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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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bcyhoods · 11 months

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could I please request steve and shy!reader and her first time staying the night at his place? lots of timid cuddling and just overall sweetness? I loved your first steeb drabble!

ohemgee yay i’m so glad you liked it!! thank u for for such a cute req, i hope i did it justice🫡 | 1k fluff, gn!reader

You were going crazy, without a doubt. You’ve already finished showering, but you’ve been locked away in his bathroom for 15 minutes. The pep talk you’re giving yourself in the foggy mirror does nothing to calm flutter in your stomach.

“Everything okay, honey?” You hear Steve call from down the corridor.

“Yes—Yeah, I’m okay!” The words are rushed and clumsy as the nickname runs through your head on repeat. And while you’re about to sleep in his room for the first time, it’s too domestic for your racing heart. You hope he doesn’t notice.

Giving yourself one final nod of scarce confidence, you pull open the door and softly let it close behind you. You’re practically walking on the balls of your feet so as not to make any noise.

When you peek into his room, you see the plain of Steve’s back facing toward you. You let your gaze shamelessly trace through the freckles and moles that grace his skin, then to the muscles that tense in his biceps as he fluffs one of his pillows. He’s mumbling to himself as he punches and pulls at the cushion.

Once you push past the door, he turns like he’s a child caught stealing the last cookie from the jar. He’s doe eyed with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

“Hey, there you are,” he sings with a gentle smile.

“Hi.” You timidly wave with a smile just as sweet.

“I was getting worried,” he starts as he meets you by the door, “Started to think you fell in or something.” Steve laughs it off, but there’s a small twitch in his eyebrows that threatens to expose his nerves.

Because while you were in the bathroom, Steve had been giving himself his own encouraging speech. One which also fell quite short, but he was better at concealing it. At least he thinks he is.

Your clammy hand reaches for his, a reassuring effort to soothe both your worries. “No search party necessary. I’m still standing,” you reply softly. He releases a hefty exhale — a mixture of a shaky laugh and a sigh of relief — and gives your hand a small squeeze.

“I’ll be right back. You can sleep on either side, I don’t mind.”

He’s quick to jog out, leaving you to roam every inch of his bedroom.

You’ve been in Steve’s room countless times before, you probably have every trinket and frame committed to memory. But every detail has somehow become more intimate since the last time you’ve visited. Every knick knack is a window into Steve Harrington’s being and by tomorrow morning, you’d become even more familiar. The thought only further warms your chest once your eyes land on an old love note you’d given him, preserved in a framed picture of you right on his bedside table.

By the time he returns, you’re already under the covers with a cheesy smile and patting the empty space next to you.

He uses some sort of excuse so that he can keep a dim nightlight on: Just so you can see everything in case you need to get up in the middle of the night. And Steve Harrington doesn’t have a secret aversion to the dark.

No, Steve Harrington is a romantic, and he just really wants to see your pretty face.

“Are you okay?” He whispers as he settles beside you. He moves to bring the blanket up to your chin and traces the underside of your jaw with his knuckle.

“Yes, I’m okay, Stevie.” You giggle at his concerned expression and reach up to smooth out the wrinkle in his brow before you convince yourself not to.

“Good. Good…just checking.”

And though you’re both laying face to face, sharing the same sheets, he’s entirely too far away for your liking. All you would have to do is extend your arms just a few inches until they reach his shoulders. But really, it’s a few inches too much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again lowly, noting the pensive expression on your face.

Your stomach flips and your hand flies to pick at the skin of your lips. Now, you would just need to ask. But it’s so difficult when he’s staring right at you, practically oozing adoration. Now there’s a knot in your mouth where your tongue should be.

“Steve?”

He hums. The knot tightens.

“You don’t have to, but…can you, um—would you want to…” you trail off as the rest of your question dissipates.

“Do you…do you want me to hold you?” He finishes for you. He’s already moving to sit up before you can say ‘please,’ eager to wrap you up in his embrace.

You sit up the slightest bit so that he’s able to slither his arm underneath your head. He’s laying on his back while you’re curled into his side. You rest on his bicep, legs tangled with his own and an arm around his middle as you play with the fingers of his other hand.

“Is this okay? Am I hurting you?” You turn slightly so that you’re peering up at his face, chin resting on his shoulder. It’s an awkward angle and you know it’s going to result in a dull ache in your neck, but you can’t be bothered to care with his lips so close.

“No, no,” he’s quick to rush out, “This feels nice. I like this.”

It’s not until you see his wide smile that you notice the ache in your cheeks thanks to your matching expression. Without giving it a second thought, you push yourself up to kiss him, eliciting a sigh from the boy. It’s lazy, and it doesn’t last for more than a few seconds before you’re drawing back to hide your burning face in his chest.

He pauses to gather his bearings and gives you a kiss to the top of your head. “If you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up, please.”

#officially jumped on the ‘steve calls you honey’ train #god i need a steve harrington shaped bf #ᝰ cece’s scribbles #✿ convos with cece #steve harrington #steve harrington thots!#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fluff #joe keery

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kechiwrites · 6 months

Text

property lines

dark!steve rogers x neighbour!reader

kinktober countdown: day two (facefucking).

synopsis: your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject.

wc: 2.2k

cw: dark content, non con, oral (male receiving), femme language + afab!reader, pet names, internal victim blaming, pet names (sweetheart), a touch of misogyny

author’s note: day 2 brings us more dark!steve, i fear i may be incapable of writing him sincerely. he’s just a little too perfect. I like to take off a bit of the shine. thank you @katsukikitten u r my muse.

Your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject. Mostly because you can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s just overly friendly. Maybe it’s the signals you give off, bringing a plate of thick, sweet, cheesecake brownies over to the recently sold house next door, hoping to make a new connection. Suburbia can be isolating, and with all of your friends shaking ass in the city, you need to branch out. It really isn’t the kind of home you figured a single man like Steven Grant Rogers would buy, but then again, you lived in your suburban palace alone, willed to you by your late grandmother and only in need of a few renovations.

He’d been so bright, when you first met him, with a perfect white smile and twinkling blue eyes. He’d been happy to accept the desserts, even happier to return the plate a day later, extolling the praise he and his poker buddies lauded on you over the taste. You’d shrugged it off, “The least I could do for a neighbour. I’m just glad you all liked them.”

Secretly though, the compliments had thrilled you, especially once you’d gotten a glimpse at the aforementioned “poker buddies”, the whole lot of them, handsome, built, big. All too happy to fix leaky pipes and paint fences in exchange for chocolate cream pie or a dish of homemade lasagna. But Steven - “Steve, please” - was your most loyal customer, always lending a hand, pausing during his early morning jog to check up on you while you watered your flower beds, asking how your book is going, what you do in that “big old house all by yourself” when you aren’t working on “the next great American novel”, of course (his words, not yours).

It’s fine at first, a little disarming to be at the centre of his white hot attention, burning your flesh like he had you under a magnifying glass on a perfect sunny day. But eventually it’s not fine, eventually Steve Rogers takes more and more steps over the property line of overly friendly and into the front yard of wildly overbearing. Eventually, Mr. Rogers insists on weekly visits, popping into your house by using the spare key under the mat he shouldn’t even know about. Slinging his muscled arm over you during the neighbourhood block party, and your neighbour’s son’s 5th birthday party, and the Fourth of July barbeque. He fixes your car without you asking, brings in your groceries when he sees you unloading them in your driveway, brings your mail to you during his daily jog. It’s helpful sometimes, yes, but it’s also suffocating. And you were going to set him straight. You were! But it’s hard, hard to stare into the face of a suburban god, the literal king of the neighbourhood and tell him no. It’s hard to tell him that he’s making you uncomfortable, that you’d like for him to stop being so goddamn friendly all the time.

So maybe a little of it is your fault. Maybe you should’ve been clearer on your boundaries. Maybe, when handsome, strapping Mr. Rogers came to your front door to ask you to essentially cater one of his poker nights, you shouldn’t have stayed to serve the food, playing happy little housewife in front of Steve’s friends, bringing them cold beers from the fridge and sitting next to Steve, playfully making faces at his hand, then plating up dessert when he asked you to. But it felt good to have his attention. His favour. So when “the boys” start to head home, laying praise and amazement at your feet, you’re sufficiently buttered up for Steve to ask yet another favour of you. It’s not much, of course. Just a little help with cleanup. Then he’ll escort you home himself. After all, there are some real sickos out there.

So you agree. What’s the harm, right?

The harm, it just so happens, comes quickly after you finish drying the dishes Steve washes. You slide the last plate, towel dried as best you could, into his cabinets, sighing in contentment at a job well done. The harm is when Steve turns you around and presses you against the sink, water soaking into the back of your blouse, making the fabric cling to your skin. You stay there for a minute, not processing what’s happening, ready to laugh off another inappropriate joke from Steve.

You don’t really get the chance.

Two heavy hands clap down on your shoulders, exerting pressure on you until you crumple to the floor, knees hitting the tile of Steve's kitchen painfully. You yelp, struggling against him, pressing, then beating your fist against his tree trunk legs.

"Stev-" you choke on his name when your neighbour unzips his trousers before you, undoes the fly of the pair you helped him pick out, with him bent over your shoulder while you held his phone, his front pressed close to your back. Pulls his half hard dick out of pants starched and pressed with the iron he'd borrowed from you because his was "on the fritz" again.

"Open up." He cajoles, and you pin him with an incredulous, confused stare. No. No. This is all wrong. He doesn’t act like that. Steve Rogers isn’t like that.

The hand he doesn't use to stroke himself grabs your jaw, squeezing until you open your mouth, squeezing til it hurts. A sharp, purposeful punch of his hips is all it takes for him to make use of the opening. All it takes to put every little joke, boundary crossing, and stray touch into startling, horrifying perspective.

“It was the baking.” He whispers above you. “Peggy never baked, which was fine.” He sighs above you like he isn’t pistoning his cock deep into your throat with reckless abandon. “But I missed it, y’know? And you, you bake how angels ought to, sweetheart.”

Tears stream down your face while Steve uses you, dragging your dazed, crying face back and forth on his hard-on. On a particularly strong thrust, he broaches your throat. Your eyes roll up, until he can barely see the perimeter of your irises, and you warble out a miserable moan, begging, all while wrapped around his dick, for a reprieve. Your head is pinned to the counter behind you, and even though you shove against the muscle of his thighs, Steve brooks no quarter.

