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zorobff · 6 months

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little by little. (opla!sanji x fem!reader)

synopsis: a series of events that transpire throughout your time mentoring sanji into a proper waiter, per zeff’s request.

word count: 5.3k

warnings: cursing, smoking, some direct dialogue from opla, zoro wants u but he can’t have uuu, a pitiful attempt at enemies to lovers, this is the plate technique i was referencing btw

the slicing, stirring, and sizzling of the kitchen fades into background noise compared to the two thick accents bickering back and forth. to no one’s surprise, a disagreement between sanji and zeff’s has escalated into another one of their infamous arguments. it was such a common occurrence that almost everyone working at the baratie knew to brace themselves for a yelling match at least once day.

you’re no different as you return to the kitchen from waiting tables and walk right past the pair without so much as a glance their way. instead, you make a beeline for patty’s cooking station. unamused, you ask, “they’re back at it again?”

patty slings a towel over his shoulder as he hands you table 7’s orders. “i told sanji not to put that original dish of his on the menu. he called it a true bluefin whatever the hell.”

“sounds promising,” you joke, collecting the plates from him.

“tell that to zeff,” he replies flatly. “he might even make it tomorrow’s special.”

“dammit zeff!” sanji exclaims, interrupting you and patty’s conversation. “if i gotta sling one more prime rib medium-well, i’m going to drop dead of boredom, you old shitbag!”

“it’s what we serve,” retaliates the older chef.

“it’s an insult to the meat!”

“oh, you don’t like cooking our menu? fine. ‘cause i’ll be more than delighted to give you some other work elsewhere. in fact, you are off the line. you’re going to get out there and wait tables!”

sanji’s jaw clenches at having been demoted but he removes his chef apron regardless. as often as the two of them bickered, he could never refuse such direct orders from zeff. he was the owner and founder of baratie — that was something to be respected.

all of a sudden, zeff calls your name, causing you to abruptly set down the dishes in your hands. what did you have to do with any of this? the older chef beckons you closer with a curled finger and it seems as if every pair of eyes in the kitchen shifts to you. except for sanji’s, who is too busy staring up at the ceiling as if he’s begging a higher power for self-restraint.

it’s ironic how after putting so much effort into being the best waitress possible, you end up in the middle of confrontation – something you went out of your way to avoid. still, your body reacts faster than your brain and you comply, scurrying over to where zeff and sanji stand.

“from here on out, you keep a close eye on him for me.” zeff clasps a large hand on sanji’s shoulder with such force that it sends the younger jolting forward. “i don’t wanna catch him slithering his way back into the kitchen unless it’s to grab orders, ya got it?”

you blink. “yes, chef.”

your response earns you a tight-lipped smile, a rarely seen gesture from zeff. as suddenly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced by a hardened gaze as he turns back to sanji. “if we’re lucky enough, some of your obedience might rub off on this little eggplant.”

the comment earns him an eye roll from the waiter in question, who seems less than thrilled with this new arrangement. “this is such bullshit, old man. you really think she can teach me anything?”

you go to defend yourself, slightly offended by his offhand comment. “hey, i—”

before you can get another word out, sanji interjects, offering you a glance. “no offense, i’m sure you’re lovely—” the moment he takes a good look at you, he trails off. it’s almost comical how quickly his demeanor changes, that signature smirk of his creeping onto his lips. “with an even lovelier face to match.”

you narrow your eyes at him, not charmed by the sudden switch in attitude. “you’re shameless.”

he smiles. “so i’ve been told.”

“we’ll need to work on that.”

his grin widens, if that was even possible. “i look forward to it.”

his smile is a little too mischievous for your liking; you sigh. “can’t say the same.”

ignoring your remark, he muses, “you know, it’s a shame that working under you is supposed to be a punishment. a pretty face like yours is more of a reward, if you ask me.”

“who said anything about a punishment?”

“well, what else would you call this?” he chuckles dryly. “instead of cooking, i’m expected to wait on idiots who can’t tell a rosé prosecco from a cheval blanc. and now i’m being treated like i need a babysitter.”

you fold your arms. “that’s because you do need a babysitter. besides, zeff calls the shots so there’s no use complaining.”

“of course you’d say that.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

he smirks. “i can already tell you’re a professional rule follower. a lap dog, if you will.”

“if you were too, we wouldn’t even be here.” you decide to take it even further, returning his bluntness. “maybe it’d be easier if that ego of yours wasn’t so inflated.”

“damn.” he places a hand over his heart as if you’ve wounded him. “if we’re talking about flaws, though, this might be a good time to mention the stick up your ass.”

“what? i don’t–” you take a deep breath. “listen, zeff is counting on me to turn you into a functional waiter. that means we have to tolerate each other for the time being. the sooner we do that, the sooner we go our separate ways. got it?”

he flashes you his teeth. “yes, ma’am.”

“great. to start, you’re going to wait tables with me.” with that, you walk back to patty’s station.

sanji scampers behind you, smile fading. “you’re joking.”

you shrug, opting to let your silence answer for you.

he continues, “you’re not even going to let me suffer through this alone? i’ve gotta be glued to your hip as well?”

“what’s the matter? i thought i was lovely,” you tease him, feigning sorrow. your faux pout contradicts the way you harshly shove two steaming plates his way.

“not when you’re bossing me around.” he hesitantly takes the dishes you hand him. “i mean, can’t you just let me off the hook? i’ll hide in the supply closet ‘til our shift’s over.”

“good one.”

WEEK ONE.

“welcome to baratie, i’ll be your waitress this afternoon. what can i get started for you?” you ask, ready to jot down the table’s orders on your notepad. “i recommend today’s special—”

an arm digging into your ribs cuts you off. the action is forceful enough to jolt you but light enough not to hurt. you glare at the culprit, who tilts his head expectantly as if to ask, aren’t you forgetting something?

“oh, how unprofessional of me,” you deadpan. “this is sanji, he’ll be accompanying me. we’re training new hires.”

the smile on his face disappears, clearly insulted at being compared to an inexperienced beginner.

you continue, “as i was saying, today’s special is a beef filet with rice and seaweed soup. it was chosen by chef zeff himself.”

that seems to pique the customers’ interests. who didn’t want to eat a meal that had the chef zeff’s stamp of approval? they enthusiastically agree to add it to their order.

sanji scoffs. “that’s not sayin’ much. zeff wouldn’t know a good meal if it kicked him in the peg leg.”

you find yourself cringing as the patrons’ faces contort into shock at the blatant insult. well, there goes your tip.

chuckling nervously, you attempt to redirect the conversation. “can i, um, get you anything to drink?”

dismissing sanji’s outburst, they opt to look over the various wines the menu has to offer. you allow yourself to tune out their indecisive murmuring for the time being. however, sanji soon breaks the peaceful silence.

“you know what, how about i whip up a dish of my own for you two? ’s called a true bluefin sauté, somethin’ that’ll put today’s special to shame. free of charge, of course—”

“okay, that’s enough,” you intervene in between yet another forced laugh. “could you please excuse us for a moment?”

the guests’ irritated expressions fill you with shame — you were used to smiles and hefty tips but never this. you pull sanji aside, ignoring his complaints about the excessive force you use to do so.

“you need to get it together,” you seethe.

“i’m trying my best,” he replies, though there’s a smug undertone to it. “like you said, i am just a new hire.”

you suppress a sigh. “no new hire would badmouth the owner to customers like that. or offer to make dishes that aren’t—and never will be—on the menu.”

“ouch, that was personal—”

“just let patty know we need two specials. and tell him to make it top priority, we don’t want to piss these people off even more. can you do that, please?”

it was clear you were stressed by the mess he’d created, if your pleading tone was anything to go by. sanji decides to take pity on you. he wordlessly retreats to the kitchen to do what you had asked. no quips, no teasing.

for the first time, he follows your instructions.

WEEK TWO.

it seemed as if everyone in the east blue was set on having their breakfast at the baratie.

the kitchen was bustling, cooks slaving over the stove and waiters twisting past each other to grab orders. among them was you, sweaty and thoroughly overwhelmed. despite the task at hand, you can’t help but question the whereabouts of a certain blonde.

“where’s sanji?” you demand while grabbing more steaming plates.

carne, the chef who’d cooked the meals, answers you. “haven’t seen him all morning.”

you groan, using your sleeve to wipe off the beads of perspiration that form at your hairline before grabbing a bowl of oatmeal and plate of fluffy belgian waffles. you knew sanji still wasn’t happy about being a waiter (and he took every chance to show it) but that didn’t matter; it was all hands on deck this morning.

you continue expertly stacking the dishes into your arms and hands. it was a technique you’d learned over the years and now it felt like second nature. soon enough, you’re balancing plates up to your forearms. you’re just about to head back out to the dining hall when you hear a familiar accent behind you.

“we doin’ party tricks now or what?”

startled, you turn around so fast it causes the dishware in your hold to teeter ever so slightly. there stands sanji, clearly finding amusement in how you’re up to your elbows in breakfast foods.

“maybe don’t sneak up on me when i’m holding six plates?” you chastise him.

he chuckles. “sorry, sorry. what did i miss?”

“only the worst breakfast rush i’ve ever seen. where have you been?”

“i was takin’ a smoke outside.”

“productive.” your tone drips with sarcasm. “we’ll talk about punctuality later, for now just take the rest of those plates for me.”

sanji reluctantly obeys, grabbing two plates from the multitude of options and steps back, ready to follow you. you look at him in what could only be described as utter disbelief. he returns the stare and furrows his eyebrows as if he really can’t understand what he’s doing wrong.

“you’re seriously only taking two?” you ask.

“yeah? what, were you expecting me to join your balancing act?”

“it would help!”

“trust me, i’d only make a bigger mess.”

“sanji.”

“fine! show me.”

you squint your eyes at him in irritation. “my hands are a little full right now.”

he purses his lips. “then just tell me how.”

you comply. “get your first plate, put it between your thumb and the edge of your pointer finger. make sure to rotate it away from your body.”

sanji follows your directions, attentively. he glances up at you once he completes the first couple steps, scanning your face for any disapproval. you give him a nod.

“so far so good. next, put your second plate under the first. use your remaining fingers to support it– yeah, just like that. and let the edge of the plate rest on the bottom of the first.”

as sanji carefully carries out your instructions, you notice the determination written on his face. you’d never seen him put so much effort in a task, much less one you’d given him. you could tell it was challenging, judging by the way his hands wobble with uncertainty as he stacks the plates, but not once does he stop. it’s admirable. you feel a smile form on your face.

“okay, what n— what’re you laughin’ at?”

“i’m not laughing,” you defend. “it’s just– you’re really trying. it’s nice. i like this sanji.”

he opens his mouth as if to respond but decides not to at the last moment. there’s a brief silence before he raises his eyebrows to signal he was ready for the next step.

“right. um, the third plate uses your arm and the edge of the second plate as balance points so you’re gonna wanna put it– yeah, right there.”

you take in the sight of all three plates successfully resting on sanji’s arm as one of his trademark grins appears on his lips. clearly he’s proud of himself but as his wide eyes meet yours, you can’t help but feel as if he’s seeking your approval too. you notice that when he glances up at you, there’s an eager look in his eyes as if he’s hanging on to your every breath. you figure it’s normal for someone to want their mentor’s praise, right?

you willingly deliver the encouragement. “you’re a natural. better than me.”

his reply comes so quickly it almost seems as if he’s said it without thinking. “well, that’s not possible, is it?”

his tone sounds warm; sincere. not to mention, this is the first time sanji has complimented your skills as a waitress. you’d received countless praises for your work ethic but somehow, something so simple from someone like sanji makes this different. special, in a way.

“let’s get to the table, food’s gonna get cold,” you say so that you don’t spend too much time replaying his words in your mind.

the journey to said table proves to be more arduous than you’d think. you offer quiet ‘excuse me’s that can hardly be heard over the commotion of the kitchen as your coworkers try their best to make way for you and sanji. some of their eyes linger on the plates that masterfully balance on both your arms but truthfully, the sight of sanji exerting so much effort into waiting tables is more impressive to them. it’s distracting enough to send one of them to colliding straight into you.

your first instinct is to try and salvage as many dishes as possible but it’s useless when the impact is so strong that it sends you stumbling backwards. the only reason you don’t fall over is the firm chest that presses against your back and the two pairs of strong arms that find their way around your waist. the ear-splitting sound of yours and sanji’s plates shattering against the floor is unpleasant and yet all you can think about is how sanji literally dropped everything to catch you.

the waiter you’d crashed into groans, looking down at the mess of broken dishware and food gone to waste. “god, look where you’re going if you’re gonna carry all those plates.”

“i’m sorry,” you instantly apologize, flustered by the rare mistake. “i was just trying to get ahead of the rush–”

“instead, you set us back further.” his eyes flit down to his shirt and then yours. “and ruined both our uniforms.”

the abruptness of your mishap (and your skinship with sanji) had robbed all your attention, causing you to overlook the various creams and sauces that now bleed into your shirt.

“watch it,” sanji warns him, finding the man’s aggressive tone intolerable. “if you worked half as hard as she is then maybe there wouldn’t be such a need to catch up on orders.”

your coworker fixes sanji with a glare for intervening. “i’m not talking to you, pal.”

“well, i’m talking to you. and i’m thinkin’ of taking this discussion outside if you don’t apologize for being a jackass.”

that earns him an irritated sigh. however, he complies. “i’m sorry. can i get back to work now?”

sanji remains unimpressed. “don’t apologize to me. apologize to her.”

he doesn’t even try to hide his eye roll before he gives you a lackadaisical apology. “i’m sorry, alright? tell your boyfriend to back off.”

he stomps away, leaving you even more rattled up by his last comment. slowly, you turn around to sanji, unsure of what to say. you take in the stains that litter his suit, though he seems unbothered by it. his stare is heated as he watches the man leave. however, when he notices you staring, his gaze softens.

“what was his problem?” he asks you with a chuckle that sounds out of place in a moment like this.

in any other situation you’d poke fun at sanji for also having gotten worked up but you choose not to. him getting so angry on your behalf felt… strange. not unwelcome, though.

your reply is simple. “y-yeah. real asshole.”

he lifts a brow. “you okay?”

you nod a little too hard. “i’m just not used to situations like that. thanks for stepping in. and, you know, catching me.”

sanji glances away when your look of pure gratitude becomes too much for him to handle. “i couldn’t have you eat shit and be out of commission, zeff just might decide to mentor me himself. and no one wants that, right?”

you can’t help but laugh at the dismissive demeanor he was putting on when he’d literally just threatened a man for you. “right.”

he clears his throat. “let’s go get cleaned up then.”

“sorry,” you blurt. “about your suit, i mean. it’s all dirty now.”

he shakes his head. “wasn’t your fault. if anything, i should go force an apology out of that jerk.”

“well, while you do that i’m gonna clean this mess up.”

“no need.” he shoots you a sly wink. “i’ll make him do that too.”

WEEK THREE.

you find yourself clearing off an empty table on a somewhat slow thursday afternoon when the baratie’s newest guests catch your eye. they look nothing like the stuffy moneybags that frequented the establishment – far from it. in fact, you find yourself having to do a double take when you notice that one of them is wearing overalls. it’s refreshing, you think, occasionally glancing up at them as they settle in.

when you head back to the kitchen to grab menus, you bump into sanji, who’d arrived from his break.

you glance at the clock on the wall. “was that actually only ten minutes? i’m impressed.”

sanji exhales as he does every time he feels sheepish about following the rules. “don’t get used to it.”

you disregard his comment and instead hand him a couple menus. “come on, we’ve got a table.”

he frowns. “i just got back.”

“you’ll live. i think it’ll be a interesting one.”

that was an understatement.

“welcome to baratie. my name is sanji. what can i get for you?”

sanji’s customer service voice never fails to amuse you. it sounds too forced, too sharp; as if he’s just dying to spew a one-liner or two. you have to admit, though, he’d done pretty well ever since you started letting him take the lead. there was a clear improvement from when you’d first started, a little over two weeks ago.

“one of everything!” the one with the straw hat enthusiastically exclaims.

another, more feminine, voice joins the conversation. “maybe save that for after we find the one piece.”

there’s a brief pause before sanji speaks again, this time in a tone you know all too well. “didn’t see you there, madam. would you care for an aperitif to start? we have several rare micqueot vintages in stock. or perhaps you’d like a glass of umeshu? you know, something sweet for someone sweet.” he ends with a wink.

she cringes. “is there something wrong with your eye?”

you can hear sanji’s smile in his reply. “just blinded by your beauty.”

out of all of sanji’s antics, this somehow feels like the worst one yet. you’re not entirely sure why him blatantly flirting with the woman feels so unbearable but you decide to chalk it up to your professionalism. if any of your fellow waiters flirted with a customer you’d be just as upset… right?

“zeff told me he doesn’t like you terrorizing the female patrons with your flirting so why don’t you knock it off?” you tell sanji, your words carrying an unusual edge to them. “you’re one shitty pick-up line away from a restraining order.”

although you mumble the last part, both sanji and the table seem to pick up on it. your bitterness earns you a surprised tilt of the head from the blonde; it wasn’t like you to have such outbursts, especially not in front of guests.

“relax,” he says, still taken aback. “it’s called working the table. you should try it sometime ‘cause that attitude isn’t gonna get you anywhere.”

a monotonous voice cuts through the tension. “so about those drinks...”

you and sanji pause your discussion to get a look at the face behind the remark. lidded eyes that appear to be permanently hazy return your stare, through lashes so long you can’t help but admire them. the man who they belong to is comfortably splayed out on his side of the booth, calmly observing the two of you. though, it seems like you’ve caught his attention more than anything else. though his gaze seems uninterested, he still effectively studies every inch of you.

sanji seems to pick up the stranger’s staring problem too. he sharply inquires, “is there something on her face?”

the man turns to him once he’s finished sizing you up. “i’m just an observant guy.”

