#i saw people saying that they can’t remember

[starlightkyeom]

hit replay | x.mh

(where your ex moves into the empty unit in your apartment building and maybe the relationship isn't over after all)

pairing: xu minghao x afab!reader genre: exes to lovers, neighbors to lovers | fluff, romance, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: 12.7k (this was less than 4k yesterday idk) warnings: mentions of food & drinks, talk of the previous relationship, massages (f. receiving), body worship, light nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), briefest hand job, protected sex, they're just very soft for each other, that's it, reader doesn't use gendered language but has female anatomy

a/n: thank you to the amazing @camandemstudios for hosting The Lonely Hearts Collab ❤️ make sure you check out all the amazing fics! this ended up much softer (and longer) than i thought it would, but i'm not mad at that. we all need soft hao for love day. i hope you enjoy it!

taglist: @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @harry-the-pottypus, @pyeonghongrie, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @tinkerbell460, @aidanjoon, @cookiearmy, @kaepjjangiya, @lostmembrane (join my svt taglist here)

Sometimes you think your life should come with one of those signs like they have in workplaces. You know, the ones that say how many days since the last accident? The ones that people always seem to use as memes? You think that might be appropriate in your case, too. Except, instead of days since the last accident, it would count days since you’d last seen your ex. The man who shattered your heart. The one you can’t seem to get over no matter how hard you try. 

Days since I last saw Minghao: 396

You’re not sure why your brain counts the number. Not sure why you can’t just put it out of your mind. Move on, for real this time. Of course, that’s not the same number as the days since he broke your heart. No. Unfortunately, you’ve run into him a couple of times since then, despite him moving away. A consequence of you still having a number of friends in common. And you can’t even blame them for keeping in touch with him. He didn’t really do anything wrong. Not to them and not even really to you. The two of you just…grew apart. 

Thinking back on it, even years later, you still can’t really pinpoint where it all went wrong. You remember falling for him, entirely too hard. Back when you didn’t think he took much notice of you. Always too absorbed in his latest project. You were friends, kind of. More on the periphery of each other's circles. Until you went to an art show with some mutual friends. Until you saw yourself in several of his works. None of your friends seemed all that surprised. They just let you have your little moment. 

It all happened kind of fast from there. You learned that Minghao wasn’t always one for showing his feelings in words, but he showed them in a million other ways, as long as you knew where to look. He showed them in the little things he did to make your life easier. In the way he incorporated you into his art, sometimes without it even being obvious. In the way he quietly made space for you in his life. 

Things were great, until they weren’t. And it still feels sudden all these years later. Even if it maybe, possibly, wasn’t sudden at all. 

You remember finding a new job. The kind of job you never thought you would land. The kind that Minghao instantly encouraged you to follow. Except it meant much more normal hours where Minghao kept weird hours. Sometimes he wouldn’t come to bed until the sun rose and other times he had been at work for hours when you woke up. Something about inspiration and lighting and just letting it all come together. Neither of you notice when it starts getting harder to make time for each other. At least, you didn’t notice. Only focusing on making the most of the time you do have. 

So, when Minghao tells you that he thinks you need to talk, you’re completely caught off guard. Haven’t seen all the signs that may have been there. He tells you he’s got the opportunity of a lifetime to further his career and it means he’s going to be leaving your city. Leaving the country entirely. Tells you that it’s been great and he still loves you, but he’s got to do this. Tells you that he thinks it’ll be right for both of you because you’ve been growing apart, haven’t you? You’ve both been prioritizing other things like work and friends over each other. He’s going to take this chance and he hopes you’ll understand. 

Maybe you do actually remember it falling apart after all. 

But, it’s time to cast aside your walk down memory lane. Time to leave everything behind in the old year and get ready to ring in a new one. A feat you tried last year as well and seemingly didn’t succeed at. This is the year, though. New year, new me and all that. You take one last look at your outfit before rushing out the door. Your slightly eccentric (and totally loaded) neighbors are having a party up in the penthouse of your apartment building. And even though you normally hate anyone with that kind of money, they’re actually cool and incredibly kind. They go out of their way to understand their privilege and involve themselves directly in charity. You can’t even hate that they’re barely older than you and have it all. Plus, who are you to turn down a party like this for the new year. 

The party is in full swing when you get there. Soyoon always does an excellent job of setting up a party, too. She makes sure there’s an area for people to dance and for people who want things a little quieter. And she always stocks up on top shelf drinks with so many snacks you could make an entire meal out of it. It only takes her a second before she’s waving you over. You weave through the people to get to her, so focused on your friend that you don’t notice anything else. Though you should. 

“Hey! You finally made it!” she says and pulls you into a hug. 

“Worrying I wouldn’t show?” you joke back. 

“No,” she says, smiling her megawatt smile. She indicates to someone. “I wanted you to meet your new neighbor I mentioned, the artist…”

Something drops in your stomach when you register that she says artist and you slowly turn to see the person she’s indicating. Hoping against all hope that you don’t recognize them. Instead, you see the lean figure of someone you know well. Dressed all in black and still looking like one of the most fashionable in the room. The black also works well to offset his blond mullet. It’s not a color you’ve seen on him before, but you’d know him anywhere. 

Days since I last saw Minghao: 396 0

Fuck. 

“Minghao,” you say softly, immediately kicking yourself for the way it comes out. 

“Yeah, oh. I thought you hadn’t met yet,” Soyoon says with a slight frown of confusion. 

Minghao is quick to answer, casual as can be. “I hadn’t run into her yet but we knew each other once, years ago.”

“Oh, how fun! Shall I leave you two to catch up?” she asks. 

You say no just as Minghao says yes. Soyoon looks confused, but ends up leaving the two of you alone anyway. It’s the last thing you want and there’s nowhere to go. At this rate, you’re going to get a much different start to your year. 

When you wake up well into the first morning of the New Year, your brain feels a little fuzzy. Not hungover though, so you can thank past you for that. You cannot thank past you for anything else. Not when the night before comes rushing back to you and you remember. Remember kissing Minghao, not just at midnight. Remember admitting that you still think about him. Remember wondering if he was single. Don’t remember asking him why he’s back now and without a word to you. Not that he owes it to you. It’s been years, after all. You just can’t believe that the mysterious new resident two doors down from you is none other than the ex you can’t seem to forget. 

Thankfully New Year’s Day is really about recovering from the night before and getting ready to face the rest of the year. It also gives you time to figure out what you’re going to do about Minghao. You’re sure there’s something in there about second chances. About how people change as they grow. It’s not for you, though. The more time you spend thinking about the night before, the more you realize that things are better left alone. This isn’t some great sign to revisit a painful past. It’s a way of telling you that it’s okay to finally figure out a way to move forward in your life. 

You’re just going to ignore that the person you’re moving on from lives two doors down from you. Shouldn’t be a problem at all. 

As you’re considering what you want to do for food, the doorbell rings. You’re not expecting someone and your heart plunges a little. What if it’s Minghao stopping by to talk about the night before? You can’t exactly remember all of your conversation, so you’re not sure if there’s something else that you need to talk about. You’re not prepared for any of it. When you open the door, it’s not him. It’s just someone delivering from one of your favorite take-out places. 

“I didn’t order anything,” you say, confusion clear on your face. 

The delivery guy only shrugs and shows you his phone. It’s your name and address. “I just deliver the orders I get. The tip was nice, too.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” you say and accept the bag of food. 

You decide to eat it on your couch so that you can settle in and binge something truly awful on TV. As you ponder who could have sent it, you think about Soyoon and how she loves to do this kind of thing. Yes, that seems likely. You’ll have to send her your own little thank you and thank her in person the next time you see her. Sending a text wouldn’t do it because she always says that doesn’t feel as personal. Eccentric, but endlessly kind. She’s definitely the kind of person that would want to make sure her guests are taken care of after such a great party. All feels much more calm as you settle in and your mind stays firmly off Minghao. 

The whole idea of keeping your mind off Minghao works for a while. You see him around the building and he’s always perfectly polite, but never forces a conversation. Says hi in passing and smiles. That’s just kind of how he is. It’s not that he doesn’t have plenty to say, he just doesn’t chase after anyone for a chat. Doesn’t see the point in forcing something when both people aren’t interested. Honestly, it’s a bit disarming because as well as you knew him once, it’s not what you’re expecting. There are times when you even consider if you should strike up a conversation with him. At the very least, there are things left unsaid from New Year’s. Things you know that you should get out of the way. Especially when Soyoon asks for details on what’s going on and you’re not really sure how much to share. 

But, then life catches up with you, as it seems prone to do. Things pick up at work and you find that you’re back into your routine without a second thought. That’s always the thing about the new year. It starts and it’s kind of slim on holidays while you’re getting into it. It also seems unspoken that people just don’t take time off then. Not when so many take time off around the holidays. (Something you also did, taking off the two days after New Year’s so you wouldn’t have to go back for a short week. Best decision you’ve made in a long time.)

You blink and January fades into February. Your brain is somewhere else entirely when you rush into your favorite coffee shop by your office, running a little bit late because you’re heading in on the weekend. The shop is decorated for Valentine’s Day already, like it seems to be every year once the calendar hits February. Something in you fights rolling your eyes. It’s not that you hate the holiday, it’s just that you’re a little bitter for another one spent without a partner. As much as you may say it doesn’t matter, it feels like it would be nice to have someone. Even if all you did was stay in to have a nice meal or play a game or watch something on TV. Just a moment for the two of you in the midst of all the chaos. When the barista asks for your order, you shake away the thoughts and give it, pulling your phone out to tap and pay.

“Oh, it’s covered,” she says and your brow furrows. 

“What?” you ask.

“Someone already covered your order today,” she repeats.

“But how did…” you start to ask under your breath and trail off. 

“Did you need anything else?” she asks brightly. 

“No, I guess not,” you say and put away your phone.

As you head down to wait for your order, your brain whirs into action. Who is out here just somehow paying for your order? You cast your eyes around the shop and nobody looks familiar. Well, a few people do in that way that regulars stick out when you’re also a regular. Nobody seems to be paying attention to you, though, or giving you any indication that they paid for your order. It shows up on the counter before you can think any further about it. 

The rest of the week goes in a similar fashion. Your coffee order is taken care of any time you stop in and the barista only smiles when you ask her who’s doing it. The only answer she gives is that you’ll realize it if you think about it. Not entirely helpful. At work, you get a surprise lunch just as you’re on the verge of a breakdown over a project. Mingyu, one of your closest friends even outside of work, offers lunch as a break and you take it without question. After all, the two of you were friends before becoming coworkers so it’s not unexpected that he would realize you’re feeling burnt out. Another of your friends asks you to go with him to a show you’ve been wanting to see and won’t even let you pay him back for the ticket. There are other little things, too. Things that you wouldn’t normally notice, but it’s like everything is going your way. It makes you a little wary. Mostly, though, it just makes you grateful. It feels like such a good way to start the year.

It isn’t until the weekend that you finally put it all together. Saturday morning comes and you let yourself sleep in after being out a little later the night before to go to the show. There’s an unexpected knock at the door that gives you a little deja vu back to New Year’s Day. You yawn and stretch as you get out of bed and head to the door. This time, there’s no delivery person waiting for you. There’s just a basket, clearly put together very thoughtfully. You bring it inside and start to look through what’s in there. A calming tea. A bath bomb. Some chocolates. A candle. A book that you've never heard of and somehow know you’re going to love. It’s the perfect kit to have the best and most relaxing day. 

And that’s when it hits you. The coffee, the lunch, the show, all the little surprises. It’s all coming from one person. The one person who likes to let his actions speak louder than his words. The one person who clearly hasn’t just been letting you be since the party. This is Minghao all over. You’re a little surprised at how easily the realization clicks into place. Also a little surprised that it didn’t click sooner. Maybe you had forgotten more about him than you thought. Maybe he wasn’t the only person taking up residence in your mind anymore. 

There’s a lot to think about and you figure that you’ll use the time taking a bath to do just that. Well, you shower first to make sure you’re clean and because you didn’t do it after getting home the night before. But then, you’re ready to relax in the bath and just let your mind wander. Hope you’ll end up coming to a decision about what you want to do. There’s so much history. So many nights spent trying to figure out how things might have gone differently. Until it clicks. Minghao was right back then. You both needed that space. Needed the separation to go off and figure yourselves out. Needed to learn who you were as an adult before you could learn to make space for another person. When he left, it cleared a path for you to take chances you never would have otherwise. Maybe it did the same for him. 

That’s how you find yourself outside his door after the bath, the tea in hand because you know that it’s a brand he loves. Or, at least, he did once upon a time. He opens the door too quickly for you to second guess if this is a good idea. Or to wonder if he’s even home. His eyes seem to sparkle at the sight of you and at the tea in your hands.

“You got my care package,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. 

“And figured out who was behind all those wonderful things this past week,” you admit, causing his smile to slip into a more genuine one.

“About time,” he says under his breath.

“Can I come in for a cup of tea?” you ask and he regards you for a moment. That’s always been the hardest part about being around Minghao. He has a way of looking at you and peeling back all the layers. It’s like being naked in front of him. And you’re not as comfortable in front of him as you were once upon a time. It makes you shift on your feet and cast your eyes down.

He steps aside and you let out a sigh of relief at the movement. “Come on in.” 

Stepping inside his apartment almost feels like stepping back in time. Everything about the decoration feels familiar. There are a few things that you do recognize but mostly it’s just because it’s so inescapably him. Everything has a place and it looks like it could be featured in a magazine. But, it’s better than that. Better because it feels lived in, like a home even though it is straight from some aesthetic moodboard. You turn back to him when you recognize a figure that you gave him years ago. It makes your heart constrict that he kept it all this time.

“Did you want to share that tea with me?” he asks, noting the box in your hands.

“Oh,” you say, a little startled back into the present. You look down at your hands and then back to him. “Yeah. Well, if you still like it, that is.” 

“I do, yes,” he says and accepts the box from your hands. “You can go sit down and I’ll bring the tea out in a minute.” 

It’s so impossibly normal and also one of the most abnormal things in the world. The contradictions are making your head hurt, so you just do as Minghao suggests. Sit down on the couch in the living room and sigh. This is the most comfortable couch in the world. That’s another thing you remember about him. Everything fits his aesthetic and it’s never at the expense of comfort. None of that unusable furniture for him. Without even thinking about it, you pick an art magazine off the table. It’s the only thing that seems out of place and there’s a sticky note attached to it with an advanced copy for you to look over scrawled on it. That’s when the cover catches your eye, previously covered in part by the note. Minghao looks back at you, surrounded by some of his artwork. It seems like it’s a profile on him. He must be doing even better than you realized. 

“I hated posing for that,” he says softly as he appears with two cups of tea. 

You start a little in surprise at hearing his voice and drop the magazine back on the table. “I didn’t mean to…”

“There’s no need to be scared,” he says with a low chuckle as you accept the cup. “You can read it if you’d like.” 

“It seems like things are going well for you,” you comment, looking back at the magazine.

“Professionally, sure. Although I’m finding creating a little more difficult lately,” he says and you look at him. 

“Why’s that?” you ask and then shake your head.

“What?” he asks.

“We’re just…talking like no time has passed,” you say.

“I guess I thought that after that party and sending you the food the next day like we…” he starts.

“That was from you?” you ask, clearly surprised.

“Would…what?” he asks, shifting mid thought. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you sure?” you ask with a laugh.

“No, I’m sure. I just thought…well, we talked about it that night,” he says.

“I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember exactly what we said that night,” you say and look down.

“Ah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well, I figured we’d talk about everything when there weren’t people around and we could have time to ourselves. Then, I sent the food and just never heard from you,” he says. 

“You could have said something,” you tell him.

“I’m not always very good at that, the saying something part,” he says.

“You’re great at taking care of things I need, though. Everything the past week or so has been so thoughtful,” you say. 

“I know I should have talked to you. I just didn’t know how to start the conversation,” he admits. 

“It’s been a long time,” you say. 

Just as an awkward silence is about to fall over you, Minghao turns to face you. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” 

“Before we go down a path of talking about everything that happened back then and about how much I miss you now, do you think it’s worth it?”

You consider that for a long moment and miss the way Minghao seems to hold his breath. Miss the way he searches your face for a sign of the answer before you give it. Don’t realize how many ways your face has changed in the years since he really knew you. When you meet his eyes, you finally see that he looks unsure. All you can do at first is nod. 