“Just take it,” he coos, like he wants you to swallow cough syrup, “it’ll be over soon.” his breath stutters when your lips brush against his balls. Steve moves one of his hands to cup the back of your head, keeping you as close as possible when he comes down your throat, groaning in pleasure while you struggle to swallow stream after bitter stream of his seed, lest you choke on it or fucking drown.

He finally releases you, and you pull back so fast you bang the back of your head on his pristine white counters. The pain radiates through your scalp, grounding you in the moment, cementing you to the spotless linoleum floor of Steve Rogers’ kitchen. You’re both panting, eager to fill your lungs with gulps of air.

“Whew.” He sighs, hands on his hips, like that took a lot out of him. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you, just didn’t expect the struggle.” He chuckles, patting you on the head. “But you settled down quick, didn’t ya?” His tone takes on…contentment? Happiness?

No. That’s not quite right.

It’s pride. Steve is looking down at you, your spit and cum slick mouth, the weepy, watery state of your eyes, and the disarray of the hair he’d used as a handle, with pride.

Your stomach roils.

He bends low and you flinch away from him, smacking your head on the countertop again. He cocks his head at the involuntary movement, and smiles at you. A familiar, warm thing. One that made your heart flutter with pleasure, beat fast with your own surge of pride when he accepted a pie, or offered a compliment. Now it does the same, your heart speeds up, your palms itch curiously, and your brain doesn’t know if you’re happy or sad. Doesn’t know if it craves those smiles anymore.

“Just wanna set you on your feet. C’mon.” He speaks quietly, like he’s soothing a frightened animal, and hooks his hand under your armpits, heaving you up with the same startling strength he'd used to face fuck the fight out of you.

“It’s okay.” You bleat, voice as wobbly and unstable as the pair of legs struggling to keep you upright. And it’s not, it’s far from okay, the taste of him lingers in the back of your throat and if you think about it for even a second more you’ll throw up all over his shiny floors, on those godforsaken pants.

“I admit,” he laughs, ducks his head with that small town charm he does so well, “I wanted to last longer. But you were too good.” He winks at you, like you share a secret. Like you’re in league with each other.

He staring, waiting for you to say something, arches a brow like it’s your line and you’re fucking up the show.

But there it is again, that smile, sunny and open, and so pristine.

“Let’s get you home.” He herds you towards his front door, hand glued to the small of your back, his pinky finger stroking the skin exposed by the riding up of your still wet shirt. The two of you walk into the balmy summer air, and the spaces in between the black night, punctuated with the occasional white streetlight, designate your path home. Some of your neighbours’ houses are still illuminated, their warm yellow windows denoting the presence of life. You wonder what goes on behind their doors, you wonder if someone is having a good night somewhere close to you.

You come across your door faster than you were prepared for, the cheery yellow paint job Steve and James had done for caramel apple pie, mocks you. The way he’d smiled in your face, touched you, laughed. Steve shifts next to you, holding onto your extensive tower of pyrex and tupperware, for an instant your blood runs cold at the prospect of Steve inviting himself in, like he’s done so many times before. Not to bring in groceries or put together a dresser, but to pin you prone to the carpet of your bedroom and smile at you.

“So!” He turns, “Same time next week?” You gawk at him, and when you don’t say or do anything, he stoops and slides your extra keys out from under your Garfield emblazoned doormat. The jingle of two, simple metal keys against the little bell shaped key-chain makes your head pound, your blood boil. He unlocks the door, and gestures for you to take a step indoors. You raise both hands, palms upturned so he can give the keys back, so you can hide them, or melt them, or flush them down the toilet. Instead, you get to watch him slip the key-ring into his pocket, before he places your dishes into your uplifted open palms. “I gotta say, the lemon bars were a hit.” He tweaks your nose between his thumb and forefinger, his compliment tempered by the greedy shine in his eyes. You nearly scratch your own eyes out when you get that pleased, soft tingle in your chest.

He smiles and you salivate. He compliments you and your heart responds. He’s proud and your brain tells you ‘I’m happy’.

Why hasn’t it gone away? Will it ever go away?

“Maybe those brownies again, the cream cheese ones?” His voice is hopeful, soft and pliant, like he’s worried you’ll say ‘no’.

Like there’s a world where he’d take no for an answer.

You nod, a jerky, quick gesture that rattles your brain around in your skull. “Sure. Yeah.” You answer, sweaty hands slipping against tempered glass and plastic lids. “Yes. Brownies.” Steve beams, clapping his hands together, once, loud, drawing your eyes to the brutish width of them.

“Fantastic. I can’t wait.” He jogs down your front steps, and the fist secured around your lungs loosens with every step he takes away from you. He pauses at the side walk, one foot still on your property, the other poised to leave it.

“We make a great team. Don’t we?” He turns to you, and this time, he isn’t smiling. This time, his eyes cut through the night and the streetlight and the foggy haze of misfortune clouding your brain.

And the fear finally comes.

You kick your door closed, and you lock your door, and you drop your pyrex and tupperwear and serving spoons in the sink and you lock your windows and you get into bed, still dressed for a poker night you had no business being at, and you pull the covers up and up and over your face.

But the fear doesn’t go away.

And neither will your neighbour.

god i want him so bad. tomorrow, captain soap.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

support city girls who bought $50 of baked cheesecake today, reblog what you like.

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bbyquokka · 3 months

Note

Hyunnie thst type of bf to have a spa day with u when u had a rough day at work and he be like

Getting face masks and wine ready and he be like

"Spill the tea baby, what happened"😭

spa day

FLUFF/SUGGESTIVE THEMES BELOW CUT – MINORS, AGELESS & DEFAULT BLOGS; DNI

cw: gn reader, established relationship, food & alcohol mentioned, it gets suggestive at the end, hehe. words: 1k ~ (1,002)

a/n: soft thought turned slightly hard? mhm, yes, hehe. i dont make the rules, my mind told me to do it! i hope you enjoy! don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

dont repost. dont translate. feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

“i'm so over today. freaking dumb ass people and their dumb ways of thinking. how can i give you a refund on something you used months ago!?” you mumble to yourself as you throw your bag on the floor and kick your shoes off.

your commotion makes hyunjin jump in his seat. he puts down his paintbrush and wipes his hands on an old tee. he peeks his head out of the studio door, brows furrowed together as he notices how stressed and unamused you look.

“fucking people. i don't get paid enough to deal with the bs.” you continue to grumble. you go to flop down on the sofa but a pair of strong and warm arms pulls you out of your bubble and back down to reality.

“oof!” you grunt as hyunjin pulls you into his chest. he rocks you side to side, stroking your hair softly.

“rough day?”

“you could say that.” you laugh bitterly before melting into hyunjin's chest.

“want to talk about it?”

"yeah, that'd be nice.” you whisper.

“ok. but go take a shower first.”

“trying to say i smell?!” you look up at him. hyunjin thinks for a split second and nods. you scoff and gently slap his chest. “ok ok, finee.”

you push yourself off him and walk to the bathroom. you do your usual shower routine, feeling a hundred times better and more relaxed in your comfy lounge wear.

you open the door to the bathroom and walk to the living area, gasping at how it currently looks.

the coffee table moved to the side to make room for two cushions and a blanket. candles lit up in the room with the tv on low volume. hyunjin dressed in shorts and his robe, his hair up on a half ponytail.

on the coffee table are two glasses of wine, bowls filled with your favourite snacks and treats, two facemasks and other spa inspired items.

hyunjin looks up at you as he pours you a glass before setting the bottle on the table. he gives you a warm grin before walking to you.

“what is this?” you whisper, still in awe.

"thought the best way to help you relax was to have a spa day!”

“you did all this in the time i was in the shower?” hyunjin nods and grins, clearly impressed with his handiwork. “that's impressive.”

“haha, thank you! now come and relax.” he guides you to the cushions. you sit down cross legged as he hands you a glass of wine.

“thank you.” you take the glass and take a big sip of it.

“easy there tiger. at least wait until food arrives.” he laughs

“you ordered food?”

“yeah, your favourite!”

“god i fuckin' love you.”

“i love you too.” hyunjin puts down his glass and grabs a face pack and a headband. he hands you the band and waits until you have finished putting it on.

he opens the pack and gently puts it on your face, soothing it out with his fingers. you hum softly at the refreshing coolness of the pack. you close your eyes slowly and sip your wine as you relax.

“all i need is some cucumbers on my eyes.” you mumble. hyunjin laughs softly before putting a mask on himself, relaxing beside you and sipping his wine.

“so, tell me what happened.”

“ugh. well–” you go on a rant and rave about work, about the customers, managers and bosses. the more you talk, the more annoyed you start to feel. hyunjin simply nods his head and listens to you.

he's good like that. he won't interrupt you in the slightest and just let you go on. once finished, does he soothe you with some kisses and hugs.

halfway through your long rant, the doorbell rings. hyunjin answers the door to the food delivery guy, forgetting about his mask. the delivery guy gives hyunjin a shocked face before laughing when hyunjin explains the situation.

he walks back to you, explaining what just happened. you laugh and make jokes about it, forgetting about your rough day at work and why you were so angsty to begin with.

“thank you, hyun.” he looks at you as he peels off his mask.

“for?”

“for this. i appreciate it greatly.”

"no problem! i hate seeing you distressed so this is the least i can do for you.” you hum softly and take your own mask off.

after eating the food, hyunjin gives your hands a massage and even paints your nails. you do the same, matching the colour he has given you. you both enjoy each others company and enjoy what he has done for you.

you can't believe how lucky you are.

“strip.” you blink at his sudden request before noticing the bottle of massage oil in his hand. you strip yourself of your tee, resting on your stomach with your chin on your hands.

hyunjin straddles you and pours the lotion onto your back. you shiver at the coldness which makes him laugh.

“wasn't expecting a massage, hyun.” you giggle

“it's not a spa session without a massage!”

"mhm, i guess you're right.” you grin before groaning. his thumbs dig into your tense back muscles, fingers working their magic on you.

you squirm underneath him, moaning and groaning. hyunjin swallows thickly as something so innocent is sounding so lewd to him. he feels himself heat up and his groin to feel warm.

“babe.. please, can you keep the moaning to a minimum.” he begs.

"but your fingers feel so good, hyun.” you grunt innocently as he digs into your muscles.

"yn.. please..” he huffs. you ignore him. hyunjin bites his lip hard, his penis twitching several times.

“h-hyunjin.” you moan softly.

