#...and maybe even something for Valentines day -wink wink-

[loveyouprongs]

love like sugar

prompt: “babe, i love you, i do, but if i eat one more piece of chocolate i think i’m going to throw up.” james potter x reader

upcoming content: fluff, broken bone, food. pls lmk if u think i missed anything

authors note: i started this in december 2023!!!! finally finished it!!!! 🍪🥛

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

james likes to believe he's one hell of a boyfriend.

he prides himself on it. he would make the earth spin the other way round if you asked. it doesn't matter how much shit he has to take from his friends, calling him whipped and groaning when he spends his time winking at you in the stands instead of focusing on the match. he could take it all if it meant you'd keep calling for him to open every tightly shut jar so he could puff his chest out and twist it open with ease and you'd clasp your hands under your chin and swoon 'my hero'.

which is why he’s utterly depressed because today’s valentines day and the two of you haven’t left the flat once. all because two weeks ago he slipped in the mud while practicing and the crack that echoed in the air as his leg broke still rung in his ears. six weeks with a cast is what the doctor ordered and now the two of you had to spend valentines day on the couch with his leg elevated in a stinky plaster.

“‘s almost ready, jamie!” you exclaimed, peeking out from the kitchen. your megawatt smile not having once faltered since this morning when you woke him up with kisses across his chest. the press of your lips against his skin enough to erase any physical pain he was feeling, but not the guilt of ruining this special day.

“you don’t have to do this, lovely,” he said, eyes alight with endearment, even after years of being together his gaze still brought heat to your cheeks.

“nonsense! it’s valentines day!”

“don’t remind me,” he began, “i swear i’ll make it up to you right after they cut this shit off me.”

you rolled your eyes, heading back into the kitchen. james was a perfect boyfriend every day of the year, one valentines day indoors wasn’t going to change that. “it’s nice that i can treat you for a change, anyway,” you let out, drizzling chocolate sauce over strawberries as you heard distinctive clunks growing louder.

“y’shouldn’t have to lift a finger, lovie, ‘specially not t’day”

“you say that,” you called from the kitchen, “but you look pretty comfy being waited on.”

there was a beat of silence, followed by the unmistakable clunk... clunk... clunk of crutches against hardwood. You sighed.

“james.”

“i just want to look!,” he whined, voice strained like he was summoning his last ounce of strength as he dragged his crutches behind him.

you turned just in time to see him appear in the doorway, dramatically hunched like some war hero returning from battle, one socked foot planted carefully between each clumsy thud of the crutches. his hair was an absolute disaster, and the blanket you’d tucked around him earlier was still hanging from one shoulder like a cape.

“james, get back on the couch.”

“but you’ve been in there all day,” he protested, leaning heavily on one crutch while gesturing limply with the other. “it’s cruel, making me sit alone while you drown in baked goods.”

“i’m not drowning, I’m baking. and you’re not supposed to be weight-bearing!”

he raised both brows in a slow, theatrical blink. “didn’t realize ‘watching my girlfriend bake cookies all day’ was medically prohibited.”

you gave him a look, but he only smiled—crooked and winning, the same way he always did when he was trying to get away with something. you crossed your arms.

“you’re making me feel like a dickensian orphan, love,” he said.

at that you couldn’t help but laugh and james’ eyes lit up, not just at the sound of your giggles that rang in his head like his favorite song, but that he was wearing you down. maybe he’d be able to hang in the kitchen a little longer.

“may i have some more, sir?” you let out in an exaggerated oliver twist impression, before busting into laughter again.

james groaned, “that’s not even the quote.”

“say it! say it!” you responded, alight in mirth.

james could only roll his eyes and try and fail from a smile spreading on his face, “no! i said that to make you feel bad for me! not for you to make fun!”

you only stuck your tongue out at him, which he matched before dissolving into laughter himself.

“jamie,” you drawled, now with your arms wrapped around his sturdy torso. the warmth that emanated from his body warmed you straight to your toes. “please go back to the couch, i know it’s been boring but i’ll join you in just a few minutes.”

james looked down at you as you rested your chin on his chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. you figured he knew what you were doing, but he nodded complacently before dropping a kiss to your forehead, “alright, alright love, but if i die from emotional neglect, tell everyone it was your fault.”

“that’s completely fair.”

he turned around with great effort and started dragging himself back, muttering under his breath about injustice and being unappreciated. you waited until he flopped dramatically back into the cushions before calling out, more fondly this time:

“i’ve got one more batch in the oven. then you get to eat cookies until you pass out or throw up—whichever comes first.”

you took the cookies out of the oven and looked at your handiwork. dozens of cookies and treats were cooling on the kitchen table, and you were giddy with excitement as you bit your lip. you were devastated for james’ injury, but it was so rare that you got to treat him and dote on him that his plastered leg was a blessing in disguise.

he was usually the one taking care of you. always picking up fresh ingredients from the market because he knew you hated wilted basil, always opening stubborn jars without being asked. he let you sit on the bathroom counter while he showered so you could tell him every single thing that happened during your day, even the parts that were boring. he clasped your bracelets when your nails were wet, let you switch controllers during mario party when you were losing too badly, and acted like it was no big deal when you “miraculously” pulled ahead.

but now he was stuck on the couch, grumpy and dramatic and completely at your mercy.

you arranged the cookies onto a mismatched set of plates, stacking them with a kind of chaotic elegance. chocolate chip, red velvet crinkle, sugar hearts, jam-filled thumbprints, some a little burnt around the edges, some barely holding their shape. you didn’t care. they were yours. his. yours for him.

and you were halfway back to the couch, balancing a tray like it was a fabergé egg, when you saw him: james, passed out under three throw blankets, one arm flung over his eyes like he was a fallen soldier. his crutches splayed on the floor.

“your majesty,” you said, setting the tray down carefully and nudging his leg with your knee, “your offerings have arrived.”

he peeked out from under his arm, eyes blinking open. “are those jam ones?”

“there’s five. i counted.”

“you do love me.”

you handed him a cookie without answering and watched as he took a bite, eyes fluttering shut with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious experiences or championship wins. he didn’t speak again until he was halfway through a second.

“you should open a bakery.”

“yeah, i’ll call it ‘Potter’s Patience’ and make everyone wait six weeks for their order.”

he grinned, crumbs at the corner of his mouth. “worth it.”

The two of you eventually settled on the couch, a carefully arranged blanket nest around James’s outstretched leg.

“what did you pick, baby?”

“a movie,” he said, far too innocently.

“what movie?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“a really good one,” he replied, already clicking through the previews. “and i get to pick because i’m injured!” he said too defensively.

“james…”

he didn’t answer. He just hit play, then turned to you with his arm lifted, the universal signal to come curl under it.

you gave him a look, but when the opening theme of The Princess Bride began playing and the familiar old-school credits started rolling, you groaned.

“oh, james! again?”

“yes!” he said, beaming like it was the first time he’d ever shown it to you. “now shh and enjoy it. and pass me a cookie.”

you handed him one without looking, already half-smiling as the storybook castle appeared onscreen.

as the movie went on, james found himself less interested in his favorite film and more interested in you.

he found himself concentrating on the pace of your breath, trailing his eyes along the line where your body met his. there was a tiny scar just above your right eyebrow, one he’d given you by accident when you both ran at each other after he’d won the rugby final and his fingernail caught your skin. he'd felt horrible at the time but you’d laughed through it.

he studied your mouth, how your smile always said kind things to him when he was quiet and blue. he thought about how your hands had made him this ridiculous cookie feast, and how they would never purposely tickle him because he didn’t like it even though he was horribly ticklish and sirius took shameful advantage of that fact. you respected it, like a good person.

and it was more than that. his body had some sort of homing sense for yours. he always knew when you were nearby. didn’t need to see you, didn’t need to hear you. his whole system just… hummed. lit up like it knew what to do.

he leaned in and kissed the top of your head, lingering for a second, eyes closed.

then his stomach gave a long, unhappy gurgle.

he let out a dramatic groan.

you sat up slightly. “are you still hungry?”

“no,” he said, eyes squeezed shut. “babe, i love you, i do, but if i eat one more piece of chocolate i think i’m going to throw up.”

you blinked.

“how many did you have, babe?”

“i wasn’t counting. I blacked out from love.”

you snorted, already passing him a glass of water. “you’re such a menace.”

he took it with both hands, like a child recovering from a stomachache. “a menace who is completely in love with you.”

“next year I’m making soup.”

“i’lll eat all of it.”

you gave him a look. “a normal amount of it.”

“...most of it.”

you elbowed him gently and sank back into the couch.

he smiled, let his head fall against yours, and murmured, “still worth it.”

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Table 11 (H.S One Shot)

General Masterlist ceo!harry x fem!reader

Summary: based on this request.  An encounter at a restaurant brings together Y/N, a hardworking waitress with little time for love, and Harry, a successful yet guarded man who fears opening up. Both hesitant to risk their hearts, they find themselves drawn to each other, their bond growing through late-night conversations, stolen moments, and quiet acts of understanding.

A/n: Hi again!! my second one shot out there! i’m so excited! i hope you all enjoy it and thanks to @panini for sending the request i enjoyed writing this sooo much. And as always thanks to @eileenrry for hyping me up always. If you wish to be tagged in other works please comment, or dm me.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, use of y/n, casual alcohol consumption over dinner, 700 words of SMUT at the end, use of puppy and daddy, unprotected sex. (If i missed something please do not hesitate to tell me)

“Can you grab table 6 for me?” you asked Mandy while balancing three cocktails on a tray, your fingers trembling slightly from the weight. It was Valentine’s season, and Velours et Flamme was packed to the brim. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the gilded dining room, where even the flickering candlelight seemed to exude wealth.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Valentine’s Day yet—everyone wanted their moment under the chandeliers. For them, it was romance; for you, it was a chaotic shift.

You’d been working at Velours et Flamme for a year now, and you knew the drill: smug diners with wallets thicker than your rent, checks that could pay off your student loans, and that absurd scotch on the menu—£1,500 a pour. To this day, you were waiting for the kind of client who would actually order it. 

“Sure thing,” Mandy said with a wink, swooping past you with practiced ease. She had a knack for smoothing things over, whether it was with a picky customer or a stressed coworker. If Mandy wasn’t here, you weren’t sure how you’d survive these shifts.

London was unforgiving, and the pay barely covered the essentials—your rent, your transit card, and the occasional discount coffee from the café down the street. Your shoes, now with a small but growing hole near the toe, told the story of just how tight things had become. God forbid you needed to replace anything.

As Mandy headed for table 6, you stole a moment to glance around the room. The scent of truffle oil and roasted lamb was in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of overpriced cologne. Couples leaned in close at every table, champagne glasses raised, their conversations drowning in the clinking cutlery and soft piano music. Mandy, as usual, glided effortlessly between the chaos. She was stunning—like she belonged on the cover of Vogue instead of weaving through tables at Velours. The way she carried herself, you wouldn’t guess she was struggling just as much as you were. But you knew better. Beneath her flawless smile and the perfectly knotted apron, she was just like you: one bad week away from disaster.

You adjusted the tray in your hands and sighed. This was your life now. Maybe someday you’d climb out of this rut, but for now, it was all about surviving one shift at a time.

Just as you turned to deliver the drinks to table 9, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant creaked open, and the cold London air swept in. You glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a man walking in. His tailored coat was with some raindrops, and his dark hair was just long enough to curl at the edges.

He was greeted by the host, and you caught his name—Harry Styles. You watched as the host confirmed his reservation.

Harry was alone, which was odd for this time of year. Valentine’s season practically demanded companionship at a place like this. But maybe his date was running late. Or his wife? You glanced at his left hand, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell.

He looked about 33, though it was hard to pin down exactly—youthful yet mature, effortlessly put-together in a way that suggested his wardrobe cost more than your yearly salary. His tailored black coat hung perfectly over broad shoulders, and when he ran a hand through his hair, the movement seemed practiced, like he was used to being observed.

And worth a million dollars? That part wasn’t in question. Everything about him screamed money—the subtle watch peeking out from his cuff, the polished leather boots, the way he carried himself like the room was his even though he’d just walked in.

The host gestured for him to follow, leading him straight to a table in your section. Your section.

You felt a flicker of something—nerves? Annoyance? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. All you knew was that your curiosity had been piqued. You adjusted your apron and reached for the notepad tucked into your pocket, readying yourself to take his order.

Before you could take a step, Mandy appeared at your side, her lips curving into a sly smile.

“Think that’s the guy who’s finally ordering the scotch?” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “If he does, I’ll frame the receipt,” you muttered.

Mandy’s grin widened, and she winked before sashaying off toward table 6.

You took a steadying breath and made your way toward his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze briefly flicked up from the menu he’d been scanning

“Good evening,” you said, forcing your voice to steady as you reached his table. “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

He looked towards his phone on the table “Just water for now, thanks,” he said, his voice rich and smooth, but maybe with a tired undertone

Not the scotch, then.

“Of course,” you replied, scribbling it down. You walked towards the bar and Mandy was there patiently waiting

“The scotch??” she asked, her smile mischievous as her eyes flicked over your shoulder in the direction of his table.

“Water,” you said, your voice tinged with mock defeat as you plopped your notepad on the counter.

Mandy looked at you for a moment before the bartender slid the glass of water across the counter. She grabbed it and handed it to you with a knowing smile. “C’mon don’t be so sad, we will find that scotch guy”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you headed back to his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but glance at him again—his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, his eyes scanning the room but never settling on anything. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the glass of water on the table.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Can I get the smoked salmon, the asparagus salad, and…” He paused, finally looking at you. The pause lingered longer than you expected. “A Blackthorn Reserve. Neat,” he finished, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Smoked salmon, asparagus salad, and Blackthorn Reserve,” you repeated, trying to read him, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Thanks…” he said going back to his phone No date, no wife—just him, casually dining in an absurdly expensive restaurant while everyone else was tangled in whispered conversations and candlelit stares. He was the only one alone, a stark contrast to the Valentine’s frenzy buzzing around.

Something about him tugged at your curiosity. Why was he here, of all places? Who was he? How much was his coat, and why did it cost more than your rent? Rich men came and went every day, dripping with smugness and entitlement, but he was different. There was no show, no pretense. He treated this place like it was McDonald’s—calm, unbothered, as if the exclusivity and extravagance meant nothing to him. That nonchalance only added to the mystery, making it impossible not to wonder what his story was.

The bar hummed with activity, a low symphony of clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional scrape of chairs against polished wood. You navigated the crowd, the weight of the tray in your hand feeling oddly grounding amidst the chaos.

“Can I get a Blackthorne Reserve, neat?” you said to the bartender on call. He barely glanced up, focused on shaking a cocktail for the group at the other end of the counter. The momentary wait was a blessing—giving you a second to steal a glance at him again. He sat at the corner table, the one slightly shrouded in shadow. His posture was relaxed, one hand tracing the rim of the empty glass in front of him.

When his drink was ready, you balanced the tray carefully and made your way over. The coaster slid neatly onto the table before you placed the drink on top.

“Blackthorne Reserve, neat,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

He looked up, his expression calm yet unreadable. “Thanks... Can I get your name, please?” His tone was casual, but his words carried a strange weight that made your heart stutter.

“Y/N, sir,” you replied, meeting his gaze for a second longer than you intended.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He smiled then—a small, soft smile that you could feel, inexplicably, in your chest.

You nodded and turned away, heading to the next table, though you were suddenly more aware of the way you moved. You kept busy—taking orders, clearing plates, laughing politely at some table’s joke. Yet, every so often, your gaze wandered back to him. He wasn’t demanding, not like some of the regulars who snapped fingers or tapped glasses. No, he sat with an air of quiet patience, occasionally checking his phone, occasionally glancing around the room. You wondered what had brought him here tonight. A celebration? A distraction?

When his dinner order was ready, you rushed to the kitchen pass, grabbing the plate with a precision born of habit. You steadied your breathing as you approached his table, placing the dish down with care.

“Smoked salmon and asparagus salad,” you announced.

“Perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much,” he said, and there it was again—the faint curve of his lips, his voice as soft as it was warm.

The evening rush began to taper off, leaving the restaurant quieter but no less busy. You caught sight of him still at his table, the remnants of his meal neatly pushed to the side. His glass sat empty now, save for the last amber droplet at the bottom, and you found yourself wondering if he was ready to leave.

Before you could approach, he raised his hand slightly—a small, deliberate gesture that seemed to summon only you.

“Another Blackthorne Reserve?” he asked when you were close enough to hear.

“Of course, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir,’ please,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely-there smile. “Harry, my name it’s Harry”

You felt a flush of warmth creep up your neck but nodded. “Coming right up, Harry”

At the bar, you relayed the order, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting lazily around the room. By the time his drink was ready, you were certain he had no intention of rushing out. You placed the glass in front of him with the same careful precision. “Blackthorne Reserve,” you said softly.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though the dimming energy of the restaurant had reached him too. “Anything else?” you said softly

He didn’t immediately answered instead, he cradled the glass in his hands, staring down at the dark liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze again. His eyes roamed the room, landing briefly on each table. Couples sat scattered around the restaurant—some leaning close, sharing quiet conversations; others laughing over shared plates. A few tables sat in comfortable silence, the kind that came from years of companionship. And then at you.

“Busy night,” he murmured, catching you lingering nearby.

You looked around as if you didn’t knew it ws a busy night, then nodded. “Always is, especially with so many couples out. Valentine’s coming up”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying a wistful note. He swirled the drink in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Guess I picked the wrong night to dine alone.”

The words caught you off guard, but you managed a polite smile. “Some people prefer it. A quiet drink, good food—it’s not a bad way to spend an evening.”

He looked at you then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “What about you? Do you get much time for quiet evenings like this?”

The question was unexpected, and you faltered. “Not much,” you admitted. “Work keeps me busy.”

He nodded, as if that answer satisfied him, but there was something in his gaze that lingered. It felt like he wanted to say more but didn’t. As the evening wore on, he stayed longer than most, nursing his second drink and watching the world around him with a quiet attentiveness. You found yourself glancing his way more often than you meant to, wondering what kept him there—and whether he might ask for something else before the night was over. The restaurant was nearly empty now, the hum of conversation replaced by the clatter of plates being cleared and the occasional murmur of the remaining people. You passed by his table one last time, noting the way he stared into the near-empty glass, lost in thought.

As if sensing your presence, he looked up and offered a faint smile. “Can I get the check, please?”

You nodded, quickly retrieving the bill and placing it on the table. “Here you go.”

He glanced at it, pulled out a sleek black card, and handed it back to you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

The transaction was quick, and when you returned with the receipt, he stood, slipping the signed copy back into your hands.

“Have a good night,” he said softly, pausing just long enough to meet your eyes before heading toward the door.You watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the cool night air. The faint sound of the door closing behind him was a strange punctuation mark to the evening—unremarkable, yet lingering all the same.

And then, the rhythm of work pulled you back, but you couldn’t quite shake the weight of his presence. “Y/N? C’mon there’s a lot of mess here” you heard Mandy and glanced at her, plates, glasses, napkins. It was going to be a long week.

-----

Valentine’s day arrived and the soft murmur of conversations filled the elegant space of Velours et Flamme. You were just adjusting a neatly folded napkin at your station. It was already late, just 2 hours before closing, couples were coming and going, but this was the last shift of reservations

“Good evening, welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?” the host asked.

“Yes, Styles. Harry Styles,” came the reply. His voice was smooth, distinct, and enough to draw your eyes toward him. Standing tall in a sleek coat.

“Table 11, if possible,” he added with a polite nod, his gaze drifting briefly over the dining area.

“Table 11 is currently busy, but I can offer you 19. It’s a lovely table by the window.”

There was a brief pause “19 it is,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance.

The host gestured toward the far side of the room, leading him past softly glowing tables and couples lost in intimate conversations. He sat down, still looking for you but his perspective was interrupted by Mandy, the epitome of calm under pressure, She greeted him warmly, placing a menu on the table. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with a drink tonight?”

He looked up from the menu, his polite smile softening as he spoke. “Thanks, but before I order… Is Y/N working tonight?” 

Mandy blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “Y/N? Oh, yes, she’s here tonight. She’s been covering the other section.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable “Do you think she could take my table instead?”

Mandy’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Of course. Let me check with her, and I’ll be right back.”

As Mandy walked toward you, you noticed her smirking like she was holding onto some juicy secret. “You’ve got a request,” she said, her tone teasing.

Your brows furrowed. “A request? For what?”

“For you,” she said, nodding toward table 19. “Mr. Styles wants you to take his table. Any idea what that’s about?”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of his name. You clearly remembered him from two nights ago. You wiped your hands on your apron, trying to steady yourself. “I’ll take it and you can take table 10 for me” you said, as you headed toward his table.

When you arrived, he looked up, his expression softening into a warm smile. “Y/N,” he said, your name sounding effortless on his lips. “Good to see you.”

“Good evening, Mr. Styles,” you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening beat of your heart. “I’ll be taking care of your table tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?” “Wine, Soléne Blanc, Truffle-infused Fettuccine and sparkling water” he said not even looking at the menu “Coming right up” you said smiling, you somehow felt happy, you had your usuals clients, but they were cold, smug, mostly annoying, him? totally different vibe. You kept serving him with a small smile, always checking in case he needed something, but he didn’t ask for much. He ate quietly, sipping his wine and enjoying his pasta like it was just another evening out. Like if the restaurant wasn’t all decorated with heart balloons and cupid stuff.

The night went on, and the restaurant slowly emptied. Couples left hand in hand, tables were cleared, and the soft hum of conversation faded away. Eventually, it was just one other customer in the far corner—and him. You busied yourself wiping down tables and resetting for the next day, glancing at his table now and then. He didn’t look like he was in a rush, finishing his wine and leaning back slightly in his chair.

Finally, he raised his hand, and you walked over, thinking he was ready to leave.

“Would you like the check, Mr. Styles?” you asked politely, ready to grab it for him.

But instead of nodding, he looked up at you, his expression calm but curious. “Not just yet,” he said. “Are you allowed to sit down for a bit?”

The question caught you off guard. “Yes, of course,” you said, glancing around. The manager and the host had gone home early that day to be with their SOs, but you? Along with the servers, chefs, and cleaning staff? Yeah, no such luck.

You sat down across from him, feeling a bit nervous, not sure what this was all about.

“You know,” he started, his tone hesitant, “I don’t know if this is weird at all—and you can tell me to fuck off if it is—but...” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have many friends, and tonight... I just need to vent.”

“Well, I’m a good listener,” you replied, suddenly way more curious than before.

He exhaled deeply, his hand still resting on the base of his glass. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know?” he started, glancing out the window. “Supposed to be about love, connection... all that.” He let out a dry laugh. “But here I am, eating dinner alone, wondering if I’ve got it all wrong.”

You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to go on.

“My love life?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s... nonexistent. And it’s not like I haven’t tried. But most people don’t stick around. They see me, and they assume—‘CEO,’ right? So they’re either intimidated or they expect me to be some larger-than-life, perfect version of myself. I end up pushing people away because... what’s the point? I’ll never be what they want me to be. And even if I could... it wouldn’t feel real.”

He paused, his expression softening. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? A room full of people earlier tonight, and I’ve never felt lonelier. Sometimes, it feels like there’s this... wall between me and the rest of the world. Like I’ll never find someone who’s really... my person.”

Your heart ached a little at his words. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” you said softly. “I mean, I get it... in a way. Maybe not from a CEO perspective,” you added with a small laugh, “but... I get it.”

You leaned forward, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table. “I’ve been working as a waitress for years now. Just trying to make ends meet, you know? And between shifts and side jobs, there’s no time for... anything else. No time for dating or even dreaming about a real future.

“The few boyfriends I’ve had?” you continued, shaking your head. “They never got it. They’d complain about me working too much or not spending enough time with them. But they never thought about my goals—what I wanted. And let’s be real,” you added with a small shrug, “it’s not like my paycheck could make those dreams happen anyway. So, yeah, I guess I’ve given up on that, too. What’s the point, right?”

You let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the moment, but he didn’t laugh with you. Instead, he studied you, his expression softening even more.

“It’s different,” you said quickly, “but... I think I understand. Feeling like you’re giving so much of yourself but never really... being seen.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on yours. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Exactly that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the kitchen winding down and the soft hum of the music filled the space between you.

“Thanks” “Anytime”

-----

After that first night, when he opened up to you, something shifted. He became a regular, showing up more often than you expected. Always in your section. Always polite, Always Harry. with that soft smile that somehow made your stomach flip no matter how much you tried to ignore it. And yet, every time he walked through the door, you felt a tiny pang of dread mixed with curiosity.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t kind—he was. He never made you feel uncomfortable, never crossed a line. But that was exactly the problem. It was too easy to talk to him, to laugh at his dry jokes or share fleeting glimpses of yourself you hadn’t meant to reveal. You’d been down this road before, or so you told yourself. You knew what happened when you let someone in. It started with little things—a laugh, a smile, a shared moment. And before you knew it, your heart was tied up in something messy, something that always felt like it demanded too much of you.

Your exes had taught you that love wasn’t about equal footing, at least not for someone like you. Love had been another job, another place where you had to prove yourself, where your dreams took a backseat because someone else needed more—more time, more attention, more of you.

