i like reading things

cove holden's wife. rafayel's bride. oikawa's lover. delulu is the solulu ;D

[ninjashouyo]

— coping through fanfics because real life sucks.

🌊 the name's leticia • 25 • infj-a • she/her

if i didn't have blood, i'd have music following through my veins.

🦪 Some facts abt me if you're actually curious:

• i cannot stand butterflies and moths • exploring the space or ocean? 100% ocean • my favorite movie is cars (2006) • you'll find me singing almost 24/7 when i ain't sick • i work with marketing but i wish i could be a broadway actress • bts fan since 2014, kpopper since 2011 (thank you hot issue by 4minute) • aqui é o brasil 🇧🇷

[lunarianwhisper]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ wearing his jersey to his match — part 2

blue lock boys x gn!reader

ft. bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, mikage reo, kunigami rensuke, karasu tabito, oliver aiku, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu

warnings. none, just fluff ♡

part 1 here

you show up to one of his matches wearing his name across your back. he is completely normal about it. obviously.

── .✦

Bachira Meguru

Meguru notices you before you have even found your seat.

You are still squeezing past a row of people with your jacket zipped all the way to your throat when his head turns toward your section of the stadium, as though some invisible thread has tugged his attention away from the warm-up. The second his eyes find you, his entire face brightens. He lifts both arms and waves with enough enthusiasm to make the supporters around you squeal, and you laugh as you wave back, pretending not to notice the curious way his gaze lingers on your clothes.

He knows you are hiding something.

That much is obvious from the suspicious pout he sends you before one of his teammates catches him by the shoulders and steers him back toward the center of the pitch. Meguru goes, but only after pointing two fingers at his own eyes and then at you.

You wait until the stadium announcer begins calling the starting lineup.

When his name echoes from the speakers, you stand with the rest of the crowd and finally pull your jacket open. The black-and-yellow jersey beneath it is slightly oversized, the sleeves reaching nearly to your elbows, and when you turn around, his surname stretches proudly across your shoulders.

Meguru freezes.

For half a second, he simply stares. Then his mouth falls open and he grabs the arm of the teammate nearest to him, pointing toward you as if he has discovered something miraculous in the stands. His teammate laughs. Meguru does not seem to care. He presses both hands over his heart, staggers backward dramatically, and then forms the biggest heart he can above his head.

The cameras catch everything, but Meguru only beams wider when the crowd reacts.

Once the match begins, he plays like happiness has made him weightless, slipping between defenders with quick, instinctive touches. Whenever he reaches your side of the pitch, his eyes flick upward to make sure you are watching.

When he scores, he races straight toward your section.

His teammates chase after him, but Meguru reaches the barrier first. He pinches the front of his own jersey, points at your matching one, and then presses a loud kiss to his fingertips before sending it upward to you.

By the time the match ends, the clip is already spreading online.

You are waiting in the players’ corridor when a pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind. Meguru lifts you clean off the floor, laughing as he spins you once before setting you down.

“You wore me!” he exclaims.

“I wore your jersey.”

“Same thing.”

He turns you around by the hips and smooths both hands over the name on your back, admiring it with such open delight that you cannot stop smiling.

“It looks so good,” he murmurs. “Can you wear it forever?”

“That might make washing it difficult.”

“I’ll buy you seven. One for every day.”

You laugh, but Meguru catches your face between his hands and peppers kisses over your cheeks until you are breathless.

“Every time I looked up, you were there with my name all over you,” he says, softer now. “I think that’s why my feet wouldn’t stop moving.”

“They never stop moving.”

“Today was different.”

His forehead rests against yours. The wild excitement in his eyes settles into something warm, something that belongs only to you.

“Next match,” he whispers, “I’ll score two.”

“Why two?” “One for you.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “And one for the jersey.”

── .✦

Chigiri Hyoma

Hyoma is halfway through tying his hair when he notices you.

The stadium is crowded and bright, full of waving flags and flashes from phones, but his gaze moves through it with startling precision. You are leaning against the railing near the front of your section, your coat folded over one arm despite the cool air, and the cyan jersey underneath is impossible to miss.

His jersey.

You had styled it carefully that morning, but the name across your back still makes it unmistakably his.

Hyoma’s fingers stop in his hair.

The elastic slips from his grasp and lands against his shoulder.

For a moment, he looks genuinely startled. Then the faintest blush reaches his cheeks, and he lowers his eyes as though fixing his ponytail suddenly requires every piece of his concentration. One of his teammates says something to him. Hyoma answers without looking away from you for long, the corner of his mouth betraying a smile he is clearly trying to hide.

You turn around so he can see the back properly.

His expression softens.

He touches two fingers to his lips and then to the club crest on his chest. The gesture is small enough that most of the stadium misses it, but you feel it as clearly as if he had kissed you himself.

Once the match begins, Hyoma becomes impossible to look away from. However many times you have watched him run, the sight still catches beneath your ribs. Tonight, he seems even faster, and every time he tears down the wing near your section, his eyes flick upward to check that you are watching.

After leaving two defenders several meters behind, he glances at you with a quiet, knowing look.

Show-off.

Late in the second half, Hyoma receives the ball near the touchline and carries it forward in one beautiful, uninterrupted burst. The stadium rises before he even reaches the box. He cuts inside, shoots, and watches the ball curve beyond the goalkeeper’s reach.

His teammates surround him, but when he emerges from the celebration, he looks directly at you.

He runs a hand through his loosened hair, taps his jersey, and points toward yours.

Your heart does something embarrassing.

After the match, you find him outside the changing rooms with damp hair falling freely over his shoulders. He has changed into his tracksuit, but the flush from the game still warms his face. His eyes drop immediately to your outfit.

“You really wore it,” he says.

“You saw me.”

“I almost didn’t recover.”

You laugh. “You seemed perfectly fine.”

“I dropped my hair tie.”

“That was because of me?”

Hyoma gives you a look, then reaches for the open edges of your coat and gently pulls them farther apart, taking in the jersey again from close up.

“You could have warned me,” he murmurs.

“That would have ruined the surprise.”

“It nearly ruined warm-up.”

