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starrysturnz · 18 days ago

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overseas, under you

pairing. chris sturniolo x reader

summary. the boys invite y/n to come along on their winter vacation to hawaii, but problems arise when she finds herself sharing a bedroom with her long time secret crush… and it only has one bed.

warnings. mutual pining between two idiots. smut; a wet dream, some grinding… minor voyuerism in a way. they’re so cute they make me feel so lonely and i literally made them up.

word count. 3.9k

author’s note. one bed trope friends to lovers my beloved <3 a bit cliche but i think i was able to put a unique spin on it! lmk what you guys think :3 this started getting too long so i broke it into two parts!! part two will be released at the beginning of next week. happy valentine’s day to everyone, especially @strnilolover and @darksturnz for helping a girl out with ideas!! kisses!

masterlist | taglist | part two

a sharp beep beep! from her driveway was y/n’s cue to move along. she’d been rushing all morning to finish up her last-minute packing, having left half of the job for the day of, in true procrastinator fashion. a quick sweep through her mental checklist— phone, wallet, keys, passport— and she was scrambling out of the house.

she almost forgot to lock the door behind her when she caught sight of the boy in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers impatiently against the leather of the steering wheel. chris always managed to take her breath away, as if it were the first time she was seeing his sharp jawline and piercing aquamarine eyes. shaking the thought away, she turned around and stuffed her key into the lock, triple checking that it was secure before shuffling off to throw her luggage in the trunk.

the slam of the driver’s side door fell on deaf ears as the girl hoisted her suitcase into the van, on a mission to be as quick as possible (after all, she was making them late). a light touch on her wrist had y/n jumping out of her skin, almost dropping the second bag onto the icy ground at her feet. her free hand flew to her chest as her head whipped around to find chris there, the feeling of his fingertips burning into the back of the other still gripping the handle.

chris was already smiling when they locked eyes. “i got it, ma.”

“chris,” she breathed, her shoulders dropping. “thank you.”

“’s nothing,” he replied warmly, in a way that had her cheeks heating up in the cold boston air. “go hop up front, a’ight? you’re picking music. but if you choose wrong, i’m giving matt aux privileges.”

⁺⁎˚

the ride to the airport was relatively uneventful. chris was too focused on following the gps to chat with anyone, not willing to miss an exit and add more time to detour. nick and matt were busy discussing the logistics of an upcoming space camp photoshoot in the backseat, leaving y/n to chew anxiously on her nails, her thoughts racing so fast they could lap the van on the highway.

she felt like an intruder. this trip had been a sort of anniversary gift from a brand the triplets had been partnered with for two years— an all-expenses-paid vacation to hawaii. they could’ve invited anyone, and they used their one extra ticket on her.

even though the boys assured her multiple times that their decision was instant and unanimous— “of course we want you there, you’re our best friend,”— y/n still felt guilty, insisting their brother, justin, might be a more logical choice. it was chris who’d spoken first, claiming that if they’d invited justin, they’d have had to find a way to include their parents as well, and then they’d be paying out of pocket.

it sort of made sense, y/n could admit. but maybe a part of her wished that chris wanted her there for another reason. she wished she was his plus one. that they could hold hands on the beach at sunset. that he would wrap her in his towel to keep her warm as the salty air grew colder. that—

“hey. y/n.”

a two-toned whistle had her tumbling off her train of thought, head snapping toward the driver’s seat at the sound of chris’s voice.

“you good? we’re here.”

she cleared her throat. “sorry. i was just….”

she wasn’t even sure the boy had heard her, already pushing his door open to grab their bags from the back. taking a deep breath, y/n followed suit, double checking they hadn’t left anything in the car before heading to the departures entrance.

⁺⁎˚

y/n was an infrequent flyer, to say the least. the few times she had been on a plane, she found herself in the back of the cabin, sandwiched between large men whose legs took up half her space, and unruly children who should’ve been old enough to know not to throw their toys into her lap.

this was something else entirely. a whole private cubical to herself, with a seat that reclined into a bed? no large men, no unruly children? it was a dream, if nothing else. she was thrilled.

but she also wished she wasn’t in first class. which is ridiculous, by the way— no one ever wishes they weren’t in first class, it’s a backwards thought process. and y/n knew that, but she also knew that if they’d just been in comfort plus, she could sit next to chris, chatting and laughing as usual. he would make the twelve hour flight feel like nothing, but instead, it would feel like double the trip in her little isolation pod.

the thought had her kicking herself in guilt. not only was she in first class, but she was there for free. it wasn’t fair of her to be upset about anything.

unbeknownst to the girl, chris caught the crease in her brow, frowning at the idea that something was bothering her. he waited a minute for the people around them to take their seats before crossing the aisle to her seat, knocking gently on the partition to get her attention.

“y’know, for someone going on a tropical vacation, you don’t seem too excited,” he mused. there was a teasing edge to his voice, but just beneath the surface, concern. “what, you worried you forgot to take out the trash before you left and your house’ll be smelly when you get home?”

“well i am now!” y/n groaned. “jesus, chris, why would you even say that?”

chris’s eyes crinkled as he laughed at her expense. “relax, ma, i’m just playin‘. knowing you, i bet you even swept your driveway before leaving. you didn’t forget anything.”

“swept my—?”

“excuse me, sir,” a polite tone sounded from the other aisle on the right side of the plane, “you’ll need to take your seat now. we will be taking off shortly.”

“’s my cue,” said chris, offering her one last reassuring smile. “stop stressing, okay? everything’s gonna be fine.”

⁺⁎˚

everything was not fine.

it was now three hours into the flight, and y/n had made the mistake of falling asleep immediately, missing dinner. she’d needed it, too, since the whole day had been so busy that she’d only managed to grab a couple snacks here and there. a small bag of chips was the only sustenance at her disposal, and the thought of eating another helping of overly-salted junk food made her feel queasy. she supposed she’d have to wait five hours until breakfast was served.

she’d just decided on a movie to try to pass the time when she heard the unmistakable sound of chris’s voice, his chin resting in his palm as he propped himself up on the partition.

“you get your beauty sleep?”

the boy’s hair was mussed— clearly, he’d made himself comfortable in his own seat. his sagging shoulders gave the impression that he was tired, but his shining eyes were wide awake.

“guess so.”

he hummed, his gaze softening just so. “doing okay? it’s gonna be a long flight still. you need anything?”

y/n gave him her best fake smile, not wanting to ask for anything more than she’d already been given. “i’m good, chris, don’t worry.”

mischief crept its way onto his face at her response, and before she could question it, he said, “guess you won’t be needing this, then.” he pulled the packaged meal from behind his back with a dramatic sigh and a look of faux disappointment he could only hold for so long at y/n’s reaction.

a gasp fell from her lips, her stomach growling at the site. “oh, my god, chris, how did you get that?”

“they skipped you at dinner,” he shrugged. “figured you were passed out, so i asked for two. first class comes with perks, apparently.”

“you’re incredible,” she sighed, relief washing over her like warm water when he handed her the container. “thank you. seriously.”

“’course, ma.” chris turned to head back to his seat, but stopped at the sound of her voice.

“wait, chris…," she blurted, maybe a little too quickly, "can you stay?”

when he turned back around, y/n’s demeanor had shifted from relaxed to tense— like she was afraid she might’ve said the wrong thing. her neck was turtling just barely into her shoulders, and she was picking at her fingernails, a longtime nervous habit chris had (unsuccessfully) tried many times to help her break.

it made his heart hurt. “sure, yeah. scooch over a little.”

the seat was suitable for one person, but it was obviously not built for a cuddle session. the pair struggled to find a comfortable position for a few minutes, before settling on chris sitting behind y/n, arms wrapped around her middle as she ate her dinner. she tried to ignore the electric feeling of his thumbs rubbing into her waist through her hoodie— and it had almost made her choke on a mouthful when he’d first started. she wasn’t even sure he was aware he was doing it.

when she’d finished the last of her lukewarm meal, chris set her tray off to the side in favor of pulling her back to lay down with him.

“i know you’re tired, y/n,” he spoke quietly, his breath fanning her temple, flexing his biceps to bring her that much closer to his chest (a move that made her cheeks grow warm). he planted a hand to the back of her head to steady her against his heart. “go to sleep, okay? i’ll wake you up for breakfast. promise.”

y/n only nodded, and prayed he couldn’t feel the intensity of her heartbeat through their clothing.

⁺⁎˚

the hotel was nice. far nicer than any y/n had ever stayed in before. the lobby alone was massive, with advertisements for every amenity a person could ask for— including a spa, which the girl would happily be taking advantage of. the thought alone sent a shiver down her spine.

nick, noticing, asked, “everything okay?”

she nodded. “just excited to finally relax. i’m afraid the first thing i’m going to do is take a long nap.”

“i hear you. matt kept me up all night with his giggling next door.”