And now, here he was. Harry. A man who, on the surface, seemed worlds apart from you but had a way of making you feel like he truly saw you. And that terrified you.

Because what if he didn’t? What if, like everyone else, he was drawn to an idea of you—someone kind, patient, maybe even a little mysterious—but not the real you? The one who worked double shifts just to keep the lights on, who barely had time to think about her own dreams, let alone share them with someone else?

So, you kept your walls up. You kept things professional, polite. You smiled, laughed when it felt safe, but you never let yourself think too much about why his visits mattered or why your heart raced when you saw him.

Until that night.

You brought the check over as you always did, a practiced smile on your face. He signed it, handed it back, and thanked you like he always did. But rushed to go out.

When you glanced down at the receipt, your breath caught.

“123-456-7890 Call me? - Harry”

The number scrawled below it was neat, confident, like he hadn’t hesitated for a second. But you did.

You gripped the paper tightly, your mind spinning. This was the moment you dreaded—the moment where things teetered on the edge of something more. And with it came all the fears you’d been trying to bury.

Because what if he meant it? What if he actually wanted something real? What if he saw more in you than you could see in yourself? And maybe worst of all... what if you let yourself hope, only to have it all fall apart again?

You froze for a moment, staring at the slip of paper, your mind racing. He had just walked out the door, and you glanced after him through the window, catching the faintest glimpse of his silhouette.

----- A few nights passed, and you convinced yourself that ignoring the receipt was the right thing to do. The thought of calling him felt too big, too real. You’d gotten good at guarding your heart, at keeping things simple. But deep down, you felt the faint sting of regret every time you thought about it.

Then, on a quiet evening, as the rush died down, there he was.

You saw him before he saw you, his figure familiar now, confident but approachable. He made his way to the host stand, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d made the right decision coming back.

“Table 11 again?” he asked the host.

---

You approached, trying to steady your nerves. “Good evening,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Hi,” he replied, leaning slightly forward. His expression wasn’t upset, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

You shook your head, unsure what to say. “Why would i?” 

“I just wanted to check in,” he said. “About the number. I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line leaving it. If I did, I’m really sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

You blinked, surprised. The last thing you expected was for him to apologize. God you expected an angry response, even pretentious but you even scolded yourself in your mind just thinking Harry was capable of that. “No, you didn’t cross a line,” you said quickly. “Not at all. It’s just...” You hesitated, feeling your walls crack ever so slightly. “It’s complicated.”

“I get that,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d want.” The sincerity in his voice made something shift in you. For all your fears about opening up, he was here, not pushing, not demanding, just... waiting. The crack on your walls was now getting bigger.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “For saying that. And for... being patient.”

He nodded, smiling faintly. “I figured it was worth it. You seem worth it.”

The words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Your chest felt tight, like you were standing at the edge of something unknown. And then, before you could overthink it, you made a decision. 

One wall completely down.

You reached into your apron pocket, your fingers brushing against the scrap of paper you’d tucked away days ago. Slowly, you slid it out, unfolding it carefully before placing it on the table in front of him.

He glanced down, his brows lifting slightly as he recognized the paper.

“I didn’t call i did save the number in my phone but..i didn’t call…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I was scared. I’ve always been scared. But maybe...” You took a shaky breath. “Maybe I’m tired of being scared.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself hope for—understanding, warmth, maybe even relief.

“So,” you continued, your voice steadying as you looked him in the eye. “If the offer’s still open, I’d like to start over.”

His smile widened, and he picked up the slip of paper, tucking it into his jacket pocket like it was something precious.

“The offer’s still open,” he said, his tone light but full of meaning.

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself smile back. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” you said going back to your waitress self, but this time with a big smile on your face.

The rest of the night carried an air of something new, something unspoken. You noticed it in the way his gaze lingered as you brought over his glass of wine—a different one tonight, a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

“You’re not sticking to a favorite?” you teased lightly as you set the glass down.

He smirked, his fingers brushing the stem. “I like variety. Keeps things interesting.”

“Does that apply to everything or just wine?” you asked, surprising yourself with the boldness.

He chuckled “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

The banter flowed easily after that, your interactions feeling more relaxed, almost playful. When you brought out his dinner—tonight, a wild mushroom risotto—you couldn’t help but make a small quip.

“Risotto,” you said, placing the plate down. “Trying to impress someone tonight?”

“Just my server,” he replied smoothly, making you glance away with a shy smile.

As the evening wore on and the restaurant began to empty, you found yourself gravitating toward his table more often. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he welcomed your presence with a smile each time. When he finally asked for the check you came quickly and handed it over.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing up as he pulled out his card. “Should i leave another note on the receipt or should i ask right away?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “About what?” 

He handed back the signed receipt, a sly grin on his face. “Well, if we are skipping the middleman. Have dinner with me—somewhere that isn’t here. I promise I won’t make you serve me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how casually he’d said it. “You’re asking me out?”

“Too fast?” he teased.

“A little,” you admitted, but your heart was pounding. “But i like it this time”

He stood, shrugging on his jacket. “Well, think about it. No pressure. Just... somewhere nice, where we can talk and you don’t have to carry plates around.”

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “But only if I get to pick the place, no fancy Michelin-star restaurants.”

“Deal,” he said, standing and shrugging on his coat. “But just so you know, I’m good with street tacos or diner burgers.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was genuine, and as he waved goodnight and walked out into the night, you realized you were already looking forward to whatever came next.

-----

The dates started slow, testing the waters of this new, fragile connection. Their first was at a cozy, family-owned pizzeria, far removed from the polished dining spaces Harry was used to frequenting. They sat in a corner booth, sharing stories over thin-crust slices and soda. You learned that his laugh came easily when he was truly comfortable, and also learned or imagined how wealthy he was. Him telling you about his company didn’t compared how one of your ex-boyfriends talked about a new crypto. He was passionate, honest, not even mentioning how much money he makes in a year, it was pure. As pure as corporate can get.

After that, there was a second date at an indie bookstore. Harry had smiled as you danced from shelf to shelf, excitedly recommending titles, while he kept his hands tucked in his pockets, quietly absorbing your passion. You ended up leaving with two novels you insisted he had to read and a poetry collection he bought, saying, “I thought of you when I saw this.”

Then came the late-night phone calls. You both quickly learned that your lives rarely aligned, but you made the most of the small pockets of time you shared. He’d call after a long day at work, his voice a little tired but steady as he asked about your day. You’d talk quietly from your bed, recounting the chaos of the dinner rush and sharing little anecdotes about your coworkers. sometimes until you fell asleep and he heard your steady breathing through the call.

“Do you ever get a day off?” he joked one night, his voice warm through the receiver.

“Not often,” you admitted. “But I’m used to it. And hey, at least I’m not running a company.”

“Touché,” he replied, laughing softly. “But don’t think for a second I’m not impressed by what you do.”

The weeks passed in a flurry of mismatched schedules and stolen moments. When aligning your off-days seemed impossible, Harry started stopping by the restaurant on his way home from work, not to eat but just to see you.

“Table for one?” you teased the first time he showed up unexpectedly.

“Not quite,” he said with a smile, taking a seat at the bar instead. “Just water, please. I didn’t want to add to your workload. i just wanted to see you” 

You brought him the water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment when the restaurant was quiet. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” you said softly.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his gaze steady. “You’re the best part of my day.” ---

The first kiss came on a rainy night after one of those visits. The restaurant was closing, and he had waited outside under the awning as you locked up. When you stepped out into the night, he was there with an umbrella, holding it out for you.

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

You nodded, and he quickly arrived to your place. At your door, there was a brief pause as you turned to thank him.

Before you could speak, he leaned in, his movements precise, as though giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips met yours, it was soft and sure, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was the kind of kiss that made you feel like you had all the time in the world. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe you deserved this. When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, he whispered, “Finally.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm despite the cool rain. “Took you long enough.”

And with that, the lines between your busy lives blurred a little more, the moments you carved out for each other feeling less like an interruption and more like a necessity.

----

It happened on an unusually quiet night. You were sitting across from him at his place, a cozy loft that felt miles away from the chaos of the restaurant. The table was littered with the remnants of takeout boxes, and you were laughing at a story he had told about a disastrous business trip. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to figure out the best way to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his tone casual but his expression serious.

“That sounds dangerous,” you teased, though the look on his face made your heart flutter with curiosity.

“I’m serious,” he said with a small smile, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’ve been watching how hard you work. You’re on your feet all day, running around, dealing with difficult customers. And then you come home and somehow still have the energy to take care of everything else in your life.”

“That’s just life,” you said, shrugging. “You know how it is. You make it work.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t have to be like that. Not for you.”

You frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’m saying I could offer you something different. A way to work that doesn’t involve twelve-hour shifts and aching feet. Something where you’d have more time for yourself, for your dreams, and…”—his voice faltered just slightly—“for us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you leaned back in your chair, trying to process his words. “Harry, are you asking me to quit my job?”

“Not asking,” he clarified quickly. “Just… suggesting. If you wanted to. I could offer you a job. Something in my company, but nothing high-pressure. Maybe in admin, or operations, or whatever you’d like. You’d have a flexible schedule, a good paycheck, and, most importantly, time to breathe.” Of course he wasn’t asking, he’s Harry, ALWAYS making sure it was purely your decision.

The weight of his offer hung in the air, and you felt a tangle of emotions—gratitude, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, trying to find the right words. “I’ve always worked for everything I have. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m just…”

“Stop,” he said gently, cutting you off. “This isn’t about charity. It’s about giving someone I care about a chance to live their life differently. You deserve that. And it’s not just for you—it’s for me too. I want to see you happy. I want to see us happy.”

You looked at him, his eyes earnest and unwavering. “And you think this would make me happy?”

“I do,” he said simply. “But it’s your choice. If you’re not ready, or if you want to keep things as they are, that’s okay. I’ll still come to the restaurant and order my overpriced water just to see you.”

That last comment made you laugh, easing the tension in the room. You stared down at the table, tracing the edge of a takeout container with your finger. “What would I even do at your company?” you asked softly.

His expression brightened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Anything you want. Admin, scheduling, planning events—whatever feels right to you. And we can figure it out together. No pressure.”

You bit your lip, considering his words. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “You deserve more than what you’ve been settling for. And selfishly…I’d love to have more time with you.”

His honesty warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected. For so long, you’d carried everything alone, convinced that leaning on someone else meant weakness. But Harry wasn’t asking you to lean on him; he was offering to walk beside you.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word barely audible.

His brows lifted in surprise. “Okay?”

You nodded, a nervous laugh escaping. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll work for you.”

The grin that spread across his face was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“I better not,” you teased, though the smile on your face betrayed your nervousness. “But just so you know, I’m not going to be some pushover employee. If you’re a terrible boss, I’ll quit.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But I think you’ll find I’m quite charming.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “We’ll see about that.”

In that moment, the fear you’d been carrying felt lighter. You weren’t just throwing yourself off a cliff—you were trusting that Harry would catch you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe that was okay.

----

Life had changed in ways neither of you could have imagined. The small apartment you'd once called home was now replaced by a shared space filled with light, laughter, and little touches of each other everywhere—his collection of vinyl records stacked neatly in the corner, your books scattered on the coffee table, and the scent of fresh flowers he insisted on buying for you every week.

You had found a rhythm together, a balance between his busy days running his company and your own work, which had evolved into a role that allowed your creativity to shine. You weren’t just an employee at his company—you were a partner, bringing ideas and energy to projects in ways you never thought possible. And at the heart of it all, there was love. Open, unapologetic, and boundless love.

Mornings were filled with teasing banter over breakfast, and nights ended with shared dreams and whispered promises under the covers. On weekends, you’d go on adventures—sometimes exploring new cities, other times simply enjoying lazy days at home. There was no hesitation in showing how much you adored each other, whether it was in the way he’d kiss your forehead absentmindedly or the way you’d hold his hand tightly in crowded rooms.

One evening, after a particularly exciting day of work, Harry had an idea. “Let’s go out for dinner,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch.

“Sure,” you replied, grabbing your shoes. “Where to?”

He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Velours et Flamme.”

You froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s been a while. I think it’s time we revisit the place where it all started.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself walking into the restaurant hand-in-hand with him that evening. The familiar scent of wine and spices filled the air, and the decor, though slightly updated, still held the charm you remembered.

The host greeted you with a polite smile “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?”

“Styles,” Harry said smoothly, squeezing your hand.

You were led to a table by the window, the same spot you’d served him on that Valentine’s Day when everything began. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“This feels surreal,” you admitted, glancing around.

“Good surreal?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward.

“Very good surreal,” you said, smiling and carefully looking at the menu, when an idea quickly popped into your mind. You bit your lip, hesitating for a brief moment before speaking up. “Can I splurge a little? Or maybe… a lot?”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at the menu with a playful smile.

You took a deep breath, letting your finger trace over the menu’s edges before landing on the words you’d been eyeing. “Cairnburn 18,” you said firmly, looking at him with a small, determined smile.

“Scotch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow but not even glancing at the price.

“It’s something I need to do. Please,” you said softly, a touch of vulnerability in your tone.

He didn’t question it, didn’t protest or ask for a reason. Instead, his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, cradling it gently before bringing it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to the top of your hand was tender, a silent reassurance. “Anything you want,” he said, his voice calm and sincere.

The waiter arrived, and Harry placed the order without hesitation, his gaze never leaving yours. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of gratitude for him in that moment—not just for agreeing, but for understanding without needing an explanation.

As the Cairnburn 18 arrived, the rich, £1,500 a pour, amber liquid catching the light, you smiled and raised your glass to him. “To us,” you said simply.

“To us,” he echoed, clinking his glass gently against yours. ----

You both knew how the rest of the night would go the minute you left the restaurant. Back home, he helped you undress, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he did. When you were bare, he pressed his lips to yours, the heat between you building as his hands roamed over your body.

The way he touched you everytime was unhurried, like he was memorizing every curve. His fingers teased along your collarbone, traced your hips, and softly grabbed your breasts. His hands were everywhere, But nowhere near the place you needed him most.

Finally, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. You let him guide you to the bed, watching as he stripped off his clothes and joined you. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself craving more—more contact, more skin, more of him.

He sensed your need because he moved closer, the length of his body pressed against yours, his cock hard and thick against your thigh. You ached for him, the anticipation coiling in you, but he didn't rush.

Instead, he trailed kisses along your neck, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. His fingers danced along your inner thigh, teasing closer and closer to your folds. When he finally touched you, it was with a firm, confident stroke, his thumb brushing against your clit and making you gasp. "Harry..." you moaned breathless

"Yes puppy?" He asked with an innocent tone and used that nickname that made you weak, and kept up the torturous pace, working you higher and higher until you were a trembling mess beneath him. You moaned, begging him for more, and he finally relented, easing a finger inside of you and setting a relentless rhythm. “More” Your pleasure built quickly, the intensity making you cry out, but just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away. Before you could protest, he positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and glistening at the tip.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on either side of your head and gazing down at you with a look of pure devotion. "I love you," he whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. "And I'm gonna take care of you, puppy. Always."

With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely and stealing the breath from your lungs. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, and you clung to him, desperate for more.

"Fuck, Harry," you breathed. He didn't respond, instead burying his face in your neck and moving slowly, deeply, as if he was savoring every moment. His hands roamed your body, teasing and caressing as his hips continued their torturous rhythm.

"Do you like it puppy? me being so deep inside you?"

You could only nod, too overwhelmed to form words. The sensations were overwhelming, the pleasure building and building until it threatened to consume you.

Suddenly, he shifted, changing the angle and hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. "it's so....big" you barely said in a moan

"That's right puppy. Take all of it. Just like that"

You writhed beneath him, unable to hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Your release was within reach, and when he finally slid a hand between your bodies, stroking your clit, it was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. "Come on daddy's cock puppy, don't be shy" he murmured

His words were enough to push you over the edge, your body tensing and trembling as pleasure washed over you. You felt him pulse inside you, and he followed soon after, his breath hot on your neck as he came with a groan filling you with his hot cum.

When the last waves of your orgasm faded, you collapsed against him, completely spent. You both stayed there for a moment, tangled in each other's arms, neither of you willing to break the spell.

Eventually, he pulled out and gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne.

Both of you were now cuddled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light across the room. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the now steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Your eyes drifted to the two frames hung just above the bed. The first one held the receipt from the night that had changed everything—the receipt where he’d written his number, sparking a connection that had grown into the life you shared now.

The second frame hung beside it, empty but not forgotten. Its purpose was clear—it was waiting for tonight’s receipt, the one with the Cairnburn 18 scribbled on it. The night where everything had come full circle.

Taglist: @hermionelove

[wendichester]

⋆˚✿˖° like cherry pie,

summary. dean winchester isn’t a valentine’s day guy—until you change his mind.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 566

"Valentine’s Day is a scam," Dean grumbles, leaning back in the booth with a half-empty beer bottle in his hand.

You roll your eyes, tapping your fingers against the cold metal of your milkshake cup. "You’re so predictable."

He scoffs. "Predictable? Nah, sweetheart, I just call it like I see it. Overpriced candy, packed restaurants, dudes scrambling last minute for gas station flowers—"

You hold up a hand. "Let me guess. You’d rather spend the night hunting a wendigo than do something ‘corny’ like go on a date?"

Dean tilts his head like he's considering it. "Well, when you put it like that…"

You shake your head, biting back a smile. "I bet if some cute waitress brought you a slice of cherry pie and called you ‘sweetheart,’ you’d be all in."

Dean opens his mouth, then pauses, looking momentarily guilty.

You gasp. "Oh my god. You would."

"I didn’t say that!"

"You didn’t have to!" You laugh, pointing at him. "See? You do like romance. You just need it wrapped up in diner food and a little flattery."

Dean groans, rubbing a hand down his face. "I regret agreeing to this date."

But he doesn’t. You know he doesn’t, because even though he’d rather face a nest of vamps than admit it, Dean likes spending time with you. No monsters, no hunts—just this.

The two of you sit tucked in a corner booth, the kind with red vinyl seats and a flickering neon jukebox humming out old love songs. It’s past the Valentine’s Day rush, mostly truckers and late-night regulars left behind, the smell of coffee and frying bacon hanging in the air.

You rest your chin on your hand, watching him. "So if you hate Valentine’s Day so much, why’d you say yes?"

Dean exhales, spinning the beer bottle between his fingers. "Because you asked."

Your heart stutters.

Before you can come up with a response, the waitress appears with a slice of cherry pie, setting it down in front of you with a wink. "This one’s on the house, sweetheart."

Dean stares at you like you orchestrated the whole thing.

You barely hold back a giggle. "Told you so."

His eyes narrow. "You paid her off, didn’t you?"

You grab a fork, breaking off a bite, holding it up to him. "C’mon, Valentine. Let’s share."

He hesitates for half a second before sighing and leaning in, lips wrapping around the fork. He chews, considering. Then—

"Shit," he mutters. "That’s good."

You smirk, taking your own bite. "Tastes better when it’s free."

Dean watches you, something unreadable in his expression. The neon lights outside reflect in his green eyes, a soft warmth beneath all that teasing bravado. He taps his fingers against the table, exhaling through his nose.

"You know… maybe this holiday ain’t so bad."

You feign shock. "Dean Winchester admitting defeat? Marking this down in history."

Dean scoffs. "I ain’t admitting shit. I’m just sayin’—" He picks up his fork, stealing another bite of your pie. "Good food, good company… I could get used to this."

Your chest tightens in the best way.

"Me too," you admit, voice quieter now.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just nudges the plate a little closer between you. And in the soft glow of the diner, with the jukebox crooning something slow and sweet, he looks at you like maybe he could get used to this too.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @aerinu

[clementineinn]

the door into summer

abstract: on a warm summer evening, under the hush of string lights and the flicker of fireflies, something quiet begins to shift. what starts as laughter among friends becomes a night of near-confessions and stolen glances, where the air is thick with memory and want.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (usage of Y/N)

genre: tooth-rotting fluff

word count: 7.5k

note: thinking about summer and spencer reid has me in a daydream all day long. writing this out in my uni's library was one of the best feelings ever, how could you ever explain that to a man?? anyways, as always, enjoyy!!

Quantico, BAU Bullpen – Late Afternoon

The late-day hum of keyboards and rustling case files filled the BAU bullpen, a soft chorus of exhaustion and focus that clung to the fluorescent light like static. Coffee cups sat half-empty beside piles of reports, and the air buzzed with the quiet fatigue that came at the end of a case—the kind that settled into shoulders and softened voices.

And then, breaking through it like a glittering firework in a library, came the familiar chiming of bracelets and the unmistakable voice of Penelope Garcia.

She didn’t enter so much as burst in—arms full of color, bangles clinking with every dramatic step, sunglasses perched on her head despite being indoors. Her dress was a swirl of citrus hues and soft ruffles, and her heels clicked like punctuation across the tile.

Hotch looked up from his office doorway with a faint smile that read: here we go again.

“Attention, my beautiful crime-fighting weirdos!” she declared, hands raised like a ringmaster about to announce the main act. “We are officially T-minus six hours until the most important event of the month—nay, the summer. And if any of you bail, I will hack into your iTunes libraries and replace every playlist with accordion covers of Nickelback.”

A few chuckles rippled through the bullpen.

“I’ve already RSVP’d yes like, four times,” Prentiss said, spinning in her chair. “I’m mostly going for the themed cocktails and the regret.”

JJ chimed in from behind her desk. “Will there be karaoke again?”

Garcia winked. “There will be redemption.”

Rossi emerged from the break room with a steaming mug. “I’ll bring wine, as tradition dictates.”

As conversations resumed, Morgan turned from his desk and caught sight of Spencer, who was absently twisting a paperclip into a helix. His eyes weren’t on Garcia. They were drifting—softly, unconsciously—toward the far corner of the room.

Toward her.

Y/N was leaning against the edge of JJ’s desk, talking animatedly with her, Prentiss, and Garcia, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Something about the way she stood—loose-limbed, relaxed, laughing with her head tilted—made the air feel just a little warmer.

Morgan didn’t miss it.

“Yo,” he said, voice low and teasing as he leaned toward Reid. “You going tonight?”

Reid blinked, snapping out of his trance. “What?”

“To Garcia’s,” Morgan said, nudging him. “The party. First night of summer. That thing she’s been planning since Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh. I don’t know. I might.”

Morgan’s grin was slow and knowing. “You should.”

Spencer glanced at him warily. “Why?”

Morgan tilted his head toward the corner, where Y/N was laughing at something JJ just whispered. “Because she’s going.”

Spencer’s jaw twitched—just barely. His eyes flicked down, then back up again. “So?”

“So,” Morgan said, slapping a hand on his shoulder, “wear something that doesn’t look like it’s from a calculus textbook. Maybe tonight’s the night you stop staring from across the room.”

Spencer opened his mouth to protest—but then Y/N looked over.

She didn’t say anything. Just caught his gaze and smiled—small, quiet, real.

And Spencer’s heart forgot its rhythm entirely.

Garcia’s Backyard – Early Evening

The sun was still clinging to the edges of the sky in long, golden ribbons when Y/N stepped onto Garcia’s lawn, a coil of twinkle lights looped around her arm like a garland spun from stars. Her brown boots pressed softly into the grass, each step sinking just slightly into the earth, grounding her in the hush of early summer.

The air was velvet-warm and fragrant—lavender, honeysuckle, and the faintest trace of citrus from a glass left on the railing. Wind chimes stirred above the porch in slow, dreamy tones, their silver song fluttering through the breeze like a lullaby meant only for summer’s beginning.

Her dress fluttered at the hem—white and lacy, soft as breath, catching the golden light like it had been made to glow. It clung to the curves of her hips in motion, the delicate fabric shifting with every step she took between lantern poles and flower beds. She looked like something from a story whispered at twilight—half-real, half-lantern light.

Garcia watched her from the porch, barefoot herself, a bundle of citronella candles tucked under one arm like potions.

“Okay, moonflower,” Garcia called from the patio steps, hands on her hips, surveying the backyard like a general readying for battle. “We’ve got exactly one hour to make this place look like a midsummer dream crossed with a Stevie Nicks fever vision. Let’s summon the party gods.”

Y/N laughed as she reached for the nearest fence post, beginning to wind the twinkle lights around it. “You’re mixing metaphors again.”

“I contain multitudes,” Garcia said dramatically, then gestured to a crate of vintage glassware, solar lanterns, and fake moss. “And you contain the only sense of symmetry I trust right now.”

The two of them moved in a quiet, easy rhythm—Garcia orchestrating with flair, Y/N adjusting the delicate twinkle lights with careful hands, her touch light as breath on glass. The strands draped between fence posts like constellations, catching the last of the sun as it dipped behind the trees. Mismatched candle holders lined the long table, flickering already as if they couldn’t wait for dusk.

Y/N’s brown knee boots whispered through the grass as she stepped back to admire their work, the worn leather grounding the soft sway of her white dress—a contrast of strength and softness that somehow suited her perfectly.

Eventually, Garcia stepped back, let out a long, theatrical sigh, fanning herself with a flamingo-shaped paddle. “You look like a Renaissance painting. Like if Botticelli painted summer in boots.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips was warm. “You picked the outfit, technically,” she said, looping the last coil of lights around the edge of the pergola. “You threatened to withhold music recommendations unless I wore something ‘solstice-worthy.’”