His fingers slide to your waist, bunching the fabric slightly as he draws you closer. For all his composure on the field, there is a shyness in the way he studies his own name on you.

“It suits you,” he says at last.

“The team colors?”

“My name.”

The answer is so quiet that it takes a second to settle.

You smile and curl your arms around his neck. “Should I wear it again?”

Hyoma’s lips brush your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

“Yes,” he whispers. “But next time, sit somewhere I can’t see you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No.” His smile finally escapes. “I really don’t.”

── .✦

Mikage Reo

The jersey you choose is not the newest one Reo gave you.

That one hangs neatly in your wardrobe, custom-fitted and embroidered with your initials because an ordinary replica had not been special enough for Reo.

Instead, you wear the oldest jersey in his closet.

The lettering has softened from years of washing, and one corner of the number has begun to peel away. Reo wore it during his first full professional season, when interviews still made him nervous and every match felt like another chance to prove that his success belonged to him rather than his family name.

You find it folded at the back of a drawer and know immediately that it is the one you want.

Reo recognizes it before he recognizes you.

He is jogging across the pitch during warm-ups when the familiar shade of red catches his eye. His pace slows. Then his gaze lifts to your face, drops to the jersey again, and stays there.

You stand and turn around.

For several seconds, Reo only stares at the faded number on your back. The polished smile he wears for cameras disappears, replaced by something gentler and almost disbelieving.

Then he taps his chest and points toward you.

You blow him a kiss.

He catches it with one hand and closes his fist over his heart, earning a loud reaction from the supporters nearby. You hide your face for a moment, but when you peek through your fingers, Reo is still smiling at you.

That smile follows him into the match.

He controls the midfield with effortless confidence, turning half-open spaces into opportunities before anyone else sees them. After assisting the first goal, he points toward your section.

Near the end of the second half, he shifts past a defender and sends the ball cleanly into the net.

He runs toward the corner flag, kisses his fingertips, and presses them over the badge on his chest. Then he points at the old jersey you are wearing.

The meaning feels private despite the thousands of people watching.

Afterward, Reo finds you in a quiet corridor reserved for players and their families. His medal rests against his chest, and his damp hair keeps falling into his eyes as he approaches.

“You went through my drawers,” he says.

“You gave me permission to borrow your clothes.”

“I thought you would choose one of the new ones.”

He turns you gently by the hips, smoothing his palm over the worn lettering on your back. His touch lingers on the peeling edge of the number.

“Why this one?”

You face him again. “Because this is the one you wore when you were still fighting to prove you belonged here.”

Reo goes still.

“You kept it even after everyone already knew,” you continue. “I like remembering the version of you who wanted this so badly.”

For once, he has no immediate answer.

His hands tighten at your waist, and his forehead lowers to yours. The medal trapped between your bodies presses coolly against the fabric.

“You can’t say things like that while wearing my name,” he murmurs.

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me want to put it on everything you own.”

You laugh softly. “That sounds expensive.”

“I can afford it.”

“There he is.”

Reo smiles, but the tenderness remains in his eyes when he kisses you.

When he pulls away, he glances at the jersey once more. “You’re keeping this one.”

“I thought it was already yours.”

“Not anymore.” His thumb traces the faded number. “It looks more important on you.”

── .✦

Kunigami Rensuke

Rensuke gave you the jersey after his last home match.

He had handed it over with flushed cheeks and a gruff, “You said you wanted one,” as though it had not still been warm from his body. You washed it carefully and waited for the right moment to wear it.

You are standing near the barrier when the starting lineup is announced, the oversized fabric falling almost to mid-thigh. When Rensuke’s name booms through the stadium, you lift both arms and cheer, causing the jersey to rise slightly over your jeans.

His eyes find you.

The reaction is immediate.

Rensuke freezes in the middle of stepping into position. His gaze drops to the team badge on your chest, then lifts to your face, then drops again as if he needs to confirm he is seeing correctly. One of his teammates follows his stare and elbows him with a grin.

Color rushes across Rensuke’s cheeks all the way to his ears.

You press your fingers to your lips and send him a kiss.

He looks away so quickly that you burst out laughing.

For the first few minutes, he seems painfully aware of your presence, trying far too hard not to look toward your section. Then the embarrassment becomes determination.

Rensuke fights for every ball and drives forward with the fierce, uncompromising energy you have always loved in him.

When he finally scores, the shot hits the net with enough force to send it snapping backward.

The stadium erupts.

Rensuke stands still for one breath before turning toward your section. He grips the front of his jersey over his heart and gives you one firm nod.

No dramatic kiss. No elaborate celebration. Just that steady look held across the distance between you.

Somehow, it feels more intimate than anything else could have.

After the match, he finds you near the players’ exit with his sports bag thrown over one shoulder. His face is no longer red, but his expression becomes suspiciously serious when he sees you are still wearing the jersey.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“That would have ruined the surprise.”

“You surprised me.”

“I noticed.”

Rensuke glances away. “Everyone noticed.”

You smile. “Did you hate it?”

His head snaps back toward you. “No.”

The answer comes so forcefully that you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“Don’t,” he warns.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re about to call me cute.”

“You are cute.”

Rensuke mutters something under his breath and places both hands at your waist, pulling you against him before you can continue teasing. His fingers bunch the fabric slightly.

“You looked good,” he says.

“Only good?”

His brows draw together.

You wait patiently.

He exhales, defeated, and lowers his forehead to yours. “You looked so good that I spent half the match trying not to look at you.”

Warmth spreads through your chest.

“You still scored.”

“Because you were watching.”

The confession is quiet, almost reluctant, but it lands more deeply because of it. You curl your fingers into the front of his tracksuit and kiss him before he can become embarrassed again.

Rensuke returns it slowly, one hand rising to cradle the back of your head.

When you separate, his thumb traces the number at your side.

“Wear it again,” he says.

“Is that an order, hero?”

His cheeks turn pink.

“It’s a request.”

── .✦

Karasu Tabito

Tabito notices details for a living.

He notices shifted weight, repeated passing lanes, and the smallest hesitation before someone moves. Very little escapes him on the pitch.

So you know there is no possibility of hiding the jersey from him.

