#and then he gets a look in his eye and goes quiet

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Savanaclaw

Go here for other dorms

Leona Kingscholar

You find Leona sprawled out under his favorite tree, one arm draped over his eyes, looking about two seconds away from a nap.

Typical.

You take a deep breath, shoving down every ounce of nervousness, and step closer, holding out the neatly wrapped box. “Here.”

Leona cracks one eye open, lazily glancing at the chocolates like you just handed him an average Tuesday. With a low hum, he takes them, rolling the box in his hand with a raised brow.

“Hm? What’s this for?”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you think it’s for?”

He stretches, completely unbothered, as if he gets gifted chocolates all the time (which, okay, maybe he does, but that’s not the point right now).

“Dunno," he drawls, clearly messing with you. "You bribing me for something?”

Your eye twitches. “Leona.”

He huffs a laugh, finally looking at you, amusement flickering in his gaze. And then you say it.

"Happy Valentine’s Day."

And oh.

It’s like you hit him with a truck.

His smirk falters for half a second, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the box. His pupils dilate—a barely-there shift, but you catch it.

He goes quiet. Not his usual lazy, I-don't-care quiet, but the kind that comes when he’s actually processing something.

Then, so smoothly it almost throws you off, he leans back, a slow, pleased grin spreading across his face.

"…Took you long enough," he murmurs, sounding downright smug.

Your heart does a stupid flip. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Leona ignores you, already sitting up properly, one arm resting lazily over his knee. "Pick a nice place for dinner tonight," he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. "On me, of course."

You blink. "What?"

He taps the box. "These chocolates. They’re from you. To me." He tilts his head, all sharp confidence and warmth. "That makes us partners now, doesn’t it?"

Your brain short-circuits. “I—wait, what—"

"Better choose somewhere good," he continues, completely unbothered by your struggling. "I’m not wasting our first date on cheap takeout."

Your heart is going through it.

Leona smirks. "Oh? What’s with that look?"

You swear you see his tail flick just slightly, the only sign of how incredibly pleased he is.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "You’re doing this on purpose."

He chuckles, leaning in just close enough to murmur, "Yeah, yeah. You still like me, though."

…You’re doomed.

Ruggie Bucchi

You barely get the chance to say anything before Ruggie spots the chocolates in your hands. His sharp eyes flicker to the heart-shaped box, and he immediately grins.

“Oooh, what’s this?” He leans in slightly, tail swishing with interest. “Someone confess to ya?”

You blink. “Huh? No.”

He tilts his head, playful and curious. “Oh? Then, uh… you gonna keep it?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why?”

His grin widens. “Because if ya don’t want it, I can, y’know… dispose of it for ya.”

You snort. “Ruggie, you just wanna eat it.”

“Duh.” He laughs, not even bothering to deny it. “Be a shame to waste good chocolate, right?”

Typical Ruggie.

You shake your head, amused, before finally shoving the box toward him. “Good thing it’s for you, then.”

Ruggie pauses.

It’s subtle, the way his ears perk up, the way his tail stiffens mid-swing. His grip on the box is light at first, almost hesitant, like he’s making sure he heard you right.

“For me?” His voice comes out softer, almost cautious.

You nod, suddenly a little shy under his gaze. “Yeah. I like you. So, you know… Happy Valentine’s Day.”

For the first time, Ruggie looks completely, utterly stunned.

His mouth parts slightly, blinking up at you like his brain just hit a temporary loading screen. And honestly? He looks adorable.

Then—just as quickly as the surprise hit—he recovers.

Ruggie grins, his usual confidence flickering back into place as he shifts the box under one arm. “Well, well. Ain’t this a nice surprise?”

You raise a brow. “You okay there?”

“Pfft. ‘Course I am!” He laughs, shaking his head. “Just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

Then—softer, warmer, but still undeniably Ruggie— “I like you too, y’know.”

Your heart stumbles.

He notices, obviously, because his grin turns downright cheeky. “Heh. Look at you, getting all flustered."

“Oh, shut up.”

He just laughs again, effortlessly slipping his fingers through yours, tugging you along like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon, let’s go. Can’t let all this romantic energy go to waste, right?”

And just like that—you’re dragged along.

Jack Howl

Jack is not the kind of guy who gets flustered easily. He’s tough, level-headed, always the first to brush things off with that no-nonsense attitude of his.

Which is why seeing him completely short-circuit is so incredibly satisfying.

You hold out the chocolates, your heart hammering as you say, “These are for you. I like you, Jack. Happy Valentine’s.”

His ears shoot straight up. His tail freezes mid-sway. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but—nothing.

No words. No sound. Just pure, stunned silence.

You wait.

And wait.

Jack still says nothing.

But his tail? His tail is betraying him completely.

It explodes into motion, wagging so fast that you swear he’s about to lift off like a helicopter. NASA is calling. He’s about to reach orbit.

“…Jack?” you prompt, biting back a smile.

He blinks rapidly, as if rebooting, and finally—finally—manages to form words.

“I—” He clears his throat, cheeks flushed, voice a little strained. “I like you too.”

Your heart skips.

Jack rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side like he’s gathering his courage. “Are you, uh… free tonight?”

You tilt your head. “Why?”

He shifts awkwardly. The tail is still going. “Because I wanna take you on a date.”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah,” you say, smiling. “I’d like that.”

Jack nods, determined, as if locking this in before fate can take it away. “Good. I’ll—I’ll plan something nice.”

You have never seen him this flustered. It is absolutely adorable.

And judging by the way his tail refuses to stop wagging, you’re pretty sure he’s never been this happy, either.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[dulcescorderitas]

tramp stamp

parings: married!deanwinchester x married!reader

dulce's notes: inspired by @sunsbaby and one tree hill with nathan and haley

it starts innocent enough. just a normal day, normal routine, except dean was standing behind you, arms crossed, watching as you bend over to grab something off the floor. and that’s when he sees it. his name, inked in sharp, black script right on the curve of your ass, just barely peeking out from under the waistband of your jeans.

the room goes silent for exactly two seconds before—

“oh, you’ve gotta be shitting me.”

his voice is gravel, all disbelief and something darker creeping into the edges. you pause, not quite registering, but when you straighten up and turn, he’s still staring at your ass. specifically at the ink just barely visible above your thong.

“what?” you ask, only for him to hook a finger in your belt loop and yank, just enough to pull the waistband lower. the action is so quick, so casual, but the second he does it, his calloused palm connects with your bare cheek in a sharp slap. a wicked sting blooms across your skin, and a breathy little noise escapes you before you can stop it.

“fucking hell,” dean mutters, still looking. he presses his thumb against the tattoo, tracing the inked letters. his name. on your ass. permanently. “baby, i don’t know whether to be flattered or just straight-up hard right now.”

you bite your lip, heat curling low in your stomach. “why not both?”

he huffs out a short, rough laugh, and then he’s pressing his hand flat against your ass, squeezing once, hard. “you really got my name on you,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “like you belong to me.”

you nod, breathless. “i do belong to you.”

dean groans like he’s in pain, dragging his hand down over your ass, fingertips teasing the edge of your thong. “you can’t just say shit like that and expect me to behave, sweetheart.”

“who said i wanted you to behave?”

the shift in the air is slow, deliberate. one second, he’s toying with you, and the next, his touch lingers, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your exposed skin. he doesn’t yank your jeans lower right away—he lets them sit, just barely covering you, like he’s savoring the tease of it. his grip tightens, rough fingers digging into your flesh. “jesus christ, look at this,” he breathes, shaking his head. “i swear, you just—” he lands another smack, softer this time, more of a test than a punishment, watching the way your skin flushes under the impact. “fuck, that’s perfect.”

you let out a shaky breath, arching into his touch. “dean—”

“nah, you don’t get to call the shots here, sweetheart.” his voice is all rough edges, pure filth. his fingers trail along the waistband of your thong, snapping it lightly against your skin before he slides his hand lower, cupping you through the thin fabric. he doesn’t rush—he takes his time, palm molding over your heat, feeling the way you press into him without hesitation. “you’re walking around with my name on your ass. you know what that means?”

you swallow, shaking your head, eyes wide.

he smirks, leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “means every time you bend over like that, i’m gonna be reminded that this—” he squeezes, his palm firm and possessive “—is mine. and you know what happens to things that are mine?”

your breath stutters. “what?”

his smirk widens, and then he delivers another sharp slap to your ass, watching the way you jolt, the way your lips part with a quiet gasp. “they get fucking ruined.”

credits of divider @toastray

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume

[girlsoutlate]

tf141 meet prices girl

part one

suggestive themes, alcohol consumption, loser simon, if you can see my favouritism for gaz no you bloody can't xx

today- well tonight was the night. you'd been psyching yourself up from wednesday, john springing the plans on you casually over breakfast. you expected it, just not so soon. all too quickly saturday night had rolled around and you were staring absentmindedly in to your wardrobe. your ever so loving boyfriend had been making fun of your hysterics all day until he became slightly concerned at your lack of appetite over dinner. you chose to nibble on two sides instead of whatever small meal you had originally planned. as you left the table and placed your plate on to the counter john grabbed you by your hips and hoisted you up "love, it's natural to be nervous but yer gettin' yerself worked up for nothin'". brushing a calloused thumb across your lips that were nibbled raw he felt you take a small breath in to talk "i know but what if something goes wrong? what if they think im too dumb for you? they won't like me". the last words out of your mouth were quiet and resolute but hung heavy in the air.

steely blue eyes never leaving yours, john spoke with reverence "sweethear' don't say tha' about yerself. i'm the lucky bastard tha' gets to be loved by you. wha' those muppets think about ya' doesn't matter, least of all to me". a small smile on your face wasn't missed as you looked down to johns hands splayed on your lap. he continued "they'll love ya', i promise- not as much as me though" a gravelly chuckle emanted from his chest. "you're beautiful, do i need to remind you again today? tha' lot will lap up any hint of kindness, so theres no reason a' all why they won't like ya". your arms wrapped around his bulking figure, pressing your face in to his defined chest you whispered "thankyou".

after finishing the rest of your food you jumped off the counter and scuttled upstairs to get ready. coming back downstairs you showed john your outfit, him grunting in appreciation whilst you did a spin, speaking about how you think you've perfected doing this hairstyle. after a silent journey you found yourself stepping out of a cab and standing in front of a pub you could only identify by name. at some point in the car ride your nerves turned to excitement and you were all to eager to meet the men your boyfriend trusted his life with. stepping in to the pub with johns large paw on the small of your back, a wave of warmth and chatter washed over you. warm lights reflecting off the red walls and oak ceiling basking you in a golden light as you scanned the pub. for a moment the hairs on the back of your neck stood as goosebumps rose across your arms; you shook off the feeling; john seemed to had spotted where his task force was, grunting in to your ear "just in tha' corner, doll" he guided you to the left.

with the soft tread of sticky carpet under your feet your eyes landed upon three men in the corner of the pub. a man with a mohawk caught your attention first, raucous laughter causing your steps to falter. lips fluttered against the shell of your ear "'m righ, behind ya", john gave a reassuring squeeze to the fat of your hip. your eyes flicked over to the man being spoken too. his brown eyes met yours, welcoming and soft yet calculating. he flashed you a dazzling smile, dimples appearing on his slim cheeks. by the time you had gotten to the table (nerves causing the journey to feel longer) all three men had their attention on you and john. "captain, nice to see you" the man with the brown eyes said, his velvety voice contrasting with johns gravelly "love, meet gaz, soap and ghost". giving a polite smile you looked them assessing, finally putting faces to what little you know. soaps eyes tracked up and down your body once, he couldn't help but take in your appearance. he knew your face was beautiful from the snooping he'd done, but god did your body live up to it. sharp blue met yours, twinkling with something. gaz pulled out a seat and gestured for you to sit down, price slipped your jacket off and put it on the back of your chair. as you settled while they greeted each other, your attention was drawn to ghost. you couldn't help but notice him.

a hulking figure in the corner of the booth, he blended in with the shadows despite the almost orange light of the pub. his balaclava was covering his whole face, bar dead eyes devoid of any emotion. as his gaze landed on you from across the table, you registered what that sudden nervous feeling was when you first stepped in to the pub. it was him. he'd watched you and john since you arrived, despite his companions remaining oblivious. you tried not to overthink it. just as you were about to tear your gaze away, his near black eyes caught yours. ghost gave you a curt not before gaz spoke to you. "its so nice to mee' you. you've been a well kept secret, eh soap?" nudging soap with his elbow, an impish grin on his face. you let out a small chuckle while soap jokes "ah dinnae know how cap' found ya", a soft rumble of a laugh reverberated from john. "yer a real bonnie lass-" soap let out a soft yelp. curiously you looked around the table and saw ghost staring at him. with a faint warmth to your cheeks you let out a small "thankyou". a voice even deeper than johns makes you slightly jump as ghost instructs "mactavish, go get tha' first round in".

after telling soap the drink of your choice you feel johns warm paw smooth up and down your leg "you alrigh', beautiful?" you nodded and replied "they're just like you said". gaz turns to you with that same dazzling smile "i'm guessing you know more about us than we do about you".

"i supposed so, john told me all about the phonecall incident". at that he turned away, hiding a bashful smile. a husky wheeze, which felt more like a vibration, came from ghost. john squeezed your thigh in hearing that. ghost remembered the day of the 'phonecall incident' well. his sergeant was practically running down the hallway, excitement coming off him in waves. as he told ghost and soap what he heard he wore a smug grinon his face- of course. for the rest of the day that's all ghost bloody heard from his sergeants, although he would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued. the next day the captain spoke to them about meeting his girl, so gaz felt entirely responsible for solving the 'mystery' as well as getting to meet you. when soap came with the drinks, he started a line of enquiry surrounding yours and johns relationship. his warm hand brushed against yours as he passed you your drink, lingering to ensure you had a proper grip on it.

"so how did you an' price meet? ah cannae imagine him dancing on ye at a club" your boyfriend barked out a sharp laugh. you giggled at the image, deciding he would be reminiscent of an endearing if awkward dancing bear. at the melodic sound of your laugh you caught ghosts eyes, an unreadable stare. your ability of storytelling had the boys rapt, including john who never tired of hearing your view of events. you recounted that somehow your schedules matched up, and after he helped you in an awkward situation you began to talk whenever you saw each other. soap poked fun at his captain after learning that he had a habit of stumbling over his words when asking you anything important, like when he asked you for his own number. after you had finished your anecdote soap directed another question in your direction "wha's tha' captain like? bet he's ah lovesick puppy", guffaws rounded the table. more followed when you retorted "you'd be surprised, he's like a limpet some days".

slowly but surely you grew more comfortable in the conversation, bantering back and forth with soap and gaz, laughing when john interjects about some absolutely absurd guesses about him in your relationship. naturally they ask you about work, all three being pleasantly surprised finding out you don't work a boring office job. you explained that since being with john you can have a job you can enjoy, instead of burning out constantly just to live. gaz nodded in agreement, even though john had told you he had joined the army quite young. he commented "would've probably worked in my dads business if i hadn't joined the army". you hummed in response, filing that away for later analysation, noticing his slightly furrowed brows. soap piped up from the end of the table "ah cannae say ah enjoy gettin' shot at fer a livin, but-"

"tha's enough. remember wha i said" johns gravelly voice cut soap off. it was slightly raised, sending a small shock down your spine. he rarely raised his voice at you, let alone shout. it was strange seeing that authoritative side of him seep through, though some small part of you was interested. "sorry captain" soap quickly responded, "sorry love" he added. as gaz deftly redirected the conversation you quirked an eyebrow at john. "what did you say?" you quietly enquired, picking up your drink, condensation cool against your skin. you noticed john glancing away as he cleared his throat "you shouldn't know what.. what really 'appens when i'm gone." his large hand slides up your leg and down, a soothing action. whether its for you or himself is undecided.

warmth seeps from his hand to yours, adding to the slight flush you feel throughout your body. as you finish up your drink you push your chair back, lukewarm liquid sliding down your throat. "'m gonna go to the bathroom" you quietly mumble, hand on the table for support. you briefly wait for john to follow, used to him 'keeping an eye on you' whenever you went out for drinks. but before he can, gaz stands up. "i'll go with her sir, and get the next round in". price grunts in consideration, with a near empty pint in hand "love?". your eyes flick over to gaz, noticing the light being reflected in a small stud in his ear. "sure" you reply, grabbing your bag in case you needed to fix your makeup. placing his now empty glass on the table john grumbles "keep an eye on her".

gaz guided you over to the bathrooms, his large palm hovering over the small of your back. you could feel the heat radiating off him, an accidental brush feels burning hot even through your clothes. he wasn't as tall or broad as john, but that just made his proximity to you even more apparent, he was different than what you were used to. his physique was well above average, confirmed by the bulging bicep that pulled a chair out for you earlier. his lean torso was evident, even through his baggier top. something enticing radiated off gaz, drawing your attention to him when you first sat down. at the table you noticed his eyes upon you when you spoke, even if he wasn't replying. ever attentive not just to you, but to the rest of the task force. he caught what was said under someones breath, or what was said if someone was being talked over. reaching the door he muttered "i'll be right outside, no rush". entering the bathroom you feel rather giddy that everything is going so well. apparently soap shares the same sentiment.

the remaining three men at the table watched you walk away, john noticing the sway of your hips exaggerated by your tipsy state. ghost noted the details of your outfit, and thanked his mask when he realised his gaze had drifted further south than intended. soap was practically burning holes in to the back of gaz's head, annoyed he wasn't in his place. seems as though the 'competition' to know more about you hadn't ended yet. as soon as you were out of earshot soap turned to the table with a dramatic sigh. "lord 'ave mercy price, where did ye find her? yer one lucky man". ghosts body shook slightly with mirth at johnny's theatrics, yet agreed with him "he's right, captain". john sat in silence, a small smirk growing. hearing the bathroom door open, the table watched as you and gaz walked over to the bar.