“sorry i like comedies,” the middle triplet rolled his eyes, “not my fault you’re such a light sleeper. y’know they had complimentary earplugs, right?”

“i have sensitive ears, matthew.”

“next guest?” called the concierge before matt could respond, and he gave nick a pointed look before stepping up to check them in.

“so, chris,” nick started with a teasing tone, “what happened to you last night?”

“what do you mean, ‘what happened’ to me?” chris said, seemingly annoyed by the conversation already.

“i got up to use the bathroom and when i peeked into your seat, you were gone. care to tell where you were?”

y/n felt the flush make its way to her face, avoiding eye contact with either of the boys. she opened her phone, hoping to appear busy as she listened anxiously.

“dude, why were you peeking, that’s so creepy—”

“don’t sidestep my question, mister,” nick pressed. “you were gone when i came back, too.”

“i was hanging out with y/n, jeez, man. and it’s weird that you were stalking me, like that’s insane.”

“what, how—? i’m your brother! is it insane that i want to know where you are and that you’re safe? what if you were being kidnapped?”

“on a plane? really, nick?”

grateful that the subject had changed, y/n tuned out the rest of their argument, having mastered that skill many years ago. she watched as matt spoke with the kind-looking older fellow at the service desk, who eventually handed him two room keys. matt offered him a smile in return, and waved the rest of the group over to the elevators.

“okay, so,” he began handing them their respective keycards, “me and nick will take 1207. chris and y/n, you get 1204.”

y/n’s head snapped up at that. “i thought i was rooming with nick.”

“originally, yeah,” said matt, “but we had to move the space camp photoshoot to the early morning, remember? and since me and nick will have to wake up at, like, six, we figured we’d just bunk together.”

she paused. y/n did recall the boys mentioning how matt would come along to the photoshoot because nick needed someone he trusted to help oversee the production, since they’d be working with an entirely unfamiliar crew. she didn’t know they’d changed the time, though.

this wasn’t even out of the norm— y/n had slept over at the sturniolo’s many times growing up, often spending the night in the boys’ beds with them. but something about sharing a hotel room with chris, just the two of them, for a week... it filled her with butterflies.

“and the rooms aren’t connecting?” she clarified.

“well, they’re across from each other,” said matt. “sort of. we’ll just be ten feet away, don’t worry.”

“that okay?” asked chris, a nervous tinge in his voice.

y/n smiled as confidently as she could manage. “yeah, yes. of course. as long as i can take my long showers in peace.”

“fine. but you better leave the door unlocked in case i have to piss.”

they all laughed at that as the elevator doors opened, and headed in the direction of their rooms.

“okay,” matt began, checking his phone, “can we all agree to meet downstairs for dinner at eight?”

“eight? why so late?”

“because i’m tired, nick. i want to sleep. sue me.”

“at least you got some sleep last night,” nick mumbled, and matt’s hand flew up to smack him in the arm, but chris caught his wrist before it could land.

“just go take your nap. we’ll be down at eight.”

with that, the two retreated into their room. chris fumbled with his keycard for a moment, and y/n’s mouth had just opened to offer help when he managed to open the door.

“finally, some peace and—”

chris’s words died in his throat when he saw the room ahead of him. it was beautiful, like the rest of the hotel, with a mini-bar, a luxury bathroom with a glass shower, and floor to ceiling windows on the back wall. what he wasn’t expecting, however, was the bed.

the one bed.

behind him, y/n yawned, pushing past to be able to close the door. “what’s the matter?” she asked, before catching sight of the issue. “oh.”

it was quiet for a few moments.

chris didn’t know what to think. on the one hand, he’d be a liar if he said that this situation wasn’t on par with countless scenarios he’d daydreamed about him and y/n; the prospect of sleeping next to her— feeling her soft skin against his bare chest, the fresh scent of her shampoo filling his lungs— definitely excited him, no doubt about it. he wished they could have that every day.

on the other hand, he knew this wasn’t like all those times she had spent the night at their place over the years. back in boston, y/n split her time relatively evenly between the triplets. sure, she slept in chris’s bed occasionally, cuddling up close to him under his painfully thin comforter (often complaining that it needed replacing), but she did the same with matt and nick…. chris wasn’t special for that. here, though, in this five star hotel room… it would be just the two of them, alone every night, without so much as a connecting room with the others. it felt different, and he’d be remiss to blindly assume her comfort there.

the silence hung heavily in the air around them, creeping into awkward territory, but it seemed nobody wanted to speak first. chris glanced at y/n, who shifted her weight from one foot to the other. he tried to read her expression, but couldn’t land on anything concrete.

wanting to get ahead of the situation, to prove to y/n that her feelings were his priority, chris said in his best reassuring tone, “no worries. ’s probably just a mistake. i bet they’ll find us another room if we call the front desk.”

y/n’s heart dropped. of course chris didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as her for a whole week. that would be weird, she knew it would be. she just hadn’t expected him to suggest getting another room so quickly— knowing chris, she assumed he would make a few jokes about sharing, maybe playfully suggest she sleep on the floor (to which she would gently smack him upside the head, probably), but ultimately leave it up to her to decide. and from there, she could’ve told him it was no big deal. but now… well, she didn’t want to make him feel like he had to do anything he didn’t want to.

“uh, yeah,” she cleared her throat. “yeah, let’s call, then.”

nobody mentioned the way their once-bubbly energy seemed to fall flat, like a soda that had been left out overnight. in fact, nobody said another word until chris got the concierge on the line.

y/n didn’t bother to pay any attention to the call. she was busy trying not to let her exhaustion and disappointment mark the beginning of this trip; they were supposed to have fun! she needed to shake this one minor thing off and get to vacationing. maybe a visit to the spa would—

“you’re sure? all right. no, it’s no problem. thanks. you too.”

a short huff came from chris as he placed the phone back onto the receiver. scratching the inner corner of his eye, he spoke in an apologetic voice, “they said they’re booked out.” a sympathetic smile graced his perfect lips. “’m sorry. guess you’re stuck with me.”

y/n had never tried so hard to keep her emotions off her face. relief and excitement trickled down her spine, kickstarting her brain. it was like her body forgot it was tired. but she figured chris was probably still uneasy about it, and she didn’t want to seem like a creep.

“okay,” she said, “how about we figure out plan b later? i really need this nap right now.” a minor fib— she was giddy in the moment, yes, but the second her back touched a mattress, she’d be done for.

“all right, sleeping beauty,” the triplet rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up, eye crinkling. “you take the bed, i’ll take the chair.”

“don’t be ridiculous,” she tried, hoping she wasn’t pushing her luck, “you need to sleep as much as i do, chris. come lay down.”

“are you sure? it’s no big, honest.”

she giggled, partially to lighten the mood, but also because she found this whole thing to be a bit silly. they’d cuddled countless times! waving him over, she teased, “since when are you too good to nap with me? get over here.”

the content smile on his face was all the reassurance she needed.

⁺⁎˚

chris was losing his mind.

there was no one to blame but himself. he knew agreeing to sleep with y/n (in the literal sense) would be a bad idea, but he hadn’t anticipated this.

by some random fluke, he’d woken up before their alarm went off, disoriented. it took him a few moments to realize where he was, what he was doing there, and… why his chest felt so heavy.

his breath caught. somehow, in the midst of their nap, y/n had ended up right on top of chris— her face buried in his neck, ribs expanding and contracting opposite his own. her legs, which had fallen either side of him, were slightly bent, giving him a sinful view of her ass in those yoga pants.

chris laid there for a moment or so, dumbfounded by his sudden predicament. what was the right thing to do here? he couldn’t wake her up, they still had— (he looked over at the clock)— half an hour until the alarm sounded. and moving her felt like too risky a disturbance. if anyone needed the rest right now, it was y/n.

the boy sighed, gazing at the ceiling like it might have an answer written on it. a minute passed, and just when he thought things couldn’t get more complicated— a whimper.

so faint that at first, chris figured he’d imagined it. but then came another, louder this time, and he definitely didn’t imagine that.

she must’ve been having a nightmare. his heart broke a little at the idea that she wasn’t enjoying what little sleep they were able to get after such a long trip. his arms came up to carefully hold her, rubbing her back with tender strokes so as not to startle her awake. closing his eyes, he hoped that her subconscious would recognize his comforting touch and send the bad dreams away.

“i got you, ma,” he whispered quietly, continuing the motions on her back. it didn’t seem to help— she was still tense above him.

… then the craziest thing: the girl’s hips rutting gently into his own. “chris,” y/n whined, eyes still shut tight, another whimper spilling from her mouth.

chris’s eyes shot open.

no way. she was dreaming about him?

now he was really fucked. if he didn’t move her, he’d surely be getting hard any minute, and that would be… difficult to explain, to put it simply. but if he did, and she woke up, she’d suspect he’d done so for a reason, and she’d be embarrassed either way.

