please notice tetsurō before he juggles kenma and fukunaga for attention.
wc: 1.8k
kuroo tetsurō had spent approximately four business days drafting the letter, destroying enough notebook pages to clear out half the amazon rainforest just to ensure his handwriting didn’t look like a chicken had dipped its feet in ink and had a seizure across the page.
the letter was, without a single ounce of exaggeration, a masterclass in classical romance. it was the kind of prose that would make sixteenth-century poets throw their quills into a well and give up. he’d written about the way your laughter sounded like the exact resonant frequency needed to shatter his ribs from the inside out. he’d compared your eyes to the stable nucleus of an atom—the only thing holding his chaotic, electron-cloud of a brain together. it was poetic. it was devastatingly tender. it was enough to make a grown volleyball captain weep into his knee pads.
and, with the tactical precision of a stealth bomber, he had slipped it directly into chapter four of your organic chemistry textbook during study period while you were distracted trying to untangle your wired headphones.
he’d gone home that night, buried his face into his pillow, and kicked his legs like a victorian maiden who had just been perceived by a duke. he fully expected a text by 8:00 pm. a tearful confession by 8:30 pm. perhaps a marriage proposal by next tuesday.
instead, you showed up to school the next morning, aggressively yawning, and used that exact textbook as a makeshift shield against the morning sun while sitting on the brick wall outside the gym.
kuroo watched you from five feet away, his soul slowly evaporating from his body like rubbing alcohol left out in the sun. you didn’t even open the book. you just used the heavy-weight cover to fan yourself when the humidity hit. the actual love of his life was using his bleeding-heart declaration of eternal devotion to circulate lukewarm morning air onto her collarbones.
“you look like you’re tracking a gazelle,” kenma murmured from beside him, eyes glued to a handheld screen. “and not in a cool, predator way. more like a very sad, hungry dog.”
“she didn’t read it,” kuroo whispered, his voice cracking like a dry twig. “kenma. the paper density alone should have changed the gravitational pull of the textbook. how did she not feel the shift in equilibrium?”
“maybe she just hates chemistry.”
“impossible,” kuroo hissed, clutching his chest. “i’m chemistry.”
phase two required a complete lack of subtlety. if you wouldn’t stumble upon his heart by accident, he would simply have to leave breadcrumbs.
the next afternoon, you opened your locker to find a small, neon-pink post-it note stuck directly onto the metal grated vents. written in shaky, black sharpie was a clue that looked less like a romantic hint and more like a ransom note from a criminal who specialized in stem subjects:
‘the elements of life are carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen. but the element of my life is currently trapped on page 142. look closer, or i will literally spontaneously combust on the cafeteria floor.’
you blinked at the sticky note. you reached out, peeled it off, and stared at it for a solid three minutes. kuroo, who was hiding behind the corner of the hallway with his face pressed so hard against the brickwork that his nose was flattened, held his breath. this was it. the catalyst. the moment you would pull out the textbook, flip to page 142, and realize that he was completely, utterly, and devastatingly yours.
instead, you let out a soft snort, muttered, “yaku must have lost a bet to standard level science,” and stuck the pink note onto the front of your binder because you liked the shade of neon.
from behind the wall, kuroo felt his knees give way. he slid down the bricks until he was sitting flat on the linoleum, a hand dramatically draped over his eyes. his heart was performing a full, aggressive drum solo against his sternum, furious at the rejection it hadn’t even technically received yet.
by day three, the desperation had reached a critical mass. kuroo tetsurō was a man possessed by a singular, burning directive: make the prettiest girl in the third-year corridor realize that he wanted to hold her hand until their joints turned to dust. he couldn’t function. he missed three consecutive serves in practice because he kept visualizing the exact layout of page 142 and wondering if he should have used a highlighter.
“if you don’t fix whatever is rotting your brain, i’m going to set your shoes on fire,” yaku warned during evening clean-up, leaning heavily on a broom. “you’ve been staring at that volleyball like it owes you alimony.”
“it’s an intellectual standoff,” kuroo said, his voice hollow as he rolled a ball between his palms. “a battle of wits. she’s testing my resolve, yaku. she’s checking to see if my devotion can withstand the vacuum of her absolute oblivion.”