You do not even try.

The moment he steps onto the field, you stand near the railing and pull your jacket open with deliberate confidence. His name lies across your back, bold and unmistakable, while his number sits over your chest.

Tabito’s gaze lands on you within seconds.

His eyebrows rise.

Then a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face.

He says something to the teammate beside him without looking away from you. The other player follows his stare, spots the jersey, and laughs. Tabito only lifts one hand and curls two fingers toward himself, beckoning as though he expects you to climb over the barrier and walk onto the pitch.

You shake your head.

He places a hand over his heart in exaggerated disappointment.

During the match, he makes a game of acknowledging you whenever play pauses—a raised brow after stealing possession, a smirk after misleading an opponent, a wink when his pass creates the first goal.

Every glance says the same thing: you knew exactly what you were doing.

His goal comes from outside the box. Tabito receives the ball, lets one defender close in, and then strikes just before the space disappears. The shot slips beyond the goalkeeper’s reach and hits the corner of the net.

He turns toward your section with his arms spread wide.

Then he points directly at you and mouths, “Pretty.”

You roll your eyes, but your face burns for the rest of the match.

He finds you beside the team bus afterward.

Tabito approaches without hurry, still carrying the relaxed confidence of someone who knows he has already won. He plants one hand against the side of the bus near your head, not quite trapping you, but close enough that his intentions are clear.

“Well, well.”

“Don’t start.”

“Haven’t said anything yet.”

“You’re about to.”

His eyes travel slowly over the jersey. “Can’t blame me for appreciating the view.”

“It’s just fabric.”

“Nah.” Tabito catches the hem between two fingers. “Fabric doesn’t usually stroll into my match with my name written all over it.”

“You make it sound possessive.”

“Wasn’t complaining, was I?”

He turns you gently, palm settling at your hip as he studies the lettering on your back. His thumb moves over one of the letters with surprising care.

“Looks natural,” he decides.

You glance at him over your shoulder. “Your ego is unbearable.”

“And yet you’re advertising for me.”

You elbow him lightly, but Tabito catches your wrist and uses it to turn you back around. His teasing expression softens when he brings your knuckles to his lips.

“Seriously,” he murmurs, “you looked gorgeous.”

The sincerity catches you off guard.

Tabito notices that too, of course.

His smile deepens before he leans in and kisses you, slow and warm, one hand sliding around your waist. When your fingers curl into the front of his jacket, he makes a quiet, satisfied sound against your mouth.

“Wear it next time,” he says when he pulls away.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t play difficult now, sweetheart.”

“I thought you liked difficult.”

“I do.” His forehead brushes yours. “But I like my name on you more.”

── .✦

Oliver Aiku

Wearing Oliver’s jersey is a risk.

Not because he might dislike it. Quite the opposite.

Your boyfriend possesses neither shame nor restraint when presented with an opportunity to announce that you belong together, and the sight of his number on you is almost guaranteed to encourage him.

You consider keeping your coat buttoned for the entire match.

Unfortunately, the wind ruins that plan before you even reach your seat.

Oliver is standing near the sideline, half-listening to his coach, when the open edge of your coat lifts. His eyes drop to the jersey beneath it and then rise slowly to your face.

The grin that follows is pure trouble.

He nudges the teammate beside him and points openly toward you. Within seconds, half the team has looked in your direction. You glare and make a sharp motion across your throat.

Oliver only laughs.

When his name is announced, he turns toward your section and raises both arms, encouraging the crowd to become louder. Then he catches the collar of his own jersey and pulls it outward, displaying the number that matches yours.

The cameras follow his gaze.

Your face appears on the stadium screen.

You cover it with both hands while the people around you cheer. Oliver, completely delighted with himself, blows you an extravagant kiss.

He continues tormenting you throughout the match, winking after an important tackle and pointing toward your jersey when the opposing striker fails to get around him again.

Near the end, he scores from a corner.

His celebration consists of sprinting toward your side of the field, dropping dramatically to one knee, and pointing at you with both hands.

The commentators spend the remaining minutes wondering aloud whether they have just witnessed some kind of public proposal.

“You’re unbelievable,” you tell him when he finally reaches you after the match.

Oliver opens his arms. “There’s my good-luck charm.”

“You put me on the screen!”

“I don’t control the cameras.”

“You knew they would follow you.”

“Can you blame them?” His hands settle at your waist as he looks down at the jersey. “Beautiful woman wearing the captain’s number? That’s quality television.”

You push lightly at his chest, but he only pulls you closer.

“People thought you proposed.”

“Should I have?”

“Oliver.”

He laughs and bends to kiss your forehead. “Relax, sweetheart. When I propose, there won’t be any confusion.”

Your heart stumbles despite how casually he says it.

Oliver notices.

The teasing in his expression softens into something dangerously fond. He turns you within his arms and spreads one broad hand over the number on your back.

“God, I like this,” he murmurs.

“The jersey?”

“My name on you.”

“There it is.”

“What?” He kisses the side of your neck, entirely unrepentant. “I’m a simple man.”

“A shameless man.”

“Your shameless man.”

He spins you back around and captures your mouth before you can argue. The kiss is slow and confident, and Oliver seems completely unconcerned by the staff members passing nearby or the distant sound of his teammates calling for him.

When he releases you, his thumb brushes your lower lip.

“Keep wearing it,” he says.

“Why?”

He flashes the same smile that appeared on every stadium screen.

“I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“What reputation?”

“That I always have the prettiest supporter.”

── .✦

Otoya Eita

You never see Eita notice the jersey.

During warm-ups, he looks toward your section only once, offering an easy smile and a casual wave before turning back to the pitch. His reaction is so ordinary that you assume the distance has hidden the name across your shoulders.

You are more disappointed than you want to admit.

You had expected at least a wink.

Eita remains infuriatingly composed throughout the first half. Even after slipping unnoticed between two defenders and scoring from an angle that should have been impossible, he celebrates with his teammates instead of searching the crowd for you.

It is unusual enough that suspicion begins to creep in.

During halftime, you send him a message.

did you see me?

The response arrives several minutes later.

of course ♡

You stare at the screen.

and?