“observe the menu instead, hm?” suddenly, sanji’s tone sounds a lot like yours; irritated and displeased.

“no need.” the green-haired swordsman turns to you. “a beer, please.”

you hold the male’s gaze for a second before nodding. apparently, the eye contact is too prolonged for sanji’s taste because he cuts in, attempting to move things along.

“what about you, madam? anything i can get for you?” you notice he’s using that voice again.

her answer is plain. “water.”

somehow, he manages to complicate it. “still, sparkling, mineral? with ice or without? cubed or crushed?”

“regular water in a regular glass. thanks.”

he beams. “right away.”

“and what about the rest of you?” you ask to impede sanji from asking the woman any more questions.

“two beers,” the one with dark skin says. “i usually have three but–”

“and a milk!” the straw hat adds.

“got it. anything else before we go get those drinks for you?”

a raspy voice speaks up. “do waiters usually come in pairs here?”

you shake your head. “this is a temporary arrangement. he just needed some extra training.”

“that depends on who you ask,” sanji clarifies before narrowing his eyes at the man on the left of the booth. “why do you care anyway, mosshead?”

before you can scold sanji for giving customers rude nicknames, the customer in question swiftly corrects him. “the name’s zoro. i was just curious as to why such a good waiter would be partnered with someone so… incompetent.”

“curious?” scoffs the woman to his left. “since when are you ever curious? about anything other than alcohol, that is.”

“certain things catch my attention once in a while, nami,” he replies, nonchalantly. though he mentions his colleague by name, it’s clear he’s really speaking to you. “it’s just not often that my standards can be met. but when they are, i’m left with no choice but to show a little interest.”

your head tilts at the double meaning his comment carried. though you admire zoro’s ability to be a smooth-talker, you find that that’s where his appeal ends for you.

“high standards, hm? then you’re dining at the wrong place,” spits sanji in an attempt to get zoro’s attention off of you. “only thing that isn’t shitty is the drinks which we’ll be getting for you now, if you’ll excuse us.”

sanji hooks an arm around your shoulder before he spins on his heel and leads you both back to the kitchen. you look over your shoulder, offering the table one of your customer service smiles as an apology for your abrupt exit. sanji’s strides are long and purposeful; he’s angry, you realize. although, you can’t blame him for having such a sour attitude when you yourself aren’t too thrilled either.

you don’t speak to each other for the rest of the shift.

“you smiled at him.”

you sigh, setting your book face down to glare at sanji who stands in the doorway of the quaint breakroom. “i’m on my break, sanji.”

“so am i,” he retaliates, pulling a stick out of the worn-down cigarette box in his pocket as if to prove it to you.

“so it’s not enough that i’m stuck babysitting you when we’re on the clock? you’re gonna start seeking me out in our free time too?”

he purses his lips. “pretty much.”

his stubbornness is unsurprising but you just aren’t in the mood to tolerate it today, not when he’d worked your nerves earlier with his flirtatious behavior. deep down, you know you only have yourself to blame for getting so unreasonably angered by that. maybe that’s what upsets you most.

you sigh. “just tell me what you want.”

“i want to know why you smiled at that asshole.”

“asshole?” you repeat, laughing. “i know you have a potty mouth but god, take it easy.”

he licks his lips. “see, now you’re defending him. what for? do you know him or something?”

“do i have to?”

“no, but... it would be nice if you did. it would help me understand why he was talkin’ to you like that. all flirty but secretive at the same time. it was like you two had some sort of inside joke.”

“so a man being interested in me is so unfathomable to you that i have to know him or else it’s a joke?” you ask, tone heated.

“no, that’s not–” he groans. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“what about you and that girl? nami, was it?” you sneer. “if zoro’s considered flirty then i don’t think there’s a word for what you are.”

“you’re mad at me for trying to earn a tip?” he asks, squinting his eyes at you. “you told me to be nicer to customers. i was being nice.”

“you were really selling it,” you scoff.

“don’t believe me?” sanji challenges you. “have you ever seen me flirt with a girl that’s not a customer? a girl that’s not you?”

the words tumble out of his mouth haphazardly, as if they’d been weighing heavy on his mind for a while now. as an attempt to recover — an attempt to make it seem like that admission didn’t mean something, he calmly lights the end of his cigarette. he then brings it to his chapped lips and takes a long drag.

you take the moment to really think about what he’d said. sanji was charming by nature and, of course, he knew that. not only that, but he used it to his advantage. people tended to tip better when he was laying it on thick, that much was true.

however, his second question takes a lot more thought. now that you really think about it, you realize he’s right. you’d never seen sanji flirt with another waiter or member of the staff. you were the only waitress he spoke to that way. the realization makes you feel warm in the face.

“i don’t just flirt with you, you know. i do so much more. remember that plate trick you taught me? i practiced for nights on end ‘til i could do it with my eyes closed. and i don��t tell customers how brainless they sound half the time because i know you don’t like it.”

you only watch as he paces back and forth, rattling off these thoughts that have clearly been plaguing him.

“you still never flirt back, though,” he continues, quietly. “lately i’ve been starting to think that you don’t actually like me at all. that’s the only reason i was being like that at the table. i knew i was only kiddin’ myself but still, i wanted to see if there was a small chance you cared.”

“i…” it’s all you can say. seeing this raw, insecure side of him has left you truly speechless.

he fiddles his cig between his fingers. “listen, i wouldn’t blame you if—”

you finally find your voice. “i like you.”

his voice trails off, engrossed in every word you speak. it’s a simple three words and yet he’s attentive as he waits for more to be said.

you begin to ramble, “i like your passion for the things you care about. i like how you always say what you think. i like that you always have my back. sanji, i… really do like you.”

he gives you a weak smile. “that’s nice, sweetheart, but i don’t think you like me the way i like you.”

“just because i don’t flirt much doesn’t mean i can’t have feelings for you, idiot.”

his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, processing your words. “you— feelings?” there’s a pause. “good ones, right?”

you can’t help but giggle. “yes, good ones. sure as hell not the ones from three weeks ago.”

he joins you with a laugh of his own, which sounds wobblier than usual. he pulls out a chair next to you, as if this moment has left him so shaken up that he needs to sit down. “who would’ve thought? god, i… i can’t believe it.”

“i’ve never heard you stutter so much,” you tell him, tucking a thin strand of blonde hair behind his ear. when your fingers graze against the skin, it’s warm to the touch. cute, you think.

“i just never expected you to give me a chance.”

“a chance? to do what, exactly?” you prod.

he straightens up. “to make you mine.”

your breath hitches in your throat. “sanji—”

“i’m not going to ask anything of you just yet. i think we should take our time. i want to show you that i can be exclusively devoted to you before we go any further. it’s only fair.”

your heart thumps wildly in your chest at the sincerity behind his words. “you’re willing to wait just to prove yourself to me?”

he nods, taking one of your hands and squeezing it. his dedication required no words.

“so that means no more flirting with the female patrons? even when i’m not there beside you?”

he shrugs as if it’s common sense. “if there’s no pretty waitress i want to make jealous then i don’t see a need to flirt.”

you nudge his shoulder. “and what about your tips?”

“small price to pay.”

satisfied with his answers, you lean in and give him a quick kiss on the cheek; it feels giddy and spontaneous. sanji’s palm instinctively comes up to rest on the spot where your lips had been. he grins before attempting to speak—

a thick, husky accent shakes the walls. what makes it more terrifying is that it’s calling both yours and sanji’s names.

“break time’s over! get your asses back out there and wait some tables, now!”

#if this shit gets like 5 likes i’ll be happy #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #opla x reader #sanji fluff #sanji angst #sanji imagine #sanji oneshot #one piece x reader

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anundyingfidelity · 7 months

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PRIVATE LESSONS – Sanji x female reader

Summary: on what is supposed to be another of your private cooking lessons, you and Sanji get closer... in a very intimate way.

Pairing: Sanji x female reader.

Word count: 2k.

Warnings: pure fucking, dirty, obscene fingerfucking smut, some plot, heavy hand kink, eye contact, language (also reader thinks herself as a slut at some point), fingering, cum play(?), semi-public, praising, pet names (darling, sweetheart, good girl...).

Notes: this is just full of smut so yeah. Idk, this is my realization that I am a Sanji whore. Enjoy you sinners. And I'm sorry for any errors as English is not my main language. (I'll keep apologizing for this lol).

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

Probably will make a part 2 to consumate this shit, but I can't promise I will...

GEN MASTERLIST!

Months ago, you started at the Baratie as a waitress but your biggest wish was cooking. And Sanji was there to help you with that. You had absolutely no idea how to start, lucky for you, the blonde chef of the restaurant was aware of your dreams. So you started lessons after your shift.

"Can't deny the wishes of a pretty thing like you," you remembered Sanji saying when you finally asked him to teach you. He winked and put a playful smirk on his lips.

Yes, Sanji was a flirt - but he was a flirt with everyone. So you never took personally his random comments and hits, until you started your cooking classes.

The Baratie was always closed and there was no one but Sanji and you in the kitchen. He had started with the basic stuff, like chopping vegetables and soft meat, and making easy entries and sidedishes.

There was a problem though. This was almost the fourth week you were receiving his lessons and you found out there was something distracting you a lot recently: his hands.

His beautiful, strong hands, that, in a delicate manner, would slice a fish and would convert it in the most delicious dish you ever tasted ever. You became so immersed in his hands doing little to nothing. Even if Sanji wasn't cooking, just fixing his hair or having a cigarrette, everything you could keep your focus on was his beautiful fingers, sometimes wearing pretty rings and jewels around them. And the way the veins on his big hands would appear... Gods, your mind started to wonder a lot of things and it was becoming difficult keeping your focus on the special salad you were preparing that night.

"You're doing great, love," Sanji whispered, staying right behind you and monitoring carefully your chopping like an inspector.

His sweet words were no help for you at all. With a deep breath, you finished with the last eggplant. Sanji immediately came closer and leaned behind your back, and you controled the loud gasp that was about to burst. You felt his strong body pressed against your own, and he suddenly grabbed your hand still holding the knife to start chopping a small piece of the eggplant you just finished. His arms were now sorrounding your figure as he guided softly on how you were supposed to cut it.

"Just make sure to cut them like this, see?"

All you could give was a nod. Fuck, you felt so embarrassed, hypnotized by his hands working on the must mundane activities in the whole world, grabbing firmly the knife between his fingers.

Those thick fingers you fantasized about late at night; not letting you pay attention to the important things Sanji would say to you about cooking. Those fingers you wished to have inside you right now, to lick them, to suck on them until they were completely dry... You rub your thighs together and try to keep your thoughts locked to continue with the lesson.

"Yeah, I see now. Thanks, Sanji," you were surprised you were actually able to talk.

You heard his chuckle behind you before shifting and come by your side, leaving you free of his grip and the warmth of his hands that you were already missing.

"Lets plate then."

Sanji guided you on how to place each ingredient on the bowl, making it harder for you to follow his pace. It took longer than you expected, but you were trying to keep your shit together; your skirt and shirt suddenly felt too tight on your figure and you tried to not rub your thighs, even if you wished for some friction right now.

Once the bowl was done, Sanji took the small plate with the sauce you prepared earlier and gave it a delicate taste, licking the spoon with his tongue.

Why did he look so hot just by doing anything? Was he aware of the effect he had in you lately? Was he teasing you? Or where you just hot and bothered already? No answer you had for any of those questions.

Sanji wrinkled his brows, savoring the sauce with such delicacy, and after a moment or so of thinking he looked at you.

"I think something is missing," he said.

"What? I put everything that was on the recipe for the sauce." In a swift move, you took the spoon from his hand and had a taste yourself. "Seems okay for me."

The chef tsked. "Darling, you need to taste it differently. Deeper, go further than usual."

Sanji dipped his forefinger on the sauce and brought it to your lips. With hesitation, you opened your mouth and licked the sauce from his finger, not only tasting the sauce but savouring the moment. Was he aware of how you looked at his hands? You were not going to question it. Not when you carefully wrapped your soft lips around him, closing your eyes slowly, arousal building up between your legs. His words were no help either, it was like if he was testing the waters and so were you.

You felt Sanji pulling out his finger from your mouth and you let out a soft moan. You wanted to snap yourself. He smirked, he obviously heard your pretty noise.

"Sorry..." you were ashamed but the burning desire was growing and winning over you. What a fucking slut, you thought to yourself. It didn't matter right now. You just had a taste of his fingers.

"So what'd you say?" Sanji interrupted the voice inside your head.

Your dark eyes looked intensely his charming blue ones. "I still think the taste is good."

Sanji leaned down, almost brushing your lips and looking like if he was forcing himself to not press his lips to yours right there and then. Until he did. He captured your lips in a heated and rough kiss, his tongue finding its way into your mouth and tasting the sauce and the sweetness of your plump lips. One of his hands cupped your cheek and the other pulled you closer, forcing your back to press against the counter. Now, you were trapped between his body and the surface.

A moan escaped your throat and Sanji happily swallowed it on the heated make out session you shared. He lifted you up so you were sitting on the empty side of the counter, taking shallow breaths, as he stood between your parted legs, stroking the skin of your thighs without any rush.

"I've noticed you look at my hands so attentively," he mumbled, biting your lower lip softly. You gasped, but he continued. "Why's that?"

His question left you speechless for a moment. Did he really need to ask?

"Sanji, I already licked your finger..."

His palms traced their way under your skirt, and his fingers teased your inner thighs, finding the fabric covering your wet core.

"Well, darling, doesn't that mean we can go further? Deeper?"

"Go ahead then," you mumbled, full of lust. Your skin was aching already for him and this was all you needed to feel complete. Him.

With that, his fingers rubbed you softly over your panties, pressing on the wet patch you were already making. Sanji smirked and he leaned to pay attention to the delicate skin on your neck. His lips pressed soft kisses, leaving a trail of them, until he found the sweet spot that made you melt into his touch, nibbling and sliding his tongue against your neck until he met your collarbone.

"Sanji..." the soft whimper past your lips and you held your breath, eyes closed as he hiked up your uniform skirt and puts aside the panties covering your core from him.

His name falling off your lips made his cock inside his trousers twitch, restraining himself to not fuck you right there in the counter until the only thing that was on your mind was his name and only him. Right now, he decided he would take care of you first. As you deserved it.

"So fucking wet for me, sweetheart," he groaned, forehead pressing against yours.

His fingers found your pussy, spreading your folds softly, coating them with your already dripping juices. Sanji rubbed your clit and he teased your entrance, going at an agonizing rhythm. All you wanted was for him to fuck you with his fingers. Now. You started to grind your hips, needing some more friction, knowing he would get the hint of your despair.

"Please, Sanji," you whined.

Sanji chuckled, and you felt pathetic for begging. You could tell he was enjoying your squirm. His free hand cupped the nape of your neck forcing your dark eyes to look at his own directly.

"Look at me," Sanji ordered. "Do not dare to close your eyes, darling."

You bit your lip and nodded, gripping tightly the edge of the counter.

"Good girl," he whispered with a raspy voice, and with a lustful smile on his lips. "I want to see you come undone."

And with his statement, he eased one digit inside your velvety walls. You moaned louder this time.

"Fuck, you're so ready for me," Sanji growled, noticing how obvious the ache between your thighs was. "You're perfect, darling," he cooed against your lips. His praising caused your walls to clench around him, gaining another dark smile from the blonde man.

The thrusts of his finger started in a delicate pace. Instantly, your eyes clenched, breath hitching, as he filled you up. Sanji gradually increased his pace, curling his finger to reach your deepest spot, and you felt your juices coating your thighs with his moves.

"You look at me, don't forget," Sanji whispered, his other hand now cupping your cheek. You obeyed, opening your eyes for him.

A second finger made its way inside your cunt and he pumped them harder this time. Your legs were spreading wider, moaning against his lips, dying to kiss him one more time. But you tried your hardest to mantain the deep eye contact, realizing where you were right now. In the empty kitchen of the Baratie, with the blonde chef between your legs, fucking you with his pretty fingers. Those he protected and took care of so attentively.

And now, the only place Sanji wanted to have his fingers on was inside of you. You looked flushed, sweaty and simply gorgeous, cyring and whimpering. All for him. Your pussy was throbbing and you let a rather loud and erotic moan.

"Shit, I'm so close," you cried.

"Just come for me, beautiful..."

His lips catching your swollen ones in a heated kiss. He curled up his fingers, thumb rubbing your clit softly. Your hips trying to meet the thrusts of his hand desperately, your smooth walls clenching around his digits. Sanji realized he enjoyed the control and power he had over you as you reached your heavenly climax. He loved it more than he could ever think of.

Your body trembled, and finally, you felt sweet release hitting you, walls spasming in ecstasy around his fingers. Foreheads still touching, eyes locked as he watched you come undone. Exactly like he wanted it to be.

You moaned his name under your breath over and over, filled with pleassure. Sanji felt your thighs closing and your pussy contracting around his digits. He let you catch your breath for a moment, enjoying the heat of your body. For the first time, Sanji then pulled away his forehead, remaining still between your legs, and slowly removing his fingers from your throbbing cunt, eyes looking directly to your wetness.

Still covered with your juices, Sanji used both his hands to spread your folds obscenely to get a better look at your pussyhole. Fuck, you felt so exposed to him, but you couldn't care less. You had a mindblowing orgasm just moments ago.

"Fuck-" you cried.

"So beautiful," he praised. Again, you whimpered and your hips bucked a little.

Sanji pushed a finger slowly inside you, just to gather more of your sweetness, so he could finally have a taste. He licked both fingers he used on you before, humming like he had found the best meal in days.