“please, chris.” she sounded desperate.

chris felt like a perv, with his unconscious friend unknowingly grinding on him and whining his name into his neck. god, maybe he was dreaming; she looked so beautiful like this. but she was clearly in some level of distress, and his concern for his friend outweighed his morals.

“okay, ’s okay baby. ’m here,” he laid his cheek against the top of her head, hugging her tighter to him. “’m right here, y/n.”

he kept rubbing her back— slowly, reassuringly. y/n’s body shook in his hold, and chris had to stifle a moan as she gave a particularly hard rut of her hips, another distressed noise hitting his ears. poor thing.

“shh. c’mon, ma… you’re okay.”

eventually, y/n’s movements began to still, and soon the only sounds to be heard were her soft snores filling the room, like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

the boy beneath her stared at a spot on the wall, in shock. his best friend just had a dirty dream about him, right on top of him! what was he supposed to do now? tell her? ignore it? the thought of letting this go made his stomach churn.

what if it meant nothing? he’d had countless sexual dreams about people he wasn’t romantically interested in. (if every accidental fantasy had a deeper meaning, he’d be married to his high school algebra tutor by now.) chris couldn’t help but wonder, though…

what if it meant everything?

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roosterforme · 6 months ago

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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 22 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It's terrifying to realize you don't know if Bradley is safe. As the lonely days stretch on and on, you try to savor the notes from him. Once the final two envelopes have been opened, you know you need the real thing.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, romantic as hell Bradley, 18+

Length: 2600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Other than your car, everything you owned was inside Bradley's house. Over the last few weeks, Natasha helped you load up his Bronco and make a few trips down, but she looked at you like you were crazy when you told her you were going to leave most things packed up for now.

"Why?" she asked, leaning on a stack of boxes in the living room. "Even if he gets stationed in Norfolk, you'll finish out your school year here before he sells the house."

But you didn't want him to sell his house. You loved it here. Being in his living space was the closest thing to being with him when he was deployed, and you didn't think it was fair that he might have to give this up. What would Edith do without Bradley to help her? What would Bradley do in a different state without his best friend? No, you simply couldn't unpack, just in case, but you also couldn't accept Virginia with any finality until you were explicitly told it was happening.

"I just wish I could talk to him," you whispered.

"Soon," Nat replied, and you jumped, surprised to find you weren't alone in your thoughts. "I just moved a million boxes. I deserve a trip to the wine bar, and so do you. Bradley will be back soon enough."

"Nine days. Not soon enough."

It was nine days until he was supposed to get back to Norfolk. On Valentine's Day. Then right after that, it was Career Day at your school. You had been holding onto a few of the envelopes and gift cards from him, trying to make them last, but you were almost out. You needed the real thing again.

Natasha groaned. "You are so in love with him, it's kind of gross. Let's go drink wine, and I'll tell you more tales from before the mustache."

You took one more look at the few unopened letters lined up on the coffee table before grabbing the gift card for the wine bar. But even southern California looked gloomy on the drive up. The wine was good, but you were just tired. Natasha told you all about how she tried to give Bradley the call sign Chicken Man, and you laughed at the idea of that emblazoned along the side of his jet. She also seemed to be able to tell just how melancholy you were.

"You're doing great," she told you, setting down her wine glass. "You're counting down the hours until you can talk to Bradley again. Vanessa would have probably been too busy with her water bottles to remember to pick him up from the airport. There's a reason why it's hard, and it's because he loves you as much as you love him."

You did your best to keep it together after that, but there was a lump in your throat, holding back your emotions, and when you got back home, you started crying on the couch. Big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, blurring your vision, but you knew which envelope you were reaching for.

Open me when you've had a bad day

As you tore into the envelope, you realized there was another envelope inside it. The second envelope said Take me to The Bayside Florist and give me to someone who works there.

"What is this, Bradley?" you whispered out loud, reaching for your phone to see if the shop was still open this late on a Saturday. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized they closed in an hour, and you grabbed the envelope along with your phone and keys and ran out to your car.

In a matter of minutes, you parked in front of an adorable flower shop with The Bayside Florist in pink lettering on the awning. You felt a little silly taking the envelope inside, but when you were greeted by an older woman with a warm smile, you started to hand it to her.

"This might sound odd, but my boyfriend is deployed, and he left me this envelope," you said with a laugh. "Apparently I was supposed to bring it here?"

The woman adjusted her glasses as a smile found her lips. "Oh, yes. I remember him. Tall? With a mustache? Handsome?"

You bit your lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. "Yeah, that sounds just like him."

She nodded and opened the envelope, humming in agreement with whatever she read inside. "I have something for you. Wait right here."

Then she disappeared through a doorway, and you walked around the inside of the shop, examining the arrangements and enjoying the scent of so many types of flowers mingling together. You weren't quite sure what Bradley had up his sleeve from thousands of miles away, but you were almost positive it was about to make your day so much better.

"Special delivery from your boyfriend."

Startled, you spun around to see a stunning bouquet of flowers in every color on the counter, complete with an envelope tucked in amidst the blooms. "That's for me?" you whispered.

"From your boyfriend," she confirmed.

You stifled a whimper as you reached for the flowers. "Am I supposed to pay for this?"

"He already did."

Tears stung your eyes as you pulled the envelope that said Gorgeous from between two roses. It was written in his handwriting. You thought you should read it in the privacy of your own car, so you thanked the woman and then headed back outside. Once you were sitting behind the steering wheel, you set the flowers aside in favor of the note.

Gorgeous,

I never want you to have a bad day, but I really hate that you're having one when I'm not with you. If I could be anywhere in the world right now, I'd choose to be next to you. Will you write about your day in your journal so we can talk about it later? I can't wait to talk about everything with you. I love you.

Bradley

Now that the tears started, you just let yourself cry.

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

Constantly wondering if your boyfriend was even okay was taking a toll on you. Your classroom was supposed to be your safe haven right now. Your place of comfort. Your refuge. But a few days before Bradley was supposed to get back into Norfolk, you were short and snippy with your class. You didn't mean to be, but it was happening anyway.

"Just sit down," you told Oliver, voice taking on a sharp, scolding edge that was usually never there. All eighteen of your kids sat with their backs straight in their seats and their hands folded on their desks like they were worried you were going to start yelling. This was never how you wanted to conduct your class. These kids were really well behaved for the most part, and you wanted them to have a lot of fun mixed in with their school lessons.

You turned away from them to try to catch your breath. The past few nights had been filled with restless sleep and a pain in your heart that wouldn't go away until you knew Bradley was safe. You cleared your throat, trying so hard to figure out what you wanted to say for your social studies lesson, but you couldn't shake your mind free from the anxiety you were feeling.

Picturing the flowers that you put in a Miller High Life pitcher you found in the kitchen after Bradley didn't appear to own a vase made you smile enough that you were able to turn around again.

"I need everyone to open their textbook to page eighty-seven." The only sound was pages rustling as you added, "And I promise I'll make this a fun unit for us."

When you finally left work that afternoon, you decided to let yourself open the last envelope from Bradley. It had been in your tote bag for a few days, just waiting for the right moment. Open me when you really want some coffee. You could clearly use the extra caffeine today, so you tore into the envelope as you walked across the parking lot. Just like before, there was an envelope inside the first envelope.

Take me to Starbucks and give me to someone who works there.

Now you were smiling. You got to go to another place of business with an envelope like an absolute lunatic, and you were really looking forward to it. You stopped at the Starbucks closest to your school, and when you handed the envelope to the girl who tried to take your order, she raised one eyebrow.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I think it's kind of a treasure hunt of sorts from my boyfriend who is deployed," you told her with a shrug.

Then you watched her open the envelope and remove a note along with a gift card. Her eyes skimmed the text, and her face transformed into the sappiest smile. "Oh my god," she said, looking back up at you. "I wish someone loved me this much," she muttered and then turned away from you, reaching for the biggest cup and a Sharpie.

You waited awkwardly for a few minutes while she made your drink. You could tell it was your favorite drink. Bradley somehow ordered your favorite drink for you to enjoy. Warmth filled your body, and you accepted the cup from her. "Thanks," you murmured as she paid using the gift card, and that's when you realized she had written something on the cup.

Gorgeous, I love you. I can't wait to come home. Bradley

"Does he have a brother?"

You looked up at the girl who made your coffee. "What?" you asked, taking the note and the gift card from her.

"Does your boyfriend have a brother? Because that note is the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

You shook your head, but you were smiling. "No. No brother. Sorry. Thanks for making my coffee."

As you walked outside you read the note, already feeling calmer at the sight of his hand writing.

Dear Starbucks Employee,

The beautiful woman who handed you this envelope is my girlfriend. I am desperately in love with her, and I would be there with her if I could, but I'm fucking deployed, if you can believe it. Please make her favorite drink for her, and if you wouldn't mind, please write 'Gorgeous, I love you. I can't wait to come home. Bradley' on the cup? Thank you so much.