“Is that a yes?” 

You take a deep breath. Ready yourself to jump in with both feet. “I think it’s at least worth having a conversation, yeah.” 

And so that’s what you do. You sit down and talk about all the things you wish you had said back when he left. All the things you could have done differently. All the ways you’ve changed since then. It feels good to say all the things that you’ve kept to yourself over the years. There’s something very open and honest about the way you talk. Somehow even more honest than back when you were in a relationship. Maybe because there’s no fear about the other person’s reaction or feelings. Or maybe it’s just because you’re much more mature now than you were back then. You’re not really sure. Not really sure it matters either. 

This is probably the most you’ve ever heard Minghao say at once. He even admits it’s because he knows that he’s going to have to do things that make him a little uncomfortable if he wants you to consider trying again. He’s also very understanding as he listens to everything. Not defensive when you point out how things could have gone differently. And you know you can’t be defensive when he points out the things you could have done, either. After all this time, you finally realize that it was very much both of you responsible for the way the relationship ended. Yes, Minghao’s the one that accepted a position that would take him far away from you. He’s the one that suggested that maybe the relationship needed to end. But, you also had your role in all of it. You also have to acknowledge that you got distant. Prioritizing other things in your life over him. No longer able to communicate as effectively as you had earlier in the relationship. Both of you had been growing at different rates and in different directions. 

Now, years later, you can realize that it’s something both of you needed. You had to separate to grow in ways you couldn’t do together. Had to be alone to learn the hard lessons, the scary things. To understand what you need and what you want and when to compromise. You’re no longer wearing the rose colored glasses of your early 20s. 

“So, what now?” he asks. 

“What do you want?” you ask and he sighs a little. “I know, I can’t make you be the only one to talk.”

“I want to know if you still have any space for me in your life and…” he says, but trails off.

“In my heart?” you guess.

“Yeah,” he admits softly.

It’s another crossroads. One of those moments you’ll look back on. You know that you need to be a little brave. “I never really got over you. Not fully.”

Minghao’s face brightens at that and he meets your eye with your favorite smile. The soft one that you always felt like belonged only to you. “Me either. I’ve lived all over the world since we broke up and I still get my best inspiration from you.”

That one sentence pushes all the air out of your lungs. Has you entirely speechless. You hold out your hand and he intertwines his fingers through yours without a word. “So we try?” 

“We try,” he agrees. 

Trying is both intimidating and the most comforting thing in the world at the same time. A weird duality just like the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Going on a date with someone that you dated for years and then broke up with years ago is like starting well into the relationship. There are all sorts of things that you already know about each other. Yet, there are also things you can’t assume. Things you may have known once may not be true anymore. Or it’s possible that you remember something that wasn’t true at all, even then. 

So, you start with the most obvious date night activity: dinner. It gives you something to do without being too distracting from a conversation. Minghao surprises you a bit, too. He’s somehow more thoughtful and more open all at once. He still doesn’t always know how to say what he wants to all the time, but he’s trying harder to get his thoughts out. You’re also trying much harder to meet him where he is rather than expecting something that just isn’t who he is. Another byproduct of how much the two of you have grown in your time apart. You can appreciate how well the two of you fit together now. Can appreciate how your individual strengths complement each other. 

After dinner, Minghao starts to suggest going back to the apartment building. You have another suggestion, though. There’s this Art After Dark event that the local art museum runs on the second Saturday of every month that you’ve wanted to check out. Life has been too busy until now. And you also can admit that some part of going felt a little difficult. What if you saw something that Minghao created? Or something that reminded you of him? Or what if there was just a piece of art that you couldn’t understand? You’ve always appreciated the beauty in creation, but some things just went over your head. 

The suggestion makes Minghao’s face light up. He’s heard of the event and somehow hasn’t been since moving back. Not that he’s been back all that long. Still, it’s nice to know that you’ll be able to experience something that’s meaningful to him for the first time. 

The drive over is quiet, mostly only filled with the sounds of the playlist Minghao picked. It’s not uncomfortable, though, far from it. You’re thinking of how easy it is being in his presence again, especially given how long you spent thinking you needed to avoid him. In the passenger seat, Minghao scrolls what looks like the website for the museum. Probably seeing what installations are there currently on display. Or what special events they have for the evening. Either way, you’re happy to let him prepare before getting there. It’ll only help you on top of it because he’ll be able to walk you through everything. (If you think about how pretty his profile looks in the low light, then that’s your business.)

Once you get there, you insist on covering the admission because Minghao paid for dinner without giving you the chance to even offer. It’s nowhere near even, but it’s the least you can do for now. They also check your IDs on the way in because there’s an open bar, apparently. You each grab a drink off of the tray going around and then head into the first room. Live music drifts softly through from somewhere you can’t see. It adds something nice. Something that makes the whole setting somehow more intimate when combined with it being less busy than during normal hours. Minghao doesn’t wait for you to ask him to lead the way, he just knows. You follow close to him, not quite brushing your arm against him. 

This has always been one of your favorite things about Minghao. Watching him at a museum or an art gallery is just special. He walks through and talks about the different artists, the influences, and the history. He can tell you about different periods of an artist’s life and why they might have created the way that they did. There is so much living in his brain that it puts the plaques with each piece of art to shame. Occasionally, you notice someone standing in the area stop and listen to the way he speaks about a piece. It’s endearing to watch him when he’s passionate. Somehow softer and less guarded. Some people might find it sexy, and you do as well. It’s just that you find him cute first. There’s nothing about him that sounds like he’s bragging or talking down about his knowledge. Minghao has always believed that art should be accessible to everyone. That it’s a gift for all people to enjoy. When he speaks about it, that comes across. It’s something familiar, something you’re glad is the same. 

Minghao always wants to know the pieces you’re most drawn to. He wants to let you walk into some of the rooms first so he can watch you experience the art for the first time. Wants to know if you’re drawn to the pieces that he expects. You are, mostly. Usually, you wouldn’t want this much attention on you, especially in a place that isn’t your normal comfort zone. But, Minghao makes you feel at ease. At least, until he starts talking about which pieces of art remind him of you and why. It makes you turn away a little to hide the way your cheeks flush. It just feels so intimate. Feels like he’s baring his soul. Feels like too much for someone who’s been a stranger to you for years. Although, can you really say he’s a stranger? Yes, things change. People grow. You and him have certainly both grown. Maybe you’ve grown into the people you both imagined you’d be back when you figured you had the rest of forever together. 

It’s not until the last room of the museum that you realize Minghao picked the path deliberately. He motions for you to go ahead of him and you assume it’s just so he can see your reactions to the art, like he has in other rooms. And it is, in a way. Just not for the same reason as any other room. Your attention immediately falls on a piece you recognize immediately. Not because you’ve seen it before. It’s because it’s you. Or, you should say that you know it’s meant to be you. It’s that same style of abstract art that you know belongs to Minghao. The same style that feels as familiar as if it was a polaroid of you. That’s not why it takes your breath away. It’s the fact that he must have painted it after you broke up because you haven’t ever seen it before. And here it is, hanging as part of a long term installment in the museum less than 20 minutes from your apartment 

“You knew this was here,” you say. 

“I had to double check,” he says softly as he follows you. Your feet bring you right to the piece without any other thought. 

Minghao uses art as an expression. Says it’s easier for him to convey the hard things that way, like so many artists seem to. Says he’s not good with words, could never be the kind of creative that writes poems or novels with long scenes expressing intense emotions. It’s so clear looking at his art that he doesn’t need to. So clear that his work is the reason people say a picture is worth a thousand words. You think you could have ten thousand words and still need more with this piece. And most of his pieces, honestly. You yearn to reach out and run your fingers along the canvas, to trace the lines that he uses. Instead, you take in each color and each stroke. It causes conversations from when you were both younger to come flooding back. You remember lying in bed and listening to him talk about his process. About when he brought something to the foreground versus leaving it in the back. About the choice to use a vibrant palette or something more muted and neutral. About how he could play with the different colors to express each emotion. In saying all of that, you remember hearing what he couldn’t say. It’s funny, in hindsight, to think about how Minghao always said he struggled with emotions. He just says what he needs to in a different way.

His feelings are crystal clear to you in this piece. The representation of you is front and center. The first thing your eye lands on when you look at it. Everything else is in the background. Like he’s saying that you’re the center of the universe in this piece. The colors tell you just as much. They’re rich with his affection. With tenderness and forgiveness. With yearning. Like a hand reaching out to pull you in. You even think he might have put a version of himself in the background, muted to throw you into sharper relief. It’s beautiful and passionate and incredibly raw. You may need to know him to see the last bit. It’s only then that you see the date on the piece. Just over a year ago, probably after you had seen him the last time before he popped up at the party in your building. 

Finally, you turn to him and find his eyes on you. Studying you, looking for answers before you give them again. And you see the nerves there. He’s grown so much, but he knows you have too. Doesn’t presume to know everything about you anymore. Your mouth curves into the most genuine smile. “It’s amazing, Hao. I don’t even know what to say.” 

“You like it?” he asks, a little less sure of himself than you’re used to. 

“I love it,” you assure him and turn back to it. “It might be one of the most expressive pieces of yours I’ve ever seen.” 

“I know I shouldn’t have been drawing inspiration from you, but I couldn’t stop myself after I saw you that time a year ago,” he says, confirming what you thought. “I was halfway through the painting before I realized it.” 

“No matter what, I will always be honored to inspire you.” 

“That’s a relief.” 

“You know, you’re much better at expressing your feelings than you think,” you tell him, looking over to see his reaction. His face is soft. 

“Only if you remember how to read it,” he says. 

“It’s all coming back to me,” you say and delight in the way he smiles. 

Minghao is a study in contrasts. He’s every bit of what you think about when thinking of an artist. Introverted, intelligent in a way not everyone can appreciate, thoughtful, sometimes a little intimidating to approach. If you don’t know him, he could seem cold or detached. When you do know him, though, he’s anything but cold. Certainly not intimidating. Although he can be guarded, he’s an open book to the people closest to him. He’s incredibly soft and caring. Willing to let all his defenses fall away for the right person. 

He takes hold of your hand, even though he’s not always one to seek out physical touch in that way. Not in public. “I want to give this another try. We’ve both grown a lot over the past years. You don’t have to make a decision now. All I want to know now is if you’ll be my Valentine.”

The way he says it doesn’t really sound like a question. It’s also infinitely more direct than you’re used to. You can’t help the teasing look. “That’s so corny.” 

The smile you get in response is worth it. Minghao only shrugs. “Sometimes, it’s worth it.”

“Yes, Hao, I would love to be your Valentine,” you say, fighting a bit of the urge to say that you’ll just be his again. 

Even though you know that rushing back into something is the last thing you need to do, you’re still excited. Feel lighter than you have in ages. It’s kind of like autopilot for the rest of the time you spend at the museum. And if it’s the best date you’ve been on in years, well that’s your business. It’s also your business if you get back to your apartment that night and think about all the things that happened that day.

Sunday dawns and the first thought in your mind is Minghao. Not exactly surprising after spending a whole day with him instead of continuing to avoid him. Yet, it’s not quite what you’re expecting, either. After years of protecting your heart, it shouldn’t be this easy to open up to him again. That thought does make you pause, just for a second. Then, you think about all the things you managed to cover just in one day together. There’s still plenty to talk about, but you can’t deny the obvious. You’re both so willing to be open and vulnerable. Willing to accept your faults to make sure things are different if you give it another shot. There’s definitely something to be said that he’s the first thing on your mind when you wake up. (And the last thing you thought about before falling asleep.)

It’s time to do things differently. Time to not overthink everything. You’re older and wiser now. Feel like you can trust your gut and the vibes now with more life experience. Instead of giving yourself time to second guess, you send a text to Minghao to ask if he wants to come over. It’s one of those catch up days. You need to grocery shop and run some errands, do some laundry, and do a little cleaning. Minghao loves quality time, something still true now. It’s nothing exciting, though, and you give him plenty of space to say no without it being an issue. All he asks is what time he should come over and if he should eat breakfast first. 

Which is exactly how he ends up at your apartment barely 20 minutes later.

Plenty changes and just as much stays the same. Minghao can cook, he never starves. It’s just not his favorite thing to do if left to his own devices. You offer to make him breakfast if he’s going to keep you company during a bunch of errands. While you cook, he keeps himself busy making tea for himself and coffee for you. Doesn’t have to ask how you like it since he covered your coffees for the past week at the shop by your work. Since Minghao likes acts of service just as much as quality time, he empties your dishwasher while you’re finishing up breakfast and tidies up around the kitchen behind you. There’s so much comfort in falling into patterns like that, even though it feels entirely different than before. 

Breakfast passes quickly and Minghao helps motivate you out the door. Points out the sooner you get things out of the way, the sooner you can come back and relax. You’re not shy in telling him that he makes an excellent point. The praise falls easily from your lips and you delight in the way it causes him to smile shyly. Some things really never change and you’ll never tire of pulling that out of him. 

Several hours later, you’re done with all your errands (in record time, no less, even though you took care of getting things for him as well). Back at your apartment, Minghao unloads your groceries for you along with the light lunch he insisted that you pick up. It should be scary to see him making himself at home in your life again. It’s not, though. It just fills you with an endless amount of warmth. You can’t help the way your heart flutters at him setting your food out on the table and calling for you to come join him before it’s back to checking things off your little list for the day. He just seems so comfortable helping you and sharing in your space. Content to let you set the pace and clearly pleased you texted to invite him over. 

After lunch, Minghao shoos you off to get your laundry started while he tidies up in the kitchen and living area. He’s not a clean freak by any stretch. Although he does like for everything to be in its place. You know he’s only doing it now to help you because he doesn’t mind. The warmth is going to be too much at this rate. You let yourself have hearts in your eyes over him for a second before disappearing into your bedroom to gather your laundry. 

Once you have your clothes in the washing machine, Minghao says he needs to get something from his apartment and returns with his sketch pad. He’s got a few ideas that he wants to plan out and hopes it’s fine to do with in your living room. You agree as long as he doesn’t mind you rotting away with your TV obsession of the moment. It’s in those quiet moments that you get the most answers. The comfort of being in a space with him, not saying much and yet knowing you could. Sometimes you feel like you have to fill a silence to avoid any awkward pauses. There’s this sense of anxiety about what the other person is thinking, even if you know it’s probably not about you. It’s not the case with him. Which tells you all you really need to know, doesn’t it? No matter how hard you’ve tried over the years to find someone else, to date and have it something more, it’s never been like this with anyone but him. 

You’re scared of what comes next. Scared of being hurt. Yet, this feels like one of those chances you just have to take.

The next week goes something like the weekend. You spend a lot of your free time with Minghao. Sharing all the things that have happened over the years. It’s easy to talk about shared friends or new ones. Not quite as easy to talk about all the work updates, though it feels just as important. The two of you stay up late having hard conversations in the quiet hours of the night. Talking about everything that’s different. Neither of you even shy away from past relationships. It doesn’t even feel that difficult. You both had lives since you broke up and those lives shaped you into these people now. Twice, he even shows up for lunch to get you out of the building for a break. The looks from your coworkers are both knowing and happy. Everything feels like it’s going toward the obvious conclusion. 

Somewhere in between all the time spent with Minghao, you also carve out time for dinner with your best friend. Need to carve out the time, you think, to get her opinion. She’s been with you since just before the relationship ended. Even though you know that you can make decisions for yourself, it feels important to get an outside perspective. The last thing you want is to rush back into something and end up in the same place as the first time. If nothing else, you know she’ll ask you the difficult questions to make you think. Make you answer if you’ve really thought out what a second chance for the two of you looks like. If you’re doing this because you want this now, in 2025, for if you’re just holding onto a past that felt comfortable. It can be easy to just stay in a bubble without considering what that looks like when the bubble breaks. When you have to go exist together in public or with friends, not just in your own little world.

She does all those things and is adamant: this isn’t like before. Tells you that you don’t need her to tell you what you already know. Instead of justifying everything that happened years ago, you acknowledge. You don’t make excuses because there aren’t any to make. Sometimes things don’t work. You and Minghao are different people now than you were years ago. Somehow, against all odds, you’ve grown into different people that have even better compatibility than you did when you were younger. As cliche as it is, he seems like your right person at the wrong time and the universe is telling you to hit the replay button now. It’s all the confirmation you need. You’re going to dive in and feel confident he’ll be there to catch you. 

