warnings. established relationships, physical affection, clingy blue lock boys, pure fluff ♡
the little ways they ask you to hold them, even when the words never quite leave their mouths.
── .✦
Isagi Yoichi
Yoichi has been standing beside the couch for nearly five minutes.
At first, you assume he is simply too absorbed in recounting his training session to sit down. He returned home flushed and slightly breathless, his damp hair clinging to his forehead while his hands shaped invisible formations in the air. The story has already moved through three different plays and at least six players, yet he remains beside you, shifting his weight whenever you glance up.
“And then I realized the defender wasn’t actually protecting the space behind him,” he explains. “He was trying to make me think that was the opening so I would—”
He trails off.
You wait, but Yoichi only looks toward the empty cushion beside you before hurriedly returning his attention to your face.
“So you would what?”
“Oh. Right.” He rubs the back of his neck. “So I would choose the route he wanted.”
He finishes the explanation, then asks what you are watching. A moment later, he wonders whether your drink is still warm. When he follows that with a question about whether the blanket is comfortable, you finally lower the remote.
“Yoichi.”
His posture straightens. “Hm?”
“Do you want a hug?”
“What?” The denial arrives far too quickly. “No, I was just telling you about practice.”
“You finished that story.”
“I did?”
“You’ve been hovering beside me, asking questions about my blanket.”
His face warms. “I wasn’t hovering.”
You lift the blanket and open your arms.
Yoichi stares at you for less than a second before surrendering. He drops onto the couch and folds himself into your embrace, arms circling your waist as his face disappears against your shoulder. A long breath leaves him, carrying away the tension that had remained in his body since he walked through the door.
“There you are,” you murmur, sliding your fingers into his hair.
“I was already here.”
“You were waiting for me to notice you.”
“I didn’t know I wanted a hug.”
Your hand pauses.
Yoichi’s arms tighten.
“Okay,” he admits into your shirt. “I knew.”
You smile and press a kiss to his temple. Beneath your touch, his shoulders gradually loosen and his breathing becomes slower, the restless thoughts that followed him home finally quieting.
After a few minutes, he begins describing the play again. This time, his voice is softer, the words losing their hurried rhythm as he settles more heavily against you.
By the time he reaches the ending, his eyes are closed.
You do not tell him that he has already explained it twice.
── .✦
Itoshi Sae
Sae does not ask for your attention. He simply decides that he has it.
You are halfway through a chapter when he comes to stand in front of the couch, glances at the book resting across your lap, and takes it from your hands.
“Excuse me.”
“You’re excused.”
He folds the page carefully enough to preserve your place, sets the book on the coffee table, and lowers his head into the space it occupied.
The entire process happens with such calm certainty that you can only stare at him. Sae closes his eyes, maroon hair spilling across your thighs as one hand comes to rest beside your knee.
“You could have asked.”
“You would’ve said yes.”
“That isn’t the point.”
His eyes remain shut. “Then what is?”
“You asking.”
After a moment, he tilts his face slightly toward you. “Can I lie here?”
“You are already lying here.”
“So the question is unnecessary.”
You narrow your eyes, but the faint curve at the corner of his mouth reveals that he knows exactly what he is doing.
Sae’s affection often arrives disguised as entitlement. He takes your hand while walking without warning, draws your legs across his lap when you sit too far away, and removes anything separating him from your touch as though it has personally inconvenienced him.
Now he lies perfectly still, waiting beneath your hand without admitting what he wants.
You make him wait a few seconds longer before threading your fingers through his hair.
The tension leaves his brow almost immediately.
“You’re spoiled,” you murmur, lightly scratching your nails over his scalp.
“You’re the one doing it.”
“You stole my book.”
“It was between us.”
The answer is so matter-of-fact that warmth rises beneath your skin. Sae opens one eye, notices your reaction, and closes it again with quiet satisfaction.
When you eventually stop to reach for your book, his fingers close around your wrist.
“I’m getting it back.”
“No.”
“You took it from me.”
“And now you’re occupied.”
“With what?”
He presses his head more firmly into your lap.
You laugh softly. “You really can’t say you want attention, can you?”
“I have your attention.”
“That still isn’t asking.”
Sae opens one eye again. “Keep going.”
It is not quite a request, but it is close enough. Your hand returns to his hair, and his eye falls shut immediately.
“Next time, you’re asking properly.”
“Sure.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“No.”
The next time, he simply places your hand on his head himself.
Apparently, that is the best compromise you are going to receive.
── .✦
Itoshi Rin
Rin waits until you pass close enough on your way to the door before reaching out and catching your wrist.
You glance back, expecting him to tell you that you have forgotten something, only to find him still seated on the couch. His fingers rest loosely around your wrist while his gaze remains fixed on the television, as though stopping you from leaving requires no explanation at all.
“Did you need something?”
“No.”
You look pointedly at his hand.
Rin’s grip tightens by a fraction. “You forgot your phone.”
“It’s in my pocket.”
“Your charger.”
“I didn’t bring one.”
The faint crease between his brows suggests your preparedness has personally betrayed him.
You wait.
He does not release you.
The two of you spent the evening watching match footage he initially insisted you would not understand, although that did not prevent him from explaining every tactical decision in painstaking detail. When you announced that it was getting late, you expected his usual clipped goodbye—not to be detained at the doorway without explanation.
“Rin.”
“What?”
“Why are you holding me?”
His jaw tightens. For a moment, he seems to consider inventing another missing object, but eventually his thumb brushes once across the inside of your wrist.
“You can stay a little longer.”
The words are delivered flatly, as though he is granting permission rather than making a request.
“You want me to stay?”
“I just said you could.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It is.”
You release the door handle and return to the couch, deliberately leaving a narrow space between you.
It survives for less than a second.
Rin catches you around the waist and pulls you down beside him, one arm settling firmly around you while his other hand retrieves the remote. He resumes the footage as though nothing unusual has occurred.
“You dragged me back here.”
“I didn’t drag you.”
“You stopped me from leaving.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
His arm tightens when you shift.
Smiling, you rest your head against his shoulder. Rin adjusts almost imperceptibly, arranging you more comfortably while his thumb begins tracing slow lines over your side.
“You could have asked me not to go,” you murmur.
“I did.”
“You told me I could stay.”
“You understood.”
“I did.”
“Then stop talking.”
You kiss his cheek.
The tips of his ears turn red, though his expression remains fixed on the screen. A moment later, his cheek settles lightly against the top of your head.
“You’re clingy tonight,” you whisper.
“I’m not.”
“You caught me at the door.”
“You were leaving too early.”
“It’s almost midnight.”
His hold becomes firmer. “Exactly.”
The argument makes no sense.
You remain tucked against him anyway.
── .✦
Barou Shouei
Barou has been glaring at you for ten minutes.
You notice almost immediately, but pretending otherwise is much more entertaining.
The two of you sit at opposite ends of the couch, your attention fixed on your phone while Barou watches a match on television. Every few moments, you feel his gaze leave the screen and land on you, growing more irritated each time you fail to acknowledge it.
Eventually, he exhales sharply.
“Move.”
You look up. “Why?”
“You’re blocking the lamp.”
The lamp is behind him.
“I’m nowhere near it.”
“Your things are everywhere.”
Your phone is the only object beside you.
“You mean my phone?”
Barou’s expression darkens. “Are you going to sit properly or not?”
“I am sitting properly.”
“No, you’re not.”
You glance down at yourself, then toward him. “What exactly is wrong with the way I’m sitting?”
“You’re too far away.”
The confession escapes before he can stop it.
Silence settles between you.
Barou’s jaw tightens as he realizes what he has said, but it is already too late. Your smile grows slowly.
“There it is.”
“Shut up.”
“You wanted me closer.”
“I wanted you to stop taking up the entire couch.”
“You have more than half of it.”
“Come here.”
It is not a request. Barou reaches across the empty cushion, catches your ankle, and pulls until you slide toward him with a startled laugh. Once you are close enough, his arm circles your waist and arranges you against his chest exactly where he wanted you from the beginning.
“You could have asked,” you say.
“I did.”
“You complained about a lamp.”
“You should have understood.”
“You are not nearly as subtle as you think.”
“I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
Barou drapes the blanket over both of you, tucking it around your legs with more care than his irritated expression suggests. His hand settles against your side while he resumes watching the match.
When you shift experimentally away, his fingers tighten.
“Stay still.”
“Why?”
“You’re distracting.”
“I wasn’t distracting you from the other side of the couch?”
“No.”
“So I should move back?”
Barou looks down at you, red eyes narrowing.
You smile sweetly.
His arm locks more firmly around your waist. “Try it.”
You laugh and settle against him, resting your cheek over his chest. Beneath your ear, his heartbeat remains steady, though the hand at your side slowly begins tracing absent circles through your shirt.
“You’re needy,” you murmur.
“You’re annoying.”
“But you wanted me.”
“I always want you close,” he says before turning his attention back to the screen. “You should know that by now.”
Your smile remains for the rest of the match.
── .✦
Bachira Meguru
Meguru does not say that he wants a hug.
He stands across the room with both arms stretched toward you and calls your name until you understand.
At first, you ignore him. You are trying to finish a message, and his arrival has already been announced by the sound of his shoes being abandoned somewhere near the door.
“Y/n.”
You continue typing.
“Y/n.”
“One second.”
“Y/n.”
“What?”
“Meguru.”
You finally look up.
He is standing in the center of the living room with his arms still extended, fingers opening and closing impatiently. His hair is tousled from practice, and his smile is bright enough to make his intention obvious despite his refusal to voice it.
“That is your name,” you say.
“Yeah.”
“What do you need?”
He wiggles his fingers at you. “You.”
“You have to be more specific.”
“Come here.”
“That sounds suspiciously like an order.”
Meguru gasps. “It’s an invitation.”
“To what?”
“My arms.”
You attempt to return to your phone, but he begins calling your name again, changing the tone each time—singing it, whispering it dramatically, then drawing it out until you start laughing.
“Fine.”
The moment you stand, Meguru bounces on his heels. You barely reach him before he throws both arms around you, pressing his face against your cheek and rocking the two of you from side to side.
“There you are!”
“I was sitting three meters away.”
“Too far.”
He kisses your cheek once, then again, scattering quick kisses over your face while you squirm in his hold.
“Meguru!”
“I missed you.”
“You saw me this morning.”
“That was hours ago.”
His arms tighten around your waist, all his usual restless energy softening as he buries his face against your neck. The sudden quiet tells you this was not merely another playful demand for attention. He had wanted the warmth of you, the familiarity of your arms around his shoulders.
You stroke the hair at his nape.
“You could have said you needed a hug.”
“I did.”
“You said my name seventeen times.”
“And you came over.”
“That doesn’t make it a sentence.”
“It’s our secret signal.”
“We have never agreed on that.”
Meguru lifts his head, golden eyes shining. “But you understood it.”
Before you can argue, he kisses the tip of your nose.
Then he beams and squeezes you again.
Apparently, the secret signal is now permanent.
── .✦
Nagi Seishiro
Seishiro crosses the room without explanation and lowers his entire body on top of you.
One moment, you are lying comfortably along the couch, scrolling through your phone; the next, a tall football player has settled over you with his head against your chest and his arms loosely wrapped around your waist.
The air leaves your lungs.
“Seishiro.”
“Mm?”
“You’re heavy.”
“I know.”
“Move.”
“Too much effort.”
You stare at the ceiling. “You walked all the way over here.”
“That used up the rest of my energy.”
His eyes close as though the conversation has ended.
There is another couch directly across from you, as well as an empty armchair and, presumably, an entire bed in the next room. Seishiro ignored all of them in favor of using your body as a mattress.
“You could have asked me to cuddle.”
“That sounds troublesome.”
“More troublesome than crushing me?”
“Less comfortable.”
You attempt to shift beneath him, but his arms tighten lazily around your middle.
“Don’t move.”
“I’m trying to breathe.”
“You’re breathing.”
“Barely.”
Seishiro lifts his head just enough to inspect you, white hair falling across sleepy grey eyes. After considering the complaint, he adjusts his weight slightly to the side, although his cheek remains pressed over your heart.
“Better?”
“A little.”
“Good.”
His eyes close again.
You try to return to your phone, but Seishiro nudges his head beneath your hand until your fingers rest in his hair.
The request is so shamelessly obvious that you laugh.
“You want me to play with your hair?”
“No.”
He nudges your palm again.
“Of course not.”
Your fingers begin combing through the soft strands, and a quiet, contented hum vibrates against your chest. Seishiro relaxes immediately, his body becoming heavier as every remaining trace of tension disappears.
“You could have just said you wanted affection.”
“I came over here.”
“That was the request?”
“Mm.”
“And lying on me?”
“The reminder.”
You scratch lightly at his scalp, earning another soft sound.
After a few minutes, his breathing begins to even out. His arms remain around your waist, holding you as though there had never been any possibility of choosing another place to rest.
“Seishiro?”
No answer.
You glance down and find him asleep.
Apparently, you are not allowed to move for the foreseeable future.
── .✦
Shidou Ryusei
Ryusei finds you after the match while the adrenaline is still burning through him.
You hear him before you see him, his laughter echoing through the corridor as he recounts his goal to someone behind him. He appears around the corner flushed, sweaty, and practically vibrating with leftover energy.
“There you are!”
Before you can answer, he closes the distance and catches you around the waist. The force of the embrace lifts your heels briefly from the floor, his face disappearing against the side of your neck as his arms lock securely around you.
“You’re sweaty,” you complain, though your hands have already settled against his back.
“You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
“Liar.”
Normally, Ryusei would follow the accusation with several exaggerated kisses or another loud retelling of his favorite moment from the match. Instead, he simply remains there.
His breathing is still quick, each exhale warm against your skin, but the longer you hold him, the more the restless energy begins to drain from his body. His shoulders lower beneath your palms, and his grip changes from excited to quietly possessive.
“You’re unusually silent,” you murmur.
“Recharging.”
“On me?”
His mouth brushes your neck when he smiles. “Best place.”
You stroke a hand slowly along his spine. Ryusei presses closer, nearly folding himself around you despite being too tall for the position to be comfortable.
People pass at the far end of the corridor. He pays them no attention.
The version of Ryusei the world receives is explosive—loud laughter, sharp teeth, movement that never seems capable of settling. Yet once the match ends and the thrill begins to fade, he always searches for you.
He never says he needs to be held.
He simply finds your body and wraps himself around it until his heartbeat slows.
“You can let go now,” you tease after a while.
His arms tighten immediately.
“No.”
“What happened to recharging?”
“Battery’s huge.”
“How long does it take?”
“Could be hours.”
You laugh, and Ryusei lifts his head. His eyes remain bright, but the wildness in them has softened into something warm and private.
“You liked the goal?” he asks.
“I loved it.”
“Love me more?”
“Obviously.”
His grin returns.
“Good answer.”
He kisses you—quick, joyful, still tasting faintly of the adrenaline he carried from the field—before returning his face to your neck.
✧ synopsis ⤐ it takes you 2 years from the minute you meet spencer to confess how much you like him, and it all happens on a random wednesday night.
✧ contains ⤐ friends to lovers but they both know what's up, s3 spencer who's been through a handful of shit, brief mention of alcohol consumption on two occasions!!suggestive themes but no straight up smut, spencer reid experiences happiness for once, reader is his only hope in life, reader wants him real bad and he knows. My spencer reid debut yay! Title translates to "will you go to bed with me?" w.c ~ 9.2k
Working at the BAU is not an easy job. In fact, Spencer thinks, working at any unit in the FBI is the closest thing you'll ever get to hell on earth. This feeling of agitation and exhaustion seems to aggravate every time he's working on a particularly draining case. Not only does the content of the cases get into his head often, and sometimes into his dreams, but he's also been directly harmed by the criminals they’re chasing. How can you remain completely objective about something when you become a victim too?
Over the few years he's worked in the BAU, he's received more harm than he ever expected. Drug addiction was not something he had in his five-year plan when he first joined the FBI. It's not something anyone who works in law enforcement expects, really.
Needless to say, he's tired. The kind of fatigue that makes you bedridden for days.
He also happens to be alone on a Tuesday night in the middle of June.
The latest case he worked on took a little over two weeks to wrap up, an unsub that likes to take his time and has such a disorganized MO that it was almost impossible to see the patterns. All the physical and mental work completely knocked everyone off their feet, except for him. His colleagues all went home and passed out of exhaustion, and he’s still up.
Spencer can't sleep. He's too busy thinking.
It's something he does a lot, for his job, for himself, for the duration of his whole life. The gears have been turning in his head since his very first word, the minute ‘mama’ was out of his baby mouth, he’d been tasked with the weight of the whole fucking universe. The price of knowing so much from a young age has cost him a lot. And tonight, it specifically costs him his peace, his right to pass out after a long day of work.
And he'd love, more than anything, to have an off button somewhere inside. But because that hasn't been invented yet, and his nervous system feels like it's on fire, he's still up by the time it's 10 pm. It’s not late, objectively, but he’s been home for more than three hours now. He tried a lot of sleep remedies— herbal tea, audiobooks, aroma therapy, hell, even exercising to tire himself out, but all of them failed. And now he's just left with sore muscles and an even more tired brain.
By the time it's 11 pm, he's lying on his couch, feeling like death. His head is pounding with the feeling of an oncoming migraine, and he knows that he’s in for a particularly long night.
That's when his phone rings, and because he’s so alert and so sensitive to stimuli at the moment, he almost kicks it off the coffee table. But he doesn’t do that, because he’s still a little sane despite everything.
Instead, he reaches over and checks the contact name, and his whole face lights up. He feels absolutely ridiculous for not making this call first, because his nervous system is now very much alive— and not in a way that makes him feel like an overheating microwave, no, this is a good thing. And good things don’t happen to him often. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and picks up the call.
Suddenly being awake doesn't feel so bad.
“Agent Reid.”
Your voice comes through the phone like a cool breeze of air during the grueling heat of June. He finds himself relaxing a little, releasing tension he didn't know he had in his muscles when he was so distracted just a few minutes before.
“I'm begging you to stop calling me that.”
“Aww, why not? I like feeling like your boss,” you're smiling on the other end, he can hear it, “what's his name again? Aaron?”
He rubs his temple with a smile he can't fight off, “That's agent Hotchner to you.”
You laugh and he feels proud of himself for eliciting such a pleasant sound out of you. He's immediately thinking of other ways to get that sound out again. If Morgan could see him now, he'd never let him hear the end of it.
The good thing about you and Spencer is that no one knows. Not his colleagues, not your friends, not your families. That's the good thing, you get to keep this precious thing between the two of you. The bad thing is that you're not really together. You're not even romantically involved, you've never uttered the four-letter L-word around each other (like or love, both), and you don't even really flirt with each other.
To put it into simple words, you and Spencer are just friends.
But friends who relieve each other's stress nonetheless, and god knows Spencer needs that right now.
“You're back from your recent trip, right?” You ask, audibly crunching on something. It sounds like you're also lying on your couch, he wonders if you were going through something similar when you decided to pick up the phone and call.
“Yeah, thank god.”
“I take it that it wasn't a very good one then? I mean, none of them are good but, I'm guessing some are worse than others.”
Spencer sighs, “You guess correctly.”
“How are you feeling?” Your voice is softer when you ask, concerned, and even though he doesn't like to make you worry, your well-intended question is a very welcome sentiment. He’s almost relieved knowing that there's someone who'll always ask, someone who'll always notice.
“Not very good. Tired.” It's a short answer, but he knows you understand. You've understood him for a very long time now, nearly two years of knowing each other.
“It sounds like you had a very long day.” A very long month. “Why didn't you try to catch some Zs?”
The way you phrase it makes him snort, and he knows you're proud of yourself for that one. “I can't, me and the Zs never had a very good relationship. Trust me, if I could turn my brain off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
You hum, “Do you wanna talk about it? I could give you some very valuable, life-changing insight, maybe you'll be able to go to sleep after.”
He smiles, “I've actually had enough of this case, I'd like to talk about something else.”
“Oh, I can definitely do that. Tell me, what did you have for breakfast?”
Breakfast is a terrible topic, meals in general, because you know that he misses a lot of his meals when he's on the job. You always lecture him for it, berating him for being so skinny at his big age, but it's always underlined by concern. He knows you worry about him, he wouldn't blame you.
“Not much…” He trails off, knowing you'll catch on.
“Oh honey, I know your eating and sleeping habits are fucked, but can't you at least lie to me?”
The way you call him honey should not be making his stomach turn like that.
“I could never lie to you.”
“You literally just did.”
You both laugh and he's so, so glad you called. If he didn't think you were asleep he'd have called you first.
“Okay well, I didn't ask that question to find out something I already know. I asked because remember that café we were constantly visiting before you went on this trip? They finally brought the chocolate chip cookies back.”
The chocolate chip cookies case (the quadruple c) is a very vital issue in your relationship with Spencer. Because for weeks, the both of you have been visiting that place close to your apartment, hoping to get some chocolate chip cookies, only to be met by raisins. It was a very devastating experience for both of you, having to settle for something else on the menu every time. But now it’s okay! The chocolate chip cookies are back.
Spencer is so glad he's done with his silly criminal case so he can focus on the real problems at hand.
“And I was thinking, if you're not too tired tomorrow, should we have breakfast together?”
It's sweet, it's earnest, it's you.