“fuck.” you squeal as he turns you on your back suddenly. your eyes widen as you look up at hyunjin. his eyes filled with lust as he licks his lips, ready to devour you.

“you're doing this on purpose yn. you must really enjoy riling me up.”

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dandylovesturtles · 4 months

Text

just a little A Team hurt/comfort

------

Raph knocked over some moving boxes during their last shouting match - he spares them a guilty glance as he walks past. Someone has tried to clean up the mess (Mikey, most likely), but he can still tell that they were recently upended and their contents left scattered on the ground.

He knows this is why they told him to go get Leo for breakfast. They want this to be a peace offering. Raph would like for it to be a peace offering, too, but...

Well, it's not like he likes fighting with Leo. Things are just... complicated.

He makes it to Leo's train car, and takes a deep breath before pulling the curtain back. He can do this. One civil interaction.

Leo's already awake, scrolling through his phone. That's in his favor - Leo's always grumpy if you wake him up. At least this way, Raph doesn't have to.

"Hey Leo," he says, and his brother flicks his eyes up from the phone screen. "Breakfast in five. Mikey made waffles."

"Oh, sweet," says Leo. He grins, but even Raph can tell it's forced. "I'll be there in a sec - just checkin' the socials."

And for a moment, Raph almost says something; says that he's sorry, and he takes back everything he said, and Leo should just forget about it, not worry about it, he doesn't want to fight anymore and this is stupid-

And then he thinks about Karai, and the Shredder, and their dad, and the far too close call they had to losing each other, New York, the whole world-

And he thinks about Leo skipping training to go skateboarding, Leo showing up late to patrol with a quip and laugh, Leo charging into fights without so much as a word to the rest of them, Leo who can't take anything seriously-

And it dies in his mouth. He says instead, "Yeah, sure. Just get there before it gets cold."

He turns to leave, but before he can, Leo calls out, "Hey, Raph?"

Raph only half turns, looking over his shoulder at Leo. Wondering if, maybe, Leo is going to try to say something instead. Wondering if he finally gets it, or if they're going to start fighting before breakfast.

Maybe Leo is running the same calculations. Raph is sure he is, actually, because Leo's brain twists over words the way Donnie's twists over physics.

So he must come to the same conclusion, because he doesn't say anything about the fight, or training, or his responsibilities, or any of it. What he says is, "Love you, big bro."

And Raph's heart drops into his stomach.

-----

Leo's always been looser with those words than any of the rest of them. Been that way since they were little, and Splinter kept them in the same part of the sewer, sleeping on pallet beds with whatever pillows and sheets he managed to find in the dump.

"Goodnight, Daddy. I love you," said Leo. "Goodnight Raphie, I love you. Goodnight, Donnie..."

The ritual was long - Leo always used three times as many words as other people. Sometimes Splinter would say, "Yes, yes, Blue, now let your brothers sleep." Sometimes Raph would say, "Hurry it up, Leo." Sometimes Donnie would hide his head under his pillow, or smack that same pillow over Leo's face.

Nowadays, Raph misses that: the sincerely sweet way Leo wanted them all to know he loved them.

As he grew older, Leo began using those words more flippantly. "I love you, but" became one of his stock phrases, a way to soften the blow of criticism. "Come on, you know I love you," said to ward off any retaliation after a prank or insult. "Love ya, bye!" rushed out at the end of one of their rare phone calls, a signal he didn't want to talk anymore.

But every now and then, Raph still got the sincere version. When he brought Leo tea the morning after a bad bout of insomnia. When Leo fussed over an injury, gently winding bandages around his arm or leg. When Leo was sleepy after a long Lou Jitsu marathon, and he reverted to the old ritual as Raph tucked him into bed: "Goodnight, I love you."

The "love you" Leo says to him now, in his room, before breakfast, with the mess of their last big fight barely cleaned up, is none of those.

The "love you" Leo says now is a question.

He doesn't pronounce it like a question. There's no upward lilt to his voice. He doesn't end it by asking if Raph knows. But Raph can still hear it, buried deep in Leo's tone: he's not sure. About loving Raph? About being loved? About what there still is between them?

Raph loves Leo. He loves him so much it aches. It's why he knocked the box over. It's why he wants to knock another ten boxes over. It's why he just needs Leo to understand, to hear him, to see what he sees when he closes his eyes and sees Karai, and the Shredder, and their family almost-

But here they are. With Leo saying "love you" like it's a question and Raph doesn't know the right answer.

"Yeah," he says. "Breakfast in five," he says.

He doesn't know the right answer but he does know that wasn't it.

He leaves Leo in his room, and goes back to his own. Puts his face in his hands. He sees Karai.

He knocks another box over.

-----

Leo's hand is a tiny thing in his. It's also, maybe, the only part of his body that isn't broken. Not like his legs, his arms, his shell, his jaw, his neck-

Raph can't look at his neck. The bruise there makes him want to throw up.

Leo's been out of critical condition for almost two full days. It hasn't made any of them less on edge, and they still spend most of their time crowded in the med bay, watching Leo's chest like it will stop rising the moment they turn their backs.

But Leo's heart doesn't stop, and he breathes in and out, and Raph holds his hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb.

He'd wanted Leo to understand.

He hadn't wanted this to be how Leo learned.

When he closes his eyes now he sees Leo right next to Karai, and he has to touch Leo again, to make sure he's still really there.

Movement from the bed, and a soft noise. Raph's gaze trails up from Leo's hand to his eyes, open but heavy lidded, clouded with a haze of exhaustion and medicine.

"Hey, Leo," he says, trying to keep his tone upbeat despite it all. "You're home; you're safe."

"Mm," hums Leo, still sleepy. He twists the hand that Raph's holding, adjusting his grip so it's wrapped around Raph's thumb. He strokes at Raph the way Raph had just been doing for him, and Raph feels tears sting his eyes.

"Love you, Raphie," says Leo, and this time, there's not a hint of uncertainty.

Raph's heart lurches again. Whatever answer Leo had been looking for last time, he must have found it.

But.

Raph doesn't plan to leave anything to chance. Not anymore.

"Love you too, Leo." He leans in, press his forehead to the top of Leo's head. "I love you, too."

Leo makes a pleased noise, low in his throat. He's already sinking back into sleep, his grip on Raph's hand growing loose. His breaths are still steady and even, heart beating strong, the look on his face peaceful.

"Goodnight, Leo," says Raph. "I love you."

#rottmnt #rise raph #rise leo #dandy fanfiction

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pawified · 3 months

Note

Hi I was just wondering if I could request headcannons for father figure bf!Suguru? Thank you so much I love your writing🩷🩷

hi so sorry for responding late . . . i hope you are well ! but ofc i cane give u littl headcannons some of based off of things i think he does ( ovbi ) and some are what i interpreted from da show & manga !

its supa short bc im swleepy bc its 3:30 am exactly nd i haven’t taken a nap at all.

( side note : i miss my puppy girl agenda so dis will b da first thing of my return to be fulfilled of puppy girl )

. father figure!bf suguru who wraps you in his arms when you are feeling uneasy with anxiety.

. father figure!bf suguru who buys you milk bread everyday at your favorite bakery on his way to pick you up from whatever college after activity you have going on for that week.

. father figure!bf suguru is very attentive, the first thing he noticed about you when you two first met is that you walk with a littl bounce

. father figure!bf suguru doesn’t care or particularly mind that you cling to him like a needy puppy begging for attention. he finds it cute how you rely on him for anything.

. father figure!bf suguru who hates the word “goodbye.” he always corrects you when you’re stepping out the car to head into your morning class. “hey. wait, what do we say?” he cocks his head to the side, you try arguing that you’ll be late, but he doesn’t let up. you sigh in defeat and mumble out a quick “ see you later, i love you. “ quickly slamming the door, you rush to your class before you could hear his response “i love you too. you look beautiful”

. father figure!bf suguru who gives you you a baby pink collar engraved with “ if found return to geto suguru “ on one of the sliver tags dangling from the key ring.

. father figure!bf suguru who starts calling you pup more often. he’s well aware that you love the petname he has adopted into his vocabulary. — he likes it also.

. father figure!bf suguru is never mean to you;not intentionally you think? but when he is, it make your brain a bit hazy.

. father figure!bf suguru doesn’t like brats or liars which you happen to be both. of course you never tell major lies at least that’s what you think but your partner would disagree. — you told a small white lie about how you had no clue how a big wine stain got on the couch and suggested that his friends did it. geto knew who had done it, but you don’t know that he is aware of it. he just want you to confess.

. father figure!bf suguru punishments hurt; alot. you aren’t use to the heavier ones, only a few taps on your bottom to bounce you back from being disruptive but they’re never like this. — ass cheeks are warm accompanied by a slight tint of red due to the pressure of his big palms, you can feel the welts starting to form. “restart over. you stop again, i will leave you here with a vibrator tied to your leg, do i make myself clear?” his voice is rough and firm. “y-yes sorry. m-sorry”

. father figure!bf suguru the after care is what makes you fall in love with him all over again. — after his corrective actions, you and him are embraced into each other for awhile, as he draws circles on your back while rocking you back and forth to bring you back down. “my sweet girl, you did so good. always know how to take your punishment well.” he coos, you look at him with big doe eyes, suguru thinks for a moment; you are a real puppy who has reincarnated into a 20 year old girls body.

. father figure!bf suguru regardless of his mistakes in the past before you became his light at the end of a dark tunnel, he make a secret promise to whatever god existed that he would do whatever it takes to heal from his past in order to keep you around for the rest of his life.

#˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆#𝑝𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑠 ‎໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ #! ! 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑜𝑥 — ꒰ঌ ໒꒱#𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑜 — ♡ ᵎ #father figure ! series #puppy!reader #father figure bf ! suguru #geto x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru headcanons #m’ startin tew fall in love wif him #geto x you

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pepsiconcoction · 1 year

Text

Discounted Cookies | Han Jisung x Reader

pairing: barista!han jisung x gn!reaer

tags: coffee shop au, a little bit of angst, minor language, jisung is a lil flirt, reader doesn't wanna put up with it, fluff, no smut

requested? yes! by anon xox

an: i actually don't know how i feel about this, but it's cute regardless, anon i hope i captured what u meant, i tried my best to get reader to be Annoyed but i love jisung too much, sorry ;-;

wc: 3,890

4 times Jisung flirted with you + 1 time you flirted with him.

The first time you see him.