He had scrawled your favorite drink to your exact specifications below that, and it even tasted perfect. You spent the ride back to Coronado planning out your upcoming Monday. If Bradley arrived back to Virginia on time, you'd be hearing from him by then. Every fiber of your being was hoping he'd call and tell you to pick him up in San Diego, but if he had to stay in Norfolk, you'd take a day off from work to fly out and see him. You had to. You wouldn't be able to go an extra minute without him now. You wanted to hug him and kiss him and give him a blowjob. You needed to feel his hands on your body and listen to his voice while you ran your fingers along his scars.

Monday couldn't get here fast enough.

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

The only thing Bradley wanted to do right now was get his phone in his fucking hands, but he thought that if he brought it up again, someone would tell him the thing had been mysteriously misplaced. He already asked for it three times. He'd been dropped back in Norfolk by air transport, and after a short debrief with a national security team, he would hopefully be allowed to be on his way.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. This way."

He was led into a medical facility first where his bruises and strained neck were examined and the findings were documented. When he realized he got caught up in a dog fighting scenario with the other aviators, he had been more angry than anything else. Didn't these people know he had a perfect girlfriend to get back home to? Did they even care? He made it out mostly unscathed and back to the carrier deck safely, if not a little sore. The one thing that made him almost laugh was the fact that Cyclone would undoubtedly see his medical report, and there was a good chance Admiral Walker would hear from him again.

After the medical consultation, he was led into a debriefing room where he really didn't have much to say about the mission. It had been successful, sure, but he wasn't going to be allowed to discuss it with anyone after this, so he just stuck to answering the questions he was asked.

Then finally, he was given his phone and left on his own. Of course it was nearly dead when he turned it on, but it should be good enough to reach you. Talking to you would come as his top priority before figuring out how he was getting home, but that was a close second. His heart pounded in anticipation of hearing your voice after so many weeks.

It was barely six in the morning in San Diego. Maybe you were up and getting ready for work, but maybe you were still sleeping. It didn't matter. He needed you to know he was coming home. He tapped on your photo, pulling up your contact information as the warm sun and cold Virginia air hit his skin at the same time, and he shivered as soon as the phone stopped ringing. Your voice in his ear was his reward.

"Bradley!"

"Gorgeous," he sighed, suddenly so exhausted, he could barely stand. One word from you, and all he wanted to do was curl up on his couch with his head on your lap and let you take care of everything.

"Bradley!" You shrieked this time, and he smiled.

"Baby, I'm coming home."

"For good?" you asked, voice soft with an edge of concern that he wanted nothing more than to ease away. "Or just long enough to pack some things and head back to Norfolk?"

He hoisted his duffle onto his shoulder and started walking. "I'm coming home for good. Coming home to you."

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

He's safe and he's coming home! I'm working on mapping out the remaining chapters of this story, so if there's something you want to read about, hit me up. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 23

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foreveia · 18 days ago

Text

palentine’s day ⤨ kuroo tetsuro

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

⨭ pairing; kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 18.5k

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

⨭ warnings; profanity, alcohol, suggestive dialogue

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

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

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

one.

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

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

Predictably, you’re already regretting it.

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

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

You pull up your messages.

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

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

Your phone buzzes again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, babyface,” he coos, smirking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get out.”

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

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

two.

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

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

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

“You’re insufferable,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely. Throw ‘em in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

four.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

five.

Kuroo looks unfairly good in a suit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kuroo grins, unbothered. “Building character.”

“Being an ass.”

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

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

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

You freeze mid-chew. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The word always lingers in the space between you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches. “Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

six.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Barely,” you lie. “I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

seven.

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks. “Fine. Mrs. Kuroo it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is your date tonight, after all.

eight.

You two end up at a 99cent pizza shop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hand freezes mid-air. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face heats. “Tetsu.”

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

Next time.

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

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

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

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

nine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m all yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ten.

You wake up to the smell of french toast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He arches an amused eyebrow. “Stupid?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He mock-salutes you. “Yes, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

eleven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh,” you manage, blinking. “I—uh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you mutter, “priorities.”

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

twelve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not that early, y’know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gape. “Seriously?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

thirteen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, the astrophysics department should be studying this instead.

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

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

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

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

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

He loves you, and you love him back.

fourteen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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ditzydoefx · 14 days ago

Note

For the valentines day fic, you could do something along the lines of reader doing a boudoir shoot or a pinup shoot for the solider of your choice. Like all the outfits/poses/props are specific to each person for example for soap one picture could be the reader in a kilt with nothing underneath, or for ghost like a human skull sitting between their legs, etc.

-🪼

Price's Pinup Doll ♡

Summary: You surprise Price for Valentines Day <3!

AN: So sorry this is late honey <3 I hope you enjoy!

You're sat on your kitchen counter, watching Price cook the both of you breakfast, absentmindedly playing with the tea bag that sits in your cup. It was still early, the sun still steadily climbing it's way to the highest point in the sky. You let your mind wander as the sounds of running water and sizzling pans fill the silence that stretch between you and your husband.

Your eyes stray over to the calendar, a date, February fourteenth circled in red ink, decorated with little hearts around the bubble.

"John." You turn to him, a cheeky smile appearing across your features.

"Yes sweethear'" His voice is still hoarse from sleep, and you lean over to press a quick kiss to his bare shoulder before talking.

"What do you want for Valentines Day?" There's a knowing lilt in your voice, you're sure you already have an idea of what he wants.

He looks over at you and smiles before turning his focus back to the pan.

"Nothing." You see him attempt to suppress a smirk.

You groan at him, playfully smacking his shoulder before slipping off the counter to stand behind him and press your body against his.

"John…" You whine. "I can't get you nothing! You say you want nothing every year, for every holiday!"

He laughs, deep and rich, turning his head awkwardly to place a kiss on your forehead.

"All I want for Valentine's day is for you to be happy." You bury your face into his shoulder blades, attempting to smother your ever growing smile.

"Come on love, breakfast is ready." You hum at him, letting your previous conversation end there.

Despite your husbands finality over Valentine's gifts, the idea of surprising him with something special never left your mind. You never buy him many gifts, mostly because he insists you don't, so when you do get him gifts, you always try and make them special.

After a few days of scouring the internet, looking at forums, blog pages, and one to many tiktok videos, you come across a boudoir photographer, and suddenly an idea hits you. John has only one tattoo, it's small and on the inside of his right ankle, and that tattoo is of you. More specifically, a pinup doll version of you, wearing his favorite set of lingerie. It would be perfect, John already has a few polaroid's of you in his wallet, the lighting is awful and they're horribly taken but he loves them, so why not give him something a little more professional?

You contact the photographer, Kelly, right away, asking about her pricings and last minute availabilities. By the grace of god, she had a last minute cancelation so she was able to fit you in. Her pricings were reasonable too, though you weren't too concerned with cost. The drive to her studio was only about an hour away, so with your booking scheduled, and the initial deposit sent, you were all prepared and ready for the photoshoot. John, thankfully, would be on base that day, so a little white lie about taking a day trip erased any questions he might've had about your absence.

When the day of your shoot arrived, you arrived at the studio with a few pairs of lingerie, all the pairs that John liked seeing you in the most, and a couple very expensive robes. Kelly had some props for you to use, but you also brought some things from home. His dog tags, the hat he never seems to be without (though this was his backup hat, the real one was safely on his head), and his jacket, the 141 insignia and his last name on the back. You told Kelly you'd like to incorporate all the props in some way but left the creative direction to her.

She was an absolute angel, easing your nerves, clearing up concerns, and overall making it a exciting and tantalizing experience.

When the photoshoot finished, she showed you a sneak preview of the photos. As you looked at each picture you could only chew on your lip to contain the excitement you felt. They were perfect and there was no doubt in your mind that Price would agree. Kelly let you know it would take a couple days to edit the photos and that you should get the physical copies in the mail a few days before Valentine's day.

For the next few days leading up to Valentine's day you were restless. It was extremely hard not to spill the beans to your husband, especially because it seemed he had some idea you were up to something. Nonetheless, you persisted, watching the mail like a hawk. After about three days, when you checked the mail, you saw the unmistakable custom envelope of the photo studio. You were esthetic, making your way back inside the house to see the freshly edited photos. They were even more perfect than they were before, and the best part was you only had to wait two more days to show John.

Two days pass quickly and before you know it, it's Valentine's day. You woke up to a specially made breakfast and a much to large pile of presents. You and John shared a meal and he watched you open your gifts before heading to base for the day. You'd decided to give him the pictures from your shoot before you left for dinner that night. He had reservations at one of your favorite restaurant, and the thought of teasing him before dinner brought a smile to your face.

When Price came home, you greeted him with a quick kiss before sending him off to shower and get ready for dinner. You were already mostly finished, you had showered, and gotten dressed, the only thing left to do was your hair and makeup. You did your hair up the way John liked the most and you even wore his favorite lipstick. You looked stunning, and you were excited to give Price his gift.