"So how is it?" you finally asked, teasing him.

"Sweetheart, you're delicious."

You laughed softly, realising you totally forgot about the dish you were preparing that night. "Is this included on your private lessons, Sanji?"

"Only if you want," he leaned down to share a last kiss, this time more gentle than the others.

He already knew your answer.

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s-4pphics · 5 months

Text

click! 2 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a rep, all ocs r black coded, crack, alcohol, arguments, more slut-shaming, bullying, disordered eating, brief mentions of sexual harassment/assault, sex for like a second, failed orgasms, masturbation, slight exhibitionism

one. three. four.

A/N: heyyyyy…. how yall doin🤭🤭 a little something before i go back to work kms

“So, lemme get this straight,” Abby pinches a lollipop stick between her fingers like it’s a blunt, adjusting the invisible glasses on her face, “The psycho just barged in?”

“With all of her shit! Didn’t even bother to say good morning or anything!”

It’s been hours since the squash-loving hermit took refuge in your home, and you’re sizzling with rage as you recall the events from earlier. You clocked out zoomed to Abby’s building in no time.

“Damn… why didn’t you call security… or the landlord? She can’t just move in without signing the contract.”

You pace around Abby’s rug-covered space, “Bitch, I don’t fuck with feds and rent’s due in two days!” You holler, “And she did sign the contract! I haven’t signed it yet because I didn’t know she was gonna show up and act like that. You’re not disrespecting me in my own house.”

Her head shakes, “What’d I tell you? If it were me… we wouldn’t have any problems.”

You point a scolding finger at the smirking blonde girl, “Yes, we fucking would. Don’t start.”

But she presses anyway, “I think we’d be a match made in heaven, actually.” She rises from the couch and hovers over you, the tip of your index connecting with her strong, covered chest. Your glare persists, but there’s warmth pulling in your gut from her scent.

Your skin is flaming; This is why you’ll never be able to have a serious conversation — or anything, for that matter — with Abby. Her raunchy remedies aren’t going to work in this situation; You’re too stressed.

“But anyway,” Her brow arches and she backs off. Slightly. “You’re an adult and main tenant. You gotta handle it soon.” She ponders for a moment, “But to be fair, you texted her first.”

“How many times do I have to say that I was lit as fuck! I don’t even remember— “

Abby’s taunting expression makes you pause, nails digging into the skin of your palms.

“Don’t.”

Your hiss makes her snort, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to. It’s not funny.”

Abby knows you and Dina’s history better than anyone. Knows exactly how you got caught up in “situationship” nonsense, all with liquor and a phone. You can’t fault Abby for recognizing the familiarity, but a burning sting rests in your chest. Embarrassment spreads all over your cheeks, and you announce your departure in a rush.

Her regret is evident in the way she calls out for you, but you’re out the door in seconds, slamming it as hard as the frame can hold.

The winter air hits your eyes first… You try to convince yourself, hastily wiping the wet trails off your face. You’re not fucking crying over Dina. Not again.

You snatch your phone from your pocket to ask Amaya for advice, but your heart swells when you see her messages.

You think back to all the times she’s coddled you through your emotions: she drops everything to tend to your needs, no matter how big or small. Guilt would put you in the ground if she ruins her opportunity for your convenience; You can’t tell her. She deserves to enjoy herself. You match your best friend’s excitement all the way back to your car.

Abby called twice during the drive back home, but you didn’t answer. You know she wasn’t being malicious, but you’re sensitive, especially when it comes to anything related to Dina.

You rip your apartment door open and find Ellie lounging on your fucking couch with Love Island playing from her laptop. And eating peanuts… with Chick-Fil-A ranch?

You slam her device shut, words sharp as nails, “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m telling you right now, you’re not fucking staying here.” You’re shredding through skin with your glare, but she’s not reacting. Just sitting there and crunching, eyes void.

“Don’t even think about unpacking. You’re getting out tonight, I can promise you that.”

“No, I’m not.”

“What.”

She merely shrugs, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What the fuck— “

More cracked shells, more munching; Your eyelid is jerking.

“Rent’s on the counter, by the way.”

You hold back a scoff before marching into the kitchen, eyeing the envelope labeled fake ass mortgage. You hear the contestants from the reality show resume their dialogue, but you’re locked on how thick the letter looks to bother scolding.

It’s torn open… and filled with hundred-dollar bills. Way more than half of rent. Ellie might’ve covered the heat bill for the rest of winter.

“I thought you were a fucking photographer.” The shock in your voice is clear as day, mindlessly returning to the living room.

“I am.” She calls dryly.

“No, you’re not.” You toss the money on the coffee table. “The fuck do you do on the side? Sell drugs to freshmen?”

“Sure.”

When your arms cross over your chest with an accusatory stare, she sighs. “I told you. I take pictures.”

“Of who? The fucking councilman?”

Another shrug. “Whoever asks. It’s how I make money…” A light pause. “At least until I secure this job.”

You squint at her, “I thought you got evicted. You’re clearly fit to pay rent on your own.”

That seems to shake her a little, staring back with hardened eyes, “And who the fuck are you to question me? The reason I’m here is because of you!”

“Exactly! This...” Arms waving around the living room. “…is my fucking space! You’re a straggler at best.”

A weighted huff escapes her before she tosses her snack on the table and stands, leaning over the table.

“You would’ve been in the same position as me if I didn’t show up. No where to fucking go,” She spits. “If you want me gone, fine. But when your landlord comes knocking on your fucking door asking why you’re two weeks late, don’t say shit to me.”

You waver slightly and she notices, smirk darker than her pupils. You’re steaming; Smoke is going to come out of your ears soon.

“The same goes for you. I don’t wanna hear your fucking voice, and don’t touch anything that I paid for,” You command, “Don’t even breathe in my space. Stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine.”

A condescending grin plasters onto her face.

“Where’d you hide that lease?”

Your heart is too weak for hatred… or so you thought.

Abby, Amaya… everyone you’ve fucking talked to about the bitch right across the hall thinks that she’s dangerous and sick and out for blood.

They’re all wrong. It’s you.

Ellie is conjuring up something villainous deep inside you; Her childish antics started off small: bumping against the wall in the middle of the night, leaving her dirty ass shoes out of place by the front door, not laying the rugs that she slipped on flat… Incredibly annoying, but fixable.

You took the time to construct a new roommate agreement that fit your unique situation the morning after your argument. It was sloppily scribbled on a crumpled piece of construction paper, but it was a symbol of peace. You taped it to her door before you left for your shift, only to return and see it ripped up and scattered in front of your door.

It’s been five days since then. Five, and you can already feel a bald spot forming at the back of your skull. To think that Ellie was your first option as a roommate just days ago is laughable now. You know that none of the tricks she’s pulling are accidental. You pride yourself in being observant, and you always catch that prideful look on her face when she nails one of your peeves.

You try to be here when Ellie’s not, but she’s always home when you are. Music blasting in the wee hours of the night knowing you have three upcoming shifts to cover, on the couch rewatching the same episode of Love Island over and over while you make your breakfast, pretending to talk on the phone to friends she doesn’t have as loudly as possible. You’re fucking tired and you’re holding your hand back from slapping her.

But the worst part is that she’s stocked your fridge with fucking squash. Top to bottom in all colors there is. Filled the drawers with one called cucurbita argyrosperma. You were torn between curling in hysterics and beating it over your new roommate's head; The petty side of your brain wishes that you were allergic so you could “accidentally” eat some, die, and get her locked up, but you hushed it. She’s fucking with you, but rent and some bills are paid for the month. What a sick turn of events.

You’re plotting, though. Something’s brewing, and Abby’s helping you. It’s finally Saturday, and college kids are fiending for a rager.

The only quality that you respect about Ellie is that she’s clean. She washes her dishes, does her laundry (separate from yours, thank God), and she’s deep-cleaned the bathroom twice already. Ellie despises large messes more than you, though, since you’re willing to sacrifice your tidy abode to piss her off. Let the ruckus in!

You heard her leave early this morning, and you’ve noticed that when she’s gone, she’s gone, which gives you all the time to plan. You skip to the bathroom like a kid in a candy store, showering, brushing your teeth, doing skincare. You whip up the hardiest breakfast you can before your mall venture with Abby; It’s been days since you’ve last nutted, and you need a new vibrator. And new paintbrushes.

“… Why haven’t you beat her ass again?”

It only took Abby buying food for you to forgive her. You slurp down your strawberry milkshake, “Fear of permanent imprisonment.”

“Does Maya know what’s been going on?” Abby asks, shaking her head.

“Fuck no, and she’s never going to. Have you seen her Snaps?” You whip out your phone and show her Amaya’s stories; She’s exploring and meeting new people. “She’s having a ball! The second I tell her what’s been going on, she’s gonna drop everything and come back. I’m not doing that to her.”

“You’re the only outlet I have, so suck it up and listen to me bitch and moan.” You continue, “Who’s coming tonight?”

She smiles, “As many as I could get.”

“Please tell me Armani’s coming.”

“She is, for sure.”

Your heart flutters. Armani… She’s everything you could ever want and need. She’s kind, smart, drop-dead gorgeous, and she bench presses with Abby on the weekends. She has your clit jumping like a salmon in the freshwater, and you’re going to see her tonight.

You jump awake at your alarm, eyes stinging as you glance at your phone. It’s a little past nine; Pregaming hours.

You throw your lazy body into the shower and conduct your special-occasions ritual, blasting your music as loud as the speaker would allow, scrubbing your body with exfoliant to your heart's content.

You exit, water cascading down your shoulders and back, towel engulfed around your body. You have no idea what to fucking wear; What color does Armani like? Do lesbians qualify for the red nail theory or is that something heteros made up for TikTok followers? What if she doesn’t like eucalyptus scented body wash?

You swallow your doubts with a shot glass.

Outfit prepping takes longer than expected, but you’re dressed, titties are out, and your thoughts are swirling like the liquor in your gut. You should call Amaya and tell her you love her—

Another shot, more dancing. You’re spinning around your small room to the bass of the beat, sloppily pulling every shot that you can, back arching and hips throwing in any direction they can.

The bass sounds louder the more you dance, every thud rattling the poster-covered walls of your room.

It’s not until the bass surpasses the song that you realize it’s not bass at all. It’s knocking… on your bedroom door. You snicker; Abby’s here with your girl.

You don’t know why she’s boxing with your door, though. Beating the shit out of it. When you yank it open, you’re instantly annoyed at who appears behind it.

A… gray sweat clad Ellie propped against the door frame, arms crossed over her chest and red hairs framing her face. You force your eyes upward, right in between hers. The dots on her face look like skittles. Since when does she have a fucking tattoo? Are you hallucinating or is it a fat ass leaf with eyeballs?

You barely registered what she said, “Can you turn that off? It’s almost eleven.”

“Why, absolutely-the-fuck-not.” You slur, and she cringes, nose wrinkling at the scent of liquor on you. “Where’s Abby?”

Ellie’s biceps are… out on the prowl. And the veins in her hands are still there. Just checking. Right between her eyes again.

“Who the hell is that?”

“My bitch.” You chuckle.

Ellie’s eyes widen and you correct yourself.

“N-Not bitch like whore. Bitch like… like, that’s my bitch! She’s great, love her. BFF… not over Amaya, though.”

Ellie’s getting annoyed; Her nose won’t stop twitching. “… Is she coming over?”

“She should be on her way.”

“Is she stupid?”

“What.”

“Is your… bitch stupid?”

“Um, no, she’s not fucking stupid. What the hell are you on.” You snap, offended for your friend.

“Tell her to stay the fuck home before she gets buried.”

… Did Ellie just threaten to kill one of your sneaky-links? Before she gets buried?

“And what the fuck are you gonna do? Just so you know, whatever you do, she’ll double it and send it back! And I’m jumping in, so— “

Your roommate’s gawking in disbelief. “… I meant buried by the snow, you fucking idiot. There’s a blizzard outside.”

You’re flatlining, you can feel it.

“There’s a what.”

“Check the damn news.” She pushes herself off the wall and turns towards her room, “And go to bed. Looks like you need it.”

Her door slams shut. She’s definitely poking fun at your eyebags. You thought you did a good job at concealing them.

A fucking blizzard? December just started. You check your phone, reading the influx of messages from your dad, Amaya, Abby telling you to stay safe and indoors and the party’s cancelled because of the storm and you want to fucking die—

You tear a slit in your blinds and… yup. Pure white is pelting from the dark gray clouds in the sky, the formerly black street painted ivory with ice. Not a car in sight, and if they are, they’re covered entirely.

The harsh reality hasn’t even set in yet. The girl you want to strangle is trapped inside with you; She’s not going anywhere, either. You’re going to be forced to see her everywhere in your two-bedroom apartment. And you’re not having sex tonight.

Plan PISS-ELLIE-OFF was a bust. You’re drunk and hungry—

Your eyes bulge; When was the last time you’ve gone grocery shopping?

You clumsily rush to the kitchen, nearly ripping your fridge door off the handle. When you're met with the pack of cream cheese and mini croissants you bought last week and all of Ellie’s fresh groceries (including squash), you almost start crying. You slept away all your pre-storm chore hours.

Ellie pads in the kitchen with an empty ice cream carton and spoon, headphones blasting in her ears. She doesn’t acknowledge you as she throws away the carton and grabs the unopened bag of salt and vinegar chips. Your mouth waters.

You watch as she rips the bag open, the salty, bitter aroma traveling into your nostrils.

“Ellie.” She can’t hear you over the fuckery penetrating her eardrums!

You tap her shoulder harder than necessary. “Don’t touch me.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THERE WAS A STORM?”

Her veiny hand — fuck — pushes one of her ear cups over to the side, not even bothering to look at you as she fills her bowl to the brim with the crunchy snack; You never noticed how heavily pierced her left ear is.

“Who are you again?”

Alright. Your tongue gets loose, “You know, you don’t have to act like a fucking cunt all the time! I tried to be nice to you and—”

“Yeah, ‘cause shit talking me with your friends is so fucking nice.” She scoffs and turns, pointed glare set on you. Your stomach drops. How the fuck did she know that?

“Drop the fucking act already. You’re also a cunt…” Her eyes drag over your appearance. “Amongst other things, evidently.”

Ellie’s eyes hold so much disdain, and you instantly feel exposed and gross. Your face sears with embarrassment, arms mindlessly crossing over your chest in attempts to cover up.

“… What the fuck does that mean?” You know what she means.

“You think I’m a fucking freak and a loser and a bunch of other shit I’ve been called since forever?” She sneers, “Then you’re a fucking slut. How’s that for nice?”

Your body locks up, freezes, and you fight back vomit. Ellie grabs her bowl and exits the kitchen, door slamming shut, leaving you to simmer in her spite.

You don’t feel hungry anymore.

You didn’t drink enough last night. You’re awake, and you remember everything. And you’re so fucking hungry.

Guilt festers in your chest like rats, and anxiety is building in your fingers. Your head hurts so bad and your mouth is dry, but you refuse to move from under your blankets to get water. You didn’t even have the energy to take your make-up off last night, mascara and small sparkles smeared all over your pillowcase.

You wallow, using the heavy wind outside as stress relief. People really think you’re a whore with no self-respect, even after a year. Your heart’s hitting against your ribcage at an alarming pace. Deep breaths, that’s all you can do.

Tears jerk in your eyes as you recall every unwanted stare, every cat-call, every grope and dirty text message you’ve received from people you both know and don’t. You freeze and… that’s it. You just don’t move and hope they can read that you’re scared.

Does Ellie feel the same way when people talk poorly about her?

Your breathing techniques aren’t working so you sit up, shaking your hands and digging your palms into your wet eyes. You’re suddenly too hot for blankets.

Your clock reads near noon; You’ve been awake for hours. Your feet plant on the cool wood and sigh in relief before standing and snagging your new paint brushes off your dresser.

Your hands tremble as you fill a water cup and grab a black canvas, setting up your workspace on the floor. You squirt hues of blue, green and white on a dried paper plate and let your brush do the work; You’re not thinking, just painting, smudging, trapping yourself in emptiness. The scene you’re creating is drying your tears; You wish you could escape into the grass field, even for a second.

Your water cup is brown by the time you finish; How long have you been sitting here? The needles in your legs tell you long enough. Your vision will have to wait.

You unlock and quietly open the door… It doesn’t matter, though. Ellie’s awake and silently sitting on the couch. You pay her no mind and venture to the fridge for your croissants and cream cheese, throwing your pastries in the microwave.

Eyes are on you. You feel them in your back.

When the microwave dings, you spread cream cheese all over the buttery dough. Ellie’s hoarse voice freezes you. Not again.

“The blizzard… isn’t stopping.”

You finally inspect your roommate: leg bouncing and brows furrowed, nails between her teeth, eyes locked on the window that shows the heavy snowfall.

“Usually how they work.”

Your sarcasm doesn’t move her, “They said it would pass after a couple of hours yesterday! It hasn’t let up yet!”

“Never listen to weathermen. They make shit up as they go.” You keep your voice curt while you make your plate. It looks a hot mess; You wish you had blackberry jam.

“They can’t make shit up when there’s money on the fucking line!” You hear footsteps from behind you; Ellie’s pacing. “I have a client today. Their photos were supposed to go in my portfolio before I submit it!”

Her statement makes you pause. You didn’t think about that; It’s impossible to travel anywhere at the moment. How the fuck are you going to get to work? You can’t afford to miss shifts. It’s almost that time of the month.

“This was one of the biggest bookings I’ve gotten and I’m gonna miss it because of the fucking weather!”

You don’t know why she's talking to you, so you cut the conversation short. “You’ll figure it out.” You enter your room without another word, slamming the door as hard as noise complaints would allow.