It's such a characteristic gesture, asking him to have breakfast with you after particularly draining cases, checking on him as soon as you can tell he's home, and sounding so sweet and concerned over the phone when you know he's feeling down. It’s the small, thoughtful actions coming from you that have helped him keep it together so far.
And the feelings that thought brings out in him lead him to realize, in those few seconds, that he liked you much more than he planned on. Not that he ever planned to like you in the first place, but he thought it was a small crush that would eventually go away, it’s happened before with the pretty women he befriends, and he didn’t think this time would be different.
But it was, and now he’s totally screwed because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to you.
“Absolutely, I can't wait to have those chocolate cookies again.”
You're ecstatic over his response, your tone picking up about 3 octaves when you jump to discussing the other plans you have this week. Your favorite artist is releasing an album soon, your favorite game is finally available at the video game store, the finale of that show you've been talking to him about is airing in two days, and it seems like your life is full of positive sequences.
The juxtaposition between what he sees at work and the enthusiasm you bring into his life almost gives him a headache, but it could very well be sleep deprivation. He wonders if all the misfortunes that have happened to him are the evil equivalents of the things you brought into his life.
But if all the bad things that have happened to him and around him got compensated by you, he doesn't find it such a bad tradeoff. Because meeting you on a random Monday night and somehow catching your attention enough for you to leave him your number— even when he was so frazzled by the need for coffee so he could grind out some paperwork before his deadline— it feels like he used up all his luck on that fateful encounter.
And having someone he could always meet up with, outside of work, has been very grounding.
You talk his ears off for the rest of the night, rambling about one thing or the other until his eyelids get heavy again, and he feels tired enough to sleep. You tell him that's been your plan all along and wish him a good night.
Later, when he’s under the covers of his bed, drifting off to sleep, for a few minutes his brain isn't aggravating him with the thoughts that have been haunting him all day. For a few minutes, all he can think about is you.
He is so fucked.
Emily Prentiss is a very smart agent.
She’s been told that ever since she was a little girl, and though it was often complimentary, people sucking up to her mom and whatnot, it was never a complete lie. She grew up thirsty for knowledge, mastering everything she could get her hands on, and even as an adult with a grown up job, she continues to excel at what she does
But then, if she's so smart, why the hell can she not figure out why Spencer Reid is so giddy while doing his paperwork?
It may have to do with the fact that it's Spencer, and that kid has always been a little perplexing to her. He's bright and brilliant, but she could never truly understand how his mind works. But, at the same time, there's such a thing as habits, and Spencer is not typically so smiley while doing paperwork. No one is smiley while doing paperwork in this line of work, because it makes you relive the nightmares. For goodness’s sake, this is the behavioral analysis unit, and Spencer is behaving weirdly.
It seems like she isn’t the only agent at the office who noticed the peculiarity. Agent Morgan stands behind her, his third cup of coffee in his hand, squinting at the young doctor. They observe him like a wild animal in his natural habitat; had they not been so tired from all the work, they would’ve been picking on him by now.
When Emily feels her presence behind him, she turns around, and they exchange a mutual look of understanding. They've never seen Reid act like that in the time that they’ve worked together, and they know one thing that they've never seen him experience during that time either.
They realize it at the same time, and Morgan nearly drops his coffee.
Spencer Reid is in love.
There have been many misfortunes in the 25 years that you've been on this earth, and you're convinced that a lot of them have been aimed at you. You're the only person who has ever suffered that much during your whole life, it's a known fact. It's a fact that you like to remind Spencer of, to make him feel better about his work, and when he laughs at it, you remind him that people called Jesus a liar too.
You've been through a lot of suffering, but the task of getting dressed before Spencer knocks on your door in approximately ten minutes may just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you.
He thinks that just because he has a day off, he could pressure you into a sudden— very much unplanned— date? He thinks that shooting you a text to get dressed so you can go to the record store and then have dinner only twenty minutes before you're supposed to do the aforementioned activities is allowed? He's absolutely right, and you hate him for it.
Not that it's really a date, you know you and Spencer have never crossed that line, but it feels like it. Especially if he's making you feel like a teenage girl high on hormones having her very first crush. Her very first date. The particular action you're thinking about has to be kept to yourself, just so you don't jinx it.
You really shouldn't be thinking about that when you still haven't figured out which outfit to wear. More thinking about clothes, less thinking about boys. Specifically one boy.
It takes all your willpower and energy to finish getting ready in those ten minutes. You settle for your most comfortable pair of jeans and a white button-down with a vest over it, and for good measure, you throw your coat on— the long beige-brown trench coat that makes you feel like you're Sherlock Holmes about to solve a crime. You realize that it's very fitting for an outing with a profiler, he's kind of like Sherlock Holmes if you think about it.
It's fall now, and it's much more chilly. You hope your precious profiler brought his own coat because, as much as you care for him, you won't be lending him yours.
When he rings your doorbell, you're finishing up and tossing the rest of the necessities into your bag. You make him wait for a minute, to avoid seeming eager, and then make your way to the door.
The minute you lay your eyes on him, you feel sick to your stomach.
Spencer Reid is beautiful, this is a fact that you've known ever since you met. He pulls off the dorky yet hot look so well, with that stupid smile of his when he talks like a smartass. And you're reminded of this every time you see him, the fact that he's so adorable that it physically hurts to keep your hands off him all the time. Tonight is no different, he's dressed in a dark button-down with a brown vest over it, covered by a beige coat that contrasts the dark colors beautifully. It takes you a couple seconds to realize you're wearing similar outfits, almost like a matching couple.
“Copycat.” You accuse, fighting off a smile with warm cheeks. He grins in retaliation, “Hello to you too.”
God, he’s beautiful. In the dim light of your apartment's entrance, you catch the gleam of his eyes. They're warm, earthy, and familiar, you don't think you'd ever stop staring at his eyes if you had the chance to do it without looking crazy. His eyelashes are unfairly long, and his light brown hair forms waves around his face like a frame around an artwork. He always tucks a few stray strands behind his ear, and you always mess it up for him– which is something you do for two reasons, you like annoying him, and you desperately want to touch his hair. It’s just simply unfair for him to be born that beautiful.
He seems to notice you staring because his cheeks are a little pink, and he has a little bashful smile on his face. “Ready to go?” He scans your form like the little detective he is, “Looks like you could get ready in 20 minutes after all.”
Now you remember why you were so annoyed at him, good looks be damned.
“Oh shut up, never do that again.”
“Or what? You'll cuss me over text messages again? How will I ever live with that.”
His shy smile is replaced with a smug grin, and you hate to admit it, but it's one of your favorite looks on him. Because Spencer isn't always able to genuinely smile like that, he's usually stressed about one thing or the other; and knowing him, he's always reliving some terrible event that happened in the past two years, and sometimes even further back in time. So while his amusement comes at your expense, you'd rather see him smiling like this all the time.
“God, you're so mean to me.”
Even though you mean to sound stern, you can't hide your smile.
You pick up your keys from the hanger by the door and toss them into your handbag, he follows your movements with his eyes, “that's not true. I'm always so nice to you, sometimes a little too nice.”
You lock your door behind you and give him a fake offended look, “You could never be too nice to me. Let's go, agent Reid. We've got a long night ahead of us.”
Then you're strutting ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you like a helpless little intern. Even though he rolls his eyes and laughs in disbelief, he ends up following you anyway.
‘Albert’s records’ has been your favorite record store since you moved into your apartment in Quantico— and not only because you’ve met Albert, the sweetest little old man to ever exist, but also because Spencer always looks mystified inside the store. It’s like something about vintage things just makes him tick.
You're checking out vinyls that are selling for discounted prices, old pieces of famous artists and commonly known albums, while he's looking at the posters on the walls, admiring the artistic work of the rustic-looking store. He’s always trailing behind you, and you don't mind because it makes you feel safe and cared for. You didn't know being trailed by an FBI agent could feel so comforting.
Your eyes catch on a certain record, and you turn around, “Hey, Spencer.”
He stops eyeing the posters on the wall and turns to you, hair falling over his shoulders adorably.
“What do you think of this?”
You're holding a classic black Billy Joel vinyl in your hand, careful not to hold it too tightly. It's his 1977 release of The Stranger, an album you're not too familiar with. You've only listened to Vienna and a few other songs. Spencer eyes the cover carefully like it triggers a memory deep inside his brain. You're expecting him to go on a tangent about Billy Joel and 70s music, but you're instead met by a very sentimental response.
“My mom loved that one.”
He's quiet, using that careful but lost tone of voice, and you worry that you accidentally triggered something unpleasant. You knew Spencer had a complicated relationship with his parents, namely his mother. On the rare occasion where he had a few too many drinks, he spilled a lot more than he intended to. Drunk Spencer was always so painfully honest and you admired how easily his filter would come off a few drinks in, but you never wanted him to feel embarrassed by it. On those particularly emotional nights— after he calls you to pick him up because he's too drunk to drive— you would listen to him ramble the whole drive to your apartment, force him to stay over so you can take care of his pounding headache in the morning, and hold him until he passes out on your couch like a partying college student.
Something he’s never been before.
Those incidents have led you to know more about Spencer than he ever thought he could share, and one of those sensitive topics just happens to be his mom. It's not an uncomfortable topic, you've talked about it before when he's not too drunk to realize what's going on. Even though it was hard for him at first, talking about it became easier the more he shared, you understood more and more things without him telling you.
And because you’ve talked about it, you're not scared of his response when you ask with a lighthearted smile, “is that a bad thing?”
That seems to bring him back to earth, and he gives you a reassuring smile, “No, not at all, just brought me back to some memories I'd honestly forgotten about.”
You hold the record to your chest, almost certain that you're going to buy it now, “Well would you like to make some new memories in relation to this record?”
Would you like to come to my apartment and listen to it with me?
“Yeah, I'd love to.” He smiles in a way that makes you feel a little lightheaded, knowing he's comfortable sharing this much of himself with you. It's so intimate, knowing that in this public store, you're still sharing private moments that no one else knows about.
You’re about to go back to checking out vinyls, trying to conceal the giddy feeling bubbling in your chest, when a high-pitched voice intrudes on the moment you were having with Spencer.
“Oh my god.”
You both turn to look at the source of the voice and when you look to Spencer to see what this is about, he looks like he recognizes the source. He looks terrified. Your gaze falls on two blonde girls, one gaping at the sight of you, and the other being the source of the dramatic reaction that broke through the silence a few minutes ago.
Her blonde hair is styled in waves and she's wearing such a colorful, creative ensemble that you're mesmerized by the intricate details of her outfit. The hair clips, the makeup, the platforms that she's wearing, you wanted to talk to this girl so bad.
And it seems like you're in luck today, because she's immediately rushing to your side with wide mesmerized eyes.
“Wonderboy, you've been hiding her from us for how long exactly?”
You're guessing “wonderboy” is Spencer since she seems to be his friend and your chest feels warm knowing his friends nickname him such cute things. Spencer deserves to be known for all his good traits after all, and he sure as hell is your boy of wonder.
“Garcia, please, I'm begging you to act normal about this right now.” He mutters, trying his best to keep this conversation quiet.
She shakes her head, “This is the most normal I can act about you hiding a girl from us.” Then she turns to you again, extending her arm for you to shake. You eagerly extend yours back. “Penelope Garcia, tech analyst at the FBI, and genius boy's co-worker. Oh and, your source for any dirt you want on genius Reid over here.”
That explains how someone like her is in Spencer's social circle, but it doesn't explain how someone so bubbly could work at such a gloomy unit. Working for the government when she should be at the club? It's a crime to you.
“They're keeping a gem like you in a dark, creepy room to dig up information for them?”
You honestly didn't know you could commit such flattery and Spencer is looking at you in disbelief, but she giggles at your poorly concealed flirting and you feel proud of yourself.
“Oh, wonder boy, how did you ever snag a wonderful girl like her.”
Spencer is blushing so hard at this point you could probably fry an egg on his face. You're introducing yourself to Penelope, filling her in on your occupation, when the other blonde introduces herself as Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short, and she's even more excited to meet you.
She's also heavily pregnant, and you hope that she's currently on maternity leave.
“We were looking for more records that this little guy here could listen to, it's incredibly engaging to include him in our vinyl pick-out process.” JJ rubs her stomach as she explains and you're so fascinated by the idea of childbearing and birth for a few seconds that you almost forget that it's terrifying.
“What about you guys?” Penelope jumps in, eager to put Spencer on the spot again.
“Oh we, uh,” Spencer's eyes shift between you and the two girls, like he's surrounded and begging you for help, “we're just checking out the vinyls on sale.”
“Yeah, I was honestly waiting for these discounts because I'm not selling a kidney for some records, you know?” You step in, hoping to take some heat off Spencer, because the poor boy looks like he’s about to combust.
You're also well aware that the two girls in front of you think you and Spencer are dating, but they haven't said it out loud and Spencer hasn't attempted to correct their assumptions, so why would you be the one to ruin their fun? You'll let them think you're on a date.
“Oh that's so true,” Penelope nods in understanding, “it's like I just want to listen to music, you know?”
You nod in understanding, you do know.
And you also know that you're absolutely going to adore Penelope Garcia and JJ and everyone that you meet who’s involved in Spencer's life. Even though this meetup is so completely unplanned and coincidental, it makes you excited knowing you can prod Spencer about more details now, talking about work in a way that doesn't concern the cases. You’d kill for some office gossip that doesn’t involve yourself.
“Oh, Morgan is going to lose it when he hears about this,” JJ says, almost talking to herself.
Penelope jumps to add more wood to the forest fire, “Oh my God, remember what he said to Emily? He was right.” That catches Spencer's attention, “what did he say to Emily?”
“He said that you're all giggly at work because you're in love.” Penelope answers without missing a beat, and she says it so casually, as if she didn't basically strip Spencer naked right in front of you.
You’re subtly stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, suppressing a smile at the way he blushes deeply and looks at the ground as if he wants it to swallow him whole right now. Something tells you you're absolutely going to love Penelope and he's going to pay the price for that relationship.
“Spencer is giggling at work?” You ask, like she just told you he joined a cult.
Penelope nods eagerly, “Oh yeah, I've never seen someone look so cheerful while doing paperwork, every time I'm out of my office for a coffee refill he's just there giggling to himself like he's hearing voices. Except the voices turned out to just be a pretty girl, which I have to say,” she puts her hand over her heart dramatically, “I’m so glad it did.”
Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, the shame overwhelming him, “I'm begging you to stop talking.”
Penelope and JJ are giggling, enjoying torturing him like this for your pleasure, and you’re close to joining them, but you choose to stay loyal to Spencer— if only to make sure he doesn’t get a migraine from all this embarrassment. But you're also just giddy, knowing Spencer cannot conceal his infatuation with you to save his life. Despite all the hints here and there that he definitely likes you, and all the discreet touching and staring at your lips when you talk —something you know he can't tell you noticed— the way he doesn't deny any of what's being said tells you that you're, at the very least, a person of interest.
A person of Spencer's interest. Your smile is getting harder and harder to hide.
“Okay, okay, lovebirds, we'll leave you alone now. But trust me, you haven't heard the end of this, once Derek finds out, oh Spencer Reid, you might never want to step foot in that building ever again.” You nod eagerly, excited to hear more about how they’ll taunt him later on. They give you their rushed goodbyes as Penelope guides JJ outside the store, you can hear her quietly complain about leaving empty-handed when she came all the way, but your mind is someplace else, neurons buzzing with ideas of how to torment Spencer now that you’re alone again.
You turn to look at him, no longer holding back your smile, “so…”
He immediately puts a finger to your lips, “Don't start.”
You reach for his hand to move it away, giggling like a schoolgirl, “you're fawning over me at work? Oh my God, Spence, I didn't know you were that far gone, baby.” You hold onto his hand, as a way to restrain him, but also because you just want to hold his hand.
“I was not fawning, they made it all sound so much worse than it actually was.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he continues, looking more flustered. “I was smiling, can I not smile to myself anymore?”
You absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, bringing your joint hands to your chest like something precious, “You're smiling like a lovesick fool about me at work, Spencer, you're so fucked.”
Your amusement is so palpable, and your cheeks hurt from smiling, but there’s also something else there.
Something you haven’t fully experienced before, not its rawness and neediness. Something that you can tell will grow in your chest until it fully conquers your whole body and claims your mind. You don't know what you'll call it yet, but it's something a lot like love.
“Alright alright, I get it. It's National Embarrassing Spencer day, let's buy this record and get out of here. We have a dinner to get to.”
The weight of his hand in yours almost made you forget you were still holding the record, handling it so carelessly just to bring him closer. You realize you're drunk on affection, and eager to have more of his attention for the rest of the night. When he doesn't make a move to remove his hand from your hold, only dragging you behind him to check out, you feel like there will be a lot of new developments tonight.
The rest of the night goes as well as you would imagine.
Despite your incessant teasing, you have plenty of conversations that aren't centered around embarrassing Spencer and enjoying it. You sip wine together while he tells you about the letters he's been sending his mom; apparently, he's started telling her about you. While you're surprised he's only just doing it now, he confesses that he wanted to wait until he was sure you'd stay before he made such a decision. Unfortunately, with his line of work, he's right to be worried about things like that, but you stayed anyway, and now his mom knows about you.
And you have her favorite record in a plastic bag that you carry on the way home.
When his car pulls up to your building, you're hesitant to get out. You don't feel like the night is over yet. It was lovely and unforgettable, meeting his friends, learning about his mom, and having a very nice dinner together, but you feel like there's still one more topic that needs to be discussed.
When you don't make a move to get out of the car yet, he calls out your name in concern. You turn to look at him and your gaze is so intense he's almost intimidated.
“Is everything okay?”
You nod absentmindedly, too lost in trying to figure out what's missing from such a wonderful night.
“Well, we're here. This is your apartment, you know?” You can tell that's not the sentence he aimed for, but you're aware that Spencer stumbles over his words when he's nervous. You don't fault him for it.
You give him a genuine smile, “Yeah, I know.”
Then you're moving to unlock the car door, the newly bought record in your hand, and you get one leg out of the car before you realize exactly what this night is missing.
“Spencer?” You turn to him, he's already looking at you.
“Yes?”
Slowly, carefully, you ask, “would you like to come upstairs?”
Your apartment is somewhere that he's only seen while extremely drunk, hammered out of his mind. You realize that this is the first time you invite him up when he's actually well enough to walk on his own, and you also realize that it means something to you. You hope it also means something to him.
“Uh, yeah, sure? If you want me to walk you to your door, I'll definitely do that.” He's picking at the leather covering the wheel, cheeks slightly flushed like they’d been earlier. Multiple times during the night, you note how he’s always glowing red around you like a pulsating organ. Is it the slight chill of the weather or the heat behind your eyes? You hope it’s the latter.
“I think you know what you want.”
You weren't sure if he knew, but knowing Spencer, a line like that will trigger him into thinking about it so hard that he'll actually figure it out. You watch the gears turn in his head but he still looks confused, you hope that by the time you get to your door, he'll realize what you're talking about.
“I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out.” You give him one last smile before you exit the car.
True to his word, Spencer walks you up to your door after parking his car somewhere close. When you reach the apartment, as you dig for your keys in your purse, he stands next to you, looking a little lost because he clearly didn’t expect this. He fiddles with the ends of his vest while observing you.
You unlock your door and get inside, leaving it open so he can follow you. You drop your purse on your dining table and lay the record down next to it, watching from the corner of your eye as he steps into your apartment cautiously, like he's stepping over booby traps.
The door locks and you can't escape the conversation any longer. You also can't bear seeing him so lost, because god blessed him with eyes that make him look like a sad baby deer all the time. And every time he uses them on you, you immediately cave, because letting him suffer feels like letting a baby animal die.
“Spence.” You call, sultry and slow.
If you catch the way he slightly jumps at your voice, you don’t react.
“Yes?” He’s quiet, worried.
You lean back against your table, a relaxed smile on your face, “you know why I brought you here, right?”
He swallows, tucking his hair behind his ear. “A woman inviting her date up to her apartment could lead to a variety of things, but most commonly it leads to either sexual intercourse or murder.” His cheeks heat up at the words ‘sexual intercourse’ and you want to eat him alive. “And I'm kind of hoping you didn't invite me up here to kill me.”
You raise an eyebrow, the desire to tease him so strong and unforgiving, “So you hope I'll have sex with you then?”
That really gets him. His whole face goes red— blood rushing down his neck and up to his ears. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't. Instead, he just opens and closes it a couple of times, unable to articulate anything. If you were in a different situation, you'd have called him a fish, but you also realize something very critical: he doesn’t deny your previous statement.
“Spencer,” you call his whole name this time, voice low and heavy with something that alarms him further. “Can you come here, please?”
He hesitantly leaves his spot, taking slow, careful steps to your side. He stands at a considerable distance, making sure he gives you your personal space. If he’d done this at any other time, you’d have been fawning over how considerate he is, but right now you want him as close as possible, personal space be damned.
Feeling particularly brash, you reach out and pull him closer by a fistful of his shirt. He’s startled, but he lets you move him closer as if he were a rag doll, now you're barely a few inches away from him. Your hand moves to his neck, feeling the warmth that spread there a few minutes ago, the warmth that you caused. If it feels like it's getting warmer under your touch, you don't comment on it.
It's the first time you've touched him this much, this intimately, and it feels like you've been missing out for the past two years.