You sat on the couch in your living room as you waited, the photos safely tucked away in a more holiday appropriate envelope. You're buzzing with excitement, eagerly waiting for your husband to walk down the steps. After about ten minutes, you hear his footsteps making his way down the stairs.

"You ready love?" He asks, voice low and gravely, as he makes his way to the front door.

You hop up off the couch, hiding the envelope behind your back as you saunter over to Price. He lets out a breath, his eyes wandering over your figure.

"Fuckin' hell look at you love… Beautiful thing you are." He grabs your waist, pulling you closer to him before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"You look quite dashing yourself John." You smile softly as his chest puffs out at the compliment.

He reaches for the door but you stop him, a smirk playing at your lips. You can see the confusion in his expression. He moves his hand to the side of your face, stroking your cheek comfortingly as his head tilts to the side.

"Somethin' the matter love?" You nod, your smirk growing as you pull the envelope from behind your back.

"This is for you… I know you said you didn't want a gift but you know I couldn't give you nothing." Price shakes his head at you fondly, a small puff of air exhaling from his nose.

"Cheeky thing.. Suppose' you wan' me to open it now, hm?" You nod excitedly and he smiles, slowly and carefully opening the envelope.

As he pulls out the photos you can see his breath hitch, his eyes frantically moving from photo to photo.

"Christ love… This is-" You bite your lip, very proud at your achievement of making the big bad Captain Price speechless. "You are a fucking sight doll.." You smile.

"Do you like them? Did a whole custom photoshoot just for you…" He takes one last look at the photos before tucking them back into the envelope, his pupils blown wide.

"I love them sweethear'…" He grabs at your waist, his eyes zeroed in on your lips. "In fact I think m' hungry for somethin' else…" He attempts to lean in for a kiss but you pull away, smiling cheekily.

"Nuh-uh. Dinner John, we're going to be late. You can have dessert later" You throw him a sly wink before swinging open the door and making your way outside.

Yeah, this was going to be a great Valentine's day.

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rafesbabygirlx · 24 days ago

Text

♡ 𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎'𝚜 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 ♡

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎'𝚜 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 (𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚒 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚝)

𝙰/𝚗: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝. 𝚒𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚖!𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎.

You and Rafe have been together almost a year. Getting together last April, this is your first time celebrating the holiday of love and you plan to make it extra special.

You rented a hotel room for the weekend and told Rafe you wanted to meet him there. He had no idea you were there for hours before you planned time of 9 getting the room ready.

You decorated the room with rose petals and candles. You swapped out all the light bulbs in the room to the red you had brought. You had room service bring up a bucket of ice with 2 bottles of champagne and a tray of chocolate covered strawberries around 8:30.

Rafe was set to arrive in 10 minutes and his biggest surprise wasn’t the room. It was the can of whipped cream in the mini fridge, the thermos of melted chocolate you prepared, and most importantly, YOU. Laying across the bed in a fire red lingerie set, you feel the butterflies flutter in your stomach. The excited anticipation of waiting for him to enter and see what you’ve done is killing you. But it’ll be so worth it. You see your phone light up next to you -

8:50 Rafe: Almost there baby. God, I can’t wait to see you.

8:51 You: Me either. Hurry up ;)

8:52 Rafe: What’s the wink for?

You smile at your phone and toss it onto the nightstand, refusing to answer that question and let him sit on it. Rafe being the punctual person his is arrives on time. As soon as the time strikes 9 you hear the key card lock ping and the door push open. You hear Rafe’s feet stop and him chuckle.

“Baby? What’s all this?” He calls out.

“Come and find out!” You shout down the hallway from the bed.

Rafe stumbles throw the rose petals trying to navigate through the dark red light. When he turns the corner and his eyes land on you he freezes.

“Whoa.” He looks as if his head is about to explode.

“Happy first Valentine’s Day baby.” You smirk and run your hand down the side of your body. “Come here already.”

Rafe drops the bouquet of your favorite flowers and a gift bag on the dresser he sees the tray of strawberries and picks one up. He walks over to you. You sit up on your knees and stare up at him when he gets to the edge of bed. He takes the strawberry up to your lips and you open wide and take a bite. He tosses the strawberry back on the tray and turns to you, cupping your face and gives you a big smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He leans down and presses his lips to yours, licking the chocolate that was left behind off of your lips.

You put your hands in his waist under his shirt. Motioning him to sit. You stand up in front of him and do a spin to show off what you’re wearing and instruct him to undress. You turn to grab the thermos. You take some chocolate placing it into a smaller bowl and make your way back to Rafe. He’s completely naked leaning back on his elbows.

Without saying a word, you take the spoon and drizzle some chocolate down the middle of his stomach. You place the bowl down and bend over him licking the strip up all the way to his chest. He moves up to kiss you but misses you when you sink to your knees between his legs.

He sits up so he can watch you. You lick your palm and take his hard cock in your hands and begin to stroke him slowly. You reach down for the chocolate again and drop it onto the underside of the shaft.

You repeat the action of licking up the melted candy, hitting every vein, meeting his tip mixing the sweetness mix with the saltiness of a drop of his precum. You slowly sink your mouth down onto him while Rafe lets out a shaky breath from the feeling. You take him all the way to the back of your throat and hold him there for a second before pulling back up. You take a quick breath and move back down. Your mouth moves in sync with your hand as it focuses on his tip.

You continue this until you feel his legs begin to shake and he bucks his hips into your face. He thrusts up one last time and lets out a loud grunt as he shoots his cum down your throat. You hold your head down on him until he’s finished and you lift off of him making a popping sound off of his tip.

You stand up again and Rafe sits up straight. The height difference between the two of you makes him eye level to your tits. Even sitting down he towers over you. He starts to rub your waist shifting down to your ass. You reach behind you and unhook your bra. His eyes that have been on yours the whole time widen and shift slowly down to your chest. His hands move back up and cup the undersides of your breasts.

The next part of your fun requires you to be back over to the other side of the room.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper and he complies.

You open the mini fridge and pull out the can of whipped cream. On e your back to Rafe you shake the can, making two crackling sounds with the bottle.

“Open.” You say, trying to to sound so eager.

Rafe opens his eyes to see two dollops of whipped cream covering your nipples. He grabs your waist pulling you closer as his tongue collides with your right nipple. Swirling his tongue he laps up most of the whipped cream before pulling your breast into his mouth, softly sucking on it. He bits down on your nipple pulling it back before releasing and moving to your left breast.

Once he’s finished you push him onto his back, pull down your panties, and straddle his hips. You don’t want to waste anymore time. You just want to fill him stretch you out already.

You roll back and forth on his length to coat him with your arousal that pooled in your panties before taking them off. After a few passes you lift yourself up and line him up with your entrance. You sink slowly onto him want to feel every inch of him.

You roll a couple of times with him in you before lifting back up and sinking down. Rafe grips onto the garter belt you left on and you grip his wrists to stabilize yourself. You don’t know what came over tonight but you’ve never rode him like this. You didn’t know you were capable of going this hard.

Realizing you really having kissed since he came in, you were desperate to have his lips on yours. You leaned down to him and kiss him and your lower half continued to bounce on his cock.

You moan heavily into his mouth, firing it hard to catch breath.

“Fuck baby, you’re fucking me so good- fuck,” Rafe gritted through his teeth.

“I-I’m close, Rafey,” you let between moans.

Rafe takes this opportunity to steady his feet on the bed and wrap his arms around your waist holding you close as he thrusts up to meet yours. You gasp at the motion. Rafe doubles his speed making you cry out now. Not even caring about the neighbors in the other rooms.

Your stomach is on fire and the feeling is too much to handle. You grips Rafe’s shoulders hard and your tits bounce hard in his face. He sticks his tongue out and lets one of them graze against it.

You feel yourself getting closer and Rafe’s knows all your tells.

“Come for me, come so fucking hard around my cock,” he whispers in your ear.

That was all you need, his words, his voice. Your legs shook as you came, they gave up underneath making you fall onto Rafe. You laid you head on his shoulder, uncontrollably letting out noises as he continued to fuck you through the orgasms, as he chased his own high.

Tears flowed from your eyes from the pleasure. Rafe thrusted a few more times before slamming into you hard, letting out his own noises as he filled you to the brim.

You pull yourself off of him and drop to your side, completely worn and out of breath. He rolls over to face you and entangles his legs with yours. He brushes you messy hair out of your face and kiss you.

You both grow tired not caring about the drink or desserts you had waiting for you. You fall asleep in each others arms. The last thing you thought about was how amazing the next Valentine’s Days are gonna be.

credit to @issysh3ll and @enchanthings for the dividers <3

Tags and some moots ♡

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @maybankslover @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @percysley @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slut-4-gojo @stoned-writer @akobx @jjmaybankmylovee @slurpdew @ijustwantttoread @rafesheaven @cameronsprincess @starkeysbabygirl @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @inthelibrarybtw @frankoceanluvr11 @writingroom21 @drewsephrry @httpsdrewstarkey @rafesbuzzcutseason @v3n1ce-bxtch

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cei1ne · 14 days ago

Text

—What the MHA men do for you on Valentine’s Day, aka the most romantic holiday! Pt.2

*♡∞:｡.Summary: Headcanons and Scenarios of a few MHA men on Valentine’s Day and what they’re doing and how they’re acting. Part 2!

