushing you away. I thought I couldn't have this…" you look up at him and he pecks your lips. "I'm sorry we didn't have a bloody place to show you how much I love you" he smirks. 

"I know" you acknowledge. "You couldn't show me more than you have already" you smile at him and he looks down at you. His shaky hand reaches to push a strand of hair away from your face, you reach for it and bring it to your lips, kissing his knuckles before he goes in for another kiss, and you decide you won't let go of him. 

Everyone was getting their instructions around the table once you made it to them. "Y/N you will be staying close behind in case we need back up.  I got you a better uniform" he says and pulls out a bag. 

"Thanks, Gally" you smile and you reach to pull the uniform out. The first one was baggy everywhere, this one it looked like it would fit. You even noticed it had a blue shade on your shoulders. 

"I think you already know what I am going to say," Newt says as he follows you close behind to change in a corner. "But please-"

"Don't run to the vault to get the serum in the riskiest way possible?" You interrupt as you pull your shirt off. "I will be careful, but I’m not changing the plan" you say as you push your pants off to be able to fit well in the uniform. 

"I'm aware of that," he says as he starts changing himself, discarding his clothes. "I don't want you to get hurt, Y/N. There will be guards there, Ava will be there, Ratman will be there…"

"If Ratman gets in my way I'm not hesitating" you say firmly as you pull the uniform up your legs and over your shoulders. "He is the first to go" and your words probably didn't help the cause, but he should know that by now. "If he tries anything against any of you…"

"We will be alright. Just try not to blow your cover" he says with a chuckle and you can't help but smile. 

"I'll be careful" you zip up his uniform and pat his chest. "And you will make sure of that" you fix the collar of the uniform after he pulls on the bulletproof vest. 

"You are not the slightest scared that I could go crazy on you all and ruin the mission?" He asks randomly and you frown. 

"You won't Crank on us. We have time" you say as you fix the vest. Deep down, you knew that wasn't completely true. You remember Jorge said that the Flare affected people in different ways, it could be quick or it could be slow. You couldn't tell where Newt stood, and you didn't want to know either.  

"Love," he calls after you, reaching for your hand, "if I do anything, anything at all, that puts any of you in danger…"

"Don't ask me something I won't be able to do, Newt. Please" you beg him, and the mere thought broke your heart. You weren't strong enough. "I can knock the daylights out of you but…" and even then, could you? He doesn't say a word, he just runs his thumb on your hand before letting go of it, a silence was filling the room until you heard everyone moving to the meeting room. "I'll be right behind you" you both nod before heading your way to the group. 

Your head was spinning with so many things, and you knew it showed in your body language. You wanted to save Newt, get him time, but then there was protecting him, and protecting the group. Looking for Minho was another thing that had your head spinning. The one that you denied but worried you the most was too painful to think about. How much time did you really have until you started to lose Newt to the Flare?

[nothesc]

Idk if you have the time. But I can’t find transcripts of the new extra clips anywhere. Could you translate them for me please? Thanks in advance! 🙏

Hi! Yeah I had time and I translated them for you! I haven’t checked it so Idk if there are some grammar mistakes, sorry! (L is Lucas, K is Kasim, J is Jorge, H is Hugo and E is Eva) CLIP EXTRA 1

*Lucas being drunk and Kasim stopping him from being run by a car*

K: We should go to the Classroom (a club) right now 

L: Do you really want to go there?

K: That place is the best

L: Dude but the waiters know me because once I was super drunk like even more than now and I threw up and it went all over the place even on people

K: I thought you used to be more chill

L: Yeah but we could say that I’m an improved version of Lucas

K: Well, improved version of Lucas pass me the joint because you’re smoking it all on your own

L: Fuck, wait

K: Hey it’s enough, give it to me. That’s enough. What are you doing? Are you stupid or what? What are you doing? Hey, hey, hey Lucas, are you okay? Lucas, my boy, my boy are you okay? Lucas, Lucas dude, look at me, Lucas dude, Lucas, Lucas fuck please, look at me, look at me, look at me Lucas, please stay with me, look at me Lucas, Lucas dude. Lucas what’s wrong with you? Fuck, dude. Someone’s calling you. Lucas, Jorge is calling you. What do I do? Do I pick up? Hello?

J: Hey bro, we’re going to the library tomorrow, wanna come?

K: Dude I’m not Lucas, he can’t answer right now

J: Who are you?

K: A friend…Lucas!

J: Is everything okay?

K: We were drinking and smoking and he fainted and I don’t know what’s going on I’m going to call an ambulance

J: Wait, wait, send me your address and I’ll be there

K: I’ll send it. Lucas, Lucas look at me, look at me dude, Lucas, Lucas. 

EXTRA CLIP 2

K: Fuck dude, you scared the shit out of me Lucas

L: Relax, I’m okay, really.

J: Lucas, how are you dude?

H: What happened, dude?

L: What’s going on?

J: Bro

K: I bought him a soda for the sugar and all that, and he’s better now

L: I’m better now, really. What are you doing here?

J: You’re Kasim right?

K: Jorge? A pleasure

H: I’m Hugo

L: Do you know each other?

H: How are you feeling? Better?

L: Yes dude, I’m alright, if you stop pressuring me I’ll be completely fine. What are they doing here?

K: You were so fucked up dude and Jorge called you

J: Obviously, that’s what you had to do. You were lucky this happened to you while being with someone

L: Nothing happened to me

H: But what happened? Did you smoke too much or…?

L: No dude, it’s just that I didn’t eat much and I didn’t feel well that’s it.

K: Are you okay?

L: Yes

K: Are you sure?

L: Yes

K: Do you want to go?

L: Yes, let’s go

J: I’ll go with you

L: No, no it’s okay, let’s go

H: But are you going home or…

L: Yes

EXTRA CLIP 3

L: Hello? Yeah, come up

J: Hello?!

L: Here!

E: Hey, surprise! How are you?

L: What are you doing here?

J: We came to see you

L: Well I just got into a fight with my mom, she just left

E: Well, we’re here to see how you’re doing

L: I’m okay, why?

E: I don’t know since lately you haven’t been answering my texts and…I get that you didn’t come to school on Thursday after what happened, but you could’ve told me

L: You talk about what I do to each other? Do you have a whatsapp group chat or what?

J: Fuck, no, but we’re worried about you, that’s it

L: Fine, alright, I messed up the other day, I smoked too much and I got sick, but I’m alright

J: Dude, it’s not just that, it’s that we’re having a lot of exams soon and you’re acting really weird, you aren’t the same Luqui you used to be

L: The freak closeted Lucas? Yeah I’m not that one

E: Lucas, dude, we came here to help you. Since lately you haven’t been going out with us

L: So I can’t meet other people?

E: Yes, fuck you can do whatever the hell you want, it’s not that

J: Don’t you think you’re going too far?

L:I don’t know, dude, I don’t have to explain myself to you, I have more fun with other people so I go out with them. I’m sure you’ve always had a great time with Hugo and Dylan but I had to adapt always and I’m sick of that so I’m going to do whatever the hell I want

E: And what’s doing whatever the hell you want? Smoke too much? Drink too much? Get totally wasted? Lucas…

J: Fuck, Luqui dude, what’s wrong with you?

E: Well…we’re leaving, if you need something you can call us

J: Whatever you need, alright?

E: Bye

J: Bye, dude