He watches you carefully, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what you're aiming for. This is probably how he acts at work, you think, staring at something until he’s able to break it open and decipher its message, will he decipher your message too?
You look up at him through long lashes, peering into his eyes, hoping to communicate something with your eyes before you can put it into words. You feel a certain need in your stomach, tying knots and constricting your airways— it's what you guess people would call butterflies. Right now, you'd call it absolutely torture.
“Spencer.”
It's the third time you've called his name so far, and this time your noses are touching and you practically breathe his name onto his lips. This encourages him to put an arm around your waist and raise the other to cup your face affectionately. You lean into his touch, welcoming the reciprocation.
“I'm here,” his voice is low, more certain now, almost like he figured you out, “you can tell me.”
You nearly melt in his hands now that he's using that self-assured voice. You love it when he's shy, but god do you adore it when he talks like he knows exactly what to do with you. The things you'd let him do to you would probably get you placed on a watch list, but you don't mind as long as he's the one watching.
“You know what I want to say, don't you?”
He blinks, the gold flakes in his eyes so striking when you're this close, “maybe I do, but I'd like to hear you say it.”
He's in no place to be making such demands. He should be melting in your hands, not the other way around. You shouldn't be getting this weak at the knees just because he's using that stupid husky tone, sounding like he knows all your secrets. But, fuck, he absolutely knows all your secrets. He could probably read you like an open book— which you actually wouldn't mind at all because you've seen the way his hands stroke the pages when he's reading, and you'd love for those fingers to be all over you like they're all over those stupid books.
Your eyes glaze over with desire and you're getting impatient, while he watches you like he's studying your next move. Goddamn profilers and their dirty work. He should be getting dirty with you.
You mutter a quiet fuck and step back to separate your bodies; even though there's no place to go because the table is right there, you're at least not directly face to face anymore. His warm breath on your lips was driving you insane, and you brought him up here to talk, you needed to have this conversation. For your sanity.
He gives you space, because he's always been so caring and so perceptive about what you need, and the gesture makes you want to bounce on him. You have to remind yourself that if you keep thinking with your lower regions, this will be a counterproductive night.
You realize you can't do this while standing up, so you hoist yourself up on the table, and wiggle around till you get comfortable. Your trench coat isn't bending to your will and it takes you some more shuffling to beat it down. You really should've taken it off when you stepped in through the door.
The sound of Spencer's chuckle makes you realize that he's still here and he's very much observing your embarrassing fight with a trench coat. Your cheeks feel warm, but this is not the most shameful thing you've done tonight, and you're probably aiming to beat that record anyway.
“Don't laugh at me,” you mutter, embarrassed but smiling.
“Okay,” he laughs, “I won't.”
“God, you're such a liar. Is everybody at the FBI full of lies?”
He shrugs, “Depends on who you ask.”
You laugh and you're so in awe at how all the stress leaves your body so easily when he's talking to you, it makes you wonder why the hell you can't just say it. One sentence, something he already knows, something anyone would probably know by observing you for five minutes, it should be easy. But as obvious as it is, you're also well aware that once you say it, it becomes real. And you can't escape It. You can't pretend like it's something casual between you if you get your heart broken, or if he feels like you're moving too fast. The minute those words are out of your mouth, you'll have to confront the reality of your situation.
And you're scared.
You're scared that once you say those words and it becomes a real living thing, you could actually lose Spencer. You could get into an argument later and it ruins everything between you, or he could fall out of love, or you could fall out of love. There are so many bad endings to a relationship and the possibilities make you hesitate.
Spencer must've noticed that you're taking a while to speak, that you're too busy stressing out about it, because he comes close again (leaving enough space for the holy spirit this time) to gently hold your hand. It works like he intends it to. The skin-to-skin contact is grounding and you relax a little, wishing you could just melt into him and never have to go through any uncomfortable conversations.
But when you look up at him, and you're met with the familiar trustworthy eyes of the guy who has been your god-given solace for months now, you wonder how the hell you could ever rethink taking a chance on him.
Even if the risk is terrifying and you're scared of ruining things, you know Spencer would be worth the try. Plus, fantasizing about a reality where it works out and you get married in a few years is actually much more fun than thinking about impending doom.
You don't want the world to end before you tell Spencer the raw truth of your feelings, and not through subtle gestures or sneaky glances, you want him to hear the whole thing.
You squeeze his hand for one final reassurance. He smiles and squeezes your hand back.
“Spencer, I've got something very important to tell you.”
Slow and stead.
“I'm listening.”
You lick your lips.
“Okay well, remember how I told you a few months ago that there were currently no guys who were interested in me?”
He nods.
“Well, I lied.”
He raises his eyebrows, amused at the route you're taking, “oh yeah?”
You nod, swallowing heavily, “Yeah, yes. There was this… guy at my job, he doesn't work there anymore because he got transferred because of ‘new chances’ or whatever, but he was working with me this time last year, you know? Anyways, he'd get really close to me whenever we were handling the same task, not in a sexual harassment way but in an ‘I have a crush on you’ way. And I realized that he was interested in me because he kept dropping hints and I'm, surprisingly, not that oblivious. I can tell when a guy likes me. He actually asked me out once to this new donut place near the office, but I declined because he has really bad table manners to be honest and, god I'm glad he's not working with us anymore because he'd hog all the coffee and we could barely find anything to drink by the end of the day— but that's not the only reason I rejected him, I actually rejected him because… because I couldn't imagine going out with anyone else who wasn't you, and I guess what I'm trying to say is- that's when I realized that I like you, Spencer. And I've liked you for almost a year now.”
You're out of breath by the time it's all out, but incredibly relieved. You look up at Spencer and he has this amused twinkle in his eyes and a very dumb smug smirk on his face. Once you're fully and completely done with your little speech, the first thing he does is laugh.
You're so offended you immediately take your hand away from his and slap his chest, “Don't fucking laugh, I just confessed my feelings for you.” You hit him some more, but he won't stop laughing, “Spencer, this is so fucking rude, oh my god, just reject me like a lady if you're going to mock me like this.”
He catches your hand before you land another weak punch on his arm, and you have very little time to react before he reaches forward, cupping your face with his other hand and joining your lips for a long-awaited kiss.
You've fantasized about the way he kisses for a very long time. After you’d heard about his little make-out session with that actress in the pool, it took everything in your body to resist asking him to take you next. You've thought about kissing him nearly every night when you were falling asleep, he was even haunting some of your dreams like a fiend, kissing you like his life depended on it, only for you to wake up to the cruel, harsh reality of never having kissed Spencer Reid.
But that reality is different now.
He uses both his hands to cup your face and angles your head just right to get as much contact as possible. He tastes like the wine you've been drinking all night and smells like cedar wood and sage. God, even when kissing you he has to smell like a perfect little herbal garden? You'd get mad at him if his lips moving against yours weren't melting away every ounce of sophistication you have in your body.
You use the chance to be greedy and reach your hand into his hair, making sure to mess it up so that there’s proof that you were here, in his arms, kissing him.
He's sweet with his kiss, despite knowing you both waited for it for so long, he doesn't push you to go further even though you'd love for him to. You'd let him take you on this table right now.
But the absolute worst thing about Spencer is that he's so respectful that he pulls away after a few seconds to watch for your reaction. He's flushed with desire and his eyes have gone dark in a way that you've only seen when he was really angry. You can tell that he's restraining himself to not make you uncomfortable. His eyes scan your face eagerly, his hands resting on either side of your face.
“God, you're so… ridiculous.”
The comment is so unexpected that you laugh, and the sexual tension seems to ease into just… sexual existence. “Hey, what's that for? You're going to kiss a girl and then immediately insult her?”
His smile mirrors yours, “my apologies, your highness. I have just never heard such a ridiculous confession in my life before.”
You frown, lips curling into a pout, “not true, that actress in the pool had a ridiculous confession too.” She didn't, but you never fully got over her kissing Spencer before you could.
“Oh yes, I'm sorry, I forget about any other woman when I'm with you.” Then he plants a quick kiss on your lips with a poorly concealed smile, and you can just tell that he's going to be doing that a lot to get away with whatever bullshit he's spewing.
“You’re unbelievable, Spencer Reid.”
Then you’re kissing him again, craving more of what he gave you during the first kiss. The desperation for contact has you pulling him closer by his collar, leaning into the kiss like you were starving before him. When he finally slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan so pathetically it makes his grip around you tighten, body drawing impossibly closer to yours.
You're kissing for such an extended period of time that you're dizzy from the lack of air when he pulls away, and you're greeted by that lovely shade of crimson on his face. You desperately want to find out just how red he can get and in what other places.
You're admiring his face, lost in the haze of the kiss, and chewing absentmindedly on your lips when you suddenly remember something very important. You draw back a little to shoot him a very serious look.
“Hey, you never said you liked me back.”
He laughs in disbelief, “do I have to?”
You nod like a petulant child, seriously alarmed.
He playfully rolls his eyes, “alright, I like you too,” he kisses you, “I like you a lot actually.”
You're satisfied with that answer, melting into his touch again, like a helpless pet. You admire the post-makeout look that adorns his face and makes him more beautiful than you could ever imagine, and he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. For a while, it feels like the universe belongs to the two of you and no one else.
Until you remember how late it is and the fact that Spencer actually works tomorrow, then you're not that happy anymore.
“What's wrong?” He asks, nose rubbing against yours as if you could ever focus on anything when he's that close.
“You have work tomorrow, and it's very late…”
He draws back from you, as if broken out of the trance by your words, “Oh no, you're right.” He's starting to move away when something inside you kicks in and suddenly your legs are flying to lock around his waist to secure him in place. He raises his eyebrows at you, amused and surprised.
“You can't do this.”
You nod your head menacingly, “oh yes I can.” You know he could easily break out of your hold if he really wanted to, but the fact that he's entertaining your antics tells you that he's not very eager to leave either.
“Angel, I have to go to work in the morning. Like an adult with responsibilities, you know?”
If you were in your right mind, you'd be offended at that comment, but he's just kissed you senselessly and then called you ‘angel’ for the very first time. No one could blame you for not being very wise.
“You can still go to work in the morning, you just... don't have to leave right now.”
“You want me to stay? Here?” You nod. “My love, you don't even have a change of clothing that can fit me.”
“Then sleep naked. I won't complain.”
He laughs, “What about a toothbrush? You don't have an extra one for me.”
“I change my toothbrush once every three months and I always buy extra, so I do actually have a completely sealed, never used before brush that you can use. It will be yours from now on.”
He shakes his head in disbelief but you can tell he's starting to budge, your technique is working.
Plus there's the unsaid promise that, if he stays, there will be a lot more kissing going on.
“And you want me to go to work tomorrow in this same outfit?”
“Mhm, we'll hang it and it will be just fine.”
“I don't have my badge with me, I can't go to work without my badge.”
You scoff. “Then wake up early and drive by your place, stop creating irrelevant problems, Spencer.”
He’s in disbelief at your brazenness but seems to cave in anyway. “Fine, yeah, I'll stay.”
You smile, very proud of yourself, “yes you will.”
At this point, you're aware that your leg is still around his waist, and you're holding him in place like you took him hostage, but you honestly don't feel like letting him go just yet. Months of pining for him like a lovesick fool, you think you deserve to relish in the power you exert over him. He seems to notice the hunger for power in your eyes because he's coming closer again, placing his hands on either side of your thighs.
“You have other plans for me tonight, don't you?” He's using that husky tone again and looking at you with glazed-over hazel eyes. Like a predator hunting its prey.
You place your arms around his neck, back where they belong, “and if I do? Will you punish me, officer?”
His warm breath fans over your lips and you're shaking to your core with anticipation, “I don't know, maybe I will.”
Then he puts an end to all your antagonizing conversations that are distracting you from more important matters by bringing you in for another eager kiss. You take all of him in, the stubborn grip he has on your face, the teeth clashing when he shifts your positions, the low moan he releases when you pull on his hair — you take everything he gives you with eagerness and hunger. You could swallow him up whole right now if you could.
When he pulls away to take a breath and you're confronted by his disheveled face once more, you realize that there are a lot of things you're going to do to him tonight. You realize that it’s going to be a good while before either of you goes to sleep.
how kakashi dreams about you vs how you dream about him ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
cw: fluff and smut, art by sso_s__
He has been eating your cunt, slurping in all your juices and making you soak your sheets for what it felt like hours. He finally lifts his head, lips shiny and a cocky smile.
“How many times was that?” he asks as he eases his cock out of his boxers, it pulses in his hand for how neglected it is.
“Four?” you answer, head dizzy from all those orgasms.
“Mm, let’s make that five,” Kakashi whispers as he leans over you, parting your legs slightly. You huff a laugh at that.
He coats his cock with all the juices in your folds, more than enough to let him push the tip inside of you. He does it excruciatingly slowly, making sure you feel every inch of him, every vein and the sweet curve it does. When he bottoms out, he lets out all the air he was holding and drops his forehead in your collarbone. You lift your heels so they press in the small of his back, trying to tell him to just move. But Kakashi is taking his time with you, kneading one of your tits with his hand as he moves with shallow thrusts.
“Ka-Kakashi…” you whimper under him, your body buzzing from the four orgasms he pulled out of you with his wicked tongue. He feels so thick and warm inside, stretching you just how you like it.
“You’re taking me so well, pretty. Such a good girl.”
His praises make your walls clench around him, making him groan quietly as he starts to thrust deeper. His pace is steady and delicious, dragging against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl. His hand slides down from your breast to your hip, holding you in place while he builds the rhythm. You can hear how soaked you are with every push, the wet sounds mixing with your soft moans and his quiet praises.
“Hah, squeeze around me just like that,” Kakashi whispers, lifting his head to look at you. He leans in and kisses you deep, tongue sliding against yours as his hips snap a little harder. He swallows your moans. “Fuck, I could stay buried in you forever.”
He picks up the pace, angling his thrusts perfectly, one hand slipping between you to rub slow circles on your swollen clit. Your fifth orgasm is already building fast, coiling tight in your belly. He keeps talking you through it, sweet words spilling from his lips between kisses. “C’mon, love. Let me feel you cum around my cock. You’ve been so perfect for me tonight.”
Your back arches off the bed as pleasure crashes over you, thighs shaking around his waist. You cry out his name and he keeps moving through it, groaning your praises the whole time until he buries himself deep and finishes with a shudder, filling you up with hot pulses.
You cling to him, panting, feeling so full and loved in that moment...
And then you fucking wake up.
Your heart is racing, your pussy is wet and the bed is empty. No warm weight of Kakashi, no cocky smile and no praise. Now it’s only you and the embarrassment of having wet dreams about your coworker.
But Kakashi was dreaming too, somewhere across the village he was stirring in his bed, hugging his pillow.
You stood at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables while Kakashi stirred something on the stove. “Careful with that knife, love,” he says softly, leaving the stove and stepping behind you.
“You’re gonna burn the sauce,” you remind him but you let him slide his arms around your waist and rest his cheek on your shoulder.
“Sauces don’t burn,” he comments as he watches your hands work. You laugh under your breath, letting Kakashi press a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “I don’t want you getting hurt, I’d have to kiss it better for hours.”
“Oh, and you’d hate that, right?” You look back at him, raising your eyebrows.
Kakashi’s mouth drops, shaking his head fast. “Absolutely not, I’d kiss you for days if I could!”
You laugh softly and lean back into his chest. He tightens his hold, heart swelling so big it hurts. It brings him so much joy making dinner with you, even if he still doesn’t realize that it’s not real. He turns you in his arms so you’re facing him and the look in his eyes is so open and loving it makes your breath catch.
“Why are you so gorgeous? It’s not fair…” he mutters, taking your face between his hands and squeezing your cheeks together. He leans in and kisses you like that, not letting you really kiss back with how he’s holding you.
“I love you,” he says simply. “More than anything.”
You nod, waiting for Kakashi to release your face but that is not happening anytime soon. “Mmph, love ya too, baby.”
Kakashi giggles in his bed when he hears you saying that. He loves dreaming about you, about your pretty face and beautiful voice he has perfectly memorized. He wishes he could stay in those dreams for all his life, because facing you in real life is too scary for him!
a/n: i'm so in love with this guy i'm close to see his backstory and i know it's going to break my heart
SUMMARY: a little trip to the kitchen when you wake up in the middle of the night in the wayne manor
content warnings: none! pure fluff, bruce is only mentioned here, dick grayson appearance!
prev , next
When you wake up, the air feels dense around you, it’s unreal how quiet it is when there’s three people in the bed. Bruce is warm where his body presses into yours, his broad frame curled in toward you, his head is tucked beneath your chin, hair slightly damp with sweat and you can feel the brush of his breath against your chest.
Hal’s arm is thrown over Bruce’s waist, slung there with the possessiveness of a man who falls asleep hard and doesn’t care how he lands. His hand twitches every so often, fingers curling in reflex, their legs are a messy tangle beneath the covers, bare skin brushing yours, all of it soft and so impossibly safe.
And yet your body hums with something restless. A thread of energy running beneath your skin. Oh, you’re just thirsty.
Carefully, you begin to peel yourself away. Bruce makes a low sound, a little hitch of breath, but doesn’t wake. Hal stirs faintly, his arm tightening for just a second, his body registers the shift even if his mind doesn’t. Then he exhales and slackens again, his face turning toward Bruce’s shoulder.
The floor is cool beneath your feet. You move quietly, grabbing the sweater draped over the nearby chair, one of Bruce’s, oversized and worn in soft at the collar, and shrug it on. The familiar scent wraps around you.
The hallway outside is drenched in shadow, long and stretching. You pass guest rooms with doors cracked open, the study door left slightly ajar and descend the sweeping staircase with the caution of a practiced ghost. Wayne Manor at night is another thing entirely, grand and echoing, but cloaked in something secret and old. The kitchen is dark, but you know where the switches are. You flip on the under-cabinet light. You pad to the fridge and open it, grabbing a bottle of water.
And then—
“You’re not who I thought you'd be.”
You start.
You hadn’t heard a sound before. Not a step. Not a breath.
You turn.
And find him already watching.
Perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, small and unnervingly still, is a boy. Barefoot, wearing flannel pajamas too big for him, sleeves falling past his wrists. His legs swing just above the floor, one hand curls around a glass of chocolate milk, untouched. The other taps against the counter, quiet but steady.
Dick Grayson.
Ten years old. Too small for the weight he carries and too sharp for someone who still counts his age on fingers. He’s looking at you, not even afraid or curious. You study each other across the island. Why isn’t he blinking? You set your glass down slowly.
"Could say the same about you."
He shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, but I live here.”
You nod, letting a breath slip out of you. “Fair enough.”
The silence after that isn’t really awkward, he’s observing you, trying to understand you and why are you in his house so late.
“You always up this late?” you ask, keeping your voice soft.
“Only when the dreams are weird.” He finally takes a sip of his milk. His nose wrinkles, it’s clearly gone a little warm, but he drinks anyway. “This one had fire. I wasn’t afraid, but it was loud.”
You watch him closely. “Sounds like a lot.”
He tilts his head, still studying you “Bruce doesn’t bring people home. Not like that.”
“Like what?”
He gestures, small and vague. “Like… you and Lantern. You’re not just people. You’re something else. He lets you touch him.”
His words are quiet, barely shaped, but they hit you well. It’s hard for you and Hal to realize how important you two are for Bruce, how special you should feel because he lets you sleep in his bed all together.
“He trusts us,” you say.
Dick frowns, thoughtful. Turning it over. “I don’t think he knows how.”
You nod slowly. “He’s learning.”
His legs swing once. “He gets really quiet when he’s sad. I used to think that meant he was angry. But now I think it just means he doesn’t know how to ask for help.”
You press your lips together, feeling something in your chest shift. “Maybe that’s why we’re here,” you say, voice low. “To remind him he can.”
Dick nods once, finally understanding you. “I think he likes when you make him laugh. His face changes.”
You smile. “He has a nice face when it’s not scowling.”
“Don’t tell him I said that,” Dick says quickly, mock-serious.
The corner of your mouth twitches. Then you’re interrupted by footsteps. Hal appears in the doorway, rubbing one eye, hair a chaotic mess and wearing one of Bruce’s robes he found on the floor and put on mid-yawn. He blinks at the two of you.
“Huh,” he says, voice rough with sleep. “Thought I dreamt that part.”
“You didn’t,” you reply, nodding toward Dick.
The boy lifts his hand in a casual wave. “Hi.”
“Hey, kiddo.” Hal ambles toward the fridge, moving without any grace as he pulls out another cold bottle of water. “Midnight meetings now?”
“Dream protocol,” you say, the words hanging like a secret between the three of you.
Hal cracks the cap on his drink with a quick twist. “Solid.”
Dick watches him from his stool, head tilted slightly in that curious way only kids can pull off. “You’re the loud one.”
Hal freezes mid-sip, the bottle hovering near his lips, then slowly raises an eyebrow in a dramatic way. “Excuse me?”
“You have loud footsteps.”
Hal chuckles, setting the bottle down on the counter with a soft clink. “I have very confident feet.”
Dick stares at him a moment longer. Then nods, approving. “Makes sense.”
You hide your grin behind your glass, the cool rim pressing against your smile as warmth spreads through your chest. The way these two bounced off each other was something else.
“You are loud, tho,” you add to the conversation with a smirk.
Hal leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his shoulders. “Says the one who climbed Bruce like a tree six hours ago.”