✧༻Pairing: Shouta Aizawa (Erasurehead) ; Keigo Takami (Hawks) ; Enji Todoroki (Endeavor) ; Shoto Todoroki; Tenya Iida

❀°:.•Tags: Fluff ; Cute ; Love life ; Valentine’s Day ; Married ; Dating ; Tsundere ; Quiet lovers ; Gift giving ; Loving

•∘ɷ∘•°✿Wordcount: 13k

⑅*⑅୨୧⑅*A/N: Part two even if it isn’t Valentine’s Day anymore! And I hope I included everyone and if someone wants another character included, write it below and enjoy it! I tried my best and English isn’t my first language! I literally fell asleep while writing this so I didn’t post it yesterday I’m sorry!!! Anyways doing this omw home from school rn.

Part 1!

«───── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»

—Headcanons of the MHA men

Shouta Aizawa

1. Minimalist but Meaningful: Aizawa isn’t one for flashy displays of affection. He believes love is shown through actions rather than extravagant gifts, so his Valentine’s Day efforts are always subtle but deeply personal.

2. Quality Time Over Everything: He cherishes a quiet evening with you more than anything. A cozy night in, wrapped in blankets with a cup of tea and a good book (or cat videos playing in the background), is his ideal way to spend Valentine’s Day.

3. Handwritten Notes: He’s not one for grand speeches, but he’ll leave you little notes throughout the day. Some are simple reminders like “Don’t forget to eat” or “Be safe,” but on Valentine’s Day, they’re slightly softer—things like “Thank you for being my peace” or “I love coming home to you.”

4. Subtle Protectiveness: Aizawa shows his love in quiet ways, like keeping you on the inside of the sidewalk or placing a protective hand on your back in crowded areas. On Valentine’s Day, he might not say much, but the way he instinctively reaches for your hand when walking tells you everything you need to know.

5. Soft but Rare Romantic Gestures: Every once in a while, he’ll surprise you with something small but meaningful. Maybe it’s a gift card to your favorite café, or a book you mentioned weeks ago. He remembers every little detail about you, even if he doesn’t always say it outright.

Teigo Takami

1. Over-the-Top Romantic: Hawks doesn’t do anything halfway, and Valentine’s Day is no exception. He’ll go all out—think extravagant gestures, surprise dates, and dramatic declarations of love. He wants to make sure you know just how much you mean to him.

2. Loves Giving and Receiving Affection: He thrives on physical touch, so expect lots of hugs, kisses, and playful touches throughout the day. He’ll tease you endlessly but will also drop unexpectedly heartfelt compliments that leave you flustered.

3. Sky-High Dates: If he could, he’d spend the entire day flying around with you in his arms, showing you breathtaking views. He loves the idea of sharing his world with you—literally. Sunset flights are his personal favorite way to celebrate.

4. Acts Like He’s Effortless (But He Secretly Plans Everything): He makes it seem like he threw the whole day together last minute, but in reality, he’s been planning for weeks. He wants everything to be perfect, even if he pretends he’s just winging it.

5. Loves Spoiling You: Expect a ridiculous number of gifts. From your favorite snacks to limited-edition merch of things you casually mentioned once, Hawks remembers every detail about you. He enjoys seeing your face light up when he surprises you with something special.

Enji Todoroki

1. Traditional but Awkward: Enji isn’t great with romance, but he tries. He’ll stick to classic Valentine’s traditions—dinner reservations, flowers, maybe a small gift—but there’s an underlying awkwardness to it because he’s still learning how to express affection properly.

2. Acts Stoic but Cares Deeply: He won’t openly gush about his feelings, but his actions speak volumes. Whether it’s making sure you’re safe, subtly adjusting the temperature so you’re comfortable, or paying attention to the little things you like, he shows love in his own quiet way.

3. Prefers Private, Intimate Moments: He’s not a fan of public displays of affection, but in private, he’s surprisingly tender. He enjoys peaceful evenings at home where he can relax and just be with you without the weight of his hero persona.

4. Overprotective Without Realizing It: If he sees someone flirting with you, his mere presence alone is enough to scare them off. He doesn’t mean to be intimidating, but his intense aura makes it clear that you’re his and no one should overstep boundaries.

5. Struggles with Words but Means Well: He might not say “I love you” often, but when he does, it carries a lot of weight. Instead, he expresses his feelings through thoughtful gestures—cooking for you, making sure you’re taken care of, or pulling you into a firm yet warm embrace.

Shoto Todoroki

1. Understated but Thoughtful: Shoto isn’t one for grand gestures, but he makes sure whatever he does is deeply meaningful. He’ll remember little details—your favorite flowers, a book you mentioned wanting, or a place you’ve always wanted to visit—and incorporate them into his plans.

2. Still Learning About Romance: Since he didn’t grow up around affectionate relationships, he sometimes struggles with expressing his feelings. He might ask his friends (or even Google) for advice, but in the end, he always puts his own quiet, genuine effort into making you feel special.

3. Prefers Private, Intimate Dates: He’d rather spend quality time with you in a peaceful setting than go somewhere loud or extravagant. A cozy evening at home, a walk through a snowy park, or a simple but meaningful outing is more his style.

4. Gives Sentimental Gifts: He doesn’t just buy random chocolates or flowers; whatever he gives you has personal significance. It might be a piece of jewelry with an engraving, a hand-written letter, or something that reminds him of a special moment you shared.

5. Subtle but Deeply Loving: Shoto isn’t the type to gush about his feelings, but he shows them in quiet ways—holding your hand just a little tighter, making sure you’re warm when it’s cold, or brushing your hair behind your ear when he thinks you’re not looking.

Tenya Iida

1. Extremely Organized and Thorough: Tenya treats Valentine’s Day like an important mission. He plans everything—the schedule, the restaurant, backup plans in case something goes wrong. He wants the day to go smoothly because he believes showing appreciation should be done properly.

2. A Perfect Gentleman: He insists on doing everything chivalrously—opening doors, pulling out chairs, walking on the side of the street closest to traffic. He sees it as his duty to make sure you feel cherished and respected.

3. Loves Meaningful Gestures: While he enjoys classic gifts like chocolates and flowers, he prefers giving things with significance. He’ll write you a heartfelt letter, compose a list of reasons why he admires you, or craft a personalized itinerary for a day that’s all about you.

4. Gets Flustered Easily but Tries His Best:He isn’t the smoothest when it comes to romance, and any teasing on your part will make him short-circuit a little. But he’s genuine—every nervous compliment, every overly enthusiastic gesture comes from the heart.

5. Believes in Long-Term Commitment: He doesn’t view love as something fleeting. If he’s with you, he’s serious about it. Valentine’s Day isn’t just about romance to him—it’s about reaffirming his dedication to you, now and in the future.

«───── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»

—Scenarios of the MHA men

Shouta Aizawa

Valentine’s Day had never been a big deal for Aizawa.

He had always seen it as just another commercialized holiday—an excuse for florists to double their prices and for restaurants to be packed with couples forcing awkward, overly romantic gestures. But you? You had a way of making things different.

It wasn’t about the flowers or the chocolates. It wasn’t about expensive gifts or elaborate dates. It was about time—something Aizawa cherished more than anything. And if there was one thing he wanted to give you today, it was just that.

Which was why, instead of planning something extravagant, he left a simple note for you that morning.

“Meet me at home after work. Don’t be late.”

He didn’t need to say more. He knew you’d understand. Period we know our man

When you arrived that evening, the apartment was unusually quiet. The usual hum of the city was muffled through the closed windows, and the space was dimly lit by a few warm lamps.

You found Aizawa sitting on the couch, his hair still damp from a shower, dressed in his usual loungewear with his capture weapon loosely draped over his shoulders. The scent of freshly brewed tea lingered in the air, and next to him on the table was a second cup—waiting for you.

“You’re late,” he murmured, though his tone held no real annoyance.

You rolled your eyes, setting your bag down. “By like, five minutes.”

He hummed in response, patting the empty space beside him. Without hesitation, you sank into his warmth, letting out a content sigh as he pulled the blanket over both of you.

“This is nice,” you murmured, taking the tea into your hands. It was your favorite blend—just the way you liked it.

Aizawa exhaled, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your arm. “You work hard. You deserve a quiet night.”

A pause.

“And I wanted to spend today with you.”

Your heart swelled at the softness in his voice. You tilted your head up, pressing a small kiss to his jaw. “You’re kind of a romantic, you know that?”

He scoffed. “Don’t start.”