It’s a few minutes past midnight and you think this might be your end. You’re going to pass out, for sure. You had been studying at the library for the past 7 hours straight for an exam worth 60% of your grade. Studying Law was definitely a choice. Specifically, it was the choice you made two and a half years ago, resulting in you, at this moment, halfway through your third year and on the brink of a breakdown. The breakdown? Partially caused by your ex-boyfriend, who had just broken up with you no more than five days ago. You’re fine. People keep asking. You really wish they would stop.

In the distance, you spot a flood of warm, yellow light flooding out of a shop window. As you get closer, you recognise it’s a coffee shop, you think it may even be the one your friend had told you about, saying it was her favourite place to study as it’s open 24 hours. It seems tonight is the night you’re finally going to check it out.

It’s kind of snowy at your feet, thanks to the early month of the year, but you wish it was more picturesque and not just the grey slush that you think you can feel leaking through your boots. At least it’ll be nice to get some warmth for a few minutes.

You push open the door, a small bell jingling above your head, and the warmth hits you like a wall, suffocating in its intensity. There’s only one other person in here: an old trucker-looking guy, face held over a steaming cup of coffee.

“I’ll be out in a second!” You hear a man shout from behind the counter, you guess he’s even further in the back than you can see. You hear a small commotion that sounds a bit like someone stamping on a cardboard box. A few seconds later, a guy appears, slightly dishevelled and running his hands through his hair as he exhales. His hair parts in the middle and brushes his eyebrows, slightly longer around the edges, as if gone uncut for a few months. A friendly face with round cheeks looks at you, a grin appearing on his face. He brushes down his apron and makes his way to the counter.

“Sorry about that, what can I get ya?” he asks.

“Just an Americano to go, please,” You smile back at him.

“Can I offer you any discounted sweet treats?” He gestures to an almost empty cake counter. “They’re discounted because it’s so late, not because they’re bad.” He quickly adds on. You spot a singular chocolate cookie looking very lonely.

“Sure, I’ll take the cookie,” you say, gesturing to it.

“Good choice, madam.” He nods his head, punching it into the register.

“Can I take a name?”

“Do you need it?” You ask, looking around at the empty store.

“Not really, but I’d like it.” He shrugs.

“Y/n,” you sigh. This isn’t what you were looking for at the moment, but you decide to just let it go.

“Not having a good day?” he asks, seemingly concerned.

“Not having a good week,” you say flatly, hoping to communicate your disinterest.

“Well, Y/n, feel free to take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you once it’s done.” He grins again and spins around, getting to work on the coffee machine. God, who even has this much energy this late at night? Crazy people, that’s who.

You sit down at one of the tables, taking out your phone and it reads 12:17am. It feels like it’s mocking you. You scroll through your socials, attempting to keep what small semblance of a social life you think you have together, but a few minutes later, a familiar barista comes into your view. You stand up, accepting the coffee from him and he hands you the cookie which is now in a brown, paper bag.

“One Americano, and one discounted cookie.” He hands you each and you stand up, thanking him.

“And maybe a little extra something, since you’re having a bad week and all,” he adds quietly, shuffling on his feet slightly. You peek inside the bag and notice a candy bar, something chocolatey.

“Thank you,” You stutter, not expecting the kind gesture.

“Come back again soon!” He says, already heading back to the counter where he starts to mess with something, in a clear attempt to look busy. You turn and

leave. Despite the cold air outside, there is an unfamiliar warmth in your body.

The second time you see him.

You wake up the next day, surprisingly on time despite the lack of alarm. It’s only 10am and you mentally prepare yourself for the day ahead of you. The exam is in 5 days. Thankfully you’re studying at home today, not needing the library for today’s subjects. The state of your flat reflects your mind, it’s a mess, dishes in the sink, clothes piling up next to the dryer. After an hour or so of quick chores, it’s in a slightly better state, good enough to study in, you think.

And study, you do. Day turns to night and you find yourself closing the last page of a textbook, letting out a deep breath. You could feel your anxiety beginning to fizzle around your body, not fully convinced you’ve properly ingested all the revision you’ve done. You need some food. The second half of a pizza is sitting untouched from earlier and you kinda feel bad for it, poor thing. Your eyes flicker towards the candy bar sitting on your desk, where it was abandoned last night and you think about the guy from the coffee shop. You throw on a slightly warmer outfit and you definitely don’t spend the walk to the coffee shop thinking about whether he might be working. To your surprise, he is.

You can see him behind the counter from outside, he’s pouring frothed milk into a cup, presumably for the customer standing at the counter. It’s slightly busier at this time, you’re not surprised considering it’s only just coming up to 8pm. You push open the door and the bell jingles like it did the night before. He looks up, looking past the customer in front and his mouth quirks up into a smile, recognising you instantly. You look around him, at the large menu boards, you don’t want to give him an ego.

The customer in front pays for their drink and leaves, and the man’s smile finally points directly at you.

“Hello again, Y/n, what can I get you today?” He grins at you, eyes crinkling. You’re surprised he remembers your name.

“A latte, please,” you say, glancing up at the menu.

“To go, or sit in?” His eyebrow quirks.

“Oh, uh-”

“You’re sitting in,” he answers for you, already punching it into the register.

“Fine.” Your roll your eyes.

“Take a seat.” He gestures to the barstool-type seating a little further down the counter. You’re not really sure why you actually sit down.

“Is your week any better?” He looks over his shoulder as he makes your drink.

“Not really, no.” You respond. He pauses in his actions, looking at you expectingly.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up?”

“We don’t know each other,” you said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Okay, so my name is Jisung, Han Jisung, and today, I’m your barista. Tomorrow, maybe more!” He winks as he turns back to the machine which is spewing out your drink.

“Well, Han Jisung, if you must know, I’m stressed the fuck out for my exam next Monday, I’ve got a practical in two days, and my boyfriend broke up with me a few days ago because I was too much for him. He was just a pathetic, weak little man, I really don’t know how I lasted that long with him.” You found yourself ranting, releasing some of the pent-up frustration you’ve been feeling for the past few days.

“Well,” Jisung starts. “that’s very fair.” He goes quiet for the remainder of the time he is making the drink, leaving a slightly awkward air around you. You focus your eyes on the counter in front of you in an attempt to ignore the stress coming back to you. All of a sudden a drink is slid across the counter.

“Is that a… squirrel?” You look from the cute latte art to the man standing across the counter from you. He looks sheepishly up at you.

“Yeah, looks like me, doesn’t it?” His grin is back, and you can feel a smile creeping onto your face.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Your eyes linger on his for a few moments, until a group of people enter the small cafe and his attention is brought away from you. You discreetly watch him as he works, greeting the customers with a big smile, and using his charisma to get an extra cake sale. You think maybe you fell for the same charisma yesterday, but you don’t really mind because the cookie was pretty good. A few minutes pass, and you sip on your drink, trying to keep the art as intact as possible. Once the last customer had been served he side steps back towards you.

“How is it? Has it fixed your week yet?” He raises his eyebrows, smirking slightly.

“I’m not sure a drink can fix my week,” you respond, letting out a small sigh.

“Nonsense! Of course, it can. Take a sip.” he gestures to you to lift the mug to your lips. You reluctantly take a sip.

“See? It’s working, no?” he chuckles. You put the cup down and try your best not to laugh.

“There’s that pretty smile!” he grins, earning a roll of your eyes. Your phone buzzes with an incoming email from your university, it’s just a random send-to-all type of email but it does remind you of your looming academic responsibilities.

“Thank you, for the squirrel,” you tell him while standing up from the stool.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, round eyes looking suddenly lost.

“I’ve got work to do, I’ll see you around.”

“You better.” His grin is wide as he watches you leave, hoping you do come back soon.

The third time you see him.

“We crushed it!” You celebrate with your best friend, the two of you have just partaken in a mock legal trial as part of an assessment. Your Professor had wanted to challenge the class, setting up fake suspects and witnesses, and had even arranged for a court stenographer to be present. Your group had won the case, despite the opposing team putting up a pretty tough fight.

“Did you see the look on the judged face when you caught out the lying witness? I was trying so hard not to say something.” Your friend gushes, talking faster than you could keep up with.

“I know!” You laugh but break into a yawn as the previous nights studying catches up with you once the excitement is over.

“Coffee?” She asks.

“Absolutely.”

You’re so engrossed in the conversation as the two of you walk that you don’t even realise you’ve made it all the way to the familiar coffee shop. You stop in your tracks a few feet from the door.

“Not here,” you groan.

“Why not? This place does the best coffee on campus.” She looks confused as she turns back to you.

“I always see the same barista, and he always hits on me, I just can’t be bothered today.” You whine a little, trying to convince her.

“Well, is he working right now?”

You take a step further, enough to look through the window and see the counter. There is a man, but it’s not Jisung.

“I don’t see him.” You trail off, scanning the rest of the shop as much as you can see.

“Alright then, we’re getting coffee here.” Your friend grabs you by the hand and practically pulls you into the small cafe. There is a surprising queue, so you continue to just make conversation with her until you’re next at the counter. The barista who serves you has curly, black hair and biceps that honestly look like they’re about to burst his sleeves. He greets both of you with a smile and begins to punch your orders into the register.

“Changbin! Catch!” You hear a familiar voice. Your heart sinks to your ass. The barista serving you, Changbin, turns back and looks towards the door into the back. Peeking around the cake stand, you catch a glimpse of Jisung. He’s hanging onto the door with a container of what looks like soya milk. He throws it, and Changbin catches it.

“Sorry about that, our delivery was late this morning and only just arrived, so it’s a bit crazy right now,” Changbin explains, replacing an empty soya milk container.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens.” You shrug. He finishes taking your order and the two of you move to the side to wait.

“He’s kind of fit,” your friend leans into you to say, once you’re both out of earshot.

“In more ways than one.” you giggle.

Your attention is quickly averted towards the door to the backroom, particularly to Jisung who is rushing out of it and towards the counter, tying his apron at the same time.

“Sorry Bin, it’s a nightmare back there.” He says, getting to work on coffee orders.

“No worries, we’re not too busy anymore, the rush seems to be over.” You realise that you and your friend were the last in the queue and the cafe has died down a little since you first entered. Jisung also takes a quick glance around, and that’s when he spots you.

“Y/n,” he says. “Back to see me so soon?” His lips turn up into a small smirk.

“You wish.” You roll your eyes. He just laughs and turns back to the coffee machine. You look at your friend and give her a look, the look you get in return translates to 'message received'.