“I did no such thing,” Garcia said, gasping. “I merely suggested that if you wore that dress, certain individuals might experience temporary cardiac distress. No names. No pressure.”

Y/N arched a brow. “You mean Spencer?”

Garcia feigned innocence poorly. “Did I say that?”

“I like him,” Y/N said simply, not able to help the smile blooming on her face, smoothing her palms down the fabric of her dress. “Not exactly a government secret.”

Garcia’s expression softened, all glitter and truth. “He likes you too, honey. Has for ages. The man practically blinks in Morse code when you walk into a room.”

A hush fell between them—not awkward, but full, like a breath held between pages of a story just beginning to turn.

Y/N let out a soft, breathy giggle—light and a little dazed, the kind that escaped without asking permission. She ducked her head slightly, as if even the breeze might overhear. A touch of rose bloomed in her cheeks, blooming even deeper when Garcia grinned knowingly.

Around them, the garden hummed in gold and green. Fireflies blinked lazily along the hedges, slow and deliberate, like sparks from a match that never quite catches. The sky above had begun its slow descent into dusk, shifting from the faintest robin’s egg blue into soft mauve, a color only seen when you were still long enough to notice it—quiet enough to be changed by it.

And for a moment, the whole world felt paused on the edge of something beautiful.

Y/N tied the last ribbon to the pergola, fingers lingering on the knot, and turned to Garcia. “Well… let’s see if he shows up.”

Garcia smiled, eyes twinkling. “Oh, he’ll be here. And when he sees you—” she made a theatrical explosion gesture with her fingers, “—brain. Gone.”

They both giggled, the sound delicate and light, like wind chimes stirring on a summer breeze—bright, private, and gilded by the last amber blush of day, as if the dusk itself had leaned in to listen.

By the time the citronella candles were flickering in full force and the fairy lights blinked to life overhead, the backyard had begun to swell with familiar voices.

The first to arrive was JJ, with Will at her side and Henry tucked on his hip, already sleepy-eyed from the car ride over. Y/N swooped in for hugs, cooing over Henry’s shark-print pajamas, her colorful counterpart offering him a cup of apple juice in a sparkly tumbler.

Rossi strolled through the gate next, holding a bottle of red wine in one hand and a Tupperware of something suspiciously gourmet in the other. “I figured someone had to bring a dish that didn’t involve glitter or gummy worms.”

“Rossi!” Garcia squealed. “You brought carbs and judgment—just what I needed.”

Hotch didn’t stay long—he swung by just long enough to hand Garcia a summer bouquet and promise he’d attend next year’s party for more than fifteen minutes. He exchanged a few quiet words with Y/N at the edge of the lawn before heading out to catch Jack’s game.

Then came Emily, in cutoffs and a vintage band tee, holding a six-pack and shouting something about missing her punk phase. She immediately pulled Y/N into a hug, murmuring something with a grin that made her laugh and swat at her arm.

The backyard filled slowly, in the best way—people drifting in with half-finished drinks and easy laughter, staking claims to folding chairs and porch steps. Music hummed low from the speakers Garcia had tucked near the herb garden, soft enough to let conversations overlap like waves. Fireflies blinked in and out along the grass line, pulsing gently like they had nowhere else to be.

Near the far edge of the yard, someone set up a folding table and started arranging red cups. A round of beer pong had begun. Prentiss immediately accused JJ of stacking the teams, both unable to contain the ringing laughter that escaped their lips.

And through it all, Y/N moved like the center of gravity—refilling drinks, catching up with JJ and Emily, swaying slightly to the rhythm of the music as the wind played with her hair.

Every now and then, her eyes flicked toward the gate.

Garcia noticed. Of course she noticed.

“He’ll come,” she murmured, passing Y/N a glass of sangria and a soft look. “You know he will.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She just took the glass and nodded once, fingers tightening around the stem.

And then—

The gate creaked open.

No one looked up right away. The music had mellowed into something slow and warm, weaving through the laughter and low conversation scattered across Garcia’s backyard. String lights blinked into gold overhead. Prentiss was accusing Rossi of cheating at beer pong again, Garcia was convincing Henry that fireflies were tiny fairies and not bugs, and someone popped open a beer with the hiss of summer behind it.

Spencer hovered just inside the gate, hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of a slate-blue shirt that Garcia had all but bullied him into wearing. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows—he wasn’t sure if it looked intentional or just like he’d gotten too warm and panicked.

He didn’t know where to go, exactly. Or how to move. Or breathe.

Because there—at the far edge of the patio, half-turned toward the light—stood Y/N.

And she looked like every thought he’d ever tried not to have about her, wrapped in dusk and light and lace.

Her hair—soft with waves from the heat of the day—cascaded down her back like sun-warmed silk, catching the last of the golden light in a way that made his breath catch. The white dress—short, delicate, almost too fragile for this world—fluttered at the hem, shifting with the breeze like it had a mind of its own. It danced against her thighs in fleeting, whispering touches, revealing glimpses of skin so soft and bare it made something in him ache. His eyes followed the line of her leg down to the top of her boots, the worn leather hugging her calves like they’d been made just for her.

She stood with one hand cradling a half-glass of dark sangria, its deep red glinting like garnet in the porchlight; her fingers, long and elegant, curled delicately around the stem—a contrast against the wine-dark swirl, the rim of the glass catching light like a prism, throwing faint glimmers onto the lace of her dress. Her lips—stained the same ripe shade as the drink—parted slightly as she laughed at something JJ said, the sound soft and bright, like a bell in warm fog, and all he could think about was how dangerously, heartbreakingly kissable her mouth looked in that moment.

The gentle curve of her throat. The soft sweep of collarbone exposed by the neckline of her dress. He could almost imagine what her skin would feel like if he touched it—warm from the sun, velvet-smooth, like something meant to be memorized slowly.

She moved slightly, hair falling across her shoulder, and the light shifted with her, gilding her in gold.

She didn’t know.

That was the worst part.

She didn’t know how breathtaking she looked. How she was standing there, half-tucked into the last light of day, looking like a wish someone else had made.

His throat tightened.

Of course he noticed. He noticed her like the stars must notice gravity.

And still, he didn’t move—jaw slack, breath stalled in his throat, frozen in the kind of silent awe that only came from long-held want finally staring back at him in the flesh. She was a vision carved from light and memory, and he stood there like a ghost haunting the edge of something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.

He might have stayed rooted there forever if she hadn’t turned.

Just a small, unconscious shift of her shoulders, the tilt of her head—like she felt him before she saw him.

Her eyes found his.

And something in him fractured—quietly, like glass under slow pressure.

She smiled—small, tentative, a curve of her lips that seemed to ask more than it answered. There was uncertainty in it, like maybe she wasn’t sure he was real. Like maybe she wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

And then—her hand lifted, the stem of her wine glass catching the fading light as she raised it just slightly in greeting.

That was all it took.

Spencer began walking, though his body felt distant and slow, like he was moving through warm honey, like the air between them had thickened with everything he hadn’t said.

He had no idea what expression his face was making—probably something strange and wide-eyed. His heart was racing, an echo of footsteps pounding against the inside of his ribs. Every cell in him was tuned to her.

And by the time he reached her, she had turned fully—her back to the sunset, one hand resting lightly on the back of a chair, the wind tugging playfully at the lace hem of her dress. Her hair shimmered around her shoulders like dusk had decided to follow her down.

She looked at him like she wasn’t sure what to say next.

And then she smiled again, this time a little steadier.

“Hey, stranger,” she said—voice soft and warm, threaded through with something quieter beneath it. Hope, maybe. Or doubt. “I was starting to think you bailed.”

Spencer blinked. “I, uh... circled the block once.”

She laughed, her teeth catching the rim of her glass before she took a sip. “That sounds about right.”

“I had to... psychologically prepare,” he added, a little too honestly.

“For Garcia’s yard?”

“For... people. And string lights. And themed drinks.”

She grinned. “Yeah, the sangria’s lethal. Pretty sure the fruit in mine is just decoration at this point.”

Spencer’s lips curved into a half-smile. “You make it look manageable.”

She raised a brow. “Is that your way of saying I’m handling sangria better than you’d expect?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Not at all. I just meant—you seem. Comfortable. In this.”

She gave a small shrug, gaze flicking away, words trailing out of her mouth in a joking tone. “I’m faking it, obviously. I’ve got a whole internal monologue running.”

Spencer smiled softly. “Does it include a tactical exit strategy?”

“Only if someone spills on me.” She tilted her head toward Garcia, who was dramatically flailing over a plastic cup. “Or if Garcia tries to get me to dance.”

Spencer glanced over and nodded, solemn. “That does seem like a legitimate threat.”

Y/N’s smile quirked again, but her eyes flicked back toward the ground—lingering on the tip of her boot as it pressed into the grass. She swirled her glass absently, watching the fruit float in slow spirals.

There was a pause. Light. But charged.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said, not looking at him this time.

Spencer shifted slightly. “Yeah. I... wasn’t sure I would either.”

Her brow ticked up. “But here you are.”

He glanced sideways at her. “Here I am.”

Their eyes met again, and this time something stayed there. Something quiet. Fragile.

Y/N took another sip of her sangria and tried to smile like her heart wasn’t fluttering a little. Like his presence didn’t change the temperature around her.

She tapped the rim of her glass once, then said, “I didn’t think this dress was a good idea.”

Spencer’s breath caught.

It took everything in him not to say the thousand things that filled his head at once.

It’s perfect. You look unreal. You’re the only person I’ve looked at since I got here.

Instead, he said, gently, “Why not?”

She shrugged again, self-conscious. “I don’t know. Felt like maybe it was trying too hard.”

His brows drew together just slightly. “It doesn’t.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

“It doesn’t try too hard,” he said again. “It just... works. On you.”

It wasn’t a compliment exactly—not the kind that made it obvious. But it was close. Close enough that her cheeks went warm.

She looked away again, biting her lip like maybe she hadn’t expected even that much.

Spencer stuffed his hands back in his pockets, fighting the itch to reach for her, to say what he really meant.

You look like summer made flesh. Like I’ve spent months trying not to say your name.

Instead, he nodded toward the game table. “Are you playing?”

“I was about to,” she said, glancing toward the house with a smile. “Garcia claimed me for her team, but then someone spilled sangria on the playlist notes and she went full crisis mode. I got ditched for DJ triage.”

He smiled. “Sounds terrifying.”

“You have no idea.” She turned toward the table, then paused. “Wanna join me?”

Spencer hesitated for half a breath too long.

She laughed under her breath. “Too much social exposure?”

He shook his head. “No. Just calculating the risk of complete emotional collapse.”

Her eyes sparkled at that—surprised, a little fond. And something inside her flickered.

Say something, she thought. Look at me like you mean it.

“You’re cute when you panic,” she offered, softer than she meant to.

His mouth opened—like maybe he would say something, anything—but then closed again.

And that was it.

A heartbeat. A pause. Nothing more.

He still wasn’t looking at her the way she ached for.

Not the way she’d imagined, just once, in the mirror before leaving the house—when she smoothed the hem of her dress with trembling fingers and let Garcia braid gold into her hair like a spell. When she told herself she didn’t need him to notice.

But God, she wanted him to.

Just one look. One moment that said he saw her—not the agent, not the friend, but the girl in the white dress who only wore it because some fragile part of her hoped it might make him stay a little longer when the night ended.

She took a step back anyway, smile still intact, the hem of her dress catching in the breeze and dancing around her thighs as she turned.

“Come on, Doctor,” she called lightly over her shoulder. “I’ll save you a cup.”

And Spencer—blinking once, heart stumbling to keep up—followed her into the lights.

From the table, Morgan’s voice rang out: “Reid! You better get in on this next round. We need a math guy to calculate our odds!”

She moved ahead of him, boots pressing gently into the grass, the worn leather hugging her calves like they’d been shaped to her stride. The hem of her dress—a weightless slip of white cotton and lace—fluttered with the breeze, just brushing the tops of her thighs with every step. The fabric floated more than it fell, sheer in places where the light passed through, stitched with the softest panels of embroidery and ruffled tulle, like something borrowed from a midsummer dream.

The flutter of her cap sleeves kissed her shoulders, exposing the golden curve of skin beneath. The dress swayed when she moved, catching the warm light of the lanterns and casting faint shadows against her legs, as if the night itself couldn’t help but follow her.

She looked like a painting left out in the sun—all soft edges and pale ivory, leather and lace and a hint of something wild beneath it all. Her silhouette moved through the garden like smoke—blurred at the edges, kissed by lamplight, and edged in warm shadow. She looked untouchable in that moment. Like a page torn from some pastoral painting—cream and pale honey, dusk-blushed skin and vintage leather.

And Spencer—he watched her, helpless.

His eyes traced the flutter of the skirt, the soft dip of her collarbone, the barest glint of skin beneath the gauzy fabric. She was light and movement, softness and summer and something impossible to name.

He was sure—painfully sure—that he would never recover from this.

Spencer followed, heart caught somewhere between his ribs and his throat, and wondered if it was possible to ache for something that had never truly been yours.

He wanted to stare. He wanted to memorize every detail—the shift of her hair against her back, the dip of her waist, the soft line of her neck where it disappeared into lace. She looked like warmth itself, like summer captured in motion, like every unspoken sentence that had ever sat on the edge of his tongue.

He tried not to trip. Tried not to breathe too hard. Tried not to want.

But he did. With a fierceness that frightened him.

And she didn’t even know.

She was right there—right there, laughing with a glass in her hand and the stars beginning to crown her shoulders—and she had no idea how badly he wanted to reach for her. Not to pull her in or steal anything. Just to rest his fingers at the edge of her wrist and feel what it was like to be allowed.

She stopped at the folding table set up near the flower beds, already half-surrounded by red Solo cups and friendly heckling.

“We’re going, we’re going,” she giggled, glancing over her shoulder at him.

He nodded, a beat late. “Only if you’re willing to lose.”

Her eyes narrowed playfully. “Wow. Confidence and reverse psychology. You’ve clearly been studying the classics.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he said, then immediately regretted how that sounded.

Y/N grinned, setting her drink on the edge of the table. “Good. Because I plan on carrying this team, and I need you to look smart while I do it.”

Spencer exhaled a laugh. “I can do ‘look smart.’ That’s my default setting.”

“Perfect,” she said, and tossed him a ping pong ball.

He caught it with both hands, awkwardly. “Right. Okay. How hard can this be?”

“Okay, Doctor,” Y/N said, nudging Spencer toward the table with a grin. “Lesson one: aim like you mean it, but pretend you don’t care.”

Spencer stood beside her stiffly, clearly calculating something in his head—trajectory, angle, wrist rotation. His brows furrowed as he watched the other team set up the triangle of cups. The table was slightly uneven, leaning just enough to skew his probability models.

“This feels like a trap,” he murmured.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “That’s because it is.”

Across the table, Prentiss and JJ lined up with devilish smiles. “No pressure, Reid,” Emily said. “Just know I’ve already decided to take this personally.”

“Ignore them,” Y/N said, laughing under her breath, stepping closer so her arm brushed his. “They thrive on intimidation”

He blinked. “Like sharks.”

“Exactly,” she whispered, eyes narrowing in fake conspiracy. “Sharks with eyeliner.”

He smiled again—small and warm—and turned back to the game at hand.

Y/N watched him, eyes flicking between the ball and his profile.

There was something incredibly endearing about the way he concentrated—the tip of his tongue just barely touching his bottom lip, his brow furrowed like he was solving a math equation instead of figuring out how to play.

“Let’s see if you can outdrink me, genius,” Emily called out, tossing the ball from hand to hand.

“I’m not actually drinking,” Spencer replied, adjusting his stance like that would somehow help.

“Even better,” she said, already lining up her shot. “Means you’ll remember losing.”

The ball bounced once, then veered off the rim and rolled away into the grass.

Y/N raised her glass and called out, grinning, “That was bold, Prentiss.”

Emily gave her a look. “I’ve had three of these,” she said, gesturing to her drink. “Cut me some slack.”

Y/N sipped hers. “I’d cut you some if you hadn’t talked such a big game.”

Emily grinned. “I had plans, you know. You and me? Dream team. But someone got kidnapped by Garcia’s event-planning vortex.”

Y/N laughed. “I didn’t stand a chance. She handed me a box of votives and said, ‘make it whimsical.’”

Emily shrugged, unbothered. “Still feels like abandonment.”

“You’ve known me for five years,” Y/N said, amused. “If I had a choice, I’d be yelling over a plastic table with you right now.”

She raised her drink. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Y/N laughed and turned back to Spencer, nudging his arm. “See? Tensions are high. The bar is low. Just aim for the middle and don’t overthink it.”

Spencer glanced at her, clearly overthinking it anyway.

She leaned in, voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. “You got this. You’ve out-logic’ed serial killers. A ping pong ball doesn’t stand a chance.”

He nodded slowly, trying not to focus on the way her shoulder brushed his.

Spencer’s hand tightened around the ping pong ball, holding it between his fingers with a kind of reverence that made Y/N bite back a smile. “Okay. But just so we’re clear, the average success rate in beer pong for a non-athlete is—”

“Spencer.”

He turned toward her.

She stepped close.

Close.

“Relax,” she said, voice soft, teasing at the edges. She reached out and gently adjusted his elbow. “You’re not diffusing a bomb. You’re just trying to sink a ball into a cup. Less nuclear physics, more carnival game.”

His lips twitched, a breath of a smile starting to form, though the proximity of her was doing more to scramble his brain than any probability curve.

Her hand stayed on his elbow, light but anchoring. She smelled faintly of rose water and lemon—bright, clean, summer. And the way her hair brushed his arm when she leaned just a bit closer made it nearly impossible to think clearly.

“You’re in your head,” she murmured.

“That’s where I live,” he replied, his voice quieter now.

She laughed under her breath. “Not tonight.”

Her fingers brushed his—soft, slow, a spark caught in passing. He held perfectly still.

“Use your fingertips,” she whispered. “Aim for the center. Gentle arc. Like tossing a paper plane.”

He nodded slowly. “Right. Paper plane.”

He pulled his arm back, exhaled, and released.

The ball bounced once on the rim—clink—and landed squarely in a center cup.

Cheers erupted from the bystanders. Someone whooped. Morgan yelled out something that sounded like, “That’s my boy!”

Y/N let out a delighted laugh, the sound bubbling up from her chest like it had been waiting for a moment just like this.

Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed Spencer’s arm—a quick, excited clutch of his bicep, her fingers curling instinctively as if her body had moved faster than her mind. “Yes!” she breathed, beaming up at him.

Spencer blinked, stunned by the sudden contact—and then his face broke into something rare and unguarded.

He laughed.

Not the quiet, polite kind of laugh he gave when he didn’t know what to say—but something real and bright, boyish and warm, catching even him by surprise. His eyes crinkled, his posture loosened, and his whole body felt lighter somehow.

“You made that look easy,” she said, still holding onto his arm for a second longer than necessary before letting go. Her fingers trailed off his sleeve like the last note of a song.

He smiled, wide and a little breathless. “That was mostly luck.”

“Mm.” She reached for the next ball, weighing it in her hand. “I don’t believe in luck. Just pattern recognition and good instincts.”

Spencer looked at her—not at the ball, or the cups, or the table—but her.

“I think yours are better than mine,” he said softly.

She smirked as she lined up her throw, not looking at him but clearly hearing every word. “Only in beer pong.”

She flicked her wrist. The ball sailed, bounced, rimmed—and dropped in.

Another low ripple of reaction from the small crowd behind them. Morgan and Garcia exchanged a glance from their seats on the grass, something amused and speculative in their expressions, slightly covered by her beaming into her glass. Rossi took a slow sip of wine. 

Y/N stepped back beside Spencer as they waited for their opponents’ turn. Her shoulder brushed his, just slightly, her body humming with easy energy.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured, watching her from the corner of his eye.

“I told you,” she whispered back, eyes on the table. “You just needed the right partner.”

He didn’t say anything—but he didn’t look away either.

The next round began. They refocused, watching the ball bounce harmlessly off the rim on the other side. The energy picked up again, the table glowing under the canopy of string lights.

They played on—a quiet rhythm building between them, hands brushing now and then, quiet glances exchanged between shots, a slow, sweet unraveling of tension that felt unspoken but understood.

And no one said anything.

But a few eyes lingered.

The music had faded into something distant and dreamy, like a memory playing through a closed door. Crickets chirped in the hedges. The party, for the most part, had tucked itself in—warm laughter behind windows, faint clinking of glasses, someone calling goodnight from the front lawn.

Y/N sat on the low stone bench at the edge of the garden, half-tucked beneath the gentle sway of ivy and moonlight. Her boots were still on—worn brown leather, scuffed just enough to tell stories, heels resting lightly in the grass as she crossed one ankle over the other. The soft hush of the party drifted somewhere behind her—faint music, murmured voices, the occasional burst of laughter like it had forgotten to fade.

She cradled her glass of sangria between both hands, fingers loose around the stem, the melted ice glimmering faintly in the amber light spilling from the kitchen window. A single slice of lime floated lazily near the rim, catching the glow like stained glass. Her dress—still bright even in the blue hush of night—pooled in gentle folds against her thighs, the lace catching moonlight in its edges like frost on petals.

And her hair—loose, softly wavy, weightless in the way it moved—cascaded down her back like dusk. A few strands clung to her collarbone, caught on the rim of her glass, or lifted in the breeze like they were drawn toward something unseen.

The air was cooling now, sweet with honeysuckle and grass. The lights above flickered faintly in the stillness.

She looked like part of the night itself—quiet, waiting, unknowingly luminous.

And still—despite the quiet, despite the beauty of the evening settling around her like silk—there was a weight in her chest she couldn’t quite name.

Not sadness. Not loneliness.

Just something waiting.

She let her head tip back, eyes tracing the lattice of branches above her. Her hair, wilder now from the humidity, curled down her back in soft, careless waves. Her dress had wrinkled at the hem, lace crushed from the hours of movement.

She looked beautiful, and didn’t know it.

Which was the hardest part.

Spencer stood just a few feet away, watching her through the soft shadows.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

Which wasn’t unusual, because what she also didn’t know—what she never seemed to know—was just how often he looked at her like this. Like she was the fixed point everything else revolved around. Like he didn’t know how to breathe unless he was quietly aware of her in the room.

And tonight, it was starting to hurt a little. Because she hadn’t looked at him once like she knew.

Y/N let out a sigh, took a slow sip of her drink, and whispered to no one in particular, “I should stop doing this.”

“Doing what?” came a voice—low, familiar.

She jumped slightly, her glass wobbling in her hand.

“Jesus,” she breathed out, laughing as she turned her head. “You always show up like a ghost in the dark.”

Spencer hovered just a step away, half-shadowed by the porchlight. “Sorry,” he said, quiet and earnest. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

She waved a hand, cheeks flushing a little—not from the surprise, but from the warmth in his voice, the way it softened when it was just the two of them. “It’s fine. I was just... thinking out loud.”

His brows pulled together gently. “About?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers curling a little tighter around the stem of her glass. The lime floated lazily in the deep pink of her drink, spinning like it was stalling for her.

“Nothing important,” she said after a beat.

Spencer moved to sit beside her on the stone bench. Not quite close enough to touch, but close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the quiet presence he carried like a wool coat in winter—heavy, steady, protective.

She didn’t look at him. Just stared ahead, into the hum of porchlight and fireflies.

“I think I’m an idiot,” she said suddenly.

He blinked, taken aback. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

She let out a laugh—soft, short, not entirely happy. “That’s sweet. But also—possibly a sign that you’re terrible at reading subtext.”

“I’m actually pretty good at subtext,” he said, glancing over at her, his voice light but careful. “I’m just... less confident about translating it out loud.”

Y/N bit her lip, eyes still forward. Her glass tilted slightly in her hand.

“I just thought...” She paused, then looked down. “You didn’t say anything tonight.”

Spencer tilted his head, confused. “About what?”

She looked at her lap, at the pale lace bunched gently around her thighs, how the dress fluttered when the breeze passed through—like it was trying to float away from her, to disappear before she could take the words back. Her fingers twisted the stem of her glass in slow, anxious circles.

“About how I looked,” she murmured. “I just—I don’t know. Garcia said... Never mind.”

Spencer stared at her, stunned into silence.

She still wouldn’t look at him.

The blush had risen high on her cheeks now, blooming across her skin like the first touch of dawn, delicate and uncontainable. Her eyes stayed fixed on her glass, and even that seemed to tremble slightly in her grasp, looking like she wanted to gather her words back one by one and fold them away inside herself.

“I think that’s the sangria talking,” she said, softer now, trying for lightness, laughing a breathy laugh, but her voice caught just slightly—like a string pulled too tight.

“You thought I didn’t notice you?” he asked softly.

She shrugged, eyes fixed on the glass. “I mean… not like that.”

Because she truly didn’t know.

Didn’t know that from the moment she stepped into the yard—boots in the grass, lace fluttering like light through water—he hadn’t seen a single other thing. That every time she tucked her hair behind her ear or tilted her head to laugh with someone else, he felt like he was losing seconds of breath.