Dick sips his milk again, blank-faced. “I’m a child.”
You blink. Hal blinks.
“Do you… know what that means?” Hal asks, his eyes narrowing just a fraction.
“Nope.” Dick grins. “But it made you shut up.”
You lose it, a sharp bark of laughter that echoes off the kitchen walls and fills the space with something light and alive. Your shoulders shake as you try to keep it quiet, but it bubbles out anyway. Hal just glares up at the ceiling, his jaw tight but the corner of his mouth twitching like he might laugh too if he let himself.
Dick slides off the stool, wiping his hands on his too-long pajama pants with a little swipe. “I’m gonna go back to bed. You guys are weird, but… good weird. Bruce needs that.”
You watch him disappear down the hall, the shadows swallow him gently and his footsteps barely making a sound on the old floor. He pauses at the doorway, turning back just enough for you to catch the soft outline of his face in the low light.
“Don’t leave,” he says, voice smaller now, carrying that fragile weight that tugs right at your heart.
You and Hal both nod, the motion instinctive and full of promise.
“Promise,” you reply, your words steady even as emotion swells in your throat.
Then he’s gone. The hush returns, settling over the kitchen like a soft blanket, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge and the distant creak of the old manor settling around you. Hal exhales, runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in an effortless way that somehow makes him look even better.
“That kid’s either going to save the world or set it on fire.”
“Probably both.”
You drain your glass, the last drops of cool liquid sliding down your throat as you set it aside. Hal leans into you gently, shoulder to shoulder, solid and warm against your side. A silent question passes between you in that touch, full of comfort and understanding.
“Ready to go back?” he whispers.
You nod. “Yeah.”
You leave the kitchen together, side by side, steps silent on the old stone floor. Past the still portraits that look with painted eyes, the long drapes swaying just a little in the night breeze, the glint of moonlight on glass casting pale silver patterns across the halls. Back up the stairs, through the sleeping hush of a house far too big and too full of ghosts, where every shadow seemed to hold a story you were only beginning to learn.
Back to the bed.
Back to Bruce.
a/n: dick grayson yay!!!! he's so cute and tiny here he only need one popcorn
naruto is convinced that he helped iruka umino to finally confess his crush to you ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
cw: none! fluff, canonverse, set at the beginning of shippuden, art by saitou72048078
Naruto sees Iruka for the first time while he’s buying groceries, alone apparently, Naruto storms into the shop, walking towards the aisle he’d seen his sensei.
“Iruka-sensei!” Naruto shouts as he appears next to him.
Even after two and a half years, Naruto still has the same voice and face, just a little bit more mature. He only got taller and changed his clothes.
“Oh, Naruto!” Iruka smiles at the boy, looking around for a moment. “When did you come back?”
“This morning! I was looking for you, I have to tell you all the cool things I learned!” Naruto was practically jumping on his feets, hands curled into fists in excitement and a smile bright on his face.
He started rambling right away about his training trip, the new jutsu he picked up and how he finally got to spar with some super strong guys out there. Iruka-sensei listened with a warm smile, nodding along and looking genuinely proud.
Just then, you came up from behind, still focused on the shopping list in your hand. “Iruka, honey, how many tomatoes do we need?” you asked, not even noticing Naruto right there or your boyfriend trying to wave you down from the end of the aisle to stop you.
Naruto’s head snapped toward you so fast. His blue eyes went wide, a huge grin spreading even bigger across his face. “Sensei!” he yelled, super happy. “You’re here too! Wow, it’s been forever! You look great!”
You blinked, finally spotting him, and a little laugh slipped out. But before you could say much, Naruto’s brain seemed to catch up with what he’d just heard. His mouth dropped open, eyes darting between you and Iruka-sensei and then he gasped loudly.
“Iruka-sensei, you did it!” Naruto shouted, loud enough that a couple other shoppers glanced over. He pointed at Iruka with both hands, practically vibrating with joy. “You finally told her! Oh man, I’m so happy for you two right now! I kept doing everything to get you together, I can’t believe it worked!”
Iruka’s face turned a deep red. “Naruto, not so loud in the store,” he muttered.
“Oh, really?” you asked at Naruto, crossing your arms. “I didn’t know you were my little cupid, Iruka never told me.”
Naruto puffed out his chest like he’d just saved the village all over again. “Yeah! I was the best wingman ever! I kept swapping your seating charts so you’d have to sit next to each other during big teacher meetings!”
He was talking so fast, hands waving everywhere. “I knew you two would be perfect together! Iruka-sensei had the biggest crush on you for like... forever! Way before I even started helping!”
Iruka wanted to leave, he wanted the grocery store floor to swallow him whole. He kept glancing at you, trying to find any type of expression in your face. “Naruto, that’s enough,” he said quickly, voice a little higher than usual.
You raised an eyebrow, turning toward your boyfriend with a playful smile. “Iruka, you never told me it started that long ago.”
He avoided your eyes for a second as he stared really hard at the tomatoes you were still holding. “I… well, it wasn’t exactly something I planned to bring up right away,” he admitted softly, a shy little laugh escaping him. When he saw Naruto opening his mouth again, he stopped him himself “Okay, I think that’s enough. We’ll catch up later, Naruto.” Then he turned to you. “That’s the perfect amount of tomatoes, let’s go.”
He grabs your hand, taking you out of the aisle and of the conversation.
“Bye, senseis!” Naruto waved at you both, completely unbothered.
You don’t bring up the topic until he does, late at night, cuddling in bed with you. You’re completely on top of him, cheek resting in his chest and acting like a weighted blanket to him. He’s scratching your back and every once in a while one of you makes a little comment.
“Naruto didn’t help me at all to court you, okay? I did it all by myself,” he points out after a long silence, obviously bothered about the impression you had of him.
You laugh into his chest, pressing a kiss between his pecs. “Iruka, I know. You started courting me, as you say, after Naruto left.”
“Exactly!” He holds his hands up and flops them to his sides. “I love that kid but sometimes he’s so…”
Iruka doesn’t want to finish that sentence so he just sighs as you wrap your arms around him a little bit tighter, pulling up so your faces are very close to each other. You smile softly, your fingers tracing lazy circles over his collarbone as you hover above him.
“Honey,” you whisper, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I never even realized Naruto was trying to help you. I loved being around you and how you always looked out for me.”
“I still do,” he relaxes a little under you, his hands settling on your waist as he searches your face. You lean in and press a sweet kiss to his lips.
“I know. I love you,” you whisper. “Naruto can brag all he wants, but we both know how this really happened.”
Iruka’s eyes soften completely, he cups your cheek with one hand, thumb stroking your skin. “I love you too,” he says quietly. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
You settle back down against his chest, but this time you tilt your head up so you can keep looking at him. He keeps scratching your back in soothing strokes, the room feels perfectly quiet except for the steady beat of his heart under your ear. Every now and then he presses a kiss to the top of your head and you respond by snuggling closer, tangling your legs with his.
summary: you and wally’s relationship gets discovered by your siblings
warning: none
pairing: batsis!reader x wally west. batsis!reader x batfam.
a/n: PLEASE let me know if damian’s arabic is wrong, i used google translate. i had a wayyy longer version of this typed out but it was just long random scenes that i couldn’t tie together. dividers by: @cafekitsune. requested by anon!
“Stop being so loud!” Tim hissed as him and Damian hopped into your sitting room window at two in the morning. “I thought you were meant to be the stealthy one.”
Cass slipped in behind them, her fingers to her lips. She was already moving further into your sitting room, with every intent to see her beloved sister, but did not want to interrupt your sleep.
“Shut up Drake.” Damian retorted. “Ukhti allows me into her apartment at any time. She won’t be mad at me. You, on the other hand-“
“I think she’ll be mad at all of us if we brake her stuff by acting like bulldogs.” Jason interrupted, sick of the brother’s bickering.
“Or maybe she’ll be mad because we’ll interrupt her ‘beauty sleep’” Dick grinned. “She takes that very seriously-“
“So do you Grayson. And heavens knows you definitely need it.”
“Hey!”
Tim opened his mouth to shush his brothers again, but was cut off by Jason’s voice coming from the kitchen.
“What. The. Fuck.”
Dick, Cass, Tim, and Damian looked at each other before walking to the kitchen, all of them stopping in the tracks when greeted by a sight they weren’t sure what to make of.
Wally West. Shirtless. Only wearing boxers. Standing in front of your open fridge, glass of water in hand.
Wally’s mouth was slight ajar, like he also couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Four out of the five people he feared the most just caught him red handed (the fifth was Bruce.)
There’s about ten seconds of a very terrifying and weird silence. Then it burst from three voices shouting at once.
Cass looked a mixture between stunned and slightly happy. One of Cass’ greatest skills is her ability to read body language, and she had observed you and Wally getting closer the past few weeks. She already had her unspoken suspicions, and was slightly pleased with herself.
Damian was immediately on the defensive. “How dare you dress like this in Ukhti’s home, West! You should have more respected for her and for yourself-“
Tim was asking questions that nobody gave him answers to. “When did this start? Was it right after her birthday gala? Because that means Bart was right. Does Bruce know? Does anybody know? How serious is this? A friends-with-benefits or a real relationship-“
Jason didn’t seem to believe what was in front of him, as if somehow convinced that you were on the unaware side. “Does she know that you’re standing practically naked in her kitchen? Why are you in her kitchen? Please say she was bandaging you up or something. Or that you needed food-“
But Wally wasn’t listening to them. He was staring at Dick, and Dick was staring right back at him. Neither of the two spoke. But Wally’s gut was already eating him.
He broke bro code. And he should’ve told Dick ages ago. But he kept pushing it off, because you always wanted to push it off. It wasn’t that you two didn’t want Dick to know, but it was sorta fun keeping the secret.
Well, it was a secret. Until Bruce found out a month ago.
You were in the medical room of the Tower, carefully wrapping your arm in a bandage after receiving a nasty slash from Poison Ivy’s thorns. Wally had joined you while you were half way through the act, wanting to make sure you were okay.
Wally was always more risky in public than you were. He trailed soft kisses up your arm, lingering on your neck, and then smiling against your cheek when you tutted at him.
“I’m trying to make sure I don’t bleed to death here Wally.” You snipped, but with no bite to your words. There never was when it came to Wally. He grinned back at you, his slender fingers going over yours as he helped you guide the bandage (you definitely did not need guidance, which to Wally, made the whole thing better as it had a better chance to annoy you.)
That lasted for a few seconds before a deep, unfortunately familiar voice came from behind.
“I’d appreciate it if you gave my daughter some space while she was recovering, Flash.”
Wally jumped about a foot in the air, leaping away from you as if you were burning hot as he turned around to look at his literally biggest fear.
“Yes, sir.” Wally got out immediately. “I was just- just seeing how . . . how she was doing after the-“
You rolled your eyes. “He was only checking on me, Batman.” You didn’t know how much Bruce had gathered, but reaction can tell him everything. It was pointless anyway, Wally had given him enough reaction to figure every detail out.
Bruce hummed, his cape still tucked around his shoulders to look more intimidating towards the young male.
“I’d like it if my daughter was more honest with me.”
You paused, looking at your dad. Wally stared you, making it clear that he’d follow whatever story you pulled. But you just sighed, and shrugged. You were too tired to lie anymore. Plus, you could tell from Bruce’s face that he already had you and Wally figured out.
“I’m sorry we hid it from you.” Wally blinked at your words. He’ll always find the silent conversations you and your father have very unsettling.
“How long have you known?”
“I’ve been suspecting for about two weeks now.”
You raised your eyebrows. “And you’ve only just come to us now? That’s surprising for you.”
Bruce was quiet for a moment, and then decided to make you feel a bit more guilty. “I was waiting for you to come to me.”
You pursed your lips. “I was going too. I just . . .” You looked at Wally. “We wanted to keep to ourselves. Just for a bit.”
Bruce nodded.
And then, after Wally got threatened (only a little) by Bruce, which he did expect, the awkwardness sort of disappeared. Because Bruce wanted to perform a little experiment of seeing how long it would take your siblings to catch on.
So then you and Wally’s constant unspoken fear of being caught vanished, and it turned more into a game. It was like pushing a limit to see how much your siblings would simply not notice or look past.
You and Wally had to dodge Damian the most, as the boy had a silent preference for you, especially when it came to missions. Damian liked being paired with his older sister for patrol or mission because you and his techniques worked well with each other, and you two often had the same line of thinking.
So it would happen a couple of times where Damian would go searching for you, only to walk into the meeting room to see you and Wally standing very close together. And for a second he thought he heard you giggling.
Damian cleared his throat to announce his presence. “Ukhti. It’s patrol time together.”
You and Wally sprung up, taking a step or two away from each other. You nodded quickly, swallowing your smile down.
“Let’s go, then.” You let Damian go in front of you, taking the chance to glance at Wally to give him a small wave.
Later on a rooftop, Damian spoke. “What were you and West doing?”
You hummed. “Just looking at the vent plan of a warehouse where a suspected drug dealer operates. Might be big bust, so Flash and I are studying the case.”
Damian nodded, satisfied with your words.
You were surprised you manage to dodge Tim as long as you did. The closest he got was when he caught you in the Batcave at 7 am in your pyjamas. You were hunched over the Batcomputer, watching the security footage of the camera placed outside your bedroom wall. He watched you for three seconds before speaking, making you whip your head back at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” You said, a second too early. “Just thought I heard something last night. Wanted to double check.”
Not completely unusual. Tim narrowed his eyes before just nodding.
“Alright.”
When you left, he watched the last couple of hours from that camera himself, but didn’t see anything noticeable.
Little did Tim know you spent the last hour wiping the footage of Wally scaling your wall last night, and making sure that the footage matched up to the last second so that you wouldn’t be caught.
Cass was the hardest to lie to or avoid. She was so perceptive, and you could never fully tell how much she knew or what she didn’t know. Plus, she might be the one you were feeling the second most guilty about lying to her.
You and Cass are close. She’s your only sister, and you hers. You two often sleep in each other’s rooms when one of you finds it difficult to drift off for various reasons. And sometimes during these sleepovers you end up whispering into the darkness to each other. Secrets you wouldn’t trust with anyone else.
You don’t like lying to Cass about anything, and she’s the hardest to lie to. She can tell straight away by your body language if you’re hiding something, and she knew you were.
She could feel how your shoulders relaxed when Wally was mentioned, but tensed right back up again if she asked what you thought of him. She could see the slight clenching of your jaw when you tried to appear casual, claiming you “never gave him much thought. He’s just one of Dick’s friends.”
And now each one of them are realising that all those little lies you told, the situations you carefully avoided, all lead back to the ginger man standing in your kitchen half-naked.
As silence fell upon the group again and the voices were replaced with wide-eyed stared at each other, the weird atmosphere was interrupted by someone else moving.
Your footsteps were heard from the hall, your slippers softly slapping against the wood before you entered the kitchen, rubbing at your eyes.
“Wally? You said you were grabbing a snack ten minutes ago. I thought you were supposed to be the fast-“ But you stopped short when you saw your siblings packed together on one side, and your secret boyfriend on the other side.
And then the chaos started again, just now with your voice added in.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I don’t have to disclose every detail with my siblings! I can have my own life for once.”
“Out of all the people you go for-“
“Hey!” That one was Wally, the first word he’s spoken this whole time.
After few more shouts, a particularly loud one echoed through the room. A voice who could silence the room with one command because he was a natural born leader, and an inspiration to everyone currently in the room. “Stop it. All of you.”
Dick Grayson. The only one who hasn’t spoken yet, but it looked like everyone was just remembering that he was there too, and that his opinion could really make or break the whole thing.
You and Wally exchanged a glance out of pure habit and familiarity when you noticed Dick, and it was that move that made him pause.
When presented with an unknown situation, you had looked towards Wally. And Wally had done the same. His two best friends had found their own language with each other that didn’t need to be spoken to be heard. Dick blinked, and looked towards his four younger siblings beside him.
Damian opened his light to protest against Dick unspoken command, but Dick stopped him with a look. He huffed before following Cass out of the kitchen, presumably going back outside to go home after opening their can of worms.
“Dick, we-“ You started.
“How long?” His words were simple, and you couldn’t gauge if he was happy or furious. But you didn’t hesitate.
You tsked. “That’s your first question?”
Dick’s eyes darted between the two of you, and you really thought you were about to fight this guy. Until his face broke out in a smile.
“Thank God!” He exclaimed, his arms laughing over both of you. “I was getting sick of the heart eyes you two were making at each other. So who manned up and said it first?”
Wally blinked. “You aren’t mad?”
Dick laughed. “Why would I be mad?”
You scoffed. “Maybe because you’ve gotten so weird over any boy that interacts with me, claiming that you need to threaten their collarbones.”
“That’s completely different.” Dick said, like it was obvious. “Those were guys I didn’t know. But of course I trust you, Walls. You’re my best bro.” His smile faltered. “But yeah, if you do hurt my sister, I will break your
collarbones.”
“Noted.” Wally muttered, but grinned back at his friend. You rolled your eyes beside them.
A few minutes later, Dick was crawling back out your living room window.
“Please just text me next time you decide to bring the whole family into my apartment.” You chided, before disappearing back into your bedroom.
Dick turned to Wally. “She’s your drama queen to deal with now, I guess.”
Wally smiled, “wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Dick nodded. “Happy for you man. I wish we could’ve had this conversation with you wearing some more clothes, but I guessed it worked out.”
“Thanks man.”
And with that, Dick joined his siblings in the batmobile to drop them off to the Cave before returning to his own girlfriend.
Wally crawled underneath the covers, sliding his body around yours where you were already texting Bruce.
You: They just figured it out. Three weeks and nine days. Not too bad.
Bruce: Noted. Thank you for indulging my experiment.
You: No problem. It was quite funny.
Wally watched your face as you stared at Bruce’s next messages for quite some time.
Bruce: Agreed. You should sleep now. Extend my good night wishes to West.
Bruce: I love you.
You put your phone away on your nightstand before curling into Wally. There was a minute of silence before:
“I really thought Dick was going to scalp me for a second back there.”
You hummed before mumbling, “I wouldn’t lower my guard around him.”
Wally didn’t get a chance to question your words before he heard your slow and steady breathing next to him, your thoughts safe and relaxed after the event of the evening.
syn: as the intern assistant manager in blue lock, your responsibilities are endless and your salary is low. as if that wasn't already bad enough, you wind up drawing the distaste of new gen 11 player vivien hugo, and you don't even know what you did!
or in which, hugo falls in love with you at first sight, but you think he absolutely hates you.
wc: 814
notes: fem pronouns / fluff / no y/n used / ooc hugo / miscommunication-ish / they're both stupid your honor / reader is an intern assistant manager (is that a role probably not but who cares) / don't think too hard about how you got to bllk,,, just know that you are there
a/n: this is that idea i posted a little while ago, unfortunately i can't promise this is any good but if people like it enough i might do a little series with them since i do think it's the kind of idea that is better presented over multiple writings (i also realised that hugo's part sounds slightly... ominous/overtly serious (?) but at the same time it is hugo so.) enjoy!
it was supposed to be routine, just another part of your duties as an intern assistant manager to blue lock. helping the foreign teams accommodate, guiding them to training areas and other similar facilities, but how did it end up with france's vivien hugo basically breathing down your neck?!
to put the timeline into place, it started with ego ordering you to help some france players around the blue lock facility. you did ask why loki and charles couldn't just help themselves since, you know, they were here just awhile ago, but he ignored you. such is the life of an intern, you suppose…
anyhow, you greeted loki, charles, and the new member hugo when they arrived. you flowed into an easy conversation with charles, who was as excitable as always, but you couldn't shake the feeling of hugo's eyes piercing into your back, and for some reason it put your body into some form of fight-or-flight. maybe his tall and intimidating stature and blank face had something to do with it…
you could only smile with a slightly strained look as you showed them to one of the training grounds, already set with water bottles and towels for their use. you were more than eager to run away as soon as you could, lest you melt into a puddle of nerves thanks to hugo.
but before you could leave, a hand grabbed your wrist, cornering you, and you knew for a fact that neither loki nor charles was to blame. so, with a bated breath and a short prayer, you turned around to meet hugo's face, that was scarily close to yours.
"you didn't give me your name." his eyes, the pair of black holes that they are, threatened to swallow you whole. you can only hope that your gulp wasn't audible or noticeable.
stuttering out your name, you shook your hand free and effectively ran away with a flimsy excuse that ego had some work for you to finish. were all the new gens this intimidatingly weird?!
vivian hugo didn't expect to fall in love in japan, let alone in the blue lock facility.
he had seen some clips of the neo egoist league, mostly the pxg matches, but he swears you were never in them. because if you were, he would've gone to japan much, much earlier. hell, he might've even asked to transfer to pxg temporarily just to see you!
but destiny has a funny way of working, so hugo supposes there's no point lamenting something out of his control. it's more important that he gets to meet you now, isn't it?
everything about you has enraptured him at just the first glance. the way you smiled, the glimmer in your eyes, the tone of your voice… hugo knew in an instant that you were his other half, just as he is yours.
while you entertained charles in the front, hugo walked behind you next to loki. his eyes couldn't leave your figure even if he wanted to, not that he ever would. loki, seemingly noticing this laser focus, leaned over to him.
"what's with you?" loki asks him, low enough that charles's yapping could cover it perfectly.