“He’s kinda cute,” she whispers to you, thankfully you were far away enough for her not to be heard. You sighed. He is kind of cute but that’s not what you’re looking for right now. You’re in a weird enough head space as it is with all the stress of law school and the breakup, not even two weeks ago! You can’t seriously be thinking about dating so soon. Right…?

You’re ripped from your thoughts by the very same man that caused them.

“A white hot chocolate?” Jisung announces to the two of you, but he’s looking at you.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You step up to the counter and begin to take it.

“You’re looking very fancy today, big plans?” he asks, smiling.

“I had a mock trial this morning.” You say and he looks at you with wide eyes, kind of like a deer in headlights.

“You know, like a court trial?” you ask.

“Law! That’s what you’re studying.” He finally realises.

“I didn’t say?” You’re now the one who’s confused.

“No, you never, I’ve been trying to figure it out, trying to guess.” he laughs. Changbin appears next to him and slides an espresso onto the counter, your friend stepping over to take it.

“Bin, they’re a lawyer! Isn’t that cool?” Jisung gushes a little, looking back at you with big eyes.

“They won their trial this morning.” Your friend interrupts before you can say anything. You shoot her a look.

“Really?” The big, sparkling doe eyes are back as he leans against the counter.

“I, uh, yeah,” you stutter a little.

“Wow, that’s so cool.”

“Sung, I don’t pay you to stand around and flirt with our customers.” Changbin walks back towards the coffee machine and he begins prepping another order.

“You don’t pay me at all, you’re not even a manager!” Jisung starts whining as he stands up properly. He turns back to you.

“Enjoy your drinks!” He says. You take this as your queue to leave and make a beeline out of the coffee shop, drink in hand. Your friend follows behind you, honestly a little confused.

Once you’re a safe distance from the shop, you finally feel able to breathe again.

The fourth time you see him.

Beep… beep… beep…

Your alarm. You reach over and turn it off, groaning as you roll back over, the feeling of dread already seeping into your bones. It’s the morning of the exam. The exam you’ve been dreading. The exam that is responsible for 60% of your grade. You groan again.

You feel heavy as you walk around your flat, attempting to get ready for the day ahead of you. It doesn’t help that you broke the fundamental exam rule of getting a good night’s sleep, tossing and turning until eventually passing out. So many textbooks have been haunting your thoughts that you barely noticed you’ve also been thinking about something else. Or rather someone else.

You can’t stop, he keeps popping up in your mind. His round face, and big smile. You feel yourself smiling just thinking about it. But fuck, it feels wrong. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. You don’t have time! You have a big exam, which conveniently starts in just over an hour.

You need a coffee.

You get to the familiar coffee shop at 11:31am. Your exam starts at noon. It takes 20 minutes to walk to the campus building it’s being held at. You probably don’t have time for this.

You see him. He’s behind the counter. You think your head hurts.

“Hey,” he greets you with that smile again. You feel sick. “What can I getcha?”

“Just a black coffee, to go.” Your voice croaks a little from its lack of use.

“You’re not staying with me?” He smirks, punching it into the register.

“No.”

You see him falter a little at your cold tone. His eyebrows quirk down a little.

“Are you alright?” he asks as you swipe your phone to pay.

“Stop it, Jisung. Can’t you just leave me alone today, God,” you say exasperated, and step away from the counter. You try to ignore the hurt look in his eye and you really try to ignore the way he shrunk in on himself. A different member of staff you’ve never seen before hands you the drink and you leave the coffee shop without looking back at him.

The exam goes terribly. At least it feels like it goes terribly. Your head is a mess, the guilt chewing at you the entire time. You do your best, writing everything you recall but by the end of it you have a decent headache and the pit in your gut has grown. You leave the exam and go home, collapsing in your bed and you fall asleep telling yourself you’ll feel better when you wake up.

The fifth time you see him.

You wake up in the afternoon the next day.

You don’t feel much better. Not after binging on a pizza and your favourite chocolate. Not after watching that movie that makes you cry every time. Not even after you’ve journaled about it. You think that particular journal entry is mostly scrambled nonsense. It probably is.

You decide to go for a walk to clear your head. Maybe the cold, winter air will freshen you up, and make you feel a bit better. With a big coat and a warm scarf wrapped around you, you walk into the evening air, it’s already past 11pm so you mostly see young people out drinking despite the weather. You have no destination but of course, you end up there.

The warm, yellow-toned light pours from the window as usual. The bell above the door is jarring to your fragile little heart.

He’s there.

He has his back to you, cleaning some sort of container in the sink.

“Two seconds!” he sing-songs. You don’t respond. A few seconds later he’s done and spins around to you. His eyes widen a little and then drop.

“Hi.” He steps towards the register.

“Hi,” you respond.

“Would you like something to drink?” his tone is passive, despite his words being polite.

“A hot chocolate, please, to sit in.” You try to smile at him, he focuses on the register. He nudges the card reader towards you as he steps away to get started on your drink. You move towards the bar-stool seating you sat on previously.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you ask. He looks back to you.

“Go ahead,” he glances back at you. You take a seat and look around, and you realise for the first time that you’re the only person in here, apart from Jisung. You look back towards him just as he put the cup down in front of you.

“Thank you,” you smile again, he gives you a small one but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He turns away and starts fiddling with the coffee machine.

“Jisung, can I talk to you?” you ask.

“I thought you wanted me to leave you alone.” He says without turning around.

“Please.”

That gets him to turn around at least, even if he is still looking at anything but you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you yesterday. I was just a mess, and that’s not an excuse but I need you to know I didn’t mean it,” you trail off, picking up your drink and taking a sip, appreciating its sweetness.

“And to be honest, I kind of miss the flirty Jisung. I was beginning to like him.” You take another sip of your hot chocolate, smirking to yourself when you see his head shoot up toward you.

“You do?” His eyes soften a little when you nod.

“I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not okay. But it’s okay. To be honest, I probably was coming on weirdly strong, huh?” He scratches the back of his neck while you chuckle.

There is a moment of silence as you look down at your hot chocolate. Until a thought sparks in your head.

“Why do you flirt with me?”

“What?” His eyes widen and the poor guy looks like he’s about to shit his pants.

“Why do you flirt with me? Or do you just flirt with anyone?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No! I don’t, it’s really just you, and I don’t know why, I just kinda… liked you? I mean, you seemed cool and nice and definitely my type.” He catches himself rambling.

“I’m your type?” You ask, smirking.

“Well, yeah.” he chuckles. You laugh too.

“Han Jisung, I think we should go on a date.” You say, definitively.

“Really?!” He stands up from where he was leaning against the back counter and crosses towards you.

“Actually, never mind.” You roll your eyes, chuckling.

“Do not play with my heart like this, I’m sensitive!” he clutches at his chest dramatically, making you laugh louder.

“Fine, but I get to pick where we’re going.”

“Deal! Just tell me a time and I’ll be there.” His grin tells you that he will live up to that. You fall into another silence as you hold each other’s gaze, just smiling.

“Hey, Y/n, you want a discounted cookie?”

“I’d love one.”

taglist - @lethallyprotected

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids x you #stray kids smut #han jisung #jisung #skz fluff #skz smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung smut #han jisung imagines #skz drabbles #skz fanfic #stray kids hard thoughts

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cumulo-stratus · 4 months

Note

hi sweet max!

I’m here to drop in a request for Aaron x bau!reader, where reader’s just noticing all the little things Aaron does for them in their day to make it better and easier and how THOUGHTFUL HE IS, like maybe he buys their favourite drinks to stock the fridge on the jet and in the office, making sure that their keyboard at their desk is always charged bc he’s there so late at night and he knows they’d forget. maybe he picks them up in the mornings to make sure they get to work on time. Just him trying his hardest to help them out in teeny tiny ways that make a big difference? sorry if this is long or boring I can try something else but yeah! He’s just so cute and thoughtful. Also masc or gn reader is fine, whichever you prefer!! <3

The Little Things

Request- yes/no

Pairing- Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

Summary- you notice all the little things Aaron does for you everyday (could be read as romantic or platonic)

warnings- like one use of y/n, fear of flying, mentions of eating/not eating

A/N- Rooommmee!!!! Thank you for this absolutely lovely request, I hade SO much fun writing this, and I may have gotten a little bit carried away😅! But anyways he would SO do that- he's a gentleman fs!! Love u Rome 🫶🫶

wc- 2k

Despite the bright, morning light shining through the large rectangular windows, you still yawned for what must’ve been the fifth time in just as many minutes. In your defense the team had wrapped up a case pretty late the night before. Which meant by the time you were in bed and asleep, it was only a couple hours until your alarm went off to go back to work again the next morning.

Spencer had arrived around the same time as you—you both took public transit to work— so he pushed open one of the large glass doors marking the entrance of the BAU. Both you and Reid offered each other warm, but tired smiles as he let you go ahead of him, holding the door.

coincidentally, you both start making your way to the small kitchenette in the corner of the large bullpen. since you hadn’t had any coffee yet, you B-lined straight for the old, barely functioning coffee maker. Gideon had refused to get a new one when Garcia mentioned getting a keurig, stating that all the new ones these days were too fancy- a coffee maker did not need a screen. So that's how you ended up with a coffee pot with stains and knicks all over it from constant use. But what you noticed when you approached it wasn't the coffee maker itself. But what was sitting next to it.

your snoopy mug!

you couldn't help but break out into a grin at the sight of your favorite mug, it was white with an image of the little white dog, sitting on top of his little house in his signature aviator goggles, hat, and a red scarf. Except the bright red scarf trailed out behind him and morphed into the handle of the mug.

Reid noticed your excitement as he poured his own mug of coffee. The pot was about ¾ full, Hotch and Morgan having already got to it. “Nice mug” Reid commented with a smile as he stirred what must’ve been at least 2 tablespoons of sugar. You thought he was smiling because it was a cute mug—which it was—but Spencer was mostly smiling because he had noticed hotch watching from the window of his office.

Aarons face had one of his rare smiles that actually reached his eyes. He couldn’t help but blush as he watched you fawn over the mug to Reid. A couple minutes later, after Reid had left for his desk, you made eye contact with Aaron, smiling. Then, if he hadn’t gotten the point already, you took a sip of the hot coffee- which you had forgotten was still hot and scrunched your face in pain. It had burned your tongue, causing you to stick your tongue out in pain. Aaron laughed at the silent scene he watched unfold, but you didn't notice as you had already shook it off and walked to your desk.