“she doesn’t know you left a note, does she?” kenma called out from the bench, not looking up.
kuroo threw himself backward onto the polished gym floor, starfish-ing beneath the bright fluorescent lights. “i made it so obvious! i used neon! i referenced atomic structures! what else does she want from me? a billboard? a sky-writer? should i tattoo the chemical equation for dopamine onto my forehead?”
the next morning, he forfeited all remaining scraps of his dignity. if poetry wouldn’t work, and clues wouldn’t work, then raw, unadulterated public exposure would have to suffice.
you walked down the science wing at 7:50 am, holding a half-eaten convenience store bun, only to find a small crowd of second-years hovering around your locker. they were whispering, giggling behind their hands, and pointing at the metal door.
as you approached, the crowd parted like the red sea, revealing the monstrosity kuroo had unleashed upon the school infrastructure.
there, stuck entirely to the center of your locker with roughly four entire rolls of heavy-duty, industrial neon green painter’s tape, was the original, beautiful, cream-colored love letter. it was trapped beneath a lattice of green adhesive so thick it looked like it could withstand a category five hurricane. and slapped right on top of the whole mess was a giant piece of cardboard ripped from an old volleyball equipment box, featuring a frantic, jagged scrawl:
“please for the love of god notice my affection. page 142 was an innervation of my entire soul. i’m begging you to interact with this literature.”
you stood frozen, your bun halfway to your mouth.
from the far end of the hall, leaning against a drinking fountain with his arms crossed in a position he clearly thought looked casual but actually made him look like he was suffering from severe muscle spasms, was kuroo. his signature bedhead seemed even more chaotic than usual, a few strands sticking straight up like frantic antennae. his face was completely flushed, a deep, dark crimson that started at the tips of his ears and pooled all the way down into the collar of his school uniform.
you looked from the neon green monstrosity on your locker, to the heavy-grade paper trapped underneath, and then finally down the hall at him.
the silence stretched. a second-year student cleared their throat nervously.
slowly, you walked over to the locker. instead of tearing the cardboard off, you carefully slipped your fingers under the edge of the painter’s tape, working at the thick adhesive until you managed to pull the cream-colored letter out from its bright green cage. it was a bit crinkled at the borders, but the elegant, sweeping ink was fully intact.
you flipped to the back, your eyes scanning the dense, beautiful paragraphs where he had written about how your presence made his brain short-circuit like a faulty capacitor. you read the lines where he confessed, with terrifying honesty, that he spent his biology lectures drawing the exact curve of your shoulder blades in the margins of his notebook.
your chest did something strange—a sudden, warm domain expansion that felt remarkably like a small firework detonating right behind your ribs. your face grew hot, the heat spreading rapidly across your cheeks as the sheer weight of his ridiculous, beautiful, overwhelming feelings hit you full-force.
you folded the paper carefully, tucked it into your blazer pocket, and began marching down the hallway straight toward him.
kuroo’s eyes widened. the cool, leaning posture evaporated instantly. he straightened up so fast his spine made an audible clicking sound, his hands dropping to his sides like a soldier caught off guard. “uh. hey. so. the tape is entirely bio-degradable, if you were worried about the school property damage—”
you stopped right in front of him, reached out, and grabbed the lapels of his uniform jacket, tugging him downward so he was forced to bend his absurdly tall frame until his face was level with yours.
“you absolute menace,” you breathed, your voice a mix of a breathless laugh and total disbelief. “you could have just told me you liked me during lunch. you didn’t need to sacrifice a perfectly good moving box.”
kuroo stared at you, his eyes auditing your lips and then back up to your eyes, his brain completely liquefying under the proximity. up close, you could see the tiny, frantic flutter of the pulse point in his throat.
“but the prose,” he squeaked out, his voice a full octave higher than normal before he cleared his throat and tried to recover his usual low drawl. “the prose was exquisite. i compared you to a stable isotope. that’s high praise coming from a guy who fails literature.”
“it was incredibly dramatic,” you agreed, your thumbs brushing against the fabric of his blazer. “and it’s the most beautiful thing i’ve ever read. even if it was buried under three pounds of adhesive.”
kuroo’s expression softened, the frantic, manic energy draining out of him all at once, replaced by something so profoundly tender and vulnerable it made your stomach do a backflip. he reached up, his large, warm hand covering yours where you held his lapels, his thumb gently smoothing over your knuckles.