"she's my soulmate." hugo replies with complete seriousness, that even loki stares at him with disbelief.
"sometimes i worry about you, hugo…"
when you later tried to run away like a skittish kitten, hugo couldn't let you go without at least knowing your name. he could ask loki or charles, but if he wanted to properly court you, he needs to hear it from you! besides, it's more attractive if a man is assertive, if his sister's favourite romance novels are anything to go by.
that's why hugo took your arm and cornered just like he's seen in all those popular movies, because this is the move that girls usually swoon over, right?
seeing you look up at him, wide-eyed and stuttering out your name, hugo felt like he could already hear the chiming of bells and a scenic place — maybe somewhere in france or japan, wherever you liked — decorated in white. his own heart stuttered, warmth blooming in his chest as he watched you run away. damn, he already hates to see you go, but he might just be in love with watching you leave.
"hugo, what was that?!" charles gawks, eyes as wide as saucers and jaw hanging open. said man was still staring at where you were just a minute ago, soaking in the feeling of being in such close proximity to you, before blinking and snapping himself out of the trance you had him in.
charles's question goes unanswered as hugo sets his bag down and slips off his jacket, preparing his warm-ups, now with a new dream in his mind.
by the end of the world cup, you will be his. it's your shared destiny, after all.
"you forgot to close the blinds…" you groaned as the morning sunlight hit your closed eyes.
as you turned around to bury your face in his chest, you felt kakashi’s hand press on the top of your head, your cheek being squished against his chest.
"you were the last one to get to bed, it’s your fault, you go close 'em." he whined back as he threw his other hand on his eyes to block the light.
"it’s your house not mine."
"like i care. you go close them or i kick you out."
at that you abruptly sat up and glared at him. his left eye was already open and looking at you with amusement.
"you wouldn’t dare."
"watch me."
and before you could blink, you were in your pajamas outside his front door, banging on it like you just got locked out. because you did.
"KAKASHI!"
"go away, stalker."
kakashi was having a blast inside, laying on his bed with the blinds now closed, while his next door neighbor was peeking at you through his blinds out of curiosity as he heard the commotion coming from outside his front door.
you huffed and crossed your arms in annoyance. a glare was sent at the neighbor when your eyes met his, and he rapidly closed his blinds as he realized with horror that he had been caught being nosy.
"i’m gonna kill you."
"would love to see it!"
"this is so embarrassing."
"tell me about it!”
"i’m breaking up with you."
he stopped laughing immediately.
"have fun being single again, i’m sure genma will be more than happy to—"
but you soon heard the sound of the lock and were faced with your boyfriend’s cold stare. his smirk had been wiped away as fast as he got you outside.
"genma?"
"yeah, genma. you know, the guy who still has something for—“
but kakashi heard enough as he grabbed you by the waist to toss you back inside, forcing a squealing smile out of you as you were thrown on the mattress.
multiple one piece boys; fluff!! || where you like to [casually] touch your man || 1.2k
No matter what was going on or what he was wearing, Luffy always looked good— whether that be ‘cute’, ‘hot’, ‘handsome’, ‘pretty’ or some other flattering adjective— he was a looker. End of story. But you couldn’t help but especially love when his straw hat wasn’t on his head; watching his hair rest over his forehead or rustle with the wind always had you staring. It was an absolute pleasure to run your fingers through his black tresses to feel the softness, running your nails along his scalp to make him shiver with tingles and sigh in content. The first time, he fell asleep in your lap within seconds. He’d woken up with a plea to do it some more so he could actually bask in the feeling and from then on it was something he actively sought out. It felt so good, soothing, relaxing…whether it was just a passing ruffle or hours worth of head massaging, he adored it, and he adored you.
How could you not want to grab Sanji’s waist? He was the perfect prince charming with such a lean figure and a subtle hourglass cinch to his waist that was worth drooling over. And drool you did because goddamn, did your boyfriend deserve someone to lavish him with heart eyes and attention. You loooove to come up behind him and grip his waist, either resting there or giving it a good squeeze; it’s usually followed with a kiss anywhere you can reach, or kisses everywhere you can reach. The first time it ever happened, his nose bled like a popped vessel and he melted into your arms. Practically begged you to not let go. The action has him forever smiling and blushing, giving you reciprocal heart eyes (though that’s typical behavior when he’s around you anyway). His own hands will find yours, rubbing over your knuckles so intimate and sweet, voice a soft murmur as he gives you an adoring little ‘hi’ followed by whatever french nickname he has for you at that moment.
Zoro worked hard to obtain his level of strength and physique. You thought that dedication needed some praise: and no praise was better than feeling up those biceps. It was damn near a ritual when you slid your hands up his tanned arms, fingers dipping under the sleeves of the shirt he had on, curling around the defined and bulging muscle. Sometimes you squeezed once, sometimes you squeezed a few more, sometimes you let your nails gently sink into the skin before easing up. His ears turned red the very first time it happened, wide eyed and stunned, before he gave you his usual smirk. He’s so fucking smug when you do it now, lazy and lidded eyes watching, murmurs like ‘yeah? Like that flex?’ and other similar comments escaping him. He eats your admiration UP— but he’ll also let you see those genuine smiles and bashful looks every once in a while.
It’s your boyfriend’s fault for never wearing a shirt, and the rare times he does, Ace still has it open to show his toned chest. So, really, in your defensive opinion: he’s basically inviting you to feel him up. Which you do. Gladly. Anywhere, anytime— you slide your hands up and down his skin lazily, fingers mapping out the lines of muscles, entirely unabashed. When you first did so, he caught fire. Literally: hair ablaze, flames licking up his shoulders and blazing from his palms. He likes it a lot, maybe too much. Having you so open with your affection— your admiration, your infatuation, it’s so intoxicating in the best way. He feels so loved and seen. Even if he expects it now, he still gets all fuzzy inside and giddy, cheeks always coloring a pretty pink, but he also gives you a big grin and that lovely laugh of his.
Honestly, Sabo didn’t think anything of his looks most of the time. He knew he was considered fairly handsome and the scar over his left eye had never bothered him. But you? Ohhhhoho, you worship that man like the pretty thing he is. During quiet moments and/or downtime, your hands always- at least once in those time periods- find his handsome face; thumbs rubbing his cheeks, pointer finger mapping out all his features, grip gently curling around his jaw, tracing along his scar. He had a windows shut down moment and a whole system reboot when you first did so, stammering nonsense and staring dumbly. Now, there’s always an infatuated smile and a twinkle in his eyes to boot. He can’t get enough of the way you treat him, shown by his honeyed and sometimes endearingly cheeky murmurs during.
Your lovely boyfriend works too much and too hard. Law wouldn't know what self care was if he was given the textbook definition and a drawn diagram. So you take it upon yourself to not only take care of him but to show him some love. Like clockwork, every time you see him hunched over his desk (which is a lot), your hands find his shoulders; fingers getting a comfortable grip, massaging them, working out knots and tension…when they relax to a point you’re pleased with- and him, based on his small sighs- you slide down to his back to either rub soothingly or work your thumbs over any sore muscles. He’d like to say he was composed when it first happened, but the truth was, he completely melted into a puddle. It’s fifty-fifty on if he’ll keep working while you do so or abandon it entirely, but he will quietly express his gratitude and love for you, either way.
[longer bonus] Kid’s prosthetic arm was a source of pride and determination. It made him stronger, made him want to continue to get stronger, and he didn’t really give it any other mind past that. Until you got a hold of him. You couldn't explain it, but lavishing your soft touches to the metal was a favorite pastime of yours, whether intentional or subconsciously. Your fingers barely press down as you run them over the dips and edges of the prosthetic. Gentle, even if he couldn’t feel it. The first time (rather, the first time he noticed you doing it), he almost jerked away, unused to such affections in the early stages of your relationship…The thought of it, though, was…nice. After battling with himself for weeks, one quiet night, he finally asked you to run the motions of your fingers over his right arm, so he could actually feel it. So when you were stroking the metal limb, he could think back to how it felt, and know exactly the care you were giving him. The way your fingers gently roamed his skin made him shiver and sigh, almost reluctant to show vulnerability, but doing it anyway because…it was you. He was big and strong, like a damn tank, yet you showed him a gentleness he would’ve never known, had he not fallen for you. It was special, even if he struggled to admit any of it aloud. So now every time your hand finds his prosthetic, he’ll give you a softer look if in private or one of his smug little smirks in front of the others. He can feel it, in his mind, and it makes his heart flutter every. time.
your serious best friend, jason todd, turns into a giggling mess when he's drunk ˚.✦
You’d known Jason for years. He was your serious best friend: the guy who always had a plan, who carried the weight of the world (and a few extra bullets) on his broad shoulders. Stoic and sarcastic with his signature scowl that makes criminals rethink their life choices. Tonight, though, you’d dragged him out with a simple promise: “Just a few drinks, Jay. No brooding allowed.”
He’d rolled his eyes but agreed, sliding into the booth across from you in his usual leather jacket and dark jeans. “Fine. If I start talking about literature, cut me off.”
You laughed, clinking your first beer against his. “Of course.”
Two rounds in, Jason was still mostly himself, a few grumbles about how the city never changed. But by the third drink, the shift started. It began with a small chuckle. Not his usual. This was lighter. Weirdly higher.
You paused mid-sip, eyeing him over your glass. “You okay there, big guy?”
Jason leaned back, his cheeks already a little flushed. His green eyes, usually sharp and guarded, were softening at the edges.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m good. This shit’s stronger than it looks.” He took another sip and, there it was again, a giggle.
Your eyebrows shot up. “Did you just… giggle?”
He blinked at you, then burst into another one, covering his mouth with the back of his hand like he was trying to shove it back in. “Shut up. No I didn’t.”
But he did. And it kept happening. By the fourth drink, the serious Jason Todd you knew had officially clocked out.
“...and then Dick did this stupid flip, right? Like like he’s in a fucking circus... wait, he was in a circus!” Jason was leaning halfway across the table now, one elbow planted firmly in the wood, his other hand gesturing wildly. His voice had gone from gravelly to boyish, bubbling with laughter between every other word. “I told him, ‘Dick, you’re gonna break your neck one day doing that shit,’ and he just pffft grinned like an idiot!”
You were staring, half-amused, half in disbelief. The man who once stared down at villains without flinching was currently giggling so hard his shoulders shook.
“Jason,” you said slowly, a grin tugging at your lips, “you’re so drunk.”
“I am not!” he protested, but the words dissolved into another fit of laughter. He slid out of his side of the booth and plopped down right next to you, his massive frame crowding you against the wall. “Scoot over. Need to be close to you. For… balance.”
You snorted. “Oh, so you’re clingy when you’re drunk.”
“With you,” he mumbled, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re warm. And you smell nice. Like… girl. Nice girl.”
“Oh my God,” you laughed, gently pushing at his chest. It was like trying to move a very affectionate brick wall. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”
He lifted his head just enough to look at you, blinking fast. The scar on his cheek crinkled with it. “You don't like me like this?”
You couldn’t help it, you reached up and brushed a stray lock of dark hair off his forehead. “I do, I do! This version of you is… surprisingly adorable.”
That earned you another giggle, this one softer and shier. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer, nuzzling into your hair. “You’re my favorite. Did I ever tell you that? Like, favorite person. Ever. Even when I’m sober I think it, but I don’t say it ‘cause… reasons. Serious reasons. But now I’m saying it. You’re my person.”
Your heart did a little flip despite yourself. Drunk Jason was nothing like sober Jason. Sober Jason kept everyone at arm’s length, guarded behind layers of sarcasm and trauma. This version? Bubbly and ridiculously clingy. His free hand found yours under the table, fingers lacing through yours with surprising gentleness.
“Jay,” you said softly, squeezing his hand, “maybe we should get you home before you start reciting poetry or something.”
He gasped dramatically. “I could! I know so much Keats. Wait, no, you’d like the smutty stuff...” Another giggle escaped him as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t let me embarrass myself more. Pretty please.”
You sat there for a while longer, letting him ramble about everything from how the stars looked better when you were around to how he secretly loved when you stole his hoodies.
Eventually, you managed to coax him out of the booth. He refused to let go of your hand the entire way to the door, swaying slightly but using you as his personal anchor. Outside in the cool Gotham night air, he stopped, turning to face you.
“You’re really pretty, you know that?” he said. Then he ruined the moment by giggling again and booping your nose. “Makes it hard to be serious sometimes.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling despite the flush creeping up your own cheeks. “Come on, drunk ass. Let’s get you to bed.”
He let you guide him toward your apartment, arm slung heavily around your shoulders, head leaning against yours the whole walk. Every so often he’d murmur something sweet or silly, punctuated by those infectious giggles. And as you helped a very clingy, very bubbly Jason Todd through the door, you couldn’t help but think:
Maybe getting him drunk more often wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. Just for the giggles, of course.
⠀ ⠀わかさ // BABY SITTER'S CLUB
⠀ ༝ ༝ wakasa imaushi [ft. cousin!sano's/black dragons]
⠀ ༝ ༝ 4.2k words
⠀ ༝ ༝ some drinking !
⠀ — shinichiro asks if you can babysit your younger cousin's for the night, and you get to have a late night convo with his pretty friend after.
you think you might’ve been doomed from the start.
shinichiro didn’t specify what you’d need to babysit your younger cousins for, just that he was desperate because his grandpa was out of town and none of his friends could be trusted to actually watch them. you could almost hear him falling to his knees to beg over the phone.
you like to think you’re a nice person. generous and caring, and you haven’t seen mikey or emma in a while anyways, so there was no real harm in saying yes. taking every penny from his wallet was a plus, too.
you get to their house right when he tells you, almost tackled by emma who is saying something about having a sleepover in the living room with a pillowfort in the mix the second you’ve finished slipping off your shoes, and you catch a glance of mikey pouting to his older brother while emma drags you further into the house.
“(y/n)’s gonna take good care of you guys, don’t sweat it.” shinichiro pats mikey’s head with a hum, then turns to you, “left some money on the counter for pizza or something if you want, but there’s food in the fridge too if you wanna cook. ‘m gonna be in my room for a bit before i have to leave, but i’ll prob’ly be home way after you guys are asleep.”
you offer a nod, setting your overnight bag in a corner of the living room, “s’okay, i’ll probably need a ride home tomorrow though, if that’s alright.”
“not a problem - thanks for coming, i really appreciate it-”
he’s interrupted by the front door swinging open, a man with a long scar going over one of his eyes coming in like he owns the place, with two kids running past his legs to greet your younger cousins. he drops their bags by yours, stretching and popping his back as if carrying them was the worst thing in the world before his eyes find your own wide ones, unlit cigarette between his teeth while he takes you in.
“you’re the babysitter, right? sanzu, senju, come introduce yourselves. ‘m takeomi.” he offers his hand, and he must be confused by your bewildered stare, because he takes his hand back and looks to your older cousin, “they okay shin?”
you whirl around to glare at him, completely appalled by his apologetic stare. “surprise?”
“you did not tell me i’d be watching four kids!”
shinichiro is quick for damage control, gesturing towards takeomi, “he’s gonna pay what i am, promise!”
takeomi looks surprised at this news, opening his mouth to argue, but deciding against it from the look shinichiro gives. he fishes out his wallet, counting out some money and offering it to you. you eye it, then him, then shinichiro. your cousin clears his throat, jutting his thumbs upwards as a sign for more. takeomi sputters, pulling out all the cash he has and placing it in your open hand.
“i am not a daycare.” your eyes narrow between them, pointed look enough to have shinichiro humming nervously. you shove the cash in your wallet, finally acknowledging the two new additions to your entourage.
“i’m senju! this is my brother sanzu.” the girl says, hands on her brother's shoulders as she pushes him forward.
“i’m (y/n).” you smile, and sanzu looks away from you before escaping his sister’s hold and scurrying back to mikey.
shinichiro and takeomi whisper between themselves while you and emma start gathering blankets from around the house, before shinichiro calls out, “okay, we’ll be out here for a bit! you’ll probably hear us leaving soon!”
“see ya.” you call back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you help senju put blankets on to chairs and set pillows over them to keep them in place. the door shuts, and you’re left alone with no one over the age of 10.
⠀ ⠀ ༝⠀ ⠀ ༝
shinichiro honestly expected you to come barrelling into his room far sooner than you did.
takeomi sat to his right on the couch, benkei to his left, and wakasa sat on the table in front of them. your soft knock was barely audible, but it made shinichiro pause in his talk about black dragon, turning to face it when you open it slowly and peek into the room.
“what’s up?” he asks, standing when you make your way further in.
“i just wanted to make sure sanzu and senju weren’t allergic to anything.” you look past him, to takeomi, who takes a long drag of his cigarette before shaking his head.
“not that i know of.”
“emma and mikey?” you’re looking at him now, head tilted slightly.
“nothin’.” he confirms, “you gonna make somethin’?”
“mhm.” you scan the room, eyes glossing over each of his friends, before they settle on one person for a second, then you’re turning on your heel to go back to the kids, “i’ll put some leftovers in the fridge if you want.”
he snickers, despite having no idea what could’ve had you leaving so quickly, “sounds good, thank you!”
the click of the door fills the air as you leave, and silence washes over the group before wakasa sighs.
“okay, i’ll bite. who was that.”
shinichiro turns slowly, acknowledging his friend for a second, and takeomi answers before he has a chance to open his mouth, “(y/n). babysitter of the night and thief of all the cash in my wallet.”
“they stole from you?” benkei laughs, the idea almost comedic.
“not directly,” takeomi’s eyes narrow to shinichiro, “but they are definitely making a pretty penny tonight.”
“and dealing with your monsters of siblings,” wakasa sighs out a puff of smoke, “it’s easy money well-earned.”
“think i could pay enough for ‘em to babysit me-”
takeomi gets hit in the back of the head by a shoe, jolting forward while shinichiro gathers the matching pair to slide onto his foot. “that’s enough of that, you guys ready to go or you wanna fantasize ‘bout my cousin all night?”
“cousin?” takeomi scoffs, throwing the shoe back to him. he slides it on then goes for his bike keys, “thought the attractive gene skipped over your generation.”
“more like skipped over you. we leavin’ or what?”
⠀ ⠀ ༝⠀ ⠀ ༝
you heard their bikes take off about two hours ago, finished feeding the kids right after that, and got everyone changed into their pjs in record time. babysitters around the world wish they had your skillset. it takes a bit to get them to quiet down into the fort you’ve created, but with the promise of tv and a snack before bed, they’re hooked.
it’s a surprise when the guys stumble in through the front door with the smell of alcohol following them, benkei supporting most of shinichiro’s weight with a nasty bruise on his cheek. wakasa follows behind the two of them, remnants of a bloody nose still flaked lightly under his nostril, and . . . you look between the three, making sure your headcount is accurate.
“aren’t you guys missing one?”
the men look between each other, then out the door as if he was waiting outside, then back to each other.
“oh.”
“oh?” you parrot, “the hell happened to you guys?”
“oniichan’s face is messed up.” one by one, the kids pop out from the blankets to see their siblings and friends alike. emma pouts, tugging on your arm, “he promised no more fighting (y/n), can you believe it.”
mikey almost laughs at his brother, “like he ever could, you know how he likes to pick fights.”
“where’s ‘omi?” senju rubs her eyes as a yawn slips past her lips, and sanzu nudges her shoulder.
“maybe he got arrested.”
she stiffens at the thought, suddenly very awake and pulling on your other arm, “he isn’t really is he? he’s just sayin’ that?”
your eyes narrow at the three men for riling up the kids right when you were getting them ready to sleep.
“out.” you point towards the garage door, gently pulling your arms from emma and senju and shoving wakasa by the shoulders when no one moves.
“what’d i do?” he whines out, eyes not leaving you as you grab benkei by the wrist and drag him in the same direction.
“‘s my house.” shinichiro grumbles, being pulled along by his friend.
you open the door for them and push them one by one into shinichiro’s room, ignoring the complaints from each of them while benkei gives an apologetic smile. he closes the door for you, and you’re left consoling senju while trying to get everyone back into the fort as if it will help get them to sleep faster.
and it almost works, shrek playing on the tv with sanzu’s head resting on your shoulder.
the door swings open, and each of you startle at the sudden sound, takeomi’s voice loud while he complains about being left by his dearest friends. you climb out of the fort to glare at him, and senju lets out a small omi! before you’re grabbing him by the ear and dragging him to the garage door. you push it open and all but shove him into the room, completely ignoring the whines he gives about his poor tortured ear.
“stay.” you threaten, glaring at each of them like they’re dogs who just won’t listen, and not one of them can find it in themselves to argue from the way you’re looking at them.
“‘s my house.” shinichiro grumbles again, once the door is shut and his safety is secured as you retreat.
an hour passes and takeomi sips idly on a lukewarm beer shinichiro keeps in his room, pout still very evident, while wakasa lights a cigarette. benkei breaks any leftover silence with a grumbling stomach.
“‘m kinda hungry. we never stopped at the store like we said we would.” he scratches his cheek, looking to his friends in hopes of a solution.
“(y/n) did say they made somethin’ for dinner, didn’t they?” takeomi sits up slightly from his slouched position, thinking dreamily about what you could’ve made.
“you wanna risk goin’ into the house?” wakasa takes a drag from his cigarette.