Only minutes after you had settled into your desk, JJ stood on the raised walkway above the bullpen, calling for everyone to meet in the round table room. They had a case. You a bit reluctantly, heaved yourself up from your chair, the weight of sleep still wearing off. Derek chuckled, and gave your arm a playful shove. As you walked by Spencer's desk, Morgan mussed with his hair to get his attention, as he was so absorbed in his book that he hadn’t heard JJ announce the case.

“Come on pretty boy, we got a case-“ Morgan didn’t finish his sentence before you had sped ahead to catch up with Aaron as he made his way to the round table room. “Thanks for the cereal bar by the way, I forgot breakfast on the way out again.” You spoke casually, barely even making eye contact with him, as this was a normal occurrence. You often arrive at work to find a cereal bar, or pastry on your desk with a little note on it. They were usually Aaron reminding you how important it was to eat.

“you need to eat breakfast you know y/n, it’ll affect your abilities in cases if you're not careful you know” you just rolled your eyes at Aarons comment, he was often very protective in that way. Although it was a bit annoying sometimes, you mostly found it endearing. It showed that he cared.

Instead of responding to Aaron’s comment, you just took a bite of your cereal bar as you sat down. JJ started going over the case, 3 women in Wisconsin were missing and presumed dead after days of searching.

”wheels up” hotch called to the team, and everyone almost immediately dispersed to get themselves ready to leave.

—

As everyone filed onto the plane and took their seats, you followed Aaron, as you and he often bounced ideas of each other well. And for one other reason. but no one else, not even Emily, your best friend (only second to Aaron), knew about it except for you two.

You had a fear of flying, take off and landing in particular always freaked you out. You knew it wasn't a good phobia to have, considering how much flying you had to do for your job, but you couldn’t help it. That’s where Aaron came in, you would always sit next to him at the tables, and he would always offer you his hand under the table. He never said anything about it, and no one ever noticed. but every flight a minute or so before takeoff and landing he would rest his hand palm up on your thigh in a silent offering of comfort. and every flight for a minute or so after take off and landing he would keep your hand in his, letting you play with his fingers knowing it often helped you ground yourself and refocus.

That day he offered a small smile along with his hand when no one else was looking. Morgan and Reid were arguing, JJ was scolding them, Rossi was reading a book, and Emily was getting herself a cup of tea. You decided to get yourself something too, after take off of course when the plane was safely en route to wisconsin.

When you approached the tiny kitchenette of the jet the first thing that came to mind was something snarky, like cheetos. JJ always kept them stocked. But then you noticed your favorite as you scanned the small cupboard, cheddar pringle’s! They were cheesy, crunchy and salty- aka the perfect chip. You immediately grabbed them and tore off the lid, excited to eat the crunchy chips. You had only had coffee and a cereal bar to eat so far that day. Aaron watched you walk back to your seat with a contented smile on your face and a small bounce to your step.

When you arrived at your seat you didn't hesitate to plop down next to Aaron and take a big bite of chips. He couldn’t help but laugh a bit at your obsession with the salty snack and decided to comment, knowing he had put them there last case, noticing they didn't have any.

“oh, looks like you found your favorite, how nice-“ his smile was almost sly and you noticed. It didn’t take long for you to connect the dots that he had restocked them, he often did. And they were often your favorites, your favorite energy drink in the fridge, your favorite protein bars in the cupboard, and your favorite snacks on the jet.

—

After a long day of profiling in Wisconsin, the team had ordered take out and decided to all sit together around the large table in the conference room that had been provided by the local police department.

You sat with Aaron to your left, and Derek to your right. THere were 2 trays of food in the middle and various smaller dishes surrounding it. Most of the team was still discussing the case as they served themselves from the various dishes.

You were the last person to serve yourself, as you had been too absorbed in a conversation with Aaron about where he got his many, very, nice suits. You had learned that Aaron Hotchner gets all of his suits tailored.

After lots of discussion, and some slightly subpar asian food, the team was ready to get back to work, it was only 9 o’clock, and they were all pretty much workaholics. So reid went back to his many colored markers and his geo-profile. For whatever reason, you hadn’t been able to sleep very well the night before, and due to that you were practically falling asleep standing up. You had moved from sitting into a standing position in order to keep yourself awake a little more.

It wasn't working. And Hotch noticed this. Aaron used his legs to push up and out of his office chair away from the table to where you were standing about a foot away. He tapped your shoulder to get your attention before speaking. Your head snapped towards him, surprised, as if you hadn’t even noticed him approaching in your trance-like state.

”y/n, you should go back to the hotel, you're no use if you're not clear headed. The team will benefit from you much more if you just get some rest and come tomorrow morning”. You almost immediately tried to protest leaving, but a stern look from Aaron put any protests to rest. Even when you really wanted to protest the idea of him driving you to the hotel, since in his words “you're in no condition to drive, I don't need an agent in a car crash and 3 dead women”. Eventually you had accepted it, as you were too tired to care by the time you and Aaron were on the road to the hotel.

Aaron left the radio on, playing quietly in the background so the silence wouldnt be awkward. But, number one, you were already half asleep by the time he started driving, and number two, the silence was never awkward with Aaron, you felt comfortable with him.

When you arrived at the hotel, hotch shook your shoulder lightly and you jumped awake saying, “Im awake! I'm here! I'm ready..” before trailing off and yawning. Hotch chuckled as he walked around the car to open your door for you, inviting you to step out in front of him. He walked with you to the elevator and pushed the button for you, always a gentleman.

When you finally got into your room after struggling with the key for a minute, you flopped face down on your bed with a groan as Aaron watched from the doorway. When he noticed the lamp on he immediately started crossing the room to turn it off, so you could sleep.

After the lamp was turned off, and Aaron was sure you were okay, and fast asleep, he left for his room in order to change his shirt as he had spilled soy sauce on it at dinner. After making his way to his room down the hall and fumbling with his own key, Aaron made it into his own room to pull out a new shirt. After the long process of taking off his tie and jacket, switching shirts, and putting his tie and jacket back on, he turned off the lamp on the desk near the door. Aaron shut the door behind him quietly so as to not disturb anyone at 10:00 at night.

At first he continued past your room, but then two steps later he changed his mind, turning on his heels back down the hall. He wanted to make sure you were alright one last time before he went back to the police precinct. He had made sure to get a copy of everyone’s room key when they checked in, in case of emergencies. And it wasn’t exactly an emergency, but if you didn't tell, Aaron wouldn't.

When the door clicked open quietly, light from the hallway bled into the dark room. In front of him lay your sound asleep body, still in its work clothes, passed out face down on the hotel bed. Aaron couldn't help but smile as he approached you, bending down to your level. When his face was level with yours he left a small kiss on your cheek, before retreating back into the well lit hallway and into the night.

The End

#criminal minds #bau #bau team #Aaron hotchner #Aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gn reader #Gn reader #Aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fluff #fluff #request #requests!#the radient Rome !!#Maxs mailbox !!

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okkalo · 11 months

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Hiiii do you do scenarios for multiple characters? i'd like to request jealousy scenarios for isagi, chigiri, kaiser, nagi, reo. thank u sm ^^

hi anon! yes i do :) i hope u enjoy these and have a good day/night 🫶

characters: isagi, chigiri, kaiser, nagi, reo

isagi

- it’s the way the beast mode song came in my head just thinking about this 💀

- he would be a calm type of jealous though

- the only situation i can see him getting mad in is if kaiser was the one interacting with you and he was obviously flirting.

- even then he would try to control it around you, just making sure to send a little glare kaiser’s way before taking your hand to lead you someplace else. oh, you were mid-conversation? it’s okay because your boyfriend is much better company!

- he rarely gets jealous though

- and when he does he usually just touches you in someway, whether it be taking your hand or throwing an arm around you. he definitely gets pouty.

- i can imagine him getting jealous because you were talking to someone for too long

- you guys had gone out for a date, strolling around town until you suddenly bumped into an old friend

- at first isagi didn’t mind but you guys just kept talking

isagi let another rough sigh, borderline huff, slip from his lips as he watched you pay no mind to him. he had been standing there for god only knows how long, letting you interact with your old friend when really it should’ve just been the two of you. it was your guys’ date after all. he let out another sigh, hoping you guys had at least been getting close to ending the conversation. he wouldn’t know since he stopped listening ten minutes in. okay..maybe that’s an exaggeration. but it felt like an hour went by to isagi.

he switches his balance to his other foot, impatiently, before deciding to at least try to enjoy the time. he places a hand on your back, starting to rub it up and down while he continued to fake smile at the guy. his heart fluttered once you sent him a worried look, finally giving him some sort of attention. even better, you even took his hand as a sign that you should be wrapping up the conversation, to which you did with ease.

once done with waving goodbye, isagi immediately let out a dramatic sigh, lips going into a slight pout before pulling you closer to him. he didn’t need to say words for you to understand he was upset, because frankly his sighs said it all. you could only let out a small giggle before pulling isagi into a hug, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up. “thank you for waiting so patiently, yoichi.” okay, maybe he could do something like that again if this is what he got in return.

chigiri

- he’s definitely the hardest one to make jealous out of these characters

- but that’s mostly because he trusts you

- i can imagine you being brought up like his sister to the blue lock team

- you happened to be at one of the games, next to his sister, when she did her loud callout

- and of course the men heard and turned towards the direction, this time someone else had caught their eye.

- chigiri had to put up with their questions back then and he thought that was it

- until he had saw otoya try talking to you after the game

a huff left chigiri’s lips at the sight. he should’ve known to not trust otoya, i mean he saw it all that day they went bowling. what annoyed him even more is that he could tell otoya was using the same pickup tactic as if you were an ordinary girl. and to top it all off? you had been indulging him. he was lucky he came when otoya asked for your number.

“she’s not for grabs.” chigiri immediately slid his way into the conversation, arm finding it’s way around your waist as he gave a deadpan expression to his teammate. chigiri’s heart swelled once you gave him an excited greeting, forgetting the jealousy that pricked him before. “let’s go home.” he stated, sliding his hand down to connect your fingers, giving a light squeeze to your hand before dragging you off. he ignored otoya’s giggle in the background.

“next time just ignore him if he comes up to you.” chigiri broke the calm silence between you both on the ride back to your shared home. you were about to reason yourself when he spoke up again, not giving you a chance to, “he’s got a lot of other girls to talk to, trust me.”

kaiser

- LMAO

- gets jealous only when he sees people he doesn’t know or like interact with you

- but that’s also a lot of people so

- and god forbid isagi ever come close to you

- or if the person you’re with is throwing in light touches

- remember that cocky yet pissed face he showed in one of the chapters? that’s the face he uses.