“so,” he whispered, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his nerves, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “does this mean the experiment was a success? are we experiencing a mutual reaction?”
“we are,” you said, letting go of his jacket only to slide your fingers into his, locking your hand with his large, calloused one. “but you’re still helping me scrape that green tape off my locker before the vice principal sees it.”
kuroo let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed down the corridor, squeezing your hand so tightly it felt like he never intended to let go, his chest swelling with enough joy to lift a house off its foundations.
n: my beloved @ryomenlettuce asked for this, huehuehue.. it’s from my scrapped ideas
“you just happened to buy the building next to my bar? and i’m supposed to believe it’s just a coincidence?”
synopsis: after years of not seeing your ex-fiancé, he shows up at your bar, revealing that he’s bought the building next door to finally own his own restaurant.
pairing: osamu miya x gn!reader - type: smau / written - tropes: exes to lovers, business owners, second chances - warnings: alcohol use, cussing, crude jokes, references to sex - taglist: open
profiles: bar hoppers + moochers
chapters:
1 - enemy at the front gates
2 - someone’s unlucky
3 - namesake
4 - an eye for an eye
5 - mistake after mistake
6 - unlocked door
suna needs a girlfriend. you’re the last person he hooked up with, so that’s close enough, right?
SUMMARY: all it takes to ruin suna rintaro’s reputation is a scorned ex-lover and a damning voicemail. his manager seems to think that the best way to turn it all around is to make the public see that suna’s a loving, loyal, relationship kind of guy. the only problem being, he’s not actually in a relationship - so he decides to fake one with you.
CONTAINS: suna x reader, fake dating, hookups, hints of angst, written parts, longing, mutual pining, kms/kys jokes, warnings may change
TAGLIST: open, reply to this post to be added
INTRODUCTIONS: bitches who shit
INTRODUCTIONS: boys trip to st. petersburg, fl
CHAPTER ONE: the day suna rintaro was banned from tinder
CHAPTER TWO: guy who thinks i’m his ramona flowers or some shit
CHAPTER THREE: employee of the month at the telling lies factory
there’s a few exams coming up, and you suck at most of the subjects.
but, with your boyfriend being one at of the top of the grade, you can easily ask him for help. although it’s not as fun as you thought it’d be.
he shrugged when you asked him, but he still agreed.
and now you find yourself in his room, with a very pissed tsukishima sitting before you. sighing every minute like it’s an olympic sport.
you’re staring at his notes like they’re hieroglyphs, nothing registering correctly in your mind.
and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose with sheer annoyance.
‘do you seriously not get it?’ he snaps, making you wince at his fierce tone.
‘it’s too complicated!’ you whine, running your hands through your hair with a groan, tugging on the strands like it’ll help your brain understand everything that’s infront of you.
‘that’s because you keep staring at me instead of the books.’ he sighs, resting his chin on his palm while his eyes are on you, effectively staring at you now, just like you were supposedly doing earlier.
you can’t lie, because you are staring at him.
he looks too good right now, so how could you not?
the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up his arms, showing off his perfectly toned forearms.
his hair is slightly tousled, from him running his hands through his hair too much in the past hour. and his eyes hold this bored look that makes him seem even more attractive.
‘would it help if i wrote everything on my arms? you seem to like staring at those.’ he teases, flexing his arms the slightest bit. he knows exactly what he’s doing.
you mutter something incoherent, probably an excuse of some sort. but the red tips of your ears give it away.
‘cat got your tongue?’ he taunts, and you really want to slap that stupid smirk off his face, but god does he look good.
he’s definitely doing this on purpose.
he knows you suck at studying, he knows you can never keep your eyes off of him, and he knows you’re easy to fluster.
you can’t even focus on studying, not when you started, and especially not right now.
‘just help me study..’ you murmur after a quiet minute, trying to keep your eyes off of him to get yourself in the studying mindest. not in the gutter.
‘i would if you’d stop staring.’ he leans his long arm foward to grab another book, but it’s actually with the intent of his hand brushing against your leg.