After a few minutes, Ellie’s door slams, too.

Hours pass and you’re covered in paint. Your one flower field turned into three, one with detailed butterflies, one with raining rose petals, one with your mother’s name spelled out with clouds.

Your fingers are sore, but you feel lighter. Those croissants wore off a long time ago; You’re starving. What you’d give for grilled eggplant and shrimp with Greek yogurt and lemon juice—

A soft knock lands on your door, and you stiffen. You stand, legs popping and arms stretching over your head as you wobble to your door.

The second it opens, you're hit with the smell of garlic and herbs and your mouth waters. Ellie stands over you, playing with her fingers. You don’t register that you’re missing pants until she gawks at your bare legs; Warmth spreads across your body and you maneuver so she can’t see them behind the door.

A moment of awkward silence before she chokes, “There’s, uh… there’s soup on the stove.” You scoff, ignoring the growling in your stomach.

“I don’t like squash, Ellie.”

The door slams in her face and she sighs behind the wood.

…

Later that night, you sneak into the dark kitchen, the big pot of soup still on the stove. You open the lid and inspect its contents: shredded chicken, carrots, fucking… green leaves of some sort. You grab a spoon and taste it to be safe. It’s good, and there’s no squash in it. You eat two warm bowls.

The storm calms when you wake the next morning. Thank God; You haven’t had coffee in days.

Ellie’s gone for the day, so you blast music while in the shower. You dry and dress in silence, yanking your underwear and jeans up your legs, throwing on a pair of earmuffs over your earphones and a puffer.

You almost slip on the ice from the sidewalk on the way to you and Abby’s coffee shop before heading to class like normal. You go grocery shopping before your first shift.

Work drags on like normal, legs numb from standing and throat dry from sale attempts at checkout. Who the fuck wants to apply for a credit card for a coffee machine website?

It’s not until your shift is on its last limbs that your heart stops in your chest. The bell rings to the hardware store, and you instantly rush to the back to retrieve your other coworker. It’s Dina. What the fuck.

You burst into the break room, “Raja, Raja, I need a favor.”

She slurps her ramen, exclaiming what around her soggy noodles.

You search for any heads and whisper, “There’s someone I used to fuck outside! Can you take care of her, please, I can’t— “

“Okay, okay, damn. I got it— “

The service bell rings, “Go, go! Hurry up!” Your coworker swallows her noodles and plasters her smile on her face. You hide behind the cracked door and listen to everything.

“Hey, ladies! Sorry about the wait!”

“No problem!” Dina’s laugh sends a pain in your chest, “I just needed a new bike lock. Someone tried to steal mine, like, what the fuck.”

There’s an unfamiliar laugh that melds with Dina’s. “No problem! Would you like to sign up for a Coffee Brewers credit card with your purchase? They’ll repair all filter baskets and decanters for 45% off!”

You almost smile; Dina doesn’t drink coffee. Raja checks them out, and you peer out the small opening of the door. Dina and… whoever the fuck that is are snuggled up behind the service counter, her head resting on the random’s shoulder. They’re whispering and laughing and you’re disgusted. And sad.

They depart with a small bag and Raja almost smashes the door into your face.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Mourning.”

“Damn… sorry, man.”

You shrug and thank your coworker before returning to your position. What could’ve been.

It’s late when you get home.

Ellie’s on the couch; You feel her watch as you unlace your boots and unravel your scarf. You set your bag on the floor and grab your Cheesecake Factory brown bread loaf for your grilled PB&J. Ellie clears her throat; You say nothing.

She coughs louder when you butter your bread.

“Are you sick or something?”

Ellie whips her head around, “No, why?”

“You’re coughing like you’re gonna die.”

Your roommate doesn’t reply, so you turn and toast your bread on the stove.

“How was the soup?”

Your eyes bulge, “Huh?”

“Did it taste… like, decent?”

You stare down at your sizzling toast, “I dunno what you mean.”

Voice flat as ever, she says, “The soup… you had some— “

“No, I didn’t— “

“Wha— I know what was in the pot when I ate. You had some—”

You face her, skin boiling, “Okay, and what about it? Yes, I ate some! I would’ve had three bowls instead of two if I wasn’t so fucking tired! It was good as fuck! I slept like a baby!”

She calls your name but you ignore her, “Sorry, I got my disgusting, slutty germs all over your stupid chicken noodle soup! Is that what you wanna hear! What, are whores not allowed food, either?! Why’d you offer it to me then?!”

Another rushed call of your name, but you press on, “Y’know, you’re actually weird as fuck! Who calls someone a filthy, bottom of the barrel gutter rat then offers them soup the next day! What kinda limbo fuckery are you playin’ at— “

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP… BEEP—

You gasp when the fire alarm sounds. When you turn, your toast is charred black and surrounded by dark smoke. You cut the heat off and push the pan over. Ellie’s running with a towelette, waving it around the beeping alarm.

You grab a washcloth and help her, and eventually it cuts off. Ellie rushes over to the front door and switches the ceiling fan on.

Your sandwich is fucking ruined. Great!

You don’t know why you’re sobbing, but it’s loud. You just want to go to fucking bed. Ellie’s just standing there with a towel in hand, fiddling with her earlobe. How embarrassing.

You push yourself off the counter and turn to go to your room, but Ellie calls for you.

“What?! What now, Ellie!”

She cringes, “I— You’re not a… slut?”

Your teary eyes squint at her. “Are you asking me— “

“No! No, I’m… Sorry? You’re not a slut.” This is the weirdest apology you’ve ever received in your entire goddamn life.

“Well, fuck me! Thanks!” You snark between sniffles. You yank your bedroom door open.

“You’re good at painting!” She shouts, and you stop.

For some reason, you sob harder, and she panics, “Uhh… I mean, like, for an amateur! Like, you’re decent enough!”

Now you’re… laughing? You need to sleep now. Ellie chuckles uncomfortably, and you snicker darkly to yourself, “Life is a fucking joke, oh my god.”

Your fingers dig deep into your wet eyes, and Ellie’s sock-covered feet pad closer.

“Look, I’m not… I don't know what to say.”

“Then don’t talk.”

“‘Kay.”

She stands there in silence and watches you wipe your face on your sweater sleeve, mascara smearing all over the fabric.

“Why didn’t you use squash in the soup?”

“Uh… you wouldn’t have eaten it if I did.”

You nod and stare at the wall. “So, what? That was a peace offering?”

Ellie contemplates what she should say.

“Not really… I mean, I was hungry, but I didn’t care if you ate… some of it, if that makes sense.”

It doesn’t. “Whatever, I’m going to bed.” Her lip curls like she wants to add something, but she doesn’t.

“… Alright.”

“Don’t worry about the pan. I’ll get it tomorrow.” And just like that, you shut the door on her again.

You don’t have the energy to shower, so you undress and tuck yourself in. Your room is warmer than usual.

Ellie’s been acting differently since then.

For the past three days, she’s been greeting you whenever you’re in her line of vision. She even mumbled hi before she took her seat in stats yesterday. It’s awkward and stiff, but there’s always a wave somewhere in her movements. You nod back at her every time.

You’re not sure where your relationship lies with your roommate, but it’s not as… bad? Seeing her doesn’t bother you as much as it did; You suppose it’s the same for her, too.

You’re exhausted; Finals are around the corner, and you’re busting your ass. You had to get another job for the holiday season since it’s you and your dad’s first Christmas together since you were little, and you want to get him something nice.

All you need is a good nut and you’re set for the next two weeks. You miss Abby. She’s been just as busy with nonsense as you have, but you found time to see her later tonight.

You’re stuck in the library trying to make the concept of categorical variables stick, but it’s not working. You’re in a block because you’re thinking about Abby. She should be here to pick you up soon.

You slam your book shut when your phone goes off, a message from… Ellie.

You set your phone down with a small smile. What a weirdo.

You force yourself to study for another hour. Heavy hands clamp down on your shoulders and you shriek, other students looking up in confusion, your hand clasping over your mouth.

Abby’s laughing behind you, warm breaths hitting your ear before she kisses your cheek.

“Hi.” She whispers.

“Hi yourself.”

“Pack that shit up.” Abby points at your books and messy stacks of paper. “Let’s roll.”

You don’t hesitate, shoving everything in your bag in anticipation of your nut. Your clit’s cheering; She’s finally happy.

You’re warm, well-fed, and Abby’s drilling the fuck out of you, but you can’t cum.

Your face is shoved into your friend’s pillow; She’s hitting exactly where you need her to, and it feels good. You’re tipping, but you haven’t tipped. You’ve been on the verge of orgasming for the past ten minutes and it’s driving you crazy.

Your voice is barely there, “Just cuuum, just cum, just cum—“ You’re begging… yourself into her pillow.

Abby sounds so sexy behind you; You’re shocked you’re not convulsing at the sound of her voice alone.

After some time, her hips slowed into a stop, tip nudged inside you.

“… You good?” She exhales.

You throw her two thumbs up. You’re not good at all.

Abby snorts and pulls out, gently patting your hip, “Sit up and talk to me.”

Your legs give out from underneath you and you lay flat. Abby hands you a washcloth and you wipe between your legs while she unstraps her dick.

“I think I’m broken.” You muffle into her slobbery pillowcase.

“You’re not broken, you’re just not feeling it. It’s fine.”

She’s too sweet. You want to cry, “I’m sor— “

“Don’t you dare. Finish your Wingstop.”

“Okay.” You grumble.

Abby drops you off after the movie finishes. The red string that connects her clit to yours snaps as you waddle back up to your apartment.

You enter your shared home and you’re instantly freezing; Ellie’s not here. She hates sleeping when it’s cold.

You and your pussy sigh in relief. Just five minutes by yourself; that’s all you need. Your shoes and backpack are thrown to the side in the nick of time, bursting through your bedroom door and rummaging through your drawer. Your cunt screams eureka when your vibrator turns on. You don’t remember charging the son of a bitch!

Your pants and panties are lunged across your bedroom and you leap into bed. Your toy’s buzzing in your hand, and your walls squeeze in anticipation. Foreplay be damned.

Your eyes shut the second the vibrations hit your clit, trying to imagine a sweaty Abby on top of you, fucking you deep, choking you out. Your orgasm is right there, walls desperately trying to milk the brisk air around you. You shove two free fingers inside, and your muscles latch onto them, pulling them in deeper. It’s right there, just a little more.

“Please, please, c’mon, fuck— “

Your pleas go ignored. Your imagination has never failed you, so why can’t you fucking cum?

Desperate sobs combine with your moans, brain filled with Abby, and Dina. Even Armani slips her way in there and you’ve seen her twice in person, but it’s useless. Your peak never comes.

You’re seconds away from shattering your window with your fucking vibrator. You and Ellie can’t afford to get that shit fixed—

Your clit jumps at the brief image of your roommate, pissed off and berating you about breaking a fucking window. You hate that you don’t fight it, the visions of her and her strong arms, her twitchy nose, her dot-covered face. It’s stirring something vicious in your tummy, and you can’t keep your mouth shut.

You see her on top of you instead of Abby, her short hair loosening from her bun and framing her blushing face. Pretty, moss-filled eyes stare back at you, annoyance and bother replaced with something darker. Needier; She wants you to take from her.

“Fuck, fuck, mmh— “

Your hips buck when your positions switch in your mind, a blushing, spent Ellie, reaching for you, pulling you close, begging to touch her.

You’re so loud when your orgasm splits your brain in two, your stress melting away in an instant, nasty, unspoken visuals of your pouty and weird housemate fluttering beneath your eyelids. You ride your high until you can’t, vibrator clattering to the floor, walls flexing around nothing.

You’re so tired that you don’t bother moving. You pull the covers over your trembling form and knock out, not even bothering to turn your shaking toy off as it rattles on the hardwood.

It’ll be dead by the time Ellie comes home. If she does.

…

Ellie lays on her side in her bed, knees pulled to her chest, her tattooed arm wrapped around her tummy and a hand covering her mouth. Her face is burning hot and her stomach is swirling. Whenever she blinks, she can see you, eyes rolled to the back of your head as you surrender to your release.

Her heart is racing and minutes away from crawling up her throat.

She completely forgets to put in that maintenance request for your broken heater; She’s warm enough under the covers for tonight.

A/N: hi again its finna pick up LEMME COOOOOK LEMME COOK

TAGGIES LOVE YALL MMMWAH : @starologist @hrtmal @ohlawdthebirds @villainousbear @timmy-27 @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @shurisbigtoe @emothurman @lonelyfooryouonly @imelliesgf @baumbii @brackishkittie @littletinyladybugs @r1miese @horror-whoree @elsbunny222 @elliesatchel @makemescreamel @lav3nd3rhaze @elliezflower @ellieloml @ellies-princess @saverdelrey @womenofarcane @muthafuckingstargirl @mina-281 @yuckyfucky @aimformyheartt @elstoy @skylerwhitwyo @sawaagyapong @nil-eena @dewylittlestars @sakiigami @feelsoseencantdream @ellieslittlegf

#click! ☾⋆⁺₊📸✧#ellie williams smut #ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x black!reader #black!oc #black!reader #works 𖧧࣪#lesbian

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 3 months

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Imagine Sanji getting told off for the pantry rendezvous with you…

A/n: Part 1 got such love. It was only fair to see the other side.

Also, I read every single one of your tags and comments. I’m slow to reply but I see you x

Zeff had already spoken to you about what had transpired. The next stop was his lovestruck sous-chef who constantly drove him up the Baratie walls.

Sanji couldn’t understand why Zeff kept pulling him away from you. He’d have thought that the man had experienced some form of attachment in his younger days to understand better. But clearly, his shitty restaurant was more important.

Huffing, Sanji wiped his hands on a clean towel and grabbed a tomato from the bowl of vegetables in dire need of prep work. Quietly, he began dicing. His thoughts slowly drifting off to when he stood close to you only moments ago.

Thunk, thunk… thunk.

The unmistakable wooden leg echoed against the kitchen tiles, stopping when they reached his station. Sanji didn’t need to look up - he knew Zeff was at the other end of the counter watching silently.

A few beats passed and even the blonde-cook disliked the lingering audience. “If you’re going to stand there all day, I could use an extra pair of hands.” He said.

“That’s funny because I was thinking of feeding yours to the sharks.” Zeff snapped.

The cook slowed his knife movements and squinted. “That’s a bit extreme.”

“Trust me it’s lenient compared to the other bit I had in mind.”

Picking up a carrot, Sanji shook his head and began chopping. “I’m not sure what you’re upset about, I hardly distracted Y/n enough to slow the line.” He defended preemptively.

Zeff crossed his arms. “I’m not here to talk about your distractions although that’s high on my very long list.” At this point he’d have a full-volumed series.

The blonde-chef had worked his way through at least another two more vegetables and was busy with a cauliflower. He was biting back the urge to tell the old man that he was the one being distracting.

“You use your hands to cook in this kitchen, Little Eggplant. You don’t use them to fool around in the pantry.”

The blade missed the leaf and slammed against the chopping board. Sanji’s reaction was almost the same as yours. Muscles stiff, jaw slack as if he had been confronted with the Lord of the Coast.

How had he found out? Granted that neither of you were completely silent but you had been quiet enough to not cause any stirs from the sleeping crew.

Zeff narrowed his eyes. He could see gears ticking away in the young man’s eyes.

“Apples.” He stated which only confused the poor boy. “They sit in baskets at the top of the shelf except when they’re on the floor.”

Sanji cleared his throat and immediately deflected. “How do you know it wasn’t a drunken Patty stumbling around in there?”

The blue-haired chef was too far away to hear his name be thrown into the mix. A blessing in disguise otherwise Sanji risked a saucepan to the head.

“He’s never been that drunk.” Zeff argued.

“Well, we’re on a floating restaurant.” Sanji tried again. “It’s hardly stable ground so you know, it rocks.”

Zeff was not impressed. He moved around the counter and grabbed Sanji’s tie, pulling him through the bustling kitchen. None of the other cooks seemed to have noticed in the frenzy of the lunch rush.

It wasn’t a far walk and Zeff finally came to a stop at the scene of the crime. He walked Sanji inside the large space of the pantry and then stepped forward, pointing at the base of the metal shelving units.

“Because of your little stunt, the bolts that ground the shelves to the floor need to be repaired - trust me Little Eggplant, the Baratie doesn’t rock that hard.”

A small glaze fell over Sanji’s eyes as his mind recalled exactly why those shelves suffered. He had tried so hard to be gentle but you were far too intoxicating when he-

“Oi!” Zeff snapped his fingers loudly, a scowl on his face. “That wasn’t a cue for you to take a trip memory lane.”

When Sanji refocused and calmed the warm feeling in his chest, he noticed that the shelves were empty. Not an apple basket in sight. An oddity for a restaurant of this scale.

“Uh, where are the supplies?” He asked curiously.

The Head Chef huffed. “I’ve had them moved temporarily to fix the damage you caused. And so place can be thoroughly cleaned.”

He turned away from the boy to examine the framework. In all his years, these shelves had stood their ground. Now, after the romantic antics of two of his best cooks, they needed repairing.

He needed to find solution for the Sanji-Y/n problem otherwise no surface of the Baratie would be safe.

Behind him, Sanji’s eyes brightened as a thought came to mind. “So you’re saying that the space will be unoccupied for a while?”

Zeff nodded with a long sigh. “It’ll be a few weeks at least until-” when he finally caught on to what Sanji was thinking, his eyes almost popped out of his head. Whipping around, Zeff pointed at him sternly. “Don’t be getting any ideas, Little Eggplant!” He shouted. “Hands to yourself or you lose them, am I clear?”

Sanji held his hands up in surrender and said nothing. The moustached man stormed out of the pantry, grumbling about his blonde-haired headache. He had had enough of loved-up cooks for one morning.