“it’s my house.” shinichiro stands, repeating that phrase for the third time in one hour. it’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself it’s okay.
it’s decided then shinichiro would go in, grab something quick, and be back in his room before you notice he’s even there. hoping time would be on his side, since it is very late, maybe you’ll be sound asleep and he won’t really need to be as sneaky as he’s planning. the plan falls apart very quickly at the seams, realizing the door that connects his room inside the house is locked from the otherside. he silently curses you, trying to turn the lock one more time in case his first attempt just wasn’t right, then sighs.
“gotta go through the front door.”
his friends watch with amused grins, wondering if maybe you’ve completely cut all contact with them until the morning, as shinichiro goes out the side door that leads to the front porch. he thanks whatever god is out there that the door is unlocked, opening so, so slowly to ensure it doesn’t make a creak, and slides into the room as quietly as possible.
quiet, until he knocks into the umbrella holder right beside the door. it falls with a clatter, and he can see you sit up slightly from your spot on the couch, hissing out a ‘shh’ while sanzu in your lap makes a noise of complaint in his sleep. he places it back as it was with a wince.
“the hell are you doin’?” you whisper scream, barely able to turn your body in fear of waking up the boy you’ve had to constantly pat to keep asleep.
“we just-”
“no. no ‘we’. if you wake up these kids, i swear-”
“okay! okay, okay, okay, you win.” he grumbles something under his breath that has your eyes narrowing at him in the dark, and he inhales sharply before going back to his friends.
attempt one : failed.
shinichiro arrives back to the gang empty handed and dejected at losing so easily.
and his friends have the audacity to laugh at him.
“an umbrella holder? shouldn’t you know that house like the back of your hand?” wakasa almost snorts, holding his stomach at the fact that something so small did him in.
“i do!” he assures, “one of the kids must’ve moved it closer to the door or something.” he explains in vain, “and i don’t see any of you guys stepping up to try.”
takeomi claps a hand on benkei’s shoulder, shaking him slightly after, “benkei’s my vote, he’s the one that brought up food in the first place.”
“i didn’t know we’d have to become ninjas to eat.” he argues, “besides, i’m the biggest here, what makes you think i’ll do any better?”
he makes a good case, but the idea of you whisper-yelling at someone twice your size almost makes shinichiro laugh. “i agree with takeomi, i think you should try.”
“i can’t believe you guys are plotting against me.” he looks to wakasa, who just shrugs and offers no help. so, with a sigh, he stands, taking the beer takeomi had been nursing, and chugs what’s left while ignoring the complaints that follow.
he goes out the same way shinichiro did, opens the door as quietly as he can, and . . . bumps into the same. fucking. umbrella holder. with the warning in mind. you whip around to glare, curses on your tongue as you take in benkei, who looks so sorry, it has the words dying on your lips. the two of you stare at each other for all of five seconds, before he’s wordlessly picking the holder back up, placing it where it was, and closing the door behind him.
attempt two : failed.
benkei returns to the group just as empty handed as his captain, just as dejected.
“couldn’t even get through the door.” he sighs, waving off the laughter that follows.
“they say anything to you?” wakasa snickers, offering benkei another beer. he takes it gratefully, chugging it easily and shaking his head.
“i kicked the umbrella holder,” louder laughter surrounds him, “didn’t even say anything. we just stared at each other and i left.”
“we’re never gonna eat at this rate.” shinichiro groans, “why is this so hard?”
“they aren’t even that scary,” takeomi hums, ear incident long forgotten, while putting out the remainder of his cigarette before standing, “i’ll show you guys how it’s done.”
takeomi is so self-assured, so confident that it doesn’t matter if he fucks up. he’s a smooth-talker, through and through. surely, if you get upset, he can just talk it out. that’s what these idiots don’t understand.
with that in mind, he takes the same route as the others. he decides, maybe their flaw is in opening the door so slowly. that must be why they keep kicking the umbrella holder. they let it sneak up on them, too worried about the wrong thing to even notice it. he pushes the door open with no regard to how loud he is, taking a step past the frame and cursing when he kicks the one thing he was meant to avoid.
it clatters across the floor, and he hears a groan from sanzu, both from the sound and from you shifting to face him.
“d-didn’t mean to-” he stutters out, and your glare hardens when he makes no attempt to keep his voice down.
“so help me god, if you do not go back to the garage right now you are going to wish you never met me.”
he audibly gulps, bowing his head while apologies fall off his lips. you throw a pillow in his direction, and he takes that as a sign to bounce, not bothering to pick up the umbrella holder like the past two attemptees.
attempt three : failed.
takeomi comes back, head still high with nothing in his hands, and the laughter that erupts is infectious.
“they threatened me! me!!” he explains desperately, “and it worked!”
shinichiro really thinks they should’ve just gone to a twenty-four hour store at this point, but each attempt seems to be funnier than the last. he turns to wakasa, who sips on a beer from the couch. he catches his eye, and shakes his head.
“nuh uh, no way am i going in there after all of that.”
“you’re the only one that hasn’t!” shinichiro argues, “and technically, you’re the one least likely to get caught! being the smallest and all . . . “ his voice trails off, and the comment has wakasa’s eyes narrowing to slits.
“i’m not even that hungry, it’s you guys who are so desperate.”
“it’s only fair you try, too.” benkei grumbles, still not over the look you gave him when he first walked in.
four of the toughest delinquents in tokyo, arguing about fairness. out of fear for their leader's younger cousin, no less. it’s laughable. wakasa grumbles profanities under his breath, almost certain this will end with you leaving shinichiro’s house with an attempted murder charge.
“fine, but if i come outta there alive, you guys owe me.”
“not if you come back empty handed.” takeomi opens another beer, plopping his ass back down on the couch, “careful, they have sanzu in their lap. that kid’ll be the reason they snap.”
wakasa takes the warning with a grain of salt, sure that the four of them bothering you is the real reason for your aggravation. with a sigh, he’s left walking to the front door and opening it quietly. you’re already glaring holes where he stands and he hasn’t even had a chance to do anything wrong.
“what could you guys possibly want so badly?” you ask through clenched teeth, and wakasa’s hands come up defensively, closing the door behind him and very aware of the umbrella holder takeomi left in the middle of the floor.
“we’re just hungry.” he assures, stepping past the couch towards the kitchen, “be in and out before you can notice.”
he stumbles slightly in his drunken state, and it has you heaving a sigh and slowly peeling yourself from under sanzu. you carefully place a blanket over him, and follow wakasa to the kitchen, finger pressed to your lips to make sure he knows to keep quiet.
wakasa is already shuffling through the fridge, hoping to find something quick and easy so he isn’t in your hair for any longer than he needs to be, but you’re pulling him back gently by his upper arm and grabbing something in a tupperware container.
“i made rice with some vegetables and beef i found in the freezer,” you say softly, and wakasa wonders for a second if you’re always soft spoken or if it’s because you’re trying your best to be quiet.
you pop the lid off and move to reheat what you made, leaning against the counter as the microwave counts down.
“what’d you guys do for you to earn that?” you nod towards him, and despite not directly saying what, wakasa knows you’re talking about his previously bloodied nose.
absentmindedly, he taps at his nostril, honestly having forgotten to even clean what blood was there. “fight.” he says dumbly, and the simplicity of it has you giggling. he thinks he really likes that sound.
he watches intently when you grab a paper towel, dampening it with the sink water, then so very gently cup his cheek to tap at the blood to clean it. if he had any shame, he knows his face would be flushed right now. instead, he grins, eyes half-lidded while he absorbs your focused expression.
“you’re awfully sweet on me, huh?” the comment has your own cheeks dusting pink, but your reply comes by you squeezing his cheek tighter.
“quit movin’, makin’ this harder than it needs to be.”
by the time you’re finished, the microwave is seconds away from going off, and you drop both the paper towel and his face in favor of making sure the timer doesn’t have a chance to sound, stopping it right at :01. wakasa finds himself missing your touch, but the thought is lost when the smell of food hits. maybe he was hungrier than he thought.
he grabs a plate for himself, piling a portion onto it and groaning when it hits his tongue.
“you made this?” he finds himself asking, despite you literally explaining the fact that you did not even five minutes ago. you hum out a reply, already in the process of getting other plates and utensils for his friends.
“‘s very good.” he grins when he’s finished, “thanks for takin’ care of me.” he eyes you lazily, grin growing bigger when he sees that the pink dusting your cheeks spreads.
“don’t mention it,” you mumble, pushing the plates and now warm food to him, “should probably take these to them before they starve.”
“let ‘em.” he says with such confidence, it has a giggle passing your lips. he wants to hear that more. he pulls himself onto the counter with such ease, it makes you wonder how drunk he really is.
“so who’d you guys fight?” you lean against the counter beside him, tapping at his knee as if his undivided attention wasn’t already fully on you.
“some idiots,” he waves dismissively, “heard from people at the bar we're inna gang and started shit talking shinichiro.”
you grin, “he take the first swing?”
he mirrors your smile, and fuck does he look pretty when he does, “damn right. got socked right after,” he taps his cheek, “everyone was fightin’ after that. benkei had to drag us out ‘fore the cops came.”
“who hit you?” you muse, head tilting slightly.
“some random that followed us outta the bar.” his grin only widens at the memory, “shoulda seen the other guy.”
“i can only imagine.” you push yourself from the counter when a head of pink hair peeks around the corner, eyes widening slightly when they meet yours before he scurries back to the living room.
wakasa’s eyes follow your movements when you leave him alone in the kitchen, in favor of going back to sanzu who can’t seem to stay asleep without your comforting touch. in his inebriated state, he finds himself following behind you. in the time it took him to make that decision, you’ve already gotten comfortable on the couch with sanzu’s head in your lap. you rub his back idly, and he catches the faintest whisper of you asking if he had another bad dream, sees the way sanzu’s head barely moves with a nod.
it’s really domestic, seeing how well you’re taking care of a kid you didn’t even know about hours before, and wakasa finds himself almost jealous of the 9 year old. what a cockblock, coming in when he was reeling you into the conversation.
instead of voicing these concerns, he finds himself clambering on the other end of the couch, feet tucked neatly under him and looking at you.
“hi,” you whisper with a small laugh, “don’t you have a delivery to make?”
he waves off the suggestion with a hum, “they shoulda came on their own - kept tellin’ horror stories ‘bout you being mean, but i think they’re just scaredy cats.”
“that so?” you muse, and sanzu shifts closer to you when wakasa leans over him to get a better look at your smile.
“mhm,” half-lidded eyes scan over you, and he can honestly forget about the boy between the two of you easily with the way you’re looking back at him, “think maybe they can’t handle you like i can.”
you offer another giggle, putting a finger against his forehead when he invades too much of sanzu’s space, “i think you should tell me this sober.”
“i’d tell you it everyday if i could.” he whispers so seriously, it has your face flushing.
“try again tomorrow.” you tap his forehead twice for emphasis, then pass a blanket his way since it’s very apparent he won’t be going back to his friends.
his friends, who are mourning the loss of him the longer he takes to come back.
shinichiro, after his dear friend wakasa hadn’t shown up in the five minutes they’d timed him for, delved into horror stories from when you were younger. how you’d been suspended from school due to your temper, picking more fights than him when someone said the wrong thing. how he’d spend some weekend nights helping you tend to bruised knuckles after you’d defended him.
and it ends with each man giving a soft prayer for their friend, who, after an hour, still hadn’t come back yet.
unbeknownst to them, wakasa had fallen asleep listening to you tell stories about your cousin. how you’d protected him in grade school because kids were assholes, but you were a bigger asshole who didn’t take that shit. and on the couch, the three of you fell asleep peacefully, while the men in garage hoped you gave wakasa a quick and painless death.
a/n: idk I just thought about this, hope you enjoy! Lmk if you want a part 2 <3 also requests for bonten x reader is open! Feel free to submit anything
notes: Bonten x reader
Well, fuck.
At this current moment you’re sitting outside one of Bonten’s meeting rooms patiently waiting for your fate. How could a receptionist fuck up this badly? For a criminal organisation that literally specialises in death, they sure do have a bunch of company policy bullshit when it comes to punching another Bonten member in the face. To be fair, he completely deserved it, especially after calling you “lowlife trash”. After that, there really wasn’t must that you could do, you just had to punch him in his stupid face. And you don’t regret it, even if it costs you your life.
For the last 4 months, working as a front desk receptionist at Japan’s most notorious criminal organisation, has been interesting, to say the least. Most of your job consists out of greeting members at the entrance of the Bonten building with nothing but a smile. Most of the lower level members of Bonten always greet you back, with plastered on smiles and hungry eyes that rake your body from top to bottom. It disgusts you, but one way or another you’ll be sitting in one of those executive seats, bossing people around and drinking with the big boys.
Speaking of the big boys, they never greet you.
Rindou Haitani. He often comes walking into the building, hands in his pockets, and an expression on his face that executes pure boredom. He hasn’t greeted you once in the 4 months that you’ve worked here. You’ve greeted him once, of which he stared at you directly in the eyes, and flat out ignored you. Ever since then, you haven’t greeted him.
His infamous older brother, Ran Haitani. The first thing you noticed about him was the smell of his expensive cologne. His hair is always slicked back perfectly, and his suit is probably worth more than your life. He’s greeting you once. To be honest, you wouldn’t even call it greeting. He waltz in there, busy on the phone. As per your basic expectation contract, you have to greet everyone that walks into the building. So of course, you greeted with a high pitched “Hi!” and a rosey smile, expecting nothing in return. Now imagine your surprise when he quickly glanced out you - still on the phone - and shot you a quick wink. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t like the way it made you feel.
Haruchiyo Sanzu - the craziest motherfucker alive. Every single time he enters the Bonten building, he’s either drunk or high or both. He always greets you back, with a mischievous smirk and nine out of ten times, manic eyes combined with a simple “Hi, Doll.” Sometimes you swear you can feel him undressing you with his eyes. He scares you. Especially when he walks into the building with clothes drenched in blood and an attitude that screams ‘no fucks given’.
Hajime Kokonoi AKA the man who hired you. Needless to say, he’s been the ‘nicest’ towards you. Always greeting first, followed by a ‘how are you today?’ The thing you appreciate most about Kokonoi is his calming demeanour, and in an organisation like Bonten when everything is constantly chaos, it’s nice having a calming presence around. In fact, you’re sitting outside of his meeting room right now, waiting to be called in. You’re hoping that his calm demeanour stays just that when he finds out what you’ve done.
The first thing you noticed about Kakucho wasn’t the massive scar on his face, but rather his eyes. You remember thinking to yourself that this man has beautiful eyes the one time you made eye contact. He also never greets you.
Manjiro Sano - the man you’ve heard so much about, but never seen. When reception get quiet, you like to fantasise about what he looks like. You wonder what colour his hair is, and how the fuck he managed to start an organisation as powerful as Bonten. You wonder how his persona is like. Surely he must be ruthless as hell, even more so than Sanzu. The thought sends shivers up your spine, and in some sense, you’re happy that you’ve never seen him before.
Which brings us back to where you are now. Sitting quietly outside the meeting room, trying your best to listen in to what that motherfucker is saying about you to Kokonoi. You just know that he’s speaking shit about you. Your leg is bouncing up and down and you’re struggling to keep yourself calm, especially when you hear that ugly motherfucker refer to you as a “stupid slut” behind the closed doors.
You keep telling yourself to sit still, to look composed, to not give that bastard the satisfaction of knowing you’re nervous; but your body betrays you. Every muffled voice from inside the meeting room makes your pulse spike, especially his. The one you punched. You can hear him whining, dramatising the situation, dragging your name through the dirt, and every insult makes your fingers curl into fists.
You stare down at the polished marble tiles, trying to focus on your breathing, when something shifts in the corner of your vision. A shadow, maybe. Fabric moving. Your head spikes up immediately.
There’s a man standing a few meters away, like he’d been there the entire time.
You hadn’t heard footsteps. No doors opening. No presence approaching. He’s just there, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. The kind of stillness that feels deliberate, controlled. Like he takes up space without trying.
Silver hair, colder eyes than anyone you’ve met in this building, but there’s no recognition. No dramatic aura. He doesn’t look dangerous. He just looks… calm. Too calm for Bonten. He isn’t glaring or judging. He’s simply watching you, as if observing a crime scene he hasn’t decided how to interpret yet.
For a moment you wonder if you’re supposed to say hi. You open your mouth, but he speaks first.
“Do you think they’ll kick you out?”
His tone isn’t mocking. Not pitying. Not even curious. It’s just neutral, like he’s asking about the weather. You blink, thrown off by how casual it sounds.
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, voice tight. “Maybe.”
He tilts his head slightly - barely an expression, eyes still locked on yours. It’s hard to tell if he’s bored or calculating.
“Hm.”
Just that. A single syllable. He looks away, begins walking past you like the conversation never happened. Not fast, not slow - just drifting, silent footsteps that somehow make no sound at all.
You watch him disappear around the corner, and the air feels colder once he’s gone. Whoever he was, he didn’t greet you. He didn’t threaten you. He didn’t seem to care at all. But your stomach twists anyway. Because for some reason, being ignored by him feels more dangerous than being noticed by anyone else in this building.
The door clicks open, and the noise behind it dies instantly. Kokonoi stands by the head of the long conference table, eyes shifting to you with that calm, unreadable expression he always has—like he’s calculating profit margins, not people.
“Sit,” he says simply.
You take the seat farthest from him, the seat at the back, spine straight, hands on your lap, pretending you’re not trembling. The guy you punched sits across from you, arms crossed, a bruised cheek already turning purple. He won’t look at you—just keeps glaring at the table like it personally offended him.
“You instigated physical violence against a ranked member of Bonten,” Kokonoi begins, tone flat. “And while the circumstances are questionable, the reputation cost isn’t negligible.”
You open your mouth to speak - but the door opens again. Three new presences enter the room like a shift in atmosphere.
Ran walks in first, hands in his pockets, expression laced with amused curiosity—as if he already knows something you don’t. His eyes flick down your body once, then he smiles to himself and takes a seat beside Kokonoi without acknowledging you.
Rindou follows, shoulders tense, eyes sharp and assessing. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, stare cutting through you like he’s trying to diagnose a problem he hasn’t decided how to fix.
Sanzu is last - hair slightly messy, gaze unfocused yet far too intense at the same time. He shuts the door behind him with unnecessary force and sits down lazily, lips twitching into a smirk when he sees you.
None of them speak.
No introductions. No greeting.
Just eyes on you.
Kokonoi continues like their arrival means nothing, but the room feels tighter. “You understand that striking a member disrupts internal hierarchy,” he says. “There are protocols. Chain of command. A receptionist has no clearance to-”
“Who told you to sit in the back?” Sanzu interrupts, tilting his head at you. Your heartbeat stops. Everyone looks at you. You swallow. “No one. I just-”
“So you assumed you belonged there?” he says, voice soft but mocking. “Interesting.”
Ran snorts quietly, tapping his fingers on the table. “She’s got instinct. Better than most rookies.”
“Instinct gets people killed,” Rindou mutters.
None of them are looking at the guy you hit anymore—they’re looking at you. Kokonoi’s gaze sharpens slightly, a crack in his calm.
“This wasn’t supposed to be a panel review.”
Sanzu’s smile widens, manic interest flickering in his eyes. “Oh, we’re not here for the review.”
Ran’s voice is smooth, lazy, dangerous. “We’re here because he wanted to know why she did it.” Silence drops like a knife. Your pulse spikes. You force your voice to stay steady.
“Who?” All three look at you like the answer should be obvious. Sanzu leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes burning holes in your skin.
“Mikey.”
Your breath stops. Kokonoi finally looks away, exhaling through his nose like this entire situation is a problem he now has to solve.
“Sano wanted us to observe your disposition,” Ran clarifies, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “He doesn’t usually care about receptionists.”
The man you punched erupts, slamming his fist on the table. “What the hell does she have to do with the Boss?! She’s the one in the wrong-”
Kokonoi lifts a hand and the room goes quiet like someone cut the sound. “This isn’t a punishment hearing anymore,” he says calmly. “It’s an evaluation.”
You suddenly understand: You’re not here to be disciplined. You’re here to be assessed. By Mikey. Through them. And none of them look like they intend to be gentle.
For a second it’s silent. No one tells you to speak, so you sit there, hands pressed together in your lap, pulse hammering in your throat. Kokonoi finally folds his arms and faces you directly.
“Why did you hit him?” His voice is calm, almost bored, as if there is a right answer and he already doubts you have it. You take a breath. “He insulted me.”
“That’s not an answer,” Kokonoi replies instantly, “It’s a reaction.” Sanzu drags a slow glare across the table toward him, and he immediately shuts up. No one tells him to. He just knows.
Kokonoi continues. “You’re in an organisation built on hierarchy. Insults come with the territory. Why couldn’t you control yourself?”
“Because I didn’t think that he deserved to speak to me that way,” you answer boldly. The room shifts. Very slightly. Like you said something incorrect. Ran raises a brow, intrigued. Rindou’s expression darkens. Kokonoi’s jaw tightens the way it does when numbers don’t balance.
Sanzu is the one who speaks. “You think respect is something you’re owed.” He says it like a diagnosis, not a criticism. You swallow. “I think respect goes both ways.”
Ran laughs under his breath, leaning back. “Oh, she’s bold.”
Rindou mutters, “No. She’s naïve.”
Kokonoi muses quietly, “Boldness without power is a death sentence.”