Eita leaves you on read.

The second half begins before he answers, leaving you to plot several creative punishments while he keeps appearing in spaces the opposing defense notices too late.

Only once does he give himself away.

After assisting another goal, Eita turns toward your side of the stadium and briefly drags his fingers across the name on the back of his own jersey.

The gesture is so quick that you almost miss it.

Almost.

When the final whistle blows, you make your way toward the private corridor where the players’ families and partners are allowed to wait. You have barely stepped through the doorway when hands slide around your waist from behind.

“Found you.”

You startle hard enough to make him laugh against your ear.

“You’re horrible.”

“And you’re easy to sneak up on.”

Eita presses a kiss beneath your jaw, arms remaining securely around your middle. You can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric.

“You ignored me,” you accuse.

“I was working.”

“You checked the message.”

“Had to know what my pretty little fan wanted.”

You turn in his arms and find him wearing the most self-satisfied expression imaginable.

“You didn’t react.”

“Oh, I reacted.”

“When?”

“Internally.”

“That doesn’t count.”

Eita tilts his head, gaze drifting over the jersey. He hooks one finger beneath the collar and draws you closer until your noses nearly touch.

“You wanted a show?”

“I wanted to know you liked it.”

“I liked it so much that the guys threatened to stop passing to me if I kept checking your section.”

Your annoyance weakens.

Eita smiles because he notices.

“Besides,” he continues, turning you around by the hips, “I wanted to see it properly before I said anything.”

One hand travels upward, tracing the number on your back.

“Not bad,” he murmurs.

“Not bad?”

“The player’s talented.”

“I’m taking it off.”

Eita catches the hem immediately. “Never said you could do that.”

You laugh as he buries his face against your neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin there.

“So you do like it.”

“I love it.” His voice softens, losing some of its teasing edge. “You came all this way just to support me, wearing my name. Of course I love it.”

You turn in his hold and wrap your arms around his neck.

Eita kisses you before you can answer, slow enough to make the crowded corridor disappear. When he pulls away, he leaves one last kiss at the corner of your mouth.

“Next time, send me a picture before the match,” he says.

“Why?”

His familiar mischievous smile returns.

“So I can show everyone who my number-one fan is.”

── .✦

Yukimiya Kenyu

Kenyu helped you choose the jersey.

He compared the designs, decided which color suited you best, and even suggested how to style it. He knows exactly which one you bought.

What he does not know is that you had his name added to the front.

It is small, stitched just above your heart in delicate lettering rather than printed boldly across the fabric. The alteration is subtle enough to remain hidden from the cameras, but personal enough that you have spent the entire morning wondering how he will react.

Kenyu first sees the back during warm-ups.

His face brightens instantly. He smiles and touches the number on his own jersey before pointing toward yours, his expression so openly affectionate that several people around you begin cooing.

You turn around.

At first, he does not understand what you are showing him. Then your fingers tap the embroidery above your heart.

Kenyu’s smile disappears.

Not because he dislikes it, but because the emotion crossing his face is too deep to fit inside one. For several seconds, he only looks at his name resting over your heart before lifting his gaze to you.

His hand rises to the same place on his own chest.

You press your palm over the embroidery.

Kenyu mirrors you.

The moment is quiet despite the thousands of voices surrounding you.

During the match, he plays beautifully, each graceful change in direction leaving defenders chasing a version of him that is already gone. When he curls the ball into the far corner, the stadium rises as one.

Kenyu looks toward you before anyone else reaches him.

He places his hand over his heart.

You do the same.

He does not need a larger celebration.

Afterward, you wait inside an empty lounge near the dressing rooms. Kenyu enters still wearing part of his kit, hair damp around his face and a towel draped over his shoulders.

He walks directly toward you.

“You changed it.”

His voice is soft.

“Do you like it?”

Rather than answering, Kenyu reaches out and touches the embroidered name with his fingertips. His expression is almost reverent, as though you have given him something far more precious than a few carefully sewn letters.

“You put it here,” he murmurs.

“I thought it belonged there.”

His eyes lift to yours.

The tenderness in them leaves you suddenly shy. “It might be a little cheesy.”

“No.” Kenyu’s hand slides from the jersey to cup your face. “It’s perfect.”

He kisses you gently, lingering as his other arm circles your waist. There is no urgency in it, only warmth and the quiet gratitude he has always expressed more easily through touch.

When he pulls back, his forehead remains against yours.

“I was going to ask whether we could take a picture together,” he says.

“We have hundreds of pictures together.”

“Not like this.”

Kenyu positions you in front of the mirror along the wall, standing behind you with one arm wrapped around your middle. The back of your jersey is visible in the reflection, while the smaller version of his name rests beneath your hand.

He takes the photograph with his phone.

You look at the screen afterward and smile. “For your lock screen?”

“For me.” Kenyu presses a kiss to your temple. “I don’t think I want to share this one.”

He sets the phone aside and turns you within his arms, gaze falling once more to the embroidery.

Then he kisses the place directly above it.

“My name looks beautiful on you,” he whispers. “But I think I love where you put it the most.”

@dr1diot hope you like it! :D

[ninjashouyo]

O BRASIL ESTÁ NA FINAL DA VNL!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭 PRA CIMA DELES, BRASILLLLLLLL 🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷

[sweetcalebb]

Hi pips! i seen youre taking valko requests? Please, im dying for some period comfort, i start any day now and my cramps have been awful to the point that im nauseous, its so exhausting im on the verge of tears, can you please send me some valko cuddles😭💕?

Your stories are so sweet; Thank you! 🤍

˚.⋆꒰১ ໒꒱⋆.˚ valko comforts you when you get bad cramps

a/n: heard a lady was in need and immediately had to write this!!

Biological reasons aside, why did you need to have a period? It turned you into an irritated little heap of blankets and heating pads once every month, and right now it was bad. Like, bad bad.

There was a constant ache that started in your navel and flared up your abdomen. You groaned when you felt it again, squeezing your plushy impossibly closer to your chest. You weren't even on your period yet and your body was already torturing you.

You'd spent most of the day curled up in bed, watching your favorite comfort show until Valko came home.