‘i hate you,’ you grumble, lips curling into a small pout while you puff out your cheeks. just like a toddler with too much attitude.
‘you don’t stare at someone you hate like they’re a prize.’ he retorts lazily, spinning a pen around his fingers.
you already know it’s going to be a long study session with the way things are going, if he keeps teasing you till bits, there won’t be any studying done.
The apartments quiet, except for the dramatic little “HMPH”s every few seconds or so.
After the millionth one you let out a defeated sigh, turning to face Atsumu, who’s grumpily frowning in bathroom doorway, arms crossed tightly across his chest.
“What’s wrong you big baby?”
His eyes narrow instantly, ugly little scowl on his lips, “Oh, nothin’,” he says flatly, “It’s not like I just found out my girl’s cheatin’ on me with MY TWIN BROTHER”
You snort, rolling your eyes as you go back to fixing your hair, “We’re just going to the farmers market together”
“Yeah, without me”
“I literally asked if you want to go and you said you’d rather die, dumbass”
He pouts at that, grumbles something about Osamu being a traitor and a dumbass, before suddenly pushing himself off the door edge.
He marches his way over to you, confident and fierce. When you glance up at him, you can’t help the little smile that forms.
“What’re you do-“ you can’t even finish your sentence before he’s snatching you up like it’s nothing, hauling you over his shoulders fireman style and running to the couch.
He tosses you down, quickly flopping on top of you so you can’t move. Your laughter fills the room, light and free, and it makes his serious facade fall instantly.
He’s grinning again, brown eyes staring at you with so much love, you kind of wonder where he stores it all.
“Don’t go” he mumbles, though it just sounds like a pathetic whine.
You hum, “He’s already on the way, just come with”
He whines, loud and ugly, then softly drops his head on your shoulder, “OH MYYYY GOOOOOD ya hate me”
“It’s beautiful out!”
He suddenly gives you his most charming smile, “It’s pretty beautiful in here too” he practically purrs.
You laugh, playfully pushing his face away, “You’re such a cornball”
A knock on the door cuts the conversation short. Atsumu lets out the loudest, ugliest whine imaginable before yelling, “Go away! She don’t want ya!”
From the other side, Osamu’s muffled voice fires back instantly, “Well she barely wants ya too, hurry up!”
You burst out laughing again while Atsumu glares at the ceiling like he’s been betrayed by the universe itself.
Then, after a second, he sighs dramatically and finally pushes himself up off you with a loud groan.
“Fine,” he mutters, “But if he tries to hold yer hand at the market, I’m swingin’ on him”
“You’re insane” you say, rolling your eyes again but the amused smile on your lips gives you away.
“What can I say?” he says, leaning down to steal a quick kiss, “I just love my girl”
There’s another knock, much more impatient this time. The blonde rolls his eyes and throws the door open, practically scowling at his brother.
Osamu takes one look at him and snorts, “Fuck’re ya lookin at me like that for?”
“Because she’s replacin’ me with my own twin!”
Osamu blinks. “I literally just want fresh tomatoes?”
You burst out laughing again, and Atsumu lets out an offended scoff that quickly dissolves into laughter too. Osamu just shakes his head at the both of you, grinning.
“C’mon, if all the good veggies are gone I’m gonna be pissed”
Atsumu immediately grins, slipping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side as he falls into step beside you both.
Maybe the farmers market doesn’t sound so bad after all.
like he’s actually, fuck, as soon as they finish up with patrol, or a meeting, or whatever fucking villain attack bullshit, and it’s time to clock out for the day, bro, he’s going homeeeeeee.
immediately. there’s no prattling about, no goodbye small talk, doesn’t matter who he’s on call with, the interns, denki, hell dynamight himself, it doesn’t matter. as soon as it’s time to leave, he’s already got his costume off, big duffel bag slung around his shoulders, waves a quick “later,” from behind, not even looking back, just the hand raised in the air because he’s already racing out the door.
and he’s buzzing!!! the whole drive home, hands tapping the steering wheel, whistling a jolly little tune. he talks out loud to himself as well, chores that need to be done when he gets home, or the ingredients to some something that he saw on his phone while he was on break, that he knows you would love, but he’s not sure if you have all the stuff to make it yet, maybe he should go to the store—
nope! he drives on autopilot, easily flicking the indicator as he turns the last corner onto the street where your house is.
jogs up the front steps, keys jangling, still fucking whistling, my god.