As if he hadn’t been drowning in her presence all evening, caught between awe and silence, reverence and restraint. As if his body didn’t go still whenever she leaned in. As if he hadn’t been biting his tongue every time she smiled in his direction, trying not to hand her every thought he’d ever had about her all at once.

His chest tightened.

He leaned forward just slightly, voice barely more than a breath, like anything louder might startle the moment away.

“Y/N.”

Something in his voice—low, rough, almost fractured—made her finally look up.

Her eyes met his.

And before she could say another word, he reached for her—all restraint finally snapping like a thread pulled too tight.

Spencer’s hands came up fast—urgent, almost shaking—and then stilled as they found her face, cupping her with a tenderness that almost didn’t match the storm in his chest. His fingers threaded gently into the waves of her hair, his thumbs brushing beneath her cheekbones like she was something precious he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch.

And then—he kissed her.

Hard. Messy. Absolutely wrecked with need.

It wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t smooth.

It was desperate. Starved. Raw.

Like he’d spent the entire evening trying not to want this—trying not to imagine how her mouth would taste, how her body would move into his, how soft her breath might catch if he finally let himself have her.

And now that he had, there was no holding it back.

He kissed her like he’d been waiting a lifetime for her to feel it.

Y/N froze, startled—just for a heartbeat.

Then her hands curled into the front of his shirt—gripping, grounding—and she kissed him back, just as fiercely.

Her glass slipped from her hand, landing silently in the grass below, forgotten.

The world narrowed to the rush of heat between them—his mouth moving against hers like a man unraveling, her body drawn tight into his, lace brushing against cotton, breath shared in ragged pieces.

And still, his hands stayed gentle on her face. Still, his touch trembled with reverence even as his kiss turned rough—contradiction carved into motion. Want and worship. Need and fear.

Their foreheads remained pressed together as their lips pulled apart, their breath mingling in the hush between them—hers still catching, his uneven and warm against her lips, as if neither of them had quite remembered how to breathe without the other. Her eyes were half-lidded, lashes casting delicate shadows over flushed cheeks, and her lips—kiss-bitten and trembling—parted slightly, as if waiting for a question neither of them needed to ask.

Spencer was still holding her face—carefully, reverently—as though she were something too precious to risk letting go. His thumbs rested against the curve of her cheekbones, but his hands trembled slightly, as if overwhelmed by the nearness of her.

“I notice you,” he whispered, the words cracked open and bare. “Every single time.”

She let out a soft, shivering breath. A smile pulled at her mouth—not teasing, not light, but full of something ancient and full of ache.

“Took you long enough,” she murmured, voice catching like silk on thorns.

He smiled—barely, just a flicker of something broken and full—and then leaned in again.

This time, the kiss was slower.

But no less ruined with longing.

Their mouths met like a promise—tentative at first, almost unsure of how gentle to be, as if the world might tilt off its axis if they moved too quickly. But then she breathed his name into the space between their lips, and he lost whatever restraint he had left.

His hand slid from her cheek—slowly, reverently—trailing along the curve of her jaw before finding the delicate slope of her throat. He rested his palm there, his fingers curling around the side of her neck, grounding her, worshipping her. And she arched into him like she’d been waiting for that single point of contact all her life.

She whimpered against his mouth—soft, desperate, involuntary—and he responded with a sound low in his chest, a near-growl swallowed between kisses.

Her hands, trembling, found the line of his jaw—fingertips brushing over stubble, then curling at the hinge of it, like she needed to hold onto him or fall apart entirely. She kissed him deeper now, unafraid, her body pressed to his like something unfolding all at once.

Their teeth clashed—just barely, enough to draw a gasp, a stumble, a half-smile against lips that didn’t want to stop. His breath hitched, and she felt it in the cradle of his mouth, the way he held her tighter like he’d burn up if she ever stepped back.

And yet—even in all the desperation, his hands were still gentle. Still full of wonder. Like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like he didn’t know how to hold something he'd only ever dreamed of.

When they finally broke apart, their noses brushed, breathless and stunned.

The garden stayed quiet around them—the stars above them blinking like candlelight, the world soft and golden and impossibly still.

Like it had stopped to watch them fall in love.

They didn’t move—not right away.

Spencer’s hands were still cupped around her face like a man holding something holy. Like if he let go, she might vanish, and he’d wake up alone with only the ghost of her kiss left on his mouth.

Y/N’s hands stayed curled into the soft fabric of his shirt—not gripping anymore, just resting there, quiet and intimate, as if her body hadn’t yet told her it could step back. The air between them shimmered with all the things they weren’t saying, but didn’t need to.

Their foreheads touched again—softly, gently, like the afterthought of a prayer.

The garden exhaled around them. Fireflies pulsed along the hedges. The world had gone quiet, as if some spell had been cast over the lawn and they were the only ones left inside of it.

Y/N’s breath tickled against his lips as she spoke, eyes still closed.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

Spencer let out a laugh, low and breathless, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. “I didn’t think I would either.”

She opened her eyes then—and the look she gave him was soft, steady, devastating. A little dazed. A little in love. Like he was something rare she wasn’t sure she was allowed to keep.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

Eventually, she glanced down and spotted her glass tipped over in the grass. She let go of him reluctantly, bending down to retrieve it. “Tragic,” she murmured, holding it up and inspecting the lone slice of lime that had escaped and now lay abandoned among the blades.

Spencer smiled faintly, still stunned. “We’ll mourn appropriately.”

She gave him a quiet laugh, then stood and brushed her dress down with both hands. Stray leaves clung to the lace. His fingers itched to brush them off for her.

They moved together, slowly—like gravity had shifted just enough to keep them tethered. As they turned back toward the house, her hand drifted near his.

He didn’t think. He just found her fingers. Brushed knuckles. A soft, silent anchor.

She didn’t pull away.

The porch came into view again through the hedges—still glowing with soft golden light, like something out of a story told just before sleep. Inside, Garcia twirled in the kitchen with JJ, both of them laughing over something they clearly found hysterical. Prentiss sat cross-legged on the counter, miming what looked like a very dramatic retelling of a car chase, hands flying with flair. Rossi moved calmly through it all, espresso in hand like it was two in the afternoon instead of close to midnight. Morgan leaned against the fridge, grinning as he sipped a beer, occasionally tossing in commentary that made the whole kitchen erupt louder. He looked utterly at ease, like the night had been built just for this—friends, laughter, warmth humming in the floorboards.

It was the same as it had always been. Familiar. Comfortable.

And yet—

Spencer glanced sideways at Y/N, walking beside him. Her hair swayed lightly down her back, catching little flecks of gold from the porch lights. Her eyes were bright even in the dark.

Everything felt different now.

Not louder. Not bigger. Just undeniable.

At the base of the steps, she slowed. Her hand—still faintly linked to his—tugged ever so slightly. Not pulling him back, just holding him there for a second longer.

He looked at her, chest tight.

She leaned in, lips brushing the edge of his cheek, just beneath the line of his jaw—a kiss barely there, but somehow more grounding than the one before it. Her voice was quiet, just for him.

“Don’t go disappearing on me tomorrow.”

His chest rose with the breath he took before answering. “I won’t.”

And when she smiled—soft, real, a little tired from the day and full from the moment—she pulled the screen door open and stepped inside.

Spencer followed.

Their hands brushed again.

And this time, they didn’t let go.

[rosenclaws]

Replacement || Logan x Reader

summary: Logan is gone and so you need something else to help you sleep.

a/n: So my boyfriend is out of town for the next 2 weeks so I put a shirt on my djungelskog he got me bc it smells like him and thus this fic was born

wc: 792

Having a superhero boyfriend was hard when all you wanted was to cuddle him to sleep.

Logan's been out on a mission since last week. It was more dangerous than normal and despite his cocky smile and promises to make it quick, you knew it was going to be more work than that.

In fact it was so dangerous that he couldn't even contact you. None of them could. It was radio silence for a whole week and it drove you mad. So you did the only thing you could really think of.

See Logan has this thing where he likes to one up Scott at every opportunity. It's pretty funny really. But one of these examples was last Valentines Day. Scott had gotten Jean a very cute stuffed bear with some chocolates.

Logan clocked the wanting look on your face instantly. You and Jean were talking about valentines day and the gifts you had gotten and given that day and he could see the way you kept glancing down at it. Logan took one look at the bear and scoffed. So what it was just a measly little bear. He disappeared for an hour or so and came back with the biggest teddy bear you had ever seen. It was literally taller than Logan himself.

But you loved it and suddenly it was the talk of the mansion and Logan felt a surge of pride seeing how happy you were. He couldn't help but flash a knowing wink at Scott too. Just one. Maybe two.

The bear, who you had aptly Bear after a childhood cartoon, sat in the corner of the room. You wanted it in your bed but Logan had insisted he was the only teddy bear you needed to sleep with. But now that Logan's gone you only had one choice.

You dragged the damn bear into your bed, snuck into Logan's room and stole one of his T-shirts, and put the shirt on the bear. It's silly. The thought of anyone seeing this, especially Logan, was embarrassing. But man you missed him so bad and if you could close your eyes, cuddle your bear, and pretend it's Logan's chest you're resting on then you were going to do it.

It's late into the night, you still aren't sure when Logan's going to come back so Bear will have to do for another night.

"Well well, what do we have here sweetheart?" You hear Logan's voice, you heart skipping a you slowly lift your head to see him standing at the doorway. Your arms are wrapped around Bear and your chin is resting in his plush stomach.

He's still got his X-Uniform on, a few blood stains but other than that he's fine. I mean super healing will do that for you.

"Hi. You mutter sleepily. "I missed you."

Logan chuckles as he pushes himself off the doorway.

"Are you sure? Because from what I can see I've been replaced." He hums as he looks at the shirt that Bear is wearing.

He wouldn't admit it but Logan's heart was bursting from just how cute you look. Your sleepy face and tired smile. The way you're clinging onto Bear like it's him. And the shirt. Oh tomorrow he'd tease you about it. But tonight he'll let it go.

"Nooo, he's just keeping me company." You whine as Logan peels off his suit, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

"Mhmm sure he is." He teases as he grabs Bear by the chin.

"You trying to steal my girl?" He squeezes Bears face and you grab his wrist.

"Stop being mean to him." Logan just laughs as you bury your face further into Bears stomach.

"Fine fine, but he's had his time. He goes back in the corner."

He pulls Bear off your bed, ignoring your pouting as he throws him to the corner of the room. He crawls into bed with you, taking the place of Bear and you quickly snuggle onto his chest. His arms pulling you close.

"So, how do I compare to the bear?" He asks as you bury your face in his toned chest.

"You're not soft and fluffy but I guess you'll do." Your voice is slightly muffled as you wrap your arms around his waist.

"Oh yeah? Well I'm sorry your boyfriend is so jacked and handsome." Logan says with a fake sigh.

He smiles knowing you're rolling your eyes even if he can't see it. He hears your heartbeat start to slow, a sign that sleep was taking over whether you wanted it to or not.

"I really missed you." You mumble and Logan gently strokes your back. He kisses the top of your head and lets himself relax for the first time all week.

"I missed you too sweetheart."

[bonelyheartsclub]

♡ Rus - Valentine's One-Shot ♡

Written by @/justsamwich

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your heart was pounding in your chest, keeping time to the music that played from your phone as you looked over your appearance one final time. Whatever it was that Rus had planned for the two of you, he’d been awfully careful about keeping it a surprise. In fact, the only thing he’d been willing to tell you was that you needed clothes you could move in, which was… vague. And, knowing your boyfriend, perhaps a bit ominous. Before your mind could wander too far down that trail of thought, there was a knock at your door. Despite the nerves, you smiled as you hurried to answer the door. 

“H-Heya, sweet pea.” There Rus was, standing at your door with a light dusting of purple already on his cheekbones. He held out a heart shaped box of chocolates and, fittingly, a sprig of small, pink flowers. Sweet peas. 

“Hi, Rus.” You answered, “Are those for me?” Even though you knew the answer already, it was cute to see the way he puffed up a little, clearly proud of his gifts. 

“Of course, only the best for my valentine, after all.” He boasted. You giggled and took the gifts. Rus waited for you to put them away and collect your things before you came back to the door. Then, he gestured dramatically to his moped. “Our chariot awaits!” “Not so fast, you haven’t opened your gift yet!” You chided the skeleton, holding out a small box. He looked a bit surprised that you’d gotten him something, but nonetheless grateful as he took the box from you. You bit your lip as he opened the box, hoping he would like it. He pulled out the bracelet, colorful charms meant to look like ferris wheel carts hung off the chain, swinging back and forth. He was quiet for a few moments. “This is- I mean, I love it. Thank you.” Rus stammered, already fidgeting awkwardly to try and put the bracelet on by himself. “It’s so cute! And I-I mean- how did you even find something like this?!” You laughed a bit, stepping closer to help him with the clasp. 

“I have my ways,” You teased with a wink, “and we have plans today, right?”

“Right!” He agreed, straightening up a bit. “Are you ready now?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice that made your smile widen just a bit. You took his hand in your own and gave it a little squeeze.  

“I am now.”

Despite the sunny weather, there was still a bit of a chill to the February air as the two of you rode through the city, and you found yourself holding onto your boyfriend a little tighter in an attempt to preserve your warmth. He must have noticed, because he looked back a bit to reassure you that your destination wasn’t far. 

It was only as he pulled in to park that you realized where he’d brought you. The diner was as cozy now as it had been on your first date- maybe even a bit cozier, with the decorations they’d put up for Valentine’s Day. You took off your helmet and passed it to him, and he stowed it next to his beneath the seat. 

“Surprise.” Rus spoke softly, his hand resting on the small of your back as he started to lead you toward the door. “Or- Well, surprise number one?” He added a little conspiratorial ‘nyeh-he-he’ at the end. You rolled your eyes, but it made you happy to see him so confident. He’d certainly come a long way since you’d met- or since your first date. 

The inside was decorated even more cutely than what had been visible from the windows. Sparkly tinsel hearts in a variety of pinks and reds held menus at each table, and a number of plush valentines toys from over the years stood sigil on the walls that separated the booths. Despite the changes, the diner still held its uniquely 70s themed charm that had drawn the two of you to it in the first place; the walls and chairs were a variety of bright colors that just barely bordered on neon, perhaps to match with the lighting over the bar. 

As you and Rus were led back to a table, you realized that most of the couples in the diner were a good bit older. You didn't mind, and it seemed like Rus didn’t either, especially since it meant the place had a more peaceful, quiet atmosphere. You figured it was probably less overstimulating for him this way. “This was a good idea.” You praised him, delighting in the way it made him smile in just a way so that it reached his eye sockets. Tearing your eyes away from the sight to look at the menu was a difficult task. “Honestly, every time we come in I wonder why we don’t come here more often, but then… Well, it feels nice coming here on special occasions.” 

“Yeah, I get what you mean.” Rus agreed, pausing for a moment to order drinks for the two of you. You softened a little, resting your chin on a hand as you set your menu aside. Sometimes he really made you wonder if he could read your mind. The staring made him flush a little as he looked back at you. He cleared his throat before continuing. “You know- I think last time we were here, you said almost the exact same thing. It’s cute.”

“That’s-” A familiar warmth flooded across your face, and you fought the urge to cover up your blushing. “So not fair.” He chuckled, giving you a smug grin without a hint of remorse for his teasing. Stars, you really were head over heels for him. 

With the arrival of your drinks came your opportunity to place your orders, and shortly after that, your food. Rus had insisted on your very first date that a good meal was best shared over a good puzzle or game, and so, as was tradition at this point- the two of you took alternating turns trying to solve the peg board puzzle at your table. Once it had been solved, the two of you would issue the other challenges to make it a bit more difficult. Or, in some cases, impossible. Usually, Rus would catch you in an impossible puzzle, but it was satisfying to turn the tables every so often. And the look of surprise on his face always gave you a good laugh. 

With lunch out of the way, the two of you headed back towards his moped. And then… walked right past it? You gave your boyfriend a puzzled look.

“Ah. We could drive, if it’s too cold for you.” Rus offered, “But we’re only about a block or so from the next surprise. There’s a park we can cut through right around the corner.” “A walk sounds nice, actually.” You decided, linking your arm with his.

The two of you turned into the park. It was just a few small hills littered with playground equipment and paved trails. You could tell it wasn’t quite as lush as it usually was when springtime rolled around, with the trees still devoid of most of their leaves. It was still very pretty, though. More than anything, what caught your attention was that the hills were covered in clover, not grass. You considered bringing Rus back here once it got a little denser, and telling him about how humans like to look for four-leafed ones. 

In a matter of minutes, he’d led you to your destination: a roller skating rink! From the outside it was unassuming. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the giant roller skate logo next to the word ‘SKATE ZONE’ you might not have realized what it was. Rus wasted no time in escorting you inside and renting skates for the two of you. He seemed really excited, judging from his smile and the way he kept sneaking glances at you. You gave him the best smile you could muster up with your nerves going haywire. 

They continued to spark more anxiety in you as the pair of you went to the edge of the rink and sat down to lace on your skates. Even more so as Rus finished up and got to his feet with practiced ease, offering you a hand. He looked as confident on the skates as he did on solid ground- maybe even moreso. You’d finished getting the skates on; all you had to do was take his hand, but…

“I’ve never gone roller skating,” You blurted out rather clumsily, looking up to meet his eyelights. “I-I’ve never been, and I’m really nervous that I’m gonna embarrass us both.” Rus chuckled, moving to sit back down beside you. 

“Gingersnap, you’re not going to embarrass us. Or me, anyway, I can promise that.” He attempted to comfort you, and you gave him a pouty look. “W-What I mean is, when I was learning to skate, I humiliated myself tons of times. We’re talking some pretty spectacular failures. Like, lucky my skull is still attached-”

“Okay, okay, I think I’m getting the picture.” You cut him off, laughing a bit. “And I’ll be holding your hand the whole time.” Rus reassured, leaning in to press his teeth to your forehead in his equivalent of a kiss. “I won’t let you get anywhere close to anything that bad.” When he put it that way, the panicky energy that had been working overtime in your brain finally started to die down some. 

Taking advantage of the moment, you slowly and clumsily worked your way up onto your feet. You’d wanted to offer him a hand, like he had offered you earlier, but you started to roll back a bit. Before you had the chance to panic, Rus caught you, one arm wrapped around your waist firmly to help you steady yourself. Once you were stable, he slowly switched to just holding your hand. The first movements you took were awkward and clunky- your body still trying to walk, rather than skate. “Hold on, don’t lift your feet so much. Try and push yourself along- and lean into it a little.” Rus instructed, trying his best to demonstrate without leaving your side. You watched him for a few moments, stiffly replicating his motions until you were able to move a bit more comfortably. You were slow at first, but he didn’t seem to mind, allowing you to set the pace as you found a rhythm that allowed you to pick up a bit more speed. Every once in a while you wobbled a bit, your grip tightening to what you were sure was crushing his hand. You felt a bit bad, even if the skeleton hadn’t said anything. You tried to let go, but he quickly took your hand again. 

“Nope, this is mine now.” He teased. You rolled your eyes. Before you got the chance to retort, the lights began to dim, replaced instead with a rainbow of multicolored spots that danced along every surface in the skating rink. The music got louder, too. The modern pop was exchanged for some cheesy 80s funk tunes, and Rus’ face lit up. “Oh man, we gotta dance to this!”

“We have to what?!” You yelped, legs suddenly feeling as unstable as they’d been when you’d first started. “Oh no, no no no. You can dance-”

“Trust me, sweet pea.” Rus chuckled, very slowly turning you in a spin. It didn’t exactly match the cadence of the music, but it was nice that he kept you at your pace. “I think you can, but if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.” You shook your head. 

“I think I’d rather see what you can do without having to lug me around,” You joked, “Besides, it’d be nice to take a break.” Rus nodded, helping you get to a wall and settle comfortably before moving a little distance away to have room to dance. 

He was… too good at this. With no hesitation at all he spun around and skated backwards in a pseudo-moonwalk; all the while he kept one hand firmly planted on his hip, the other pointing to the ceiling and crossing his torso to point to the floor in big goofy gestures. You had no idea where he learned to move like that, but it was as entertaining as it was endearing. His other (self described) “sick moves” featured the robot, the sprinkler, and quite possibly the worst take on the worm you’d ever seen. Apparently that was where whoever had been responsible for the music change drew the line, because things went back to normal after that. 

The two of you spent a while longer simply skating around, Rus even talking you into letting him pull you along as he raced a few laps as fast as he could. By the time the two of you were leaving your cheeks were sore from smiling so much, your legs were sore from all of the skating, and your stomach was… uncertain about the nachos you’d shared. Rus offered a shortcut back to the moped, which you gratefully accepted, and before long the two of you were back at the skeleton home. 

“H-Hey, um… I know it’s getting kinda late, and we’ve had a bit of a longer day that I planned, but I do have one more surprise, if you’re up for it?” Rus offered as he put your helmets away. He seemed somewhat nervous, judging from the way he avoided looking directly at you. You swore he was already blushing, and the anticipation of whatever could have him in this state won out over your exhaustion. 

“Rus, I’ve had an amazing day. I’d be so bummed if I didn’t see it all the way through to the end.” Your answer seemed to reignite his confidence, a big smile lighting up his face as he excitedly took your hand and started to lead you to the backyard. “Oop- okay!” You laughed, barely managing to wave at a few of the others as you passed by. Rus stopped hard at the back door, and you bumped into his back. He gave you a bit of an apologetic look. 

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” Rus carefully took your face in his hands, looking you over for any sign of injury. He seemed satisfied to find there wasn’t any. “Do you mind closing your eyes for me? I don’t want you to see anything before I get it going properly.”

“Alright,” You agreed, closing your eyes. “Just don’t let me trip over anything.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Rus agreed, his hands leaving your cheeks to meet yours, carefully guiding you into the backyard. Slowly, he sat you down on what felt like a blanket. It was quiet for a few moments. 

“Rus?” You called, wondering if he’d left for some reason. 

“I’m right here. Keep ‘em closed for just one more minute…” He was… typing? Did he have his laptop? Why did he have his- Before you got the chance to ask, a familiar song began to play. The two of you listened to it frequently, you’d told him how much you loved it on your first date. 

“Can I open them?”

“Go ahead.” Rus hummed, setting his laptop aside to scoot closer to you and drape an arm over your shoulders. When you opened your eyes, you were met with a brilliant display of lights dancing across the backyard. All hearts and inside jokes, and simply things that looked pretty. And all of it synced to a playlist that he’d compiled during your time together. You didn’t dare speak, afraid of missing some small detail that he’d painstakingly programmed into the light show. No, you waited until it was over. The grand finale came with a much slower song, one that had made you think of him, but that was a detail you’d never confessed. 

“This song makes me think of you,” He admitted, cheekbones dusted with that familiar shade of purple. You glanced over at him for a moment, and he just chuckled and pointed back at the lights. 

‘I <3 U!’ 

“I love you too, Rus.” You laughed a little, practically tackling the skeleton to the ground in a hug. He held onto you so tightly you thought he might never let go. Not that you really wanted him to, anyway.

[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒄𝒐𝒛𝒚

╰┈➤ ❝ caleb x afab!reader | VALENTINE'S EVENT !

tags : mostly fluff, slightlyyyyy suggestive at the start but nothing explicit, established relationship, use of pet names "baby" and "pipsqueak".

wc : 1.6k (oops)

an : DROPPING THIS BEFORE I GO TO BED :D requested by @starmocha !!!! this prompt had me squealing hehe 🥰🥰🥰

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

It's 1AM, and you're hungry, so what better place to go than the convenience store down the block?

"I'm hungry."

The sheets rustled.

Caleb shifted onto his side to look at you, head resting in his palm, eyebrows raised. You could see the way his eyes raked over you appreciatively for a moment, almost as if seeing you in a new light again, almost as if he hadn't been all over you just a couple of minutes ago.

With his free hand, he reached out to tuck an awry strand of hair behind your ear. It was a soft gesture.

yet when he spoke, there was a laugh to his voice. "You're hungry?"

You whined. "Not that kind of hungry! Like, actually hungry! Come onnnnnn. Aren't you?"

"Baby, it's past midnight. Aren't you tired? You should be a good girl and get some rest—"

Despite the phrase deliberately used—you were sure—to bring butterflies to your stomach, you promptly gave him a playful shove. "Well, I'm not gonna be able to sleep if I'm hungry, anyway. So your attempts at persuading me are void!"

To make a point, you sat up and crosses your arms, looking at him expectantly.

An impasse, of sorts.

The two of you looked at each other, silent, a few seconds—

Caleb was the first to relent.

"Alright, alright, we'll get some food. There's that convenience store down the block, that enough?" He sat up along with you and slipped out of bed, trodding towards his closet to throw you one of his sweaters. "It'll be cold out, so wear that for a while. Just a lil somethin' to keep you warm."

You held it close to your chest—it smelled like him. And it was as if you weren't already in his t-shirt, anyway; as if he hadn't left enough of his own marks on you that night, but you were happy to have a little something on you that reminded you of him.

You hopped out of bed yourself and, to make a point, grabbed one of his caps to put on your head.

"Ready!"

And perhaps it was because it was late, and barely anyone would be outside anyway, but it seemed neither of you cared that you'd be leaving in your pajamas.