he stood slightly behind you as he ordered the drinks. with interest, john watched as his sergeant lent down and whispered something in to his girls ear that made you giggle. the apples of your cheeks were dusted with warmth as you replied with an appreciative smile. unable to hear due to a particularly rowdy group of punters, gaz leant down, motioning for you to repeat yourself. resting a hand on his defined shoulder to balance yourself you did just that. johns eyes became incredibly focused once he saw his sergeant softly brushing your hair out of his face, whispy strands tickling him. pulling away gaz laughed heartily, your face lit up at garnering such a reaction.

soap was practically smoking, itching to talk to you more. ghost and john however, watched with interest, focus never wavering. the latter two shared a glance, something vaguein both their expressions. you and gaz both returned with two drinks each, placing them on the table. the group heard a snippet of your conversation "kyle that is absolutely not true". he laughed as you you turned around back to the bar to retrieve your drink. sitting back down with an oomph, gaz remarked "her sarcasm's worse than yours lt.", wide smile on his face. snatching up his drink soap snarkily said "on a first name basis are ye?". john had never seen someone drink a pint with so much attitude. gaz replied "what? you jealous mate?" with a shit eating grin on his face. before the squabble could continue ghost cut them off with a very pointed sigh.

as soap complained about gaz 'stealing of your attention' john watched you talk with a bartender. you lent lightly on the counter, back slightly arched as you sipped on your drink. with a comically soppy look on his face john reached for his cold pint. despite being nervous tonight you had found your place amongst his men. he couldn't be happier. you conversed with the bartender like she was an old friend, john had always admired your kindness and compassion. it was nice to be looked after, though he'd never admit it. his countenance hadn't been lost on his task force. here they were watching their captain look at his girl in a lovestruck daze, completely dead to the world. the boys would've laughed in shock if they weren't genuinely happy for him. it could be said that price more so than anyone deserved to be happy- oh and if they had the chance to be in johns position, all of them would totally look at you like that too. "i really am lucky to 'ave her" john mumbled to no one in particular, yet they all heard him.

returning to the table you pressed a small kiss on prices cheek, his beard scratching your face a little. a glossy, faintly red mark was left. "y' alrigh' doll?" you nodded in response, squeezing his hand under the table. sipping your drink you carried on with whatever point you had left the conversation at. soaps petty complaints continued, "s no fair he's taken all the credit fer us meetin' yeh, 'n now he's just takin' ya!". you let out a rather boisterous laugh "i promise you'll all get a go". as you turn to look at john after hearing his exasperated sigh you missed soaps wolfish grin towards gaz. you found the formers complaining highly amusing, and so did ghost apparently. he hadn't said much apart from a grunt in agreement and, well, disagreement. but when you poked fun at soap, saying that you "didn't know the army let five year olds be sergeants", that black mass in the corner added "five year olds wiv shit 'aircuts". unfortunately for soap you burst out laughing, insisting through a fit of giggles that you thought his mohawk was incredibly beautiful. much to johns disappointment it sent soap in to a tirade of defending his 'crowning glory'. ghost would be lying if he didn't feel an odd warm feeling flood his chest at producing such visceral reaction from you.

another hour or so passes by, conversation flowing from one topic to another. letting out a small grunt john slapped his thighs and stood up "m goin' out fer a smoke, wanna come for fresh air sweet'eart?". nodding, you slipped on your jacket "could you keep an eye on my bag please? i'll be back soon". pulling your chair in kyle replied "of course, i'll look after your drink too". smiling appreciatively you turned while john guided you out of the pub. as soon as your figures disappeared into the night soap exclaimed "steamin' jesus" and ran a hand down his face. gaz nodded in agreement while ghost stared at his drink.

the three men had met a good amount of women between them, all being some degree of beautiful. a fair amount had similar ease of banter and wit as you and some could rival you in intellect. a few even had the same interests as you. the men could recognise that, yet you seemed so different from any other woman. perhaps it was because you were with their captain, but this spark was apparent in relation to no one but you. they couldn't lie a finger on it yet but they had an inkling. your compassion and sincerity. any woman could be beautiful, alluring, funny, snarky or an airhead bimbo if they wanted to. but you were so unapologetically yourself, from the clothes you wore to how you carried yourself. in a life of secrets and covert operations it was refreshing to meet someone who took pride in being themselves no matter how people reacted. you were sincere, the task force could understand why john loved you for that.

it was even more enticing that you were kind to everyone, for example that young bartender dealing with a group of rowdy punters. you didn't have to be kind, but you were. one of the things price told them about you was your kindness, only elaborating to the point that some people used it against you so "they'd better not piss about and upset his doll". this aspect of you was evident as soon as you joined their table. you made sure to address everyone and listen to what they said, simply because you cared not because it was expected. they could easily see why john loved you, to such a far extent that a small part of them was jealous. jealous that the numerous bodies that woke up beside them in the morning were gone in an hour, no one in the kitchen to share breakfast with. dinner was the same unless they went out searching for someone. the home they returned to was empty, jealous that you weren't waiting for them. with that thought ghost broke the silence between them "m goin for a fag". he left soap and gaz with the same obscure look on their face.

the cold night air enveloped ghost as he stepped outside, a welcoming change from the stuffy pub. he spotted you leant against the wall, arms wrapped around yourself, as john stood next to you. he nodded for ghost to come over. as he rolled up his balaclava and lit his cigarette you averted your gaze. you understood he wouldn't do it unless he was comfortable, but you didn't want to push your luck. noticing this, ghosts husky voice said "s alrigh'". your eyes slightly widened and you nodded. fuck. simon wanted to make you feel at ease, even tried to soften his voice. he's always had the worst luck with women out of the task force- not that he was attempting to chat you up or anything. his rather disastrous train of thought was broken with price flicking the butt of his cigarette on the floor "m goin' back inside, y' joinin' me dove?". you shook your head, drawing you coat tighter "want my head to clear up a little more, i'll be in soon". he grunted in acknowledgement, pulling you in for a kiss, the taste of sour smoke still in his mouth. it was short and sweet, but simon noticed the way your eyes fluttered at johns hand on the nape of your neck. a sharp pang was felt in simons chest. it could be jealousy, but he was well acquainted with that feeling due to the bad hand he was dealt by the universe. this was different, and simon doesn't like change. john gave ghost a stern look before he returned inside, look after her.

you and ghost stood in silence, only interrupted by a passing car or the rustle of clothes when he took another drag of his cigarette. he glanced to you, expecting to see you awkwardly looking at him or the ground, instead you were gazing at the night sky. it was a dark velvet, remarkably clear with a small sprinkling of stars. a few moments passed before you softly said "the skys pretty tonight". poor simon didn't know what to say, you seem genuinely enraptured. before he gave you his usual reply of a grunt you spoke up again "john tells me about sky he sees when he's gone, said that sometimes theres more stars than sky". ghost had heard snatches of these sporadic phonecalls, always leaving to give his captain privacy. he noticed a difference in price after each one, relaxed brows and a straighter back with a lighter mood no matter the state of the mission. now simon knows it was you making that difference. whilst a plume of smoke left his scarred mouth he turned to face you. you did the same, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "price is lucky to 'ave ya'" he quietly admitted. he left out a thought that had been rolling inside his head since first hearing you speak i would be lucky to have you too.

your eyes sparkled, the first full sentence ghost had said to you was that of approval and praise. you knew he was a lonely man, the 141 was the only semblance of family he had, so his approval meant the world to you. you reached out and gently squeezed his forearm "thankyou ghost". he simply nodded, eyes fixed upon you as you returned inside. your touch was a surprise. ghost expected himself to recoil, yet he stood incredibly still. simon knew it was a simple touch- so why did his blood run incredibly warm under your hand? electricity jolted through his skin almost painfully, despite this he wanted to feel it again. wanted to have your attention, look at him with those pretty eyes and feel himself wilt under you. wanted you to touch him again. fuck. you were his captains girl. ghost shook his head violently, it would be comical if he didn't feel so guilty. flicking his cig to the ground with spite he stalked back inside.

the topic of conversation had turned to cooking. your nose wrinkled in disgust hearing some of the food at the mess hall, wondering what possessed people to make that. soap piped up "but ahve smelt prices lunch an' its bloody delicious, did ye make it?". a collective groan rounded the table as you described the last meal you made. traditional spaghetti bolognese with pasta you made yourself. "making the pasta was a little disastrous because someone can't follow instructions". you shuddered at the thought, who knew dough was so airborne? "aye so price don't listen to ye?" soap continued in a suggestive tone. you shook your head and replied "most of the time he takes orders well, but for some reason he assumed he could cook this better than me" your suggestive language and johns red face earned peals of laughter. gaz enquired "so, is it true sir?". ashamed, john mumbled "affirmative". in false shock you exclaimed "what? that you can cook better than me, or that you take orders well?". unfortunately johns protests couldn't be heard over the laughter. the image of the captain john price being bossed around by you was hilarious, probably saluting you before mopping the floors while you lounged on the sofa.

their thoughts wandered further, wondering if price took orders well in all aspects of your relationship. you seemed like a woman that knew exactly what she wanted from the man she loved, they liked that. before their thoughts got collectively dirtier john cut them off in an accusatory tone "i've caught these lot poking around my lunch more times than i can count, 'specialy after you gave me those brownies". you were particularly stressed that week, and baked a little too many. so you packed loads for john, instructing him to give some to his task force. for the rest of that week he was begged to bring in more despite his false admission there was none left.

back at the table gaz declared "your cookin' is the best i've had in a long time, any chance of getting some more?" he wiggled his eyebrows in a bad attempt to persuade you. you beamed at his praise and awful persuasion "i normally give john any leftovers from dinner the night before for lunch, but theres hardly any- he loves to eat". john nodded in agreement "don't want any of you greedy buggers takin' my food". soap had noticed the slightly light hair on his beard near his mouth months ago, he could already tell john loved to eat. soap downed the rest of his drink in an effort to get his brain to shut up. he almost felt bad having such depraved thoughts of his captain eating out his girl bent over the kitchen counter while he was sitting opposite them in the pub.

noticing that the tips of soaps ears were slightly pink, kyle asked you with that dazzling smile "so how would i- hypothetically- go about getting more food". catching on to what he meant you replied "well you would have to ask the hypothetical man if you were allowed over for dinner. the decision lies solely in his hypothetical hands", a drunken giggle escaping at the silliness. price grunted, weighing up the odds of letting his task force over for dinner. it wouldn't be the first time them coming to his house, but you hadn't lived there then. from the corner, ghosts voice rumbled across the table "i'd like to visit too". you looked in his direction, nodding your head in appreciation. john glanced to you and saw a large cheesy smile plastered across your face, which was replicated by both his sergeants. what has he done. you and his task force had really taking a liking to each other. "i'll think abou' it" he said with finality. you clapped your hands and gave him a big kiss on the cheek "i'll take it". a dopey smile spread across his face at the kiss.

conversation carried on for another half an hour before you let out a yawn. stretching and standing up john sighed "come on dolly its time to get you home, before you turn in to a pumpkin". as john quickly booked a cab you finished the rest of your drink. busying yourself with getting your coat on john said goodbye to his friends. even though it wasn't clear you think you heard "m so happy fer ye mate", "she's gorgeous, treat her well" and "m proud of ye". you'll live in your cloud of plausible deniability quite happily.

"ghost, ahve called ah cab fer us three. it'll be here soon" soap called out, alcohol making him forget his inside voice. kyle replied "m proud of you mate, last time you were barely upright". the melodic sound of your laughter filled their ears for the final time that night. addressing kyle first you pulled him in to a hug "it was so lovely to finally meet you kyle". his lean arm wrapped around your waist, hand resting on the fat of your hip, you felt his breath on your ear "it was nice to meet you darling". kyle pulled away just before soap slightly barged past him. he swept you up in to an enthusiastic hug, chests flush together. you giggled in to his neck before a loud cough from behind you prompted him to hold you at arms length. "nice meetin' ye bonnie, when are ye next free?" before you could reply you felt a familiar arm corded with muscle hold you by the waist and pull you away. johns voice rumbled against your back as he said "mactavish you will know when we are free, if tha's alrigh' with the little lady". you nodded in agreement and replied "i'd like to see you all again, if thats okay with all of you?". the last part of your sentence was said in a mild manner.

for just a second the 141 saw a glimpse in to your second-guessing, price had told them to be extra nice to his birdie. before the sergeants could reassure you with grandeur, ghost resolutely said "of course". you beamed at all of them, teeth glinting and cheeks round, the widest and truest smile you'd worn all night. simon felt his heart swell slightly with pride, he did that. "cabs nearly here, you ready?" you nodded and waved a final time, john continued "good catchin' up with ya, see you horrible lot monday". the sergeants gave a very disorganised salute while ghost nodded his head.

stepping in to the night, a slight drizzle had started. despite that you abruptly stopped and pulled john in, cutting of his question with a kiss. you pressed your lips to his slightly harder and sloppier than you wanted in your drunk state, but john didn't seem to mind. his warm mouth opened more, bitter taste of beer on his tongue and slight scratch of his bed earning a soft moan from you. in return he gripped the fat of your hip pulling you impossibly closer, chests flush. at the whistles of onlookers you both pulled away, your eyes twinkled in the stars as a feeling of pure content filled both your bodies, "i'm so happy john". you both clumsily climbed in to cab that had pulled up beside you. your eyes were fixed upon the passing scenery outside the window and johns eyes were fixed on you. the reflection of streetlights on the droplets of the window looked like glitter, the perfect backdrop to the perfect view. sighing contently john replied "i'm 'appy too, doll".

in the other cab the rest of the 141 weren't happy, they were ecstatic. the mystery of their captains girl had finally been solved, the theories developed over their 'detective' period had been proven true or false. even ghost had joined in with the sergeants vigorous discussion about you, all singing your praises. although they had 'solved' the mystery, the new information had presented them with a new set of questions, a want to know more about yours and prices relationship. whilst discussing these questions passionately there was a thought none of them would vocalise, they wanted more of you. to spend more time around you, learn more about your likes and dislikes, get the recipe for your cooking and replicate it at home. they wanted to listen to your music and know about the memories related to each song. greedy hands grabbing at pictures of your latest holiday or your final day at school. they wanted more more more. they knew they were a bunch of greedy bastards, but john had let them at something so kind, so different, so sacred to any other woman they had met.

they knew this wasn't a normal reaction to meeting your superiors girlfriend. but years in the military caused disconnect between them and the world they couldn't quite explain. they know their eagerness is odd and unusual, but how else did price expect them to react. he had noticed the looks his task force had given each other, that had flew right over your head. not looks of malice, but something obscure and vague. like being drawn down a path despite not knowing where you may end up.

none of them knew that today had changed something within all of them, it just wasn't apparent. yet.

heloooo long awaited sequel, thankyou so much for being patient and thankyou even more for reading :)) i appreciate every single person who likes, comments, reblogs and follows!! any interaction is greatly appreciated <3

these big dumb stupid men living in my head have gotten me through my breakup. ive been feeling really bummed out so thankyou for being patient while i write this

[revelboo]

If you're not too swamped, pleading on my knees for a Waspinator Valentine's thing cause it would be so freaking hilarious and such a disaster. He wants to be a good boy.

Valentine’s Oneshot- Waspinator

Waspinator x Reader

• In hindsight, letting the TV babysit your big alien puppy might not have been the best plan, but in your defense, the bright colors and noise tend to keep him quiet. But you’d forgotten about the commercials. Valentine’s Day commercials for flowers and jewelry. And now you’ve got this to deal with. This being Waspinator on his knees, arms wrapped around your hips. “Please. Please, dating Waspinator. Please.” Inhaling as he rests his chin on your belly and looks up at you with those big optics, you can feel your resolve weakening. If you play along, he’ll be happy. He’ll stop and find something else to fixate on. “Please dating Waspinator.”

• “Fine. Just get off the floor, okay?” His little friend pats him on the head and his wings buzz excitedly. You’d agreed? Agreed to date Waspinator? To let him court you? Scrambling, he transforms and crawls over the back of the couch as you scramble to the far end saying words he doesn’t understand. Snagging his gift in his mandibles, he drops it into your lap and waits.

• Hating when he goes giant wasp on you without warning, you’re slowly getting used to that form even if it still creeps you out. Those sharp mandibles flexing and looking like pure nightmare fuel. Your puppy looking like he eats people in that form. Tearing your eyes from him to what he’d gifted you, you frown at several bent butter knives. “Gee. Thanks.” What is it with him and your silverware? Heart racing when he transforms again and seizes you to gently unbend the knives one by one, wrap them around your wrist and bend them closed- oh. Bracelets? “I honestly don’t know what to say.” You’re going to be eating with your fingers pretty soon at this rate.

• “Jewelries,” he says cheerfully as you stare at the shinies. “Waspinator good at dating?” Sprawling against you, head against your middle as he knocks you down flat on the couch, his wings fidget. Are you happy with him? Wants you to be happy with him. Let him stay. His little, warm mate finally coming around. ‘Sure,’ you mutter, laying a hand on his head. Touching him so gently. Needs this. You. No one else touches him like this. Always hurt him instead. “Waspinator can keep little friend?” You move your hand and he catches your fingers gently with his mandibles, not wanting you to stop touching him.

• Like you’re the stray, not him. Skin crawling as he tugs at your hand, you free your fingers to scratch under his mandibles. “Sure.” Whatever keeps him happy and from hounding you to ‘date’ him when you can’t even begin to figure out his fixation with it. Probably also the TV’s fault. You need to start paying more attention to what he’s watching. You’d walked in on him watching Titanic at one point and he’d looked up, pointed at the screen and said ‘no coverings’ in response to the sex scene. Startling when he shifts over you a hand landing near your head and his face far too close to yours to pull you from your thoughts, and those big optics are staring. Ugh. You always feel like he’s considering eating you when he stares at you like that, mandibles working. ‘Mate Waspinator now?’ He asks and your mouth falls open. What?