As Zeff began barking orders about the kitchen once more, Sanji stayed back in the pantry for a little while longer.

He glanced at the shelves and their askew hinges, letting out a small hum. Pride filled his chest and then burst with a huge surge of love for you. Sanji couldn’t wait until the lunch rush was over to find you once more.

What difference would it make if the repairmen found some broken shelves instead?

Masterlist here (for more One Piece)

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ghouljams · 10 months

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Not to add another au to my pile, but...

You have lived by a very simple rule while on your "last summer" vacation: the best travel recommendations come from dudes that are down bad.

Your tinder has one sentence on it and all your best pics, "in town for the week, looking for fun." So far you've barely had to pay for anything, you've had some of the best food you've ever eaten, gone to the coolest clubs you'd never have found on trip advisor, and gotten laid more than you could've dreamed. At least half of them were pretty good too.

You hover over a profile, over the name "Ghost" and some choice shirtless pics. These types of profiles always go one of two ways: fake or fantastic. You swipe right, if it's fake you'll know quickly. Your phone lights up green. It's a match. Your fingers hesitate before typing out a quick message. He gets to you first.

"Down for some fun this weekend?" You laugh at the eggplant emoji and start typing your response before another message rolls in, "we can walk around/grab drinks before."

You smile a little wider, "what a gentleman."

"Always, gentleman in the streets, wild in the sheets"

"That line work for you?"

"You tell me."

You hate to admit it, but he's funny, and funny works for you. There's something about the way confident guys flirt that really gets you going. Not to mention this sort of confidence tells you the profile is real enough for you to send a loose itinerary of your time in London.

"Drinks on Saturday then," he tells you after a minute. You let your heart flutter a normal amount.

"Where are we going?"

"I'll send you the address, you send me your number."

Alright maybe your heart flutters a little more than normal. You like a man who knows what he wants.

Part 2

#simon ghost riley #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #cod x y/n #cod ghost #ghost mwii #x reader #whats up my lovely party people i am a liter of sangria down and having a blast #conversation is ripped straight from my tinder btw this man is down bad #something about talking to men on a dating app overseas idk what it is #they have great recs #also i thought wouldnt it be funny if goose met ghost while studying abroad #so au of my au but also its own au #now i gotta come up with a new reader nickname #or just stick to pet names

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1d1195 · 4 months

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Dolcezza III

Read the first part here: Dolcezza

Happy 2024 everybody 💕

This is more cuteness imo. A little bit of a sick-fic for those that enjoy that (@tiredinwinter, I'm looking at you 😉) These next two parts are just them learning more about each other and Harry desperately trying to care for her stubborn self. Hope you enjoy 💕

~7.8k words

Be gentle with her. The next message read. There was a pang of sadness that encapsulated his heart and made him wince. As if he would ever—could ever—treat her any way except gentle.

Please. Another ache coursed through him. A plead that no one should ever have to ask for on behalf of anyone.

She walked into the restaurant and noted how busy it was—even for a Friday. But it was odd because there were a lot of empty tables. Not lacking people, but lacking food.

The bar was empty, and she looked around noticing one poor waiter and the hostess running around like there was an earthquake. She frowned and headed to the bar anyway. Normally, she sat by herself and waited until she made eye contact with Harry. Once he made eye contact, he would surely start making food for her. As she approached the bar and took her seat, she realized Harry wasn’t anywhere near the window. It was weird. She knew he liked to get a glimpse of the people in the restaurant and enjoyed getting a view of all the activity. It was never more than five minutes between glimpses, and she would see his excited, smiling face in that space.

But several moments passed before she seriously considered just leaving—it was well beyond the regular five-minute interval. It was weird everything was so out of sorts. There was no bartender, no Harry, and no line of people on the sidewalk despite it being just before the dinner rush. It was obvious something was wrong, and she didn’t want to be in the way if whatever the issue was came from the kitchen.

She slipped her coat off anyway. For a moment she seriously considered just marching herself into the kitchen to see if Harry was alright. Then she realized how ridiculous it was to barge into a place that she did not work at, just to see if the handsome guy that made her eggplant and spaghetti each week was alright. She physically cringed at the idea and shook her head at the thought. How obsessive could she be? Even if Harry was that flirty with her—and would probably do the very same thing, the voice in her head reminded her—it wasn’t her place.

But she was genuinely worried. Usually, the staff had alerted Harry that his Principessa was here. Even though it made her blush and feel silly, she found it utterly sweet. As she tapped her fingers on the bar curiously waiting for way longer than she should have, part of her knew her patience stemmed from wanting to see Harry as much as he probably wanted to see her. It took a lot to admit that to herself as well because she tried not to make it a habit of falling for the first hot guy that literally swept her off her feet.

But she didn’t come in on Wednesday because she was extra busy with work that evening and felt exhausted. She ordered takeout and barely stuck her foot in the restaurant at the time. So other than stolen glances across the restaurant when she left on her errands where she managed to sneak a wave in at Harry across the busy expanse of the cozy restaurant. Harry also may have narrowly missed bumping into her again when he took the trash out last Sunday in hopes of doing just that. Therefore, it had been over a week since she had gotten to really see and chat with Harry as she usually did.

But after another ten minutes of waiting, she decided it was time to just leave. She realized how silly it was for her to be waiting around like that for just a chance of seeing Harry through the kitchen window. Eleanor would be the first one to tell her she should keep waiting. That this was completely normal for her best friend, and she shouldn’t feel guilty about exploring those feelings.

Of course, she chose not to acknowledge why she was feeling that way.

Fortunately, Niall walked by the window at that moment, a hand through his hair as he looked around the kitchen with worry and his gaze swept across the front of the restaurant. He caught her eye as she started to put her jacket back on to leave. “Oh, tesorino,” Niall sighed heavily and shook his head. “M’sorry. There’s no bar tonight,” he said.

She frowned, coming to that conclusion on her own. Maybe she would just order takeout and leave them once more—it would be Wednesday before they knew it and they would probably be back to normal by then. “Oh...that’s alright. I kind of figured. Everything alright?”

He shook his head. “No, honestly. It’s a disaster. Everyone is sick or already had the day off.” he admitted with a shake of his head. He looked distraught and she felt so guilty for even taking the time to chat with him for a moment when he very much looked like he had a hundred other things to attend to. “We think we’re just going to have to close.”

She frowned. “Oh... I’m sorry. Can I help?”

He snorted rubbing the back of his hair with a shake of his head. “Do you have waitressing and/or kitchen experience?” He rolled his eyes feeling hopeless and looking more frustrated by the second.

She smirked and slid out of her jacket once more, slipped it onto the back of the stool again, and hopped down from her seat. She hurried around the bar to the kitchen door and pulled her hair back into a ponytail as she greeted Niall face to face. “Three years in university,” she smiled sweetly.

The worry in Niall’s eyes turned to excitement and he jerked his head toward the rest of the kitchen. “Harry! The answer to our prayers has arrived,” he said with hope in his voice.

“Antonio s’here? He’s magically cured?” He sounded so upset and devoid of emotion.

She giggled. “Um... Not quite,” she answered.

There was a clatter of pans and utensils from behind the shelves and stainless steel dividing the kitchen into sections. Harry leaned down to get a view of the miracle he had been hoping for during the last hour of chaos.

Harry, despite being as worried as Niall was moments ago, took a moment to relieve himself of all stress. The adoration in his eyes made his eyelids droop low over his pupils and he smiled his beautiful, sweet, half smile which made her weak in the knees. “Hi, Principessa.”

Her cheeks warmed as always that beautiful rosy pink and she gave a small, awkward wave. “Hi, Harry.”

“Y’sure y’want t’help with this chaos?”

She nodded. “As long as it’s okay with Antonio and you guys, of course,” she grabbed an apron on the hook by the door and smiled. “Just...give me some orders and I’ll do my very best,” she promised tying the apron behind her back in a knot. She wasn’t wearing the best shoes for waitressing nor cooking but it had to be better than having Dolcezza closing on a Friday night.

Harry returned to his prep work and cooking. “No date y’have t’get to this Friday?” He asked quietly as she washed her hands. “Y’really don’t mind slumming it here?”

“Well,” she cleared her throat, grateful she was facing away from Harry while she cleaned her hands. “I’ve...sort of sworn off dating,” she shrugged. “Least for... for a while.”

He frowned. For obvious reasons, this thought saddened him. “Oh,” he mumbled.

She cleared her throat again and turned back to Harry as he stirred the sauces on the stove to keep them from sticking. Almost simultaneously, he was pulling meat from the oven, and somehow chopping onions without injuring himself and not dropping a bit. Niall had grabbed all the things Harry had dropped and tossed them in the dishwasher.

“Uh...” she felt like she needed to console him. Give him hope. Not that he needed it—honestly, if he asked her out, she was certain she would embarrass herself and say something like this is a dream come true. “It was sort of... Eleanor and I discussed it. Logically,” she shrugged. “My... my ex, kind of...” she shook her head. “I was very oblivious to how I was being treated,” she explained. “I thought I needed a break. Plus... being followed for a while? Eleanor is really weary of any guy in my life and without her around... she thinks I’m too trustworthy and—” Harry was staring. He was watching her so intently as she rambled and wanted to ask a thousand questions, but it took her a moment to notice his movements had paused. “I’m sorry. We have a full restaurant,” she smiled sadly. “I’ll... go make myself useful,” she hurried from the kitchen.

She rested her back on the wall outside the kitchen door and took a deep breath. Looking at the ceiling, she wondered why Harry did that to her. Every time they chatted, she revealed way more than acquaintances should and she couldn’t stop herself from spilling her guts to him.

Again, she ignored the implications as to why that was the case.

She caught sight of the other waiter and host. She told them she was helping, she would do her best, and please be patient. This statement was repeated to each customer she interacted with as well. Somehow, gratefully, only the kindest people were present in the restaurant that crazy night.

“She should work here all the time,” Antonio’s nephew was the other waiter—only in his first year of university and looking at her as if she really was a princess. Harry smirked knowing it was the effect she had on everyone she met.

He was glad he could watch from the window again periodically. Harry admired her gorgeous smile, the way her ponytail bounced with each step, and how the apron sinched at her waist so perfectly. Every smile she gave to each party was kinder than the next. She ensured every table she walked by had everything they needed and kindly thanked them for their patience. She was magical. He could see every man fall in love with her as she spoke. All the women complimented her pretty eye makeup and that she was so sweet to help. Regulars finally got the chance to inquire about her and she was just so very sweet—Dolcezza, had nothing on her. Every child that told her a joke, she giggled her heart out. She appreciated their kind patience and told them she was certain she could find a way to make chocolate milk.

Harry adored her from the kitchen.

Niall told Harry that he thought she was better than all their current waitstaff. Harry also thought she was better at dicing tomatoes than Niall was. Maybe even faster and better at peeling veggies than Harry was. It was truly a miracle having her there. With little staff and weakening morale, she arrived at exactly the right time. She was skillful, that was for sure. Harry was a bit in awe of her fluid movements as if she worked alongside him all these years.

“Do y’like cooking?” He asked as she helped plate the pasta dishes as Harry had shown her before sending them to the correct tables.

“I don’t mind it. I hate dishes. If I could boil water in a paper pot, I would,” she smiled making Harry burst with laughter. Her cheeks warmed at the sweet sound coming from his lips. “It detracts a lot from me wanting to cook.”

He nodded understandingly. “Y’probably don’t have the right pans,” he explained.

She smirked. “I think I’ve tried every kind of pot and pan there is. Nonstick, copper, stainless steel, ceramic. Nothing seems to work. Or I’m probably just not cooking right for it to work.”

He frowned. “Whatever y’do, don’t use the nonstick,” he said seriously. “That stuff can flake off and s’really bad for you.”

“Noted.”

They worked silently side by side. Niall whistled. “We should have Antonio hire her to peel all the veggies,” he said. “We’d take an hour off morning prep.”

She smiled. “I am in charge of all veggies and apple pie on major holidays and birthdays,” she explained. “Squash, potatoes, carrots, apple pie,” she shrugged. “Multiplied by five or six times a year, plus my regular cooking. I do think I’m a professional at peeling.”

Harry was unbelievably impressed with how quickly she did it. Not to toot his own horn, but she wasn’t a professional chef. Her skill was top notch. It was...well, he was already infatuated with her. This shouldn’t have been so surprising.

Harry didn’t think he could possibly fall any deeper or harder for her, but it wasn’t the case. He was mesmerized by her skill, her kindness, her willingness to help.

She pressed a hand on her stomach periodically and winced. After the third time, Harry frowned as he saw the tiniest crinkle in her forehead appear. “Don’t tell me y’catching whatever is going through Antonio’s house,” Harry frowned.

She smirked. “No... um... I did come in for dinner and... I’m,” she let out an awkward chuckle. “Just a little hungry.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” he hurried to the oven and yanked the bread out with the rag he had laying on the counter. Harry nearly pulled the pan out of the oven with his bare hand once he realized the problem. “Principessa,” he said with a frown in his voice. “M’so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I should—”

“Here,” he cut the bread quickly ignoring the warmth. She imagined that would have burned anyone else’s skin. But Harry had told her that he lost most feeling in his fingertips within a year of starting his culinary career.

“Harry, really, I’m—”

“I’m not kidding, kitten. Please,” he said holding the bread out to her. She was about four inches deep in vegetable peels and covered in potato skins and carrot juice, but she didn’t stop peeling. But Harry knew she had a weakness for that garlic bread. “I’ll make y’eggplant as soon as we get a lull,” he promised his eyes so kind and gentle as he brought the bread closer to her lips. Leaving her with no choice, she opened and let Harry feed her while she continued peeling.

It was not the time, but it was like her own version of Lady and the Tramp. It was ridiculously romantic when it shouldn’t have been. It was garlic bread—very nearly the least aphroditic food of them all. His smile took her breath away. She tried not to think about the spaghetti scene from a children’s movie as much as possible because there wasn’t a world in which she was going to kiss Harry around a mouthful of garlic bread.

Even if she really wanted to.

There was never a lull, but they were working very efficiently. With little waitstaff and kitchen staff, and the help of the sweet angel bouncing from job to job as needed—especially when she caught one of the dishes inches from the hard counter after it had been misplaced onto the edge of the expo counter for the next person to check.

Harry was grateful to admire her from up close and was utterly relieved when the doors were finally closed, the last takeout order was handed off to the incoming customer, and the last ticket was completed.

Niall munched on the garlic bread Harry kept making for “everyone” to eat with the intention of making sure that she ate when she had a spare second. “We did it,” he said excitedly.

Harry smirked. “We’re closing the next time Antonio is sick.”

“You always say that,” Niall rolled his eyes.

It was true. Every time Antonio couldn’t make it to work it was a suggestion that was floated. But Harry hated the idea of disappointing his friend. They could handle it—Harry and Niall. This wasn’t the first time. But usually, they had more staff than they did tonight. It was the worst it had ever been, and it was the first time Harry considered truly disappointing Antonio (even if that wasn’t going to happen).

If it weren’t for the sweet, kind girl—

“Where’s Principessa?” Niall asked.

Harry frowned and headed by the window to see where she was. Her jacket was still on the stool at the bar, and he frowned. “Uh... I don’t know.”

“Weird she would just leave without saying goodbye.”

“Umm...she left her jacket—I don’t think—”

After a few moments there was a knock on the closed door and there she stood in the dark, holding two large pizza boxes with a smile. The host let her in, and she thanked him kindly as she headed to the bar to lay out the boxes. Harry smirked.

“I know this is your favorite after shift,” she said flipping the boxes open, filling the restaurant with the scent of pizza.

Harry smiled, feeling his stomach flutter knowing she remembered something he had said in passing. “Aw, Tesorino, you’re incredible,” Niall sighed. “Thank you. We would have been sunk without you tonight.”

She smiled. “I’m happy to help. Sorry I was a little slow with the—”

Everyone simultaneously shushed her making her giggle as she nibbled on her pizza.

Eventually, the three of them were left. Niall headed to the kitchen to start cleaning up. It was Harry’s turn; they both knew it. But now she and Harry were the only ones left, in front of the pizza and...

Well, Niall was the best friend and the best wingman that Harry ever had.

“Thank you, Principessa,” Harry said sincerely.

“It was really nothing. Least I could do after you helped with the move and the furniture—”

“Y’don’t owe me anything, kitten. Would have done that...” he shook his head. “M’jus’... glad I get t’be your friend.”

She smiled. “Well, still. As your friend, I would have done all this for you anyway.”

His heart felt so warm. He didn’t love the concept of friend; but getting a thread of her story earlier that evening, he would take it. If she wasn’t dating, then friendship would be more than enough. Being in her life in any capacity was enough.

“Y’must be the best friend of anyone y’meet,” Harry smirked. “If y’did all that for us,” he shook his head. “If Niall didn’t work here, he would never.”

“I heard that,” he called.

Harry ignored him. She shrugged with a gentle smile. “I like helping.”

“I see that.”

She pressed her lips together. “I have two siblings. Both are...well, they remind me of puppies. They have no idea what they are doing. Honestly, my parents don’t know what they’re doing half the time either. So, I had to do a lot of growing up really fast. It was extremely difficult for me to move out and let them live... without me. They miss me a lot, but part of me thinks they just miss me doing stuff for them. I get messages all day long about the home computer, where did we put the tax information from last year, did we get a gift for our grandma’s birthday, and—”

She stopped abruptly again. Like she realized she was talking and wasn’t supposed to be. Harry frowned waiting for her to continue. She bit into her pizza. Harry thought she would talk again, but she sipped from the glass of water he brought her when she brought the boxes in and made no point of continuing. “Is there more t’that? More y’wanted t’say?”