You laughed, settling deeper into his warmth. If this was his idea of Valentine’s Day, you wouldn’t change a thing.

_________________________________

He wasn’t one to make long, heartfelt declarations. He wouldn’t shower you in grand romantic speeches. But love, in its truest form, was woven into everything he did.

It was in the way he woke up earlier than usual to make sure you had coffee before work. The way he made sure you never skipped meals, even if it meant shoving a snack into your hands before you left the house. The way he always pulled you closer in his sleep, even if he swore he wasn’t a clingy sleeper.

And tonight, it was in the way he planned this—a simple, quiet night in, just the two of you.

“Did you eat today?” he asked after a while, his fingers still idly stroking your arm.

You gave him a sheepish smile. “Uh… kind of?”

Aizawa sighed, already expecting that answer. Without a word, he reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a small takeout bag, handing it to you. “Figured as much. I ordered your favorite earlier.”

Your eyes widened as you peeked inside, finding neatly packed containers of your go-to comfort food. The warmth of the meal seeped through the bag, making your stomach grumble in anticipation.

“You’re the best,” you mumbled, already opening the first container.

Aizawa smirked slightly. “I know.”

You nudged him with your elbow, and he let out a low chuckle before settling back into the couch.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with constant conversation. The occasional clink of utensils and the soft hum of the city outside were the only sounds that filled the space.

It was simple. Uncomplicated. Perfect.

And when you finished eating, Aizawa gently pulled you back into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you with quiet possessiveness.

“Comfy?” he murmured.

You nodded against his chest. “Very.”

Aizawa let out a content sigh, his chin resting atop your head. “Good.”

Because this? This was everything he needed.

_________________________________

At some point in the night, Aizawa shifted, reaching for something on the coffee table.

You blinked as he handed you a small envelope, the edges slightly creased from being in his pocket all day.

“What’s this?” you asked, turning it over curiously.

He shrugged, looking away as if he wasn’t mildly self-conscious about it. “Just open it.” We know damn well you got sweaty ass hands rn

You carefully tore the envelope open, pulling out a simple piece of paper. It wasn’t a store-bought Valentine’s card or anything fancy—just a plain sheet with his handwriting scrawled across it.

“You’re the best part of my days. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It wasn’t long. It wasn’t overly poetic. But it was him. Straightforward. Honest.

And it meant everything.

Your chest tightened as you looked up at him. “Shouta…”

Aizawa cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s dumb, I know. But I figured you deserved more than just dinner and a quiet night.”

You smiled, carefully folding the note and holding it close to your heart. “It’s not dumb. It’s perfect.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, as if reassured by your reaction.

You set the note aside and leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. Aizawa responded instantly, his grip tightening around your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss was deep, unhurried—filled with unspoken words that neither of you needed to say out loud.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his jawline.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Aizawa hummed, his fingers tangling in your hair. “For what?”

“For loving me in your own way.”

His lips quirked up at the corner. “You make it easy.”

You laughed softly, curling back into him as he pulled the blanket tighter around you both.

And as the night stretched on, wrapped in warmth and quiet love, you knew one thing for certain—Aizawa didn’t need grand gestures to show how much he cared.

Because love wasn’t just about words. It was in the little things. The quiet moments. The simple gestures that spoke louder than anything else.

And Aizawa Shouta loved you in every way that mattered.

Keigo Takami

You should have expected something extravagant from Hawks.

You’d barely woken up when a knock sounded at your door. Still groggy, you shuffled over, cracking it open to see a delivery worker holding an absurdly large bouquet—bright red roses with golden-tipped petals.

“Delivery for Y/N,” they said cheerfully.

You accepted the flowers, your sleepy brain still processing the fact that Hawks had gone this over the top already. Tucked between the roses was a small note with his signature scribbled across it.

“Get ready, babe. Your wings arrive in 10 minutes.”

You didn’t have time to question it before, true to his word, Keigo himself swooped down from the sky, landing on your balcony with a dazzling grin.

“Morning, beautiful!” he greeted, stretching his arms out as if waiting for you to run into them. “Ready for the best Valentine’s Day of your life?”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Keigo, it’s barely 9 AM. How did you even—?”

He held up a finger. “Ah-ah, no questions! Just trust me.”

With a dramatic bow, he extended a hand toward you. “Your ride awaits, my love.”

You sighed, shaking your head, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips as you took his hand. “This better not get too crazy.”

Keigo laughed. “No promises, babe.

And with that, he wrapped his arms securely around you and took off, the wind rushing past as he carried you into the sky.

_________________________________

Keigo’s idea of a Valentine’s Day date was anything but ordinary.

He took you to a private rooftop garden—one you were pretty sure he technically wasn’t supposed to have access to, but when had that ever stopped him? The space was beautifully set up, a cozy little table adorned with your favorite breakfast pastries, fresh fruit, and, of course, more flowers.

“Keigo…” you breathed, taking in the scene.

He beamed, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Pretty sweet, huh? Thought we’d start the day off right—with the best view in town.”

He wasn’t wrong. The city stretched out beneath you, bathed in the golden hues of the morning sun. It was peaceful up here, away from the noise and chaos below.

As you both settled in, Keigo wasted no time in teasing you. “Sooo, on a scale of one to ‘I’m totally in love with you,’ how much do you adore me right now?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest made it impossible to deny how much effort he’d put into this. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned, leaning in closer. “That’s not a no.”

You took a bite of your pastry, pretending to ignore him. “Mmm, this is good.”

Keigo pouted. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll take that as an ‘I’m swooning but too proud to admit it.’”

You snorted, and he laughed, reaching across the table to brush his fingers against yours. His playful energy softened for a moment, his golden eyes warm as they met yours.

“Seriously, though,” he murmured, “I know I joke a lot, but I really do mean it when I say you’re the best thing in my life, Y/N.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Keigo might’ve been all about grand gestures, but moments like this? The quiet sincerity in his voice, the way his fingers lingered against yours—those were the things that truly made your heart soar.

_________________________________

The day had been a whirlwind—after breakfast, Keigo had taken you on a literal sky tour, swooping through the clouds, pointing out places below with a childlike excitement that was contagious. He’d surprised you with little gifts throughout the day, each one something personal and thoughtful.

Now, as the sun began to set, the two of you sat on a high-rise rooftop, watching the city lights flicker to life.

Keigo exhaled, stretching his arms behind his head. “Man, today was perfect.

You laughed. “I think you just like showing off your flight skills.”

He smirked. “Guilty. But mostly, I just like making you smile.”

You turned to him, your heart full. “You do that every day, Keigo.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your breath hitched.

“Relax, it’s not that kind of ring,” he teased, flipping the box open to reveal a delicate golden band—a simple, beautiful design, engraved with tiny feathers along the inside.

He took your hand, slipping it onto your finger. “Just a little something to remind you that no matter where I am—whether I’m on duty, flying across the country, or caught up in hero work—you’re always with me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes stinging with emotion. “Keigo…”

He tilted his head. “Too much?”

You shook your head, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Keigo chuckled, wrapping his wings around you, cocooning you in warmth. “That’s my line, babe.” WHOAAWHOHOAAAA

As the city buzzed beneath you, as the stars blinked awake in the sky, you realized something—this wasn’t just another extravagant display of affection.

This was Keigo, in all his chaotic, loving, fiercely devoted glory.

And you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Enji Todoroki

Enji wasn’t the kind of man who put much thought into holidays.

Or at least, he never used to.

Valentine’s Day had always seemed like an unnecessary, over-commercialized event—something flashy and superficial. But then you came into his life, and suddenly, things he never cared about before started to matter.

Which was why, despite his usual reluctance toward romantic gestures, he found himself standing in the middle of a flower shop, staring at a display of roses with an intensity that made the store clerk nervous.

“Do you… need help, sir?” the clerk asked hesitantly.

Enji exhaled through his nose. “What do people usually buy for… these occasions?”

The poor clerk stammered out a few suggestions, but Enji barely listened, his mind already preoccupied with something else. He wanted to get this right. He wanted to try.

By the time he left the shop, he had a bouquet in one hand and a small, neatly wrapped box in the other. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

And for you, he was willing to learn.

_________________________________

When you arrived home thoat evening, you were surprised to find Enji already there, standing in the kitchen with an almost uncertain expression.

“You’re early,” you noted, setting your bag down.

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “I took the evening off.”

Your eyebrows raised. Endeavor? Taking a break on purpose? That was rare. But before you could comment, he stepped forward, handing you the bouquet without a word.

You blinked, looking between him and the flowers. “Are these… for me?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze flickering away as if embarrassed. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I figured…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair before exhaling. “I wanted to do something for you.”

Your heart softened at the effort.

You took the flowers carefully, brushing your fingers over the petals. “They’re beautiful, Enji. Thank you.”

There was a noticeable tension in his shoulders, like he wasn’t sure how you’d react. But at your gentle smile, he relaxed—just a little.