[goldfades]

VALENTINE'S DAY ───── LAMELO BALL

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | lamelo is never quiet type, and it extends to your relationship — because that's just who he is, and how he shows his love. this is how your valentine's day always goes.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lamelo being the best bf ever, and just fluffy stuff!

Every year, without fail, LaMelo Ball made Valentine’s Day his personal stage. It wasn’t just a day; it was an event. No matter what was going on—road games, media obligations, team practices—he always found a way to make sure you felt like the center of his universe.

The first time it happened, you thought it was a fluke. A ridiculous, over-the-top, early-relationship flex. You had barely been together for a few months when he sent a massive bouquet of roses—three dozen, deep red, wrapped in sleek black paper—to your apartment at exactly midnight. It came with a note in his messy, looping handwriting: First Valentine’s. Not the last.

By the second year, it became clear that this wasn’t just some honeymoon-phase thing. Because this time, it was an even bigger arrangement—lilies, peonies, and the same signature roses, towering in a glass vase you were pretty sure could double as a fish tank. That, and a diamond bracelet, which he clasped around your wrist himself with the type of satisfaction that said, Yeah, I did that.

The third year, you didn’t even try to act surprised when he went even bigger. It was just how he loved—bold, unfiltered, and grand.

And now, another Valentine’s was here.

You woke up to the first sign of it: the soft ding of a text notification. Still half-asleep, you reached for your phone, eyes squinting at the brightness of the screen.

Melo 💕 Morning, Valentine. Be ready by 7.

You exhaled a quiet laugh, already knowing what that meant. Because this wasn’t just a dinner reservation or a casual date. When LaMelo said “be ready,” he meant something’s coming, and it’s coming big.

You stretched, blinking up at the ceiling as the weight of his text settled in. Be ready by 7. No further explanation. No details. Just that.

But you already knew how this would go.

You swung your legs over the bed, running a hand through your hair as you sat up. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the heater kicking in. Outside, the city still felt half-asleep, the early morning light filtering in through your curtains in muted golds and grays.

And then—ding. Another text.

Melo 💕 Check the door.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the way your lips curled into a smile as you climbed out of bed, padding toward the front door. There was no need to check the peephole. You already knew what would be waiting on the other side.

When you pulled it open, the scent hit you first—sweet, floral, overwhelming in the best way.

There, standing proudly on your doorstep, was the kind of bouquet that would put entire wedding arrangements to shame. A mix of your favorites—full-bloom peonies, creamy garden roses, white orchids threaded between delicate baby’s breath, the kind of bouquet that looked like it belonged in the lobby of a five-star hotel rather than sitting outside your apartment door.

Tucked neatly between the stems was a black envelope, your name scrawled across the front in his signature handwriting. You already knew what it would say before you even opened it.

For my Valentine, You already know what today is. Get ready. —Melo ♡

You shook your head, laughing softly. Same Melo. Always.

But that was the thing about him. He didn’t just say he loved you—he made it felt like an undeniable fact, like the sky being blue or the sun rising every morning.

You pulled the bouquet inside carefully, placing it on the counter before heading toward your bathroom. If you had any hope of making it through whatever he had planned tonight, you needed to start getting ready now.

By the time the evening rolled around, the anticipation sat in your chest like static—warm, buzzing, something you couldn't quite shake.

You stood in front of your mirror, adjusting the clasp of your necklace. The dress he sent over fit like it had been made for you—because, knowing him, it probably had been. It was elegant but understated, the type of effortless glamour Melo always liked on you.

As if on cue, your phone vibrated on the counter.

Melo 💕 I’m outside.

With one last glance in the mirror, you grabbed your clutch and headed out.

When you stepped into the crisp night air, the first thing you saw was the car—a sleek black Rolls-Royce, engine humming low and steady like it had been idling there for a while.

And then, there was him.

LaMelo stood next to the car, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed, watching you. His chain caught the glow of the streetlights, and he was wearing that easy, knowing smirk—the one that told you he knew he had outdone himself again.

“You look good, baby,” he murmured as you stepped closer. His eyes dragged over you, slow and deliberate. “Like, real good.”

Your lips curved. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before stepping forward, his hands finding your waist with the kind of ease that came from years of muscle memory. “You ready?”

You tilted your head. “Do I get any hints this time? Or are we sticking to the whole ‘mystery’ thing?”

Melo hummed, pretending to think about it. Then, with a grin, he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Nah. You’ll see.”

And with that, he opened the car door, the night stretching ahead like a promise.

You slid into the car, the scent of his cologne already wrapped thick in the air—something deep and smooth, a little woody, something that smelled expensive in the way Melo always did. The seats were buttery soft against your skin, and the hum of the engine felt impossibly steady beneath you, like the entire night was resting in the palm of his hand.

Melo climbed in next to you, one hand on the steering wheel, the other stretching across the center console to rest on your thigh like it belonged there. He always did that. A quiet reassurance. A you’re here, I’m here, that’s all that matters.

"Comfortable?" he asked, shooting you a quick glance, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You ran a hand along the sleek leather of the seat, already knowing that whatever destination he had in mind, it was going to be as excessive as always. "Do I ever have a choice with you?"

He grinned at that. “Nope.”

The car pulled off smoothly, gliding onto the road with the kind of ease that came from Melo’s particular brand of living—never rushed, always in control, like everything was happening exactly how he wanted it to.

Outside, the city lights flickered past in a blur, neon signs and warm streetlights stretching across the skyline like scattered constellations. You stole a glance at him, the glow of the dashboard casting soft shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the relaxed set of his mouth.

LaMelo Ball, for all his flash and extravagance, was surprisingly quiet in moments like these. He never felt the need to fill silences with small talk, never rushed to explain himself. He let things breathe. And maybe that was why, even when he was spoiling you to the point of ridiculousness, it never felt performative. It was just him.

You let the silence linger for a beat before finally breaking it. “So, where are we going?”

Melo exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “Always with the questions.”

You shot him a look. “You can’t drop off a thousand-dollar bouquet at my door, send me a dress, pick me up in this—” you gestured to the ridiculously luxurious car— “and not expect me to be curious.”

He hummed, eyes still on the road. "You’ll see."

"You keep saying that," you muttered, crossing your arms.

He grinned, clearly entertained. “And yet, here you are. Still in the car. Still trusting me.”

You hated that he was right.

But it wasn’t long before you started to get an idea of where he was taking you. The roads shifted, the city lights fading into something quieter, more private. When the car slowed, your brows furrowed.

This wasn’t a restaurant.

This wasn’t some exclusive, celebrity-packed dining spot with a three-month waitlist.

This was—

“Melo,” you started, eyes widening as you took in the familiar gated entrance, the dimly lit pathway leading up to an impossibly grand rooftop setup. “Did you—?”

He only smirked as he pulled the car to a smooth stop, throwing it in park before turning to you fully.

“You like it?” he asked, a certain boyish pride lacing his voice.

Like it?

Your gaze swept over the setup visible through the open terrace doors—hundreds of twinkling string lights draped from above, the soft glow of candles flickering against crisp white table linens, a private chef already setting up by the terrace’s edge. The city skyline stretched endlessly in the background, hazy and golden in the distance.

It was perfect. It was ridiculous. It was him.

“Melo,” you whispered, still stunned.

He let out a small chuckle, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I figured we’ve done the whole restaurant thing enough. Wanted to switch it up.”

You turned to him, still trying to process it all. “You booked out an entire rooftop just to ‘switch it up’?”

He shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah.”

The simplicity of it made your chest ache. Because this was how he loved—loud, effortless, like the world was his to shape and all he wanted to do was carve a space for you in it.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re insane, you know that?”

Melo’s grin softened into something fonder, something quieter. “Maybe.” Then, with a tilt of his head, “Come on. Let me show you.”

The night unraveled in golden moments.

Dinner was perfect. The kind of perfect that made your chest feel full, warm. The chef had prepared a menu tailored specifically to the things Melo knew you loved—seared scallops with that buttery sauce you were obsessed with, truffle pasta that melted on your tongue, a dessert that felt almost too beautiful to eat.

Halfway through the meal, you caught Melo watching you, chin resting lazily in his palm, amusement flickering in his gaze.

“What?” you asked, setting your fork down.

He shook his head, lips twitching. “Nothin’. You’re just cute when you’re happy.”

Your face warmed instantly. “Oh my God, shut up.”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair, one hand stretching across the table to toy with your fingers. “Nah. Just facts.”

And then there was the gift.

Because, of course, there was always a gift.

You were halfway through your glass of wine when he slid a small velvet box onto the table, completely casual, as if he was passing you the salt.

You stared at it. “Melo.”

“What?” he said, ever-so-innocent.

“You did not.”

He arched a brow. “You gon’ open it, or you just gon’ keep yellin’ at me?”

Your heart pounded as you reached for the box, flipping it open with careful fingers.

Inside, nestled against plush velvet, was a necklace.

Not just any necklace—the necklace. The one you had pointed out months ago in passing, barely thinking twice about it, assuming it would be just another one of those it’s pretty, but it’s too much moments.

But Melo had remembered.

You looked up at him, eyes soft, stunned.

“LaMelo,” you murmured. “How did you—?”

He only smirked, already reaching over to take it from the box. “Turn around.”

You swallowed, doing as he said, heart stuttering as he gently brushed your hair aside. The metal was cool against your skin, the weight of it settling perfectly as he clasped it into place.

When you turned back around, he was already watching you, gaze flickering between your eyes and the necklace, as if making sure it belonged there.

You exhaled, shaking your head with a small, overwhelmed laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

Melo grinned, leaning forward, his voice low, teasing. “And yet, here you are. Still trusting me.”

And just like that, you knew—he had won. Again.

[tvgals]

ok so boom, baseball player! ony and his actress! wife strikes again.

ony has been signed to the dodgers for five years now, and he doesn’t plan on retiring anytime soon. he’s been hitting absolute piss missiles for the past year and knows everyone in the league fears him as one of the most feral outfielders in the game.

ony has been on top of the world for years, the biggest headlines featuring his name and how you and him are the best couple to come out since kanye and kim, how the two of you are inseparable and can’t help but show the world, but when you two fight, it’s also obvious to the whole world. ony is a hothead, when the ump makes a terrible call, he’s the first to start throwing curse words and throw and hit shit around the dugout, and you hate it. you hate it because he’s giving himself a bad rap. sure, he could be the best fucking player in the world, but his shitty attitude could cost him a lot.

-

“baby. you know they always make shit worse on tv.” ony argues, leaning back in the drivers seat of his 2019 porsche 718 booster you were pissed. today, the dodgers played against the cincinnati reds, and ony struck out for the first time in a month off of a terrible call, a ball that was basically skimming the ground. he was furious, he stomped his way to the dugout and everyone knew to move out his way. ony flipped out, smashing his bat, throwing around the large gatorade containers, flinging helmets around, the whole thing. you were fuming in the stands, standing up and stomping away yourself. you couldn’t believe ony. you told him that you didn’t wanna see him act a fool in front of all these people again that he was making a bad reputation for himself everytime he acted out…but he never listened.

“you know that everytime you act an ass, it goes back to the dodgers and it makes everyone look bad. you need to calm down.” you reprimand him, scrolling on twitter to see everything people are saying about your husband. “why do you care so much?” he asks, rolling his deep brown eyes. in all honesty, ony couldn’t care less how people perceived him. he’ll forever be known as that dodgers player, that everyone will love him no matter how bad his attitude is. but for whatever reason, you can’t see that. you don’t understand why they put up with him…how you put up with him.

“take me home.” you grumble, firm and angry. ony huffs to himself, stepping on the gas. you watch out the window as you see the trees and mountains pass by as a blur, you felt your body be almost forcefully pushed into your seat, as if you couldn’t lean forward. “ony, slow down.” you warm him, digging your fingernails into the seat. “you wanna go home, right?” he asks, a small chuckle mixed in. your heart started to race and you feel like you can’t breathe. “onyankopon. i am not fucking kidding, slow the car down!” you yell, tears pricking at your eyes. “shutup. just shut up. all you do is preach at me and make me feel like a little kid all the time. i will crash this fucking car if you don’t shut up.” he yells back, stepping on the gas harder. in his haze of anger, he doesn’t notice the deer standing in the middle of the road, or the way you scream, or the way he doesn’t yank the wheel to move out of the way.

the deer hits the car with an insane force of power, taking the bumper off and cracking the windshield almost to oblivion. ony pulls over, the car creaking and shards of glass peppered around the inside of the car. you can’t hold it in anymore and you start sobbing, you can see the way the glass has scarred your skin, you can feel how bad your back hurts and how your eyes feel like they’re about to pop. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, unbuckling your seatbelt and slapping ony across the face. he’s stuck in place, his hands grippping the steering wheel with extreme force. “are you fucking kidding me?! you almost killed us and now you wanna be quiet? get the fuck out of here.” you wail, flinging the car door open and steadily stepping out.

you walk away to god knows where, as long as it’s not with that fucking maniac.

[yuu-kantokusei]

Valentine's Day❤️❤️

Second year version

Characters: Riddle, Ruggie, Azul, Jade, Floyd, Kalim, Jamil, Silver

TW: cute, fluff, wholesome

🌹Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle, ever the perfectionist, plans everything down to the last detail. He invites you to an elegant Valentine's afternoon tea in the Heartslabyul garden, ensuring the best pastries and tea are prepared just for you.

You admire the effort he put in, and when he presents a small, velvet box, your heart skips a beat. Inside is a delicate silver locket with a tiny rose engraving. “I thought this would suit you,” he says, his ears slightly red. “A proper gift should be something meaningful.”

As you sip tea together, you catch him sneaking glances at you, and when you call him out, he huffs, looking away. "It’s just— seeing you enjoy yourself makes me… happy."

🍩Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie, being Ruggie, starts the day by teasing you. "Oi, you got me a Valentine’s gift, right? No? Wow, how cruel!" He pouts dramatically before laughing at your reaction.

But later, when you least expect it, he casually drops a small paper bag in your lap. Inside are homemade sweet potato pastries, warm and fresh. “I made ‘em myself,” he says, grinning. “’Cause I know you like ‘em.”

He then takes you to the rooftops of Night Raven College, where you both sit and eat while watching the sunset. When you thank him, he just shrugs, but his tail flicks happily. "Well, gotta take care of ya, don’t I?"

🐙Azul Ashengrotto

Azul goes all out. The Mostro Lounge is decorated with candles and soft lighting, and he personally prepares a luxurious seafood dinner for you. When he appears, dressed in his finest suit, he smirks but looks a little nervous.

He presents a beautifully wrapped box. Inside is an elegant fountain pen, engraved with your initials. "A valuable individual such as yourself deserves nothing but the finest,” he says smoothly.

After dinner, he offers you a dance—one hand extended, a charming glint in his eyes. As you dance under the dim lights, he leans in slightly. "This is an exclusive experience. You should feel honored." His voice is teasing, but the way he holds you says otherwise.

🐬Jade Leech

Jade doesn’t do grand gestures, but his quiet thoughtfulness is unmistakable. He invites you for a walk through a secluded forest trail, where he points out unique plants and fungi with a rare softness in his voice.

At the end of the trail, he hands you a beautifully arranged glass bottle containing preserved glowing mushrooms. "A rare specimen, just like you," he murmurs, watching your reaction with amusement.

When you thank him, he chuckles, tilting his head. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it? How even something as fleeting as a Valentine’s Day gift can be preserved forever.” His words linger, making your heart race.

🦈Floyd Leech

Floyd spends the whole day being extra clingy, draping himself over you and refusing to let go. "Ne, Shrimpy, it’s Valentine's Day! Shouldn’t ya be giving me chocolates or something?"

Instead, he surprises you by suddenly shoving a small plush eel into your arms. "This one’s you! I picked it ‘cause it’s cute and tiny!" He laughs, squeezing your cheeks playfully.

Then, without warning, he picks you up and spins you around. "Let’s do something fun! Ooooh, maybe I’ll chase you around the campus—whoever gets caught gets a kiss~!"

🌞Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim showers you with so many gifts that you lose count—jewelry, exotic treats, even a handwritten song he composed for you. "I just want to see you smile!" he beams.

He takes you on a magic carpet ride, soaring over the school and out to a nearby oasis he prepared just for the two of you. The place is covered in fairy lights, with a feast laid out.

As you eat, he suddenly grabs your hands, his eyes sparkling. "I hope we can spend every Valentine's together! You’re one of the most important people in my life, you know that?" His words are so sincere it nearly takes your breath away.

🐍Jamil Viper

Jamil acts like he doesn’t care about Valentine's Day, but when you walk into the lounge, you find a neatly packed bento waiting for you. When you turn to ask, he looks away, muttering, "Don’t make a big deal out of it."

But the food is incredible—each dish carefully prepared with your favorite flavors. As you eat, he watches with a satisfied expression, though he tries to hide it.

Later, he quietly hands you a woven bracelet. “It’s something from my homeland,” he says softly. “They say if you wear one given by someone else, your bond will last a lifetime.”

🗡Silver

Silver finds you early in the morning, holding a single, beautifully wrapped rose-shaped chocolate. "For you," he says simply, his expression calm but sincere.

He invites you to watch the sunset with him, sitting together in a comfortable silence. As the golden light reflects in his silver hair, he turns to you, his gaze warm.

"I may not always say it, but… you’re very special to me." His voice is soft, like he’s speaking in a dream. "If there’s ever a day you need someone by your side, I will always be here."