You heard the door click open, then his footsteps. When he finally peeked his head into your guys' room, he furrowed his brows. "Hey. You okay? You're usually in the living room."

You frowned. "I'm not feeling that good."

He stepped in, his nose scrunching up the slightest bit.

"Are you about to start your period?"

Your stomach dropped. How the hell did he even—?

"What?" you breathed. "Can you smell it?"

You suddenly felt 100 times worse. Did you stink or something? You could already feel an embarrassed heat crawling up your neck.

"No," he answered, plopping down on the bed beside you. "Well, kinda? I can't smell it. But you do smell different. Your hormones grow stronger is all."

You sighed. "Yeah. I'm supposed to start in two days but I feel like crap." As if on cue, you got anotjer nasty cramp that made bend forward and squeeze your stomach.

Valko frowned, rubbing your arm. "I know. Let me take a shower and I'll take care of you, okay?" He pressed a small kiss to your forehead, then he was gone. The minutes that he was away were agony.

You didn't want to be dramatic, but your cramps were insanely bad.

When Valko stepped out his hair was damp and he was in his comfy sleeping clothes. He immediately got into the bed beside you, pulling his shirt off.

He always ran hot, so he was like your personal heating pad.

He laid back and pulled you on top of him, draping you across his chest.

"You're so warm," you gushed, instantly melting into him, your cheek pressing against his warm chest.

Valko laughed, lifting your shirt up to run his fingers up and down your back, just the way you like. "I know. Perks of having a werewolf boyfriend, huh?"

"Mhmm."

"Want me to order some snacks?"

You gasped, nearly sitting up. God, you would kill for some right now. Sure, you could've gone to the store, but you barely wanted to move today.

"Yes please!"

He let out a small puff of laughter, pulling his phone out of his sweats, while keeping one hand around your waist to keep you steady. "Okayy, your favorite chips. Candies…" he trailed off. "Are you feeling ice cream today?"

"Mm... Sure!"

"Got it. Ice cream aaand chocolates?"

You rolled your eyes at the last bit. He was always trying to get you to give him some chocolates. "You know I'm not sharing those with you, right?"

You groaned, his grip on you instinctively tightening. "Come on. What did I do?"

"Valko, they make you sick."

"So? We can be sick together."

"You're impossible."

Fifteen minutes later, there was a stash of snacks at the foot of your bed. Your show was playing in the background, but you were too busy enjoying the warmth of his palm on your stomach. It made the ache in your core melt away.

"Feel better?"

You sighed, pressing your back closer to his chest. "Yeah. Thank you, Valko." You waited a second before asking: "When I actually get my period, will you take care of me again?"

"I'll always take care of you. Whatever you need," he answered, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

[sweetcalebb]

⋆˚.༄ working out with valko <3

"Alright, are you ready for the next exercise?"

You scoffed, shooting Valko a pointed look. You were a hunter. Of course, you were ready.

Except… you'd never seen whatever crazy ass thing he was doing right now. He sat in a roman chair, doing sit ups with his body weight.

But if you were being completely honest, just watching him made your core hurt.

"What the heck are you doing?" you huffed, crossing your arms.

"Give me a second. Just hand me that bar."

You blinked, staring at the barbell he'd pointed at. It had fives on either side of it, which was only 55. Not that heavy. But still. Weighted sit ups on a roman chair? Was he crazy?

"Are you serious?"

Valko nodded, gesturing toward the bar again. "C'mon. Help me out, babe."

You sighed, picking up the bar and carefully handing it to him. Then he started. He pulled himself up with his core, twisting the bar at the same time like some weird form of a Russian twist. He grunted softly on the way up, counting after each rep.

"How many are you doing?"

"50," he grunted.

The number made your jaw drop. Seriously. Fifty? You could do 100 normal sit ups. But fifty of whatever ass backwards this thing was?

You watched, arms crossed. He made it look embarrassingly easy. He also looked kinda hot doing it… The muscles in his biceps pulled tight from holding the bar, his brows pinched in concentration, a bead of sweat collecting at his temple from your exercises before this. But whatever. You could… probably do it.

"50!" he huffed, a large triumphant grin splitting his face. "Your turn."

You took the bar and placed it on the floor so he could get off. When his feet touched the floor, he rolled his shoulders. "Go ahead."

You blinked. "How do I even—?"

"Need me to help?"

Before you could answer, he was placing his hands on your waist and carrying you, helping you on the chair.

And fuck. Your core already burned from holding yourself up.

"You got it?" he asked, his lips curled in that little infuriating smile he always had when you struggled with an exercise. And it wasn't that he liked to see you fail, he just liked having an excuse to touch you. Like, guiding you through something.

And despite how cute your boyfriend was, you were too prideful to quit now. "Yep. Got it. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I'll go to 55."

Valko let out a quiet puff of laughter. "Great. Can't wait to see it." He handed you the bar and stepped around you, making sure to spot you. "Whenever you're ready."

You started, pushing through the burn that shot up your stomach. You barely had time to go all the back down before Vako was stepping in behind you, gripping the bar. "Slow down a little. Twist the bar like this."

He guided your movements. "Yeah. Exactly like that. Go again."

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you started again, slower. You got to 15 when you started to shake. How the fuck did Valko do 50? But you couldn't quit yet.

"You still got it?"

"Yep," you breathed, your voice shaking.

20… 22… 23… 24…

Why did it feel like you were going slower now?

"No shame in tapping out," you heard behind you.

"Shut… up—"

27… 28… 29…

Fuck. No, nope—

Right before you could drop the bar on yourself, Valko stepped in, taking the bar and placing it on the floor before helping you off the chair.

"Aw. Baby's all tired?" He nuzzled into your sweaty neck, the gesture making you squirm.

"Get off! This isn't fair!"

Valko didn't let up. He kept his face in your neck, soaking up the salty smell of your sweat. "How?"

"You have crazy werewolf genes. You're stronger than me."

"You're just a sore loser."

"I hate you."

"Liar." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "Wanna move on?"

You sighed, finally leaning into him. "Yes please."

And then he proceeded to show you another crazy ass exercise that you tried to beat him in (again), and failed (again).