“baaaabe,” he calls, hurriedly toeing off his shoes in the doorway. he kinda trips over himself, his mind moving too fast for his body to catch up.
and next thing you know, he’s sliding on his sockbound feet into your living room where you’re sat on the couch.
you’ve still got your work clothes on, glasses on your head, as you glare down at the blue light of your phone screen with this pinched scowl on your pretty face. feet raised onto the couch, you tucked into the corner.
he breaks out into the biggest fucking cheesiest grin you’ve ever seen. all pearly whites and dimpled cheeks.
he drops to his knees right in front of you with a smile and a, “hi, my love.”
you rub at your face with one hand and put your phone down with a sigh. your legs drop to either side of his broad shoulder but you feel the tension release from your body with each second that goes by with him in your presence.
“hey, sweetie,” you say with a tired smile, both hands coming round to grasp each side of his face. your thumb strokes the apples of his cheek, “didn’t see you this morning.”
he sighs too, long, slow, coming straight from the bottom of his spine, “i know. i had a mission briefing early, sucked major ass.”
he peppers your palms with feather light kisses, and closes his eyes with a groan. “missed you so bad.”
“mhmmmm.”
“how’d your meeting go? with that shitty client?”
“tch,” you lightly slap at his face for that remark, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade, “he’s not shitty just, super particular…?”
“right…” hanta makes a face, like he wants to roll his eyes but he doesn’t want to give you an excuse to smack him about. instead he kisses at the ring on your left hand, teeny smirk creeping onto his face, “did the geezer take my wife’s offer or not?”
“and they want to me to be project manager— you need to stop.”
he can’t help himself, not when his wife is so smart and beautiful. he’s a simple guy at the end of the day, and he’s so proud of you, and you have the most gorgeous smile on your face, he just has to smear his lips all over you as a thank you for blessing him with the gift of seeing it.
your nose, your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids, your ears, your hair. wherever he can fucking get to. just smooch smooch smooch.
you’d think it was adorable if he smelled nicer.
“yeah, yeah,” you push his face away with palm of your hand, which he takes into both of his own to start placing kisses all up your wrist. “shower first, please.”
pondering being atsumus friend (read: fwb . many benefits.) and after a winning game in hyogo heading to onigiri miya for food cause gah, it's just the best right tsum tsum??? ’specially after setting like that!!! and you get food, enjoy it. love it, even. you do not however expect to end up face to face with atsumu behind the counter— or, no. he's not atsumu, it's his brother, osamu. twins.. right. and eventually you get to talking and it's so easy. so easy in fact that for the entire duration of your visit the two of you talk and talk and talk and he accidentally ignores two customers cause he's so enamored by you.
then there's after. when your bellies are full and your cheeks are warm and your head is.. somewhere else entirely.
and you’re walking with atsumu, still kind of dazed, and finally go, very serious, “i think i’m into your brother.”
and he doesn’t even blink. “yeah, i know.”
“you know?”
“baby, ya was smilin’ at him like he hung the moon.”
“don’t call me baby right now, i’m dealing with something.”
he snorts. “ya got the wrong twin, s’all.”
and maybe you’re expecting awkwardness, a little more pushback from the guy you're actively fucking, but no. he just hooks an arm around your shoulders and draws you in close for half a second, amused as hell as he kisses your hair.
“i’ll set ya up. samu likes nice girls.”
and then later, once it works— because atsumu is nothing if not a man of his word— and osamu’s looking at you all soft and hopeless, atsumu points between the two of you like he deserves a trophy.
“yer welcome, by the way. matchmaker of the year.”
his expression twisted into one of utter confusion, eyes locked on the screen in front of you.
usually, you both went for anything action related on movie nights. this time however, you talked him into watching something romantic.
he, sweetheart that he is, didn’t mind at all, trusting your taste in movies.
which led to him being all cosy and cuddled up with you under a blanket, innocently enjoying the cute and funny moments.
until… the couple eventually started making out hungrily after not having seen each other for weeks.