And as you lean against him, he closes his eyes, savoring the moment.

[k1ng-ej]

Hello~!!! Could you write a shadow x gn! reader fic of shadow taking reader out for valentines day? take your time, thank you!!

I believe in a thing called Love - Shadow x Reader

Note: thank you for the request! i hope you enjoy :) all other requests are in the works currently

You sighed with disappointment, fingers lightly thrumming along the armrest of the couch. The TV played a movie in the background, providing a comfortable atmosphere for you to get lost in your thoughts. Shadow promised you weeks ago that you two would do something nice for Valentine's day, you hadn't figured out what exactly, but you assumed he would come up with something. You didn't care if you stayed in, or went out, you just wanted to enjoy the company of your partner for the day. Shadow was often busy, but he tried his best to make every moment he was home a memorable one. You took a glance at the window, the sky had already begun to darken, splashes of pink and orange painting the previously blue canvas as the sun kissed the horizon. Doubt was creeping in despite how many times you told yourself Shadow never broke promises. He has made you many promises throughout your relationship, and he has not broken one, yet.

A white flash assaulted your retinas, you instinctively screwed your eyes shut until it was over. Shadow stood just in the entryway of the living room, his lips resting in a fine line and his brows naturally furrowed.

"Welcome home." You sighed, leaning your chin against your palm. Maybe he forgot what day it was, that made you disappointed. Shadow didn't seem like someone who forgets days that are important to you, he tries his best to be the perfect partner for you, despite him being very closed off. He is not good with words, but he makes up for it through actions. There has been instances in your relationship where you become frustrated with him because you cant quite understand what goes on through his head, and he doesn't tell you. In these moments Shadow will get quiet, approach you with a soft look in his eyes and tell you he's sorry, all while peppering kisses along your face. This is usually enough to make you forgive him.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Shadow begin to approach. You were expecting an excuse as to why he had been gone all day, followed up by an apology. His gloved hand outstretched toward you, beckoning you to take it. You looked up with a quirked brow to see a fond smile dancing across his lips. "I want to take you somewhere."

Slowly, you placed your hand in his, and he gave you a gentle yet firm squeeze as he pulled you up from the couch. Excitement bubbled in your chest, was he finally taking you out? You couldn't help the grin that stretched across your lips and the giggle that escaped you as Shadow swooped you into his arms, carrying you bridal style.

"Close your eyes, it's a surprise." His breath was warm against your ear, you could feel the vibrations from his chest as he spoke. You obliged, letting your eyes flutter shut.

"Is this my valentines surprise?"

"You'll see." You felt the soft sensation of his lips on your forehead for a split moment before it was gone, you yearned for more. Shadows grasp on you tightened before you heard him call out 'Chaos Control', behind your closed lids you could see the bright flash, and you clung onto him as the world around you began to warp and change.

The soft thud of Shadows feet planting on the ground broke the silence, next came the soft chirping of birds and a gentle cool breeze. You shivered, nuzzling into the warmth of your boyfriend, who chuckled at you. "Are we there yet?"

"Yes, you may open your eyes now." Shadow slowly set you onto your feet, keeping his hand on your lower back until you could balance yourself. You let your eyes peel open and take in your surroundings, a soft gasp escaping from your lips. In front of you was a small, but fancy diner you always dreamt of coming to. It emitted an intimate and elegant atmosphere with its dark colors, and warm overhead lighting. From outside of the glass entrance doors you could see empty two seater tables that had fancy white cloths draped over them. On top of the tables were menus, empty wine glasses and a lit candle in the middle. You stared in awe, mouth slightly agape before you spun to face shadow.

"You shouldn't have! I mean really, this place is so expensive and, gosh, this is for, like, anniversary dinners-"

"Price does not matter to me. You are always talking about this diner and how much you would love to eat here one day, that day is today. I'm sorry for being absent all day, it was much harder to rent out the place than I thought." He cut you off with a shake of his head, stepping forward and taking your hand into his. He wore a fond smile as he placed a kiss on your knuckles. "You deserve to eat at all of the fancy restaurants you desire." His half-lidded gaze set butterflies off in your stomach, and you felt heat quickly form on your cheeks.

"Thank you, Shadow. This is really sweet of you." You offered him a warm smile before he started leading you inside. Upon stepping in, warm air hugged you like a blanket, immediately soothing the chills you had from being outside. A hostess greeted you both and led you to your table, it was located near a window, giving you view of the setting sun over the ocean. You thanked the hostess as you sat down across from shadow, taking the menu in your fingertips and scanning through it. You hadn't expected him to rent out an entire restaurant for you two, let alone such an expensive one. You made a mental note to thank him again later. After choosing what you were going to order you placed the menu back on the table only to be greeted by a pair of crimson eyes looking at you.

"Something on my face?" You asked with a chuckle, resting your hands in your lap.

"Just admiring you." His voice was just above a whisper, he had his face leaning against his hand. Somehow, even though you two were in a relationship he never failed to make you feel like you were crushing on him all over again. He still had the ability to make you blush like crazy, and get shy with him. It was rare that Shadow acted cheesy and romantic, but when he did he had your heart racing and your face as red as a tomato. A smirk played across his lips as you blushed at his words, turning your gaze to anything but him. Not long after a waitress came and took your orders, quickly scurrying off as to not disturb your romantic evening.

While waiting for your food and drinks, you let yourself get lost in the view beside you. The sky was beginning to dark, allowing for it's stars to shine beautifully. The reflection of the sun on the water paired with the stripe of orange in the sky created a picture worthy sight. However, as you glanced back to the hedgehog in front of you, you concluded that he was the better view, one that would not disappear when night fell, one that did not change throughout the days, he remained the same, he remained perfect. Sunsets can easily be covered by gloomy clouds, shielding it's beauty from the rest of the world. There were no clouds to cover Shadows beauty, every day, he would shine brightly, like the sun to your moon, but he would never set. He was always visible to you, the warmth of his rays always there to keep your heart and soul from becoming too cold.

You watched as Shadow opened his mouth to say something, he hesitated, looked away, then looked back to you with certainty in his eyes. "I love you."

[ihaznoclue]

Just recently came across your blog and saw requests were open again! I especially love the Sonic fics in the movieverse.

I’ve seen scenarios where there was a teen!Wachowski and is essentially a sibling to them. I thought it would be cute for something like Sonic, Knuckles, and maybe even Shadow (he’d have joined the family, obviously) acting protective brothers over their human sibling since they’re not nearly as strong or durable. Any scenario would do, though I can’t help but think of if it involved dating someone and they would react like: are they cool enough? Are they strong enough? Are they working for G.U.N.???

Anywho, if you get to this, I would like to see how you write it out. Thanks!

Omg yes I was thinking about something like this and I'm all for it!

Pairings -> Sonic the Hedgehog, Kunckles the Echidna, Shadow the hedgehog x Sibling Reader (platonic)

Warnings -> None

Note -> Them being protective over their human older sibling

Genre -> Fluff

Sonic The Hedgehog

I feel like he will be the less protective one out of the three of them

He would probably ask a lot of questions though to get some information about them if you were dating someone

But in all seriousness I feel like he would help you

Since he thinks he's the most romantic guy out there

Sonics just a goof, a dork

"You have a what!?" Sonic screamed out which made you quickly cover his mouth as you shushed him

"Be quiet Sonic, Mum and Dad doesn't know yet, dad would probably freak out if I told him now" You spoke out

Sonic moved you hand as he was awe "Aww you told me before anyone else?" Sonic was so happy that you told him

"But in all seriousness, what are they like?" Sonic asked "Are they cool? Sporty? Popular?"

"Woah calm down, I will tell you everything, just don't tell the other though, I'll tell them myself soon"

"Tell me the details Sib"

Knuckles The Echidna

He would be the protective one besides Shadow

Like he doesn't want your heart to be broken by a weakling

But you reassure him that this person was really sweet and wouldn't do anything to hurt you

"A what now?" Knuckles asked, Knuckles wasn't quite familiar with the term partner so you explained it to him in a simple way

"A partner is where me and that people are together in a relationship where we love each other" You explained to him hoping he would get it

Knuckle just nodded, his face still in a frown while his arms was crossed against his chest

"Are they strong enough to protect you, If not then they are not worthy of your kindness" Knuckles huffed

You just rolled your eyes "I hope they are, but please Knuckles they are really sweet and wouldn't let anything happen to me I promise"

"Have you told the others" Knuckles asked

"I did tell Sonic, but later I will tell Shadow and hope that goes well"

"You should tell him now"

Shadow The Hedgehog

Oh boy

This was going be a long conversation with you and Shadow

Shadow was quite the grumpy and protective type

You knew he was gonna ask questions about them anyway

"Hey Shads" You greeted him while he was sitting down the comfy couch

"Hey" He gruff, as he watched the TV in front of him, "I need to tell you something"

Shadow the turned off the TV then looked at you

"Are you hurt?"

"No! no I'm not I just need to speak to you about something"

"That is?"

"I have a partner"

His ear flicked at that word, he was then processing what you just said than it finally clicked

"You mean that you are in a relationship with someone?"

You nodded "Yep" Nervously sweating

"Are they secretly working for G.U.N? Are they strong enough to protect you? What if they hurt you later in the future?"

"Woah slow down Shadow, No they don't work for G.U.N if they did then I wouldn't be with them"

Shadow stared at you then sighed

"I will be fine Shads, If anything happens I know you and the others will protect me"

-A<3

[avaredava]

Hey!!! So I was wondering if you’d be down to write Megumi smut for valentines or one of those posts with multiple characters (please include my man I would literally beg 🙏🙏🙏🙏) of doing lovey dovey things before absolutely DESTROYING y/n’s insides once the clock hits freak o clock

PUH-LEASE and thank you! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 LOVE YOUR WRITING POOKS 🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥

MERCI my love, I shall gift you your request 😖

୨୧・・・・୨୧

MDNI

Master list's

Not proof read

⯌ Sum

Megumi on valentines day (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

⯌ Wc

1.1k

⯌Warnings

Oral (m! receiving), mating press, really sweet megumi, kinda a sappy one, Light Dom/Sub dynamics, Mentions of bodily fluids, cream pies, rough sex, some people might have heard it (thin walls), moaning + whimpering, intense thrusting, raw sex (wrap before you tap ya'll), sensitivity, cleaning up, cuddling, head massages, little bit of a breeding kink, Size Kink

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Megumi has never been romantic. But when he saw you pouting scrolling on Instagram looking at couples and flowers and shit like that. For some reason that made something light within him.

It made him slightly jealous, you looking at other men maybe wishing it was him. Yeah fuck, he has to change that. He quickly goes to the mall hoping Nobara wouldn't see him that would be fucking embarrassing.

He ran into a flower shop with a black hoodie on with the hood up and hands in pockets trying to get this over with. But then he saw the most gorgeous lively roses ever.

They were perfect just like you.

But they weren't special. So he went to a dollar store and grabbed some art supplies. He realized how down he is for a girl but then again, you aren't just some girl.

That's how he ended up sitting at his desk in his dorm with his tongue poking out more concentrated then ever making some flowers that you can always keep and they will never die and they are made by him.

Gojo walks in and he jumps out of concentration and burns himself with the hot glue gun. And he hissed and glared at Gojo. "I'm a little busy here."

"Aw, are you making stuff for your little girlfriend? You both are the cutest sorcerers! My little babies are getting so much older!" He wiped his dry cheeks like he was crying. God this man was annoying.

"Take her to the fancy Italian place she loves it! And take this." Gojo gives his black card to him and skips off. He rolls his eyes but he does remember you talking about that place.

_

He finished the flowers with different coloured and shaped paper made flowers, and pipe cleaners as stems. He tied them together with some pink string making a bow with the flowers in between.

He walks to your dorm and opens the door to sleeping on the ground. He lets out a smile and a huff. He shakes you awake with a kiss and kisses your forehead.

You wake up and get up and take the flowers. "Aw 'Gumi..." You kiss his face and he scowls. His heart was fluttering his cheeks with a pink haze, he did actually really like it so he didn't pull away.

"Okay that's enough." He mumbles with a grumpy look on his face but he kisses your head anyway.

"I love them they must've took so long..." He gently smiles and nods. "Why wouldn't I?" You smile then you like out a small gasp of excitement.

You grab a white hoodie with red lipstick kisses in sections on it and give it to him. "I love it baby." He does that small smile of his that makes your heart flutter.

He takes off his original sweater he had on without a shirt under showing his abs. You stop him from putting the new sweater on. You brush across his happy tail pulling at his sweats dropping to your knees.

His cheeks go that pretty red as you take his pale pinkish cock out. You kiss the tip and his hips jolt. He lets out a breathy moan that makes your thighs clench.

You both of your dorms are on either side of Yuji's and one bad thing is that Yuji is in it right now. You grab his thigh trying to make him more quiet. But god you love his noises.

You bob your head along his cock, he falls against the bed behind him laying flat with his eyes fully shut with you still sucking.

He's letting out harsh pants trying to get quieter but it just made the tension hotter. Him sexier. You sucked harder like trying to make the most purple hickey making him let out the sweetest moan and cum.

"Fuck- I love you, felt so good." He babbled. It felt good that he was in the position you're usually in. You crawl up beside him and tuck his sweaty head in your stomach caressing his hair.

His eyes are heavy, and of course they shut instantly after him falling asleep. His face is gentle and not scrunched up like normal. It's calm and cute.

You realized he was kinda loud and you chuckled softly. You know Yuji's gonna be a pain later. He's not the kinda neighbour that complains when it's loud sex. More make fun.

He eventually waked him and snuggled closer, completely oblivious to the fact he's being fucking adorable and not tough and stubborn.

_

After getting him cleaned up you both went to that Italian place with Gojo's card of course.

The whole time you both were eating he thought about how you made him seem pathetic and how he is gonna get you fucking bad.

Ruin every single part of you till everyone around the dorms knows you're getting dicked down.

That's how you ended up with your legs on his shoulders with your knees pushing against your tits and your hands rubbing his back. You would never scratch at his back his skin's too sensitive.

You love him too much for that.

But your hands on his skin is enough to getting him thrusting fast. His hips snapping at a frightening, fast pace. He pushes you into a tighter mating press his tip massaging your sweet spots making you whimper so sweetly for him.

His breath is hot against your neck as he pants making you holler more and tighten around his dick. "F-Fuck your tight!" He gasps into your ear.

Your throat is raw from moaning and screaming. Now you're just letting out little gasps and whining. "You're so deep." You muster up to say in a quiet voice.

Since Megumi's hitting it raw and of course he has manners he mumbles. "Let me cum inside please Y/N." With that tone how could you say no? You nod.

He cums inside warming your walls you squeeze around his cock cumming with him for the nth time tonight. But his dick was getting to sensitive and your joints were starting to hurt so he pulled out.

Cum drizzles out of your hole making him massage your thighs feeling slightly bad for wearing you out. But then again that was the objective.

He kissed your forehead while wiping your pussy with a warm cloth making sure you're clean. He pulled the blankets up holding you close. He massages your head whispering,

"Happy valentines day."

[wordsofyore]

Yandere Neighbor! Konig x Fem. Reader

You are used to cooking for your whole family, but now that you live alone, you find yourself inexplicably cooking more food than you need, and given the limited space in your second-hand fridge, you decide to just share the extra bites with your giant, quiet neighbor.

He's... intimidating, what with his height (seriously, you don't think you've seen anyone this tall), and the weird dark hood covering his face. But those eyes, those sad, baby blue eyes does something to you. He goes from this titan-who-can-singlehandedly-crush-your-skull image to an oversized, unloved stray dog in your mind, once you actually get to interact with him.

The poor guy seems like he's struggling to come up with a reply when you shove a whole box of freshly cooked spaghetti to his face with an apologetic smile, explaining the situation. You see his eyes widen before hesitantly accepting the dish, his calloused hand accidentally brushing against yours in the process. You can't help but feel your cheeks heat up at the contact. Clearing your throat, you take the chance to finally introduce yourself properly. He murmurs your name under his breath, and you don't question the rather strange name he gives you in return. You're curious, but decide it's best to not get too deep into someone else's business. It's good enough for you to not feel the awkwardness when you pass by each other in the hallways, exchanging nods and smiles (at least you do, anyways).

There's this one time you can't open a jar of pickles, and just as you start missing the way you could rely on your dad for things like this, you suddenly remember Konig. It's a little embarrassing, but you decide it was well worth the effort, just for the sake of satisfying your cravings. So you pad over to his door, knock twice on his door, and he's right before you, looking down at you with what you discern is a mix of curiosity and confusion. You explain your predicament, and he's immediately reaching out for the jar and opens it with a single try. You blush under his now amused gaze, thanking him under your breath before you head back to your apartment with your tail tucked between your legs (you end up sharing some food out of goodwill just a bit later).

Neighbor Konig is useful to have around, to say the very least. He fixes your leaking pipes, and kills bugs for you when you're too freaked out to go near one. You feel some reassurance knowing he's nearby, especially when you realize someone's stalking you, breaking into your apartment, and sifting through your clothes (you were sure you were missing a pair of panties or two).

It's especially scary when you wake up and find your window open all the way when you were sure you had it closed tight the night before. Your landlord merely shrugs helplessly when you ask for extra security, and they're still just as useless when some pipe bursts in your unit, leaving the place flooded and the little worldly possessions you have water-damaged. But that's when your personal hero shows up, your giant, blue-eyed neighbor, offering you a place to tuck your head in while your place gets fixed up. You can't help but hug the guy as you feel yourself break down under all the stress. In return, he says something in German as he gently pats your back.