- does not care if the person you’re talking to is important

- will absolutely use pda. if you aren’t comfortable you either have to immediately drop the conversation or punish kaiser with no kisses or smth for a period of time

- will use insults as well

- just so so obnoxious.

it was after one of kaiser’s football games when he saw this random idiot trying to talk you up. after a shit game of having to deal with isagi and noel’s suckup relationship. after a game that consisted of thoughts about you, just wanting to go home with you. and this is what he sees? he scoffs at the sight before his legs carry him to you two.

“hey babe,” kaiser makes sure to greet you with a pet name, sliding his arm around your shoulders before his hand moves your head to meet him in for a kiss. he peeks one eye open during the kiss, sending a glare to the guy while his lips formed into a smirk at the guy’s shocked face. he departs from the kiss shortly after, his eyes now only on you. “let’s go home and celebrate, yeah?”

he ignores you trying to introduce the guy, pulling you along with him while his other hand flies off in a lazy wave. “don’t care, i’m better.” you could only give him a light push while giving a rushed apology to the guy you were in mid-conversation with before kaiser dragged you away.

nagi

- the pouty type of jealous

- argue with the wall

- hard to get jealous though because frankly he doesn’t care most of the time

- but this situation had been ongoing

- he started picking up on your play flirts with your friends

- at first he thought it was weird but as time went on he couldn’t help but be jealous of your friends

nagi’s lips formed into a frown at the now red screen in front of him. he had been distracted by your coos over the phone with your friend and ended up losing his game. he let out a huff as he looked over at you smiling dumbly while holding a phone to your ear. he was thankful you were saying your goodbyes, quickly tossing his own phone to the side as he crawled over to plop himself on your stomach. he ignored your groan at his weight, head laying down on your chest as he stared off to the side. “why can’t you talk to me like that?”

the blunt question had caught you off guard, eyes narrowing in confusion until you started to think. “you mean flirt? you want me to flirt with you nagi?” he gave a huff at your confused tone before giving a small nod. you couldn’t help the laughter that escaped your lips at his answer. “nagi, you’re my boyfriend why would i need to tell you ‘i’m kissing you through the phone’?”

his head immediately perked up, eyes now meeting yours. “it’s not just that! why don’t you tell me ‘i’m going to marry you’? i should be the one you say that to, not them anyways.” he declared, his frown sinking deeper as you let out another laugh. you pushed your fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp as you gave him a goofy smile. he let out a sigh, his heart easing at your smile before setting his chin back down on your chest. “i’ll marry you better than them anyways.”

reo

- definitely gets jealous easily

- he’s a mix of the pouty jealous and the cold jealous

- definitely pouty with you but when there’s someone else he has to put on a cool look yk

- he happened to walk in at the wrong time once he heard you call someone hot while looking at your phone

- he went smug immediately, thinking it was him you were looking at

- you can only imagine the betrayal he felt once he saw you looking at a picture of one of his teammates

- calls you out on it and he became pouty that whole night, even giving you silent treatment up until bed time

you sighed, crawling into the bed just to notice you weren’t welcome to open arms like usual. now it was your turn to pout, eyes falling over to reo who sat with his body against the headboard, his arms crossed and his head turned to avoid you even more. “reo…you know, i still think you’re the hottest guy on the team.”

you let out another sigh as you were met with silence. you were still determined, nonetheless. you couldn’t go to sleep without reo pulling you close. you decided to crawl up to him, lightly setting yourself down on his lap as your hand moved his head to look at you. “not only that but you’re the best guy on your team. i mean, you can pull off so many cool moves it’s incredible.” you start whispering compliments to him, your thumb stroking his cheek while he finally moved his eyes to meet yours. you still hadn’t won him over, his arms staying crossed. “and you’re nice and did i mention handsome?”

he let out a soft sigh before giving in and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you close to him. his head falls to rest on your shoulder, inhaling your scent while one of his hands went down to caress your thigh. you let out an excited giggle as your arms threw themselves around his neck, your head nuzzling into his own neck. “i’m also your hot boyfriend who should be the only one you’re gushing over.” you decide to stay silent at his claim, not wanting to take his bait and ruin the moment.

unedited thanks for reading!

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ask-whitepearl-and-steven · 2 years

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i understand that its cool to receive fanart, but ur really lenient about people who draw these characters thinner than they really are, and as a steven universe blog with art that is really respectful about bigger bodies its really disappointing to see u supporting these people skinnyfying fat characters

Here's the thing about your message:

It assumes everyone drawing bigger characters skinnier is doing so with fully acknowledged malicious intent

It assumes that openly shaming people for it will fix the problem and make them draw fat characters 'properly'

I'm going to be completely honest with you for a moment.

I'm a teacher. I teach kids from ages 8 to about 15 (currently I'm teaching younger grades, but I've worked a lot with the older demographic as well.) So take what I say with the comfort that I at least know a little bit of what I'm talking about.

Why does this matter? Because a lot of the fanart that is gifted to me by this community comes not from adults, but from children. Sometimes, they're teens who have been drawing for a few years! Sometimes they're younger kids who have only recently begun to develop their skills.

Here's the reality - drawing bodies is hard. ANY bodies - skinny ones, fat ones, unusually shaped ones. In order to get good at it, you have to draw them a lot! And in order to draw, you need to find ways to practice. Usually, this happens by the budding artist looking around at other artists and copying them. Or looking at tutorials.

Here's another reality - unfortunately, the majority of art online, the majority of tutorials online, don't touch on drawing larger characters. They simply pretend it's not a thing. Finding references to larger people can take work! Getting started drawing larger people if you only have skinny-people references... is hard!

You know what doesn't make it easier? Getting shamed and told off by another artist for drawing characters 'too skinny'.

I teach English to students who have never learned English before. From 8 year olds to 15 year olds, you know what the one thing that remains constant is? Learning happens best through kindness and positive reinforcement. Not through shame and grabbing the child's attention and smearing it in their mistake like you're punishing a puppy that peed on the floor.

In fact, yelling at people of ANY age about their mistake pretty rarely gets them to stop making that mistake. What ends up happening more often is that they end up hating that activity altogether.

There's a reason I consciously and indiscriminately reblog all sorts of art - all of it has something that the artist excels at. Do all of them have great body proportions that are correct for the character? No. Some art is clearly made by people who are not used to drawing anything except super skinny characters!

But all of them ARE kind enough to read my comic, which I try to fill with body types that are diverse, true to the show itself. And that, in and of itself, is exposing them to art styles that don't have to over-rely on anime or CLAMP-esque noodly kids that look like they just popped out of Wonka's Laffy machine.

So yes, maybe they draw Steven or Rose too skinny. But they're also looking at Rose and Steven and clearly find them adorable, and maybe someday, they'll try something different for a change. It's not my job to rub their nose in the fact that they haven't gotten the chance to experiment yet. It's also not my job to ignore them if they don't have the 'correct' proportions, because like it or not, that's also punishment.

I do make it my job to try to reblog the fanart I see and promote it, because getting positive reinforcement and being encouraged to continue to experiment with art is what will make kids and teens AND adults confident enough to go beyond the socially-accepted weight-limit for MCs.

I know it can feel demoralizing to see a lot of character with your body type erased and made skinny as if that's a 'prettier' version of them. But 90% of the people drawing Steven skinny aren't doing it because they hate you. It's because they haven't been told it's ok to draw characters chubby. Or fat. And the unlearning part of that sort of thing is a process that needs support, not shame.

I don't expect you to be kind if you're hurt by that. You can react any way you want, and anger is a healthy emotion in this case.

But if you want ME to react with malice on your behalf, then I'm afraid I won't. I have another job to do, and that job is teaching with kindness.

#chekhov answers

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murderhusbands4life · 7 months

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Hannibal Lecter X Autistic Child Reader

first request!

request: Can u do like austitic child reader with Hannibal

summary: Hannibal latest patient is a child filled with trauma over their elder brothers death and Hannibal cares for them like his own.

Third person pov...

Mrs L/N and her 7 year old arrive outside Dr Hannibal Lecter's office, Y/Ns new physiatrist. A little over a month ago Y/Ns elder brother died, the 7 year old witnessed it since then the child had been filled with terror and hadn't slept well since.

Said child was grumpily standing next to their Mum staring down at their shoes swaying back and forth. "Do I have too" they pout, this makes Y/Ns mum sigh, she kneels and holds her Childs shoulder making the kid flinch not liking touch.

"Sorry honey, but you know what the school says you have to stick with the same therapist for at least a week before going back to school" explains the kids Mum, the child sighs. "Okayy, lets do it" they say making the women smile at them.

The building itself was beautiful with a sense of historical back ground, it was tall and didn't look like a physiatrists office, nervously Y/N follows their mother inside the building, Mrs L/N had heard from her close friend Jack Crawford about an amazing physiatrist and decided to make an appointment for her child.

Soon they came to a door which was Dr Lecter's office, Mrs L/N knocks on the door, looking down at her nervous child of course the child was nervous, Y/N doesn't like change and this is a huge change for them, then the door opens and man stands there.

He was tall around 6tf, he had ash grey hair, brown eyes, he had sharp cheekbones and an obviously fake smile on his face, to Y/N he looked about 40 maybe mid 40s. he was wearing a dark red pinstripe suit and dark brown shoes.

He looks at the mother and child in front of him wondering who they were. "hello, you must be Dr Lecter, Im Y/M/N L/N and this is Y/N we have an appointment" says the H/C woman, Hannibal eyes widened a fraction before returning to normal. "ah yes my apologies, I had forgotten please come in" he says and stands to the right holding the door open.

He had a slight accent, possibly eastern European, Y/N wracks their brain trying to place it but couldn't think, they shall have to ask the man later.

But Y/Ns mum shakes her head at the invitation. "I'm already late for work, I'll leave Y/N with you" she says before turning her back and kneeling next to her child, Hannibal watches as the child's eyes wonder not looking at their mother.

"Y/N love, I'll be back to pick you up later okay, my shift at the clinic will finish at 5 okay see you then, be good and respectful to Dr Lecter now" she says to the child kissing their forehead and walking away throwing a wave goodbye behind her.