She shook her head and fibbed. She wanted to tell Harry everything. But it was simply too much. “No, it’s...” she sighed. “I’m just a little...” she trailed off and Harry wanted to know how she would finish that sentence.

“Perfect? Too kind? Unbelievably sweet?” He asked.

The restaurant’s main lights were off, just the glow from the kitchen filled the bar area. The lampposts outside filtered a golden glow across the main room but didn’t reach the far back of the bar. So, Harry couldn’t see the pink color of her cheeks that he loved so much. She released a soft laugh. “Well...no,” she shook her head. “I’m not perfect.”

“Notice y’didn’t say anything ‘bout the kindness or sweetness,” he murmured.

She laughed again. “You’re...” she sighed shaking her head. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“S’nothing I did. Y’were incredible,” he told her. “You... are incredible,” he added. They were silent, staring at each other, the sound of the dishwasher humming along with the sound of Niall spraying pots and pans through the window. Their faces were as close as they had ever been to one another. All she could think about was how her breath had to smell like the pound of garlic bread she had surely eaten tonight on top of the two slices of pizza she had just inhaled. Her feet were aching from not wearing the right shoes and running around the restaurant all evening.

But Harry was saying she was incredible, and she would have glued herself to that barstool if Harry stayed there all night. His gaze dropped to her lips briefly and she wanted to know what he tasted like so very badly. Did he wear chapstick? Did he taste like mint? Maybe not after eating pizza, but she would have tasted his cheesy breath if it meant she could lick into his mouth for a few minutes.

“Did you two fall asleep out there?” Niall called.

She jolted away from Harry, no doubt the color pink he wanted to paint his apartment walls with on her cheeks once more. She released an awkward little laugh and sipped her water again. He was still the best friend he ever had, but Harry was demoting Niall to the worst wingman in the history of the world.

Effective immediately.

Harry was slowly losing his mind. If he didn’t see her soon, he was going to go certifiably insane. He brought trash out the back-alley way more often—Niall swore he took an empty bag on one of his trips out back. He went to the front of the restaurant way more than he needed to only to see her car untouched and unmoved. He prayed Amazon delivered a box to outside her entryway, so he had an excuse to run it up the steps to her door.

Yes, he wanted to see her. Yes, he was a little... too in love with her for his own good; so quickly and wholly. But really, truly, he just wanted to know she was okay. The thought of someone following her hadn’t really left his mind since Eleanor told him. El was so clearly worried about her friend that anytime he didn’t see her for longer than a day, he thought something went wrong.

He should have just headed up on his own to see she was okay. He should have gotten her number. Honestly, he thought about messaging her through Instagram or finding Eleanor just to keep his distance without seeming obsessive himself. Some of his actions could be considered creepy in the right light. But Harry believed he was different.

But when he did see her, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t being crazy. He would ask her outright if he was bothering her or making her uncomfortable. It was the last thing he wanted. She was wonderful and it would definitely break his heart, but he didn’t want her to think he was just as bad as the creepy person following her.

Part of him thought he was overthinking. They were friends. She said so herself. Eleanor was an excellent judge of character, too. Surely, she would let her know that Harry wasn’t acting normally. While Harry stirred the soup pot and chopped veggies, he thought of all things that were angelically her. His mind wandering to their almost-kiss and how she was always half opening up to him.

“Oh no!” Niall practically sang, interrupting Harry’s thoughts of soft lips and pink cheeks. Harry shook his head of his daydreaming and looked toward him briefly to see what the issue was that had him frowning. He assumed it was just Niall’s normal dramatics. They were out of fresh parsley, or his favorite knife was dull. But right as he glanced away, he saw Niall’s lips pull into a smirk. His eyes danced with delight as he hurried over to Harry. He didn’t have a choice but to look at him as he turned from his current duties to twist fettucine onto the dish with the carving fork. He glanced at Niall unsurely. Like he somehow knew he wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “Our sweet Principessa is sick!” He said holding the order slip and waving it in the air like a little flag.

Harry felt a pang of worry course through him like he was the one who felt sick. It made his stomach churn at the thought she wasn’t doing well. Not seeing her since Sunday, when she asked for soup and quietly retreated to her place without so much as a wave of hello.

Harry should have known she wasn’t feeling well. It seemed so obvious now, and he wished he had thought of it sooner. “Give m’that,” he grumbled snagging it from his friend. He placed the fork on the counter and stepped away from Niall’s taunting laughter. Harry read the slip seeing her standard meal along with a paragraph of special instructions.

It’s me upstairs. I’m sick. Can you please bring me the AMAZING minestrone soup? I don’t want pasta but my head hurts. I couldn’t figure out where the soup was without getting the pasta. Garlic bread if you can. It’s my favorite :( Just leave it outside the door. I don’t want to get anyone sick.

Harry thought he was going to be sick just reading it. The poor angel. “Antonio,” he said showing him the slip after reading it twice. Her little frowny face was breaking his heart. “Do you have the key?”

“Harry,” he shook his head with an eye roll. “I’m not letting you into her apartment.”

“I jus’ want t’help her,” he frowned as he voiced his protest.

“If she wants help, she’ll ask,” he said.

But Harry knew that was exactly what wouldn’t happen. He could feel the frown deepening on his face as he started preparing extra soup for her and making fresh garlic bread.

Finally, after several moments of brainstorming, he called Mitch. “D’you happen t’have Eleanor’s number?” He asked his phone while putting the pasta that she didn’t even want into a container anyway. She could eat it when she felt better. He thought asking for her number would follow his thought process of borderline creepy. Eleanor was a good middle step.

“Uh... Yeah... everything alright?”

“Yeah, uh... her friend who lives upstairs... she’s sick,” Harry really didn’t want to explain all the nitty gritty details to Mitch. Not right now. Maybe when they had time to sit and talk about the angel he found to rent above his place of work. He wanted to take care of the pretty, sweet, ill love that was, apparently, in agony upstairs. “Can y’send it t’me, please?”

Within seconds he had Eleanor’s contact info. He hung up on Mitch and hoped that Eleanor would answer on a Friday night. “Hello, this is Eleanor,” she said curiously into the phone. Harry should have given his number to her when she visited a few weeks ago—especially after her request to keep an eye on her best friend for emergencies.

“Hi, Eleanor, s’Harry. Got y’number from Mitch.”

“Oh! Hi Harry! I should have given you my number myself. Is everything alright?” Her voice sounded a little strained and Harry felt bad for worrying her immediately.

“Oh, um... Yeah... nothing... nothing too serious. S’jus’ she put an order in here at the restaurant. Sounds like she’s really under the weather. Can hardly lift her head. D’you think it would be alright t’let myself t’make sure she’s alright? Don’t want t’overstep... y’know her best.”

“Oh Harry, please, please, please do that,” she said excitedly, without hesitation. The relief flooded Harry. He couldn’t be creepy when she so readily offered him to head up to her place. “I didn’t know she wasn’t feeling well... she was editing an article for me earlier,” there was frown in her voice. “I’m going to kill her when she’s better.”

Harry chuckled. “Are y’sure she won’t mind?”

“No... not... you’re fine,” Eleanor sounded very sure. “I swear to God I could strangle her family, her ex-boyfriend, and every friend she’s ever had. She is such a giver and it’s not even her fault,” Eleanor sounded so grumpy. Harry was glad she had Eleanor. More than glad. But it had to be hard to be away from her. “Will you tell me if she needs anything? I’ll have Louis bring it over.”

“Er... I can keep an eye on her... if y’want. M’right here, y’know.”

“Oh, but Harry you’re working,” she said. “I would be... I wouldn’t be her best friend if I didn’t say she wouldn’t want to bother you.”

Clearly, his adoration for the pretty girl wasn’t as obvious to her best friend as he hoped it was. “S’okay. Er... I would prefer I help her... s’not a bother either,” he assured her. “M’worried ‘bout her.”

She made a clucking noise. “Aw,” he could hear the slight hesitation in her nonresponse. They passed the dinner rush as it was nearly nine at night. Now it was the late-night dinners and after dinner drinks and apps crowd that was heading to the restaurant. Niall and company could handle whatever was thrown their way. Plus, Antonio would be there for at least another hour. It would be easy for him to head upstairs. Part of him wondered if she had possibly waited till this time because maybe she knew that Harry would be willing to come deliver her food. “El, her food is going t’be another minute. Could y’call her...? Then, text me if she would really hate it,” he suggested.

“Okay, that’s a good idea,” she sounded surer about the plan he outlined. Eleanor released a deep sigh. “Harry... If I didn’t think she would bite my head off, I would tell you to barge in. I want you to know that.”

He smiled, relief filling him. He didn’t want to come off as creepy by any means. He adored the pretty girl that he ran into each day. All he wanted was to help take care of her. “Thanks, El.”

Harry was packaging all her food carefully in a bag. Waited a few extra minutes, minding some of the appetizer orders while he gazed at his phone with anxiety coursing through him. He would have to have Niall deliver it if Eleanor told him not to go in. The thought of his poor Principessa sad, sick, and in pain had him feeling nearly as terrible as he imagined how she felt. If he couldn’t help, he would just feel worse and wouldn’t be able to leave outside her door without so much as making sure she was alright.

Please, see yourself in. She said the door is unlocked... don’t ask me why. That makes me so stressed out. It took some convincing that you weren’t bothered. So maybe remind her of that. His phone read. He sighed with relief.

Thank you, Eleanor xxx

Harry...

The typing dots disappeared and then reappeared. Harry watched anxiously once more. It felt like he was about to be in trouble, which made no sense, but this was her best friend. She had to like him or there was no future that he could possibly think about.

Be gentle with her. The next message read. There was a pang of sadness that encapsulated his heart and made him wince. As if he would ever—could ever—treat her any way except gentle.

Please. Another ache coursed through him. A plead that no one should ever have to ask for on behalf of anyone.

She’s my best friend in the whole world and no one treats her the way she deserves.

Harry felt his heart swell and ache with the need to wrap her in a blanket and protect her from everyone and everything.

I will, Eleanor. I promise.

He really hoped Eleanor knew how much he meant it.

Harry gave a wave to Niall and Antonio and headed around the corner to the entryway on the side of the building. It took every bit of restraint in Harry to walk slowly up the steps so as not to spill her soup. All he wanted was to teleport to the top.

If she was up to snuff, maybe she would have heard the creak of the floorboard outside her place. Maybe she did hear but was too weak to acknowledge it. But Harry knocked, and waited a minute just in case she was well enough to answer the door. After no response, he cracked the door open. “Principessa?” He called gently. There was hardly any sound coming from inside...just the hum of the heating ducts. He had been in her apartment several times to help with anchoring her furniture and with Leo, but this seemed personal and as much as he wanted to burst in there and scoop her in his arms, he really did wish she could invite him in herself. “Kitten, angel? M’gonna come in. Brought y’soup and garlic bread,” he spoke softly in case she could hear him. The last thing her aching head needed was someone shouting. He closed the door with a soft click.

“Hmm...” she hummed. Harry realized the lump on the sofa was hers and not a pile of blankets and pillows. “Harry?” She asked. Her voice could hardly get his name out. Harry frowned.

“Hey Principessa,” he cooed and put the food on her coffee table. He crouched in front of her and pulled the blanket carefully away from her face. Her hair covered her eyes and cheeks like a cobweb. She was adorable, even if she wasn’t feeling well. Harry gently pushed her hair away from her eyes so he could see her. However, her eyes remained shut. “Heard y’weren’t feeling well,” his face was pinched in concern. A pucker between his brows, lips pursed as he scanned her.

“Mm...” she answered with a grunt in response.

“Let’s get some food in you, yeah?” His voice was gentle. “Can I help y’sit up?”

The blankets around her were radiating heat. It might be hotter than the soup he brought. The poor thing. She was in a T-shirt and pair of joggers. “M’cold,” she whispered, her throat sounded scratchy.

His frown deepened. “M’sorry, Principessa. Have y’had some medicine?” He asked pressing his hand against her forehead not liking the heat that came off her skin.

She shook her head just once. “I don’t have any... I gave it to someone at work. Their kid was sick,” she explained. “She’s a single mom—”

“I get it,” he didn’t want her to talk longer than she needed. The story wrote itself. She was too kind and generous for her own good.

“I guess m’too sick to get any,” she frowned her eyes welling with tears. “M’head really hurts,” she whispered.

“Oh, kitten,” he pouted. “Why didn’t y’call me?”

“S’just a bad cold. I didn’t want to bother any—”

He sighed in frustration. He closed his eyes and nodded. “Okay, okay,” he whispered, running his hand down his face. He would complain to her about that at another time. When she was able to comprehend that she wasn’t a bother. That he would have dropped everything to help her. “M’gonna go get y’some at the store—”

“Please don’t leave,” she sniffled, her hands gripping his forearm. Harry turned to look at her as she rubbed her thumb on his skin almost unknowingly. The tears clung to her lower lash line, and they wobbled as she sniffed. If she cried, Harry would be done for.

Well, there was no way he could dream of leaving her side, now.

But he was worried about her head and her throat. He didn’t want her to get worse—especially if it wasn’t just a cold and they would need to get medical attention at some point. He would gladly carry her down the steps, but he imagined it would be hard to carry Leo up and down the steps—a full grown person would prove a lot more difficult. He removed her hands from his arm so he could cup her face and brush his thumbs below her eyes to get rid of the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks. Her skin was warm, but he noticed she leaned into his hold ever so slightly. His heart pounded with how much adoration he had for her. Sick and all. “Principessa, we gotta get y’some medicine,” he reminded her—even if he didn’t want to leave, medicine was going to be needed for her to get better from the look of her. She shook her head.

“Don’t leave me,” she repeated with another sniffle nearly severing his heart in half. “Please,” the quiet sound of her begging nearly broke his heart. Poor thing. Harry could feel his resolve crumbling from her distress.

“Okay, kitten. Okay,” he sighed rubbing his forehead trying to think of something else. “Let’s get some soup in you,” he sat beside her upright figure. She closed her eyes and sighed with relief that Harry wasn’t going to leave. He frowned at how vulnerable she seemed. But worse how much he liked it. The sweet girl was never like this with Harry. It was nice to see her just giving in to how she felt.

Harry pulled the lid from the container of soup. The steam coming off it was just what her sore throat and achy body needed, he was sure of it. He let the soup cool down for a moment on the table while he wrapped a blanket around her shivering frame. She seemed so fragile.

“I don’t feel good,” she reminded him, as if he could forget.

“I know, Principessa. M’sorry,” he grabbed his phone to text Eleanor between bites that it would be really helpful if Louis should come by and bring her some medicine.

He’ll be by in twenty. Eleanor’s response was immediate.

Harry grabbed the soup and blew on the spoonful he scooped up before bringing the spoon and container toward her to prevent a spill. “Here y’go, kitten,” he murmured. She opened her mouth and didn’t even mind when it burned her tongue ever so slightly.

The warmth felt so good on her sore throat and felt like it was healing her achy body. “Never been this sick,” she told him sadly. “I usually can keep doing—”

“Jus’ relax, Principessa. M’here,” he interrupted giving her another spoonful of soup. “S’okay t’need someone,” he reminded her. “S’okay t’ask...me if y’need help. I’d... do anything for you.”

It wasn’t fair that someone like Harry was so pretty, so nice.

She wasn’t sure she knew how to be taken care of; the fact Harry was literally spoon-feeding her soup nearly hurt her chest and made her feel like such a burden. Harry was missing work to tend to her. It was just a bad cold. She could handle it.

Maybe if she had medicine she could. But she felt useless right now.

If she could let her guard down to even herself, she might have been able to admit that Harry taking care of her felt... so good. He was so gentle with her and kept feeding her soup with the softest of smiles. His eyes were so kind, and it felt like he was feeding her a spoonful of sweetness directly from his heart each time he placed the mouthful on her tongue.

“I don’t even think my mom ever did this for me,” she murmured. Harry frowned, taking away the gentleness that she was so enamored with the moment she saw it. She wanted it back. “Thank you,” she whispered hurriedly. He smiled again, making her feel better about the moment she just ruined. “It’s really nice, Harry,” she whispered. He put the soup aside and trailed his fingers through her hair. He took the hair tie off her wrist and carefully pulled it back to it was out of her face allowing some air to touch the back of her head. “I know this isn’t my best look,” she managed.

He rolled his eyes with a chuckle. “Still think y’beautiful,” he mumbled smoothing her hair down in its ponytail. He grabbed the soup again and brought another spoonful to her lips.

“Think you need your eyes checked,” she murmured.

He smiled and shook his head. “M’gonna crack this shell of yours, Principessa. S’all I can think ‘bout.”

“Cracking my shell?”

“No. Jus’ you.”

She sighed. She knew her face was blushing, but it was probably impossible to tell with the warmth in her cheeks from her illness. She nuzzled into her blanket more.

She was vaguely aware of a knock on her door, Louis appeared with a smirk and dropped a bag of medicine on the coffee table. Harry headed to her kitchen, placed the other container of soup, pasta, and such into her fridge. Louis sat on her coffee table and chatted with her. “Y’okay, love?” He asked.

She nodded. “Thank you. Sorry I bother—”

“Stop,” he shook his head, and his voice was so much firmer than Eleanor’s. It actually stopped her sentence. Harry would have to remember that for later. “I wish you told me earlier,” he leaned over pressing a kiss the top of her head. Harry was immensely jealous but tried to brush that feeling away because he was merely her friend and he had pecked her cheek the other week without so much as asking. “Only have a few more weeks of taking care of you, you know,” he reminded her.

She frowned. Eleanor and Louis would be in their new town. Maybe she should have just moved with them. “Yeah...”

“I’ll have to pass my duties off to Harry,” he winked in Harry’s direction. Harry smiled.