It's... nice, to have someone around you as you settle into a temporary routine. You both cook side by side in the kitchen, share meals and stories, and watch TV or play board games in the evenings. All is well and good until you sort out the shared laundry and find the missing underwear. At least, you think it's the one you owned... but Konig was a pleasant guy, surely he wouldn't... Sure, you don't ever hear him mentioning any girlfriends or anything of the sort, but maybe, just maybe, it was something someone left behind at his place. Yeah, that could very well be the case, you shouldn't assume the worst, especially when the guy was looking out for you like this...

To Konig, you are a little ray of sunshine. A beacon of hope and light and all things sweet and fragile in his bleak existence. He had more or less accepted that he would live out the rest of his life as an outcast, ignored and feared and ridiculed. To have been noticed by a sweet, shy thing like you was already more than he deserved. To get a taste of what it'd be like to have a little wife, he should say it was enough, but... it wasn't. No, rather, it opened the gates to a chasm inside of him that wanted to devour you whole and not leave a crumb behind for anyone else.

So, please forgive him for all the things he's doing to catch you in his net. Sure, he was a dirty old colonel who kills people for money, but he sure as hell can take care of a pretty little thing like you, give you the life you deserve, free from worries about bills and shitty bosses. Free from having to deal with boys who won't treat you nice. You wouldn't mind him putting a few bullets through their heads, would you?

[seasprincess]

Spencer Reid x reader. !fluff

Synopsis: a certain agent has picked up on a little chemistry between you and genius

warnings: none

Spencer Reid is a genius. Everyone knows it. With his 187 IQ, ability to read 20,000 words per minute and knowledge on so many subjects.

But they all mean nothing when you’re involved.

He shouldn’t get like this around you. Get all flustered and shy. Tripping over words when his eyes lock with yours. Watching as you bat your eyelashes at him when he goes on one of his rambles. Everyone else wants him to be quiet, but you? You look and listen to him like he's a prophet and you're his die hard follower.

But as Spencer lacks in the relationship department it means he doesn't catch onto the way you flirt with him. The way you smile and laugh a bit too hard at his jokes the rest of the team didn’t even crack a smile for. He’s blind when it comes to all the signs that you like him back.

But the rest of the team isn’t blind to those eyes you give him. For them it’s like watching a cartoon character’s eyes turn into hearts everytime you look at the genius.

But there’s one person on the team who notices these little glances between you too. Notices the way Spencer stares at you. And he’s decided to play cupid.

Ladies man Derek Morgan is sat across from you on the jet. Smirking as he gestures for you to take off the headphones that were blasting some new pop song.

“Yeah?” You say as you look at him, slightly on edge because of the muscular man's smirk. His eyes show that this conversation is going to make you uncomfortable. Thank god the rest of the team are either asleep or distracted doing something else.

“So you and Reid. What's going on?” The agent says as he tilts his head slightly. Of course he’s going to use his detective skills to use and analyse you.

With his words your cheeks heat up like the plane had suddenly just got really warm. You feel warm. A blush spread across your cheeks too. Usually you'd try to play off these reactions. And you're gonna do just that now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try to stay calm, try to not show that his words are affecting you. Why is he asking anyway? Has Reid asked about you? Oh god what if he thinks you're weird? What if Morgan tells him?

“You very much do know what I’m talking about.”

You sigh and put your hands over your face, trying to block out the smirking man that’s asking you the question that makes you want to run home and hide your face in a pillow.

“Is it that obvious?” You say as you look over at Spencer who is fast asleep. He's in the fetal position on the sofa. His arm propped under his head as a makeshift pillow. Completely knocked out from the latest case. He looks so calm which is not a usual look. He’s usually moving about or his mind is running at a million miles per hour. Seeing him like this makes your heart clench, he looks so cute and sweet and-oh my god. You've got it bad.

“It’s obvious to everyone but pretty boy.” Derek’s eyes glance to sleeping Spencer. Not looking at him with the same admiration as you.

You groan again as your forehead is placed on the table in front of you. Work strictly bans relationships between two members but there was no way in denying nor moving past the little situationship between you and the smart guy of the team. You could try to hide it but you'd never be able to get over it. Neither would he. You’re both whipped for each other in whatever geeky way that you both can be.

Spencer and you both being geeky when it comes to your interests meant you both like the same things and that you understand some of his references. Heavy on the some, cause sometimes you have no idea what he’s talking about. His references are just a bit too niche for you to grasp.

“Talk to him.” Derek says casually. Like he hasn't asked you to do one of the most stressful things you can think of involving your personal life.

“Absolutely not.” You reply as you say as you sit up straight in the seat. The jet finally coming in to land after what feels like a

“You gotta do it or you’ll regret it.” He doesn’t give you time to fire back before he leaves your gossip spot, presumably heading for the exit. Which is where he’s going. Not before he hits the sleeping boy's knee to wake him up, making your plan of sneaking past him nearly impossible. Derek just flashes you a smirk before exiting.

Sencer rubs his eyes as he slowly sits up, not wanting to move too quickly to avoid feeling dizzy. He glances down at his watch to only realise he had slept practically the whole journey. People walk past him, saying their goodbyes as he says bye too. Not coherent as he's still sleepy. He looks around the jet before his eyes land on you. You were packing up your things, getting ready to go back to your apartment and probably just crash. The case was really hard on all of you. But Spencer knows you struggle to sleep on planes otherwise he knows you would be fast asleep.

“Good nap?” You say with that sweet smile of yours that makes Spencer’s heart just melt. He has completely and utterly fallen for you. He looks at you softly. His brown eyes look at you softly. From your point of view it’s like looking into a deer's eyes. The big brown orbs looking at you with the sweetest look you've ever seen. But of course you’ll brush it off with the fact it’s because he’s just woken up and not because he could possibly like you.

“Oh um, can’t complain. Other than the fact I have more of my book to read now before I can sleep. Again.” Spencer likes to read a certain amount each night. Not that it takes him any significant amount of words per minute. He could do it in about three minutes.

Spencer reaches down to grab his book that had fallen to the ground due to his snooze.

“Hey so, um, I was wondering.” You say quickly before you can take it back and stop yourself. You know you need to get it out before you change your mind.

“Go for it.” He says with a smile. Standing up and looking into your eyes.

And your brain just melts, you can’t help it. You freeze on the spot and suddenly this seems like a really bad idea. It would be too awkward if he rejected you. What if he thought you were weird? Oh god. This is not a good idea.

“It can wait till tomorrow.” You say, covering up the emotions behind the words you wish you could say. “I’ll see you then. Good night.”

Spencer doesn’t get a chance to react before you've left.

And all he can do is wonder what the hell you were gonna say.

And what he wishes he could’ve said to you.

Part 2 soon…

a/n: not proof read😛

@littlelamy

[weird-is-life]

First date charm

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x singlemom!reader

Summary: You think that Bucky is too good for you

Warnings: fluff, mentions of food, like one swear word

Words: 1.1k

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

I'm so sorry, James... but I don't think I'll be able to make it to the restaurant today. Again, I'm really sorry, I don't think i'll be able to see you anymore. You send a text to James Barnes.

The babysitter cancelled on you last minute, and with nobody else to watch your son you had to cancel the date.

Yes, you were definitely bummed about it because the first day with him was pretty much perfect. He was such a gentleman, and it felt like you could talk to him about anything. And it was like you could see him in your future immediately.

But you can't escape the nagging feeling that Bucky deserves better than you, than a single mom with a kid. Even though it hurts you more than you can admit.

Bucky feels devastated when he reads your text. He doesn't know what he did wrong. He thought the things were going great?

It was Sam that put you two together, and at first Bucky wanted to throttle him for setting up the date without asking Bucky first.

But after the first date Bucky was more than thankful. You were so kind and lovely and beautiful, and on Bucky's mind all the time since the date.

So he doesn't know what's happened. He tries to call you like 3 times, hoping for more of an explanation than only that text. He even texts you a few more times.

He starts to get worried when you don't respond. He would be thankful even if you just picked up the phone to tell him to fuck off, but you don't, and it drives him crazy.

He waits for your response for 2 hours, debating on just going up to your apartment to see if you are okay.

But after the 2 hours it gets too much for him. His mind going to the worst possible scenarios. He can't help it. The years of trauma don't make it easy for him to live, and not worry.

He gets to your apartment pretty quickly, his motorcycle makes it easy to speed through traffic. He paces nervously in front of the building, maybe he shouldn't have come here.

He contemplates for a few more minutes, and then rings the bell. Maybe you will think that he's crazy psychopath for showing up at your doorsteps, but he has to make sure you're okay.

You don't expect anybody to ring the bell to your apartment as soon as you put your son to sleep. You definitely don't expect to hear Bucky's voice from the intercom.

His soft 'can I come up?' makes your heart flatter, and you buzz him in. He's up the stairs on your floor quickly. And of course, he has a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"James, what are you doing here?" you ask quietly. He looks so handsome for the cancelled date, and it makes you feel even worse.

"I'm sorry for showing up...You weren't answering your phone, and-and I was worried." He looks apologetically at you.

"My phone....oh-" you quickly dissappear into your apartment, searching for your phone.

Bucky doesn't mean to snoop, but with the door wide open he notices all of the toys and kids stuff. His mouth goes dry a bit.

"I'm sorry, James, I had my phone on quiet.....," you stop talking when you follow Bucky's gaze. His eyes roaming all over the things.

"What's all this? You have a kid?"  Bucky looks baffled, like he just saw a ghost in front of him.

"Yes." You admit, guilt for not telling him all over your face. You thought that Sam had told Bucky about Teo, but you realised on the date that he hadn't.

You wanted to tell him, you really did. But you just wanted to see how the first date goes first. And in between the first and the second date the thoughts of Bucky being too good for you settled in your mind.

I mean, he's so charming, and probably the nicest man you have ever met. He's also so so respectful. And god, he's so handsome as well, those piercing blue eyes? To die for...

"I wanted to tell you, Bucky. I just....you deserve someone else. Not me with a kid. I-I loved our date, but I know what guys think about women with kids. It's not very attractive...," you sigh. You have experienced rejections from guys because of Teo before.

"Wait, wait, wait, doll. Did I give you the impression that I'd care about such things?" Bucky almost immediately asks. "I don't care that you have a kid, I like you, and I loved the date with or without knowing that you have a kid."

"You say that now, but what about when-" he interrupts you before you can finish.

"Doll, I like you! How about we just take it one date at a time, yeah? Let's see where this goes?" Bucky tries to reason with you. He doesn't want to let you go without even getting to know you properly. Like fuck, he hasn't felt this kind of connection in a long, long time.

"Are you sure? 'Cause I'd understand if not, I really would," you try to give him a smile to convince him (and yourself) which doesn't really work.

Bucky slowly takes your hand into his, and squeezes your hand in reassurance, "I'm very sure. I like you, and I don't know If I should be a little offended that you thought I'd mind that you are a mom.."

His attempt at lightening the mood is successful. You chuckle at his words, and he gives you a smile in return.

You eye the bouquet of the flowers in his other hand,"are those for me?"

"Who else?" Bucky murmurs teasingly as he hands you the beautiful flowers.

"Thank you, Bucky. They are beautiful," you say sheepishly, "but I still can't go on the date today. There's nobody who can watch Teo." You tell him a little disappointed.

"No, that's okay, doll. I just wanted to make sure that we were okay, but more importantly that you were okay. I should go tho," he says, and leans down bravely to kiss your cheek goodbye.

He can see your cheeks go rosy instantly. The blush making you even more pretty.

"W-wait, Bucky," you catch his hand before he can turn away, " you could stay, Teo is asleep....we could order pizza or-or whatever you like." You almost face slap yourself for acting like some unsure teenager in love. Stammering over your words.

Bucky thinks it over for a few seconds before he smiles at you," I'd love to, and pizza sounds fantastic."

"Great, c'mon." You happily pull him after you inside the apartment while apologising for all the mess. But Bucky couldn't care less about that, he's just more than happy he gets to spend time with you again.

[flippinpancakes64]

The Wobbly Third Wheel

Summary: You and Steven have been going strong for a couple of months now. The only bump in the road is Marc, who for some reason, can't even seem to be cordial with you...

Marc Spector x Reader-centric, fluff and a lot of angst, mostly just a look at Marc's character

Note: I'm finally branching out past Twilight someone take a picture omg. But this is my first try writing for something different, so hopefully it goes well. I saw a Moon Knight edit on TikTok and now I'm back in my MK phase so... Anyways Enjoy!

In the beginning, you told yourself it was just him getting used to you.

Steven already told you all about Marc's past. His history with his mom which led to Steven's creation, the whole situation with Layla, Khonshu, being Moon Knight, basically everything.

So you weren't all that surprised when the grumpy American didn't exactly want to be your best friend. That's fair after all. You never asked to be best friends.

What you did ask, though, was for something like a mutual respect. A peaceful coexistence where you could both exist in your own spaces and interact in a kind way if you needed to.

Only, Marc seemed hellbent on, well, giving you hell.

He would go out of his way to order food for himself and not you, even if you were sitting on the couch right across from him. There have been a couple of times where you and Steven were out on a date, and Marc suddenly fronted. He would walk off, leaving you stranded and frantically searching for your boyfriend without any explanation or apology later on.

But the worst were the nights.

You had spent the night at Steven's place again, and it was currently the middle of the night. The moon was high in the sky, and London was quiet. You two were intertwined like vines, one of your legs between Steven's, his arms wrapped around your body in turn. It was hard to distinguish where you ended and he began.

It was nice, everything was peaceful.

Until Marc woke up.

He slowly blinked his eyes open, scanning their bedroom for anything that might have caused him to wake up. Finding none, he looked down at you.

And promptly got up.

That was always one of the worst things he did. Whenever you and Steven would be cuddling, or hanging out, or even just talking, if Marc fronted, he would always leave like there was a fire. Never an explanation, never a warning, just a complete tonal shift.

You know the boys can't necessarily control who comes forward, when they do, or how long they stay out. You know they have some level of control over it, but not a whole lot. And the way Marc looks at you when he suddenly fronts definitely leads you to believe that he's not the one behind the switch.

The surprise, followed by annoyance and slight disgust. His signature look whenever he saw you.

Marc roughly twisted out of your hold, not really paying any mind to if it woke you up or not. He sat up on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair and sighing as if he just got off a long shift.

Truth be told, he doesn't really know why he pushes you away like he does. He thinks you're nice enough. And clearly you love Steven. But there's just something about it, about even entertaining the idea of holding someone else close just like how he used to hold Layla.

Steven sometimes catches him fidgeting with his bare ring finger, running his fingertips over the indent left by his wedding band from all those years ago.

Layla moved on a long time ago, so why can't he? He doesn't know, and he doesn't really want to look too far deep into himself to figure it out.

You moved on the bed, groaning softly as you reached out for him. No, not him- Steven. You were reaching out for Steven. And he doesn't really want to think about the way his heart clenched when he thought of that.

"Steven," you groaned, your eyes blinking open sleepily as you turned to face him on the bed. His back was to you, but you recognized the tense line of his shoulders. The way his head was perpetually hung low like he was always guilty. Always a poor puppy waiting for another kick to land.

"Not Steven," he responded, his voice low and quiet. He wanted to be gruffer, to make himself sound tougher than he really did in that moment. But his body betrayed him, something it's been doing for years now.

"Marc," you whispered. He could hear you shuffling around on the bed, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that you were now sitting up. No closer to him than before, still giving him the space he needed. He appreciated that.

"Just... just go back to bed," he sighed, running his hand over his face tirelessly. It was too late for this bullshit. Too late to be having a late night conversation with his alternate personality's partner who he's slowly starting to develop feelings for too.

"Are you alright?" you asked, your voice infinitely caring. So caring and kind and understanding that it grated on him.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed," he grumbled, moving to stand up.

"Wait," you called, grabbing his arm before he could go too far. "Please, can we just talk?"

"We have nothing to talk about. I'm not your boyfriend," he gritted, his voice tight.

He could hear your tired sigh, and he felt his heart clench at being the source of your sadness.

"I know you're not, but you're a part of him. A big part of him. Please, can't we just talk for a little bit? I'm tired of this passive-aggressive act you've had going on for weeks now," you pleaded. When he turned back to look at you, he was met with those sincere, loving eyes. The same ones he's seen through Steven's. A patient, caring gaze that you save only for those you love most. And he's part of that.

He huffs, trying his best to play the part of the annoyed, grumpy man he's always portrayed himself to be. "Fine. Talk," he grits, sitting back down on the bed and facing you.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. You realized this might be the only chance you have to change things, to at least convince Marc to be civil.

"Okay. Look, Marc, I'm not asking you to cuddle with me, or to kiss me or dote on me like Steven does. You're not him, we're not dating, I know that," you started, looking deep into his eyes. Marc hates to admit how his chest tightened at that, how he had to fight back the urge to do exactly that.

"All I'm asking is that we can coexist. I love Steven, and I want to be able to spend time with him without feeling like I'm intruding on your space," you continued.

"You are intruding on my space. This is my apartment, this is my bed, you're wearing my clothes," Marc grits before he can stop himself. The way you sigh and bow your head afterward makes him want to hurt someone. Mostly himself.

"I know... I'm... I'm sorry. I promise, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. That's what I'm trying to get at. But I can't work with you if you don't work with me," you pleaded.

He wants to scream. He wants to tell you that you're always welcome, that you don't need to work around him. But he can't. His pride is too fragile, his ego too small. To turn around now would be to wound himself.

"Well I don't know what you want me to do," he settled on instead. A non-answer he always gave Layla when they argued. It had the same effectiveness now as it did back then, which is not much.

"All I want is some communication. I'm not very good at picking up the differences between you two yet. And sometimes it happens so quickly I can't catch it. It's jarring, you know? To be cuddling your boyfriend one minute and then the next minute he just gets up and leaves with no explanation," you said, your voice dripping with worry and sorrow.