By the time Valentine’s Day comes around, you’re both completely at peace and nervous for the date itself. It’s been the theme of the last week. Another set of contrasts that somehow work. You trust Minghao, more than you expect. But, you haven’t had a date for Valentine’s since just after you and him broke up. And it was a disaster. So, you’re trying not to set your hopes to an unrealistic level. 

But, he quickly proves that you don’t have anything to worry about. Before work, he shows up with flowers, coffee, and a pastry from a shop nearby. It’s really difficult not to just call out from work and spend the day with him. Admitting that makes him laugh and press a gentle kiss to your temple. It’s so sweet that you want to melt. Sadly, you have to go to work and he’s got two different meetings that he can’t miss, one with a museum curator and another with a prospective client. So, he’ll see you after work as planned. 

Work seems to drag and more than once, you consider leaving early. Probably would too if Minghao hadn’t been adamant that you couldn’t come by his place until after work. It makes you pout a little, which, in turn, makes Mingyu laugh at you when he stops by your desk. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to avoid bringing up Minghao anymore since they’ve been in touch the whole time. You’re so happy looking forward to the date that you can’t even get mad at your friend. Besides, it can’t have been an easy spot to be in all this time. 

Minghao takes your breath away when you actually show up after work. 

After quickly changing out of work clothes, you’re on his doorstep, waiting for him to answer. The second you step inside, you see why he had you wait. He’s decorated the entire space in a way he knows you’ll love. All your favorite colors and little things that are cheesy, but also adorable. There are also several paintings, both old and newer, that you know you inspired displayed around the living area. It feels like the perfect space to celebrate with him. All you can do is wrap your arms around him. He’s quick to pull you tight against him. There’s so much emotion. 

“The food is already on the way,” he says when you pull away from him. “Thank you for paying, even though you didn’t need to.” 

“You’ve been paying for everything. It’s my turn,” you say and smile, looking around his apartment. “And thank you for this. I know it’s not usually your style.”

“You like it. That’s all that matters,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“Can I say something that’s maybe too honest?” you ask.

Minghao’s gaze on you is soft. “To me? Always.”

“I do like it, but I think I would like anything because I just like you. A lot more than I realized,” you say and watch him. Every part of you wants to look away. You already feel naked with his gaze on you when you’re not confessing to your feelings. 

Minghao reaches for your hand to pull you into him again. Lets the silence settle around you for a moment. He speaks without releasing you. “That’s good because I’m very much in love with you. So I’m glad you like me so much.”

That makes you pull away, eyes wide. “You’re in love with me? You’re sure?” 

“Does that scare you?” he asks, studying your face the same way he studies his favorite artwork.

The answer is on the tip of your tongue before you even realize it. “No.” 

“You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to love me back at all if it’s not right for you. But, I’m sure. It’s always been you for me and it’s always going to be you for me. I’m not going to waste a second chance by not telling you how I feel.” 

It’s overwhelming in so many ways. The Minghao you loved years ago couldn’t express himself this easily. It was you that had to be good at using your words and interpreting him through actions. At the time, you thought it was fine. Now, seeing him be strong for both of you, you realize that sometimes it’s nice to hear exactly what he’s thinking. It’s nice to just know without having to read his actions. It’s also his way of showing you that things are different. That he’s going to be the partner you need and he’s going to make sure both of you are the best versions of yourself. Somehow that simple statement, along with everything he’s done the past week, are the final piece. You know this is going to be a partnership and you know you’re in it. Whatever happens, happens. 

Dinner passes quickly and the food is great, like you know it will be. It’s also nice not to have to cook or clean anything up. Even nicer to have the space to enjoy each other’s company without going out to dinner like every other couple for the holiday. And Minghao clearly enjoyed setting his table just right for the two of you. After dinner, you suggest watching something. Minghao lets you pick and the two of you settle onto his couch. Without overthinking it, you adjust to put your legs over his lap. He lets you get comfortable before putting his own hands back down and absently tracing patterns into the fabric of your pants. For a fleeting moment, you imagine him using your body as a canvas. Shaking your head to clear the thought, you focus back on the TV.

After a while, you start to feel a little uncomfortable. Not with your legs in Minghao’s laps. That’s providing a lot of comfort. You’re stretching out your neck and rolling your shoulders without realizing it. It’s been a long week at work with too much time hunched over a computer. 

“Do you want a massage?” Minghao asks, interrupting the show. You look over at him with raised eyebrows. “You keep rubbing your neck and rolling your shoulders.”

“Of course you noticed,” you say with a chuckle. 

“Maybe a massage would help,” he offers again. 

You bite your lip in consideration. You haven’t so much as kissed Minghao since you started to spend time together again (since you’re ignoring any drunk kiss that happened at Soyoon’s party for New Year’s Eve). It’s only been a kiss to the cheek here or a temple kiss there. This is definitely more than that. You want to go slow, but you also miss the way he feels. You remember the massages after long nights of studying. 

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you say. 

The warmth in his eyes when you agree is familiar. Older and wiser, sure, but still familiar. He gets up off the couch and reaches a hand to you. “Come on, let’s go into the bedroom so it’s more comfortable.”

You place your hand into his and follow him. It’s the first time you’ve seen his bedroom and it’s so simple. A few pieces of his art sit in the corner. For the most part, you can tell he only uses the space to sleep.

“I’m going to get some lotion. You can get settled,” he says and places a soft kiss on your temple. 

Once he disappears, you make a decision. You remove your shirt and bra so that your back is bare when you lay down on his bed. You settle on the bed with your head up by the pillow so that you can collect part of his sheet around your chest. It’s a little awkward, being half-naked and wondering how to position yourself. It only takes Minghao a few moments before he’s coming back through the bedroom door. His breath catches when he sees you. 

“I hope this is okay,” you say, carefully turning to look at him. “My shoulders and neck are so tense that I wanted you to be able to reach them easily.”

He gathers himself quickly and crosses over to his bed. Sits down next to your hip and runs a hand gently across your back. Like he’s testing if you’re actually there. “As long as you’re comfortable, then I’m happy.” 

“I am, yeah,” you say softly. 

“Okay, then let me take care of you,” he says, just as soft.

Without another word, he moves to straddle your body, using his knees on either side of you to hold the majority of his weight. Gently, he brushes your hair off your neck and over to the side. It’s enough to make you sigh and close your eyes. You hear him open the lotion to put some into his hands. Always so thoughtful, he warms it before putting his hands on your back. He starts just below your shoulders and works his way up, feeling for knots and increasing the pressure as needed. Barely a minute passes and you already feel like you could melt into his mattress. It’s definitely not just the release of tension that has you so comfortable that you could drift into sleep. No, it’s the person with his hands on you. It’s the care he shows with each movement. 

Before long, you really are drifting in between the land of being fully awake and asleep. It’s not that you could fall asleep on him. You still feel each movement. You’re just incredibly relaxed. Each of your muscles melt under the gentle touch of his nimble fingers. Even when he digs into a knot, it still feels relaxing. Professionals should be thankful that he took up art instead because he could put them all to shame. Though, admittedly, you’re biased. And you haven’t ever found the thought of a stranger massaging you to be that relaxing. There’s always the initial awkwardness before settling in. None of that happens with the person you know you trust more than yourself. 

He bends down to your ear and his breath alerts you before he says anything. “Going to fall asleep on me, sweetheart?”

His tone is light, almost teasing. It’s also confident, but not in the cocky way. He’s proud of the way he can relax you so easily. Your brain is a little foggy and maybe that’s also a good thing. You turn towards his voice and wind your arm up so that you can place a hand on the back of his head. His eyes aren’t just filled with warmth when they meet yours anymore. There’s desire there now, too, the same desire building within you. You pull him towards you and kiss him. Slow, almost lazy, at first. It quickly deepens into something more. 

It’s an awkward position, though. Minghao moves off of your back and you take the chance to also reposition, turning over and sitting up. There’s no awkwardness anymore and you don’t bother pulling the sheet with you when you face him. He takes a second to drink you in. Swallows hard as his eyes travel over your chest. In the next moment, he pulls you toward him so that he can kiss you again. You position your legs on either side of his hips to allow you to press tight against him. His kiss is urgent, tongue tangling with your own as the two of you meld into one. You wind one of your hands into his hair, only playing with the ends of it at first, wrapping pieces around your fingers. 

Minghao pulls back like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Both of your chests rise and fall quickly to catch your breath. “Are you sure?”

“That I want this?” you clarify.

“That you want this with me,” he says, still a little breathless. 

“Yes,” you say. 

“Are you really sure?” he asks again. He’s checking for consent and also giving you an out.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you confirm. 

You think that he’s leaning back in so that he can kiss you again. Until he uses a hand to tilt your head to one side and kisses along your jaw. He carries his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. Like he’s mapping every inch of your body. Committing it to memory or maybe making up for the lost years. When you were younger, you found it difficult to accept this kind of attention. Always worrying there was some kind of imbalance. Now, all you can do is moan out your appreciation for the way Minghao worships every inch of your skin. You’re not in a rush and he’s clearly not either. You run your hands through his hair, allowing your nails to scrape lightly against his scalp and shudder at the way he moans into your skin. Do it again just to feel the way his lips vibrate. 

His hands find their way to your hips and he grips hard. Anchoring you in place and also checking to make sure it’s all real. That it’s all happening. That none of this is another one of his dreams. Every time you run your nails along his scalp, it’s a reminder that it is happening. That the two of you really have found your way back to something. In that moment, he knows that he’ll risk his heart to not spend the rest of his life wondering what could have happened. Be vulnerable now and hope it’ll work out. 

Spurred on by the soft sounds falling from your lips, Minghao moves from your collarbones down to the hollow between your breasts. You arch into his mouth and dig into his scalp, just for a second. It’s the only thing he needs to feel. Quickly, he moves his mouth over to your nipple, taking it into his mouth. Swirling around it and nipping it lightly. He moves one of his hands from your hip to take the other nipple between his fingers. Can’t have either feeling left out. It’s embarrassing how much it turns you on, like you’re some kind of horny teenager. His fingers are so nimble, so intentional in the way they tease you that you can’t help it. He swaps his mouth to your other nipple, replacing his fingers. You’re not sure what you want more.

This time, you pull back. Still kind of breathing shallowly even though you hadn’t been kissing him. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and a little concerned. You’re quick to reassure him, hands moving to the hem of his shirt. “Can I? I don’t want to be the only half naked one anymore?”

“Of course,” he says with a smile. 

You pull the shirt up and over his head, thankful that he’s not overdressed to make it more complicated. For a second, the sight of him renders you speechless. Gently, you run your finger along his chest and down the muscles of his stomach that weren’t there when you dated him last time. The way he shudders under your touch only spurs you on. There’s a scar along his side that you don’t remember. It’s smooth to the touch, just slightly raised.

“Beautiful,” you whisper confidently. 

He can’t stand it anymore. He takes your face in his hands and pulls you into him. Kisses you again, slowly but with so much intensity that it makes your heart skip several beats. You still fit in with him like you were made for each other. He uses the kiss to shift both of your bodies and disentangle your legs. Dips you backwards until your head hits the pillow without his lips leaving yours. Once you’re lying back, though, he breaks the kiss again. Resumes kissing down your body. Makes sure to kiss away any insecurities in the process. Whispers praise into your skin that feel like a salve. This is Minghao, your Minghao. You’re safe with him. Loved. Cherished. Supported. It’s overwhelming to feel all of that come rushing back after years spent apart looking for it in someone else. Of course it’s always been him. 

Normally you’re somewhat ticklish, and you do have to fight a little nervous laugh as he kisses down your stomach, especially when his face is so close that you can feel his eyelashes against your skin. But, there really isn’t anything funny about this. Not when Minghao looks up at you while kissing your body. Seems to be mapping your reactions just as much as your skin. He pauses with his hands on your pants, silently asking for permission. Checking in to make sure that you’re still okay with this. You nod and he kisses your stomach again before unbuttoning your pants. Pulls your pants and underwear down in one fluid motion. He takes a moment to appreciate you, laid out before him. Any remaining nerves disappear. You’ve never seen someone look at you with that much love in your life. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Until Minghao resumes kissing down your body and it’s a different kind of overwhelming. His breath ghosts across your core as he places slow, open mouthed kisses along your thighs. 

Nothing has really happened, but by the time he settles between your legs, you’re already worked up. Wound so tightly that you think he could have you coming with just a touch. You consider if that would be too fast for half a second before catching sight of Minghao. He looks up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and you don’t care what happens. Don’t care how fast anything happens because it’s him. Can hardly believe that this beautiful person wants to put your needs before his own. His eyes narrow like a siren, full of focus and desire, and it takes your breath away.

“I don’t want you to hold back,” he says. “I’ve been waiting years to taste you again.”

“You wha - fuck,” you hiss out. 

He effectively short circuits your brain with one move. He doesn’t bother teasing you, just goes straight to licking into your wet cunt. Uses two fingers to spread your lips open so that he has better access. There’s no concern for building up to something. He wants to taste you and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. When his nose hits your clit, it makes you groan out and snap your thighs around his face. His groan in response vibrates through your pussy. Makes him use his thumb to rub circles on your clit without slowing his speed licking into you. It’s entirely too overwhelming in the best way. In just moments, Minghao has you writhing underneath him, gripping onto anything within your reach. His hair. The sheets. The pillow. Anything. The tension builds entirely too fast and you’re not really ready for it to be over. Not ready to have it end. 

You’re not sure if he has the same thought or not, but Minghao pulls back to look at you. The moan at the sight of your wetness all over his lips and chin is immediate. Somehow it makes him even sexier and you can’t take your eyes off him. Can’t look away as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. With careful movements, he pulls himself up your body and lies next to you on his side to face you. Winds an arm under your neck. Places two of his fingers against your mouth and you suck them in without a thought. Swirl your tongue around his slender fingers with your eyes locked on his. Smile at the way it seems to be affecting him. With what looks like regret on his face, he pulls his fingers from your mouth and moves his hand down between your legs. Runs his middle finger up your still wet folds before inserting it. 

“Minghao, fuck, you can’t just…” you start, only to have your words cut off. 

You’re kissing again and it’s the most heated yet. The taste of you lingers on his lips. Seems to mark him as yours. You realize that maybe he’s not teasing you because he meant what he said. He’s been waiting too long for this to go slow with you. There’s plenty of time to slow down later. This is what both of you need now. He slides another finger into your pussy and pumps even faster. Doesn’t let you pull away from the kiss, catching every sound you make and adding his own sounds. The tension builds, even faster than before. In no time at all, you’re coming all over his fingers. Gasping for breath as you break the kiss and he gently pumps into you to guide you through the orgasm. 

When you can catch your breath, you look over at Minghao. Appreciate the way he just watches you. He gently brushes a piece of hair out of your face and then leans in for a soft kiss. You’re not letting him get away with that, though. Not now. Not when he just had you coming harder than you can remember in a long time. You knock the kiss up in intensity and he lets you lead. Lets you set the pace and meets every kiss with the exact right amount of pressure. Your hands are everywhere on him while you kiss, exploring all the lines and the muscles that feel a little foreign. The only obvious sign of the passage of time.

He pulls back just long enough so that he can pull his pants and briefs off. Doesn’t even look where he tosses them in the room. All he can think of is connecting his lips with yours again. About making up for all the years in between, even if you both know that you needed that time apart to find your way back. You wind your hand down between your bodies and grip his dick in your hand. Slowly run your thumb over the tip and find there’s already precum there. It fills you with so much satisfaction to know that he’s as turned on as you are. It’s a little diary, but you spit quickly in your hand. You run your hand up and down his cock a few times, twisting your fist around him. Checking to see what kind of pressure and speed he likes. 

“I just want…fuck, sweetheart,” he groans out as you run your thumb across his tip again.

“What do you want, Hao?” you ask, making your eyes as big and innocent as possible.

“I want to be inside you, want to feel you around me,” he says and your breath catches. “I don’t want to cum from a handjob like some teenager.”

“Fuck,” you say with a nod. “Yes, please, yes.”