Caleb tugged at your hand, pulling you close.

"I hope you know that I love seein' you in my clothes," he chuckled. "Makes you look extra gorgeous."

And you could think to yourself that you were so used to his charm, maybe even desensitized… but he would always find ways to prove you wrong. An additional kiss to your forehead had you melting in an instant, and then he still had the audacity to send you a wink.

"Caleb!" you huffed as he pulled away and ushered you outside, the gleeful sound of his laughter never failing to astonish you.

Seriously, the audacity of this man!

And yet you couldn't quite complain, not with the way your heart filled with a complete and utter sense of fondness for him. It didn't matter the hour, didn't matter that the breeze of the dawn before you made you feel a little cold. He squeezed your hand and quietly put it into his pocket… and, really—with your hand in his and his presence beside you, it was all the warmth you could ever need.

As you walked to the convenience store, your free hand took a glance at the time on your phone.

"1:43AM," you mused, "on… February 14th. Huh, look at that! So our Valentine's date this year's to a convenience store?"

You felt him peek over your shoulder, and he let out a laugh. "Guess it is Valentine's, huh? Happy Valentine's Day, pipsqueak." He gave your hair a little ruffle, before the little jingle of your very destination had him tugging you through the doors.

As you expected: quite empty.

He nudged your arm. "I mean, I'm still takin' you out for a date later today," he shrugged, "but as an extra treat, then you've got free reign gettin' whatever you want. I'll pay."

Immediately your eyes brightened, a squeal falling from your lips enough to draw a quizzical stare from the cashier lady, and you squeezed his arm. "Really?!"

"Yeah, really!"

"Oh my god! You better not go back on that promise!"

"Be real. When have I ever, with you?"

You felt another surge of warmth rush through you, and you stood on your tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the lips. "God, I love you!"

And it wasn't really as if you didn't have a little bit of your own snack stash still left at home, but who were you to refuse a free gift?

There was a bounce to your step as you walked through the aisles, and you supposed that neither of you were acting as if it were practically two in the morning. The irony stood—despite everything else being quiet around you two, there was enough joy in the simplest things with him to get you all bouncy like this.

You turned to him with your arms full of little snacks, and laughed as you held one up for him. "Hey! Remember this one? The first time you brought this home, it was 'cause some girl from your class got you this." The memory made you laugh, and you turned the packet over in a moment of nostalgia. "I haven't had these in forever, for some reason, but they were really good. That girl had taste…"

A flick to your forehead.

"Hey!"

He snatched a couple of the packets you were carrying and put them into the basket he was holding, all while giving you a pointed look. "Doesn't matter who got them first," he scoffed, "'cause I brought them home for you."

A smile played on your lips.

"Well… she wasn't the first to give you stuff, nor was she the last."

"Aaand like I said, it doesn't matter."

This time, you grinned and tiptoed to return the forehead flick he'd given you just earlier. "Why're you so upset about it? Of course the golden boy would always get so much attention from all the girls—"

"Sooo I'd get all that attention from 'em, and then disregard their gifts just so you'd have somethin' to have fun with when we got home."

You paused, and he gave a playful roll of his eyes.

"I gotta hand it to ya, pipsqueak, sometimes you spend a lil too much time up there in the clouds."

"What!?"

He held up a box of cookies that you were familiar with.

"This one's been your favorite for as long as I can remember. Some girl gave one of these to me back in middle school… But I knew you'd love 'em. So I gave 'em to you."

Another box of snacks.

"You always say you don't like these, but I see you sneak them back to your room when no one's lookin'… Happened to get this as a gift, too, so I left them in your room when we got back."

And you watched, somewhat amazed, as he held up the very same packet you'd been examining earlier.

"And, sure, maybe you've never had this one before… But you were always a lil adventurous. It was strawberry. I remember, 'cause you like strawberries. So I thought you might've wanted to give this a try, too."

Your gaze followed his movements as he took the liberty to grab a couple more snacks from the shelves, and though he turned back to you with a smile, you found your mind still reeling from what he'd said.

It was always you. From the very start, he…

"I've always watched you," he said simply. Because he could read you like an open book, and some things just don't change. He shrugged, leaned down towards you to give the tip of your nose a little poke. "I saved those for you, 'cause I know you. And you think any of those girls ever mattered to me? Nah. It was always just about you. And you got to relish in all those little snacks, so, you know. Win-win situation if I get to make you happy."

For a moment you didn't speak, and you felt the blush slowly begin to creep up your cheeks.

You'd never realized it before; maybe never even bothered to check for yourself.

Sure, you maybe thought all of those were from him, and, sure, when you found out they weren't directly, you felt a little upset, but…

It was more than just material to poke fun at him for being popular.

Your eyes softened. "So… you were thinking about me."

"Pshh. I always think about you, baby. Not a moment goes by where I don't."

You watched him walk away with a wave of his hand, under the guise of 'checking out the drinks while you think of what else you wanted', and a flurry of butterflies stirred anew in your heart.

As you hurried to catch up with him and stood by him at the counter, he chuckled. "I always thought you'd find out then and there how much I liked you, you know."

"I guess you were being obvious about it, in a way…"

"Yeah, and you were too busy relishing in the free snacks."

"Hey!"

He laughed, grabbing the bag of your little snack haul, and smoothly looped your arms back together.

"Weeelll," he hummed, "now you get to say with certainty that all this here's from me. And I get to do this…"

The minute you stepped outside the convenience store, he leaned down to give you a soft kiss. And again, you'd think—there couldn't possibly be a cozier place to be than right here with him in this moment.

"…You don't need to use gifts from someone else to get me snacks anymore," you laughed a little.

"Mhm, I can get 'em for you myself. And seal it with a lil kiss."

taglist : @darlingdummycassandra @daturasflower @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @cordidy @raiyuxa @xai-mery @pikachuzhc @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @hunters-association

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[amethystarachnid]

Hi!! I hope you’re doing well 🥰

I had an idea for the Marvel Multiverse Reality Show AU with Tony x F!Personal Assistant Reader (if you’re willing to write it?).

Maybe after just announcing he’s Iron Man, he’s agreed to have a reality show about himself called “The Stark Reality” (because we know this man LOVES attention and it’s a good play on words 🤭). He welcomes the crew in and it shows the world about his daily life, his iron man life, maybe his playboy life etc etc. Throughout filming his reality show, he has many interactions with his personal assistant on screen. Fans watching begin speculating on their relationship together, which after a while leads to an awkward yet sweet realization between the two. His PA definitely has feeling for her boss, but much to her surprise he’s had those same feelings too. It’s sweet when they come to the realization together, but it’s incredibly awkward when they realize the cameras had been secretly filming their sweet moment entire time 😵‍💫

I hope it makes sense lol. Thanks for taking the time to even read this! 🫶🏻

THE STARK REALITY (SHOW)

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): lack of privacy because they are in a reality show

ᯓ★ part 2

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The camera crew files into the mansion, wide-eyed and slightly overwhelmed, their equipment catching the gleam of expensive decor and cutting-edge technology. The grand entrance of the Stark estate is exactly as the world imagines—opulent, excessive, and bathed in the golden glow of wealth. The moment the director calls for the first shot, Tony Stark is already in the center of it all, perfectly at ease in the limelight.

“Welcome to The Stark Reality!” he announces, arms thrown wide, that signature smirk plastered across his face. “A reality show about a billionaire, genius, ex-weapons manufacturer, and recently announced superhero. Also known as me.” He winks directly at the camera. “You’re welcome, world.”

The camera crew shifts to follow him as he walks deeper into the house, narrating as he goes. He gestures to the extravagant living space, to the sleek glass walls revealing a sprawling Malibu view, to the open bar already stocked with expensive bottles. It’s all part of the spectacle, but then again, so is he.

And then there’s you.

You linger just outside the frame, tablet in hand, lips pressed together in a straight line. You’ve been Tony’s assistant for years now, navigating his unpredictable whims, his extravagant lifestyle, and now, apparently, his newfound interest in reality television. You should’ve seen this coming. The man loves an audience.

He turns suddenly, catching you off guard. “And this,” he says, beckoning you over, “is my lovely, brilliant, long-suffering personal assistant.”

The camera swings toward you, and you resist the urge to sigh. Instead, you school your features into something passably professional, giving the crew a tight smile.

“Hi,” you say simply.

Tony raises a brow, clearly unimpressed with your lack of enthusiasm. “Come on, give ‘em something. These people are here for entertainment.”

You don’t miss the way he leans in slightly, mischief dancing in his eyes. He loves doing this—pulling you into his orbit, pushing at your composure just to see if you’ll break.

You tilt your head, tapping your tablet. “Would you like me to list your meetings for the day or just summarize the number of ways this reality show is going to be a logistical nightmare?”

He grins. “See? She’s got personality. And she keeps me on schedule, which is an almost impossible task, so she’s basically a superhero in her own right.”

“I don’t have time to save the world,” you say dryly. “I’m too busy saving you from yourself.”

The crew chuckles, and Tony places a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Ouch. And yet, true.”

The filming continues as Tony moves through his morning routine—or rather, what he claims is his routine but is obviously exaggerated for the cameras. He lounges dramatically on his couch, sipping a green smoothie he wouldn’t drink on a normal day. He shows off the in-house gym he rarely uses because, as he puts it, “Why sweat when you have a suit of armor that does all the heavy lifting?”

Still, he’s in his element. The camera loves him, and he loves it right back.

Throughout the day, the crew captures glimpses of what it’s like to work for Tony Stark—organized chaos at best. You’re constantly in motion, fielding calls, managing his schedule, and dodging his playful antics.

At one point, you’re briefing him about an upcoming meeting when he suddenly cuts you off.

“Hold that thought,” he says, turning toward the camera with an exaggerated look of excitement. “This is the part where I ignore my assistant’s very important words and do something reckless.”

You let out a slow breath, eyes closing for a brief second. “Please don’t.”

Too late. He’s already bolting toward his workshop, the crew scrambling to keep up.

The rest of the day follows suit, a whirlwind of Tony being Tony—charming, infuriating, and completely impossible. The world wanted a peek into his life, and now they’re getting it. But beneath all the theatrics, the cameras capture something else too—those little moments where he looks at you just a beat too long, the way he teases you not just for the show, but because he enjoys it.

And maybe you enjoy it too.

The days of filming blur together in a chaotic, camera-filled whirlwind. Tony adapts quickly, thriving under the constant attention, but for you, it’s an adjustment. You’re used to managing him behind the scenes, not under the watchful eyes of millions who will dissect every interaction, every glance, every word exchanged between you.

And dissect they do.

At first, the comments from fans are lighthearted.

"Wow, Tony’s assistant is a saint. How does she put up with him?"

"The way he looks at her though?? I’d die for a man to look at me like that."

"There’s no way they haven’t at least kissed before. The chemistry is insane."

You ignore it. It’s just the internet being the internet. But as the show airs more episodes, the speculation doesn’t just continue—it grows. Entire compilations pop up online, showing moments between you and Tony that seem insignificant alone but, when stitched together, tell a different story.

One of those moments happens late one night when the cameras are supposed to be off.

It’s past midnight, and most of the crew has packed up for the day, but you’re still in the workshop, scrolling through Tony’s calendar on your tablet. He’s at his workbench, eyes locked on whatever latest modification he’s making to the suit. It’s quiet, comfortable. Just the two of you.

“You should go to bed,” he murmurs without looking up.

“You should take your own advice,” you counter.

A smirk tugs at his lips, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours. “I will if you will.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “I have too much to do.”

“So do I.” He gestures vaguely at the half-finished repulsor in front of him. “But unlike you, I am my own boss and can ignore my responsibilities.”

You huff out a laugh, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “You ignore them whether you’re your own boss or not.”

His smirk widens. “Exactly. Now sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sit?”

“Yeah.” He pats the empty stool beside him. “You’re making me nervous, standing there all tense. Come on, take a load off.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give in, sliding onto the stool next to him. He’s still looking at you, and now that you’re closer, you notice the exhaustion tugging at the edges of his expression. It’s rare to see him without the armor of his usual bravado.

“Long day?” you ask softly.

He hums, rolling his shoulders. “Something like that.”

Without thinking, you reach out and press your fingers against a knot in his shoulder, kneading gently. He freezes for a fraction of a second, then exhales, melting slightly under your touch.

“Oh,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “That’s dangerous.”

Your fingers still. “What is?”

He turns his head slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “Letting you know that feels good. You might start using it as leverage.”

You roll your eyes but keep massaging the tension from his shoulder. “Please. Like I don’t already have enough leverage on you.”

His lips quirk up in amusement, and for a while, neither of you say anything. The quiet hum of the workshop fills the space, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips grounding you. It’s easy to forget the world outside of moments like this.

What neither of you realize is that one of the smaller cameras in the corner of the workshop—the one meant to capture footage of his tech for the show—was never turned off.

When the footage airs, the internet explodes.

"GUYS, I AM LITERALLY GONNA SCREAM. Did you see the way he just let her touch him like that? He was SOFT for her. I can’t do this."

"No but the way she just casually massages him like it’s normal… THEY’RE IN LOVE."

"I don’t even care if they say they’re not together, the EYE CONTACT says otherwise."

Tony, of course, loves the reactions.

“People are calling me soft,” he says one morning, shoving his phone in your face. “For you.”

You glance up from your tablet, unimpressed. “I mean, they’re not wrong.”

His grin widens. “Oh? You admit I have a soft spot for you?”

“I admit you think you do,” you reply smoothly, swiping to the next appointment on his schedule.

“Ouch. Brutal,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile, but then he does something unexpected. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s a small thing, a fleeting touch, but it sends your heart skipping a beat.

And of course, the cameras catch it.

The moment goes viral within hours.

"Tony tucking her hair behind her ear?? Sir, I am UNWELL."

"I’m convinced they forget they’re being filmed sometimes because this is NOT platonic behavior."

"The way she paused for a second after he touched her… yeah, she felt that."

The more moments like this pile up, the harder it gets to brush off the speculation. The crew catches everything—the way Tony always seems to find excuses to be near you, the way his gaze lingers just a second too long when you’re not looking, the way you press a coffee into his hand before he even asks for it.

One day, after a particularly chaotic filming session involving a very unnecessary stunt with the Iron Man suit (which you had explicitly told him not to do), the two of you find yourselves alone in the kitchen.

You’re filling a glass of water when Tony steps beside you, leaning casually against the counter.

“You’re mad,” he observes.

You take a sip of your own water. “I’m not mad.”

He tilts his head, studying you. “Annoyed, then.”

You set your glass down with a sigh. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

His expression softens slightly. “But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

For once, he doesn’t immediately deflect with a joke. Instead, he reaches out, gently tugging at your wrist until you look at him.

“I’m fine,” he says, quieter now.

You exhale, shaking your head. “I know. I just—” You stop yourself, not sure how to put it into words.

Tony doesn’t push. He just holds your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his expression. The air between you shifts, heavier than before.

Neither of you realize the camera in the corner of the kitchen is still rolling.

"Nah, because that moment in the kitchen was INTIMATE. The way he reached for her wrist so gently??? PLEASE."

"Okay but the way she was genuinely worried about him? And the way he actually let himself be serious for once?? They’re in LOVE."

"I don’t even need confirmation at this point. This is a slow-burn romance happening in real-time."

You tell yourself it’s just the cameras.

That’s why everything feels heightened, why your heart stumbles in your chest every time Tony leans just a little too close, why your stomach flips when his gaze lingers a second too long.

It’s the show. The attention. The fact that millions of people are dissecting every interaction between you, making you hyperaware of the way Tony touches you so casually, the way he teases you so effortlessly, the way he just exists in your space like he belongs there.

Because that’s all it is.

Right?

You try to ignore it. Try to act normal. Try to pretend your pulse doesn’t quicken when he throws an arm around your shoulders in front of the cameras, pulling you into his orbit like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t let yourself think too much about the way his touch lingers, the way his hand sometimes settles at the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, the way he always seems to know exactly what to say to get under your skin—just enough to fluster you, just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

You’ve worked for Tony long enough to know that he’s always been like this. He’s charming, magnetic, impossible to ignore. He flirts with everyone, makes people feel like they’re the only person in the room when he talks to them.

It’s just who he is.

But then there are moments that don’t feel like a performance.

Like the time you’re both in the workshop late at night again, and he offers you a screwdriver without looking, like he somehow knows exactly what you need before you ask. Or the time he catches you yawning after a long day and, without a word, pushes his cup of coffee toward you.

Or the time you stumble half-asleep into the kitchen one morning, still in your pajamas, and find him already there, making two cups of coffee—one exactly how you like it.

“You’re up early,” you mumble, rubbing at your eyes.

He smirks, handing you the coffee. “You’re just up late.”

You take the cup from him, wrapping your fingers around the warmth. “Thanks.”

He watches you as you take your first sip, his expression softer than usual. “You should sleep more.”

You arch a brow at him. “You’re one to talk.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, but he doesn’t argue. And then he does something that makes your brain short-circuit—he reaches out and brushes his thumb over the corner of your mouth.

You freeze.

“There was coffee there,” he says, voice low, almost teasing, but there’s something else in his eyes. Something that makes your heart stutter.

The moment stretches, thick with something unspoken. And then—

“Morning, boss! Morning, Y/N!”

You both jolt back as one of the camera crew members strolls in, oblivious. You step away quickly, lifting your coffee to your lips to hide the fact that your face is burning.

Tony just exhales through his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like cockblocked by my own reality show.

The cameras weren’t even rolling that morning, but somehow, the clip of him wiping coffee off your lip still ends up online.

"HELLO?? HIS THUMB ON HER LIP?? WHAT KIND OF ROMANCE NOVEL BULLSHIT IS THIS??"

"He looked so focused on her mouth I am losing my mind."

"I swear they forget the cameras exist sometimes. That was INTIMATE."

The internet is eating this up. Fans are analyzing every look, every touch, every moment between you and Tony with the kind of dedication usually reserved for crime scene investigations.

You try to ignore it.

You fail.

Because suddenly, you start noticing things you’ve ignored before.

Like the way Tony always saves the last slice of pizza for you. The way he keeps an extra pair of your favorite sunglasses in his car because he knows you always forget yours. The way he always seems to position himself between you and any potential threat—even if the "threat" is just a pushy journalist or an overenthusiastic fan.

And then there are the looks.

The ones that last just a little too long. The ones where he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. The ones that feel different.

The realization creeps up on you slowly, like a shadow stretching in the late afternoon sun.

You like him.

No—you’ve liked him. Probably for a while now. You were just too stubborn, too careful, too scared to admit it.

And Tony—oh, Tony has known for a long time.

It’s in the way he looks at you, like he’s just waiting for you to catch up. Like he’s been patient, so damn patient, but he’s not going to wait forever.

But you don’t know how to cross that line. Not when the whole world is watching. Not when your job, your life, everything is so tangled up with him.

So you try to act normal.

The cameras catch every single slip-up.

Like the time you’re standing beside him at a press event, and someone asks a question about his playboy lifestyle.

He laughs, playing it up for the cameras. “You know me, I’m a man of many talents.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Most of which involve ignoring my carefully planned schedule.”

He turns to you, smirking. “See? This is why I keep her around. She keeps me humble.”

The reporter grins. “Y/N, what’s the secret to handling Tony Stark?”

You glance at him, and for a split second, you forget about the cameras. Forget about the audience.

“He’s not as much of a handful as people think,” you say, voice quieter, more honest than you mean it to be.

Tony blinks, and for the first time in a long time, he actually looks surprised.

The internet notices.

"DID YOU SEE HIS FACE WHEN SHE SAID THAT?? Bro was not expecting her to be SWEET."

"‘He’s not as much of a handful as people think’ MA’AM. MA’AM. ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH HIM??"

"I swear to god Tony is just waiting for her to admit it at this point."

The dress is too much. That’s your first thought as you stare at yourself in the full-length mirror, smoothing your hands down the fabric. It’s expensive—of course, it is. Tony sent it over himself, and you’d bet good money that it cost more than your rent.

It’s stunning, undeniably so, hugging in all the right places, the deep color making your skin glow under the soft lighting of your bedroom. Your makeup is flawless, your hair styled perfectly, and for once, you don’t look like Tony Stark’s overworked assistant.

You look like a woman on the arm of a billionaire.

Which, technically, you are.

Just for tonight.

It’s not that unusual for Tony to bring you to events, but tonight is different. There’s no work agenda, no schedule to maintain. For this one night, you’re not his assistant—you’re his date.

The word lingers in your mind, foreign but not unwelcome.

There’s a knock at your door.

“You decent?” Tony’s voice is light, teasing, but when you open the door, he just stops.

His mouth parts slightly as his gaze sweeps over you, lingering at your exposed collarbone, the way the dress clings to your curves. For once, he’s silent, and you think that might be the most shocking part.

You raise an eyebrow. “Well?”

Tony blinks, then clears his throat, smoothing a hand down the front of his sleek, tailored suit. “Yep. Nope. I was prepared for this. I am handling this just fine.”

You fight back a smile. “You sure?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he says, stepping back so you can follow him. “Just casually rethinking all my life choices and trying to figure out how I got lucky enough to have you on my arm tonight.”

Your heart does something stupid in your chest, but you roll your eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Stark.”

He smirks. “Worth a shot.”

The drive to the event is smooth, the car sleek and comfortable, but your nerves kick in the second you see the flashing lights ahead, the crowd of reporters, the sea of cameras waiting.

Tony notices.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice warm and steady beside you. “You look incredible. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

You exhale, forcing yourself to nod. “Right. Just another night.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Except this time, when they ask me who I’m with, I get to say you.”

Before you can overthink it, the door opens, and suddenly, you’re stepping onto the red carpet with Tony Stark’s hand resting at the small of your back. The flashes are blinding, the noise overwhelming, but Tony guides you through it with practiced ease, nodding and smirking at the cameras like he was born for this.

Reporters immediately start shouting questions.

“Tony! Who’s your date tonight?”

“Y/N, how does it feel to be on Stark’s arm instead of his payroll?”

“Why her, Tony? Out of all the women in the world, why did you choose your assistant?”

Tony grins, pulling you just a little closer. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says, his tone dripping with amusement. “Some secrets are just for me.”

Your face burns, and you’re grateful when you’re ushered forward, past the press and into the venue. The inside is just as extravagant as expected—glittering chandeliers, champagne flowing, a sea of celebrities dressed to impress.

And, of course, that’s when it happens.

The actor is objectively handsome—tall, broad-shouldered, a charming smile that probably makes half the world swoon. You recognize him immediately, a famous action star, one of the many guests mingling at the event.

And for some reason, he’s interested in you.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he says, his gaze sweeping over you in obvious appreciation. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I would have remembered.”

You offer a polite smile, feeling Tony shift beside you. “Y/N,” you say, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Y/N,” he repeats, his own smile widening as he takes your hand. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Tony’s grip on his champagne flute tightens.

You catch the slight tick in his jaw, the way his entire posture stiffens. Oh. Oh, this is interesting.

The actor keeps talking, asking about your work, throwing in more compliments than necessary, and you can feel Tony practically vibrating beside you.

And then—just to push it a little—you laugh at something the actor says, placing a hand on his arm.

It’s nothing. Completely innocent.

But Tony clears his throat sharply. “Hey, buddy,” he says, voice light but just a little too loud. “You mind if I borrow my date for a second?”

The emphasis is unmistakable.

The actor, blissfully unaware of the silent tantrum Tony is throwing, just grins and nods. “Of course. It was a pleasure, Y/N.”

Tony is already pulling you away before you can respond.

He doesn’t stop until you’re outside, away from the crowd, in a quiet balcony area overlooking the city lights.

You turn to him, crossing your arms. “Are you jealous, Stark?”

He scoffs. “Me? Jealous? Please.”

You step closer, tilting your head. “You sure?”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. Maybe I didn’t love watching that guy drool all over you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Because?”

He meets your gaze, and suddenly, all the teasing, all the bravado—everything—falls away.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Or at least, I want you to be.”

Your breath catches.

Tony exhales, running a hand down his face. “I know I joke around a lot, and I know I’m a lot to deal with, but I need you to know that this—us—it’s not a game to me. It never has been.”

Your heart is pounding.

He takes a step closer, his voice softer now. “I’ve been in love with you for a while, Y/N. And I know it took you a little longer to get there, but…” His lips twitch up. “You’re here now. Right?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

And then his hands are on your waist, pulling you against him, and your arms are wrapping around his neck, and then—

He kisses you.

It’s slow at first, careful, like he’s savoring it, but then you make a small noise against his lips, and suddenly, the restraint snaps. His hands tighten, his lips moving against yours with something deeper, more desperate, more real than anything you’ve ever known.

When you finally break apart, your forehead rests against his, your breath mingling.

“Wow,” you murmur.

Tony chuckles, his fingers brushing against your jaw. “Yeah. Wow.”

And then—

“Oh. Oh.”

You freeze.

Tony groans, turning to find one of the cameramen standing there, eyes wide.

“Are you serious?” Tony grits out.

The guy winces. “I—I swear, I wasn’t trying to film that—I just—okay, yeah, the cameras got everything.”

Tony sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. “Of course they did.”

You stare at him for a moment, then—

You start laughing.