"So what do you want me to say?" he gritted. He needs to backpedal, he needs to go back, but he can't stop himself. "'Hey, it's not Steven anymore, so fuck off,'? Is that what you want me to say? 'Hey, it's Marc, get out of my goddamn apartment, I don't want you here and have never wanted you here'? Do you want me to tell you that you're a nuisance? That you take away from my limited alone time because you're always fucking here? That I can't get a moment's peace?"

The look on your face told him everything he needed to know. The lines between your brows, the slight purse of your lips, the wobble of your chin.

"If... if that's what you want to say, then go for it," you whispered, barely hiding the hurt in your voice. No, no, no. He doesn't want you to cry, he's never wanted you to cry.

But this is just who he is.

He's Marc Spector. Moon Knight. The guy who always manages to fuck up everything good that comes his way. The guy who ruined not only his life, but has managed to fuck up Steven's too. The one his broken brain made to be the good one, the one who was supposed to be happy and live a good life away from all of their trauma, he pulled him into it too. And now they're both broken. Everything he touches breaks, and clearly, you're no exception.

Your hand on his shoulder that pulled him back down into the bed, the one that urged him to keep talking, that was when fate was set. And the proof is right in front of him.

The love of his life, his second chance at happiness, crumbling to pieces in front of his eyes.

And yet all he could do was watch.

A tear slipped down your cheek, falling from those eyes that hold so much love, so much patience. He knows if he watched long enough, all the love that you held in there for him would disappear too, so he looked away.

He didn't say anything after that, he just got back up off the bed and stalked out to the kitchen. You were left to tremble silently, to reel and mull over what he just said.

The next day, Steven told you that he didn't mean it. He reassured you that Marc doesn't hate you, but you don't believe it. From your eyes, Marc has only ever pushed you away.

This is what always happens. Marc breaks your heart over and over again, constantly proving that he doesn't love you.

But when it's the dead of night, you don't notice your boyfriend's arms tightening around you. You don't hear the whispered confessions of love that slip from his mouth, missing that signature British accent. You don't feel the hesitant kisses he places on your cheeks and forehead, ghosts of affection that he believes aren't supposed to be there.

Marc thrives here, in the shroud of darkness where no one, not even Khonshu, can see the love in his eyes. No one can hear the vulnerability in his voice. No one sees the tremble of his hands or the reverence they hold. And no one, not even Steven, can feel the longing for love inside of him.

[vantetaes]

FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS🫧🥂

ATHLETE ONYANKOPON X TUTOR BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! yn is forced to tutor her colleges golden boy, onyankopon

WARNINGS!!! slow burn, enemies to lovers, mild vougerism, pet names

on a rainy tuesday, the sky hangs low and gray, smothering the campus in a damp chill.

you’re sitting in the library, tucked into a corner where the light from a nearby lamp casts a golden glow across the wooden table. books and papers are scattered in front of you, your pen tapping rhythmically against the spine of a well-worn calculus textbook. the library is quiet except for the faint hum of the central heating and the soft rustle of pages being turned.

then, you hear it. heavy footsteps, a bag dragging along the polished floors. you glance up to see onyankopon striding in, his broad shoulders swaying under a damp varsity jacket. his forehead still wet from the rain, beads of water slipping down his neck and soaking into the collar of his gray hoodie and his large jeweled necklace. his black sweatpants hang low on his hips, the fabric wrinkled and casual.

he doesn’t even apologize as he plops into the chair across from you, his duffel bag hitting the floor with a loud thud. a few drops of water splashing into your work surface.

his presence is immediate, commanding, and unwelcome.

“you’re late.” you say flatly, folding your arms.

he doesn’t look at you as he leans back, his long legs stretching out beneath the table.

“yeah, well, traffic. i’m here now. isn’t that what matters?”

“not when you’re fifteen minutes late. i could be doing something better than this.” you push the calculus textbook toward him, your tone clipped.

“let’s just get started. i don’t have time to waste.”

“psht- sure.” he mumbles lowly, spreading legs wider, leaning back in his chair, arms tucked into his hoodie pocket, hood shielding his eyes.

“you’re awfully cocky for someone failing calculus.” he rears up, eyes narrowing at you.

“and you have a lot of mouth for a tutor.” his frame began leaning forward, his irritating smile beginning to form across his lips.

“be an asshole all you want. i’m what’s separating you and the championship. i separate you and your incompetent little scouts. watch what you say.” his eyes relax from shooting daggers, instead of look of defeat crossing.

“open your book to 215.”

-

the first few sessions are a disaster.

he spends more time cracking jokes and scrolling on his phone, flirting with the library assistants. rather than actually studying. half-listening, scribbling answers in the margins of his workbook with barely any effort.

you were stuck in a loop of wanting to rip the boys head off and reassuring yourself that this would look good on your record.

“what’s the point of this, anyway?” he mutters late one evening, slouched over the table in his usual hoodie, varsity jacket combo and sweatpants.

the library’s soft lighting and sunset through the large windows makes his skin look warm, his dark brown eyes glinting with something that isn’t quite interest but isn’t boredom either. licking his plump lips as he goes to lean back in the chair, pen tucked behind his ear.

“not like i’m not gonna use this in real life.”

“knowing you, maybe not.” you reply, your voice sharp, placing the tip of your red pen down on his paper, marking everything wrong on his sheet.

“but for now, you’ll use it to keep playing football. or do you want to sit out the champs because you couldn’t be bothered to learn how to integrate a function? all the money your parents spend for you to go here, make use.” your tone was straight and nonchalant. sliding over the paper to the man as if it’s confidential files. his eyes scan all the red x’s and o’s. noticing it was the majority of his work.

“do you always talk like this? no wonder no one sits with you in class.” he gives you a look, one eyebrow raised.

the words sting, but you don’t let it show.

“nigga we’re grown. this isn’t high school anymore, onyankopon. maybe people would like you more if you weren’t so fucking obnoxious.”

his grin is infuriating, lips stretching across his face. letting out a chuckle.

“oh, they like me just fine, sweetheart.”

“and i hope to be as delusional as you someday.”

despite your attitude towards each other, you find yourself noticing small things about him.

the way he fiddles with the drawstring of his hoodie when he’s frustrated. index finger and thumb nipping at the metal tips. the way his voice softens, just barely, when he asks you to explain something again, pushing his glasses up. breath hitching when you slide from your side of the table casually, the fabric of your sweater falling slightly over your shoulder. he thought you smelled like fresh baked cookies, maybe a contrast with the way your attitude was. you’d notice the faint scar above his left eyebrow, visible only when the light from the library’s lamp hits it just right.

one day, the library is too crowded, filled to the brim with worried college students, and he suggests meeting in his dorm instead. you hesitate but agree, figuring it’ll be easier than finding another spot in the cramped exam season.

when you arrive, his room is a mess. clothes tossed over the back of a chair, textbooks and playbooks stacked haphazardly on his desk, the faint scent of cologne and sweat lingering in the air.

“sorry about the mess. been trying to keep up with everything.” he says, scratching the back of his neck. he’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt and joggers today, hair protected in a dark maroon durag. his feet padding softly against the carpet as he moves to clear his clothes from his bed to his laundry basket tucked into his closet.

you couldn’t help but notice he’s moving erratically, eyes and hands unable to find a steady place to stay.

“onyankopon.” you reply, setting your bag down. “we can always reschedule, maybe you’re working yourself too hard.”

“no. we can do it just let me straighten up, swear.” your eyes drift from the man rushing to clean, to a pile of crushed red bulls, celcius cans, and empty americano cups. his calendar was packed full of activities and sports events he was mandated to attend. lists of exams growing. he’s running on nothing but caffeine.

“onyankopon.” you say, crossing your arms, your voice tight with concern.

“you’re running on nothing but coke and sheer panic.”

he laughs, though it’s short and breathless, as if acknowledging the truth in your words would be admitting defeat.

“nah, i’m fine. i’ve got it. i always do.”

you don’t respond right away, instead watching as he swipes stray clothes off the only other chair in the room and dumps them onto his bed. his hands move quickly with hangers, his jaw tight, his movements too sharp to be natural. you realize it’s not just the caffeine, it’s everything. the weight of expectations. the need to perform, to stay on top.

“sit down.” you finally say, your voice firm.

“what?” he looks up, his dark eyes blinking in confusion.

“sit. down.” you gesture to his unmade bed, the rumpled gray sheets twisted like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks.

“take five minutes to breathe before you collapse. i’m serious.”

“i don’t have time to—” he hesitates, his fingers twitching like they’re itching to pick up something else, to keep moving, to do anything other than pause.

“make time. you can’t keep going like this.” you cut him off, your tone sharper than you intend.

his shoulders sag, and for the first time, you see a crack in the cocky, untouchable facade he always wears. slowly, he sinks onto the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he rubs a hand down his face.

“it’s just… a lot,” he admits, his voice quieter now.

“if i don’t keep up, i’ll fall behind. and if i fall behind- then…”

“then what?” you press, stepping closer.

“the world ends? the team loses one player for a game? you fail a test? what’s the worst that happens?”

“everyone’s counting on me.” he says, the words heavy.

“the team, the coaches, the professors. hell, even my parents. if i screw this up-” voice cracking, he trails off, shaking his head.

you feel something in your chest twist, a mixture of frustration and sympathy. you’d always seen onyankopon as larger than life, the guy who has it all together. but here he was, cracking under the weight of his own perfectionism.

“look-” you say, your voice softer now. “i get it. people expect a lot from you. but you can’t give them anything if you’re running on fumes, onya. you need to take care of yourself too, okay?”

he looks up at you, his dark eyes searching yours, and for a moment, he’s quiet. then, he gives a small, tired smile.

“you’re bossy, you know that?”

“you’re stubborn.” you counter, sitting down across from him and sliding your notebook back into the bag.

“im serious though. drink some water, eat something. we can pick up next week before exams start.”

as the week goes by, something shifts. it’s subtle at first: he starts showing up on time, asking questions that prove he’s actually been paying attention. during one session, you catch him staring at you. not in his usual teasing way, but with an expression you can’t quite place.

“what?” you snap, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

“nothing. just wondering what you’d look like if you smiled once in a while.” he shrugs, his lips curving into a small smile.

“maybe i’d smile more if you got an answer right for once.” you shoot back, jokingly tapping the side of his face. there’s no real venom in your tone.

one evening in his dorm, with BRENT FAIYAZ playing softly in the background on his laptop. he surprises you by pulling out a red notebook filled with neatly written equations.

“i’ve been practicing.” he says, his voice almost shy.

“you… did this on your own?” you blink a few times, caught off guard. fingers flipping carefully through the work.

“yeah. figured you’d yell at me less if i tried.”

for the first time, you see a different side of him. he’s still cocky, still quick with a comeback, but there’s something vulnerable beneath the surface. it’s infuriating, how much you notice.

you find yourself in his dorm again. the rain is pounding against the window, the room dimly lit by the glow of a desk lamp. onyankopon sits across from you, his hoodie pulled low over his curls. he’s focused on the textbook in front of him, his jaw tight as he works through a problem.

you don’t know why, but your chest tightens at the sight of him like this. serious, determined, and quiet in a way that feels rare.

“you’re getting it.” you say softly, and his head snaps up.

“yeah?” his voice is quieter than usual, almost hesitant.

“yeah.” you smile, just a little. “you’ll pass.”

he leans back, exhaling deeply. “good. because i don’t think i could’ve done this without you.”

you wave him off, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at his words. “just focus on your game tomorrow.”

but he doesn’t look away, his dark eyes fixed on yours. “i mean it. you’ve been there for me when no one else was.”

your breath catches, and for a moment, the space between you feels charged, electric. but you force yourself to look away, gathering your things. “you should get some rest.”

he doesn’t stop you as you leave, but the look in his eyes stays with you long after you’ve gone.

-

the stadium is alive with energy, the roar of the crowd vibrating through the crisp autumn air. the bright lights cut through the darkness, illuminating the field where onyankopon moves like he was made for this.

you’re watching from the sidelines, surrounded by screaming fans and teammates pacing anxiously, but your eyes never leave him. he’s electric tonight, faster than you’ve ever seen him, his body a blur of black and gold as he weaves through defenders. every throw is perfect, spiraling through the air before landing seamlessly in the hands of his receivers. he’s playing like a man possessed, like this is his destiny.

and maybe it is.

the final play unfolds in slow motion. clock winding down, onyankopon dodging two defenders, the pocket collapsing around him, but instead of panicking, he pivots. his cleats dig into the turf as he launches the ball downfield, his arm a perfect arc of muscle and control. the last second. the crowd holds its breath as the receiver leaps, fingers grazing the ball before pulling it into his chest.

touchdown.

the stadium erupts.

the scoreboard cements the victory, and just like that, they’ve won. the team rushes the field, helmets flying off, bodies colliding in embraces and back slaps. onyankopon stands at the center of it all, arms raised, grinning so wide it’s blinding.

you should leave. you should turn away now that your job is technically over. he passed his classes, he made it to the championship, he didn’t need you anymore. but your feet stay rooted to the ground. because despite everything, despite the way he frustrates you and how complicated everything had become, you can’t bring yourself to look away.

but neither can he.

even in the chaos, in the middle of his teammates hoisting him up like he’s their king, his eyes find you. just for a second. just long enough for something unspoken to pass between you.

with a big smile and both thumbs high, you just smile at the man.

then, suddenly, he’s swarmed. scouts in expensive suits push through the crowd, hands outstretched, voices blending together in a frenzy of opportunity.

they’re speaking fast, throwing out numbers, offers, futures that sound too big to be real. you watch as coaches shake his hand, as reporters shove microphones in his face, as his teammates thump his back with shouts of -

“that’s the nfl calling your name, bro!”

“the girls gone love this shit!”

“let’s go drink!”

-

the campus bar is packed, overflowing with students buzzing from the victory, their energy vibrating through the dimly lit space. the neon signs overhead cast a hazy glow over the crowd, bottles clinking together, voices raised in laughter and celebration over the music.

you sit at the bar, half-hidden in the shadows, nursing a drink that burns just enough to dull the tightness in your chest. your fingers trace the rim of the glass as you watch groups of students in jerseys throwing back shots, replaying onyankopon’s best plays on the tiny bar tvs like they hadn’t just witnessed them firsthand.

you should be happy. you should be celebrating too. after all, he won. he got everything he wanted.

so why does it feel like something in your chest is unraveling?

you tip your glass back, finishing the rest of your drink in one go. the ice pressing against your lips yet the warmth spreading through you like a slow burn.

“another?” the bartender asks, eyeing you curiously. almost concerned with the solemn expression that rest on your face.

you nod, sliding your glass toward her.

“yeah. something way stronger please. everclear if you have it.”

“sorry we don’t carry jet fuel.” she jokes, reaching across the counter to grab your empty glass.

the doors swing open, and the energy in the bar shifts instantly. the football team floods in, a wave of jerseys and victory-fueled adrenaline, their presence consuming the space like they own it. someone starts chanting onyankopon’s name, and the whole bar picks it up, the sound rising above the music, shaking the walls.

he walks in at the center of it all, his championship hoodie slung over his broad shoulders, his jersey still clinging to him from the game. his chain catches the light as he moves, bright white teeth grinning, dapping up teammates, accepting the endless praise with that same easy confidence.

he looks good. he always does. but there’s something sharper about him tonight. something almost restless in the way his eyes sweep across the room.

then, he sees you.

you’re still at the bar, fingers wrapped loosely around your drink, your posture relaxed but your gaze unreadable. you don’t cheer, don’t chant his name like the rest of them. you just watch, eyes batting at him and somehow, that unsettles him more than anything else.

without a word, he starts moving toward you. almost like he was gravitated towards you.

“onyan, where you going man? they wanna take shots.” one of his teammates calls, arms thrown over two girls. a small smirk crossing his face. but onyankopon barely hears him.

“shouldn’t you be celebrating with them?” you glance up when he reaches you, arching a brow.

he leans against the bar, close enough that you can smell the faint mix of cologne and sweat still clinging to him.

“i could ask you the same thing.” he says, voice low over the noise. you take a slow sip of your drink.

“i am celebrating.” he huffs a quiet laugh.

“yeah? you don’t look like it.”

“guess i don’t have as much to celebrate as you do.” you shrug, swirling the liquid in your glass, watching the ice clink against the sides.

the words shouldn’t sting, but they do.

onyankopon watches you for a long moment, then reaches past you, grabbing a random shot from the bar. he downs it quickly, barely flinching at the burn before setting the glass down with a quiet thud.

“go back, they’re waiting for you.” your finger points past the man to a group of guys staring at him and you. some of them smiling at you while others stare confused.

“ma, stop acting like this. y’know i appreciate you helping me, i couldn’t have done this without you. im serious.” his hand shoots out, taking hold of yours, bringing it up to place a small kiss on your knuckles. eyes never leaving yours.

“come take one drink with us and the you c -“ yanking your hand back, the man’s big brown eyes widen.

“baby! there you are!”

your fingers tighten around your glass as a girl slides up to onyankopon, wrapping her arms around his bicep like she belongs there.

her black minidress riding up her ass as she pressed against the man. but she’s pretty. long, sleek hair, manicured nails pressing lightly into the side of his face.

kirsten.

you’ve seen her before, walking across campus in his hoodies, sitting front row at his games, in pictures tagged on his instagram.

your stomach turns, but your face remains impassive.

“uh, hey.” onyankopon tenses, like he wasn’t expecting her, but he recovers fast. she looks up at him, pouting.

“you disappeared right after the game! i’ve been looking everywhere for you. even came by the locker room.” then, as if just noticing you, she turns, her eyes scanning you from head to toe.

her smile is polite. too polite.

“who’s this?”

before onyankopon can answer, you set your glass down and meet her gaze head-on.