He rolls away from you for a second to reach for his nightstand and returns with a condom and some lube. Rips the condom open with his teeth and then rolls it onto his cock. You’re about to ask him how he wants you when he pulls back and spreads your legs open. He looks at you as he lines himself up at your entrance. For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he pours some of the lube onto the condom. Makes sure this is going to feel good for you.

“I want to watch you fall apart,” he says, voice thick with desire.

“Please,” you say softly. “I need to feel you, Hao.” 

Minghao lines himself up and presses his tip against your entrance. You’re a little sensitive from his tongue and his fingers. Still wet from that and from the intensity of the kisses afterwards. You wrap your legs around his waist as he angles into you. He leans forward, arms on either side of you so that you’re caged in. He’s sliding in so slowly, so carefully. It’s the first time he’s even come close to teasing you. Or maybe it’s just so that he can draw it out. Either way, you want him buried inside you. Can’t stop from wrapping your legs tighter around him. It’s hard to have him looking at you with so much intensity. So much eye contact. You catch the chuckle at your impatience with your lips. 

It works, though. He bottoms out with one final thrust and you would scream it if not for his lips on yours. You let him set the pace even though it’s just slower than you want. The sensitivity just makes everything feel more intense. Each time either of you breaks the kiss to catch a breath, your eyes are on each other. Uttering praise and promises into the space between the two of you. More Minghao than you, which is incredible. A steady stream of both coherent and incoherent thoughts. Somehow it all makes sense to both of you. All seems like it’s exactly right. And true to his word, when the tension builds in your body again, Minghao breaks the kiss entirely. Watches the way your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open. Appreciates every sound you make. Later he’ll tell you that he’s never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment. For now, all he can do is watch and pick up his own pace. He wants to follow right behind you.

There’s less build up this time when you fall over the edge, toes curling and back arching. It’s even more intense too, something you didn’t think was possible. Hazily, you feel Minghao’s thrusts falter in their speed as he comes hard just after you. You try to take over the rhythm, but your body feels spent. After his final thrust, he offsets his weight so he’s not lying fully on top of you without pulling out either. Your breathing syncs up with his as you come back to the bedroom and the reality of what just happened. 

You can’t help yourself. His hair is a little wet with sweat and you reach out to brush it away. Think about how this may be your favorite hairstyle he’s ever had. He catches your hand before you even realize his eyes are on you and he kisses your palm. It makes you smile at the care in his eyes. When he releases your hand he props himself up to slowly ease out of you. You figure that you should get up as well before he presses your shoulder gently down.

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

And he does, doesn’t he? He’s shown you with his actions and even followed it up with his words. He does have you and you think he’ll probably always be there. You hear the water running from the attached bathroom and then watch him return with a wet washcloth. The bright light behind him highlights his silhouette like an angel. That’s not where it stops, though. Instead of letting you clean yourself up, he sits on the bed and runs the cloth carefully over your body. It makes your heart hurt to have him taking care of you like this, so tender and full of such pure affection. Once he finishes, he tosses the washcloth over to the nightstand. You pull him into you so that you can cuddle close. 

Even though you could probably stay like that for the rest of the night, you know that you either need to change the sheets or figure something out. You run a hand over his arm thoughtfully. That’s when it hits you and you turn your face to his. “Do you wanna go sleep in my bed with me and we can deal with your bed tomorrow?”

His laugh is light, easy. “Inviting me to bed on the second date, what will the neighbors say?” 

You swat at his arm without any real force. “That you’re incredibly lucky, I expect.”

“They’re right about that,” he says, any teasing gone in the completely honest statement. It’s a little too much for you, at least for a minute. Minghao, in his infinite wisdom, lets you have the moment. He moves from the bed and helps you up with him. Even helps you track down your clothing that’s gotten more scattered than you realize. 

It’s so easy to fall back into a rhythm with him even though it feels entirely different. Familiar and new. Fitting for the enigma that is the man before you. Which is when it hits you, just as he’s reaching the door to the hallway. Minghao stops to turn around and see why you’re not right behind him. 

“Are you coming? I don’t really want to have to break into your place,” he says with another light laugh.

“Been working on your cat burglar skills during the past few years, have you?” you joke back and he just shakes his head. Closes the space between you and collects you into his arms.

“I think that’s your wishful thinking about wanting a cat,” he says and you laugh.

“Could be,” you concede.

“Shall we?” he asks when he releases you.

“Just a second,” you say and he regards you with clear curiosity. “Earlier you told me that you loved me and…”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. You mistake it for him thinking you don’t feel the same.

“No, I need to say something,” you say and he swallows anything else. “I love you, too.”

“I know,” he says with a smile that has you rolling your eyes. Of course he knows. You’re entirely smitten and once again, the last one to know. “And how lucky am I to have someone who loves me like you do as a Valentine? To be loved by someone that I love as much as I love you?” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hao.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Here’s to a lifetime more of these.”

“I can’t wait.”

[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

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

[alluramiura]

“𝒾𝓃 ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝒹𝓈, 𝒶 𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁ℯ𝓇 𝓉ℴ 𝓅𝓇ℴ𝓉ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓎ℴ𝓊” ｜se-mi x reader

summary: you save se-mi during lights out.

word count: 1.6k words

warnings: lowercase intended, death description, 124 dies, se-mi lives, mentions of youngmi’s death (💔), reader is an implied foreigner

authors note: i was going to post something abt hyunju but i remembered how se-mi died and i got mad all over again. minsu you’re a fucking coward. enjoy.

you met se-mi after the first game, before six-legged pentathlon. you talked a few times, the first time being when you two agreed to team up. after the agreement, she proposed the idea to split up and search for more teammates.

a few minutes later, you found two players willing to join you; hyunju and youngmi. when you found her again, she had found four other players.

before you could say anything, one of the men behind her spoke up.

“who’s this, se-mi? the limit is five. we have all of our members.” he says, so quietly you almost can’t hear him. he was standing the closest to se-mi, and you notice his number is 125.

your eyes flicker to his for a second before flickering back to se-mi, who looks like she was about to give you an apology before another one of the men speaks, quite loudly.

“who’s this chick?” a man with purple hair—“thanos“— steps forward to address you directly.

“oooh, i see what’s happening. you want to join the amazing thanos’ team, huh? we are sadly out of room, señorita. but come to me next round, yeah?”

you stare at him blankly before turning back to se-mi. “it’s okay. i found a few people. you can stay with your group.”

she nods hesitantly, and you give her a faint smile before turning to return to the two players you found, who have now found two more players.

after the second game, you spoke again, a little before voting.

you opened up about your situation, how you were still relatively new to life in seoul, and how it’s been rougher than you imagined it would be, especially with the whole death game thing.

she sat and listened, nodding softly as you explained the last few months of your life to her.

she spoke about her situation a little as well. she didn’t say much, just that going back to her life was as good as staying here would be.

hearing that, you shouldn’t have felt as shocked, almost betrayed as you did when you saw her with the small “O” patched onto her jacket.

you knew you really had no right to be upset—everyone was here for a reason, some reasons being worse than the others, and her singular vote would have changed nothing regardless—but you couldn’t help but think of how the majority of players would choose money over fellow human life, her being one of them.

you try not to let her see how much the thought bothers you, but she seems to catch on almost immediately.

“are you upset that i chose to continue?” she asked, a bit suddenly, after noticing you’ve barely said anything and had been avoiding her gaze.

“…i’m not upset at you directly. i just…wanted to go home really bad.” you mutter softly, fidgeting with your necklace.

she hums in acknowledgement, and what seems like understanding.

“i wish i felt the same way.”

the next time you talk to her after that was during the third game.

mingle was probably the most stressful for you. you stayed with youngmi and the rest of your designated group for the most part.

that is, until youngmi died.

seeing her lifeless body covered in blood changed something within you.

when the farris wheel stopped spinning once more, you almost didn’t move. however, you suddenly felt the strong urge to make it out of here alive, if not for yourself, then for the friends, family you found here that might not make it along the way.

when you saw se-mi again, she was alone, looking around frantically for another person after the number two was called out.

you first noticed that she wasn’t with her team, but you pushed that thought away as you rushed towards her, grabbing her arm and sprinting to an empty room.

once you were in the room with the door shut, you pressed your back against the wall, catching your breath.

after a few seconds of silence and heavy breathing, se-mi speaks up, her voice hoarse and breathy.

“thank you.”

hearing that, you look up at her before nodding, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the wall.

“you’re welcome.”

when you left the room, you noticed she stayed near you and your group instead of with the people she was with before.

you didn’t mind.

the final time you talked to her before lights out was after the second vote.

when you saw she voted “X”, you were almost as shocked as you were seeing her vote the first time.

you didn’t ask what changed her mind, however. instead, you asked her what happened with her team.

“they…they’re assholes. i should’ve known from the start.” she mumbles, sighing softly.

you two spoke a little more, and you told her about your newfound motivation to make it out no matter what, after witnessing the death of your friend.

you shed a few tears thinking of youngmi. you didn’t know her for long, but like many other people you met here, you formed a bond you knew you’d never have with anyone else you’d ever meet.

se-mi gently put a hand on your shoulder as you cried silently, her expression grim.

you stayed with her for the remainder of the time before lights out.

now, as everyone’s killing one another and the scent of copper fills the air, you run around frantically looking for a place to hide.

you were climbing to the top of one of the bunk beds when you heard a familiar voice.

a shriek.

you look behind you, and a few feet away stood player 124, standing over se-mi with a bloodied fork in hand, looking like he was ready to attack.

that same feeling you got seeing youngmi die suddenly came back full force, and before you even realized it, you had hopped off the latter and began running towards the two.

as you approached, you locked eyes with se-mi as she struggled to fight him off.

suddenly, a glass bottle shatters, causing you to step back, and namgyu to pause his murderous actions, looking up to find the person who threw it.

while he’s distracted, you grab a shard of the glass and jab it into his his shoulder from behind.

namgyu lets out a pained cry as the glass pierces his shoulder. in an instant, he swivels around, backhanding you in the face.

you hit the ground pretty hard, feeling blood trickle down your nose. your vision was slightly blurred and you were disarrayed, your hand pressing against your temple where you initially hit the ground.

se-mi’s eyes widen, a strangled gasp leaving her lips as she watches you fall to the ground. adrenaline fuels her as she takes the opportunity to scramble to her feet, kicking namgyu in his side.

he doubles over slightly, but quickly recovers as he takes another step towards se-mi.

to her surprise, you get back on your feet, gripping the shard of glass so hard that blood runs down your wrist as you charge at namgyu again.

her heart racing, she joins fray in a flurry of limbs and desperation, punching and kicking wherever she could. namgyu was strong, however, and he managed to dodge all of your messily aimed attempts at stabbing him, his own adrenaline surging.

he suddenly grabs se-mi’s wrist forcefully, slamming her against the wall and raising his fork over his head, preparing to stab se-mi in the neck.

“no!” you shriek, balancing yourself and locking your blurry vision onto namgyu before charging at him a final time, stabbing him in the back harshly.

you don’t stop after the first stab, continuing to drill the glass into his back repeatedly, his blood splattering all over your shirt and skin.

he screams out in pain, staggering as his strength slowly leaves his body.

it’s only when he hits the ground, choking on his own blood as it pools around him when you realize what you’ve done, your hands shaking as you look down at the blood covering your hands.

you almost feel sick knowing it’s not just your own.

if someone told you a week ago that you’d become a murderer trying to protect yourself and your loved ones in a death game you’d blindly signed up for, you’d call a psychiatrist.

you drop the glass, trembling as you slowly look up at se-mi, tears beginning to stream down your face.

se-mi quickly runs over to you, her heart pounding in her chest. she grabs your face, holding it in her hands as she checks for any fatal injuries.

when she sees that you don’t have any major wounds, she pulls you into a tight hug.

you wrap your arms around se-mi as you bury your face into her neck, sobbing as the reality sinks in of what you’ve just done.

she kept her arms caged around you protectively, as she looks around to make sure no one else tries to attack you two.

“it’s okay. you’re okay. i got you.” she whispers, her own voice wavering as she rubs your back, attempting to comfort you for the second time that day, only under completely different circumstances.

“i-it all happened so fast…” you cry out, clinging onto se-mi like a lifeline. “h-he was trying to kill you, se-mi…i had to…i had to.”

“shhh…it’s alright. you saved me.” she murmurs, slowly guiding you to a nearby corner, hidden in the shadows from the chaos. she doesn’t once let you go, her eyes scanning the room for any immediate danger as the lights flicker.

after a while, she pulls back, gently tilting your head up so you could look at her. her thumb brushes away the tears streaming down your face, her touch tender.

"you're safe now. it's over."

[teslasucks37]

CW: NSFW under the cut, afab!reader in fem clothing (gn tho cause no pronouns), Dubcon, Voyeurism/Exhibitionism, near crying during sex, so much squirting, real sappy shit

A/N: After thousands of years… It’s finally completed… All 5k+ words… It’s beautiful…

GL!Charlie x GL!Reader

Over and Over Again

“After such a long wait, the results are finally in!” A jubilant voice reverberated from above, as if through a microphone.

You stirred, grabbing your head instinctively as a slight pain seared through it at the loud sound. Sitting up slowly, you took in your surroundings. A sterile-looking white room, white floors, white walls, white desk, white chair, white bed, white sheets, white pillows. Worst of all, white high-tech cameras in all four corners of the room, much too high for you to reach.

The only thing not pure white besides you was the person next to you.

“Charlie…” You mumbled to yourself, seeing his unconscious body sprawled on the floor, much like you had been. Crawling over to him, you shook his shoulder, earning a groan in response.

The two of you were dressed in white to match the room, him in a tshirt and boxers, you in some kind of lacy nightgown.

But there wasn’t much time to linger on your apparel.

“We asked you, yes you, the viewers, whose story you most wanted to see continue past that heart wrenching final episode!” You glanced up at the sound, seeing it was coming from a loud speaker in the corner.

Squinting and blinking the headache from his skull, Charlie sat up with your help. “What happened?” His eyes widened slightly, straightening his crooked glasses and taking in your face. “We died. I saw you die.” He paused, attempting to remember what exactly had happened. “At least I think…”

“They must have brought us back. I can’t really remember either.” You reached out a hand to him, which he grabbed clumsily. The two of you stood up, hands unclasping as he came to similar conclusions as you about your surroundings.

There was no door, no windows, no way out.

Your memories were a little fuzzy. You could somehow remember the company, very vaguely what they had done to you all, flashes of running from people in masks and an odd wire monster, but nothing else.

Nothing that could help you leave.

“The votes are officially counted, and to no one’s surprise, our fan-favorite pair took home the win by a landslide!” Artificial cheering and clapping filled the room, just before the cameras beeped to life, the previously darkened LEDs changing to red.

Charlie turned to the camera, preparing to shout to it in frustration, but his mouth was quickly covered by your hand.

His eyebrows furrowed, before he caught your eye and quickly mellowed out.

“We shouldn’t tip them off that we remember.” You whisper to him, glancing at the cameras watching the both of you.

Who knows what they would do if they knew? Brainwash you again? Or maybe just kill you and be done with it all, starting again with new contestants.

He sighed through your hand, nodding in agreement before you uncover his mouth.

Neither of you were willing to take the chance and find out.

“We know you all have been waiting for a long time for this, so we’ve prepared a cheeky little after dark special for our wonderful premium viewers that want a little more BANG for their buck...”

The laugh track rang loud over the speaker.

His eyes went wide as he turned to you with a whisper. “You don’t think they mean…” He glanced at the bed, then at each of your attires. “Isn’t there usually some kind of intimacy coordinator for this kinda thing?” He breathed the joke out nervously, not wanting to say it too loud for the cameras to catch.

You exhaled, which almost could have been a chuckle if the two of you weren’t trapped in a bedroom being told to have sex in front of millions of people.

He was nervous. Charlie always joked when he was nervous. But you just couldn’t seem to remember how you knew that.

Charlie was a fellow contestant, player, co-star, whatever it could be called when you were on a show that brainwashed you against your will.

You pushed your hair back with a hand as you turned away from him, casing the room once more. “Just… Let me think.”

Along the wall was a large bolted down vent next to the speaker.