Tony blinks at you. “Are you—are you seriously laughing right now?”

You nod, still giggling. “It’s just—of course this happens to us.”

Tony shakes his head, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “Guess the secret’s out, huh?”

You grin, reaching for his hand. “Guess so.”

And honestly?

You don’t mind one bit.

The internet explodes.

The second the episode drops, social media ignites like someone threw gasoline on an open flame. The clip of you and Tony kissing—your whispered words, his confession, the way he pulls you in like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered—spreads like wildfire.

"I’M SCREAMING. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL."

"The way Tony looked at her BEFORE the kiss? He’s been GONE for her. Absolutely down bad."

"We all knew it. We KNEW it. But seeing it happen is just chef’s kiss perfection."

"'You’re mine. Or at least, I want you to be.' That’s it. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I need a Tony Stark in my life."

"I can’t believe the cameras caught this. The way they got lost in each other? They weren’t even thinking about the cameras. That’s REAL."

"How do I file a lawsuit for emotional damage? I was NOT prepared."

Memes flood the timeline. Screenshots of Tony’s jealous expression when the actor flirted with you. Edits of your kiss set to dramatic music. Slow-motion compilations of every single time Tony had looked at you that way throughout the show.

The fans had always speculated, always hoped, but this? This is confirmation. And they are obsessed.

Of course, there are reactions from the media too. News outlets pick up the story immediately.

“Billionaire Tony Stark Off the Market—Confirms Romance with Longtime Assistant”

“The Stark Reality’s Latest Episode Features a Moment No One Expected—But Everyone Wanted”

“From Work Partners to Life Partners—The Love Story of Tony Stark and Y/N”

And through it all, Tony is thriving.

Because of course, he is.

At first, you don’t know what to expect from him. If he’s going to act differently now that the world knows. If he’s going to keep things professional in front of the cameras or tone down the way he touches you, the way he teases.

Nope.

If anything, he gets worse.

The next time the cameras are on, Tony makes absolutely no attempt to be subtle about the fact that you’re his now.

Like the moment in the kitchen when you’re making coffee, and he walks in, shirtless, hair still messy from sleep.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You tense for half a second, eyes flicking to the camera set up on the counter. “Tony—”

“What?” he hums, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I can’t say good morning to my girlfriend?”

Your face heats. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

The internet LOSES IT.

"TONY CASUALLY SHOWING UP SHIRTLESS TO CUDDLE HER?? I’M IN SHAMBLES."

"They’re acting like a real couple now. This is NOT a drill."

"Petition to make sure Tony is shirtless in every episode from now on."

Or the time you’re sitting on the couch, working on your tablet, and Tony just flops down, draping himself across your lap.

“Tony,” you sigh, adjusting your grip on the tablet. “I’m working.”

He looks up at you with that damn smirk. “I’m cuddling. Way more important.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you still love me.”

Your lips twitch, but you refuse to indulge him. “Debatable.”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, you wound me.”

The cameras catch it all—the way you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair despite your protests, the way he practically purrs under your touch, the way you smile just a little when you think no one is looking.

They eat it up.

"HIM LAYING IN HER LAP. THIS IS PEAK ROMANCE."

"You’re telling me Tony Stark went from billionaire playboy to a man who begs for cuddles? I LOVE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT."

"The way she plays it cool but is clearly obsessed with him? Relatable."

It’s not just the cuddling. It’s the stolen kisses, the lingering touches, the casual intimacy of a couple that has been circling each other for years and is finally allowed to have each other.

And Tony? Tony is having the time of his life.

He lives to fluster you on camera.

Like when you’re organizing his schedule in the office, completely focused, and he suddenly leans in, whispering in your ear, “You looked really good in my bed this morning.”

You choke on absolutely nothing. “Tony—”

“What?” He’s grinning, utterly unrepentant. “Just making an observation.”

You shove a folder at him. “Sign this before I kill you.”

His laughter follows you down the hall.

"THE WAY SHE CHOKED. HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING."

"Did he just CONFIRM they sleep together? Sir, have mercy."

"Tony Stark is officially the clingiest boyfriend in existence, and I respect that."

Despite the teasing, despite the relentless public scrutiny, it’s good.

Better than you expected.

The realization hits you on a slow morning, when the sun is barely up and your body is still heavy with sleep.

You don’t even think as you roll out of bed, stretching lazily before heading toward the kitchen for coffee. The floor is cool against your bare feet, the oversized shirt you’re wearing—Tony’s, of course—falling mid-thigh. Your hair is a mess, your eyes half-closed, and you let out a soft yawn as you step into the kitchen.

And then—

“Oh. Oh.”

It’s the cameraman again. The same poor guy who accidentally caught your first kiss with Tony.

You blink at him. He blinks at you.

There’s a beat of silence before it clicks in your sleepy brain.

“Shit.”

You spin on your heel, all but sprinting back to the bedroom.

Tony is still sprawled across the bed, barely awake, his hair sticking up in every direction. He cracks one eye open as you dive under the covers, groaning.

“Uh… good morning?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

You grab a pillow and shove your face into it. “I forgot about the cameras.”

There’s a pause. Then, a rustling of sheets as Tony shifts closer, draping an arm over your back. “Okay… and?”

You groan. “I walked out there wearing just your shirt.”

Silence. Then—

Tony cackles.

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. “This is not funny.”

“This is hilarious,” he corrects, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Damn. I wish I’d seen it.”

You smack his chest. “Focus, Tony! That footage is out there.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t air.”

But the incident sticks with you.

Because the truth is, you and Tony don’t have much privacy anymore.

The show has been fun—chaotic, ridiculous, but fun. And yet, it’s always there. The cameras catch everything—the teasing, the bickering, the moments when Tony pulls you into his lap just because he can now, the late nights spent tangled up in each other, and even the mornings when you wake up to find him watching you with something terrifyingly soft in his eyes.

Some moments are meant to be just for you.

And that’s when you know.

It’s time to end The Stark Reality.

Tony doesn’t even hesitate when you bring it up.

“Done,” he says easily, lacing his fingers with yours. “Let’s wrap it up.”

There’s a finality to it that makes your chest ache. The show has been his, in a way—one of his crazy ideas, something he threw himself into because he loves the attention, the spotlight. But he’s willing to let it go.

For you.

The last episode airs a week later.

And of course, Tony makes sure it goes out with a bang.

The final scene is classic Tony. He’s sitting on the couch, arms draped over the back, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“So,” he begins, looking straight into the camera. “This is it. The end of The Stark Reality.”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for dramatic effect.

“Or is it?”

You, sitting beside him, roll your eyes. “Tony.”

“What?” He gestures vaguely. “I’m just saying. Maybe the next time you see us, it’ll be in the documentary about our wedding.”

Your soul leaves your body.

The internet erupts.

"WEDDING?? HELLO?? THEY’VE BEEN DATING FOR TWO MONTHS??"

"TONY STARK, YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THAT AND LEAVE."

"Blink twice if you need help, Y/N."

And it doesn’t stop there.

“Or,” Tony continues, completely unfazed by your scandalized expression, “maybe another season of The Stark Reality… with our kids.”

You choke on air. “Tony.”

“Hey,” he says, throwing his hands up. “People love a good family reality show. Gotta give the fans what they want.”

The show ends with you smacking him with a pillow as he cackles.

"TONY, STOP PLAYING WITH MY EMOTIONS."

"IS SHE PREGNANT?? IS THIS A HINT?? I NEED ANSWERS."

"Manifesting a Stark wedding and mini Starks immediately."

The reaction is insane.

Theories explode overnight. People analyze everything—the way Tony said our wedding, the way he casually mentioned kids, the way you covered your face in embarrassment but didn’t deny anything.

Some are convinced you’re already engaged. Others think you’re secretly pregnant. A few believe Tony is just being Tony—chaotic, dramatic, and completely unserious.

But you know better.

Because when the cameras stop rolling, when it’s just you and him curled up in bed that night, he leans in, brushing his lips against your temple.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, “I was kinda serious.”

You shift, tilting your head to look at him. “About what?”

He smirks. “Marrying you. The kids. The whole thing.”

Your breath catches. “Tony—”

“I know, I know,” he says, waving a hand. “It’s only been two months. But let’s be real, sweetheart. This thing between us?” His fingers trace absent circles on your back. “It’s been happening for years.”

You bite your lip, your heart pounding.

“Just… something to think about,” he says, voice softer now. “No pressure.”

And you realize—he means it.

Tony Stark, the man who once ran from commitment like it was a ticking bomb, is ready for this.

For you.

You press a kiss to his jaw, your chest warm with something terrifyingly close to forever.

And for the first time, the cameras aren’t there to capture it.

Just the way it should be.

part 2 anyone ?

[sexsylexi]

Young Justice boys Valentine head cannons.

Wally West,Richard grayson, Conner Kent, Will Harper,Kaldur x reader.

Wally West

● Wally is the type of guy who would act super casual about Valentine's Day at first but secretly puts a ton of effort into making it special for you. He wants everything to be perfect but fun.

●Starts Planning Early – He may procrastinate on a lot of things, but when it comes to making you happy, he starts brainstorming weeks in advance. (Though, he might leave actually executing the plan until the last minute.)

●Big on Classic Gestures – Expect chocolates, flowers, and maybe even a stuffed animal with a cheesy pick-up line. Something like "I must be The Flash, 'cause you make my heart race!"

●Personalized Gifts– He always finds a way to make the day unique. Maybe it’s a scrapbook of your adventures together, a mixtape of songs that reminds him of you, or even a home-cooked meal (which may or may not end in disaster).

●Exciting Date Ideas – One minute, you’re having a simple picnic, and the next, he’s taking you on a whirlwind trip to different places. You might end up watching the sunset from the Eiffel Tower (just a quick trip, no big deal).

●Loves to Show Off – He’ll use his speed to do cute things, like zipping away and coming back in a second with a fresh bouquet or writing "I ♥︎ You" in the sand at a beach before you even realize he’s gone.

Flirting and Teasing – The entire day is filled with Wally’s playful flirting. Lots of winks, casual arm slinging, and whispered sweet nothings just for you. He loves making you laugh and will pull out all the stops to see you smile.

●Always Puts You First – If there’s a mission that day, he’ll groan and moan about having to be a hero on Valentine’s Day but will promise to make it up to you tenfold. And he always follows through.

●The End of the Night is the Best Part – Whether it’s cuddling on the couch, watching cheesy rom-coms, or lying under the stars, Wally just wants to be close to you. He might get a little more sentimental as the night winds down, holding you tight and mumbling about how lucky he is.

●Super Speed Kisses – He loves peppering your face with a bunch of quick kisses in under a second before finally slowing down for one long, meaningful one.

●Would definitely Say Something Like – "Valentine's Day should be every day if it means I get to spend it with you."

Richard Grayson

●Secretly a Hopeless Romantic – Dick plays it cool, acting like Valentine’s Day is no big deal, but in reality, he goes all out in ways you wouldn’t expect. He just prefers to keep it low-key and personal rather than flashy and grand.

●Mysterious Plans – He refuses to tell you anything about what he has planned, teasing you with cryptic hints like “Hope you’re not afraid of heights” or “Wear something comfy, but also maybe dressy… or not. You’ll see.”

●The Smoothest Flirt – From the moment you wake up, Dick is laying on the charm. Smirks, winks, casual touches, and compliments that leave you flustered. He loves making you blush and will definitely call you out on it.

● Date Night – He’s a master of planning the perfect date. It could be something extravagant, like a rooftop dinner overlooking the city, or something simple but meaningful, like a movie marathon of all your favourite films—complete with homemade popcorn.

●Loves a Bit of Thrill – There’s always an element of adventure. Maybe he takes you zip-lining through Gotham’s skyline or sneaks you into Wayne Manor for a candlelit dinner.

●Handwritten Notes – He’s got a way with words, and while he jokes around a lot, his Valentine’s note is ridiculously sweet. It’s heartfelt, a little poetic, and something you’ll treasure forever. (You might even catch a tiny hint of his love for romantic quotes.)

●Gifts – Dick pays attention to the little things, so whatever he gives you will have deep meaning—maybe a locket with a picture of you two, a book with a handwritten note in the margins, or even a custom-made gadget from the Batcave if you’re also a vigilante.

●The “Accidental” Acrobatics Show – He won’t say he’s showing off, but he totally is. Random backflips, effortless parkour, and maybe even catching you bridal-style just because. If you call him out, he’ll just grin and say, “What? It’s impressive, right?”

●Protective but Playful – He’s always looking out for you, but on Valentine’s Day, he gets extra soft. If you’re out in public, he keeps a protective hand on your lower back, but if you tease him about it, he’ll just smirk and say, “What? Can’t a guy keep his Valentine close?”

●Knows Exactly How to Make You Melt – At the end of the night, he pulls you close, murmurs something way too sweet in your ear, and presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead before finally kissing you properly.

●Will Say Something Like – “I don’t need a holiday to remind me how much I love you, but hey, if it means I get an excuse to spoil you, I’m all in.”

●Cuddles Are Mandatory – After all the excitement, the night always ends with the two of you tangled up together, whether it's on the couch or in bed. He’ll trace lazy patterns on your skin, occasionally murmuring something soft before eventually dozing off with you in his arms.

Conner Kent

●Acts Like He Doesn’t Care (unsure of how to actually process the day)– Conner plays it off like Valentine’s Day is just another day, but deep down, he really wants to make it special for you—he’s just not sure how.

●Struggles with Romantic Gestures – He’s not the best with words or grand displays of affection, so he spends weeks stressing over what to do. Expect a lot of “Hey… uh, what do people do for Valentine’s Day?” questions.

●Gift Giving is Awkward but Sweet – He doesn’t like expensive flashy gifts, so whatever he gives you is deeply personal. Maybe it’s something simple like his iconic shirt or something he made himself, like a small, hand-carved wooden trinket.

●Protective and Soft with You – Conner is naturally protective, but on Valentine’s Day, he gets extra gentle. He’ll walk close to you, keep an arm wrapped around you, and if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, his signature Superboy glare activates.

●Not a Fan of Crowds – He prefers to avoid busy restaurants or loud places, so expect a quiet, intimate date. Maybe a home-cooked meal (which he’ll try to make himself—whether it’s good is another question), or a cozy night watching your favorite movies.

● He Blushes So Easily – He may have been a clone of superman and lex , but his true feelings show when you surprise him with a heartfelt gift or compliment. For example If you say something like “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me”, expect him to turn red and mumble a quiet “Tch… whatever.”

●Affection is Subtle but Meaningful – He’s not huge on PDA, but he’ll hold your hand, rest his forehead against yours, and occasionally press a lingering kiss to your temple when no one’s looking.

●Might Go Overboard on the Protective Instincts – If he senses even the slightest inconvenience during your date, he’s ready to solve it with his strength. (“The waiter’s taking too long? I can just—” “CONNER, NO.””)

●Super Strength Used for Cute Things – He’ll lift you effortlessly just to carry you to the couch or reach something high up for you.

●The Most Genuine “I Love You” – Conner isn’t great with words, but when he does say “I love you,” it’s soft, deep, and full of meaning. No extra fluff—just pure sincerity.

●Will Say Something Like – “I don’t need a special day to care about you… but I guess if it makes you happy, I’ll do this Valentine’s thing.”

●Ends the Night with Cuddles – He may act tough, but Conner is a huge cuddler in private. He’ll let you rest against his chest while he strokes your hair, occasionally pressing soft kisses against your forehead until you both fall asleep.

Will Harper

● Plans Everything – Will pretends to be super casual about Valentine’s Day, saying things like “It’s just a corporate holiday, babe”—but behind the scenes, he’s making sure everything is perfect.

●The Definition of Thoughtful – He may not have much, but he knows what makes you happy. Whether it’s a small but meaningful gift or just making sure you have a stress-free day, Will puts real effort into showing you he cares.

●Probably Teases You About It – He’ll smirk and say, “You’re not expecting something sappy, are you?” while literally pulling out the most heartfelt present ever. If you get emotional, he just grins and pulls you into a hug.

●A Simple Yet Perfect Date – Will doesn’t do over-the-top romance. Instead, expect something comfortable and intimate, like a homemade dinner, a quiet rooftop picnic, or just a slow dance in the living room with music playing in the background.

●Dad Mode Activated – If Lian is involved, she 100% helps him plan something cute. Maybe she hands you a crayon-drawn Valentine’s card that says “From Daddy and Lian”, which makes Will insanely proud.

●Subtle but Sincere Affection – He’s not the type to gush about his feelings, but he’ll hold your hand the entire night, pull you close when you least expect it, and kiss you in that slow, lingering, “I mean this” kind of way.

●Gives the Best Gifts – They’re not extravagant, but they’re always exactly what you wanted—sometimes before you even realize you wanted it. Maybe it’s a book you mentioned once, a custom-made bow and arrowif you’re into that, or something sentimental like an old photo of you two framed.

●Wears His Heart on His Sleeve (With You, at Least) – Will might act tough, but you know he’s got a soft side. He’ll mutter something like “I’m not great at this romance thing” right before doing something stupidly romantic.

●Night time– If the weather’s nice, he’ll set up a blanket, bring some drinks, and just sit with you under the stars. He likes the peace of it—and the way you look when the moonlight hits your face.

●Will 1 Say Something Like – “I don’t need Valentine’s Day to remind me how much I love you… but if it means an excuse to love and spoil you, I’ll take it.”

●Ends the Night with Cuddles – Whether it’s on the couch or in bed, he’ll pull you against his chest, wrap an arm around you, and murmur something sweet before falling asleep. And if Lian crashes the cuddle session? Even better.

Kaldur

●Deeply Thoughtful – Kaldur approaches Valentine’s Day with quiet sincerity. He doesn’t need grand gestures; instead, he ensures every moment with you feels special and meaningful.

●Old-School Romantic – Expect heartfelt words, deep eye contact, and gestures that feel like they belong in a love story. He’s the type to take your hand gently and press a lingering kiss to the back of it without a second thought.

●Plans Everything with Care – He takes his time choosing the perfect way to celebrate. Whether it’s a quiet secluded beach picnic, an underwater adventure, or a candlelit dinner with Atlantean cuisine, he makes sure it reflects your interests and hism

●Gift Giving is Symbolic – Kaldur believes gifts should hold meaning. Maybe he gives you a beautiful shell or stone from Atlantis, something crafted with bioluminescent coral, or a handwritten letter expressing his deepest feelings for you.

●Speaks with Pure Emotion – When Kaldur tells you how much he loves you, he means it. His words are poetic yet natural, filled with warmth. (“You are the current that guides my soul, the light that leads me home.”)

●Surprisingly Affectionate in Private – Though composed in public, behind closed doors, Kaldur is tender and openly affectionate. He’ll wrap you in his arms, rest his forehead against yours, and take his time showing you just how much you mean to him.

●Loves Peaceful, Intimate Moments – Instead of a loud, extravagant celebration, he prefers quiet togetherness. Maybe you’re watching the ocean waves, swimming under the stars, or simply holding each other in a tranquil setting.

●Will Say Something Like – “My love for you is as endless as the tides, unwavering and eternal.”

●A Perfect Slow Dance Partner – Even if there’s no music, he’ll take your hand and sway with you in the dim light, moving with effortless grace while holding you close.

●The Night Ends with Cuddles and Deep Conversations – As the night winds down, expect quiet whispers, soothing touches, and an unshakable feeling of warmth and love. Kaldur cherishes every moment with you, and it shows in everything he does.

Should I do season 2 boys or season 1 girls next? Also thank you for reading! 😊

[solxamber]

For the Valentine’s Day event

Cater, Romantic, APT. by ROSÉ and Bruno Mars.

Specifically the lyrics

“Kissy face, kissy face sent to your phone, but I'm trying to kiss your lips for real”

Always excited for your content!

And don’t overwork yourself! :D

"Don't you want me like I want you" || Cater Diamond

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: APT. by ROSÉ and Bruno Mars

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 760

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mutual pining, Friends to Lovers

It starts, like most things with Cater, as a joke.

A playful nudge here, a winking emoji there — an endless game of Are we? Or aren’t we? that neither of you have ever bothered to define.

You’re both out of NRC now, graduated and trying to figure out what adulthood means — which, for you, seems to be juggling work, friendships, and whatever this is with Cater.

It’s never been serious, not really.

Because Cater doesn’t do serious. He’s all smiles and filters and perfectly crafted captions. He’s the kind of person who knows exactly how to flirt without ever letting it get too real, like love is something that only happens on the other side of a camera lens.

But then there’s you.

And, well… you like to push buttons.

It’s a game between you.

A push and pull, a dance along the line of something real—so close to crossing, but never quite.

The stolen moments stretch between you: a lingering touch when you pass him something, a glance that holds too long before one of you looks away. The way your voice gets softer when you say his name, like it’s something precious, something that belongs only to you.

And Cater… Cater tells himself it’s fine.

It’s fine if you never say anything, because he’s good at this. At pretending. At keeping things light and easy, at making sure no one ever sees the part of him that wants.

But sometimes, it gets hard.

Like when you call him late at night, your voice warm and sleepy, saying, “Hey, you’re still up, right?”—and he always is, even when he wasn’t before.

Or when you lean into his space without thinking, close enough that he could just tilt his head and—

But no.

You don’t cross the line.

So he won’t either.

Until one afternoon, when the line between flirting and something more starts to blur.

It’s one of those lazy Sundays — the kind where the sky’s too blue and the breeze too warm to do anything productive. You’re at Cater’s place, sprawled out on his couch, scrolling through your phone while he fiddles with the playlist.

“Hey,” he calls from the other side of the room. “What do you think of this one?”

A sultry beat hums from the speakers — something slow and sweet, a little too romantic for a playlist that's supposedly just background noise.

You raise an eyebrow. “Feeling a bit sappy today, Diamond?”

Cater winks. “What can I say? I’m a man of many layers.”

You roll your eyes but your heart skips a beat — because that’s what he does to you. Makes you laugh, makes you want, makes you wonder if this little game you’re playing is ever going to end.

He flops down next to you, close enough that his thigh brushes against yours. He’s still grinning, but there’s something else in his eyes — a flicker of something that makes your stomach flip.

“You know,” he says, voice light but careful, “for all the kissy face emojis you send me… kinda rude you’ve never actually kissed me.”

Your brain short-circuits.

It’s not like Cater hasn’t said things like this before — he’s always toeing the line, always dangling his words just far enough out of reach that you can’t grab onto them.

But this time feels different.

This time, his voice is a little too soft. His smile is a little too real.

And maybe it’s the playlist or the lazy afternoon sun or the weeks of almost piling up in your chest — but before you can stop yourself, you lean in.

And kiss him.

Not a quick peck. Not a flirty brush of lips.

A kiss. Slow, lingering — the kind that tastes like every unsaid word between you.

For a second, Cater doesn’t move. His brain seems to short-circuit just like yours did, frozen with wide eyes and parted lips.

But then — oh.

Then his hand slides to your waist, his other hand tilting your chin up as he kisses you back, just as slow, just as deep.

And it’s not a joke this time.

When you finally pull away, breathless and a little dizzy, Cater just stares at you.

“Uh,” he says, voice hoarse, “was that… to prove a point or…?”

You burst out laughing, forehead dropping to his shoulder. “Shut up.”

He’s laughing too, but there’s a softness to it now — a sweetness underneath the usual teasing. His fingers are still resting on your waist, like he’s afraid to let go.

“So…” he starts again, and for once, his voice wavers. “Are we… still just flirting, or…?”

You tilt your head, biting your lip — the same playful glimmer in your eyes. “I don’t know, Diamond. Wanna kiss me again and find out?”

Cater laughs, breathless. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I think so.”

You grin, and it’s the same smile he’s always loved—the one that makes him feel like the world isn’t so scary after all.

And this time, when he leans in, he doesn’t hesitate.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[writtenbyan-aries]

desperately need another best-friends to lovers Sam Golbach fic with fluffy-smut

#also ovulating🤍🎀

༝༚ Summary: Reader plans on telling Sam she likes him as her Valentine’s gift to him, but when she sees him with another girl, she snaps.

༝༚ Warnings: smut, swearing, vampire!reader, blood, blood drinking, compulsion, death, friends to lovers, kissing, unprotected sex, general filth

༝༚ Word Count: 4094

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Today was the day you were going to tell your best friend you were in love with him.

For weeks, you’ve been going over how you wanted to tell him. What you wanted to say, where you wanted to do it.

At the end of the day, no matter how perfectly you tried to plan it, just coming right out with it would be your best option, and you were ready.

Over the years, your simple crush turned into really liking him, then that turned into you loving him. Loving him in secret that is. He was there for you, in your human life, and he continued to stay even in your vampire life.

As a vampire, there were a few things you were scared of. The sun without your ring, wooden stakes, wolves, and Sam not being in your life being the biggest one.

If there was one thing you wanted more than anything else in the world, it’s Sam being in your life, no matter the circumstance. You’d be just friends if that what he wanted, you’d do anything for him.

As said, you love him with your full, dead slash undead being.

You took a deep breath as you walked into the house, glancing around at all of the red and pink decor pretty much blending together.

There were maybe two other vampires in the whole town, Colby, Sam’s other best friend, being one of them. A lot of them fled years ago when they were discovered, but since then, things have settled down and you’ve gotten really good at playing human.