“yn.”

her brows lift slightly, like the name rings a bell.

“oh-” she hums, the realization clicking in her head. she looks at onyankopon. “the tutor?”

there’s something about the way she says it that makes your jaw clench. like she’s filing you away into something insignificant.

“girl- yes. the tutor. the whole reason your fuck buddy was even able to play tonight.” you exhale slowly, keeping your tone even.

onyankopon mutters something under his breath, running a hand down his face, but kirsten just smiles, saccharine-sweet.

“right, of course. i heard you helped him so much.”

“i did, how did you?.” you arch a brow.

her smile tightens, and for a second, the two of you just stare at each other, an entire silent conversation happening in the space between. neither of you back down.

onyankopon shifts beside you, clearly uncomfortable.

“kirsten, not now.” he mutters.

but she ignores him, tilting her head at you.

“it’s just funny. you’re acting all… close, but you’re just his tutor.”

your lips part, and you could let it go. you should let it go. but the exhaustion from the last few weeks, the emotions simmering under your skin, the alcohol in your system. it all catches up to you.

you lean in slightly, voice smooth but firm.

“ha! kirs baby... you’re acting all secure, but you had to come find him.”

her smile vanishes.

onyankopon lets out a low, exasperated- “oh, fuck.”

“do you need that?” she asks, about to start taking her earrings until onyankopon started to scold the girl.

the bar suddenly feels too loud, too crowded, too full of people pretending not to watch the tension unfold. you sigh, shaking your head, suddenly too tired for this. reaching into your purse, you throw down a fifty dollar bill and snatch your jacket off the back of the chair.

“enjoy your night, superstar .” you say, voice quieter now, pushing in between the couple.

and this time, when you walk away, you don’t stop.

-

the pounding on your door is relentless. heavy, urgent, like whoever’s on the other side has no intention of leaving until you open up.

you groan, burying your face deeper into your pillow, willing whoever it is to go away. but the knocking only gets louder, more insistent.

“yn! open the damn door!”

your eyes snap open. you recognize that voice instantly. deep, slightly hoarse, impatient. onyankopon.

you drag yourself out of bed, throwing on the nearest sweatshirt, slipping on your slippers, your head still hazy from last night’s drinks. your legs are heavy as you trudge toward the door, stomach twisting with a mix of exhaustion and irritation. the knocks still persistent.

the second you yank it open, he’s there, standing in your doorway like he owns the place. his hoodie is pulled up over his waves, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, like he left in a hurry.

his eyes. dark, intense, scan over you, taking in the oversized sweatshirt swallowing your frame. lashes disheveled, your bare legs, bonnet secured on your head, the clear signs that you just woke up. eyes narrowed at him, sleep still collecting at the corners.

something flickers across his face, gone too fast for you to catch.

“jesus, onyankopon. why you knocking like the fucking police? barely morning.” you mutter, rubbing your temple, wiping your eyes. he frowns down at you, flipping his apple watch up.

“it’s noon.”

“…oh.”

he exhales sharply, jaw clenching.

“can i come in?”

you hesitate, debating slamming the door in his face just to make a point. but there’s something about the way he looks- frustrated, tired, guilty. that makes you sigh and step aside.

he brushes past you, pacing across your living room like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. you cross your arms, watching him, waiting.

finally, he stops, turning to face you.

“about last night—” you cut him off.

“you don’t have to explain.”

“yeah, i do.” his voice is firm. “you left before i could.”

you huff a humorless laugh.

“what was there to explain? your bitch came looking for you, you let her hang all over you, and then she tried to play in my fucking face. sounds pretty clear to me.”

“she’s not my fucking girlfriend.” he scrubs a hand down his face, exhaling hard.

“wow! could’ve fooled the hell outta me.” you blink.

“yn, i swear to god! i. am. not. with. her!” he looks at you, exasperated, hands held out pleading for your warmth.

“she’s not- we were a thing, yeah, but we broke up weeks ago. she just- she doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” he shakes his head, frustrated. you stare at him, skeptical.

“and what, you just let her? let her claim you, let her act like i was nothing? was her dumb ass helping you pass a class you knew you shouldn’t have signed up for in the first place? you could never be my nigga.”

his expression tightens.

“i wasn’t thinking. i was caught off guard. and then you and her started—”

“that, and i just—fuck, i handled it wrong, okay?” he gestures vaguely.

“all this fucking stuttering. yeah, no shit. you chose her last night when you let the weirdo talk to me crazy.” you scoff.

“i don’t want her, ma. i swear, i need you to believe me.” he steps closer, lowering his voice.

“good for you.” your breath catches, but you keep your face neutral.

“no.” he shakes his head, his eyes locked onto yours. he’s towering over you and all you can smell is his cologne and laundry detergent. his head still hooded, lips shining under the low light of your apartment.

“you don’t get it.” he moves even closer, his voice quieter now, more serious.

“i don’t want her. i want you.”

“prove it.”

he wastes no time bending down and attaching your lips to his.

“mm-! i didn’t have time to brush my teeth!” you whine, letting him snake his large hands under your sweatshirt. his trimmed nails running up and down your waist. his lips venture down the side of your neck, humming before pulling away.

“mama, i’ve wanted you for the last two months, i don’t give a damn.”

his lips move against yours with urgency, all heat and frustration, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you even closer until there’s no space left between you.

your fingers dig into his hoodie, gripping the fabric as he backs you up against the wall, his knee slipping between your thighs like he belongs there. the heat of him, the sheer size of him, has your breath hitching, your heart pounding so loud you swear he can hear it.

he breaks away just enough to look at you, his breathing uneven, his eyes dark and intense.

“you sure?”

you don’t answer with words. instead, you fist your hands into his hoodie and pull him back in, crashing your mouth against his like you’re making up for lost time.

that’s all the permission he needs.

he groans into the kiss, one hand cupping your jaw, the other sliding down to grip your hip, his fingers pressing into the soft skin just beneath the hem of your sweatshirt. his thumb brushes over the curve of your waist, slow, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

your body reacts before your mind can catch up, your back arching, pressing yourself against him. the friction makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss, swallowing the small sound you make.

he tastes like mint and something else, something undeniably him, and it has your head spinning, your knees weak.

his hoists you up, rushing down the hall with your lips connected. pushing open your bedroom door, he carefully places you on the bed. hands eagerly paw at your sweatshirt, getting it off over your head.

“let me take care of you, baby.” you watch as he climbed onto the bed, bending to attach his lips to your swollen nipples. his other hand comes up, dragging along your frame, taking hold of your other breast. he gently massages, rolling your nipple in between his thumb and middle finger.

mouth agape, all you can do is grab at his large arms, trying to ground yourself to anything. he removes his mouth with a ‘pop’, sliding down to your stomach. he places a few kisses, eyes locked on yours as he proceeds down.

the warmth of his mouth over your clothed heat is enough to have your eyes closing in anticipation. his places a kiss, using his hands to hook the sides of your underwear. in one swift motion, your pink underwear were draped over your tv.

when he started you couldn’t stop him. like a wild animal, his tongue lapping up your juices as his mouth sucks and bites at your core. he’s humming, using his free hands to feel every inch of your body, every bump, mark, mole, he needed to know all of you.

“oouu- shit! onya just like that.” the large digits of his middle and ring finger pump in and out of you, feeling your gummy, warm wall clenching around him. his tongue playing slowly with your clit, eyes rolling to the back of his head at how good you taste.

he always wondered how you’d look under him.

every assignment, every session in the library, it took him all his might not to bend you over his calculus book and fuck the shit out of you.

showing up in your skims or iamgia two pieces, the fabric fitting snug against your smooth skin. how everytime you got close to show him how to work an equation, the smell of coco butter, vanilla, and hair oil would fill his space. he loved heading to practice, music barely playing as his thoughts ran rapid throughout the drive.

and now he has you.

pad of his fingers press up against the small sponges texture at the back of your heat, tongue lapping at the bud with a sense of hunger. in the light of your room, you can see your slick and his spit covering his face. coating the neck if his hoodie. hands dart out to grab the closest thing to brace yourself. the coil in your stomach burning heavy, shaking with every pump of the man’s fingers.

“i feel that shit. you’re such a good girl for me baby, let it go. mm- let me take it, ma.”

-

you’d always known onyankopon didn’t have many cares in the world.

with your hands tied behind your back with his hoodie string, body pressed against the living room window. onyankopon stands behind you, slowly pumping in and out of you. wet squelches of sound fill the large room, filling your ears as pleasure coiled in the pit of your stomach.

“fuck onyyy, just like that.” you could feel his large tip rubbing across the spongy area, prodding around like he knew your entire body. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as his thumb slips inside your mouth, other had anchoring to your hips.

“mhm, hold on for me mama. let em see.” you can only look out of your window onto the balcony, tear filled eyes dashing across the parking lot, making sure no one was actually staring through the glass.

he pulls out, almost fully, tip filling your hole. he leans down, giving the back of your shoulders a kiss before sliding into you. slow, controlled strokes drive you over the edge. tears fall into the glass as your lips wrap around his finger. his hips dip in and out of you, a white creamy circle forming around the base of the man’s cock.

“pussy so good. takin’ it so good for me.” his words fuel the fire, passion burning through your bodies as his strokes become sloppy and shallow.

“yes! oh my- onya im so close, imma cum on this dick!” your breast collide with the door, letting the man take control as he nears his end.

“do it then, ma. make a mess on my shit.” he says through gritted teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he subconsciously begins to lift your frame. too lost on ecstasy and need that he doesn’t notice your feet hovering off the ground. he’s ravaging your insides, swollen cock drilling at your warm walls.

“i’m cumming! onya holy shit!” he continued, using his hand to cover your mouth. your body falls limp, standing no issue to the man as he holds you in place.

“that my good girl! i’m finna nut baby, where you want it baby?” too lost in the pleasure in your core, you just nod. pulling out, he releases white sticky ropes onto his own chest, carefully placing you down on the couch.

he takes his hoodie off, carefully undoing your hands.

“believe me now?”

“maybe”

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

[foreveia]

in full bloom ⤨ akaashi keiji

⨭ genre; fluff, college!au, flower shop!au, valentine's day special!

⨭ pairing; akaashi keiji x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 4.9k

⨭ descriptions; akaashi comes into your flower shop every day and buys you a single flower, and now that it’s valentine’s day, you finally find out why.

⨭ warnings; painfully sweet tooth rotting fluff, profanity (?)

⨭ a/n; part 1 of my valentine's day special drop !!! in other words here's some painfully fluffy romance to cushion ur valentines (if ur single) or be an extra gift of the day (if, unlike me, ur not). lucky u guys—i'm so painfully single that i pumped two of these bad boys out. <3

song i listened to writing this: 'happening again' by katherine li

one.

Working the morning shift usually sucks. Working the morning shift alone usually extra sucks. 

But in this case, morning shifts at Furudate Flowers are actually quite lovely: it’s always calm, domestic, peaceful, still in the way only early mornings can be. For four blissful hours in the morning between 7 AM and 11 AM, it’s just you and the blossoms in bloom—no chaos, no rush, no impatient customers tapping their feet like you’re the only obstacle between them and a groundbreaking love confession. Just the quiet hum of soft jazz playing over the shop’s speakers, the crisp morning air filtering through the half-cracked window, and the comforting scent of earth and petals settling into your skin like a second layer. It’s almost always empty.

Almost.

“Good morning,” Akaashi greets, voice smooth as always, as he steps up to the counter. 

8:30 AM, on the dot. He’s never late, never early. Just always right on time.

“Morning,” you reply cheerfully, setting down the small notepad you had been scribbling new orders in. “What’ll it be today?”

He doesn’t answer, but you don’t need him to: you already know what’s coming. He’s made it a daily routine, as he has for the last month or so, coming in the shop and really taking his time to scan the selection, head tilting slightly as he considers his options. It’s something you’ve come to expect—this quiet deliberation, the way his eyes flick over each flower like he’s searching for something more than just petals and stems. You’re half-starting to think he goes through this whole process just to mess with you.

But, finally, he reaches out and plucks a yellow tulip from its vase, holding it up for you to see.

You raise a brow. “Going for something bright today?”

He hums in response, resting his elbow against the counter as he spins the flower between his limber fingers before calmly asking, “What does it mean?”

“There’s sunshine in your smile,” you respond instantly; you don’t even have to think about it. 

Akaashi blinks. Then—the smallest, softest twitch of his lips. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close, something just as pretty.

You don’t get a chance to comment on it, though, because he does what he always does: gently tucks the flower into its brown paper wrapping, smooths out the creases, and, without hesitation, extends it toward you.

“For you.”

Your fingers pause before taking it, eyes flicking up to his face. “Y’know, most people buy flowers for themselves or for other people,” you muse thoughtfully, twirling the tulip by its stem. It’s gorgeous, even as it’s a few days away from full bloom. “You’re the only one who buys them for the florist.”

Akaashi doesn’t falter. He doesn’t even look embarrassed or sheepish, like you might’ve expected someone else to. Instead, he just shrugs—calm, composed, like this is the most natural thing in the world. “You’re the only florist who can tell me what they mean.”

It’s such a simple response. So straightforward. So… Akaashi. And yet, your heart does something annoying. You promptly tell it to shut up.

Instead, you exhale a small, amused huff, shaking your head as you slide his receipt across the counter. “You’re either a hopeless romantic,” you start, watching as he reaches for his wallet to slide over a five dollar bill. “or a weirdo. I’m still trying to figure out which.”

Akaashi tilts his head, considering. Then, as he tucks his change back into his pocket—just before he turns toward the door—he says, “Maybe both.”

And he heads out, just like that. 

You glance down at the flower, then at the others on the shelf, the budding collection in various stages of bloom. 

You’re not sure what to make of it. It’s not like you mind the attention (he’s kinda cute), but you can’t figure out the angle. Is this some elaborate inside joke you’re not in on? A weirdly prolonged experiment? A test to see how long it takes for you to lose your mind? 

Or is it… flirting?

The windchimes by the door jingling snaps you from your thoughts. It’s another customer, here to pick up a bouquet, and you’re reminded that you are in fact on the clock and at your job. As attractive as Akaashi is and as sweet as his flower routine is, you have priorities, and right now, it’s on getting that bag.

So you sigh, setting the tulip down carefully before turning back to the register, and decidedly, push him to the back of your mind.

two.

Akaashi is beginning to think this might be the worst idea he’s ever had.

Or, at the very least, the most pathetic.

This thought occurs to him as he sits at a too-small table outside the university café, half listening as Kuroo and Bokuto argue about dinner plans while Tsukishima makes quiet, cutting remarks in between bites of his meal. It’s the usual nonsense: who’s cooking, who refuses to cook, why Kuroo swears that his econ degree is better than business majors but can’t manage to budget their groceries for the week. Akaashi is used to the noise, the way their conversations spiral into oblivion. Normally, he’d step in, smooth things over, steer the conversation back on track.

But today, he’s distracted.

He drums his fingers against the table, thinking about this morning. The flower shop. The way your eyes lit up when you saw the yellow tulip. The soft hmm you made when you twirled it between your fingers. He wonders if you kept it. If it’s sitting in a cup of water somewhere behind the counter. If you even care enough to keep track of the others.

His friends, unfortunately, notice this brooding.

“You’re quiet today,” Tsukishima notes, barely looking up from his book. It’s not an accusation as much as it’s an observation.

Bokuto perks up immediately. “Ohh, you’re right! Akaashi, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re thinking about the florist,” Tsukishima deadpans, spearing a cherry tomato with his fork.

Kuroo’s eyes light up. “Ohhh, that’s what this is about? Your little crush on the flower shop girl?”

Akaashi doesn’t respond. Which, in hindsight, is the worst possible thing he could do, because his silence is basically an admission of guilt.

Kuroo grins. “Damn. So, what’s the update? Have we reached the realization phase yet, or are we still on ‘maybe if I give her flowers for long enough, she’ll develop psychic abilities and confess first’?”

Akaashi frowns. “You know, I don’t actually need your input on this.”

“Sounds like you do. Your method is tragic,” Kuroo snorts.

Akaashi pinches the bridge of his nose, willing himself to be patient. He’s beginning to regret ever telling them about this.

Bokuto pats him on the back, offering brute affection as he always does. “Has she said anything? Did she give you any signs?” 

“I don’t know,” Akaashi sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. 

“You don’t know?” Kuroo echoes, brow furrowing in disbelief. “You’ve been giving her flowers every morning for over a month, and you don’t know?”

Again, Akaashi fails to respond, only offering a half-hearted shrug.

Tsukishima finally looks up from his book, resting his chin on his palm. “So… your plan is to keep giving her flowers and hope she figures it out?”

Akaashi presses his lips together. “It’s… a gradual approach.”

“It’s an unclear approach,” Kuroo cuts in with a slight scoff. “You can’t expect her to read between the lines forever.”

“If it were me, and I was getting free flowers every morning with no explanation, I’d just assume you liked messing with me,” Tsukishima supplies unhelpfully. 

Akaashi frowns at that. Because… is that what you think? That he’s just messing with you? That it’s some elaborate joke? A weird habit?

Bokuto, still ever on his side, shakes his head. “No way. I think she knows it means something.”

“Then why hasn’t she said anything?” Kuroo raises a brow.

“Why hasn’t he said anything?” Tsukishima counters, flipping a page in his book.

Kuroo turns back to Akaashi, clearly delighted by this new angle. “That’s a good point. Why haven’t you said anything?”

Akaashi exhales slowly. He could answer that. He could admit that despite his usual confidence, this whole thing is different—because it’s you. Because he likes the way you talk about flowers like they hold real meaning, because he likes the way your brow furrows in quiet concentration when you’re wrapping bouquets, because he likes—

Well. That’s the problem, isn’t it?