It looked large enough to crawl through, maybe…

“Aw, it looks like our contestants are being a little camera shy. But don’t worry, we have just the thing prepared if they don’t get to it!” The voice hissed out insistently.

“Shit...” You didn’t want to find out what exactly that meant. Turning and grabbing Charlie’s face, you pulled him into a hasty kiss.

His hands shot your hips, before pulling away slightly. “Woah, I… I’m not against… I just… Maybe right now isn’t-”

“We have to.” You whispered against his lips desperately. “Just stall until I think of something.”

Charlie’s breathing became shallower, his teeth chewing his lip slightly as he glanced down at yours.

Okay, he could do that. He could stall by… Kissing you and… Touching you…

But doing it in front of all the people watching… The company…

The thought made his heart pound.

He moved forward slowly, his soft lips pressed against you with a gentleness that only Charlie could have.

And it didn’t even seem that strange to him, like it was meant to be this way.

His fingers around your hips pulled you closer, rubbing mesmerizing circles into the bone.

He just hoped you would think of something fast.

And you tried, you really did try, but it was so hard to think with his lips slotting with yours.

His mouth kissed down your jaw, to your neck and shoulders, sucking on the skin with a fervor you hadn’t expected from him. Seeming to lean back on its own, your head gave him more room to work on your neck.

God, it just felt so good, so right.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sensation, before flicking to the bed a few feet away.

Maybe you could pry open the vent with a piece of the bed frame? But only if it was metal. You had to get closer. And make it look natural.

“Charlie, the bed.” You leaned closer to mumble in his ear. “I need to check something.”

Charlie paused his teeth on your throat. “What? Oh, yeah.” His breathy whispers sent shivers across your skin as his hands hoisted your partly exposed legs around his hips.

You gasped as he lifted you effortlessly, his muscles flexing against you as he walked you both over to the bed, placing you down gently.

You somehow gathered he was buff, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering just how buff he was if he managed to lift you that easily, seemingly without any effort.

You sat up on the bed, propping yourself up with your hands behind you to chase his touch.

Charlie leaned down, reattaching his lips to your shoulder, suckling on your sweet spot and making a light moan fall from your mouth. He stood between your legs, which would have hung slightly over the bed if you hadn’t bent your knees to place the heels of your feet at the corner of the mattress.

Charlie tried not to look down toward between your legs, not wanting to invade your privacy, despite his hands sliding up your thighs, the fabric of your nightgown bunching in his hands.

“You just, feel so… Right, if that makes sense...” Charlie mumbled against your skin in a hushed tone, something for just the two of you to know. Not the unwanted viewers.

His words sent a shot of arousal down your spine, spiraling into your core.

You felt your pussy flutter around nothing. “Fuck…”

You wanted him so badly. It snuck up on you. You were able to ignore it when he wasn’t touching you and saying all these confusing things. But when his fingers grazed over your inner thighs and his hips had to stop themselves from bucking against you, a delicious hardness bulging in his boxers and pressing against your leg, you just couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Keep going, Charlie.” You plead, your fingers threading through the hairs at the base of his neck. “We should… Hah~” His teeth scraped against your neck at your grip on his hair, forcing a moan from your mouth. “Keep going~”

Charlie had to practically tear his lips away from you, pulling off his shirt and knocking his glasses slightly off kilter, immediately going to readjust them.

His chest was chiseled, abs strong and defined, biceps bulk with muscle.

He looked so fucking strong. How had he managed to get so strong in this place?

His action must have been based on instinct, due to the light flushing that overtook his cheeks when he realized what he’d just done. Exposing himself to you in a way he’d never done before.

But when he saw the way you were licking your lips, practically drooling over his body, he grinned lightly.

You must have been staring a little to long, because when you stopping admiring his body, his hips were pressed against yours, Charlie’s erection now hard enough to stand straight in the restrictive clothing of the white boxers.

The man in front of you glanced up bashfully. “Do you really want me to…” Charlie gulped, his clothed tip pressed against your clit through your white cotton panties.

You nod, needing more time, but mostly just wanting him inside you. “It’s okay, Char.”

He just couldn’t help himself, not when you were spread out so perfectly for him. Not when you were saying just how okay it was for him to do what he wanted. Not when your perfect lips uttered out that nickname for him.

“I want you to.” You didn’t even need to play it up for the camera anymore, the desire burning in your core being enough to warrant your actions. You grip the hem of the nightgown you were placed in, rolling it up your body and revealing more and more skin to Charlie as well as the other viewers.

He watched with heavy eyelids, hunger and heat taking over his gaze. “Yeah?” The way he said it could have come off as rhetorical, as dirty talk, but the way he said it, like he desperately needed it to be true, was almost his way of asking if it was real. Praying that it was real.

“Yeah.” You nodded, biting your lip as you pull the rest of the fabric over your head and onto the floor. Your tits spilled out, the soft skin being cupped by Charlie’s hands almost instantly.

His thumbed the peaks of your nipples, hardening in the cold air of the room before being warmed by his touch. “Holy shit…”

You grinned wolfishly at an awe stricken expression falling upon his face.

On a mission to keep kissing him, you reached up a hand to touch his body, pulling yourself up with his waist to not fall back completely.

Charlie took advantage of your unsteadiness, practically growling like a god damn predator as he lifted you and threw you back further onto the bed. He crawled over you, licking his teeth and brushing his hands all over your bare upper body.

Your waist, your stomach, your tits, your neck, and then back down again.

You never would have thought that Charlie, sweet, funny, a little bit awkward Charlie, would have you on a bed like this, dripping and begging for him.

He hooked his fingers in the panties you wore, sliding them down your thighs and lifting your legs to pull them off.

Before your legs fell completely, Charlie caught them, ducking under one to put both on his shoulders, examining what was between them with a hunger in his eyes you’d never seen before.

At least, not that you could remember…

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me…” He was panting just from the sight of you, swiping a fingertip through your folds, before bringing it up to his lips to taste. His mouth contorted around his finger for just a moment, savoring the taste, then pulled it out of his mouth. “And you taste so damn good…”

You whined at his teasing touch, reaching for his boxers and tugging them down to get to the thick length you felt so intimately against your thigh earlier through the fabric.

The sight of him above you, watching you squirm with heavy eyelids, made you need to squirm even more.

He smirked at your eagerness, pulling his boxers the rest of the way down and lifting his legs while doing so, shifting forward so the backs of your knees were on his shoulders, and the thick muscle of his cock slapped against your pelvis.

It was so fucking big, because of course Charlie was massive.

Just another thing you would have never expected from him.

His cock was so pretty, too.

A pretty pink tip that was drooling everywhere, almost leaking pre-cum onto your skin. His shaft that had a slight upward curve to it, his hardness almost seeming painful. A few veins that ran down the side of it as it twitched in neglect. Charlie watched himself for a moment, admiring the view of it thick and heavy on your stomach.

“Please…” You whined at the sight, so close to where you needed him.

Charlie pulled his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth as he maneuvered his tip to notch against your pussy.

He just couldn’t help himself.

The two of you sighed, bordering on whimpers, as his cock slipped past your folds and inside your gummy walls.

You pulsed around him, making Charlie’s face contort in a way you’d never seen before. He was so overwhelmed with the feeling of you, having you surround him like this, in a way he’d probably never experienced before.

“So perfect. Like you were made to fit around my cock.” Charlie mumbled out, almost sounding in disbelief at the feeling of you around him as he slowly began to rock in and out.

“Yes~” You sighed, whether in agreement of his naughty words, or in approval of the feeling of him bottoming out inside you repeatedly, you weren’t sure. “More~”

Charlie’s head fell forward, his voice shaking in desire. “Yeah? More?”

You nodded, before dissolving into a moaning mess as his hips began snapping against your ass faster, harder, deeper. “Oh, fuck!”

You could feel his tip kissing your cervix, over and over, his fists tangled in the sheets next to you.

Charlie’s hair swished with his momentum, groans and pants falling from his slightly kiss-swollen lips.

You could feel every inch of his length, welcoming him inside like he was fucking home.

The feeling of all those eyes watching Charlie slide his cock in and out of you was invigorating, embarrassing, intoxicating.

The way the camera moved every so slightly with this thrusts had you gripping his muscular arms, veins bulging to make room for the thick meat of them. You wanted to bite into it, feel his arms wrap around your throat as he fucked you.

But looking down to where you were connected to watch his abs flex as he pumped inside you and his face contort in pleasure was a good enough view.

“Feels so good…” Charlie groaned out, his hands shifting from gripping the sheets desperately to gripping your thighs.

Surely enough to leave bruises, but the hazy and pleasure-coated thought delighted you. The idea of him leaving marks for everyone at the company to see, everyone watching to see, it made your pussy flutter around him.

Fuck it felt so good, so overwhelming, so fucking good. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You felt yourself shaking in pleasure.

The idea of everyone watching him fold you in half and fuck you, everyone watching you cum around him, made your back arch up into him as you let out a moan, not caring who could hear as you came.

Charlie’s lips surged to yours, the quivering of your walls making him groan as you squirt around him, the stretch of your thighs pinching slightly and prolonging your pleasure even further.

Your cum splashes against his abdomen, dripping down his thighs and your own.

As your high retreats, he pulls away and gazes into your eyes, seeing his own reflection in them. The only place he would ever want to or care to see himself, from your perspective.

He slows his hips between your trembling legs just to look at you, analyzing every detail of your face.

But his eyes narrow slightly, before the both of you gasp.

Suddenly a vision overtakes you, a memory from before. A visage of you inside a cabin, scolding a Charlie covered in slime. A thick Brooklyn accent falling from your lips as you wag your finger at him. “Every week you bring home some freak human to cook for you, when I’m off working my ass off to provide for this damn house!” You point to the person standing next to him, clad in a mask that covered half of their face. You prattled on about watching the kids, how their no-good father was a horrible influence on them.

You felt docile, utterly complacent in fulfilling your role. It’s all you knew. This was your real life.

But you could also feel in your heart that the fight was meant to be comedic. To make someone laugh. And despite a frown, the fondness in Charlie’s eyes, whether it was his character, or the actor behind his character, or even the real person behind both, shined brighter than any animosity.

The worn ring on your left hand as you pointed and shouted made your mind race. Spotting Charlie with a matching one on his own left hand, you remembered your feelings for him, good and bad, some regarding his character, some not.

You were then thrusted into a later version of that self, crying over your dead husband’s goopy remains. You shouted and cried out and cursed the name of whoever had killed him. But then, almost like a switch was flipped, you began to clean up the room wordlessly. Items were scattered across the floor, just something you had to do.

And then it became just another thing that happened in your life. The feelings toward this Charlie and the one in the white room with you melded and became the same. The feelings you were scripted with felt just as real as the feelings that weren’t.

More visions pushed into your mind.

The company had done a trivia show, having Charlie as the announcer, always finding subtle ways to flirt with you. You had been certain that any remarks beyond the first few were not pushed out by the company.

They’d come up with an escape room program, Charlie being strapped to a table where people rummaged around his slime-like insides to find special items. You hadn’t even been kept in the same room but when he was wheeled into the main room, you instantly felt more at ease, though at the time you couldn’t explain why.

There had been a dating show, completely unscripted minus a few forced drama inclusions, always involving Austin in some way. You remembered you and Charlie’s confession to each other, your first date, your first kiss. The two of you had been together since the first few episodes, only ending when the show itself was cancelled, despite constant attempts from others at unnecessary relationship drama.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of versions of yourself flashed across your mind, the visions seeming so clear and then passing like a distant, but no longer foggy memory.

And in every single version of yourself, Charlie was there. One way or another, he was always with you.

And then your vision became a shot one of yourself ripping a pair of headphones off of Charlie, snapping him out of whatever kind of control he’d been put under. The look of relief on his face as he saw you melted your heart instantly.

The scene changed to a shot later that day of you running with Charlie and that same person from the cabin, all much more lucid than before, for the first time ever. The three of you managed to barricade yourselves in some kind of survivalist store in the mall. Your eye caught a compound bow, next to a small quiver of six arrows. You grabbed it, slinging it over your shoulder as Charlie strapped a bullet-proof vest over his light green shirt.

“You know how to use that?” Ranboo asked as they grabbed a knife from a case. The third, who you now remembered in the present was dead. Really dead.

Your lips thinned in slight recognition, analyzing it like an old friend from long ago. “I think so…”

Another shot of the three of you running, you shooting arrows into the heads of people in masks, wires and oil spilling out. So much blood, death. The lives of your friends. And another was going to become lost right in front of you.

The three of you had found a horizontal layout of the cabin. What had seemed so real was just a three-walled set on a broadcasting channel.

And the thing that that been chasing you finally caught up.

“Charlie!” You screamed, the large TV monster overtaking him and bludgeoning him as he wailed, shouting to Ranboo to get to the shut-down button through his pain.

“Go, Ran.” Tears streamed down your face as you grabbed at your quiver, only to find it empty. Your eyes narrowed at the large monster as it stood above Charlie, leaving him to die slowly.

“But-”

Gripping your bow with both hands, you sized up the giant monster. It hummed sadistically, making your body instinctively shrink in front of it.

You had to do something to slow it down.

Reeling back, you struck the wires with the curve of the bow, unplugging some of them in the process. The monster staggered slightly as you continued to beat it’s exposed wiring in the only way possible. You roared in anger, fueled with revenge for Charlie, and stabbed the bow into its already-shattered TV face.

You turned to face Ranboo, who was still standing there, a dumbfounded look on their face.

“Just go!” You panted in exhaustion, your heart stopping as a pain shot through your stomach. Some kind of sharp and twisted metal had been unfurled from the monster, and pierced through you.

You gasped in pain, a gurgle coming out from below you. Charlie, his chest beaten and bloodied, his mouth expelling red down the side, cried out for you in the only way he could.

The monster dragged the sword from you, simply turning and retreating back to the shadows as you fell to the floor next to the man you loved.

Ranboo turned after that, sprinting as masks suddenly emerged from every corner, thundering past the two of you on the floor to catch the one going for the button.

There was some kind of sickly sweet irony to it all.

Your first ever moments of lucidity were being ripped away, but as you looked into Charlie’s slowly glazing over eyes, you knew everything would be okay, no matter where you ended up after this.

Your connection had prevailed over life and death thousands of times. You would just simply do it again.

The two of you reached for each other, being only inches apart before you lost consciousness, dying within the walls of the company once again.

And like a TV channel cutting out, your vision returned to you, Charlie above you with a look in his eyes that said he’d seen the same things as you.

The two of you had been together, going through everything for years. Finding each other, being reset, only to do it over and over again. Sometimes being scripted to be in love, sometimes coming to it naturally. One of the only constants in a reality that was always changing.

His eyes softened to a warm and revering gaze, both of your eyes becoming misty as you smiled weakly at him.

You and Charlie were a part of each other, both intertwined into your individual beings eternally.

And the only tangible thing was the two of you in this moment, holding each other.

Grasping the back of his neck, you pulled him into a kiss.

Charlie’s cock twitched inside you at the contact, reminding the two of you just what exactly you’d been doing before remembering everything.

He grinned against your lips, beginning to pull out, before you brought your legs down and locked them around his waist, dragging him back inside.

The motion made you both whimper as he bottomed out inside you once more.

“Don’t stop~” You pleaded into his mouth with a newfound vigor.

For every moment you’d spent with him, the two of you had never gotten to do this. Might as well make the most of it…

“Fuck…” Charlie sighed, rolling his hips up into you even deeper with the wetness of your previous orgasm, if it was even possible. “God, of course you feel so right, you’re mine.”

Your heart soared at his words, his forehead coming to lean against your own, his real presence with you once again.

“I’m yours~” You whimpered, his pelvis brushing your clit ever so slightly.

Lifting your knees back to his shoulders, he returned his grip to your legs. He was practically on top of you, pressing your thighs to your abdomen with his waist in an attempt to go deeper, be closer.

The soft and shy Charlie that you were used to was completely overtaken by lust, now only a man deprived of the person he’d loved for years, lifetimes, their body finally in his hands, at his mercy.

“Fuuuuck...” Charlie mumbled out, leaning back slightly to watch his cock move in and out of you, your heat stretching around him so obediently. “So pretty…” He spread your folds slightly with two fingers, getting a closer look as he slid in and out.