Before you can respond, Sanzu taps the table with one finger. “Stand up.” It’s not a request. Your chair scrapes loudly against the marble as you rise. The sound echoes too long. Sanzu watches you like he’s tracking prey - lazy posture, razor-sharp eyes. He gestures to the guy you punched.
“Hit him again.”
You stare at Sanzu, unsure if you heard correctly. Ran stops tapping his fingers. Rindou’s gaze sharpens. Even Kokonoi looks at Sanzu like he’s testing a hypothesis too early.
“I…” Your voice catches. “Right now?”
“No,” Sanzu deadpans. “Next Tuesday.” Then he smiles. Sharp and dominating. “Of course right now.” The man across from you shifts uncomfortably, suddenly less confident now that other eyes are on him.
Kokonoi sighs. “This isn’t necessary.”
“It is,” Sanzu counters, tone sugary-sweet but laced with venom. “She acted on impulse. I want to see if she has conviction.”
Ran folds his hands behind his head.
“Or if she only fights when she’s emotional.”
Rindou adds, “Or if she learned her lesson.”
All eyes return to you. You feel heat crawl up your neck. Every instinct screams that this is a trap - for you or for him, you’re not sure. “But-” You pause, choosing your words carefully, “What is the purpose?”
Ran smirks. “She wants a business case for assault.” Out of the corner of your eyes, you see how Rindou rolls his eyes, before replying with, “Purpose is obedience. You were given an order.”
Your pulse spikes. They’re not testing your violence. They’re testing your submission. Slowly, you exhale. “No.” The room goes dead silent and you wish you would just evaporate into thin air, because what the living fuck is going on.
Sanzu’s smile vanishes, replaced by something darker, “You’re refusing?” You nod once. “I won’t hit someone just because I was told to. I hit him because he crossed a line. That hasn’t changed.” The air shifts again - this time in your favor, somehow. Ran looks like he just discovered a new favorite distraction. Even Rindou looks reluctantly impressed.
Kokonoi leans back, studying you more deeply now. “So you’re not impulsive. You’re principled.” Sanzu taps his teeth with his tongue, clearly irritated, “Or she’s just stubborn.”
Ran counters smoothly, “Stubborn keeps people alive longer than obedient.” The guy you punched finally snaps.“Why the fuck are we entertaining this? She’s a receptionist. She doesn’t matter-”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Sanzu’s chair screeches back as he stands, crosses the room in three steps, and slams his hand onto the guy’s shoulder so hard the table shakes. His voice drops to a whisper that everyone hears. “If he didn’t want us here, we wouldn’t be. Shut up.”
Ran taps his lip thoughtfully, “So what do we do with her?” The question isn’t directed at Kokonoi; it’s directed at the room.
Rindou shrugs. “Keep her where she is. She’s harmless.”
Sanzu scoffs. “No one with that ego is harmless. Move her. Give her responsibility.”
Ran smiles. “I want to see what she does when we stop underestimating her.”
Kokonoi exhales slowly, eyes narrowing and calculating.“Or she could be reassigned to someone with the authority to manage her.”
Sanzu’s grin widens. “Oh? You volunteering?” Kokonoi doesn’t answer. The tension sharpens, threading between them like wire. They’re not just deciding your fate - they’re negotiating over you. You open your mouth, unsure whether to speak or stay silent. Before you can choose, Rindou cuts in.
“This is pointless. If he’s interested, he’ll decide. We’re wasting time.” The room goes dead still. Sanzu slumps back into his seat, suddenly bored.
After a few seconds of silence, Kokonoi announces, “Meeting dismissed. She will remain under observation.”
The asshole you punches is about to opens his mouth to complain about the fact that you’re let off so easily. That is until Sanzu notices out of the corner of his eye, and looks at him, slightly tilting his head. He offers him a gruesome smile, almost like telling him ‘if you speak I’ll slice open your stomach and play with your organs.’ He picks this up, and immediately lowers his head.
“Go back to reception, we will call you if need be,” Kokonoi continues.
You say nothing, stand up, offer a quick bow, and you shoot out of that meeting room like a bullet. As you walk out, you can feel their eyes lingering on your frame and you internally shiver.
You close the door quietly behind you and rest against it, immediately falling down to the ground and letting out a huge sigh of relief. You can finally breathe again.
Something catches your attention out of the corner of your eyes. It causes you to sharply turn your head, still alert due to the fuckass meeting you just had. It’s the strange man from earlier. You tilt your head, “You again.”
Before he has the chance to respond, you continue your sentence, “you’re like a fucking ghost.” You break eye contact and gently throw your head back against the door, where they’re still busy inside. He doesn’t seem to be offended. In fact, he ignores your statement entirely.
“You get kicked out?”
A small giggle of relief leaves your lips, “Not yet, thank fuck.”
He says nothing. He just stares - observes. You wonder who the fuck this man is. Why is he so curious? Why is he like a literal ghost? Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Who are you?”
“Who do you think I am?”
You slowly push yourself up from where you were sitting, “I don’t know, maybe an assistant?” He offer no expression, except for raising an eye brow. He’s not offended; he finds it interesting that you think he’s an assistant. Little did you know that you were in for the shock of your life.
“Hm,” he responds once again, deep in thought about what you said.
“Well,” you interrupt his train of thought, “are you?”
You’re now standing up again, and feeling a bit more relaxed in this random man’s calming presence.
“No.”
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion - you thought you were good at reading people. “Then who are you?”
Before he could answer the door swings open. Sanzu and the Haitani brothers walk out, and before they shut the door, you catch a glimpse on what’s happening inside the meeting room. The guy you punched, drenched in blood, breathing slowly as if struggling, Kokonoi sitting opposite him. You look away, and you’re remind that you work for a criminal organisation, crawling with cold hearted killers.
“Why aren’t you at the front desk?” Rindou asks sharply. You open your mouth but before you can reply, Ran interrupts you, “disobeying another order? Interesting.” He smirks.
Sanzu cackles at Ran’s statement, and it makes you nervous. Their presence makes you nervous. He catches of the still unknown man standing calmly as ever in the hallway.
“She’s an interesting one, isn’t she boss?”
Boss.
Your blood runs cold. All colour drains from your face and your mouth hangs open in shock.
Before anyone can say anything you bow, “I - Excuse me. I have to get back to work.” You turn your back and quickly walk down the hallway towards the elevator. Thank fuck it opens before you have to press the button and wait. A man in a suit walks out and spots the men in the corridor. He completely ignores you, “Mikey. Good to see you. Let’s get straight down to business shall we?”
Mikey. It’s been confirmed. You were chit chatting with the leader of Bonten. You called him an assistant. You shake your head in embarrassment before entering the elevator.
Once inside, you turn around and press the ‘ground floor’ button. Before the elevator doors close, you make eye contact with someone. With him. The literal boss of Bonten. His cold, empty eyes stare at you and don’t look away until the doors have closed completely.
You don’t know what the fuck just happened, but you did know one thing - you needed a drink.
dick grayson absolutely loses his mind when he first lays eyes on you.
you, who exited the elevator while clutching a folder so tightly in your palms that the bottom wrinkled under the pressure. he didn't notice you stepping out of the elevator until it was too late. your body crashed into his, papers from the folder flying around the two of you.
you immediately dropped to your knees, spewing apologies as you attempted to gather the papers back in their correct order and back into the folder.
"i'm so sorry, i didn't see you there," you stated again, first day jitters lighting up your body like fireworks.
dick took a knee beside you as well, handing you a loose paper that strayed near his feet. "don't worry about it, you're all good…"
your head lifted at the found of his voice, eyes meeting his.
yeah, he was a goner.
the meeting he was on his way to momentarily forgotten, his sentence trailing off, eyes wide and focused on your form. he swears he didn't drool at the sight of you (he totally did), but your tailored dress pants and fitted black vest over a white long sleeve caused a fuse to blow out in his brain, the only sign of life being the hearts that were replacing his irises.
he smiled at you in an attempt to regain his composure, the tips of his straight teeth peeking from between the curve. your eyes were the first thing he noticed. bold, beautiful, the depth of colour that sucked him in with no chance of escaping, not that he wanted to.
you held your hand out in greeting, adding your name softly afterwards.
his hand automatically lifted to yours, fingers gently curling around your palm with a gentleness that toed the line of professionalism. he parted his lips to speak, to will a sound to come out of his mouth. ideally, he would have a smooth line to woo you, to see if he could fluster you enough to get you to go to dinner with him.
but no words left his mouth. he was left gaping like a fish.
another time then. he would have to try his luck next time he saw you.
he didn't miss the way your brow furrowed momentarily before smoothing back in place at his silence. he really wasn't leaving the first impression he wanted to. he internally cringed at the thought.
"can you direct me to, uh, mr. richard grayson? these files are for him. from mr. wayne."
"dick is fine,"
"pardon? i mean, i don't know him but i wouldn't call him a dick—"
your confusion only deepened at the sound of his amused chuckle. your hand dropped from his grasp to nudge a stray hair from your cheek before pulling the folder back to your chest. you lifted yourself back up to your feet and dusted your attire off.
he followed, eyes never leaving your face. he couldn't look away. he swore his heart comically beat out of his chest, like he was some loony tunes character seeing the personof his dreams.
well, he was. he was seeing the person of his dreams.
"dick grayson," he held his hand out again in greeting. "no one really calls me richard."
"okay, well, this file is yours then, mr. grayson," you slid the file into his outstretched hand instead, offering him a tight-lipped smile in return. his eyes flickered down your lips, brain short-circuting again.
"grank— i-i mean great, thanks!" he corrected himself quickly. his eyes shut tightly for a moment before opening back up. "thank you for the file. this is great. um. you're doing amazing so far."
he paused for a moment before quickly walking by you and towards the meeting room. embarrassment heated his face like fire.
"grank?" he muttered under his breath in disgust. "what the fuck is my problem."
you turned back towards the elevator equally as confused, muttering under your own breath, "weird."
an: despite literally wanting to write vamp!bruce very badly (it's being written slowly but surely), I am really enjoying these small little blurbs?? might keep these going for a while. let me know if you wanna see more dick x secretary!reader lore or more vamp!jason x reader lore
ღ summary: Your (not so) quiet crush on Sanji through Nami’s eyes
ღ pairing: Sanji x fem!reader
ღ warnings: Disgusting(ly bad) flirting :D not an established relationship but they act like a couple anyway! reader with long-ish hairr, she's chalant af
Nami finds out about your crush on Sanji during girls night.
You don’t know what was better, when no one knew about this thing you had for him, or having your best friend aware, which meant that you finally had someone else to rave on about Sanji and everything that he is.
She calls you “lame”, but the truth is that you are helpless.
You’re seated on a twirly chair in front of the vanity, right foot up on the cushioned surface to better polish your toes. They’re a vivid coral, matching the ones on your fingers. Nami’s lying upside down on her cot across from you, hands behind her head and feet up against the wall like it’s nobody’s business. She's finished her toes already, all coated in a beautiful teal that compliments her hair.
Everything is perfect tonight. As perfect as being bountied pirates on a ship can get. The flower scented candles around the girls’ cabin run warm, making sweetness blossom around the room. Your beds are made perfectly, pillows fluffed up just the way you like it. You and Nami move with an unspoken understanding, of unwinding and finally taking time to yourselves after a day full of adventure.
The sound of the sea has been quietly lulling the two of you into peace, though you have to delay your sleep for an extra hour of chatting away your complaints.
Girls night always welcomes honesty—when you and Nami can talk about everything the boys would never understand. And she’s being real truthful alright, hand enthusiastically waving around like a maestro to her own words.
And of course, the current topic of conversation was the blonde, women-loving cook in your crew.
Nami can be blunt, to say the least. It’s what you appreciate most about her, although you wish she’d soften her words up just a little bit.
Or maybe try to see him the way you do.
“He’s a lot.”
She’s talking about typical Sanji behavior. The incessant flirting, the hovering and his I-live-to-serve-women attitude, which she’s convinced is some type of overcompensation.
You definitely don’t think it’s annoying. If anything, you think it’s really sweet that he tries his hardest to impress Nami.
Matter of fact, you love it when he tries to impress the girls on this ship. Fortunately for you, the only two available ones include an independent, no-bullshit navigator who doesn’t easily fall for his smooth-talking. Now that just leaves him to focus more of his affection onto you, and you absolutely love being the center of his attention.
You bite your lips, trying to hold back your laughter. “I mean, he’s intense for sure.”
She rolls her eyes at your attempts to soften her complaints, and she truly can’t find it in her to understand why you would defend the cook. “Annoying.”
“I think it’s kind of cute.”
A beat of silence.
And then Nami literally whips her head to face you so fast you’d think you were a treasure made of a trillion berries.
The sight she’s greeted with is one she will never forget. And not in a pleasant way, because you look positively, 100%, absolutely sure about the words you just uttered out of your mouth.
You’re hugging both your legs up to your chest, lips still bitten in a silent restraint. You’re actually melting into yourself, lost somewhere in the clouds as you swing yourself right and left in your chair.
Where do you even begin?
From memorizing your likes and dislikes,—and not just about food—attending to your needs, whether you voice them or not, and genuinely wanting to know you for who you are. Sanji somehow manages to embrace who you were, who you are now and who you hope to become in the future, all in the same breath.
He is never quiet with the way he loves. God forbid he doesn’t worry about others for even one day. He’s dramatic, over-the-top, theatrical. All the synonyms of spectacular you can find in the dictionary. But also grounded, selfless, and so genuine that it makes your teeth ache and your heart clench erratically.
Sanji treats you with a kind of gentleness that makes you think you’re the most precious diamond in the Blue Sea. You are. To him. He never ceases to convince you of so.
So it’s an absolute no-brainer that you think he is the one for you. If not the only man ever. And, the fact that you aren’t alone in this fortifies your belief. You and Sanji have your own thing. A quiet game that only you seem to understand the rules of. A kind of connection that isn’t defined by or bound to labels; one that grew from quiet glances and secret smiles. The others may not notice—for now. They’d probably brush it off as you being kind to Sanji and finding genuine friendship in him.
But you like it that way, and you really, really like him. You don’t need to say it out loud, because you’re sure he knows you do. You’re content with what you have because you can feel it that he reciprocates.
You are his just as much as he is yours.
“Say that again.” Nami pumps out the sentence like she can’t believe her own ears. She’s fully upright now, propping her upper body with her hands. She leans towards you as if it’ll make her hear better.
“I think..” you mimic her pose and lean your chest forward, palms resting on both knees as if preparing to tell her a secret, “—that he’s kind of cute.”
It’s he, now. Not it, anymore.
God, you are hopeless. And crazy.
“You’re kidding.” The navigator hits you with the most deadpan stare you’ve ever seen her muster in her life.
Nami tries to look back at all your past interactions with Sanji. From the first time you joined the crew to the most recent ones. Then it all clicks for her—like a puzzle piece to answer a question she’s never bothered to ask.
It starts with the way you get quiet when Sanji’s around, a secret smile and an undeniable warmth seldom missing from your face. Gosh, you’re so shy when he talks to you sometimes. It’s crazy that it didn’t register to her because you’re typically always so sure of yourself. Then it’s how you never, ever brush off his attempts at flattery. How your sweet compliments always seemed to be drowned out by Luffy’s shouts and Zoro’s arguing. She looks back at the way you naturally gravitate towards him. It didn't matter if you were on the ship, jumping from island-to-island, in the middle of a fight or simply lounging around with the rest of the crew, you always found your way right beside him.
Huh.
It was all in her face the entire time. Loud and apologetic. She feels silly at the fact that she’s never thought to even look because she couldn’t fathom that any woman could genuinely put up with him. And you never denied anything either—not when there wasn’t anything to deny in the first place.
Her words set you off like a pirate looking for the one piece.
“Nami don’t you ever dream of a guy who’ll sweep you off your feet?”
You’re breathless, absolutely lost in your own daydreams as you twirl around your chair with a force that could blow the Going Merry across the Grand Line. There are stars in your eyes, genuinely. Your hands shoot up in a rainbow above your head, and your body melts further into the seat.
Something’s definitely gotten into you.
“And Sanji’s that guy for you?!” She exclaims. You watch her go through all the 7 stages of grief in the span of 3 seconds.
You laugh at her silliness, and then you’re back to swooning again.
It was as if she’d unlocked your inner beast. A lovesick, crazy girl who was spouting her dreams of romance and everything that was butterflies and rainbows. A woman who was absolutely mooning over Sanji.
From then on the navigator makes it her mission to uncover where this crush of yours came from. She can try asking the rest of the crew, but she’s 98% sure the boys are oblivious to this, or simply aren’t as perturbed as she is. (Because how has no one questioned this before?!)
Starting wasn’t hard. At all. Turns out you and Sanji are shameless. It just takes the right time for someone to pay attention and see how deep the connection runs between the two of you.
It happens bright and early a few days later. Nami—by instinct or intuition—woke up to an empty cabin. Your bed looked freshly mussed, like you couldn’t be bothered to tidy it up before getting up. She looked through the small window, greeted by the sight of the barely peeking sun in the darkness of the horizon. Way too early for anyone to be up. Except for Sanji, who she knows is already prepping for breakfast in the galley. And conveniently, you seem to be missing in action as well. It doesn't take much to put two and two together.
She catches you right as you are entering the kitchen.
Of course, Sanji is already busying himself on the counter, chopping an array of fresh fruits into—what Nami can’t see—hearts.
“Mon trésor.”
It barely takes a second for you to enter before Sanji is calling out to you, gaze immediately snapping towards your figure. He doesn’t need his sight to know that it’s you. He can’t admit that it’s because he’s memorized the weight of your steps on the ship, and the sweet scent of your perfumed clothes.
A lit cigarette hangs off from his lips, though he quickly puts it away when you make your way to the dining table.
You rub your eyes tiredly, hand then moving down to hug yourself closer in an attempt to chase some warmth. “Hi, Sanji.”
He’s melting at the sight of you.
This might just be his favorite part of the morning, second only to when you start talking to him. You’re in your pajamas still, shirt hanging loosely over your bare shoulders. Absolutely radiant, and so domestic. You can barely open your eyes in the morning sun, and the way you carry yourself feels heavier, but more honest. Relaxed. A good sign that you slept well.
Sanji doesn’t fight off the small flush that makes itself known across his face.
“Do you know that every time you say my name an angel gains its wings?”
You grin at the early morning flattery while you settle down on your seat. You could look like the messiest thing on the ship and Sanji will find a way to compliment you regardless. “Heaven must love me,”
“Heaven would be a fool not to love you, darling.” It doesn’t take even a beat for him to answer, and the cook puts down his knife to come closer. He makes a point to lean his face down to yours to greet you with an open teeth grin.
And that genuinely brings a giggle out of you, leaving Nami mildly disgusted.
When he's finally seen your smile, he returns back to the stove, slathering butter over the surface of a pan. The familiar rich aroma and the oddly calming sizzling sound makes you soften into yourself. You slouch onto the countertop, folding your elbows into each other and laying your chin on top. “I take it that this is a good morning for you?”
“Everyday better when I see your beautiful face.” He curls his lips into a smile, sneaking a quick glance at you before winking.
Thank goodness he goes back to focusing on the pan because you are already throwing your face away to the sea, pursing your lips in a barely restrained smile before burying yourself into the crook of your arms, releasing a hidden breath.
Sanji, that sly man, takes a quick peek from his shoulders. Seeing you, confident you, turn into a flustered puddle from his words makes him puff up so quickly. He wears his pride so boldly on his chest. No one could tell him anything for the rest of the day, and it was insufferable.
Unbeknownst to you, he’s already started on your breakfast. He knows that you’re an early riser, and that you will almost always seek him out first thing in the morning. So everyday he sets out your breakfast ingredients and preps as much as he can. He doesn’t start cooking them before he sees your face, because he only wants the most warm and freshly cooked meal for you.
You notice it though, the way he always serves you first, no matter the time and place. Dinner? A plate of the finest meat for you first (Luffy hates it.) Going over logs with Nami? All the snacks you like are immediately placed in front of you, and a drink to compliment it following behind. He always thinks about your needs first, and if that isn’t love then you don’t know what to believe.
Just as you are in the middle of your daydreaming, Sanji interrupts with the sound of cutlery against porcelain. He’s plating up your mouth-watering breakfast, made to absolute perfection.
“For you madam, golden brown honey toast with freshly whipped cream on top,” he dishes out the plate in front of you, and the aroma itself sends you straight to heaven. “—extra fruit, just the way you like it.”
You didn’t think it was possible to fall deeper in love with him, but you’re proven wrong once you see the fruits that decorate your toast, all of them heart shaped. Both hand-cut and perfectly uniform using the cutter he specifically bought to use for your meals.
You gasp in exaggeration, though deep inside you’re aching about how sweet he is to remember your preferences. “You spoil me,”
“Only the best for my favorite Strawhat.” He answers, pouring you a glass of freshly brewed coffee.
You’re in the middle of cutting your toast in half when you look up at him, teasing by saying, “Don’t let the captain hear you say that.”
Sanji exclaims back to you in all his confidence, turning away as he places the pot on the counter. “Bah! One sirloin steak and he’ll forgive me like it never happened.”
Your giggle is like the brightest melody in his ears, and the words that follow it could bring him back from the dead. “Thank you, my chef~”
“You know my heart can’t take it,” He playfully sighs out your name, clutching his chest. Sanji stands across the table now, resting his chin on his hand against the counter top. Just happy to watch you.