“they’re kissing.” you mumbled, lips stretching into a smile as you held back a chuckle at his lack of knowledge.
it wasn’t his fault, really. he only started living a normal human life as a half-curse a few months ago, discovering what lovers were and did just recently.
“but they’re not kissing like we do.” he furrowed his brows, tilting his head towards you.
“they’re french kissing.” you corrected.
“the french kiss like that?” his tone turned from puzzled to curious. after all, he wanted to know all about human life.
including different cultures’ kissing styles.
“no- well, yes, but not just the french.” you chuckled, finding moments such as these amusing, yet pretty endearing as well.
“that’s just the name, it’s basically kissing but with tongue.”
that made him hum in acknowledgment, turning his face back to the screen.
“it looks messy.” he didn’t seem to entirely get the appeal of it.
and then they began moaning.
his ears tinged a pink hue almost instantly, recognising those sounds from the more intimate acts humans did.
“are they… having sex?”
god, he was so adorable at times, most times really. actually, all the time.
it made you break out in soft laughter against his chest.
“nooo, they’re just kissing, silly. although they might have sex later.”
the louder growing noises didn’t help his blush at all. it made him feel weird, heat spreading through his body at the thought of you two doing that.
“why don’t we ever… kiss like that?” he asked hesitantly with his gaze still fixed on the movie, unable to meet the sight of your pretty face right now.
that made you cock an eyebrow, mischief on your mind and replying “do you want to?”
“i dunno…”
“oh you do.”
“i don’t even know how to do that.” his eyes finally fell onto yours, all timid and bashful.
“it’s okay, i’ll teach you, cho.” with that you sat up and climbed into his lap as you so often did.
arms slung around his neck and anticipation growing between you both as you stayed this way for a moment.
“so, um- what do i do?” his hands found purchase on your waist, resting there ever so carefully.
“just mimic what i do, yeah?”
he nodded subtly, eyes widening as you leaned down to close the distance between you, lips meeting his before he even got to say anything at all.
it started off like their usual kisses, a prolonged peck where lips just lingered on one another.
and just when he began to believe you might’ve pranked him, your lips shifted against his, moving softly and more insistent now.
he tensed beneath you, a little caught off guard but not pulling away.
it was more clumsy than not at first, how he tried to imitate the way your lips felt on his and it made him let out a quiet whine without even realising.
you smiled faintly into the kiss when you felt his grip on your waist tighten the slightest bit, tilting your head a little to deepen it and slowing down just enough for him to keep up.
and when your lips parted somewhat from his, he almost chased back for more, deciding against it though.
a quiet, shaky breath left him, face warm and crimson tinting it accordingly.
yuji had a problem—his greed was through the roof.
as many kisses, hugs, and gifts you gave him, it was never enough. he loved your undivided attention, and he would do whatever it took to keep it. so, when you were on the phone with kugisaki, expect yuji to be right there with you.
you lie on your side, your phone tucked between your shoulder and your ear, yuji's head on your stomach, his thick arms wrapped around your back. you didn't mind at all, hell, you took the opportunity to play with his hair. he wasn't asleep, just using you as a body pillow.
as the conversation went on, he started getting touchy—he laid kisses on your stomach, as one of his hands moved to grope and squeeze your ass. you were used to that though; but when he started placing wet kisses below your navel, that's when you shot him a soft glare.
"yuji," you whispered, "not now."
he looked up at you blankly, still placing kisses. cheeky. when you removed your hand from his hair, he stopped. he moved up more so his head was in your chest. his hand moving to your hip; rubbing tight circles there. he was trying to break your focus, and it was working a bit.
at some point, you weren't fully registering kugisaki and what she was saying; asking her to repeat things she said because yuji's hands had slipped under your sweatshirt and squeezed your breasts, or it had slid under your pants and started groping you gently.
"yuji."
"what? i wanna touch you."
you sighed softly once more, continuing to let yuji do as he pleased. you had a feeling kugisaki was getting suspicious, but she didn't say anything. she just kept going on about her shopping experience in tokyo.
his kisses trailed up your neck to below your ear, across your jaw, and finally—your lips, cutting you off mid-sentence much to your surprise. the kiss was sweet. everything about yuji was with sweet intention.
when kugisaki noticed you stopped talking and sounded like you were being smothered, her voice rang out over the phone. "itadori!"
he groaned, kissing you harder to drown out her voice. "stop being rude. you're bothering us."