“Glad you could make it.” Colby appears next to you, “Thought maybe you’d chicken out.”

You give him a shrug, “Thought about it, not going to lie.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” He looks around, “Sam is around here somewhere.”

“I’ll find him.” You look around, “I think I need to do this sooner rather than later, you know?”

He nods, “Right, well if you need anything, you know where everything is at.” He gives you a wink, “Have fun. Good luck.”

You watch him walk away and you take a deep breath as you make your way thought the semi-crowded house. Sam and Colby’s party’s were always bashes, there was never just having a low key get together.

As you round the corner, you come to a stop when you see a girl talking to Sam. The smile on Sam’s face put a knife in your chest.

You reach up, tucking hair behind your ear as you nonchalantly try to listen in.

The girl laughs, “Thanks for inviting me. You and Colby always throw the best parties, I can’t lie.” Sam chuckles, “Yeah, yeah, thanks. I’m glad you could make it. It’s pretty early on, but I’m hoping it picks up soon.”

You watch as the girl reaches out, sliding her hand down his arm, “You look good, Sam. All that running you’re doing is sure paying off.”

He laughs, “You think so?”

She nods, “Definitely, so. How about you save me a dance tonight?“

“Didn’t you come with a date?” Sam asks, sounding confused, and the girl shakes her head “No.” She sighs, “Trevor broke up with me last week.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Sam tilts his head, “I mean, yeah. I can save you a dance later on.”

His words twisted the knife, and you were gone before he could see you were there. You walk down the steps of the porch and Colby rushes out after you, “Hey. Hey. Where ya going?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“What happened?” Colby walks up to you and you turn around, “Sam’s already got a valentine. That stupid blonde bitch who’s been feeling him up the whole time I stood there watching.”

“I don’t-“

“I don’t care, Colby. I am sick of this shit. Sick of myself. Always waiting until it’s too late. Having something I want but can’t have right there in front of my face.” You shrug, “I’m done, happy Valentine’s Day, Colby.”

“Don’t do-“

You were gone.

You come to a stop, pressing you back against the building. You were making sure Colby didn’t follow you, but the sound of laughter filled your ears, catching your attention.

You turned around, watching as a happy couple walked past the ally. You crinkle your nose, eyes flickering dark as the hatred for happiness grew larger.

You vamped around the building, stopping right in front of them.

Their smiles fade and the girl looks up at the man. The man tilts his head, “Can we help you?” You let out a sigh, “Yeah, you can actually.” You look into his eyes, “Go down that ally.”

You look at the girl, “Follow him.”

They turn, walking down the ally, and you jump the girl, sinking your fangs into her neck. As you lean back, your hand sinks into her chest to retrieve her heart.

You turn, smirking at the guy whose eyes jump between his girlfriend’s body and the organ in your hand, “Love never dies a natural death, right?”

You drop it before shoving him against the wall, ripping into his neck to drink him dry. You step back as his body drops down next to the girl.

You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and walk down the ally, laughing to yourself until you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket.

You pull it out, letting out a sigh when you see Colby is calling. You decline, stuffing your phone back and moving to your next spot.

You walk into a bar, mentally gagging at all of the love that’s floating around. You make it to the bathroom, washing the dried blood from your hands before making your way up to the bar.

The bartender‘s brows furrow, “You’re alone?”

“You seem shocked.” You tilt your head and he shrugs, “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be alone on Valentine’s Day.”

You shrug, raising your brows, “People suck, what can I say?”

“Here.” He gives you a shot, “On the house.”

You smile, “Thank you.” You take it and spin around on the stool, your eyes immediately landing on a blonde that looks like Sam’s new girlfriend.

Disgust flooded your body.

Next to her was a guy, and the way he looked at her was full of love, “Ew.” You roll your eyes, leaning back as you waited for one of them to get up and walk up to the bar.

The guy walks up, and you couldn’t help but think how perfect this was. You look over at him, “Hey.”

He looks over at you, giving you a nod, “Hey.”

“That your girlfriend over there?” You point and he nods, glancing back with a smile, “Yeah, she’s perfect, isn’t she?” He looks back at you and you stare into his eyes, “Break up with her, leave, forget you spoke to me.”

His smile drops and he stands up straight, “I think I’m going to break up with her though.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Your fake pout turns into a smirk as he walks back up to her, her gasp sounds through the whole bar, “No, no. What? I don’t- Link, please. It’s Valentine’s Day!? You can’t do this!”

She sobs as he walks away and she gets up, running to the bathroom. You let out a sigh, smiling as your eyes set on a new target.

A couple dancing at the end of the bar.

You purse your lips as you see the girl pull away from him to go to the bathroom. You get up and walk down to the guy, “She’s pretty.”

He laughs, “Oh yeah, don’t ask me how I got her because I don’t even know myself.” He takes a sip of his drink, “Can I ask why you’re talking to me? It’s just if Casey comes out and sees me talking to you, she won’t be happy and I don’t really want that.”

“You really love her, don’t you?” You tilt your head and a cheesy smile appears on his lips, “Yeah, I can definitely see myself marrying her.”

“Gross.” You sigh, locking eyes with him, “When she comes out, I want you to break her heart. Tell her you’re done, leave, and forget we talked.”

You go back and sit down, glancing over as the bathroom door swings open, and soon enough another heart was broke and her crying was music to your ears.

You let out a sigh as you get up and walk out of the bar.

As you turn, you run into someone and you roll your eyes, “Don’t you have a party to host?”

“I think keeping you from going on a Valentine’s Day killing spree is more important.” Colby crosses his arms, “Found two. One with her heart ripped out, which, was very telling on who did it. Are there anymore?”

“Yeah, but they’re not dead. Just two broken hearts, crying in the bar bathroom.” You motion with a laugh, “Anyway, good talk.” You pat his shoulder and walk away.

He vamps in front of you, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Don’t play dumb. Why are you out here playing killer Cupid?” He tilts his head, “Did you even talk to Sam?”

“No, but I heard enough. Oh, did they have their dance yet? I hope I don’t miss it.” You give him a devilish smile and he scoffs, “That’s not his- Sam isn’t into her.”

“Yeah okay.” You roll your eyes, “Seriously Colby. If you don’t leave in the next three seconds, the next person that walks by, happy or not, is dying.”

He crosses his arms, “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” You squint, smirking as you see a girl walk out of the bar. You grab her and vamp into the ally, fangs in her neck.

You look up, watching as Colby’s eyes darken but quickly return to normal, “Stop. Stop!” He vamps forward, shoving you back before biting his wrist and pushing it to her lips, “You can’t- do you even know what kind of risk you’re taking by doing this?”

“I don’t give a fuck, Colby.” You turn, “Just go back home. I’ll be fine.”

“So you’re going to run, take out your anger on people who don’t deserve it?” He yells after, and you stop, “All of this anger, was once love, Colby, and that’s something you of all people should really know. You remember Eve, don’t you?”

He clenches his jaw and relaxes, “Okay.” He scoffs, “Run. Do what you do best. But just remember, while you’re out here throwing a tantrum, Sam is back home, dancing with that girl who isn’t you.”

You clench your jaw, thinking, he wants a reaction. But you don’t give him one. You shrug, turning to walk away before getting out of there as fast as you can.

As you’re walking, you see a couple standing down by the river. You lean against the light pole, watching as he gets down on one knee and you scoff as the girl starts screaming yes over and over again.

“Oh my god.”

You vamp down, faking the overly happy attitude, “Congratulations you two! I just seen the whole thing from up there and I just had to come down and tell you how fucking gross that was.”

The girl shakes her head, “I’m sorry, it- what?”

“Come on, Lynn.” The guy takes her hand and pulls her, “We’re leaving.”

You vamp in front of them again, “Sorry, if I let you leave, that’ll look bad on my part.” You laugh, “you know, the one who now hates Valentine’s Day letting two happy people go.. that wouldn’t match the image I’m trying to uphold.”

“I’m sorry I think-“ The guy gasps as your hand plunges into his chest and the woman screams, “Oh my g- Help! Help!”

“Shut up.” You stare into her eyes, and she goes silent, “Not another fucking sound.”

You pull your hand from his chest cavity, extending your arm out, “Here. Hold this.” You drop the bloody organ into her hands and push the guy back over the fence, watching his body plunge into the water.

“Now, for you.. I think I’m going to-“

“Y/n?”

You freeze, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” You turn around, Sam walking down the steps towards you. Colby stands at the top, whispering, “You need to stop this shit.”

You roll your eyes at Colby and look at Sam, “Why are you here?”

“Colby told me.” He stops, “He told me everything.”

“Oh did he now?” You turn back to the woman, taking the heart from her hands and throwing it into the river. You look into her eyes, “Forget about everything, including your dead ass fiancé. Go home.”

She blinks, looking around, “Excuse me, I’m just heading home.” She gives you a smile and you look back at Sam, “There. I didn’t kill her.” You look up at Colby, “Happy now?”

Sam walks up to you, “What’s going on with you?”

“What’s going on with me?” You scoff, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He shakes his head, “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Your hands slap your thighs, “Just, go home. Have fun with what’s her face.” You walk away but Sam’s words stop you in your tracks, “No. I wanted to be there with you.” He sighs, “I was planning on doing the same thing you were.”

You slowly turn around, “what a wicked way to treat the girl that loves you, too. Flirting with her right back. Allowing her to touch your arm and give you a sob story of how she was alone on Valentine’s Day.” You scoff, “Please. You didn’t seem like you wanted me there. You looked pretty content with fake blonde Barbie. Oh, and not to mention that you agreed to give her a dance later on? Fuck. That.”

“I was just being nice, and I-“

“I wanted to rip her head from her body, Sam. I don’t think you understand how much I actually fucking love you. Human, vampire, my love for you did not change, and to hear what you said to her, and what you’re saying now.. I just-“

He plants his lips on yours, “I was never going to dance with her.” He presses his lips to yours, “A part of me, I don’t know what it is, but a part of me wanted to see her face when she saw I was with you.”

“Oh..” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, “That.. I could have gotten behind that.”

“If you would have just came to me instead of jumping off the cliff and going on a killing spree..” he chuckles slightly, “that’s..” he clears his throat, “That’s not okay by the way, but um.. what do you say that we go back to your place, get you cleaned up, and we just… talk, or whatever?”

“Yeah, yeah..” You nod, “We can do that.”

He presses a kiss to your lips and nods, “Good. Now come on, my little bloody Valentine, before you get caught.”

He takes your hand and you walk up the steps towards Colby. You stare at him with a cold expression, “I’m not saying thank you.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to right now, but you will.” Colby smirks, “Eventually.”

You roll your eyes, “Uh huh.” You look at Sam and he laughs slightly, “You probably already heard, but we’re going to her place.”

Colby nods, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Happy Valentine’s Day.” He gives you a wink and you flick him off with a laugh.

You and Sam walk down the road, “I don’t scare you?”

“Why would you scare me?” He glances down at you and you shrug, “I’ve killed people, Sam.”

“I mean, it’s not okay, but you’re.. you. You have stuff normal people don’t.. and you didn’t go right to the source, meaning me.” He laughs, “So I mean, it’s fine with me. I don’t know, I’m just glad that we finally get a chance to talk about everything.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I went all killer Cupid over you.”

“Killer Cupid?” Sam laughs, “That’s a good one.”

“Yeah, when Colby caught me after the bar, that’s what he called me.” You laugh, “I just.. being a vampire, everything is so heightened and I just- that jealousy part took over and nothing else mattered.”

“It’s okay.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders, “Let’s just get home, and we can talk about it there.”

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Sam’s eyes flick to yours as he wipes off the corner of your mouth, “There.” He drops his hand, “I think we got all of it.”

You look in the mirror, nodding, “Yeah. All clean.”

He smiles, reaching up to turn your head towards him by your chin, “Look at me.”

You look from his lips to his eyes and he takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry for making it seem like I was leading you on. I’ve been sitting on my feelings for a while, and when you turned.. it just.. it changed everything. I didn’t think you’d want to be with a human, I don’t know how that works.”

You slide your hand up to his neck and you press your lips to his, “Let me show you exactly how it works, okay?”

He smirks, “Please.”

You pull him with you to your room and he pulls you closer by your hips, his lips moving with yours. You slide your hands up his sides, pushing his shirt up with them.

He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor and he watches as you take off yours, dropping it with his.

He smirks, pulling you to him and he walks you over to the bed.

You quickly flip around, and he chuckles, “I’ll never get over how fast you are.” You smirk as you straddle his waist, leaning down to kiss down his neck and chest. You move down to his jeans, kissing across his stomach before sitting up.

Your fingers undo the button and your eyes flick up to his as you pull down the zipper.

His breathing quickens as you tug the fabric down his legs. He reaches down, pulling you back up to him. He rolls you over, his body over yours as his lips meet yours.

He kisses down your chest, stomach, and stop above the band of your sweats. He pulls them down with your panties, kissing along your thighs before going back up to your lips, “I love you.”

You slide a hand up, tangling it in his hair, “I love you.”

He reaches down, freeing himself from his boxers and you bite your lip as you spread your legs wider. He rubs the head of his cock against your cunt before slowly pushing in.

Your brows furrow as your head tilts back, your nails on your hand that isn’t holding his hair, sink into his shoulder and you let out a moan.

Sam kisses you and down your neck, groaning lowly as he pushes in more, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

You gasp as he pulls out, thrusting in deeper, “Fuck, yes.” You whimper, turning your head to press your lips to his.

He groans lowly against your lips, “I’m so sorry I kept you waiting.” He kisses your forehead, “Fuck.”

Your back lifts from the bed, “Don’t be sorry, just focus on what’s happening right now.”

He kisses down your neck, moaning against it as his thrusts grow faster. Your legs tighten around his waist, panting as he repeatedly hits that spot that’s shoots jolts of pleasure all through your body, “Fuck, fuck. Right there, baby.”

You drag your nails up his back as you moan loudly, “Feels so good.”

He smashes his lips to yours, swapping moans with you as your lips move in a heated sync. He slides his hand down to your hip, rolling over and you move as he pulls you with him.

You instantly take over, leaning forward to plant your hands by his head as you bounce your hips up and down.

Sam was captivated by you.

He always thought you were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, but seeing this side of you took him to a whole new level.

“F-fuck.” He bucks his hips upward, “You’re so fucking good at this.”

You slide a hand over to rest on his neck, leaning down to press your lips to his. His hands slide around to your ass, gripping tight. Your walls squeeze around him, moans growing louder as you feel yourself creeping towards that ecstasy, “Almost there.”

You bury your face into his neck, moaning out loudly as you guide yourself through your own high.

Sam rolls you back over, attaching his lips to yours as he picks up thrusting once again, “To be with you.. is all I want..”

You look up at him, “That’s all I want, too.”

He kisses back your jaw, stopping to whisper in your ear, “I want you to turn me. I want to be with you forever.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you pull him closer, “Are you sure?”

He nods as he pulls his head up, “I want you. I want to be everything you are, right along side you.”

You feel the burn of tears forming in your eyes and you nod, “I can do that.” You smile, pressing your lips to his, “I love you.”

“I love you.” He cups your cheek as his thrusts grow sloppy, “Fuck, fuck.” He groans as his cock twitches, thrusts slowing down until he stops.

He presses a kiss to yours lips and rolls off of you. You move to lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, “Are you sure you want this?” You sit up, looking into his eyes, “I just- you’ve always liked living the human life, I don’t want you to resent me later on for turning you.”

“I could never resent you.” He reaches up, running his thumb over your cheek, “I want us, I want to run around the world with you. I want to love you for as long as I can.”

You smile, leaning in to kiss him, “I want that, all of that.” You run your thumb across his cheek, “When do you want to do it?”

“Now.”

“Now?” You raise your brows and he nods, “I don’t want to wait any longer.” You nod, “When you wake up, you’re going to be hungry. You’re going to feel all of your senses at once, but I’ll be right here. I’m going to help you.”

He nods, “I trust you, baby.” He turns, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand, “I’m ready to spend a long, long life with you.”

You smile, bringing your wrist to your lips and you bite down. You press it to his lips and he closes his eyes as he drinks your blood.

You pull your wrist away, moving to grab your clothes and slipping them on. As sam gets dressed, he looks over at you, “How are you going to-“

“I’ll do it quick.” You get back into bed, “Just, come here.” You hold your arms out and he sits down, laying back in your arms. You wrap your arms around his head, taking in a deep breath, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

You close your eyes as you hear a crack, laying his body back on the pillow. You press a kiss to his lips and sit up, entering the waiting period.

A few hours later, Sam sits up in a gasp.

“Hey. Hey.” You vamp to him, “It’s me.”

“Y/n?” He pulls you in, “Oh my god.” He starts to laugh, “It worked.” You nod, kissing his head, “It worked, baby.”

He leans back, “I love you.” He pulls you in, pressing a kiss to your lips. You smile within the kiss, “I love you. Come on. Let’s go complete the transition, make you my bloody Valentine.”

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I know this a day late- but I hope you love it anyway! I love you so so much! Thank you for reading! Catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[rebelliousstories]

Single Awareness Day

ValenFics

Relationship: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Alcohol and Drinking, Brief Strong Language

Word Count: 698

Main Masterlist: Here

Top Gun: Maverick Masterlist: Here

Summary: Another year of failed romance leads to a night at the bar with her best friend.

Consider Donating: Here

“Pen, can I get another one, please?” She called to the brunette behind the bar. When the older woman came back with her drink, she looked at her with sad eyes.

“Why are you so down in the dumps, honey?” Wetting her lips with her drink, the naval communications officer began her lament.

“Had a date again this week. Some IT tech in the force. He spent the whole night talking about how what he did was so important. Was reliving his high school glory days too. Just… been a shit week. Hell, a shit year.” She finished, taking a swig out of her glass. Penny giggled at this.

“It’s only February. You have ten more months on the calendar.” The brunette teased.

Waving her off, the officer decided to shift gears, “how are you and Mav?”

“Good,” Penny replied, wiping down a section of the bar to remove something sticky. “He’s gonna take me on a date Saturday morning since he’ll be working Friday morning, and then I’ve got this place in the evening. Valentine’s Day is always busy.”

Another drink washed down her throat, which made her upset that she was now on a dry cup. “Well, you enjoy. I’m not planning on going on a date again anytime soon.”

“Who’s not dating?” A soft drawl of a voice saddled up next to her at the bar. Turning her gaze to view the man, she was greeted with the familiar blonde- haired, blue- eyed best friend pilot.

“Me, Jake. I’m not dating.” The woman confirmed. “I’m just so over guys and their bs. Seriously, what does it take to find someone that checks at least most of the boxes? Doesn’t have to be all of them, but maybe shoot for a nice seventy- five percent.”

At this, the pilot let out a boisterous laugh. “What you need, darlin’, is a night of no troubles. Come on, another round Pen, and we are going to the back.”

She groaned as she was now carrying her next drink, and being pushed towards the back of The Hard Deck. Hangman had been a friend for many years, being one of the few women that never fell for his bravado or southern charm. There were definitely times that she felt like maybe they could be more, but then the fear of ruining her one good, stable, and longest friendship creeps in, and that goes out the window.

So she just let him bring her to the back, where he could continue to run them a, now, joined tab, while fighting over darts and pool. It brought her mind away from her crippling loneliness for a while. Each time that she scored against him, she would cheer and revel in Jake’s playful defeat. And each time that he scored, the woman would just chuckle, and watch as Seresin winked over towards her.

In between games, Jake would tug her close by the shoulders, and usher them to the bar. Chatting about their latest dates, and why they did not pan out. She fell further into his side the longer the night came on, and the drunker she got. However, Hangman was not in much better of a position. As his inhibitions loosened, he found himself becoming far more touchy with her, but still remaining polite. He tried not to push the boundaries, even though he was fairly certain that she would welcome it; but now was neither the time nor the place.

They had bother been drinking heavily, which meant that he would not be able to get the consent that he would require. Besides, he was trying to save her heart from being shattered as she grappled with being single. For now, he would just be the other single friend that hung out with her when she was down in the dumps.

What neither of them saw, was the keen eyes of Penny Benjamin who was texting Pete to tell him about what she had been witnessing the entire evening. Starting from now until next Valentine’s Day, they also had a bet on how long it would take the two to get together, and who would be asking who out.

[webslingingslasher]

Care less

for the frat!peter girlies.

Peter blames his aunt. 

May went and raised him to look forward to the middle of february. She would make little boxes and handwritten notes tied up with a fun-sized candy bar. May told him it was a day to celebrate love in its entirety. For a friend, for a teacher, for just the sake of love existing everywhere you went. 

Except, not everyone likes valentine's day. Some even hate it. Some would loathe the day so much that Peter feels like an idiot for caring. Dinner reservations that were going to be ignored, flowers that would go wilted and chocolates that were never going to get eaten. 

Peter has a handful of nothing and the one time he really wanted to outperform himself, it was brushed off and it was his aunt’s fault for getting his hopes up about valentine’s day. He had been so thoughtful too, planning weeks ahead to book a dinner slot and a fun date. Not to mention the mini fortune he spent on roses, not that you were a giant fan of roses but every girl deserves a bouquet on valentine’s, even if they triple in price. Peter even bought a second bunch of your favorite kind, just to prove he cared. 

It meant nothing. His efforts meant nothing and maybe he shouldn’t have assumed, but he never thought that you’d hate the holiday. It was a day entirely built around feelings, around love- and you just rolled your eyes at him. 

“I fucking hate valentine’s day.” You said it like it was nothing, taking two bites of a banana and handing it over to Peter. He asked if you were excited, maybe even hinting at that you should be excited. Peter Parker was about to romance the hell out of you. But not anymore. 

“Explain that one for me?” A toss, the peel falls into the trash can. You shrug as if you’ve never thought about it before, but it’s something you’ve held in your chest for as long as you can remember. 

“It was a holiday created by girls who didn’t feel loved enough by their boyfriends, or something. I think the practice is stupid, you should treat me good and do nice things for me everyday, not just once a year. And everything is crowded! Everyone has the same lame idea about dinner and a movie and flowers and… it’s just not something I buy into.” 

Peter feels every bit of him curl up and die inside. Valentines is his third favorite holiday, he adores the pinks, reds, and purples. He loves seeing couples of every stage, the beginning stages or lifelong partners. They all love the same; with everything in them. 

“Well, actually, I do have a confession. Chocolate covered strawberries. They’re outrageously expensive, but I buy them every year. If you’re wondering, I was hoping we could boycott the baby holiday and eat some strawberries or something.” 

A small lift in his heart, it’s something. You’d be happy with one thing and he could deliver that, but first he has to try and sway you, right? Peter needs to preach what valentine’s is about, he needs you to understand how lovely it is. 

“I’m surprised you hate it so much. I figured you’d love it, since it’s pink and feelings, and stuff.” You wink at him, you think it’s a joke and Peter’s in the same boat as you. “I know, right? It always seemed so gimmicky to me, I think.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s bad.” You pretend gag, Peter feels his heart sink into the hollow of his chest. “You’re right, it’s cringy and that makes it so much worse.” Peter doesn’t agree, not even in the slightest. Nothing about it is cringy, there’s nothing embarrassing about showing you love someone. 

“Right. It’s cringy and a gimmick and everyone who participates is stupid.” Maybe he’s a little cynical, it hits harder when you nod with exaggeration. “So glad you agree, petey!” He doesn’t. Peter couldn’t be further away from your opinion but he’s really not in the mood to be shut down or judged, so, he just changes the subject and tries to ignore everything crumbling apart in the back of his mind. 

“Isn’t this cute?” 

You squint your eyes when you read the card, a tiny smile shows. “It’s cute. Not worth…” You snatch the glorified cardstock and flip it, your eyes widen, you pretend to choke on the dollar amount. “Ten dollars, holy shit. For some glitter? Fuck that.” 

You want it out of your hold, scared that if even a speckle spread you’d be forced to buy it. “What happened to the good old days of making your own card? My mom used to eat that up.” 

Peter delicately sets the card down, he tries to see it how you do, but he can’t. Sure, it’s wildly marked up, but wouldn’t your partner be worth the price? Peter would buy the moon for you if he could, a ten dollar Hallmark card won’t be his holdup. 

But, maybe you’d like a handmade one more. He can do that. 

Peter’s trying to be mindful of your opinion while also planting the seed that valentine’s isn’t all that bad into your brain. It’s days away and all he can hear in the back of his mind is ‘I fucking hate valentine’s day.’ 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Peter- do you fucking see this?” 

A romantic gesture? A public display of love and admiration? Dozens of carefully inflated heart shaped balloons? A girl crying into the arms of her friend while her partner showers her with flowers. Is it the love? Is that what you’re pointing out? 

“Yeah, it’s-” 

“Disgusting.” 

“-cute.” Peter frowns, is that what you really thought of valentines? Nothing was swaying your mind, Peter thinks that you’re more solidified in your mindset than before. 

“I’m sorry, trouble, but I’m finding it hard believing you hate valentine’s day.” It’s like he just called you a slur, you pull your hand from his and stuff it into your jacket pocket. 

“I don’t hate it, I loathe it. What do you see watching that? Personally, I’m seeing gravel covered flowers and wasted space that turns into deflated balloons. Fuck that.” Peter shakes his head, you’re seeing it wrong. “It’s about the gesture.” 