He likes you. He has, for longer than you could know, which makes saying any confession absolutely terrifying.

Kuroo watches his expression shift and leans back, arms crossed. “Okay, look. Hypothetically speaking, if you did confess, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Akaashi doesn’t hesitate. “Rejection.”

“Okay, besides that—”

“Humiliation,” Tsukishima supplies.

“Besides that—”

“The crushing weight of knowing he misread every interaction and made a complete fool of himself in front of the girl he likes?”

Akaashi takes a slow sip of water. “Thank you, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Just saying, it’s a risk.”

“But what if,” Bokuto starts, leaning forward, eyes bright, “she does like you back?”

Akaashi pauses.

It’s not like he hasn’t considered it. There have been moments—tiny, almost imperceptible things. The way you smile a little brighter when you greet him. The way your fingers linger when he hands you a flower. The fact that, despite the shop’s wide variety of customers, he’s the only one you tease, the only one who gets a huff of amusement when he asks about each flower’s meaning, just so he gets to hear you talk about it in that sweet, enthusiastic way of yours.

It could mean something. It could also mean absolutely nothing. The uncertainty is paralyzing.

Kuroo, seeing the hesitation in his expression, grins. “Alright, new strategy. Pick a flower that spells it out for her. Something so obvious she has to get it.”

“Something that means ‘I love you’ or something!” Bokuto agrees.

Akaashi glances between them, unimpressed. “You want me to go from subtle daily gifts to I love you overnight?”

“Bold moves, man,” Kuroo says, smirking. “They get results.”

Tsukishima, surprisingly, doesn’t dismiss the idea outright. “You could do something a little more direct,” he muses. “Even something simple. Just make sure there’s no room for misinterpretation.”

Akaashi exhales, tilting his head back against his chair. “You all make this sound so easy.”

“That’s because it is easy,” Kuroo says, stealing a fry off his plate. “You’re the one making it complicated.”

Akaashi doesn’t argue. Because, really, they’re not wrong. He is making this complicated. One flower a day. One careful selection every morning. And yet, if you still don’t know… well, maybe it is time to change something. 

Across the table, Kuroo and Bokuto are grinning like they’ve already won.

“You’re thinking about it,” Kuroo announces. “I knew we’d get through to him.”

“I believe in you, Keiji,” Bokuto says, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “Make us proud.”

Akaashi just sighs, shaking his head.

But later, as he walks across campus on his way to his next lecture, as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through a list of flower meanings, as his thumb hovers over one in particular. He realizes, reluctantly, annoyingly, begrudgingly, that his idiot roommates might have a point.

Maybe. Just maybe.

three.

Evening shifts at the flower shop are chaos incarnate. 

It’s the kind of chaos that makes you miss your quiet, peaceful mornings. Instead, you’re knee-deep in last-minute Valentine’s panic, dodging frantic couples, watching bouquets disappear faster than you can restock them, and narrowly avoiding an existential crisis over whether red roses are actually romantic or just wildly unoriginal.

At least you have Yachi and Kiyoko, your favorite two co-workers, to suffer with.

“Everyone’s really revved up for Valentine’s,” you say, finally watching the clock tick to 9 PM so you can flip the Come in! sign on the door. “It was actually crazy today.”

“That’s what happens when you work at a flower shop in February,” Kiyoko hums, wiping down the counter with methodical ease. “Not that it’s a bad thing.”

“I almost got trampled when we restocked the red roses,” Yachi mutters, sinking onto a stool near the register. “One guy was so desperate, he tried to haggle. Like we’re some kind of flower black market.”

You snort, rubbing your temples. “Yeah, I had a couple who came in fighting, stopped long enough to pick out a bouquet, and then continued arguing while paying. The romance is thriving.”

Kiyoko shakes her head, but there’s an amused glint in her eyes. “Valentine’s does things to people.”

Probably one of the sole perks of being single: not having to worry about Valentine’s Day and its expectations as encouraged and promoted by capitalism. You even offered to work the day-of, considering that it’ll just be a whole day of fulfilling orders that have already been wrapped and arranged throughout the rest of the week. There’s several bouquets already ready, that just need to be handed over to whatever happy person they’re going to—it’s the kind of thing that, despite your loneliness, makes the day just the slightest bit endearing. 

You sigh, stretching your arms over your head. “At least that’s the last of it for today. I might actually get home before midnight.”

Yachi peeks at the leftover stems and petals scattered across the counter. “You still have to clean up, though.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Kiyoko finishes wiping down the last of the workspace before leaning casually against the counter. “So,” she says, tilting her head and peering at you over the rim of her wireframes. “What flower did Akaashi give you today?”

“A yellow tulip,” you answer, gesturing to where you’ve arranged the collection of flowers he’s gradually gifted you into a small bouquet. It sits in an ornate glass vase on a shelf behind the counter, just slightly out of customer view, but from where your co-workers are standing, they can clearly see the new addition, proudly displayed in the middle of the bouquet like a golden gem.

Yachi, predictably, gasps. “You kept them? I didn’t know that!” She practically launches herself over the counter to get a better look, clutching her hands to her chest; you forgot that it’s been a while since you worked a shift with her, your schedules rarely seeming to overlap. “Oh my god, that’s so romantic.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “I mean… what else was I supposed to do with them? It felt weird to just toss them out.”

“But you arranged them,” Yachi insists, turning to Kiyoko for backup. “Look at this! She made it into an actual bouquet!”

Kiyoko, ever composed, simply tilts her head in consideration. “It is a little telling.”

“It’s not telling anything,” you argue, leaning against the counter. “It’s just… I don’t know. He gives me flowers every morning, and it’s a nice routine.”

Yachi wiggles her fingers dramatically. “A romantic routine.”

Kiyoko hums. “It’s certainly an interesting one. And you’re sure he’s just being friendly?”

You hesitate. Because, really—are you?

“I mean… maybe?” you say, trying not to sound too uncertain. “I don’t know. He’s really calm about it. Never acts embarrassed. Never even hints that it means anything.”

“No way!” Yachi shakes her head, her blonde ponytail swishing. “No way. Guys don’t just casually give a girl a flower every day for a month and not mean something by it.”

Kiyoko nods. “She has a point.”

You groan, rubbing your face. “But what if it isn’t romantic? What if I get my hopes up and it turns out he’s just… like that?”

Yachi places a gentle hand on your arm, looking dead serious. “If he was just like that, he’d be giving everyone flowers.”

“And yet, you’re the only florist he buys them for,” Kiyoko adds.

That thought makes something flutter in your chest. You shove it down. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, twirling a stray petal between your fingers. “It just… it doesn’t feel like a confession. I think you guys are reaching.”

Yachi gasps, scandalized. “Reaching? No, you are in denial.”

“I mean, what if he just likes flowers?” you try, grasping at straws. “Or what if he’s just being nice?”

Kiyoko gives you a look. The kind of look that says she sees right through you and your bullshit.

Yachi, meanwhile, clutches her heart dramatically. “You cannot be serious.”

You huff, shaking your head as you start gathering stray petals into a pile. “Look, I’ll admit it’s kind of cute. He… is pretty cute.”

Yachi blinks, before she points at you, “Oh my god, you do like him!”

You pause, mouth opening—then closing. Okay. Fine. Maybe you do like him. A little.

He’s attractive. He’s polite. He listens when you talk about flower meanings and never rushes you when you’re busy. There’s something deliberate about the way he does things, something intentional. And that’s what’s so frustrating—because if this is flirting, if this is some kind of long-winded confession, then it’s frustratingly vague.

So you just sigh. “Even if I did like him, it’s not like I’d do anything about it.”

Kiyoko hums. “And what if this is him doing something about it?”

You stare at her.

Yachi nods aggressively. “Exactly! This could totally be him making the first move!”

You hesitate, fingers lingering over the pile of petals. “But then… why hasn’t he just said something?”

“Maybe he’s nervous. Maybe he doesn’t know how you feel,” Kiyoko offers with a small shrug. 

Yachi grins. “Or maybe he’s just waiting for the perfect time to confess.”

“You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”

Yachi doesn’t even deny it. Instead, she beams, taking your shoulders in her hands and shaking you a bit. “Listen, if he comes in tomorrow, and his flower has a romantic meaning,” she pauses, largely for what seems like dramatic effect. “I win this argument.”

You snort. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

As if that’s gonna happen.

***

When the bell above the door jingles the next morning, Akaashi steps in like clockwork. He scans the rows of flowers once, twice, before finally, leaning over and picking out a single red camellia. 

I love you.

Your breath hitches.

God, Yachi is going to be insufferable.

four.

The life sciences library is, without a doubt, the best one on campus.

Not just because you’re an assistant there, and not just because it’s the only one on campus with a café: because it’s the one in the very center of campus square, making it the best place for people-watching. And right about now, mid-February when the entire campus is blooming with romance, it’s the best time for it.

You come in, dropping off your bag with purpose behind the check-in desk, muttering a small greeting to Makki—he’s sitting behind the computer with a face of purpose, though he’s really just playing 2048 (you’re not sure why he’s pretending to be locked in; it’s not fooling anyone). Mattsun pages through an old encyclopedia someone left on the drop off counter. Somewhere in one of the sections, you spot Iwaizumi shelving books, and Oikawa predictably distracting him from doing so. 

It’s a normal day. Just you and your band of library assistants, who really do everything in their power to avoid responsibility. 

You settle in behind the desk, tapping the keyboard to wake up the circulation computer. There are a few books waiting to be checked in, but nothing urgent, so you take your time, stacking them into neat piles. It’s quiet—save for the faint hum of the café, the occasional rustle of pages, and Oikawa’s exaggerated sighs as Iwaizumi pointedly ignores him in favor of shelving books correctly.

Routine. Normal. Everything as it should be.

And then, as you reach into your bag for a pen, your fingers brush against something soft. Something delicate.

You blink, pulling it out.

The red camellia.

The petals are still perfect, even after being tucked between your planner and a stack of readings. You must’ve slipped it into your bag absentmindedly before heading to campus, but now, seeing it again under the library’s cool fluorescents, it catches you off guard.

The meaning lingers. I love you.

You should stop thinking about it.

But it’s hard, especially here, where romance feels unavoidable. From your spot at the front desk, you can see couples huddled over textbooks, murmuring in hushed voices. Someone just dropped off a stack of biology books, a bright pink sticky note still attached to the top one, scribbled with something that looks suspiciously like a love confession. Even Mattsun, who barely looks up from his encyclopedia, lets out a low whistle when he spots a couple sneaking a kiss behind the botany section.

“Valentine’s,” he comments idly. “Can’t escape it.”

You hum noncommittally, fingers still curled around the camellia.

Makki finally pauses his game to glance over. “What’s that?”

You hesitate before answering. “A flower.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I have eyes. I meant, why do you have it?”

You should brush it off. Say it’s nothing. But the weight of it feels heavier today—the quiet way Akaashi had handed it to you, the way his fingers lingered just a second too long.

“…Someone gave it to me,” you say finally.

Makki and Mattsun exchange a look, and you realize your mistake immediately.

“Akaashi, right?” Makki says, smirking.

You stiffen. “How did you—”

Mattsun grins. “You think we don’t see him in here all the time? Guy spends half his life reading in that corner.” He gestures vaguely toward one of the back tables near the windows. “It’s honestly embarrassing how obvious it is.”

Your face warms. “It’s not—”

“Relax,” Makki interrupts, leaning back in his chair. “It’s kinda cute.” Then he snorts. “Though, if you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m starting to think you’re a lost cause.”

You groan, dropping your forehead onto the desk as he and Mattsun laugh. 

“Do you really think it means something?” you ask quietly after they finally stop making fun of you. 

Mattsun raises a brow, flipping the encyclopedia shut with a thud. “You’re joking, right?”

Makki leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk like he’s about to break the most obvious news in the world. “He’s been giving you flowers for a month.”

You shift uncomfortably, tracing a fingertip along the edge of a petal. “Yeah, but—”

“But what?” Mattsun interrupts. “You think he’s just doing it for fun? Some kind of—what, botanical enrichment project?”

“Oh, I’d love to see that research paper. ‘Floral Gifting and Its Effects on Clueless Library Assistants,’” Makki snickers.

You scowl, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. “…It’s not like that.”

Mattsun sighs dramatically, tossing the encyclopedia back onto the counter. “You’re killing me. I mean, if some guy was giving me flowers every day, I’d at least start questioning my life choices.”

“You don’t have any,” Iwaizumi calls from the stacks, not even looking up.

Mattsun gestures vaguely in his direction. “Exactly. And yet, even I know what’s going on here.”

Makki hums, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Listen. I don’t know what’s going on in that overcomplicated brain of yours, but if it were me, I’d start thinking about what I want.”

You hesitate. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You have been thinking about it—more than you’d like to admit. About the way Akaashi looks at you when he hands you a flower, like he’s waiting for something. About how, lately, you’ve started waiting for it too.

Mattsun stands, stretching lazily. “Anyway, I give it two days before he gives up on subtlety and just confesses outright.”

Makki grins. “You’re being generous. I give it one.”

They wander off before you can argue, leaving you alone at the desk, still holding the camellia between your fingers.

You should put it away.

You should really stop thinking about it.

But instead, you turn it over in your hands, feeling the softness of the petals, the steady thump-thump of your heart a little too loud in your ears.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ve been a little slow to catch on.

five.

Valentine’s Day is always a steady hum of movement.

The real rush had been in the days leading up to it—four days of wrapping, arranging, preparing. Now, on the day itself, there’s nothing left to scramble for. Just bouquets waiting in labeled slots, each one tagged with a name, a time, a destination. Customers filter in throughout the morning, exchanging receipts for flowers, smiling as they walk back out into the crisp February air.

It’s not chaotic, not like the frantic energy of last-minute shoppers earlier in the week. It’s gentle. Purposeful. A day of fulfillment rather than panic.

By midmorning, most of the orders have already been picked up. You stand behind the counter, the lingering scent of roses and eucalyptus settling into your skin, fingers lightly tapping against the register as you watch the occasional customer come and go.

And then, at exactly 8:30 AM, the bell above the door chimes. You don’t have to look up to know who it is, because Akaashi Keiji is nothing if not consistent.

But when you do, you’re taken aback. Today, for the first time in over a month, he hasn’t come in with his hands shoved in his pocket, ready to pick out a flower for you. Matter-of-fact, he’s not even holding a single flower. 

He’s holding a bouquet.

Your breath hitches.

It’s beautiful.

You inhale sharply. Your fingers curl slightly against the edge of the counter.

“Good morning,” Akaashi says, voice as smooth and even as always. But there’s something beneath it this time, something quieter, heavier.

You stare. You don’t mean to, but you do, because he’s standing there with a bouquet in his hands and a look in his eyes that makes your heart feel like it’s folding in on itself.

Finally, after a very long moment, you find your voice. 

“You—you brought flowers,” you say, dumbly.

Akaashi exhales a small, amused breath, tilting his head slightly. “I did.”

“For me?”

A ghost of a smile. “For you.”

Your brain is working slower than usual. Maybe it’s the boredom post-morning, maybe it’s the sheer absurdity of seeing him standing there, framed by the morning light, holding a bouquet like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s meant to be in his hands.

You glance down at the arrangement again, eyes flickering over the petals, cataloging their meanings instinctively.

Pink peony—Romance, prosperity, a happy life together.

White gardenia—You are lovely.

Baby’s breath—Everlasting love.

Red camellias—I love you.

Your stomach flips.

Akaashi shifts, carefully adjusting the bouquet between his fingers. “I, um.” He pauses, choosing his words cautiously. “I’m not the best at expressing things. Not in the way I should.”

You blink at him.

He doesn’t look nervous, exactly—Akaashi Keiji doesn’t do nervous—but there’s a certain deliberateness to the way he speaks, the way his fingers tighten slightly around the stems, the way his eyes hold yours like he’s making sure you hear him.

“The flowers,” he continues, “have been saying it for me.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your breath catches. The weight of the past weeks—the past month—settles all at once; every morning encounter, every carefully selected flower, every soft, fleeting moment that felt like nothing and everything all at once.

You should’ve known. You should’ve realized sooner.

Akaashi watches you carefully, his expression unreadable, but there’s something expectant about the way he waits. As if he’s prepared for anything—for rejection, for silence, for something in between.

You exhale, a half-disbelieving laugh slipping out before you can stop it. Your fingers finally reach forward, brushing against the edge of the bouquet, skimming over the soft petals. You don’t know what to do with all the warmth curling in your ribs, with the sudden overwhelming feeling of affection, so you simply say, “You could’ve just asked me out, you know.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I know.”

“Would’ve saved you a lot of money on flowers.”

“Probably.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

You shake your head, still absorbing, still processing the fact that this is happening. Akaashi Keiji has been confessing to you for over a month without saying a word.

And yet, now that he’s here, standing in front of you, looking at you like this moment has always belonged to the two of you, you think that you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Slowly, carefully, you take the bouquet from his hands. The weight of it feels right in your grip, like something meant to be held. And then, just as carefully, you turn toward the arrangements behind the counter, fingers brushing over familiar stems until you find what you’re looking for.

A single red chrysanthemum.

Love reciprocated.

You pluck it from its vase, hold it up between you. Akaashi’s eyes flicker down to the flower. You watch as the realization settles, as something in his expression shifts, as the tension in his shoulders melts.

Then, finally, he smiles. Small, barely-there, but real, soft, familiar.

And for the first time, it’s you who hands him the flower, as you murmur back, “It’s for you.”

⨭ closing notes; my best friend proof read this and she was so mad i didn't write their valentines date lmao so pretend that they go on some sweet lil excursion as seen off camera. ANYWAY love u all love keiji love that lowk this is my first valentine's single in a hot minute and im still hot and funny i hope (jk humble me rn)