You decided you'd had enough. "Fine. You try one of my exercise."

Valko grinned, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with his shirt. "Alright. Show me."

You positioned yourself, showing him one of your hunter specific exercises.

He didn't even hesitate. He tried it at the same time, right next to you. More sweat beaded above his brow, his breath growing ragged. "Okay. This is kinda hard."

You smiled. "Feeling weak?"

"Nope."

But he very much was. He lasted about another minute before huffing and rolling onto his back to watch you. You instantly shot up, glowing. "Yes! I win!"

He laughed, eyes locked on yours. "That was hot."

You preened. "Me beating you?"

"Yeah."

He stood up, crushing you to his sweaty chest. "I love losing to you."

a/n: kept reader exercise vague cus i don't know what u can and can't do. i also had trouble finding something valko WOULDN'T be good at

[schmellows]

Happy anniversary, Valko. It's been one month since your reveal, I hope to see you soon... once the fight is over. <3

[deepspacenova]

The duality of man

[neyiarts]

awoo milk 🐾

lost wolfie.

if found, please return him.

[zanyssins]

He bites back

[zanyssins]

The most loved in the deepspace💕🐺

[akiisks]

Ears and glasses 🐾🤓

[carleycore]

[12:03AM]

"What are you doing up?" Sae asked as he walked into the house.

He hung up his jersey and dropped his bag neatly on the bench where it always stayed.

Whenever you couldn't attend his matches, you'd do the best you could to stay up and wait for him to come home, something that made his heart clench due to how much he loved you and worry for your health.

"Sae!" You said excitedly, albeit sleepily, "you played so well today!" You loved it when he came home after matches. His skin was soft from his post match shower, he was calmer than usual likely due to exhaustion and a lot more clingy.

He caught you in his arms and squeezed you tightly, "thank you love." Seizing the opportunity, he picked you up bridal style, shut off the TV and carried you to the bedroom.

You couldn't complain.

You were tired and he smelled like whatever expensive body wash his team kept in their locker room.

As the two of you laid in bed Sae pulled you on top of his chest then rubbed your back soothingly.

“What did I do to deserve a perfect girl like you, hm?”

Surprising to no one, you fell asleep within minutes putting a soft smile to his face.

“We’ll celebrate later, yeah?”

[megumismyhusband]

HALO HALO :<> Please, can you do an headcanon of blue lock characters with a short user?

AHSSJDKDKD YES. IM PRETTY SHORT TOO SO THIS IS OERFCET OMG

isagi ⋮ ⌗ ┆

♡ he’s constantly teasing you in a playful, loving way, like crouching a little and saying, “Is this better?” just to make you smile.

♡ isagi loves cuddling, especially since he can easily wrap himself around you. he’ll pull you onto his lap after a long day, grinning like he won the lottery.

♡ always offering to help with things that are out of reach, but sometimes he makes a game out of it: “how bad do you want it?”

♡ loves taking selfies where he angles the camera so you look even shorter next to him (he thinks it’s cute!)

♡ he’s super mindful of your surroundings, keeping an arm around you in crowds to ensure you’re safe.

rin ⋮ ⌗ ┆

♡ rin secretly loves your height and how it makes you look extra small compared to him. he’ll always stand just a bit closer to make the difference more noticeable

♡ rin doesn’t say it outright, but he loves when you have to look up at him.

♡ if anyone makes even a slightly rude comment about your height, rin gives them a cold stare that shuts them up in an instant.

♡ when he’s feeling affectionate, rin gently pats your head, his hand completely engulfing the top of your head. he would never admit it, but he finds it addicting.

♡ he loves hugging you from behind and resting his chin on your head, especially when you’re doing something mundane.

nagi ⋮ ⌗ ┆

♡ nagi LOVES draping himself over you because you’re smaller, making it feel like he’s hugging a pillow.

♡ he unapologetically rests his arm on your head, smirking a little when you glare at him, but he always makes up for it with a kiss.

♡ if you’re trying to reach something high up, he’ll casually pick you up without even asking, saying, “see? problem solved.”

kaiser ⋮ ⌗ ┆

♡ kaiser loves teasing you about your height, bending down dramatically to talk to you and calling you his “little queen.”

♡ he’ll pick you up bridal style at random times, showing off how easily he can carry you. (what a show off)

♡ kaiser loves holding things just out of your reach, only giving them back if you give him a kiss.

♡ he buys you oversized clothes that are his size, claiming you look adorable drowning in them.

♡ he’s always draping an arm around your shoulders or pulling you close so everyone knows you’re his.

gen m.list | join taglist here!

[megumismyhusband]

“how long was the bet supposed to last?”

rin freezes.

your voice is calm. too calm. the kind of calm that feels unnatural, like the quiet before a storm. but there’s no storm in your face—no anger, no hurt, nothing at all. just an empty, unreadable expression that makes his stomach churn.

“who told you?” his voice comes out rough, forced.

you shrug, like it doesn’t even matter. like he doesn’t even matter. “does it make a difference?”

it doesn’t. he knows that. he also knows that this is bad. really bad.

“was it a week? a month?” you tilt your head slightly, staring him down. “or were you just gonna keep going until you got bored?”

his jaw tightens. “it wasn’t like that.”

“really?” you let out a breathy laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “because from where i’m standing, it kinda seems like it was.”

rin clenches his fists, frustration curling in his chest. frustration at himself, at shidou, at the whole stupid situation that never should’ve happened in the first place.

“you weren’t a joke to me,” he says, voice low.

“that’s funny,” you murmur. “because i kinda feel like one.”

he wants to fix this. to reach out, to grab your wrist, to tell you the truth—how the bet stopped meaning anything the second he got to know you, how he tried to find the right moment to come clean but was too much of a coward to risk losing you.

but he waits too long.

“say something, rin,” you say quietly. “anything.”

he opens his mouth. closes it. because nothing he says right now will be enough.

so you nod, like you expected this, like you already knew how this would end.

“got it.”

and then you walk away.

rin lets you. because what else can he do?

the next day, your favorite drink is waiting on your desk.

you don’t touch it.

the day after, rin is standing by your locker, holding out your books.