You moved a hand from his arm to his waist, pulling him in faster. “Charlie…” You trailed off, wanting more, needing more.

He chuckled at your pitiful attempt, moving the fingers spreading you to rub pressured circles into your clit.

“Mmm~” Your back arched into him, an arm wrapping around his back to desperately bring him closer.

Fuck, his fingers felt so good coupled with his dick in you.

Your nails dug into the skin of his back, raking down his flesh as Charlie’s lips parted to release the loudest shuddering moan you’d ever heard from him.

You don’t even have the time to appreciate the sound as his hips begin pounding into you.

“Fuck, please do that again.” He whines, bringing his whole torso down to shove his face into your neck, his glasses knocking against your cheek for a moment.

You could barely comply, moaning wildly as his hands wrapped around your hips to pull you onto him even harder. Your arms flailed until you reached his back, gripping and slashing and slipping and clawing all over the taught muscles.

Charlie panted and moaned next to your ear, suckling on the skin of your neck as his big arms were stuffed between your sweaty bodies.

The two of you were pressed together, moaning and writhing and at the complete mercy of each other.

Slapping sounds and the smell of sex filled the room. He felt so big inside of you, especially when you were so close.

You could feel yourself coming undone, beginning to shake beneath him, your throat tightening, before crying out as you came around him again.

Your cum sprayed out against his pelvis, pooling on your abdomen and soaking the bed. It was fucking everywhere.

“Oh, yeah~” Charlie shakily moaned, nipping at the skin on your shoulder, before lifting his head to kiss you.

His bruising pace didn’t halt for a second, if anything he went faster, thrusting wildly as he pulled back from the kiss.

You breathed together, your lips inches apart as he used you to chase his own release. His glasses fogged up from the sheer heat his body was radiating. “I love you…” Charlie groaned into your mouth, babbling desperately. “I’ve always fucking loved you~”

You couldn’t hold back a large smile, yet unable to push any words from your lips.

His eyes were completely glazed over with love, lust, completion, everything you both felt in that moment. But it was blocked as his eyes fluttered closed, his forehead retreating into your neck as his body twitched. His pelvis slammed against yours with a final slap, twitching and spasming as he painted your insides.

You could feel the twitching of his cock, the sensation filling you with pride.

Charlie practically collapsed onto you, trembling and moaning lowly, as the aftershocks of his orgasm subsided.

The two of you simply layed there, the reality of your situation beginning to set back in slowly.

In an attempt to sit up with the large man on top of you, your hand bushed against something under the pillow, the foggy bliss clearing quicker at the feeling of something metal on your fingertips.

Following your hand under the pillow, Charlie lifting his head to see.

He looked completely fucked out, his hair tussled and ragged, his glasses slightly crooked on his nose, his face flushed and damp with sweat.

You smirked at the sight, nearly getting distracted by just how beautiful your soulmate was.

Because he really was your soulmate, in every meaning you could think of.

“Don’t go yet, folks! We still have a multitude of fun games for our wonderful couple, and we’re gonna be asking you for suggestions!” The loud speaker blared, making Charlie cringe at the sound.

You pulled out the metal box, seeing some kind of futuristic TV remote with two buttons, a red circle and a green square. Glancing at the cameras, whose LEDs all were a steady red, you pointed the remote at one and clicked the circular button.

The hum of the cameras came to a sudden stop, every single one of their LEDs turning back to an empty grey.

“Hey, where did you-” The voice cut out, also seemingly shut off by the remote.

“Huh…” Charlie breathed out, his voice raspy from all of the sounds he’d released just minutes ago. He glanced around to see every camera had indeed turned off.

You experimentally pressed the square button, jolting as the vent in the corner fell off the wall, making a loud clanging sound.

Charlie quickly pulled you close at the sudden noise, before seeing the vent on the floor and letting go, breathing out a sigh of relief.

The thought of finally being free after so long seemed almost too good to be true, but you had to try.

“Come on.” You shot up, causing Charlie to sit up and slip out of you with a shudder.

He leaned over the bed, tossing the nightgown you’d peeled off earlier to you before grabbing his own clothes.

As you scrambled up you shivered, feeling the remnants of your union drip down your thighs.

“Shit…” Charlie mumbled out appreciatively after putting on his shirt, staring at your thighs.

You turned to him and his head snapped to the floor, trying to act like he hadn’t been looking. A small smile spread across your face as you caught a glimpse of the red marks streaking down his back from your nails, before you pulled on the nightgown. You slipped on the panties, feeling the wet mess leaking out of you. Waddling to the wall, you narrowed your eyes at the small light coming out of the vent.

Sunlight.

Charlie pulled up the boxers, walking over to you to look over the vent, making sure it looked safe from your point of view. He slipped his hand into yours, intertwining your hands with a squeeze.

“I’ve always loved you too, Char.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips, feeling him smile against you, before tossing the remote control to the floor. “Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Fall Into the Dark With Me Part 3: Forever and Always✨

Dark Arts Professor! Joel Miller x Herbology Professor Fem! reader

Part 1

A/N: I wasn’t planning on another part, but a sweet ask came in and gave me some inspiration for another part. This one is so so soft and sweet 🥰 Happy Valentine’s Day from your favorite Slytherin and Hufflepuff lovers 🩷

Chapter Summary: You reminisce on your wedding day and your honeymoon. But that’s not the only thing you’re smiling about. You’re glowing because you’re carrying Joel’s child.

Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 2.5k

Chapter Tags: So much fluff, Joel in love, soft! Joel, Professor! Joel, Slytherin! Joel, Hufflepuff! reader, wedding night, reader is pregnant, flashbacks of smut

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You sway back and forth in the garden, tending to your fragrant lilies and fresh strawberries while the sunshine warms your bare arms, your summer dress flying in the breeze. You’re a little distracted today, a little nostalgic thinking back on your wedding night that was just four months ago. But really it seems like it was just last week. 

   A smile slips over your mouth; dreamy eyes stare into the distance where a water stream floats through an open valley, ending in a sea of green trees. Biting your bottom lip, you smile as you remember the moonlit wedding. Floating lanterns lit up the trees. Fireflies danced all around your flowing white dress. The one with the sheer sleeves and the bodice that glittered with crystals sewn into the silky fabric. 

   Time seemed to stop when you saw Joel at the end of the aisle—his hand lacing through his slicked back hair, a midnight black tuxedo hugging his broad body, a white bow tie to top off the sleek outfit. And in his hand sat a white lily. But not just a normal lily. No. It was the rarest flower you’ve ever seen. The one you showed him in your flower book. You didn’t know it actually still existed, but there it was, glittering under the moonlight, just waiting there for you. And when you got up to the altar, he laced it through your braid, told you how you were the rarest flower in all the land, so you deserved a flower that was as special as you. 

   And of course you cried. Gods, you cried when he took your hands in his and confessed his love all over again. He didn’t even need a paper; he just knew exactly what he wanted to say to you. And it was the most beautiful speech you ever heard in your life. 

   “My love. The moment I saw you across the Great Hall, I just knew you were the one. I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on you. I remember you waltzing in with a book about lilies under your arm and an empty flowerpot in the other.” He had to stop for a minute because he was chuckling under his breath, but it didn’t take him long to continue. “You stole my breath away the moment you pulled me by the hand in your classroom and walked me through how to properly handle a Venomous Tentacula. And even though most people are scared of them, you weren’t one bit. You handled it so gently and talked so sweet to it. I’ve never seen quite anything like it in my life.”

   More tears spilled from your eyes, but he just kept going, squeezing your hand all through it. “You captured my heart with how kind, caring, and gentle you are with everything. Plants, animals, children, me.” He shook his head with a smile and continued on. “But it wasn’t just your heart I fell in love with. It was your entire soul. The way you’d leave me flowers outside my classroom. The way you planted a garden in my heart. The way you continuously loved me, even through the days I relentlessly teased you and gave you hell. You never gave up on a not so easy Slytherin like me. You showed me what it’s like to be kind. You showed me how to love unconditionally. And baby, I jus’ can’t wait to spend the rest of my life lovin’ you the way you deserve. I want to give you the entire world. And I promise you this. There’s never a day I won’t stop lovin’ you. It’s you and me forever, baby. Jus’ a sly Slytherin with his kind Hufflepuff wife. You’re my whole world.” 

   And then he tugged you close after the two of you said your I do’s, his lips consuming you as fireflies danced around your tight embrace. It was like a dream, and he made it the dreamiest wedding you could’ve ever imagined. Even went as far as planning most of it with you. He never slipped, never strayed on any of the decisions. He was there through it all, your hand in his. 

   And then there was the honeymoon in Croatia. That blissful, two week filled vacation of just you and him. Endless love making in the sheets, his body between yours, slow strokes of his hands, relentless snapping of his hips, his mouth between your thighs, lapping you up till you climaxed twice before his cock was buried between your slick folds. You both barely made it out of the room. Instead of endless sightseeing and boat rides on the crystal clear water, you traded it for long soaks in the bath, his broad body flush against yours, his mouth magnetized to yours till all you could smell, breathe, think was Joel. 

   Joel, Joel, Joel. 

   He’s all you’re ever able to say. He’s just so… perfect. The perfect husband, lover, father…

   Father. Yes. A slow smile slips over your mouth, makes you blush as you wrap your arms around your middle, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you think about the near future. Joel’s going to be a father again, with your child. He just doesn’t know it yet. But today is the day you tell him. Today is the moment you’ve been waiting for. 

   Hiding this has been hard, extremely hard. You’ve been dying to tell him. You just wanted it to be the perfect moment. He’s been gone the last few weeks taking Sarah and Ellie on a late summer trip before they have to go back to school. He begged you to go hiking with them, practically got down on his knees and pleaded for you to go. Said he couldn’t stand being away from you for one night. But hiking and camping was no place for a pregnant woman of now almost four months. So you stayed here, but not alone. Joel’s mother came and stayed with you, making sure the baby was healthy and that you were taken care of. Now it’s time to tell Joel the good news. Hiding your stomach the past few nights had been hard, but you can’t hide any longer. You’re starting to show, so it’s time. It’s time to announce he’s going to be a daddy again. 

   Just as you get lost in the view of the sunlit garden, Joel sneaks up behind you and wraps his arms around you, peppering kisses all along the side of your jawline. “How’s my beautiful wife today?” he asks in a soft tone, dragging his lips slowly down your neck.

   You giggle at the showering of love. Turning toward him, you lock your arms around his neck and lean in, crashing your lips over his for a few blissful seconds. When you pull back, you smile up at him. “Perfectly happy, my love. Now that you’re back home.”

   “I missed you so much, sweetheart. Missed getting to hold my girl at night. Missed the taste of your lips,” he drawls, tugging you in for another heart-stopping kiss. One that makes the ground shake beneath you, makes the ocean tides lap against the shorelines a little harder, makes the sun shine a little brighter. 

   “We missed you too,” you reply quietly, hoping he catches the we. 

   He pinches his brows together, tilts his head to the side, his eyes swimming with questions. “We?”

   You smile, nod up at him. 

   This is it. This is the perfect moment. The moment that’ll change everything. And you think the baby knows that, too. 

   Taking one of his hands in yours, you slowly guide it to your stomach and flatten his palm over the small bump that’s now showing under your summer dress. And just then, the baby makes its presence known with a little flutter of a kick. 

   Joel jumps back, his arm falling back to his side with wide eyes. He’s absolutely stunned. He blinks once, twice, then steps forward in a hurry and places both his hands across the length of your stomach, searching for that little flutter he just felt seconds ago. And just like that, the baby kicks once more, just for Joel. 

   Lifting his big eyes, his mouth drops open in awe. “Are you…”

   You nod, smiling up at him with love written all over your eyes. “I’m pregnant, Joel.” 

   His brown eyes swell with tears, his vision probably hazy as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, letting his palm brush against your cheek affectionately. “We’re gonna have a baby?”

   Placing your hand over his, you nod. “We’re having a baby. You’re going to be a father to three now,” you smile with tears welling in your eyes. 

   It only takes him a second to pick you up off the ground, spinning you around while he shouts into the air, “This is the happiest day of my life! My beautiful wife is pregnant with my child! I’m gonna be a father!” 

   You giggle as he spins you; your heart about to burst at the seams with happiness. “Joel, put me down! Your wife is a little motion sick right now.”

   “Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, setting you back on your feet where the earth isn’t spinning anymore. He cups your cheeks between his palms and stares at you with love in his big brown eyes, his heart all over his rolled up sleeves. “You’re gonna be such a good mother, sweetheart. I’m so fuckin’ happy.”

   Stealing a quick kiss from your lips, you lace your fingers through his tousled curls and melt into a big smile. “And you are going to be the best father. I’m so excited, Joel.”

   Tugging you into his chest, he wraps his arms around you and kisses the crown of your head. “What do you think the baby’s gonna be? A boy, a girl?”

   You toss the question back and forth in your head, undecided. “I’m not sure. Guess we’ll have to wait to find out,” you hum out, closing your eyes as possibilities flit through your mind. You have this weird feeling like you know exactly the gender of your baby, and you hope you’re right. 

   “I hope it’s a girl,” he whispers in your ear. And you can’t help but smile at that because he’s such a good girl dad. You’d give anything to see him holding your baby girl in his arms, rocking her to sleep, sending her to bed with forehead kisses and words of affirmation. 

   Somehow, you just have this feeling that that’s what’s coming. A little girl wrapped in a pink blanket, being welcomed by the most handsome, gentle Slytherin you know. Would she be tough, witty like her father, or would she inherit your love of flowers and magical creatures? Maybe she’ll be both. Smart, sweet, a gentle Hufflepuff maybe? Either way, she’ll be perfect. She’ll be a miracle in this world just waiting to bloom. 

   You spend the rest of the day with your hand laced through his, planning the baby’s room, telling Sarah and Ellie they’re going to be big sisters. And it’s all so perfect. It’s all wonderful—this new journey you’re about to embark on. And you’re ready. With Joel, you can conquer anything. 

   Gods. You’re just so fucking happy. Nothing could make this more perfect than life already is.

   Later that night, when you’re wrapped in Joel’s strong arms under the silky sheets, you toss and turn, your dreams so vivid and real. But this isn’t just any dream. You’re having visions, real visions. Sometimes this happens, you just can’t control them. They’re a gift passed down by generations of your family, a special kind of magic you still haven’t perfected. 

   Your eyelids flutter back and forth while the vision takes hold inside your head. A bright light flashes in the distance, gold dust sparkling all around the sky. But when you look into the light, you freeze at what you see in front of you. A little girl running through the green grass, chasing after Joel. She’s got bouncy brunette curls, big brown eyes that remind you of Joel’s, rosy cheeks, and the cutest laugh you’ve ever heard. He scoops her up and throws her in the air, quickly catching her as she giggles into a fit of laughter, Joel’s laugh echoing through the air. You see it so clearly. That’s your little girl. She’s the spitting image of Joel, and she’s so fucking beautiful and bright and glowing. She’s got a special kind of gift—one you’re not sure yet. But there’s one thing you do know. That little girl is yours and Joel’s, and she’s going to be so, so loved. 

   You’re suddenly thrown out of the vision, your eyes snapping open just as Joel groans and wakes up, pushing his fingers affectionately through your hair. “You okay, baby? Have a bad dream?”

   Tears well in your eyes, and you shake your head, not quite able to catch your breath. You’re too stunned, too emotional from seeing what the future holds. 

   “Hey, you alright? Why are you crying?” he asks with concern lathered in his tone. Carefully, he catches a falling tear with the pad of his thumb and caresses your cheek. 

   You wrap your hand around his wrist and look up at him, happy tears filling your eyes. “It’s a girl, Joel.”

   His eyes go wide as his mouth drops open. “Are you sure?”

   You nod, biting your bottom lip. “I had one of my visions just now. And I saw… I saw you playing with her in the garden. She looked just like you, Joel. She’s so beautiful. And she loves you so much…” Without being able to contain yourself, you bury your face into his neck, let him scoop you up as he kisses the top of your head, holds you just a little tighter. 

   “Oh, my darlin’ girl. I already love her so fuckin’ much, jus’ like I love you. My beautiful, pregnant wife. You make me so fuckin’ happy, I hope you know that.”