“It’s about how you love someone so much, there aren't enough things in the world to buy to show it, and there are never the right set of words to say it quite right. I’ll buy all the flowers in the world for you, and I’ll use all the air in my lungs for these balloons but it’ll never match the love I have for you.” 

Peter clears his throat. “That's what I see, anyways. I think valentine’s day is an excuse to be a little cringy and basic because we all want that sometimes.” He might’ve finally broken through, but you crack a grin and bump your shoulder into his. 

“Ah, yes, because I’m so unfulfilled that a man has never gotten me a teddy bear for valentine’s day.” Would you want one? He could get you one. Or could that be a reason you might detest the holiday, not that he’d ever take your opinion for resentment or bitterness. 

“Have you ever had a valentine?” A small stumble, your hand is tied into his again. “Besides elementary, nah. And honestly, I should be happy so I don’t have to deal with all that stuff.” 

‘I should be happy so I don’t have to deal with all that stuff.’ But, now you do, don’t you? 

“Trouble, you do realize you’re my valentine this year, right? And I’m yours?” You feel your breath catch, no, you hadn’t realized. It’s always just been another day for you and you assume the same for Peter, it’s not like there was much to celebrate. 

“It’s also just a day that ends in Y.” Is that really the answer you have? It’s just another day to you, even if you finally have someone to claim? You might not care about the holiday, but Peter does and he’s going to get his valentine’s day, no matter what. 

And you’re going to enjoy a handmade card. 

And a teddy bear. 

Peter’s finger-combing his hair after a shower, he’s had the reservation for weeks, but he also wasn’t aware of your detestment towards red hearts and arrows. 

“Wanna grab some dinner wednesday?” If he didn’t say it by name he’s hoping you won’t scream bloody mary on him. “Sure.” A smile washes over Peter’s face, it drops in a second. “Wait, isn’t that valentine’s day? Ha, yeah, no thank you. You, me, and the entire city? Fuck that.” 

‘Fuck that, fuck that, fuck that.’ Weeks boiled into nothing. “But, if you wanna cuddle and watch a movie I’m down.” It’s something. He’d get to give you flowers and a card and a teddy bear and he can’t forget the strawberries. You told him you loved them. 

“Good with me, trouble.” 

Peter tried to sway your mind, he tried to make you enjoy the love and glitter and colors. But you hated it all. So all he has to do is ditch the flowers and the dinner and just… do nothing. 

Peter’s first real valentine and all he has to do is… nothing. 

Three rose bouquets tossed onto his closet floor, it was haphazardly done. Petals scattered around the cellophane, some even reached to his shoes. They were thrown in without care, they were hidden. 

But they were beautiful. A few front buds have taken a beating, but the others were fully blossomed and lively. You’ve never seen roses in such a vivid red, their petals almost like velvet under your fingertips, their smell unlike any other. 

The thorns have been expertly shredded, nothing but smooth, soft stems in their wake. It doesn’t matter if Peter didn’t mean to have you see them, they were too gorgeous to leave locked away in a dark room. They deserved the affection water and sunlight would give them. 

You clutched all three in your arms, the weight welcomed. You laid them out nicely across his bed, the third bouquet dropped a small card and you picked it right back up. 

‘Trouble- 

This day was made for you. 

Charlie’s at 8. 

Yours, 

Peter’

You bit back a smile. Charlie’s? It’s nice, too nice. And expensive. Peter got you reservations at Charlie’s? Holding the card to your chest you nearly squeal, you have no idea how he kept the secret from you. Or the roses. 

When you hear his bedroom door open you spin, waiting for him to be in the doorway so you can place a thousand kisses. Instead it’s Ethan and he looks surprised. “You’re here?” He points to the flowers, “Peter gave you those?” 

“I found them in his closet, he just tossed them in here! And he must’ve forgotten to tell me about Charlie’s.” Ethan doesn’t smile with you, he’s not sharing any joy. For a second you start to wonder if you were the person who was supposed to receive the gifts. 

“He didn’t forget.” You scrunch your face at him, “I think he did and I need to start getting ready now. Ethan, do you know how nice Charlie’s is? It’s fucking fancy.” You’re not prepared, you don’t have anything that screams Charlie’s worthy in Peter’s closet. 

“No, you’re not hearing me. There is no Charlie’s and there weren't supposed to be roses. I was supposed to get them before you got here, but, here we are. No roses and no Charlie’s.” You smack at his arms, pulling at his fingers to drop your flowers. 

“They’re mine!” Ethan’s on a mission to steal them, and he’s not being gentle. 

“No, you didn’t want them.” 

You watch him for a second, how could he say that, of course you want them. Thirty six reminders of Peter, how could you ever say no? You fight for what's yours, Ethan allows you to keep one bouquet. 

“I do want them!” 

Ethan’s not being nice to you tonight, he’s gruff with his response. “No. You didn’t.’ 

“You keep saying didn’t! I never said I didn’t want…” 

Except you did. Just like you said you didn’t want to get dinner with Peter. You feel terrible, you feel like crying. He’d had this planned for weeks and the whole time all you did was poke fun and degrade the holiday not knowing you were crushing him behind the scenes. 

You wanted the flowers, but you didn’t deserve them. You hand over the last bouquet silently. 

“I think it’s best if you pretend you didn’t see these.” You can’t imagine the ache Peter must have in his chest, he planned something out just for you to stomp all over it. It’s not about the value, it was the gesture. He can’t tell you how he feels, but taking you out to one of the nicest places in the city, where you know it has a month minimum reservation list makes you understand him just a little bit better. 

“This is so bad, Ethan. This is so,” you suck in air, “so bad.” 

“It’s not terrible,” a crinkle when he shifts weight. “But it’s not great.” You wince, if you could, you’d go back in time and shove your foot in your mouth, or tell yourself to shut the fuck up. 

“Well, I mean, what the fuck?! It’s fucking Peter! How was I supposed to know he was pro valentines day?”

“How was he supposed to know you were anti valentines day?” 

You sink to the bed and hold your head in your hands, “I just want Peter right now.” You want to hug him and kiss him and tell him how sorry you were. Ethan hesitates for a second, before stepping closer to lay the flowers across your lap. 

“You found them. They’re yours.” You protect them from being taken, but still have self-pity. “I don’t deserve them.” Ethan scoffs, “of course you do. Everyone deserves pretty flowers.” 

You pout at yourself in the mirror and fix any smudges. Brushing out any stray wrinkles your newest dress might’ve made on the way over. Ethan had very kindly instructed a pledge to pick you up an outfit so you could change before Peter got back. 

With minutes to spare, he’s back and taking a deep breath at your appearance. “Wow.” A surprised hum when you kiss him, you wipe red from his bottom lip while you apologize. “I’m so sorry, petey.” 

“For what?” A look around the room, red roses give him the reason. “Oh. Hey, it’s no big deal and I-” A frown when you silence him by holding a finger to his lips. 

“I’m sorry. I found those flowers and all I could think about was you and how much it meant to me that you got those for me, then I saw the card and I couldn’t believe you got us reservations and I just felt… special. I’ve never had a valentine, but I get it now. It’s just a day you get to dote on me extra hard.” 

Another surprise kiss, “and if you didn’t already cancel I think we can get to Charlie’s on time. But if you did, that’s okay. Because I think those are the most lovely flowers I have ever gotten, and I might have seen a little teddy bear in there but I didn’t wanna get too presumptuous.” 

This time, Peter kissed you. “There’s also a homemade card.” 

“You didn’t!” You fall in closer to his chest, his hands can have free reign tonight, you wore the dress just for him. 

“I did. I even wrote a little poem.” 

A chaste kiss, “just when I think you can’t get better.” 

“There’s also glow in the dark mini golf planned for after.” A peck, “so thoughtful and handsome.”

A whisper, he’s got blown pupils and hoping he’d get another kiss. “And your strawberries are in the fridge.” 

Your hearts about to explode, “fuck, I love-” you stop yourself, but you heard it and so did Peter. He brushes it off, “love?” Fuck it, you’ll both keep circling around it. 

“Yeah, I love love.” 

A hungry kiss, a squeeze to the back of your thighs. “Yeah, I love love, too.” 

[prettygirl-gabi]

Sweet Clues and Sweeter Moments

Paring: Aubrey Griffin x reader

POV: First-person

Fandom: UConn’s Women’s Basketball

Word Count: 1,300+

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, and Aubrey wants to make it extra special, scavenger hunt why not…

I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. I groggily rolled over and checked the time—7:00 AM. Perfect, an extra hour before my day would begin. But just as I was about to sink back into my warm blankets, I noticed a message from Aubrey.

Aubrey: Good morning, babe! Check your door when you get up 😉

I furrowed my brows, sitting up and instantly feeling a mix of confusion and excitement. What could she be up to this time?

After a few minutes of lying there, trying to decipher the message, I decided to get up. I pulled on a hoodie and shuffled to the door, half expecting to see a bouquet of flowers or maybe a little note. Instead, when I opened it, I found a small box wrapped in shiny red paper, a note taped to the top that read, “The hunt begins here. - A”

I stared at it for a moment, processing what this might mean. A scavenger hunt? On Valentine’s Day?

I grinned, already knowing this was going to be one for the books.

The first clue led me to the basketball court. I made my way there, feeling a little silly but excited all the same. The campus was still waking up, with just a few early risers out for morning jogs or heading to class. When I reached the court, there was another note attached to the bleachers.

“To the person who’s always my MVP… you know what to do next. - A”

It took me a second to figure it out, but then I remembered the secret spot Aubrey and I had when we were freshmen, just before we started dating. I rushed to the equipment shed by the court and found the next clue taped to the back wall.

I pulled it off, practically grinning from ear to ear, and read:

“You’re getting warmer. Go to where we first sat after that crazy game last year. - A”

I knew exactly where this was. It was a bench by the fountain, where we had sat for hours talking about everything and nothing after an intense game. It felt like no time had passed at all, even though the world around us had kept moving.

When I reached the fountain, there she was—Aubrey, leaning against the stone rim with that smile of hers.

“Looking for something?” she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Aubrey!” I laughed, running up to her. “You had me running all over campus!”

She chuckled, standing up to pull me into a hug. “You love it. And you’re only halfway through, babe.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “I can’t believe you got the whole team involved. I saw Sarah handing me a clue by the court.”

Aubrey laughed. “Yeah, I had a little help. KK’s probably waiting for you at the next spot.”

“Of course,” I grinned. “You really went all out this year, huh?”

She shrugged with a playful grin. “Anything for you. You know I’ll do anything to see that smile.”

“Well, I’m smiling, aren’t I?” I said, leaning in to steal a kiss. “Okay, okay, I’ll keep going. What’s next?”

Aubrey handed me a small piece of paper, and I read it aloud:

“Now, head to the place where we made the best memories after the UConn game. You’ll find something sweet waiting for you. - A”

I raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t…”

“Oh, I did,” she said, winking. “Go check the locker room. KK’s got a little surprise for you.”

By the time I reached the locker room, I was practically glowing with happiness. Aubrey had really outdone herself. I pushed open the door and found KK standing there, holding a small envelope.

“I’m assuming you’re looking for this?” she said, handing me the envelope.

I opened it to find another note, this one with the final clue:

“This is where we started it all. Meet me where we’ve laughed, cried, and everything in between. - A”

I didn’t need to think twice. Aubrey and I had spent countless nights binge-watching movies in our dorm, talking about everything and nothing, just being ourselves.

When I got back to the dorm, the door was ajar, and the warm smell of popcorn filled the air. I walked inside and saw the lights dimmed, with candles scattered around the room. On the bed, there was a blanket fort made with pillows and sheets, a giant bowl of popcorn in the center, and a stack of our favorite movies beside it.

Aubrey stood by the makeshift fort, smiling softly as she looked up at me.

“You did all this?” I asked, my voice filled with awe.

She nodded, her smile only growing. “I figured you’d want something cozy tonight. It’s Valentine’s Day, but we’ve got a game coming up, so I thought we could have our own little movie marathon instead of going out.”

I walked over to her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “This is the best surprise I’ve ever gotten.”

She chuckled. “I’m glad you like it. I wanted to make tonight perfect for you.”

I kissed her softly, pulling away just enough to rest my forehead against hers. “You don’t have to do all of this to make me happy, Aubrey. Just being with you is enough.”

Aubrey’s hand slid down to mine, intertwining our fingers. “I know, but it’s fun to spoil you sometimes. Plus, I love seeing you smile.”

We both climbed into the blanket fort, snuggling in together under the soft covers. Aubrey grabbed the remote, and the first movie started. We spent the next few hours laughing, eating popcorn, and enjoying each other’s company.

At some point during The Princess Bride, Aubrey turned to me, her expression soft. “I know we have a big game on the 16th, but tonight, it’s just you and me. No pressure, no distractions. I wanted to give you something that’s all ours.”

I squeezed her hand, a smile tugging at my lips. “This is everything, Aubrey. Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too, babe. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And for the rest of the night, all that mattered was the warmth of Aubrey’s embrace, the sound of our laughter, and the feeling that, for now, everything was perfect.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[shanastoryteller]

Happy valentine's day! Could we have more female Naruto?

a continuation of 1 2 3

Naruto clocks Gaara the moment she sees him.

She keeps her smile wide and stance easy, putting her hands on her hips and squinting at the Sand kids. Sasuke and Sakura shift uneasily before deliberately relaxing, picking up on her attitude even if they don’t know why. “My dad told me about you guys! We should stick together, being the kids of kages and all.”

Her father had told her to be wary but hadn’t told her why. She has to believe he doesn’t know. The other option is that he somehow thought that she wouldn’t notice.

“You must be Naruto,” Temari says with a false friendliness that Naruto might not have been able to pick up on if she hadn’t spent her whole life with people loving her or hating her and having a disturbing habit of masking one as the other. “These are my brothers, Kankuro and Gaara. Are these your teammates?”

As if her father hadn’t warned her about the hosting kage’s kid. “Yeah, Sasuke Uchiha and Sakura Haruno.”

Neither of those names garner any reaction, but they wouldn’t. Sasuke’s status as Uchiha is obvious at first look and Sakura comes from a civilian family.

“Hi,” Kankuro says shortly.

Gaara says nothing at all, looking at them with those wide, empty eyes.

They’re going to be a problem. He’s going to be a problem.

~

Naruto knows better than to go to her father with anything important and if she tells her mother then she’ll try and pull her from the chunin exams, which is the last thing any of them needs.

She hates how often she ends up crawling back to her ex-fiance for help.

“Naruto-hime,” Kakashi greets, unruffled at her vaulting in through his window and landing on his counter in a perch.

This place is so depressing. She gets why her mom wants to put in some wallpaper or something so badly, but Kushina is still mad at Kakashi for weaseling out of their engagement, so she just grumbles and complains but won’t do anything about it.

“You’re proctoring the second part of the exam,” she says. The format of the exam is supposed to be secret, but it’s not like that’s ever stopped her from breaking into her father’s office. “I need you to rig the fight.”

He raises his eyebrow. Or maybe he’s raising both of them, but she can’t see under the headband. “That’s cheating.”

“Cheating’s allowed,” she counters. “I need you to make sure I face Gaara.”

He blinks slowly. Or winks. “Your father will kill me.”

“It’s supposed to be random,” she says. “How will he know?”

His silence takes on a decidedly guilty air.

“He told you to make sure I didn’t face him,” she guesses, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“He’s worried about you,” Kakashi says.

Too little too late as far as she’s concerned. As if his worry has ever done her any good. As if his worry has ever done anything but get in her way, just like it is right now. “Fine. Make sure he faces Sasuke then.”

“There are easier ways to get out of an engagement,” he says. “You don’t need to arrange to have him killed.”

Her eyes narrow and it takes everything in her not to growl. Growling is one of those things she’s not allowed to do because it’s too much of a tell. “I suppose you’re the expert on that.”

Kakashi doesn’t say anything. He’s spent her whole life not saying anything and it never gets less infuriating.

“Just do it,” she says. “What do you care anyway?”

Naruto is halfway out his window when he says, “I care,” and he can’t see her so she doesn’t bother to hold back her eyeroll.

That’s never done her any good either.

[nameless-jamie]

Meet me on the Pitch

Valentine's Day Special - Day 1

A Jamie Tartt x fem!shy receptionist reader

Masterlist Valentine' Special

TW: cursing, kissing

Y/N had never been one to put much thought into Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t that she hated it—she just didn’t expect much. Working at AFC Richmond meant watching the players fumble through grand gestures for their girlfriends while she quietly sat behind the reception desk, perfectly content in her little corner, far from the chaos of romantic declarations.

At least, that was the plan.

But when she arrived at work that morning, a bright red envelope sat neatly on her desk.

Her name was written on the front in bold, slightly messy handwriting.

Frowning, she picked it up.

Y/N blinked, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest, her fingers trembling slightly as she glanced around. The office was bustling with the usual morning energy, but no one seemed to notice her. She slowly opened the envelope, pulling out a small card.

Inside, in a mix of rushed cursive and print, was a simple message:

Meet me on the pitch.

Her stomach did a little flip. There was no name, but something about the hurried scrawl felt oddly familiar.

"Exciting, isn’t it?"

Y/N jumped, a small squeak escaping her as Keeley Jones appeared beside her, practically bouncing with excitement.

"Oh my God, Keeley," she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "You scared me half to death."

Keeley didn’t seem to notice the shock in Y/N’s voice. Her eyes were locked on the card. "So... are you gonna go?" she asked, her grin far too knowing.

Y/N eyed her suspiciously, her voice soft. "Do you know who this is from?"

Keeley’s grin widened. "Maybe."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "Keeley."

"Just go to the pitch, babe," Keeley said, winking. "Trust me."

Y/N wasn’t sure why she trusted Keeley—especially when she felt like her stomach was doing backflips—but she did. So, when her lunch break came around, she found herself walking to the pitch, the chilly February air brushing against her cheeks.

For a few moments, nothing happened. She just stood there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, wondering if maybe she was just imagining it. Then—

A football rolled toward her, stopping just at her feet.

Before she could process it, a certain Richmond striker jogged into view, his hands tucked into the pockets of his training jacket. Y/N froze, her heart jumping into her throat.

Jamie?

"Y/N," Jamie called, his voice sounding unusually tentative as he nodded toward the card still clutched in her hand. "Guessin’ you got my note."

Her throat went dry, and she blinked, taking in the football, then him, and then back to the football. "This was you?" she asked, her voice small.

"Uh, yeah?" Jamie rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "I mean, I was gonna just ask you, but Keeley said I should do somethin’ a bit more… y’know, romantic, since it's Valentine's Day an' all that."

Y/N swallowed, her heart hammering in her chest. "Ask me what?"

Jamie shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his usual confidence faltering for a moment. "If you score a goal on me, I’ll tell you."

Y/N’s eyes widened. "And if I don’t score?"

Jamie’s smirk returned, but it was gentler now. "Then you gotta go on a date with me."

Her stomach churned. "Jamie—"

"Look," Jamie interjected quickly, his grin growing mischievous. "I could’ve just asked, yeah? But then I wouldn’t get to show off my world-class goalie skills."

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his usual cocky attitude, even if it was wrapped in a layer of shyness she hadn’t expected. "Alright, Tartt. Game on I guess."

She took a step back, trying to steady her nerves, and lined up to kick the ball—

Only for Jamie to dramatically dive the wrong way as the ball barely rolled into the net.

Y/N burst into a laugh, her hand flying up to cover her mouth in surprise. "Jamie, that was pathetic. On purpose!"

Jamie sat up, grinning like a fool. "Oi, don’t disrespect my skills."

"That wasn’t skill," she teased, feeling the butterflies in her stomach flutter. "That was pity."

Jamie rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his sleeves, though his grin didn’t falter. "Yeah, well, either way—you won. So, I guess I gotta tell you."

He stepped closer to her, his expression softening, and for a brief moment, Y/N’s anxiety melted into something warmer, something sweeter.

"I like you, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "Like, a lot."

Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Was this really happening?

"I know I can be a bit much sometimes," Jamie continued, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly, "but I wanted to do this proper. And I figured... Valentine’s was as good a time as any. I've liked you since you started working the front desk, you're the first person I see every morning and the last I see when I leave... I want that to be a permanent thing."

Y/N felt her cheeks burn, but the warmth in her chest spread, making her smile shyly. "So… uhm— could I maybe still— If you want— could we still go on that date?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jamie’s grin returned, but there was something softer in it now, like he was genuinely relieved. "Well, yeah of fucking course. Now it’s a celebratory date."

Y/N’s heart swelled, and before she could overthink it, she quickly leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. That took all her courage...

Jamie froze, his eyes wide with shock, and Y/N immediately regretted it, pulling away faster than she intended.

"I'll be ready at seven, Jamie," she murmured, her voice almost cracking as she turned to walk away, her hands shaking with nerves. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that.

As she left, she could feel Jamie’s eyes on her, and for the first time in forever, she felt like maybe this Valentine’s Day wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Jamie stood there for a solid two minutes, hand drifting up to where she had just kissed his cheek, his brain still buffering.

Did that just happen?

Did Y/N actually say yes?

Did he just win at Valentine’s Day?

Behind him, someone wolf-whistled.

Jamie whipped around to see a few of the lads—Sam, Dani, Colin, and Isaac—watching from the sidelines, grinning like they’d just witnessed the best rom-com moment of all time.

“Oh my God,” Jamie groaned, rubbing his face. “How long’ve you lot been standin’ there?”

“Long enough to see you completely fumble that confession,” Colin teased.

Sam crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. “But it was very sweet.”

“You are so in love, my friend,” Dani added, beaming. “It is beautiful to see!”

Jamie scowled at them, but it didn’t hold much heat—not when he was still floating from the fact that Y/N had kissed his actual face.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the fact that he was blushing like an idiot. “Shut up, all of you. At least I got a date on Valentine's Day.”

That only made them laugh harder.

Y/N spent the rest of the afternoon definitely not replaying the entire interaction in her head. She definitely wasn’t thinking about the way Jamie had looked at her, or how surprisingly sweet his confession had been.

Nope. Not at all.

“You’re staring at the clock,” Keeley said, smirking as she leaned against the reception desk.

Y/N blinked, snapping out of it. “I am not.”

Keeley raised an eyebrow. “Babe. It’s fine to be excited, y’know.”

“I—” Y/N hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just… Jamie’s never exactly been the romantic type, has he?”

Keeley’s expression softened. “People change, babe. And for what it’s worth? I know he likes you.”

Y/N bit her lip, nerves and excitement warring in her chest.

“Well,” Keeley continued, grinning, “you better go get ready, because it’s almost six.”

Y/N glanced at the clock—and sure enough, the workday was over.

Oh God.

This was actually happening.

At exactly seven o’clock, Jamie showed up at her flat, standing on her doorstep in a fitted blazer over his usual flashy attire.

He was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Oi,” he greeted, grinning. “You look… really fuckin’ pretty.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “And you look very handsome, Jamie.”

Jamie rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, figured if I was gonna take a gorgeous girl out, I should make an effort.”

"Thank you so much, I've never gotten flowers before..." She took the flowers from him, unable to stop smiling.

"Never gotten flowers?! What fuckin' idiots did you date before? Get used to receivin' flowers every day from now on."

“So, where are we going?” She asks, eager to change the topic, because she's completely blushing now.

His grin turned cheeky. “It’s a surprise.”

Y/N gave him a look, but she let him take her hand and lead her to his car.

The “surprise,” it turned out, was a cozy little Italian restaurant, where Jamie had somehow managed to get them a quiet table tucked away in the corner. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and the food smelled amazing.

“I’m very impressed, this is beautiful,” Y/N admitted, sipping her wine. “I was expecting… I dunno, a club or something.”

Jamie scoffed, leaning forward. “What, and have us both screamin’ over the music? Nah. Wanted to, y’know… talk to you.”

Her heart did a little flip.

They did talk—about everything and nothing, about work and football and the stupid things the lads did in the locker room. Jamie was charming, as always, but there was a softer side to him tonight. A sincerity in the way he listened, the way he laughed at her jokes, the way he made sure she had enough of the garlic bread they were sharing.

Somewhere between the main course and dessert, Y/N realized she was having fun.

Like, actual fun.

Not the kind of fun where she was being polite or trying to make the best of a bad date. No, this was just… easy. Natural.

And when they left the restaurant, strolling toward his car under the glow of the streetlights, she realized something else.

She really wanted to kiss him.

As if reading her mind, Jamie slowed to a stop, turning to face her.

“So,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Did I fuck it up?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“The date,” he clarified. “Did I—did I fuck it up? ‘Cause, y’know, I do that sometimes.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “No, Jamie. You didn’t fuck it up. I loved it. I had so much fun, thank you.”

Relief flooded his face. “Good. ‘Cause I really wanna kiss you right now.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “Yeah?”

Jamie took a step closer, smirking. “Yeah.”

She barely had time to process before he leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

It was warm and sweet, with just the slightest hint of cocky confidence—so very Jamie.

When they pulled apart, he was grinning.

“So, this means you’ll go out with me again, right?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, Jamie. I will. Definitely.”

Best. Valentine’s. Ever.