“you don’t have to do this,” you mutter, not even looking at him.

“i know.” but he still shoves them into your arms before walking away.

the day after that, he shows up at practice late because he spent an hour in line getting that stupid pastry you like.

“you think buying me stuff is gonna fix this?” you ask, raising a brow.

“no.” he stares at the bag in your hands. “but i know you like them, so just take it.”

you sigh, but you don’t give it back.

on friday, he carries your bag before you can complain, waits for you after school even though you ignore him the whole walk home, and when you finally snap and ask what the hell he’s doing, he just says, “making it up to you.”

saturday morning, you open your door to find him standing there, hair messy, dark circles under his eyes, holding a stupidly large bag of snacks.

“seriously?” you cross your arms. “you’re still on this?”

“yeah.”

“why?”

he exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “because i’m not giving up on you.”

you blink, caught off guard by how sure he sounds. how raw he looks.

he looks tired. frustrated. desperate.

like this actually means something to him. like you actually mean something to him.

you chew on your lip, eyes flicking between him and the bag in his hands.

“…you got my favorites?”

“obviously.”

“did you get the right drink this time?”

he exhales, shoving it into your hands. “yes.”

you stare at it for a moment. then sigh, stepping aside.

“fine. come in before you start looking even more pathetic.”

rin doesn’t need to be told twice. he steps inside, and for the first time all week, his chest feels a little lighter.

he still has a long way to go, he knows that. but if you’re letting him in, even just a little, then maybe, just maybe, he still has a chance to prove that this was never just a bet to him.

gen m.list | join taglist here!

[totallynotashieldagent]

Valko's Mate

Valko had grown up being told that when he'd meet his mate, he'd know. He would stay up so many nights, asking his mom to tell the story of how she met his dad, how she knew that his dad was the one. No matter how many times he'd hear the story, he'd never get tired.

Maybe that was why he believed in love stories. Because how could he not? His parents' was the love story for the ages.

However, seeing how old he was now, he was starting to lose hope.

He had travelled the world, met countless people, and never once had he ever met someone that made him pause. That stole his breath, that made his wolf go wild, that pulled him as if they were meant for him.

Sure, there had been relationships, good fucks- some were genuinely nice women. One relationship had even lasted two years because it was so comfortable. But that was all it was. Comfortable. No one ever captured his heart. No one ever made his soul burn. No one ever made his wolf yearn for them.

Not the way his mother had always told that she did for his father.

So he told himself that love could wait. It would have to wait. He just focused more and more on the company. On his career. On everything other than what he wanted to seek out.

Even now, he was sitting at his desk, overseeing some papers when his assistant knocked.

"Sir?" He popped his head in the office. "We have a bit of a situation downstairs."

"What now, Simon?" Valko sighed and looked up.

"Uh.. there's a woman downstairs. In the lobby. Won't leave until she sees you." Simon explained.

"So? Call security or whatever-" Valko waved him away.

"That's the problem part." Simon swallowed. "She's not doing anything. She's just sitting there. Says that she needs 5 minutes only. Says that she'll wait."

"Wait?" Valko's brows furrowed and Simon nodded. He inhaled deeply and paused. "I'll handle it." Valko said slowly and then took another deep breath.

There were the usual smells. Office cedar, air fresheners, stale coffee, and something new. Different. Sweeter.

Valko closed his laptop and took out his nasal blockers. He usually wore them so his sense of smell wouldn't constantly be assaulting and distracting him. He took another deep breath and suddenly felt his wolf pawing at the back of his throat.

That was new. His wolf never did that. Had never done that.

He walked out of his office and the smell grew stronger. He followed it all the way down to the lobby and there you were. His heart stuttered, his wolf practically tried to claw out of his chest. He had to put his nasal blocker back in so to not lose control and show the whole building his tail.

"I heard you were looking for me." He said smoothly with a smile, offering his hand.

"Mr Ao! Hello!" You smiled brightly and his knees almost buckled. "I'm so sorry for showing up like this but I called and no appointments were available until next month and-"

He wasn't listening. He couldn't. You were shaking his hand and that's all that mattered. All this time he'd spent looking- Somehow you'd come to him. Just shown up out of thin air.

"But anyway- I found a backdoor vulnerability in your new healthcare app-" You pulled away from his hand and he almost reached out to grab you again. You didn't notice that. You were too busy opening your laptop to show him what you'd found. "I have a small cyber security start up." You explained. "And I thought that if I'd emailed you about this, it might look like a scam or something -"

You were still talking but all Valko was doing was looking at you. Your hair, your eyes, your smile, the way your mouth moved as you spoke, your hands as they glided over the keys on your laptop. Whereas his wolf was purring because he was just near you. A soft chant churning in his head. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.

"See?" You smiled, showing him your laptop screen. "That could lead to potential data leaks." Valko nodded. He had heard absolutely nothing you'd said. "Whoever built the authentication layer probably forgot to tie up the loose ends- It's nothing catastrophic. Yet." You turned to him and he was just... There. Without a single working braincell.

"Right... Can you show me the code again please?" He tried to piece together what you'd said.

You nodded and put your laptop on the receptionist's desk. Valko moved closer to look at your laptop over your shoulder and definitely not to smell you.

The nasal blocker was there but this close, he could still smell you. Like pine after rain. Like a warm beach day. Like midnight after a thick snow. Everything was so crisp and you were showing him a code that looked like hieroglyphics at the moment.

"Mr Ao?" You asked, unsure if he was even listening.

"I'm sorry." He gave an easy smile to cover up the torment inside him. "I'm a little distracted. Work and all-" He lied. Oh god I just lied to my mate what would mother say? He cleared his throat. "If you could give me your number, perhaps we can arrange a proper sit down and discuss this?" And then afterwards I'll throw you over my shoulder and we'll disappear for at least a month.

You smiled again and his wolf preened. You were smiling at him. For him.

"Of course." You handed him your business card.

"I'll take very good care of this." And you. Oh god I'll take such good care of you. He slipped the business card into his pocket.