“Mmm...” she hummed. That was a good point. If she moved, there would be no Harry. Maybe ignorance was bliss, but she thought she would miss knowing someone like him.

He brought a glass of water back to her and read the description of the five different medicines Louis had laid out on the table, finding which one would be most suitable for her right now. “Jus’ gonna use the restroom,” Harry said quietly and left the pair for a moment.

“You like him?” Louis asked her quietly.

She nodded. “A lot,” she admitted.

“He’s nice,” Louis nodded in agreement. “El likes him a lot,” he smiled.

Her head was still aching, and she really didn’t have much mental capacity to talk about how much she liked Harry. But even though she felt utterly sick and looked pretty uncomfortable, Louis could see how much she liked him. She shrugged. “I don’t... I don’t know, Lou.”

He shrugged. “Just get better first,” he winked. “I’m going to see myself out. Feel better. And seriously, let me know if you need something else,” he looked at her pointedly. “You’re not a bother,” his tone was heavy, and she felt herself blushing.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank Harry,” he winked again as he closed the door behind him.

Harry returned within seconds after Louis’ departure. He sat beside her again. “Y’okay, Principessa?”

“M’sorry for bother—”

He cupped her face again and gazed at her tired, sickly written eyes. Her voice died in her throat. “You,” his voice was so quiet, so soft, “could never bother me, Principessa,” he whispered. She felt like her achy body had turned to mush. It should have been illegal for someone to look at her like that, to make her feel like this. Especially while she was sick. “Okay?” He asked.

It still didn’t feel okay, and she was a bit delirious from her aching head and achy body. But she nodded once and swallowed trying not to let the emotion bubble too far out of her chest. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“I really like you, kitten,” he skimmed his thumbs across her cheeks in unison. She felt so delicate. Harry was treating her like she was glass. She had never felt like this. She was obviously sick, and she was sickly in love with Harry too. She didn’t want to do this right now when she wasn’t feeling well. Her mouth frozen and voice unable to speak. Poor Harry mistook her silence for unreciprocated feelings. “M’sorry, I know y’not feeling well,” he dropped his hands from her face. “Shouldn’t do this right now,” he chuckled awkwardly.

Her face felt cold without his hands caressing her cheeks and she missed it. Even though she knew she shouldn’t really feel that way. She frowned and looked at him as he sat back on her couch stiffly. She felt horrible, he felt rejected. Like it was possible to reject someone as kind as Harry. She pulled a pillow from behind her and dropped it on his lap. Her head followed the pillow, and she curled up half on the couch, half over his thigh. She faced his stomach, covered with a shirt that smelled like garlic and tomato sauce. There were specks of flour from fresh pasta. She could tell he didn’t know what to do with his hands, they hovered by his sides trying not to touch her.

“I-I really like you too, Harry,” she whispered softly.

He sighed with relief making her smile. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah,” one hand landed on her hip and the other stroked a space of her hair against her scalp. It felt magical and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was sick and felt sad or if she would have felt this way if Harry was here while she was well and touched her anyway. Harry brought her blanket back on top of her, making her feel suddenly exhausted from being awake for the last hour. “M’sleepy,” she mumbled.

“Go t’sleep, Principessa,” he hummed gently.

“You can turn on the TV or move me if you get bored and need to leave or som—”

“Go t’sleep, kitten,” he repeated ignoring her completely and cutting her off entirely. She closed her tired eyes and within moments she was out cold. Harry still touching her hair.

Reaching right into her chest for heart and touching her there too.

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#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #dolcezza

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the-re-farmer · 2 years

Text

My morning buddy, and our 2022 garden: eggplants and slow going

I had such a slow start to the day today. Not a lot of sleep, and when I tried getting up this morning, I lost my balance and almost fell. My husband was up and I ended up asking him to take care of feeding the cats this morning so I could lie down again. Considering it’s because of his own pain levels that he’s up (or not) at odd hours, it takes a lot before I ask him to take over like that. I…

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#2022 garden #Critters #garden plans #growing food #kittens #Little Finger eggplant #low raised beds #outside cats #planning ahead #postaday #preparing garden beds

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short-black-diamond · 8 months

Note

loved the sae and kaiser scenario about the reader getting hit on please may i request: barou rin and karasu for the next one (female reader)

THANK YOU

yessss let's do this! Also thank you for putting in the gender my love. Also how were you able to put in three of my favourite characters?? Like are you a mind reader or???

Warnings: Barou's is a lil suggestive and I'm surprised by that myself, Rin's a lil angsty but just a tiny bit, Also Karasu is jelly and protects you

---

"You belong to me." ...part two

part one

Barou:

He can't believe it actually happened while he was there. The fucking audacity the guy had to approach you, his beautiful, gorgeous and perfect queen, and that on a saturday morning?

You guys were about to go on a camping trip and wanted to buy a few things on the way, but that also included food because Barou wanted to eat something fresh and healthy.

And it also just so happened that you were looking at eggplants, thinking that they'd go well with tomatoes, shicken breasts, and beef.

That guy approached you then and smirked at you. "You comparing them, sweetheart?", he asked, and Barou had tickmarks appearing on his skin. but you just said yes. "Also don't call me that, I am-"

"You know? None of these can please you like I can.", the guy then declared with a seductive smirk. You cringed before you pointed to Barou.

"I don't need yours or any of these eggplants when I have my boyfriend right here. And also,", you added, "my boyfriend has the biggest cock in here, so shut it and fuck off, you donkey."

The guy scoffed in annoyance before scrolling away. Barou huffed proudly when you told the guy off and called him a donkey. However, he was still mad at the fact that a peasant dared to approach his queen.

"What does that guy even think...!", he growled, wanting to teach him a lesson, but you just grabbed his arm. "C'mon my love, he's gone, and I don't really like eggplants anymore. Let's go to the herbs isle."

Barou nodded at you before he smirked. "I've got the biggest cock you said?", he quoted slightly, and you blushed. "I-I've tried to defend myself, you know?!"

"So the first thing you think of me is my dick?", he asked in a low chuckle. You shook your head as you two went to the other isle while you tried to explain yourself.

Rin:

You two were on an appointment because you had to get you new vitamins and you needed a receipt. Rin waited in the waiting room for you as he looked through his phone.

When you came out of the doctor's room, Rin stood up and followed you to the receptionist. A handsome guy was sitting there, and he looked at you with a blush.

Rin noticed that, but wanted to see how you'd react. He stood there with a little space, making himself nearly invisible as he stood right behind you so neither you nor the guy behind the counter could see you.

"Say, are you single?", the guy asked with a polite smile. You frowned at him before you turned to the waiting room. 'Did Rin go..?', you thought before you answered. "No, I'm in a happy relationship."

The guy pouted cutely. You'd for sure give him a chance if you weren't already together with Rin, and he was the best option to have.

"Really? Huh, you're a really pretty woman, and I didn't see a ring on your finger, that's why-", and he stopped talking when you pulled at your necklace. A ring was attached to it.

Rin blushed heavily and played with the thought of spawning right up next to you to declare that he was your lover.

"Is this proof enough?", you asked. "If yes, then can I have my receipt? I'd like to leave now."

The guy blushed again, but this time in embarassment before quickly arranging your papers and giving you the receipt before apologizing with a red face.

You shook your head. "It's alright. Have a good day!", and with that, you went out. Then you called Rin.

"Rin? Where are you?", you asked, looking around. You were sad at the fact that he "left". But, you heard his voice from your other ear, not the one which was pressed against your phone.

"Right here.", he answered softly before hugging you. You huffed. "Where were you? I just got hit on!"

"I was behind you the whole time...I wanted to see how you'd react...and w-well, you did just fine..", he mumbled as he buried his face in your neck, blushing furiously at the memory of two minutes where you conversed with the guy and proudly showed of your promise ring which Rin gave you.

"Of course. There's no one else besides you who I love, Rin.", you answered honestly before you kissed the side of his face.

"Wanna go to the apotheke with me?", you asked with a smile, and this time, Rin took your hand instead of staying behind you.

Karasu:

You guys were at the beach, along with his teammates. Karasu introduced himself as you best friend (ouch), because he wanted to keep your guys' relationship a secret from his friends, for they would tease him relentlessly.

But, he also took the risk of having to watch you get hit on by Otoya and Oliver, who both tried to seduce you by standing on either side of you.

"Say, sweets,", Otoya started, looking at you with a smirk. "Are you really single?", he asked as he ogled at your body. You felt uncomfortable.

"I..", you started before Oliver cut you off, daring to touch you. His hand went up to your waist as he pulled you closer to himself, creating some distance between you and Otoya.

"Seriously? Asking if she's single right away? Bad move, Otoya.", Oliver remarked before he looked at you with a reassuring smile. "Please don't mind him, he's just a pervert."

You felt even more uncomfortable, but before you knew it, Karasu's arms slung around you as he stood behind you. You looked up with a blush.

"Let me correct myself,", Karasu seethed as he glared at the two cheaters/fuckboys. "____ is my girlfriend.", he delared, and you blushed with a smile.

Oliver and Otoya only looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Damn, I wanted to suggest for me and ____ to go to a secured place and-" "Not happening."

"Heh, I would suggest a threesome-" "Nuh-uh!"

---

Bwahahaahaahah why is my mind so dirty...

#karasu tabito #karasu x you #karasu #karasu x female reader #karasu x reader #barou fluff #barou shouei #barou x reader #bllk barou #blue lock barou #rin x reader #rin itoshi fluff #rin itoshi #kaiser fluff #michael kaiser x you #bllk kaiser #kaiser x reader #blue lock kaiser #blue lock x reader

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h4tchner · 11 months

Text

Aaron Hotchner x Reader: cooking lesson took a turn

Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

summary: Rossi is giving cooking lessons at his home again. During the session you accidentally cut your finger. Aaron helps you out in the bathroom and what starts as a sweet caring moments turns into a heated encounter.

You’ve spend enough time at the BAU now to really feel a part of the team. They had a hard time with a new face like they always had, but luckily you were out of that awkward stage now. They even invited you over to have drinks or dinner. However that night they had something else. Rossi was giving cooking lessons. Apparently he’d done it before and the team had enjoyed it.

You were never the best in the kitchen. Even though, you were good with a gun and great in hand to hand combat, you were still clumsy in the kitchen. It was pathetic and you were a little ashamed of it. It made you nervous for Rossi’s cooking lesson.

When you arrived at his house everyone was already there. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes fell on Hotch. He was dressed in a blue polo shirt and jeans. It really was nothing special, but you never saw him in anything other than a suit. A suit looked great on him, but this... The shirt sat snug around his shoulders and biceps, making it hard for you to drag your gaze away.

You greeted every one and took a seat next to your boss at the kitchen island. Rossi shoved a cutting board and some vegetables over to you and Hotch.

“I want nice, thin slice,” he said and Hotch laughed and shrugged as he took two knifes. He handed one to you and you took it hesitantly. It wasn’t like you couldn’t be trusted with a knife. That wasn’t the case at all. It was just that you’d cut yourself enough times to know that it wasn’t a rare occurrence and you absolutely didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your boss and team that only recently accepted you as one of their own.

“You do know how to use a knife, don’t you?” Hotch said in his incredibly dry voice. A small smile was playing on his lips. One of those smiles that made your stomach make a deep dive. You rolled your eyes playfully at him and grabbed an eggplant. You slowly started cutting it up in thin slices, just how Rossi requested. It all went fine and your heart rate calmed down a bit.

You listened to the banter of your colleagues, laughing when Spencer said something unexpected or when Garcia said something so out of pocket. You were very aware of your boss sitting closely next to you. Almost touching elbows at times. Since his arms were bare and yours were too, you could feel the heat radiating from him. He put his knife down and reached across you, his shoulder grazing yours.

The touch caught you off guard and the knife slipped into your finger. A sharp pain shot through your finger.

“Ouch,” you said and stuck your bleeding finger into your mouth. Hotch pulled back and looked at you, his eyebrows up in concern.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I accidentally cut myself. It’s fine actually. Doesn’t hurt,” You rambled, only embarrassing yourself more. He gently took your wrist and pulled your hand away from your lips, looking down at the bloody finger.

“Dave, where do you keep the band aids?” he asked looking up.

“Bathroom,” Rossi said. Hotch got up, still holding your wrist. You followed him to the bathroom where he finally let go of your hand. The door fell closed behind you two.

“Clean it,” he ordered, so you did. You took some toilet paper and turned the sink on, holding your finger under the cold water. Hotch was looking through the cabinets for band aids. When he finally found a box, you were drying your finger with the toilet paper.

He took your wrist again, bringing it close to his face to see how deep it was. Blood was welling up again, but it didn’t hurt as much any more. However, you didn’t know if it actually hurt less or if all your attention was focused on how his large hand was wrapped around your wrist. He let go of your wrist to use both hands to wrap your finger with the band aid.

“Are you alright?” He asked. You laughed.

“It’s just a cut, Aaron.” Shit. You used his first name. He’s your boss, using his first name was way too informal. If he cared he didn’t show it.

“I can’t help but feel I’m responsible for this.”

“What it’s not your fault,” you said, actually surprised he thought it was.

“You cut yourself when I bumped into you.”

“You barely touched me. I’m just clumsy.”

“There are a lot of thing I could call you but clumsy isn’t one of them.”

“What kind of things?” You twinkled your eyes up at him, a grin on your face. He smiled one of those open mouthed ones and looked away from you. You got him. “Come on, don’t get shy on me now,” you teased. He looked back at you. His eyes slipped to your lips for just a moment. You couldn’t tell how much time went by between that moment and the next.

His lips crashed onto yours, not hard, but you still had to take a moment to steady yourself by grabbing his waist. One of his large hands went into your hair, the other to your neck, holding you close. You broke away for only half a second to catch your breath before going in again. His lips pressed yours apart and you let his tongue slip over your teeth as you let out a small groan. He tasted of red wine and something sweet.

You pushed the length of your body against his, running your hands up over his chest to his shoulders, neck, cupping his face. You felt him grow against you and you pushed harder against him, showing him you desperately want him. He groaned very softly against your lips as you teasingly moved your hips against him.

You slid your hands back down to his belt, hooking your fingers behind the waistband of his jeans, searching for the waistband of his boxers. You pushed his shirt up, your fingers caressing the soft skin of his stomach. He started to become slightly more impatient and began to unbuckle his belt. You pulled his jeans down a bit and ran your hand over the bulge in his boxers. He was breathing heavily as he watched you touch him. You swallowed thickly as you sank to your knees, taking his erection out of his boxers and running your hand over his full length. You pressed your lips against his tip and he let out a gasp. His fingers ran gently through your hair as you took him into your mouth.

You started moving your head and he threw his head back. His hips started move along, a sign that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Your heard him breath loudly above you. Without a warning he pulled himself out of your mouth. He placed his fingers on your chin, guiding your back to your feet. He crashed his lips back onto yours as he pushed your pants down.

He turned you around, holding you by your neck, kissing your skin between his fingers. He slipped himself into you slowly.

“Are you okay?” he said against your ear. His voice low and his breath hot. You couldn’t speak like a normal human being and just made a sound. “I need you to use your words, Honey.”

“Good. I’m very good,” you whispered. “But I won’t be if you don’t carry on.” He let out a soft laugh and started to pump. First slowly, but increasing his tempo shortly after. The hand he didn’t have on your neck trailed over your chest, down to your stomach. His finger rubbing you, making you bite your lip not to make a sound. He kissed your neck over and over. He grunted against your neck as you felt him release, the muscles in his thighs tightening. He pulled himself out, but his fingers didn’t stop.

You bit your lip as he pushed his body against your back. You leaned your head back on his shoulder, your cheek rubbing across his, feeling his stubble and smelling his after shave. You gasped as pleasure spread out from your crotch to the rest of your body. His hand didn’t stop until you stopped shaking.

You stood against him for a moment, breathing heavily with him. Feeling how his body felt against yours. He pulled away first, pulling his jeans back up. You did so too.

“Everything okay?” Garcia said as you and Aaron exited the bathroom. “You’ve been in there a while.” A smile crossed Aaron’s face.

“It’s all good.”

#aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds smut #aaron hotchner smut

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gyllenhaalstories · 1 year

Photo

LEG LOCK — ELWOOD DALTON 🏆

summary: happy international women’s day! let’s celebrate by getting absolutely wrecked by this this man who was sculpted by the gods.

warnings: i know nothing about the ufc, curse words, smut (the pet name doll is used, degradation, mild nipple play, worship kink, size difference* kink, marking, dacryphilia, blowjob & throat fucking, mild CNC, throatpie, choking, 69, pussy eating, fingering). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 4465

photo credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: *you do not need to be smaller than him, size kink applies to all heights & weights. when road house comes out, let’s all disregard the fact that my portrayal of dalton will most likely be so far off, okay? okay. i want to give a big shoutout to @jakegooglyeyes for the ideas, i had to steal them to make this fic as filthy as possible. ❤️ thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

“Come here, doll.” Dalton abandoned the magnificent view of the Vegas Strip he had from this hotel suite to turn his head in your direction. A couple of floors higher than where you were residing for the duration of the event and you would have your heads in the clouds. “I need you to show me how much you missed me.”

You walked from across the room, silk bathrobe wrapped around your body from when Dalton left to prepare for the fight and you relaxed in the tub that sat between the living and the bed rooms. Bath time was cut short, your eyes had been glued to the television screen while you watched the fight that ended incredibly quickly. In a blink of an eye, you got a text from your man indicating he was on his way (or so you assumed with the series of emojis he sent you, including an eggplant followed by droplets of sweat), then you heard knocking at the door.