The hallway was filled with silence as the Dr and Child stand. "Please come in Y/N" he says to the silent child. Y/N nervously enters the pristine office, the child gasps at how large the room was, bright E/C eyes marvel at its beauty.

Dr Lecter lips turn up at the emotionless child gasping at his office, he then walks over to the child and begins taking their coat, this makes the child look at him before smiling in thanks. "Thank you, sir," Hannibal hears a mumble.

"of course, now if you would please take a seat we will begin" he says motioning to one of the chairs he uses for his patents, though it had been a while since he had such a young one in his office.

"now then we shall begin, I am Hannibal Lecter and I will be your physiatrist" he says smiling at the small child sitting in the overly large chair, said child was still looking around the room drinking in all the details and books.

"Im Y/N L/N, sir im 7 years old" comes a tiny voice, Hannibal smiles slightly, they were getting somewhere at least he got their name. "hello Y/N do you know why you are here?" he asks the child, Y/N stopped looking around and instead looked at their shoes.

"because I don't sleep and Mummy's worried about me" comes the quiet voice, Hannibal was barely able to hear. He crosses his legs and continues to write in his notebook, brown eyes look over the child sitting opposite him, their movements skittish like a scared bunny.

"And why is that Y/N?" he asks gently coaxing the child to speak more, minutes pass before the child speaks. "Because brother died and I still dream off him though not nice dreams, I miss him" whispers the child tears gathering in the corner of their big E/C eyes.

Already seeing this happening Hannibal hands, the 7 tear old some tissues he keeps on his desk, tiny hand grab the white tissue and wipes their tears and blows their nose. "t-thank y-you s-sir" comes a tearful voice.

Hannibal smiles gently at the child reassuring them. "of course, child" he says as their session moves on.

Over Y/Ns next few appointments with Hannibal they began to get more comfortable with him and always enjoyed coming to his office, once he noticed how their eyes wondered toward his many books on the second level, the expression of surprise will forever make him happy as he told the child they could read his collection.

Said child bounds over to the many books and carefully grabs a couple, he had learnt that Y/N was autistic and had a love for books they loved reading anything, the two become ever closer their sessions became something less formal.

Hannibal had never felt this close to a child before, but he enjoyed their sessions together and was delighted to be able to help such a sweet innocent child go through their trauma.

The end!

Hope you liked this first oneshot for this new book. Sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes in this.

Requests are open!

Word count: 1065

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter x child reader #x autistic reader #x child reader #death of brother #oneshot #fluff #hannibal x child reader

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the-californicationist · 6 months

Text

he finds a safe house

You and your captain have lost communication with the rest of the team in a terrible blizzard. When you stumble upon a ghost town, you take refuge in a safe house...and each other.

TW: scars, one bed (ish)

AO3 Link

“Ghost! How copy? Riley, come in!” Price shouted into his headset.

You were sending cover fire over the fallen tree that you and your captain were hiding behind. Unfortunately, you’d been separated from the rest of your team. Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were on the other side of the large, icy ravine, and they had done a good job drawing the enemy away from the target zone. Price kept trying to connect, but there was too much snow cover. A nasty blizzard was rolling in, and you needed to find better hiding spot, quickly.

“Captain! Enemy has been eliminated. We need to find shelter,” you tried to pull him up off of the ground.

He looked up at you, frustrated,

“Aye, Corporal, but they’ll be back. We need to find a way to warn the boys.”

“Look,” you showed him the map on your datapad, “Laswell said there’s an old town…I think she called it Khabnoye? It’s been abandoned for years, about two klicks away. There might be some old technology, radios, whatever. We can reach them on some long-range.”

“Alright, let’s move.”

It was a short distance, but the terrain was brutal due to the snow. You made it there by nightfall, and carefully approached the outskirts of the town, following Price’s lead to scope out possible enemy combatants. There was no one in sight. It truly was a ghost town, and you were justifiably creeped the hell out.

A small house was mostly intact near the very edge of the town, plenty of empty space around its edges, and only one broken window. You began to sweep the rooms, of which there were only three, noting that its prior occupants had left in quite a hurry sometime in the late 80s. You were fighting a nameless, secret war inside of the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, so most of the towns you came across were similarly abandoned.

You stood in the kitchen with Price, catching your breath and unpacking your bag. He was starting up the small, convective space heater checking for high levels of radiation in the room, making sure it was sustainable for the night.

“Alright, let’s go dark. No lights, no comms until we get a better idea about what happened,” he said in a low voice.

“Yes, sir. I did get a notification from Soap, but the message is unreadable,” you showed him the datapad before you powered it down.

He sighed,

“At least we know he’s alive and stable enough to send comms. We’ll work on connecting when this storm blows through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Drop the formality, Sparrow. Not spending the whole night listening to your sirs.”

He was upset. The operation was ruined, and he had no idea where his team was or if they were even alive anymore. You said nothing, letting him unpack two MREs and prep the bags for you. You checked the other rooms. There was a tiny, filthy bathroom without running water, and a bedroom with a dingy full mattress without sheets. You set to work arming the windows with night vision motion cameras - much good may it do you with all this snow - and rigged the front door.

“No use,” Price muttered, digging into his chili and beans MRE, starving.

“Why? You think we’re safe here?”

“No tracks in or out. No trash younger than me, and no pings for ten miles,” he showed you his passive EMP monitor, “Our tracks are covered by now with the storm. They’ll assume we rendezvoused back at the base. It was closer and easier to access.”

“Closer? Why’d you come here then?”

“Base might be compromised,” he shrugged, “Couldn’t reach McTavish, so we can’t assume anything at this point. Might as well get comfortable and wait til morning. This’ll clear once the sun comes out, and we’ll send an AM ping.”

You sighed a breath of pure relief,

“I know I’ve only been with you guys for a few months, but honestly, I don’t know what’s more impressive, your technology or your level-headedness under insane fire. Feeling very much like the amateur I am, Captain.”

“You handled yourself well out there, little bird. I’m impressed,” his praise rushed through you like adrenaline, and you basked in it.

“Thanks, Cap,” you smiled, drinking the broth of your soup and packing up your MRE trash into its bag.

“You smoke cigars, love?”

It was midnight before you even considered going to bed. You and Price had stayed up in the kitchen, smoking and chatting in the dark, only illuminated by the glow of your ashes. The snow fluttered down outside, layering itself on the ground like a pile of white sheets. There’d be at least two feet of it at the door tomorrow morning.

“...and I got this one in Amsterdam, chasing some smugglers out of the wharf. Motherfucker stabbed me right through the arm. Missed the bones, thank Christ. But, that’s not the bad one.”

You were telling each other stories about your scars, and you were in all states of dress. It was warm with the space heater, and you were comfortable around each other. Aside from admiring the mountainous swell of his shoulders and chest, you tried not to think much of it. He was hot, but he wasn’t interested. You just had a small crush. It would pass.

Okay, maybe a big crush. But, you had some self-control.

Some.

“Oh,” he leaned across the table to get closer and look at your arm, “What was the bad one?”

You blushed, not that he could see it in the darkness,

“It’s in a certain spot. Not sure you want to - ”

“Don’t make me beg, little bird,” he smirked, rolling his eyes at your modesty.

He was right, of course. You weren’t sure why you were shy.

Liar. You were shy because you had an enormous, filthy crush on your commanding officer.

You tucked your elbow beneath your shirt and pulled it up over your chest, showing him your sternum,

“This one. It’s a - ”

“Flare burn,” he whispered, his demeanor changing from jovial to serious very quickly.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

He was silent for a long time. You watched as Price too a big mouthful of cigar smoke before letting it billow around him, looking like a big, brooding dragon in the quiet room.

“How’d you get it?” He asked, avoiding your question.

“Enemy trap. They rigged the door to blow a flare. My vest, all my plate, none of it mattered. The flare burned so hot that it cut right through the gear like butter. If it wasn’t for our medic knowing that he needed to knock it out, I would’ve died. Three weeks in the med bay. It was bad.”

Price reached out slowly, almost as if not to scare you, and touched the circular wound. It wasn’t sexual, but that didn’t stop you from immediately feeling aroused by having his hands on you. You shuddered involuntarily, and he jerked his hand back. The silence in the room was suffocating.

“Sorry, little bird,” he whispered his apology, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you chuckled, taking a drag of his cigar for yourself, trying to calm down, “Uh, no.”

“What?” He prodded, not realizing what truth he was asking you for.

“It’s nothing, sir,” you stood up from the table, trying to escape, and forgetting you were in a 200 square foot house.

He stood with you, reaching out to touch your shoulder. You sighed into his contact against your will, feeling the stress of the day melt away as he did.

“It just…” You tried to throw him a hint, “Feels good, you know. To be touched. Been a long time… sorry, sir.”

“Told you to swallow those sirs, little bird,” he whispered in a low rumble, putting his other hand on your other shoulder, grabbing you gently.

There was very little space between your bodies now that you were away from the table, standing in the no-man’s-land between the bed and the kitchenette. It smelled like sweat and tobacco and 1987 in there, and you were breathing hard, nervous and desperate for him to do something to you that he couldn’t take back.

“Sorry,” you said under your breath, not knowing what else to tell him.

Price lifted your chin up to meet his eyes, grabbing your jaw firmly, but gently. In the blackness of the night, the moon reflected only a little of his icy blue eyes, and the glow from his cigar made his face appear sharp and saurian. You didn’t expect for his touch to be so light. Just hours ago, he’d snapped a man’s neck with these same hands, and now he was passing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip like you were the petal of an orchid, careful not to bruise you.

“I’m trying,” his breath was ragged as he confessed, “I promise, I’m trying to let it go, little bird.”

“Let what go?” You put your hands on his hips, trying to steady yourself, feeling dizzy with lust and fear.

“My desire,” he put his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, struggling, “Turn me away. Please, little bird. End my fucking torment. I’ll never mention it again. I swear it.”

You kissed him, pressing your lips into his chastely but firmly, enjoying the heat and the smoothness of his skin, the smell and the feel of his beard, coated in tobacco smoke and his own sweat. The comforting spice of the chili lingering on his mouth. He breathed in like you’d pressed a hot iron brand into him, blissful pain radiating through his body, pulling you in close to his chest. He deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth against yours, moving your skull with his powerful jaws, leading you, commanding and strong in his desire.

“Love, don’t…don’t do this. Not unless you mean it. I’m bloody beggin’ you.”

You smiled, resting your nose alongside his, kissing him again slowly and carefully before answering him,

“I mean it, John. I mean it.”

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