   You nuzzle into his warmth, breathe in the woodsy scent of his musk and let out a smile. “Not as happy as you make me, my love. You’re such a good father, a good husband. The best part of every day,” you confess with love threaded through every syllable you speak. 

   “C’mere, sweetheart.” He cups your chin and lifts your mouth to his, dripping his love all over you in slow, affectionate kisses. You melt into his body, get tangled up with him in the sheets, drown in his very essence as he peppers light kisses over your growing stomach. 

   You think you could watch him like this forever. He already loves her so much, just like he loves you. You can’t wait to see him bloom into a new father, can’t wait to see him raise your child beside you. Forever partners in crime. That troublemaker Slytherin with a warm, gentle Hufflepuff. But he’s just as soft and gentle as you now. He’s everything you ever wanted. And now, he’s going to be the father of your child. 

   You can’t wait to spend forever with your one and only lover. And you can’t wait to bring a gentle soul into the world. Your sweet little girl. You just can’t wait to meet her. Can’t wait to do your entire life with your perfect little family.

[remuswriting]

THE ESSENCE OF LIFE; BAKUGOU KATSUKI

Bakugou chuckles. “Yeah, ‘cause no one fucking cared about us.” You shake your head a little. “I don’t think that’s true.” He’s no longer making eye contact with you. “I think they were just scared.” He looks at you, eyes scanning your face. “And you weren’t?”

WORD COUNT: 2,211 words

TAGS: Canon Divergent; Psychiatric Hospitals; Angst with Hopeful Ending; Discussion of Vomit; Platonic; Second Person POV; Not Beta Reader; M! Reader

NOTES: This is very much a self-indulgent thing as I deal with some stuff. Some of this is inspired based off of my experiences, but not all of it. Although nothing is explicitly said, please be careful if you think this could be triggering for you.

Bakugou Katsuki is a strong hero. He and everyone else in the world knew that, even if they feared he could potentially become a villain in the future. It was unlikely, but people liked to fear things. People know of his nature, how he’s abrasive, but care lies underneath. He may not be the kind who gently reassures civilians with his words, but he makes sure he sees them get to safety either in the ambulance or in their loved ones’ arms.

Something people don’t know is how much he cares about Midoriya Izuku. Back in high school, you saw a strange rivalry between them that you couldn’t depict if it was friendship or lingering hatred. You never thought too hard about it, though. It was none of your concern since you were in two different classes. Despite that, you thought Bakugou tolerated Midoriya at best back then. The current sight in front of you disputed that.

Bakugou’s hair is unwashed and messy. His clothes are disheveled and stained as if he put on whatever he first saw in his hamper. The dark circles beneath his eyes are dark and sunken in—he hasn’t slept properly in days, most likely. You don’t blame him, because if you were in his shoes, you’d be the same.

“Midoriya-san can’t have visitors currently,” you say, and Bakugou stares at you. His crossed arms squeeze against his chest slightly, as if holding himself back. “I can answer some questions, but he’s not ready to see anyone yet.”

 Bakugou nods slightly, and you think he’s going to leave. “I asked for you,” he says instead. Because of the nature of the ward you work in, none of the staff’s information is online. So, you don’t know how he knows you work here.

“I know,” you say. “Why?”

Bakugou furrows his brows, and he’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. Or at least you’ve always believed so. Ever since high school, it’s been easy to read him. However, you’re a nurse at a psychiatric hospital now. Maybe that’s why it’s always been so easy.

“What do you fucking mean?” he asks, and his aggressiveness means he’s being honest. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I didn’t know you even knew who I was up until five minutes ago,” you say, and he slowly nods as if it’s connecting in his head. “So, excuse me for being a little confused.”

“I saw you when we were in high school,” he says, and your brows furrow slightly. Never had you two spoken in high school. Both of you stayed in your designated areas. “In the beginning of our second year, there was a villain attack. You were the only non-hero course student that didn’t fucking run away. You actually ran to us and tried to help.”

You nod a little. “I remember,” you say, because you do remember. You remember never hearing thanks and learning that heroes never thank those who haven’t made saving people their profession. It was what led you to no longer be impressed by heroes anymore. “I’ve never been one to run away, especially when the ones trying to save us needed saving, too.”

Bakugou chuckles. “Yeah, ‘cause no one fucking cared about us.”

You shake your head a little. “I don’t think that’s true.” He’s no longer making eye contact with you. “I think they were just scared.”

He looks at you, eyes scanning your face. “And you weren’t?”

You’re silent for a moment as you look behind him at the koi pond. The eating disorder unit is currently out for activities and surrounds the koi pond. They’re the ones who steal cereal the most to feed the fish, because it brings them so much joy. It’s always hard to tell them no, and most nurses don’t.

“Sometimes, fear makes you do stupid shit.” You pause as you look at him. “Every patient here was scared before they got here—before they got better.”

Bakugou is smart, and you hope he understands. You hope he understands that Midoriya fear made him end up here. The fear of what is something for them to talk about, not for you. The crease between Bakugou’s eyebrows softens slightly. He understands just a little.

“You should’ve fucking replaced one of those extras,” Bakugou says, and his arms aren’t squeezing his chest as much. “You weren’t scared.”

“None of you were ever extras,” you scold as you cross your arms. “I never thought that. I always thought that we were all children. You guys were forced to fight a war that heroes weren’t even willing to fight.” You look at his shoes. The laces aren’t even tied correctly. When you make eye contact, it’s overly intense. “It showed that heroes are just people no matter how much we idolize them.”

“Don’t tell Izuku that,” Bakugou says with a chuckle. Although he doesn’t sound serious, you both know he is. That’s something Midoriya refuses to hear—to acknowledge, even if it’s what he needs to survive. He deeply sighs. “We all wanted to fight.”

You nod. “I know, Bakugou-sama.”

“You can call me Bakugou-san.”

You pause as you watch him. He’s finally relaxed, and his honesty is loud. “Okay, Bakugou-san. How can I help you today?”

“Can you tell me how he is?” he asks, and there’s a slight hint of desperation in his voice. He won’t let it come out completely, but you still heard it.

“He… There’s no correct time frame for grief,” you say, and he slowly nods. “I can’t tell you the things you want to know—what he’s saying—but I can tell you that Midoriya-san isn’t the first person to be like this over grief. Nor will he be the last. He just needs time.”

“Are you putting him on more meds?” Bakugou asks. “Cause they had him on a shit load on meds in the hospital, and it was fucking him up. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“That medication was pain medication, and you told them he needs heavier dosing so his quirk doesn’t burn through it,” you say, and there’s a line you’re walking on. Midoriya hasn’t been conscious enough to sign anything saying Bakugou can know everything. “They may have gone too heavy with the dosing. I don’t know, but he’s been dealing with that the last couple of days as well.”

“How long until he’s not sick?” Bakugou asks, and you open your mouth. “Everyone keeps asking me when he’s gonna fucking be okay, and I don’t know.” He pauses, and his voice is softer when he speaks next. “I don’t know what to tell them.”

“Once the medication is out of his system, he’ll be able to have visitors,” you say, and his posture slouches slightly in relief. “Tell everyone that he’s safe. I’ll call you when he can have visitors, and it’ll be an appointment only because of who we have in our unit.”

Bakugou nods as he lets out a deep breath. “Thank you, L/N-san.”

It’s still strange that he knows your name, and it’s even stranger to actually hear him say it. “How do you know my name?”

“I looked you up after the villain attack and tried to get into 2-A.” Bakugou chuckles. “Thought I imagined you for a while, but Dunce Face remembered you. So I went to Aizawa, and he said he’d look into you, but nothing ever happened.”

You froze before letting out a light laugh. “You.” Your smile grew. “You’re the reason I got to work with Recovery Girl.”

Bakugou’s grin resembled the one he had when he was named Number One Pro-Hero last year. It was strange for him to look this happy without that award in front of him. “That sneaky bastard.”

“Thank you,” you say as emotion swells in your chest. You know what it’s like to never get thanks, and it’s so relieving to give it. “Without you, I would’ve never gotten here. Thank you.”

Bakugou’s smile turns into a smirk. “Wasn’t all me. You’re the one with a badass quirk.”

You raise a brow. “You don’t even know my quirk.”

“Don’t need to know it to know you have hero potential.” He pauses as he looks around you two. There are trees and the koi pond, along with the entrance to the lobby. There’s not much to look at. Then he looks at you. “Before Izuku got his quirk, he ran into danger for me once. What you did back then reminds me of him.”

Your smile is small and soft. “From what I’ve learned about Midoriya-san, that’s a genuine compliment.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Bakugou says, as if to make sure you understand. You do understand, though. There are more people similar to him than he realizes, and they’re not as difficult to handle as most people make them out to be. Misunderstood isn’t the right word for them, because it’s easy to understand them if you try. Maybe looked over emotionally is a better way to put it. “Can you… Can you tell him I stopped by?”

“If he’s up to hearing that, then I will,” you say, and he nods. “The beginning of being here is always the hardest, and I want to make sure he’s comfortable before we talk about anything that may be… triggering.”

“I understand,” Bakugou says, and his entire posture is relaxed. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so relaxed. He’s either always standing up as straight as possible or has his arms tightly crossed against his chest. This is a good look on him, though. “I just don’t want him to think I gave up on him—you know, because of what happened.”

“Can I be completely honest with you, Bakugou-san?” you ask, and he reluctantly nods. “I may not fully know what your relationship with Midoriya-san is, but I do know he has full faith in you. After all the years you’ve spent fixing whatever problems you once had, he knows you’re still here. I have full faith in that.”

He slowly nods, trying to wrap his head around it. “Okay,” he says before taking another deep breath. “Thank you, L/N-san. You still have my phone number in case anything changes?”

The wind brushes both of your hair as it pushes by. “Yes, and you’ll be the first person we call.” You pause. “I’ll make sure to call you myself.”

Bakugou’s leaving is simple. There’s someone waiting at the lobby door for him to unlock it. He doesn’t look over his shoulder at you as he walks away, but you watch him the entire time. There’s a pull in your chest as you think about someone caring so much about you that they seek you out, even when they’re told no to seeing you yet. You know what love is—you see it every visitation and between the patients who grow close to each other—but what Bakugou and Midoriya have is something far greater than you understand.

Once he’s completely out of sight, you turn around and head toward the unit. You know several of them are going to ask where you went, and you’ll need a story that doesn’t reveal anything. They can’t know that Bakugou came here, especially when so many of them know him personally.

The door opens, and Hamasaki, one of the youngest patients, is waiting there for you. “L/N!” he says, and his eyes are bright. “You were gone forever.”

You look up at the clock. “15 minutes is not forever.”

“It is to me,” he says, and you give him a look. “I need my medication, and you’re my nurse.”

You chuckle. “Alright, give me a second.” Midoriya is sitting at the table across from the nurses’ station. “Midoriya-san, are you needing something too?”

He looks at you, and he’s looking better than he has, but exhaustion weighs him down. He’s not been sleeping well here, but from what you understand, he’s not been sleeping well for a long time. “Can I get a boost?” he asks, and you nod before looking over at Aiko, one of the techs.

“Can you grab him a boost while I get Hamasaki’s medication?”

Aiko nods as you two pass by each other at the nurses’ station entrance. She looks at Midoriya with a soft smile, one he slightly returns. “Do you want vanilla or chocolate?”

He pauses, looking ready to throw up again, but there’s nothing in his system to throw up. He’s not been eating because he’s been sick, and they’d give him one of each if he wanted to try them both. You know how difficult it can be for patients in the beginning, because this place is not their home and it resembles a form of control being taken away. However, it gets easier the more comfortable you let yourself be.

“Vanilla, please,” Midoriya says, and you smile as you log into the computer.

“Of course,” Aiko says as she goes into the kitchen.

You look at Hamasaki, who stares at Midoriya with a proud expression. He’d been similar in the beginning, so he knows how it is. “Alright, Hamasaki,” you say, and he looks at you. “What are we needing to get?”

[theazkabandreamer]

Valentine Competition and Poetry Chaos

Breakfast was a quiet affair that morning. 

Harry was reading the Daily Prophet and sipping on his tea. Six-year-old James was eating his cereals whilst Ginny was coaxing a stubborn two-year-old Lily to eat some porridge. But all Lily was interested in were the blueberries. Harry’s four-year-old son Albus was peering around Harry, trying to look at the moving pictures whilst nibbling on his apple slices. Harry enjoyed Albus’s company and reading the paper with him. 

Albus was at that innocent stage where he would ask questions and Harry would do his best to answer them no matter how daft they were. As Harry explained to Albus why the graduates from Durmstrang would climb all the way to the top of Mount Everest with the help of the Bubble-Head Charm, only for them to fly off on their brooms, something caught his eye. 

It was a headline in the Daily Prophet. 

Winner of the Daily Prophet Valentine’s poem competition, Ginny Potter:

His eyes are as green as a Fresh pickled toad, his hair is dark as a blackboard. And he is mine for he is truly divine, the hero who twice conquered the Dark Lord. 

Harry was glad he wasn’t drinking any tea at that moment because he would’ve spat it out. He remembered the singing Valentine Ginny had sent him during his Second Year at Hogwarts when the dwarf had cornered him in the corridor in front of many people. 

It felt like a lifetime ago. 

“I see your entry won in that poem competition for the Daily Prophet,” he said casually. "I think I might've heard that one before."

Ginny was halfway feeding porridge to a sulking Lily and looked around to see Harry smirking at her. Albus was engrossed in the dancing cabbages in the Charm improvement advertisement. 

“You mean my entry won?” She asked, her eyes blazing with a hint of mischief. 

Harry chuckled at the way she feigned surprise. She was no longer that shy little girl anymore. 

“That’s what it says in the Prophet,” he said. “Winning entry.”

James was munching on a spoonful of his cereals and looked between his parents with a confused look. 

“I can’t believe it won. It’s not exactly a first-class poem,” Ginny muttered.

“You didn’t tell me you were planning on using that same song you came up with in your first year,” Harry said, unable to contain his grin. 

“I had to,” Ginny said, her eyes blazing fiercely. “I overheard Romilda Vane in Diagon Alley the other week going on about how she’s come up with this poem for the Daily Prophet competition that would win your heart. I saw red and was ready to curse her into next week but then Luna told me to write a poem myself.”

“So you decided to tweak the song you sent me on that Valentine’s Day all those years ago,” Harry said, unable to contain his laughter. 

“It’s better than hexing Romilda Vane,” Ginny said. 

“Only you could turn a singing valentine into a winning poem,” Harry said fondly, leaning across the table. 

“Don’t kiss,” James said. “I’m having my breakfast.”

Harry and Ginny couldn’t help but chuckle at James’s grumpy expression. Harry leaned back and Ginny ruffled James’s hair. 

“Don’t worry, James,” she said. “Your father is more likely to die of embarrassment at the moment.”

James’s face split into his signature toothy grin as he looked between his parents. 

“Well, at least I’m not on the ground trying to push a singing dwarf off me this time,” Harry said nonchalantly.

“And my poem is far better than the slop Romilda Vane would’ve written,” Ginny said. 

“That’s true,” Harry laughed.  "I can't believe she would still think I have any interest in her. I still remember how she spiked those cauldron cakes with love potion."

Albus was so engrossed with the images of the Irish Quidditch team celebrating their latest win, that Harry thought he could wave a hand in front of his son’s face and Albus wouldn’t notice. 

“I know a poem,” James said suddenly and Ginny groaned. 

“It’s not the poem about Hags, by any chance?” Harry asked. “You know you’re not allowed to say that one especially if Great Great Auntie Muriel is around. You know she didn’t take too kindly to being compared to a wrinkly old Hag the last time you performed that poem.”

“Even if it is true,” Ginny said darkly.

“No,” James said. “It’s a different one.”

Harry felt a sense of trepidation but forced it down. James's poems weren't exactly poems you could print in the Daily Prophet. 

“Well let’s hear it,” Ginny said. “And no comparing Muriel to Hags this time. We don’t need the drama.” 

With a loud scrape, James pushed his chair back and stood up on it so that he could see everyone. Lily’s little face lit up and she gave James a little wave. Albus got bored of looking at the pictures of the Irish Quidditch team and looked at James with trepidation. James had a determined look on his face and he took a deep breath: 

“There was an old man with a Crup and he turned it very blue, he fed it dead flies, bits of fluff and lots of gooey goo! The Crup was very hungry, it wanted food to eat, so it went to the old man’s cupboard and it snuck a tasty treat. The old man was very angry, he threw the Crup out on the grass, but when the old man’s back was turned, the Crup bit him on the arse!”