“There’s more,” he muttered, stepping aside to reveal a carefully set dining table. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was clear that he had gone out of his way to prepare a meal.

Your chest tightened with warmth. “You cooked?”

He grunted, crossing his arms. “I tried.”

It was such an Enji way to approach things—no grand declarations, no overly sentimental words. A quiet effort. A steady, unwavering presence.

And that meant more to you than any extravagant gesture ever could.

_________________________________

After dinner, the two of you found yourselves sitting together in the dim glow of the fireplace.

It was rare for Enji to have a moment like this—where he wasn’t burdened by work or his own self-imposed expectations. But tonight, he let himself relax, leaning back against the couch as you curled up beside him.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder.

His arm tightened around you slightly. “I wanted to.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows across the room.

After a moment, Enji reached into his pocket and pulled out the small box he had bought earlier. Without a word, he handed it to you

Curious, you opened it, revealing a delicate pendant in the shape of a flame—elegant yet understated, just like him.

Your breath hitched. “Enji…”

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerability of the moment. “It reminded me of you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fingers tightening around the chain. “It’s perfect.”

For a man who often struggled to express himself, this was his way of saying everything he couldn’t put into words.

You turned to him, reaching up to gently cup his face. “Thank you. For this. For tonight.”

His eyes softened, and for once, he didn’t look away. “You deserve it.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw before settling back into his embrace.

Enji Todoroki wasn’t a man of grand speeches or poetic words.

But his love was a slow-burning fire—steady, unwavering, and fiercely protective.

And as you sat there, wrapped in his warmth, you knew one thing for certain.

This was enough.

Because Enji didn’t need to say “I love you” for you to know that he did.

Shoto Todoroki

Shoto had never celebrated Valentine’s Day before.

Growing up, it was just another day—no warm memories, no traditions, no excitement. But now, with you, things were different. He wanted to make this day special for you, even if he wasn’t sure how.

Which was why, two weeks before Valentine’s, he found himself sitting in the dorm common room, quietly taking notes as his friends debated the best ways to celebrate.

“Chocolate is a must,” Kaminari declared. “Girls love chocolate!”

“Not just chocolate, though,” Kirishima chimed in. “It’s gotta be thoughtful. Something that means something to her.”

Shoto frowned slightly, tapping his pen against the notebook in front of him. He had already planned to get you chocolates, but clearly, that wasn’t enough.

“What are you writing?” Midoriya asked, peeking over his shoulder.

Shoto casually closed the notebook. “Nothing.”

Midoriya gave him a knowing smile but didn’t push.

By the time February 14th arrived, Shoto had everything planned. He wasn’t sure if it was perfect, but it was the best way he knew how to show you how much you meant to him.

_________________________________

The morning of Valentine’s Day, you woke up to find a neatly wrapped package waiting for you outside your door.

Curious, you picked it up, carefully unwrapping it to find a beautiful scarf inside—soft, thick, and woven with shades of deep red and icy blue. A small note was tucked inside.

“It reminded me of us. Meet me at the front gates at 5 PM. –Shoto”

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness. It wasn’t just a random gift; it was something personal, something that reflected the two of you.

When the time came, you made your way to the front of UA, where Shoto was already waiting, his breath visible in the crisp winter air

“You’re wearing it,” he noted, his voice quiet but pleased.

“Of course,” you said, adjusting the scarf around your neck. “It’s perfect.”

His lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. “I’m glad.”

Without another word, he took your hand, leading you down a quiet path toward a secluded park. Snow had begun to fall gently around you, dusting the ground in a thin, glistening layer.

“I wanted to take you somewhere peaceful,” he admitted. “Just the two of us.”

You squeezed his hand, touched by his consideration. “This is perfect, Shoto.”

For a while, the two of you simply walked, the silence between you warm and comfortable. Every now and then, he’d glance at you, as if making sure you were enjoying yourself.

Eventually, he stopped near a small clearing, pulling out a thermos from his coat pocket.

“I made hot chocolate,” he said, a little hesitant. “I wasn’t sure if it would taste right, but… I wanted to try.”

Your heart melted at the sight of him—so earnest, so genuinely trying to make this day special for you.

Taking the cup from his hands, you took a sip and smiled. “It’s perfect, just like everything else today.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his heterochromatic eyes reflecting the snowfall around you.

“I never really understood what Valentine’s Day was supposed to be about,” he admitted. “But now… I think I do.”

You tilted your head. “And what do you think it’s about?”

His fingers tightened around yours, his gaze steady.

“Being with the person who makes everything feel warmer,” he said simply.

Your breath caught.

And then, before you could say anything else, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

_________________________________

After your walk, Shoto took you back to his dorm room, where he had one last surprise waiting.

On his desk sat a small wooden box, carved with delicate patterns along the edges. He picked it up, holding it out to you.

“I made this,” he said, a little shyly. “I’m still learning, so it’s not perfect, but…”

You opened the box, your eyes widening at what was inside.

It was a collection of small, folded notes—each one carefully written, each one meant just for you.

You picked up the first one, unfolding it to read.

“I admire you more than I know how to say.”

Swallowing thickly, you reached for another.

“I want to be someone who makes you as happy as you make me.”

Your hands trembled as you looked back up at him. “Shoto, this is…”

He shifted, a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “I’m not good at saying how I feel sometimes,” he admitted. “But I wanted you to know. So… whenever you need to hear it, you can read one of these.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the quiet but powerful way he showed his love.

Setting the box down carefully, you stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He stiffened slightly at first, then melted into your embrace, his arms coming around you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“You don’t need to say anything,” you murmured against his chest. “I already know.”

He sighed softly, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, so quiet you almost missed it.

Your heart clenched, and you pulled back just enough to look at him.

“I love you too, Shoto.”

His lips twitched, and then, for the first time that night, a full, genuine smile broke across his face.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, as his warmth surrounded you, you knew that this—this—was what love truly felt like.

Tenya Iida

Valentine’s Day was not a day Tenya Iida took lightly.

If he was going to celebrate love, he was going to do it right.

Which was why, the night before, he had mapped out everything. The perfect date, the best restaurant, even the precise timing of each event. His notebook was filled with color-coded plans and contingency strategies—because if there was one thing Iida disliked, it was unforeseen obstacles.

So when February 14th arrived, he was ready.

Or at least, he thought he was.

Because the moment he saw you walking toward him, dressed beautifully with a bright smile just for him, every ounce of structure in his brain short-circuited.

“Tenya?” you tilted your head, amused at his frozen stance.

He quickly snapped out of it, adjusting his glasses. “A-Ah! Yes! You look absolutely stunning! I—I mean, I knew you always looked lovely, but today you look particularly—uh—let us begin our scheduled itinerary!”

You giggled, slipping your arm through his. “Lead the way, Mr. Class President.”

And just like that, his carefully crafted plan began.

_________________________________

The first stop on his itinerary was a highly-rated restaurant, one he had called weeks in advance to secure the best table.

Except when you arrived, a flustered hostess greeted you with an apologetic bow.

“We’re so sorry, but there was a mix-up in the reservations, and we’re currently at full capacity.”

Tenya stiffened. “Impossible! I confirmed my reservation three times!”

“I—I know, sir! But unfortunately, the system—”

Before she could finish, you placed a hand on Tenya’s arm, soothing him instantly. “It’s okay, we can go somewhere else,” you reassured him.

Tenya inhaled sharply, composing himself before turning to you. “I refuse to let this minor inconvenience ruin our evening. Allow me to activate Plan B!”

You bit back a smile. “Plan B?”

“Yes! I anticipated the possibility of restaurant complications and have prepared an alternate location!” He straightened proudly, adjusting his tie. “Come, my love, we shall proceed to the next venue!”

Your heart melted a little at the title—he rarely called you that out loud.

Plan B turned out to be a charming little café with a rooftop garden. Though it wasn’t his original plan, the cozy atmosphere and twinkling fairy lights made it feel even more special.

As you sat across from him, sipping your drinks, he exhaled in relief. “I apologize for the mishap earlier. I wanted today to be flawless.”

You reached over, taking his hand. “It already is, Tenya. Because it’s with you.”

The redness that spread across his face was immediate.

_________________________________

After dinner, Tenya’s itinerary included a peaceful evening walk, but the universe seemed determined to test him once more.

It started raining.

Not just a light drizzle—a downpour.

Tenya groaned, gripping his umbrella tightly. “This was not in the forecast!”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, absolutely delighted by the turn of events. “Maybe we should just go with the flow, Tenya.”

“But—but our plans—”

You reached up, cupping his face gently. “We don’t need plans. As long as we’re together, that’s enough.”

His blue eyes searched yours, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting. “You’re right,” he murmured, covering your hands with his own.

Then, in a rare moment of spontaneity, he tugged you close and pressed a firm, passionate kiss to your lips.

The rain poured around you, but neither of you cared.

Because in that moment, the only thing that mattered was each other.

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