You nodded, "Well.. um- I should go- I'm sorry for causing a scene and-"

Cause as many scenes as you want. Anything you want. His brain was burning up. This was everything and more than what his mother had told him would feel like.

"Thank you." He breathed out as you put your laptop on your bag. "For finding this." And me. Thank you for finding me. "We would have landed in a lot of trouble and lawsuits if you hadn't."

"It's really no problem. You're doing good work. I didn't want it to stop just because someone made a mistake." You assured him. "Thank you again for your time, Mr Ao."

"Valko. Please, call me Valko." He said softly. You'll be saying it for the rest of life, soon enough.

"Valko." You repeated and his wolf purred in his chest.

He shook your hand again, his other hand coming to cover yours completely. "I hope to see you again soon." And then never let you go.

.

.

.

Drabble Masterlist

[spherewrite]

itoshi sae isn’t one to openly show affection.

and he’s definitely not someone who’d give you kisses for as long as you’d like.

but maybe you had the wrong idea about your boyfriend all along.

because lately, he has been pulling you close at random times, kissing you longer than he usually does. his lips linger on yours far more times than you had verbally asked him to kiss you. it does get embarrassing sometimes to ask him for them, but really, why can’t he just take the hint?!

although, it seems you didn’t really have to ask for it anymore, because he voluntarily gives those kisses to you himself.

you pushed him away gently, a little breathless from the long time sae had your lips on his.

“what’s gotten into you?” you asked him, your head tilting a little to the side in curiosity.

sae mimicked your action, his gloved hands still on your back. he had only gotten back from training, still in his tracksuit, still a little tired, and yet he decided to come after your lips the moment he opened the door to your apartment.

“i can’t kiss my girlfriend now?”

you hit him lightly on the shoulder with a half-mocking scowl on your face. “did you do anything to put you in guilt? you’ve been very… sweet in terms of giving me kisses lately.”

sae scoffed, tracing his thumb against your back. “are you saying i have been giving an unsatisfactory performance in the past?”

“no— it’s just—”

his lips were on yours again before you could finish your sentence. there wasn’t even anything else, just his lips on yours over and over again this past week.

“sweet,” was all he said before licking his lips.

oh… oh. you get it now.

“you… it’s my lipstick, isn’t it?”

sae shrugged and let you go, leaning to the counter behind him, both arms crossed. “you changed it.”

“and you like it.” a teasing smile couldn’t help but form on your face.

he shrugged again—acting so nonchalant as if he didn’t want to taste your ‘sweet’ lips every second. “you should use it more often. buy more of it.”

“get used to my old one. this one’s pricey. ”

“shouldn’t be a problem.”

masterlist.

[stellarque]

your tastes are lame!

𖥔 ݁ ˖ When they realise, mid-thirst session from you, that they’re the complete opposite of your type…

Stone cold as ever, SAE appears unbothered by your rambling, even if internally he is going through the five stages of grief. Good lord, can you let a nonchalant man live? Expressing emotions in such an embarrassing way is so not his thing. He communicates just fine normally so why would he need such theatrics to prove a point. He’s watching the clip you’ve sent him with mild disgust in his eyes at the main character’s cringey ass love confession. If you think he’s going to try and act like that, you’re dead wrong (u don’t even know about his crush why would you think that lmfao).

‘This is your type?’ he texts you, and is irritated when you leave him on read, only reacting to his message with an obligatory fire emoji. After a few moments of cackling on the floor, you then proceed to begin typing… only to see that your message can’t be delivered? You’ve been blocked?! With the work of spamming a few texts (and because Sae has a soft spot for you) you are graciously forgiven. For now.

BACHIRA is just the sweetest, even when faced with such a beast in front of him. He’s reaaally trying his best to remain enthusiastic in this conversation mostly led by you gushing about this new character you seem to like.

“They’re awesome, like the whole death glare thing and threatening to kill you aura is super moeful. You get what I mean right?” You delightfully explain to him.

“Ehhh~? They seem so boring! Totally not what someone as cute as you should go for!” Bachira retorts quickly, feeling threatened. While happy-go-lucky most times, he refuses to lose to this 2D monstrosity. He will beg you to reconsider. Er, mostly because he tried acting in such a way before in an attempt to catch your attention and couldn’t keep it up for longer than 2 minutes. “Oh really? Then what should be my type?”

“Like- like, someone equally cute and friendly!!!”

KAISER is currently trying to keep his cool. Key word: trying. You are testing his patience like the insolent creature you are, and unfortunately his feelings of affection for you are preventing him from bashing his head against the wall right now. He’s shooing away at the TV in a manner he hopes looks regal and a normal amount of angry, as though the screen could magically grow legs and remove itself from his presence. “What are you doing?” you whine, pawing at his back. “Move out of the way, I can’t see my angel sweetie baby from here.”

The nickname, which should be delegated to him btw, is so shitting annoying. How was he supposed to know your type would be so… dumb and cutesy? Eventually, he just can’t take it anymore and grips your wrists with his. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

You feign innocence, “Nope. Nada. I would never.” Liar. But he’ll let you get away with it this time, isn’t he so kind? Wait- ew, he’s not conforming to your standards. Kaiser isn’t threatened in the least, but ehhh… just to be on the safe side he’s making sure you never meet someone like that.

Whilst at a surface level seeming mature and dignified, LOKI is still very much a teenage boy who can act childish if he wants to. It’s embarrassing, sure, but he deserves a little credit for putting up with this farce for so long. “Who… what exactly am I looking at?” he says in response to having your phone shoved in his face. You gasp in shock horror, and rapid fire explain to him the supposed intricacies of this character, who, quite frankly, sounds like the biggest insecure asshole Loki’s ever heard of. That can’t be what he’s losing to, can it? “I urge you to reconsider.”

Obviously teasing him, you ask, “Why, you jealous?”

That struck a nerve. Julian Loki does not succumb to the infantile tantrums of humans like jealousy. Because he has nothing to be jealous of. Nope. Not at all. He’s rich and far more pleasant to be around than whatever that thing was. And you have the nerve to be smiling at him like that… then he pouts for the whole day until you make it up to him.

NAGI just hopes and prays you’ll change your mind someday. He’s too lazy to do allat.