Albus burst into giggles and Lily started giggling and clapping. James was soaking up the adulation. Ginny caught Harry’s eye and they both turned away to hide their laughter. James stood on his chair looking very proud of himself and basking in the laughter of his siblings, grinning his signature toothy grin. 

“And that’s my poem,” he said finally and Ginny and Lily gave him a round of applause.

It took Harry a while to find his voice and James was still standing on his chair grinning from ear-to-ear whilst Albus and Lily were still laughing. 

“That was. That was err-“ 

Harry didn’t have the words to describe the ensuing chorus of laughter and chaos that would erupt if James recited that poem at the Burrow for Sunday lunch with all the Weasleys present. 

“That was very good, James,” Ginny said, and James beamed with pride and performed a little bow. 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “You’ve definitely inherited your Mum’s artistic side and your Uncle Ron's use of words.” 

“I’ve got more poems if you want to hear them,” James said, sitting back down. “One about a dragon and Great great Auntie Muriel.”

“That’s great, love,” Ginny said. “Save it for her funeral. Harry, I could give you a private reading of my winning poem if you want.”

“Private reading, eh?” Harry asked, a smirk playing across his lips as Ginny leaned closer. 

“Oh no, they’re going to kiss!” James exclaimed. “I’m out of here!” 

With another loud scrape, James got up from the table and ran from the kitchen as fast as his legs could carry him. 

“James, your breakfast!” Harry called after him, but he heard the door to James’s room slam shut. 

“Works every time,” Ginny chuckled, wiping Lily’s face. 

Harry checked his watch. 

“I’d better get to work,” he said. 

Harry kissed Ginny goodbye, ruffled Albus's hair and gave the Daily Prophet to him. Albus took it as if it were a treasure and hugged Harry. Lily waved at Harry and Harry hugged his daughter goodbye but Lily seemed reluctant to let go. 

It took some gentle coaxing from Harry and Ginny for Lily to finally let go of Harry.

When he got to the Ministry of Magic, he heard several conversations discussing Ginny’s Valentine’s poem. Harry thought about the poem all day and it cheered him up and he was in a good mood all day.  

‘So much better than chocolates,’ he thought.  

Harry imagined that there would be an entire fan club dedicated to that poem. He felt as if his heart could burst with pride.

It was not every day that your wife submitted her old singing valentine to the Daily Prophet.

[pogues4lifeee]

🅾 livestream - drew starkey 🅾

🅾 livestream - drew starkey 🅾

Summary: Y/n and Drew Starkey have been dating since filming Outer Banks, and they finally decide to reveal their relationship through an instagram live

Anything in italics are comments on the livestreams

Word count: 1.5k

----------------------------------------

I knocked on Drew’s door. Since Outer Banks had released on Netflix a couple weeks ago, and the cast and I didn’t want to be alone, we all moved into an apartment building together. We all had our own apartment, but we always visited each other. I was barely ever in my own apartment. Drew opened the door and smiled once he saw it was me. He was holding his phone in his hand. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a visitor,” he said, smiling at his phone. 

I immediately remembered that he was on an instagram live on the obx account. I had joined for a little but then left to go on a run, shower, and visit him. I immediately joined in on the joke, entering the house posing as if Drew was paparazzi. Drew joins in, moving the phone pretending to capture pictures of me as I pose in the doorway. 

“Please welcome… y/n!” Drew says in a deep announcer voice

“Hey guys!” I say, breaking the act. 

We both started laughing at what had just happened, but also because you guys were keeping a huge secret. I play Aaliyah on the show, JJ’s sister who has a thing for Rafe. Since the show was released, everyone has been shipping me and Drew, but we’ve already been dating since filming the first season. We’ve kept our relationship secret for so long because we weren’t sure how everyone would react. Only the rest of the cast knew. Outer Banks was my first ever acting job, and it became so popular, but I couldn’t deal with anyone disliking me. I am a bit of a people pleaser, and the whole cast knows about it. I always ask all of them before I do anything I may regret, but Drew’s opinion always matters most to me.

We walked over to the couch. I sat down on the armrest and Drew sat on the couch next to me, resting his arm on my leg. 

“Alright let’s answer some comments,” Drew said, looking at the comments trying to pick one to respond to

obx.lover123: love you guys so much!

Madisonbaileybabes ☑️: YESSS DREW AND Y/N ARE LIVE TOGETHER

hichasestokes ☑️: where was my invite 🙁🙁🙁?

“Sorry Chase!” I said, seeing his comment. 

“Come over if u want” Drew told chase through the live

“Aww we love you too obxlover.123” I said, reading the username of the comment. “And hey Bails!” 

We answered a few more questions about the show and how quarantining together was before Chase and Madelyn knocked on Drew’s door.

“Alright, that’s Maddie and Chase so we’re gonna hop off and hang with them for a while” Drew said, heading towards the door. 

“Bye guys!” I said, taking the phone from Drew to end the live since he wasn’t the best with technology.

Drew opened the door to see Maddie and Chase holding a bag with stuff for a mini charcuterie board, lemonade, and chips for the boys. 

“Hey Chase, Maddie!” Drew said, pulling the two in for a hug. 

“Hey guys!” I said, pulling Maddie in for a hug and giving Chase the good old pogue handshake, pulling into a hug. 

“Hey, I didn’t get a proper hello either,” Drew pouts. 

“Hi baby,” I say, going in for a kiss. 

Drew picked me up and spun me around and I held his shoulders. When he set me down, Maddie and I went out on the balcony with some lemonade and the mini charcuterie board while Drew and Chase started talking about the basketball game from the night before. 

“So when exactly are you going to announce that you’re dating Drew?” Maddie asked, popping a grape into her mouth.

“Drew’s more than ready, he’s been waiting for me to feel comfortable.” I responded, taking a sip of my lemonade.

“What’s stopping you?” Maddie asks me, putting cheese on one of the crackers and popping it in her mouth. 

“Look Maddie, you know me. I’m a people pleaser. I can’t deal with hate especially when it’s something I can control. And I don’t want to break up with Drew, I love him so much, so this is what I have to do in order to keep him and I happy.” I explained to Maddie.

She simply frowned.

“But y/n, it’s one hater as opposed to like, a million fans who ship you two! You two are a crazier ship than me and Chase was! Please, please, please, don’t work so hard to keep your relationship a secret when so many people are practically begging you to get together.” Maddie pleaded. 

“Maybe I will on an instagram live at some point, for right now, let’s enjoy the snacks.” I said, reaching for a slice of prosciutto from the plate. After a couple hours and a movie later, Chase and Maddie headed back to their apartment. 

 🅾

I kept thinking about what Maddie Cline had said earlier. I hated keeping your relationship a secret, but I was scared about the hate. 

“You know what, fuck it.” I whispered to myself. I got up from my couch and headed over to Drew’s apartment across the hall. I knocked on the door and he opened it. I don’t think he was expecting anyone else, because he was in sweats and his hair was wet. His eyes widened with joy when he saw me. 

“Hey y/n, what are you doing here?” he asked me, happy that I came back.

“I wanna do it.” I said.

“Do what?” he asked, confused.

“Can I come in?” I asked

He immediately moved aside so that I could step inside. He closed the door behind me. 

“Now tell me y/n/n, what did you want to do?” he asked me, sitting down on the couch. 

I sat down across from him, picking up his hand. I knew he’s wanted to do this for a while and was just waiting for me to be ready.

“I want to tell everyone we’re dating.” I said softly, as if this was some major secret.

His eyes glimmered. 

“What made you change your mind?” he asked me, getting up and walking to the fridge.

“Cline and I were talking and she made me realize that I shouldn’t hide my relationship because I’m scared of a couple haters, and that I should focus on the people who want us together.” I answered

“Wow baby, I’m really proud of you.” Drew said, walking back from the fridge with beer and 2 slices of leftover cake from the release party. I didn’t realize how big the cake was until Drew and I were eating it almost every day for 2 weeks. 

“This is a cause for a celebration,” he says, placing the slices of cake down and handing me a beer before cracking his open. 

“Here here,” I say, opening mine and going in for a cheers with Drew. 

I pulled out my phone. 

“Wanna do it now?” I said, shaking the phone.

Drew nodded and sat down instantly. I sat down on his lap and put my arms around his neck. I hit start on the livestream. 

“Hey guys! It’s us again!” I say, waving to the camera. 

drew_starkeylover29537: omg two lives in one day? best day ever!

rudypankow ☑️: you guys are back! Is this what i think it is?

madelyncline ☑️: wait y/n are you taking my advice?!

“I think it is Rudy and yes Maddie!” I respond to both of my fellow cast members.

“y/n and i have an announcement to make.” Drew says, smiling at me. “Wanna do the honours?”

I nodded. 

“Me and Drew are dating!” I said, happy it was finally out

i.ship.drew.starkey.and.y./n. : no way!!! since how long?!

madisonbaileybabe ☑️: FINALLY I CAN POST MOST OF MY BTS FOOTAGE NOW 

I laughed at Maddie Bailey’s comment.

“So to answer any questions you may have, we started dating while filming obx, we’ve been dating for about 11 months now.” I said, seeing the most common comments. I went back to look for another one and that’s when I saw it. The comment that read:

drewstarkeyismyhusband: he could do so much better than her she’s not even that pretty or funny 🙄

I froze. I didn’t know what to say or do, I just sat there. Part of me wanted to cry, but that would just make it worse. Drew immediately noticed the change in my behaviour and as if he read my mind, he immediately started scanning the comments and saw it. 

“Hey listen, it took y/n a lot of courage to want to announce this, we’ve been waiting for 7 months to announce this because we all wanted y/n to feel comfortable. So please, if you have something negative to say, please don’t say it, it hurts way more than you would think.” he said, looking over at me, mouthing ‘are you ok?’

I nodded. I had everything I needed. I didn’t have to hide my relationship anymore, I had the person I love most right next to me, I couldn’t have asked for more. We ended the live after a little while and once it was over, Drew and I cuddled close and watched our show before I drifted off to sleep on his shoulder. 

A/N: thanks for reading! I have posted a couple more parts that i forgot to post from my wattpad book. Also sorry if it’s bad I wrote this on 51 minutes of sleep and being awake since 2 am. (originally posted on Wednesday Feb 12th, around 3 am)

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Selina Kyle’s younger sibling

Selina Kyle x sibling!reader

warnings:

a/n: anon ur a star thank u for bearing with me <3 it’s kind of short!!!!

prompt: anonymous: “Can I please ask for some headcannons for what it would be like being Selina Kyle’s (Patterson) younger sibling?”

selina was severely protective of you

gotham was rough, but sometimes she forgot you grew up in the same gotham

“i don’t want you walking out there alone at night” -selina

“you do it all the time, selina. i have a weapon, i’ll be fine” -you

you wanted to work with selina, but she absolutely wouldn’t let you come anywhere near the iceberg lounge

“selina, i need a good job! can’t you just put in a good word?” -you

“it’s not a ‘good job,’ y/n, you’d have a better chance working in a restaurant or a grocery store” -selina

she really was looking out for you there, that was no place for you. dealing drugs and meeting high profile men who loved power. you would have hated it

you two lived together, but she carried most of the weight of the bills

she really urged you to go to school and get out of there, but you wanted the same for her

“i’m fine where i am, kid. it’s you i’m worried about” -selina

“don’t i know it” -you

you missed your mom, maybe that’s why she stepped up the way she did

“remember when mom used to bring us to the club? falcone used to bring us stuff to draw with?” -you

“yeah, i don’t really want to think about it” -selina

“you say that, but you still have the drawings” -you

she annoyed you sometimes with her overbearing-ness, but you knew deep down she wanted what was best for you

she’d kind of stalk you when you went out with friends

and she’d swear up and down that “wasn’t her”

“i saw a pink wig” -you

“lots of people have pink wigs” -selina

she’d pick your outfits for the day

(if you like her style) she’d lend you her clothes

she never lets you leave the house without a “love you”

when you found out she was wearing a mask and sneaking out of the house, you were mortified

“you’re gonna get yourself killed!” -you

“you have no idea what i’m doing, i’m fine” -selina

“selina, i know exactly what you’re doing. i can’t live without you—i don’t know how to!” -you

her team up with the batman to avenge annika worried you greatly, but she didn’t listen to you

but you were close with her too and heartbroken to find out what happened

“just dont end up like her, selina” -you

the batman saved you one night in all of this, as you had gone off on your own to prove to selina you were capable of helping

“you need to stay away from my sister” -you

“i’m trying to help her” -batman

“help her by stopping her from getting involved in all of this” -you

“she seems like she’s been involved long before i met her” -batman

she told you about her attempt to kill falcone after he died, you were glad it wasn’t her who pulled the trigger for many reasons

but after that, she convinced you that it was time to leave gotham

“of course i’ll go with you, i’ve been dying to get out of here” -you

after a few obstacles (the flooding of gotham and assassination attempts on bella reál and batman) you were finally able to get the hell out of gotham

and say a goodbye to batman

“i guess i should thank you for being there for her” -you

“keep her out of trouble” -batman

“are you kidding? she finally thinks i can handle myself since i helped save your ass, we’re getting into trouble together” -you

“alright, y/n, let’s go before he decides to follow us” -selina

you guys settled down outside of gotham, adopted a few cats, had each others backs

and soon selina reached out to your sister sofia, a new opportunity awaits

taglist: @summersimmerus // @wild-rose-35 // @more-multifandom-of-madness // @girlmythlegend // @shepsgotthoughts // @diansaprince // @theseawakes // @locke-writes // @deanzboyfriend // @zoeyserpentluck //

[clockworkbee]

in that reading era where nothing less than a 3.5★ book sticks in my head all that much

[hyohaehyuk]

juliana_rychlikova: thanksgiving with vampire fam ❤️ (2023)

source: pixielayer and jandythinker (Note: Juliana Rychlikova have her IG account private so i dont know how the fandom got this photo. maybe she privated the account after the fandom found the photos/videos yesterday)

It seems they celebrated Thanksgiving at Jacob’s house in Prague

Photos via Jacob Anderson IG

Screenshots: funtheysaid, lesbratprince and pixielayer

[sluttyten]

sometimes I’m mindlessly scrolling Twitter and then see an nctzen tweet that makes me completely pause and re-evaluate everything about being in this fandom 😂

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

like on the one hand language matters and i too sometimes find slang trends annoying and/or concerning and on the other hand sometimes women do actually make jokes and talk shit on the internet with their friends and it is not actually that deep and commentary on phenomena gets to a weird point where i’m like i don’t know how “these idiot losers on the internet using a two to four word phrase they will have moved on from in a year are basically the primary cause of patriarchal oppression” is the feminist take. like sometimes i start to think the plot has been lost.

[starryluminary]

“John decided I didn’t have to die over an honest mistake” WHAT.

[mgjiyu]

The difference between Max “I don’t know what formula 1 will be in 10 years but I sure won’t be there” Verstappen and Charles “I’ll be 40 in 14 years so hopefully it’s 14 WDC” Leclerc shows

[indigospyder]

I know my blog doesn’t have like, any followers, but I wanna make it clear that transmisogynists are not welcome here. I also know for a fact I have some people I need to unfollow for being transmisogynists. The last few months I’ve been very, very confused by wtf “transandrophobia” was, and I had only ever seen the “good” side of it, and never the side of it being used to actively hurt trans women. I’ll admit I’m still confused on certain things, but I’m not above admitting that I might be wrong and I’m willing to learn, so thank you for your patience.

To any trans women/trans fems who follow me: I support you, and I want you to feel safe here.

Edit: I’m retracting the bit about transandrophobia, since some of y’all have been really kind (genuinely) and helped explain the theory to me (as well as the antisemitism behind the “truther” term, which I apologize for).

To any fellow trans men/trans mascs that follow me: I want you to ALSO feel safe here. Even if my original message came from a good place, it was still worded poorly and painted us in a bad light. I won’t delete this post cause I don’t want to hide from my misconceptions and help others like me who are confused, and because I want to stand behind the message that transphobia of any kind is NOT welcome here. Thank you 😊