“Delicious!” You continue to shoot honeyed words at him, not just as a means for him to keep sweet-talking you, but also because you think Sanji deserves all the love and goodness of this world.
“Sing me your praises, my angel of music,”
Nami can almost see him propel himself to the sky with giddiness.
“So perfectly crunchy,”
“—and I’m yours forever.” He takes your hand in his from across the aisle, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles as he looks up at you.
Nami felt chills sweeping up her spine.
You guys were so cheesy. But sort of.. cute. That was something she couldn’t deny. She’s never seen Sanji this genuine, and when someone actually reciprocates, it makes him look less like a fool.
And the way you were bouncing back and forth on each other was like a sick game of ping-pong she couldn’t look away from.
She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why you two aren’t together already. It’s perfectly clear that you both feel the same way, and aren’t afraid to act upon it. A small part of her wants to meddle, and she’s halfway into a plan that’ll somehow get either of you to confess to each other, but then she abruptly stops.
Eh, you guys will sort that out yourselves. Eventually. You look like you’re exactly where you want to be. So, Nami shrugs and beelines into the kitchen, hoping to get a fresh plate of breakfast seeing that he’s already started with yours.
The next time Nami catches a moment between the two of you wasn’t intentional. Right, because she wouldn’t be caught dead seeking the conversations you and Sanji had after that traumatizing event.
It was late at night. For once a quiet one between all the chaos that seemed to follow the Strawhat Pirates. Luffy was snoring away somewhere with a full belly, Ussop tinkering away in his cabin, and Zoro likely in the crow’s nest. Nami decided to look for fresh air, feeling a little bit holed up inside her room. Between the gentle rocking of the sea and the soft melody of the waves, it was the perfect atmosphere to spend watching the horizon.
She didn’t mean to overhear your conversation, but the door was open and a ship doesn’t exactly leave much room for privacy. She tried to leave the two of you alone at first, but found herself leaning against the galley wall to listen in in the end.
When she takes a peek through the door, she finds you seated still and pretty on the stool close to him, cross-legged in your pajamas. Like a sous chef who wasn’t really a sous chef but boosted the cook all the same—if not a million times more.
When you first got to the galley, you paid mind to his laser-focused expression. You didn't want to break his flow, so you stuck yourself against the counter at a distance. You were content with the picture of him from afar, but Sanji had absolutely none of it. He began your conversation of the night while silently dragging a stool and placing it right next to him by the stove. Safely away from getting blasted by the heat, but close enough to where he could feel you around him and talk to you without feeling a million miles away.
He’s got on one of your top favorite get-ups: a classic blue striped dress-shirt unbuttoned just the right amount and his pink Doskoi Panda apron tied around the back. Sleeves deliciously rolled up to his elbows for a bonus. Though Nami isn’t attracted to him the way you are, she isn’t blind. She has to admit that the image of his forearms are a sight for sore eyes. Sanji can be quite charming at times, mostly when he keeps the talking to a minimum and does what he does best.
You’re not even hiding it at this point, gaze tracking every languid move of his hands like you were hypnotized.
It’s not hard for you to admire him when he’s deep in his element. You find yourself going quiet, not because you don’t want to talk to him, but because it’s mesmerizing to see the way he commands the kitchen like his own battleship.
There’s a small smile on your lips as you take in the passion he carries, and on your lap you fidget with the shiny silver ring on your thumb. It’s his ring—your favorite one that's shaped like a skull—that he gave to you for “safekeeping”, even though Sanji never ever takes them off. Even when he’s cooking. It’s incredibly intimate; a symbol of his trust for you.
He’s just finished cooking a dish of his own creation. A classic menu made of meat, but a little more experimental with the seasoning. You can only describe it as heaven in a plate, sweet and savory at the same time, with a hint of something that you can't fully describe with words. Yet, you enjoy it for all that it is, and the delectable fragrance isn't something to complain about, either. It’s almost shocking that Luffy hasn’t come running down the kitchen from the smell alone. Sanji isn’t technically done with the recipe, seeing as he’s trying to perfect the ingredients being used. He has his worn-out notepad by the counter, filled with endless scribbles and notes of improvement. The cook will come back to it once you’ve given your own comments on the taste.
Once finished turning down the heat, he takes a clean spoon out of the cabinet and offers you a small portion fresh out of the pan, where the dish was still simmering in the heat.
You feel honored that you are Sanji’s unofficial taste-tester. The first time you came across the cook experimenting with new creations was a complete coincidence. That particular night you’d been restless in bed, stomach aching for a bite of food. You ended up pattering into the galley to get maybe a few crackers, a slice of bread or cheese or something that’d temporarily distract you. But you didn’t expect to feast on a five star meal once Sanji found out you were hungry. You? His precious princess starving? Not on this ship.
What began as compliments to the chef turned into fully fledged reviews of each flavor profile, and eventually became something more intimate. A space for honesty just for you and Sanji.
You like to think that’s where you found the real Sanji. The kind heart beyond the ladies man, the truths behind his endless honeyed words.
You sought him out like a moth to a flame, and every night Sanji welcomed you with open arms.
Most of the times you were there to actually be his taste-tester, which is just his excuse of having a private late dinner with you. But, other times he’s prepping meals for the next day and you’re simply there to keep him company. Either way, you’ll never skip out on an opportunity to spend time alone with Sanji.
Funnily enough, more than once you’ve caught Luffy sneaking in and rummaging through the pantry, already halfway stuffing his face with something that makes Sanji tick before he notices that the two of you are occupying the room. It’s a bit adorable that he doesn’t make a fuss about it. He never questions anything beyond “Hey… are you sneaking for snacks too?!” and then an “Okay!” followed by his high pitched laughter after Sanji kicks him out for offering you the stolen goods from his sticky hands.
You take notice that he never lets Luffy get a bite of his cooking. Sure, if the captain asks, Sanji will make him something, but not from the same pan. A different dish all together. You think that maybe it’s because he isn’t open to someone tasting something he considers isn’t “perfect” yet, but another part of you just believes that it’s because he only trusts you to give him the honest truth.
Still, you find it hard to believe he’d ever need one, considering everything that he makes turns out flawless.
“More seasoning?” The cook watches as you chew on the meat slowly.
You shake your head in disagreement. “No, this is perfect, Sanji.”
“Not too sweet for you?”
Nami sees you visibly recoil at his questions, body moving as if he was spouting blasphemy.
He’s got his back turned to you while he rinses his hands over the sink, so he can’t see the flabbergasted frown on your face.
“This is quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.” You make an emphasis on the word “best”, sticking the wooden spoon back at him to signal that you wanted more.
“You flatter me, angel.” He grins, pulling the dish towel from his shoulders to wipe his hand. Then he goes straight to follow your command exactly and dips right back into the pan, scooping up a portion before blowing it softly to cool it down.
You’re practically vibrating in your seat, legs bouncing and arms holding up the weight of your body as you lean towards him.
“Nope. I’m just sayin’ the truth!” The words come with a pause as you’re swallowing your last bite, and the brightness comes right back up your face while you praise Sanji.
By the All Blue, he just wants to scoop you up and squeeze you in his arms for all eternity. You can be so shy around him, but also incredibly animated when expressing yourself.
Once Sanji deems it the perfect condition for you, he motions the spoon to your mouth.
It’s a stupidly sweet gesture, and also his way of stopping you from eating the whole thing. You can just take the spoon from him and feed yourself, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like being pampered by Sanji. You’re not ashamed to admit that it makes you feel very special. If you truly weaponized your voice and asked him for the whole pan, he’d give it to you without a single doubt. But, it’d be a shame if he didn’t wait until he could properly serve it with some rice so you could have your very late dinner “date”.
He holds the spoon out for a beat longer to look down at the way your lips wrap around the surface, turning away only when you finish munching happily at the taste. After all, your satisfaction is his number one priority. Nami can’t see your face from where she’s at, but she can absolutely make out Sanji’s, and the way he’s staring is sensual, borderline debauched. It makes the navigator feel like she’s intruding on a private moment.
You are none the wiser to this, Sanji needs to get it together, and Nami’s very close to throwing up in front of the galley.
Your eyes are closed as you hum contentedly once the flavors settle nicely in your stomach, and it’s then when you start to feel the weight of his stare.
You’re only chin level on this short stool, so you have to look up to meet his eyes.
He's quiet and awfully still, taking you all in and leaving no part of you starving for his attention. There's an evident tension swimming around the kitchen, and it makes you acutely aware of just how close you are to him. Inches away. The position is a tad intimate, to say the least.
“What? Is there sauce on my face?”
You know there isn’t anything on your face except for pure happiness, though you’re a tiny bit flustered by his attention.
“Sorry, darling,” He's not sorry at all. He leans in to wipe the non-existent sauce, and for a second you think he’s going to deny his obvious admiration of you but then he pivots into something that is so Sanji it makes your brain melt.
“Your beauty demands to be seen. I can’t deny you that.” He traces the back of his finger over your cheek before tucking a stray hair behind your ear.
Time and time again, Sanji is able to surpass your every expectation. You continue to feel the weight of his stare, now much different than before because he looks at you with deep, unabashed, reverence. Not hidden, and not in halves. A softness he reserves only for you.
You’re speechless for a moment, but then he cups your face into his palms and it feels like everything just melts away.
Now Nami understands. Why you adore him so much. Why you don’t need to scream it out to the world that you love him (although you would love to). The two of you aren’t “together” officially not because you don’t want to, or are too shy to say it out loud. But because you enjoy every part of who he is. The chasing, the teasing, the thrill; it’s everything in him that makes you feel alive. You don’t need words for him to understand that you love him, just as he doesn’t.
Nami watches the way you look up at him, positively beaming. The silence is broken away when you start giggling to yourself, and it only makes Sanji move closer to you, his forehead bumping gently against yours as he sports an identical grin on his face.
She shakes her head, both astonished and happy to see you flourishing in his presence, before walking away with an affectionate eye-roll.
Yeah. You two are the lamest.
Mon trésor: My treasure
Aaah I couldn’t really decide which sanji to base this fic off of. I ended up doing a bit of both 🍽️
masterlist @ pls don't repost or feed my works into ai thaaank you
note. thank you @reeseeee613 for the request! i hope i was able to meet your expectations and that this isn’t too cringe
morning light filtered softly through the curtains, stretching across the wooden floor in pale gold bands. the apartment was quiet in that fragile way only early hours allow- suspended between sleep and the day ahead. your yoga mat was already placed by the window, incense burning faintly beside it.
yuji hovered a few steps away, hair still rumpled from sleep and his shirt half twisted at the hem, blinking at you with heavy eyes like he was trying to process how he’d ended up here this early.
“why does this have to happen before i’m fully conscious?”
you didn’t look up from where you sat cross-legged. spine straight with hands resting lightly on your knees. “because mornings are peaceful.”
“mornings are disgusting.”
a faint smile touched your lips. “sit.”
he dropped onto the mat across from you with exaggerated reluctance but copied your posture anyway. shoulders back. chin lifted. eyes closed. he even inhaled deeply like he was committed.
he lasted twelve seconds before slouching.
“yuji.”
he straightened immediately. “i’m aligned.”
you hummed softly and raised your arms overhead in one smooth motion, stretching long and slow. your movements were fluid and unhurried- like water shifting shape without resistance. when you leaned gently to one side, it looked effortless.
yuji followed.
less effortless.
his balance wavered, core tightening as he tried to match your calm precision. he corrected quickly, pretending nothing happened, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.
you transitioned into a forward fold, fingertips brushing the mat as sunlight caught along your shoulders. your breathing remained steady and controlled.
he swallowed.
this shouldn’t be so difficult.
he was strong. athletic. used to combat, to impact, to chaos.
and yet he found himself distracted by the simplest thing: the way you moved, how natural it was and how completely immersed you seemed in your flow state, unaware of the effect you had.
“downward dog,” you murmured.
he obeyed.
at first, it was manageable. stretching was normal. stretching was harmless.
then you lifted one leg slowly, extending it upward with seamless balance, adjusting your stance with quiet confidence.
yuji looked.
his brain shut off.
his arms buckled and he dropped to his knees with a dull thud against the mat.
you glanced back over your shoulder, expression serene. “everything okay?”
“perfect,” he said quickly, pushing himself upright. “strategic repositioning.”
you raised a brow but continued without comment, flowing into a lunge. your arms swept upward, back arching slightly as your gaze lifted toward the ceiling. light traced the line of your throat.
he exhaled sharply through his nose and adjusted his stance again, very aware of how unfair this entire situation was becoming.
“yuji,” you said gently, still facing forward.
“hm?”
“you’re not breathing.”
“i am.”
“you’re staring.”
he coughed, looking anywhere but at you. “i’m focused.”
this time, you turned fully toward him. you studied the stiffness in his posture, the flush creeping across his cheeks and the way he kept shifting as if trying to hide something.
you stepped closer and knelt in front of him, hands resting lightly on his hips to correct his alignment. the touch was instructional, nothing more.
for him, it was catastrophic.
“relax your shoulders,” you instructed softly.
he tried. really tried. but your proximity made his thoughts scatter. your hands were warm and steady. grounding in a way that only made him more aware of himself. he squeezed his eyes shut as if discipline alone could save him.
you paused at the subtle change in his breathing. your gaze dipped briefly..and stopped.
slowly, you looked back up at him.
his entire face went red.
“don’t,” he said weakly.
the corner of your mouth curved slightly. “is that why you keep falling?”
“no.”
“yuji.”
he groaned and dragged a hand down his face before covering it completely. “i’m trying to be respectful, baby..,” he muttered.
your expression softened at that. “you could’ve just said you were distracted.”
“i’m not distracted,” he insisted, though the lack of conviction was immediate.
you leaned slightly closer, studying him with quiet amusement. “you’ve fallen four times.”
“…five.”
a quiet laugh slipped from you, warm and unhurried. he swore that sound alone would be the end of him.
you shifted your weight and gently pushed him backward onto his mat. he went without resistance, staring up at you as you hovered above him, hands braced lightly at his sides.
“you need grounding,” you said calmly.
“i feel extremely grounded.”
“focus on your breathing.”
he inhaled shakily. exhaled slower.
you remained there for a moment longer than necessary, watching the way his expression flickered between flustered embarrassment and helpless adoration.
then you finally sat back on your heels.
“yoga is about discipline.”
he dragged both hands over his face. “i am disciplined.”
“you just admitted you’re distracted.”
he peeked at you through his fingers. “…a little.”
you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“we’ll build your endurance.”
he blinked up at you. “this is training?”
“of course.”
he groaned dramatically and flopped back against the mat, staring at the ceiling like a man defeated by inner peace.
“i’m never surviving morning yoga.”
you lay down beside him, turning your head so your noses were almost touching, your breathing already steady again.
“you will.”
he looked at you, still flushed and hopelessly gone.
“…only if you stop looking like that.”
“like what?”
he sighed softly.
“exactly like that.”
and tomorrow morning, when the light spilled in just the same, he would fall all over again.
Just casually thinking abt Sanji and your first kiss:
It wasn't uncommon to find you perched on the counter tucked away in the corner of the kitchen, a book in hand and the comfortable sounds of Sanji cooking whatever is on the menu for today in your ears.
When you first took up this spot, the look on Sanji's face was hilarious. He prides himself on his meticulously clean kitchen and here you were plopping your perfect ass (that he stares at all too often when he thinks you're not looking) on the much needed counterspace he had just scrubbed spotless. His protests died before they even came out of his mouth when he saw you flip open your book with a content smile on your face.
Since then, you've become Sanji's official taste tester, his idea bouncer, or simply just someone he can talk to and shoot the shit with while he cooks and he wouldn't have it any other way.
Now, back to your first kiss. Sanji is standing in front of the counter next to you, knife in hand and a look of concentration pushing his brows together. Various veggies are littered across the countertop as his quick hands make easy work chopping. His sleeves are rolled up and his apron wound tightly around his waist framing his chest in the most delicious way.
You glance back at your book and decide it's time to have some fun, "I'm mad at you, you know."
Out of the corner of your eye Sanji's head quickly whip towards you, "Whatever for, my love?"
Still without looking at him you sigh, flipping a page in your book, "Well, ever since I joined the crew, I've been putting on weight. I can only assume it's from all this delicious food you're giving me."
You look up in time to see the concern in his eyes wash away, a playful smirk replacing his frown, "I don't see what the problem is, my dear, when you look even more beautiful than the day we met."
You roll your eyes and groan, "Yeah, sure, but that means I need to work harder to keep it off, unless you plan to buy me a whole new wardrobe."
He walks closer to your countertop, wiping his hands in his apron, "I would love nothing more than to fund a (y/n)-centric fashion show."
He slots himself between your dangling legs and leans over you, caging you in as his hands splayed out on the counter behind you. His pupils are wide, eyes full of affection, "Besides, that just means there's more for me to love."
You can feel the heat radiating from him with how close he was, eyes searching yours with tinted cheeks. You glance at his lips, so so close to yours. You can feel his shaky breath, a stark contrast to the bold, suave moves he's pulling.
The cord snapped when you looked back up at his eyes, only to find him looking at your lips too. You run your free hand up his stomach and chest, twist it in his tie and pull him to you. He makes a small noise of surprise that's quickly drowned out by your lips against his.
An immediate groan came from him, one arm wraps itself around your waist and the other weaves into your hair.
You're pulled to the edge of the counter as Sanji deepens the kiss. Your tongue swipes at his bottom lip and he's more than happy to let you in.
His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and you wrap your legs around him. The delicious friction between you pulls small noises from you both, his lips now leaving wet kisses down your jaw and neck.
"Sanji..." You give a low moan, dropping your book to the counter and wrap your arms around him.
His hips surge forward in response, letting you feel what you're doing to him. He breathes hard into your neck, "When you say my name like that it sounds like heaven is calling me."
Your legs tighten around him as he moves to rest his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes as he cups your cheek and kisses you again. With a little wiggle of your hips, he's moaning into the kiss and moving along with you.
The hand clutching your waist finds the bottom hem of your shirt, traveling up your back to feel your skin against his. He leaves a firey trail in his wake, igniting an even larger steadily growing flame in your belly.
Just before your hand was able to grasp onto the hardness between his legs, you hear a piercing yell from outside the kitchen doors, "SANJIIIII, IM HUNGRY!!"
Sanji throws his head back and lets out a groan that sounded even more pained than any he's let out during battles, "Damn it, Luffy!"
He looks back towards you, a warm smile quickly making its way onto his face, which at the moment is as red as a tomato. He smooths out your hair and clothes, putting you back together after being so close to taking you apart.
With a quick kiss to your lips he whispers, "We'll continue this later, my love."
Your book is back in your hands and Sanji is back chopping veggies when Luffy bursts into the room. He's about to start complaining when he takes in the site before him.
There's you in your usual spot and Sanji in his doing your respective things, but now you share matching smiles, rosey red cheeks, and slightly swollen lips.
But, let's be real, he's not gonna think about it too hard and go right back to talking about food.
STOP WITH THE “Jason Todd is nonchalant when he’s in love” PROPAGANDA. BOOOOOOOO TOMATO IT
that man would rather DIE AGAIN than be nonchalant. even when he’s trying to be, he’s a terrible liar who makes it obvious when he likes someone. and in these headcannons I made shit-ly, I will-
Jason Todd who has very pink ears the moment you tell him he’s cute
Jason Todd who has sweaty palms the WHOLE time you hold hands for first time
Jason Todd who lets out the biggest snort when you make one of the worst jokes known to man
Jason Todd who trips on air walking simply walking to you
Jason Todd who runs over a pothole while looking at you walking to your door which made him practically FLY out of his seat
Jason Todd who panics with getting you flowers and ends up buying you the whole store on Bruce’s credit card
Jason Todd who fixes his tie a whole fifteen times while he waits for you to open the door to your first date
Jason Todd who breaks down in sobs after an intimate moment
Jason Todd who still feels Jokers hands on him
Jason Todd who sobs even more after you gently rock him and forth, skin to skin, whispering affirmations
Jason Todd who makes you breakfast in the morning, accidentally burning the eggs and bacon
Jason Todd who watches you in awe and disgust because you still ate the burnt food
Jason Todd who makes a playlist based off your favorite songs and songs that remind him of you.
Jason Todd who plays that playlist everyday without fail
Jason Todd who memorized your phone number and knows your voicemail by heart
Jason Todd who thinks about you or him taking each others last name
Jason Todd who buys you everything and anything. Books, snacks, clothing, as long as you’re happy.
Jason Todd who lets you decorate his apartment, motorcycle, helmet.
Jason Todd whose first kiss with you is awkward and really bad due to the fact that he’s nervous
Jason Todd who names the stray cat he took in after you but adding Jr. at the end
Jason Todd who learns how to do your hair
Jason Todd who stops being Red Hood after a few more years because he hates the look on your face when you see him hurt
Jason Todd who does odd jobs but lands a Liberian job while you’re off achieving your dreams
Jason Todd who finally feels peace after he becomes a stay at home husband, taking care of the house. And most especially you. He takes care of you like you took care of him when you both were young.
Jason Todd who got you by never being nonchalant
—
I had an urge to write this my bad, this is so shitty PLEASE. I wrote this while watching 90 day fiancé, it was bound to be terrible, should I make more stuff like this