The rest happened just as quickly, he replaced the hot and foamy water of the bath by cold one in which he dumped bucket after bucket of ice cubes to chill his worked up body. He hopped out of the ice bath and barely covered himself with a matching bathroom. He was still wearing the same compression shorts as from the fight, cup and all. A few glasses of electrolyte drinks, a pain killer as a safety measure and he was ready to go. His shorts were still damp. He was not playing.

You made your way to Dalton and wrapped your arms around his muscular shoulders. You had praised him enough, he could catch a break from all the ego inflation and try to get in touch with reality instead — with your help, of course. “You’re asking for a lot.” You smirked and pulled him in for a kiss. “You weren’t gone for a long time.”

“You’re so silly.” He mirrored your smirk as his tongue brushed over his teeth that had been covered by an official UFC branded mouth guard during the fight. His hands found their usual place at the small of your back. “I’m not asking, baby doll.” He rubbed his hands up and down on your back, surprising you when you felt some kind of pressure against your shoulders that was pushing you down.

You wanted to tell him he was needy, that he could enjoy the rest of his night and drop the bad boy act for an hour or two. You wanted to tell him you were still sore from a few days ago when he fucked you like it would be the last time, that he could wait a little longer. Your head wanted to tell him many things, your body, however, was only saying one thing.

His left hand was resting on top of your head, helping you go lower and lower until you dropped to your knees like the ‘good fucking girl’ you were. He gave you just enough freedom to take your time and leave a trail of kisses that started from his puffy pecs.

You traced the shape of them with your tongue before you gentle wrapped your lips around his small nipples. You flicked your tongue over the sensitive buds, drawing soft whimpers out of him. You gave his other nipple the same treatment and glanced at Dalton quickly, catching him as he was lolling his head back from the feeling of your warm mouth on his cold, hard nipples. You continued to paint his body with open mouthed kisses all the way down the small valley between his hard abs.

His eyes rolled backwards when you reached his Adonis belt — his sweet spot. His grip on your head loosened, you knew you were pushing all the right buttons. He would never get enough of you worshipping him. Whether it was with your words, your hands or your mouth; he soaked it all up and let it spark fireworks through his body. All those kisses and touches only made him even more aroused, pumping blood to his constricted cock.

Your kisses lingered on each side of his waist, making sure to suck just long enough to leave marks that were darker than his tanned skin. You gently licked over the groove of the muscle until you noticed a wet spot on his skin. You kept going until both sides looked bruised, unlike the rest of body. He left the octagon pretty much intact after the victory by knock out.

“I fucking knew it.” You raised your eye brows, looking up to meet Dalton’s darkened blue eyes. “You missed me.” He chuckled, satisfied by how you were treating him. He felt special a lot of the time, especially when cameras and spotlights followed his every movement on the stage while he threw punches at his opponents. However, nothing could compare with the way you made him feel like the king of the world.

From your position, down on the floor, he could absolutely pass as a king. He looked tall, impressive — intimidating. Dalton was towering over you and enjoying himself while he did it. You let your hands explore his toned legs, noticing how some muscles twitched under your touch. You continued to cover his lower abdomen with kisses and hickeys until you, too, got impatient enough to feel the urge to rip the shorts off his body.

Dalton’s arms moved out of the way after he let the bathrobe fall to his feet. He arched his back just enough to push his crotch impossibly closer to your face. He clicked his tongue as some imaginary clock was ticking as well. You needed to hurry up.

You squeezed your thumbs between his hips and the waist band of his shorts. You leaned your head on the hand was now caressing your cheek while you pulled down on the bottoms until he could easily step out of them. You discarded the damp fabric and let him adjust to the freedom. Your eyes widened with excitement — and hunger — as you watched his cock twitch and throb before you.

When you opened your mouth, awfully slow in his opinion, he quickly guided himself to the hole you were presenting. He barely gave you time to stick your tongue out that the tip of his cock was pushing deep in your mouth, a grunt of relief escaped his open mouth. “Been thinking of that mouth of yours all fucking day.”

You gagged around him, hands gripped on the smooth skin of his waxed legs. The trick that said to squeeze your thumb inside your hand had long stopped working for you. Dalton liked it rough — no stupid tricks could save you. You moaned around him and tried to bop your head back and forth to coat his veiny length with spit. You opened your eyes for a split second, meeting with his intense gaze while tears already started to pool and threaten to fall down your face.

“Gonna make yourself look all pretty for me, doll?” He started to thrust his hips, refusing to follow the pace you were setting. He wanted to feel you, all of you. He would not stop until he got what he wanted. His hands met on your head, he was already locking his fingers together.

Your eyes widened with fear and a small scream got stuck in your throat. You pulled away — while you still had time — to take as many deep breaths as he would let you.

“Answer me.” Dalton ordered.

“Yes. So pretty,” you obeyed, panting. “Just how you like it.”

“Just how I love it.” He corrected you with an arched brow. He guided your head to his crotch again. “Make yourself cry on my cock, baby.”

You nodded frantically and opened your mouth, jaw relaxed with your tongue out, already begging to taste more of his precum. Slowly, you took him in. Inch by inch, you adjusted to the size and weight of him against your tongue. You pushed your head as far as you could take it and pulled away. You spit on his cock and tried again and again, building speed and rhythm that made Dalton grunt of pleasure.

Whether you were moaning or whining around his cock, he did not care. He enjoyed the vibrations too much to stop and let you speak. With his hands on your head, he helped you move back and forth despite the strings of saliva that dripped down your chin and despite the tears that streamed down your face. He made you look up at him, and he could have finished right here and there in your mouth as he took in the sight.

It was messy. You looked so messy. Spit and tears had fallen down on your exposed breasts. You, too, were no longer wearing the silky bathrobe and it made him want to cover your whole body with various marks. Hickeys, spit, cum — whatever he could come up with to mark you as his, he would do it. And you would let him. Happily.

“Oh, doll,” Dalton chuckled in between moaning. “How could I not want to ruin you when you look so beautiful for me?” He gripped on your hair a bit, anchoring you down on his cock to keep you in place while he kept going with the dirty talk. “Let me hear your cute noises when you choke on me. Don’t fucking hold back.”

So, you did just that... Not that you had a choice, really. Dalton had taken over control of your strokes. All you could do was take it and let him hear how much you liked it. You reached to touch your neck and felt the size of the bulge his cock was creating in your throat. It hurt so bad. Your throat was hurting from the intense fucking, your eyes were hurting from the relentless crying and your knees were hurting from your position. You did not know what you should focus on.

Dalton figured it out for you as he made you hold his cock in your throat again. You could swear you felt him throb in your mouth, and judging by how he pulled your head away from him, he felt it too. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He laughed, his chest rising up and down from his breathing. “You’re so greedy, baby. You want me to cum already?”

“Yes, yes, please! You sounded so adorable when you begged.

“Nah,” He walked away from you, towards the bed. “You don’t deserve it yet.”

You put your palms on the floor and crawled on all fours, following him.

He fell on the bed, heavily, with a loud groan. The mattress curved under his weight and he waited until you were kneeling by his feet again. He reached his knee up to your chin — the same one he used to knock his opponent out for good — and made your head tilt up to look at him. “You good?”

You nodded and resisted the urge to wipe your face clean. It was uncomfortable. It was degrading.

He adored it. “Use your words.”

“I’m good.” You sounded confident enough to earn gentle taps of the back of his hand against your cheek.

Without losing anymore time, Dalton pushed you back down on his cock. Deeper than before. Deeper than he had done it in a long time.

You coughed and choked and gagged — a symphony of sounds that only got him craving for more. He could not move his hips a lot from this sitting position, so his expert hands did all the work for him.

The more you were fighting back, audibly yet incoherently begging for mercy, the deeper he was fucking your throat.

You could not even open your eyes, all you did was try and grab at anything you could reach to try and hold you back from running away from his cock. Not that you wanted to, it was just reflexes sending alarms to your brain to stop the torture. But it felt too good, but you wanted him too much.

He noticed you managed to slide your hands between his thick thighs and the bed, keeping you in place but also making it so that your head was at the perfect position. More back and forth, more strokes of your head on his sensitive cock and he made you stop moving.

Inside of your mouth, you twirled your tongue around his tip, while also trying to breathe as best as you could, guessing he was getting close and that the end was near. You were working hard to earn his release, to earn yours too so you could extinguish the fire burning inside of your lungs. You could have never guessed what he was about to do.

With impressive balance, Dalton leaned back and lifted his legs. First, he moved each leg on each side of your arms. He kept going, rather slowly, until his legs reached your shoulders. His feet were now hovering your back, heels pressing between your shoulder blades. Dalton crossed his feet together and erased the distance between his thighs — between his thighs and your head.

Soon enough, you felt the muscles of his thighs on each side of your face. Your eyes widened with surprise, with a hint of fear too. He stopped tightening until you were in a solid leg lock you could not escape. Well, you could, but that meant you would lose the privilege of feeling his cock in your mouth and that was much too high of a price to pay. The pressure of your position, locked between his legs and his cock, made you dizzy. That paired with the cruel lack of oxygen, it felt like you were choking without the feeling of his rough hand around your neck.

Dalton moved his feet, pushing his cock so far down your throat that you could not even physically gag around him, all that was left for you was to continue sobbing and to “Take it, take my fucking cock!” He grunt, nose scrunched and lips curled back. “The more you cry, the less I wanna let you go.”

Your eyelids started to feel heavy and your fists let go of the sheets you were strongly holding on to. Your hands travelled to the outside of his thighs were his muscles were bulging with the effort.

“You’re my perfect little doll.” He reminded you of your metaphorical position, just a toy for him to use until he unleashed all of his pleasure inside you. He also reminded you of your literal position, his feet digging against your spine to the point it started to hurt.

You gave three quick taps to his right thigh.

He smiled down at you, eyes and expression darkened with his lust. He bit on his lower lip while the pleasure was building dangerously big in his core.

You tapped him again as you started to squirm inside the fatal leg lock. You gathered all the strength you had to look up at him.

At the moment your eyes met, he shot his load of cum deep in your throat. Dalton came in many ropes of cum that you swallowed instinctively, not that you could do anything about it. He was lodged so deep inside of you that he forced you to take him and his cum until he was finished.

Boy, that first breath of fresh air felt even better than watching your man win fights after fights, belts after belts. Dalton freed you of the leg lock and pushed on your forehead to get you off him. Your knees gave in under you and you sat down with each leg caging you in. You were seeing dark spots and colours, or maybe that was the bruise on the knee he used to fly on his opponent’s face. It was hard to tell. And it was hard to think.

His chest was reddened from the force of his orgasm, his cock was a slobbery mess of spit that dripped down to his balls and the floor. Your chin was dripping too, but neither of you had it in you to clean up. If only he had thought of filming you being the best slut in this goddamn world for him. His right hand held his cock, trying to stop the twitching. His left hand stretched towards you with his fist closed. He smile when you bumped your fist against it.

“Thank you.” You whispered, more like mouthed. Your throat felt so sore that the vibrations of your voice were painful.

“You have such good manners, baby girl.” He was now cradling your head in both of his hands, not so accidentally smearing more of your spit over your face. “I trained you good.”

Your hands reached up to your jaw and you massaged each side of it lightly.

In the meantime, Dalton pushed himself further on the bed and laid down, squeezing a pillow under his head to prop himself up. He used his pointer and middle fingers in a come hither motion, ordering you to get on bed with him.

You happily obliged, definitely needing some recovery time after the roughness with which he had fucked your mouth. You both laughed when he saw just how much you were struggling to lift yourself off the floor, so he offered you a strong arm to hold on to and he pulled you up on your shaky legs.

Dalton clicked his tongue in disapproval when he understood you were trying to lay down next to him. “Who said I was done? I certainly did not.” He had you on your tired knees again, pulling you down so your faces were closer and he could kiss your swollen and spit covered lips. One of his hands travelled down your body, down to your pussy that had been left untouched this whole time.

You watched him, watching you. His eyebrows moved in funny ways and his jaw dropped while his fingers dipped between your soaked folds. You moaned softly when he smeared your wetness over your clit, the outside of your pussy and even your inner thighs that were just as messy as the rest.

“If you want us to stop...” He interrupted his sentence with a rough kiss that he ended by pulling on your bottom lip. “Why is this pretty pussy so wet for me?”

You failed to come up with any clever response, instead you let your moans and whimpers speak for themselves.

He slapped ever so lightly your pussy, making you flinch at his touch. “Come on, baby. I need to taste you.” He stretched his arm out to catch you as you tried, again, to lay down. “Not like that. I want you to sit on my face.”

You glanced at him quizzically. You were exhausted — definitely more exhausted than the man who had one of the most critical fights of his career just a few hours ago. You failed to choose between rest and pleasure.

So Dalton picked for you. He manhandled you around, helping you climb on top of his head in the position he wanted you in. You were on top of him, your core just a few inches away from his mouth and you were facing the rest of his body. His cock was still hard, throbbing with the need to be touched by you again. He wrapped his arms around your legs and forced you down on him.

At first, you felt his tongue that was poking out of his mouth. He licked over and through your folds, teasing your clit that he sucked on for a few minutes. Then, you flinched again as his tongue poked at your entrance. He switched between licking and sucking, so that you could warm up to the familiar pleasure that his mouth procured you. With goosebumps all over your skin, and his tongue abruptly entering you, you fell forward and your face met with his cock again.

He was not the smartest man, but when it came to having his way with you, Dalton would always come up with a reason or an idea to get his dick wet and preferably buried in your holes. It did not matter which one, as long as he was inside you, he felt like a champion.

You caved in to the urge of feeling his cock again, of tasting it and of worshipping him more than you already had. You leaned on your hands that were digging in the mattress of the hotel bed. You bopped your head up and down on his length, taking your time to feel every part of him. You wrapped your lips tight around his tip, feeling how it stretched you out. You licked over the bulging veins of his cock, moaning along with him when he let out noises against your core.

Dalton planted his feet on the bed, legs spread open to give you space. He would soon tip over the point of overstimulation, but you felt way too good to tell you to stop. He focused on you, on tasting you and on pulling the sweetest sounds out of you. And then, he jerked his hips forward.

You choked on his cock and coughed.

He sucked on your clit to make you forget about it. He did it again, replacing whatever reaction you had with more waves of pleasure that built up at the bottom of your tummy. He played this game for a little while until he could not stop himself anymore. He fucked your mouth, the more you drooled — the deeper and the harder he fucked it. Simultaneously, he pushed his tongue in your pussy and swallowed all of you, moaning at your taste.

You pulled your head away from him, a small scream emanated from you when you felt your hole being stretched by a thick finger. You mumbled a few curse words that earned you a second digit inside of you. Was it a reward or a punishment? You had no idea, other than it felt amazing and it made the whole night worth it, from the sobbing to the lack of breathing. When you adjusted to the blissful pain of the stretching, you continued to suck him off, focusing on the swollen, red tip of his cock.

He was not having any of it. Dalton clenched his abs, fought his own tiredness and sensitivity and fucked your mouth hard. His fingers matched the pace, pushing in and out of you fast and deep. “Attagirl,” He grunted. “ So damn hot.” he praised you and stilled his hips so that his cock was hitting the back of your throat and you struggled around him. “Love the way you clench around me when you’re choking on my cock.” You gagged as an answer. “Makes you tighter.”

Sounds of protest failed to provide you with any mercy, he was fucking your mouth and your pussy like he owned them. Which he did, and he was making sure you would remember that you belonged to him for many days to come.

He felt you coming. He felt you clenching even tighter on his fingers to the point he struggled to move them at all. He kissed and nibbled some more on the skin of your inner thighs that were squeezing his head just like his own thighs had squeezed yours. Quickly he focused on sucking your swollen clit into his mouth and moaning against it.

And you felt him cumming in your mouth for the second time that night. Your orgasms lingered together, grunts and moans melted into each other as you both tried to drag the wave of euphoria for as long as you could ride it.

Much to your surprise, Dalton was the one to tap out. He was squirming under you before you had time to swallow every drop of his seed.

You carefully licked what had fallen on his abs and pelvis until you cleaned him up. At the same time, he stopped sucking on your clit to lick you clean with a flat tongue and wait as you released his fingers from your grip. He sucked them in his mouth and released them with an audible pop.

He granted you with the permission to, finally, lay down on the comfortable bed. Your head rested by his hip as his rested by your thighs. His fingertips gently caressed your skin, not even minding that you were sweaty just like him. “Doll?”

You hummed in response, too tired to lift your head and look at him. Instead, you admired the view that you had from your spot, all cozied up against his body. Your eyes were not close, but not wide open either. You appreciated the quite blurry appearance of his puffy abs and v-line, of the curve of his hips, and of how his torso was rising and falling down to the rhythm of his breathing. You tried to match his deep breaths and slow releases.

“You’re fucking amazing.” He turned his head to plant a few kisses on your thighs, smoothing over the spots where he had been gripping hard on you.

“I know.” You chuckled along with him.

You both agreed you would clean up later. The rest could wait, not everything though — Dalton was already looking forward to wreak havoc with room service.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” You let him take a power nap next to you while you replayed the events of the night in your head. “El’?”

He leaned on his elbows so that he could look at you. You were so beautiful, fucked out of your mind like that. No wonder why his phone lock screen was a picture of your post orgasm glow. He noticed you were smirking. He carried the reputation of being a straight up pain in the ass. You helped with keeping him balanced and somewhat sound of mind. But he loved the way you matched his crazy just as well as you kept him grounded. That push and pull game of feeding into his unhinged antics and keeping his feet not too far up from the ground was one of his favourite things.

“That was so much fun.” You let out a sigh. He responded with a content “Yeah, I know”.

“I was thinking of something...” You refrained from pointing out it was an usual event for him to use his brain to do the thinking rather than his fists — or his cock. “What other battle moves can I practice on you next time?”

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