"you're inturrupting our alone time, kugisaki." her voice didn't need to be put on speaker for yuji to hear her; she spoke loud enough.
yuji bit his lip—kugisaki was right, unfortunately. you sat there watching them go back and forth until yuji hung up on her mid-sentence. it was much to your disappointment, not-so-much surprise. "yuji-"
"can i have a kiss?"
you blinked. "i just let you have one."
"yeah, but she interrupted it. therefore it's not an actual kiss."
"that doesn't make sense."
"kiss me."
"do you just want an excuse for a kiss?"
"yes." he hooked your leg around his hip.
"yuji."
he puckered his lips. you roll your eyes and sigh, kissing him like he wanted. he'll always find a way to sabotage you and when it doesn't work in his favor, he'll always find a way to make sure it will. you both know he was too cute to just turn down like that.
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
smau. boxer! denki. profanity & sarcasm. suicide jokes. mention of violence. reader is sassy. mention of diets. slightly NSFW. 67 joke (made by denki). denki has braces - but don’t be fooled, they’re both around 21-23 y/o.
tobio outgrew his school uniform at the end of his first year. as he got taller every month, the sleeves were too short and the fit around his neck too tight, but he never really noticed.
everyone around him noticed though, especially tsukishima who never failed to snicker when he saw his whole wrists sticking out of his jacket and his stomach peeking out when he would raise his arms. you were the one to point it out to him, gently tugging at his sleeve one day during lunch break.
"you’re uniform is getting too small, kageyama."
"huh?"
the boy looks down at himself, especially at your fingers still pinching the edge of his sleeve. his cheeks reddened as a flustered frown lodged itself between his eyebrows.
"it’s not."
"it is."
tsukishima, who was watching the whole interaction from the side since the beginning, smirked in mockery at his teammate’s reaction.
"the shoulder pads are way beyond your shoulders and i can see your wrists."
"you’re not supposed to see the wrists?"
"no, you’re not."
tobio blushed even more as you tugged harder on his sleeve to get closer.
"order a new size for next month, or next week even better."
"does it look that bad?"
"no, you’re cute. and don’t let tsukishima make fun of you for it, ok?"
tsukishima, who was listening to your conversation, stopped smiling immediately as your head turned in his direction to send him a nasty glare. but kageyama couldn’t care less about tsukishima, he was blushing hard as he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you called him cute.
so when he passed through the school’s front gate with his new uniform falling right on his shoulders and long enough to cover the entirety of his arms, all happy and proud, he came to you immediately.
"did you notice? i changed my uniform."
he looked like a kid who just bought his favorite candy and wanted to share. you looked up at him and his excited grin and smiled back, before leaning up to kiss his cheek.
The door of the pub swings open with a creak that barely cuts through the noise inside.
The place is crowded. Laughter, tankards slamming on wood, someone in the corner attempting to sing while another group argues loudly over a card game. The Straw Hats have managed to claim a long table near the back.
Luffy is halfway through a mountain of food. Usopp is telling a wildly exaggerated story. Nami is counting the cost of everything they’ve ordered. Zoro is drinking.
Sanji stands near the end of the bar, one hand resting lightly on the counter, a cigarette glowing between his fingers as he chats with the cook behind it. The man had been more than happy to let another chef behind the bar earlier, especially after Sanji fixed a sauce that had been bothering him all evening.
“See?” Sanji says, gesturing to the simmering pan. “You just needed a little more heat and patience.”
The cook snorts. “You pirates are annoyingly good at this.”
Sanji grins faintly and flicks ash into a tray.
That’s when the door opens again. A cool breeze slips in from outside.
Sanji barely notices at first. He’s turning back toward the pan when the bartender suddenly looks up and breaks into a wide smile.
“Well I’ll be damned.”
Sanji glances toward the entrance out of reflex. Someone has just stepped inside.
She pauses a moment near the door, letting it shut behind her while her eyes adjust to the warm lantern light of the pub. For a second the outside night frames her like a silhouette.
Then she steps forward.
The bartender wipes his hands on a rag and leans over the counter.
“You’re late,” he calls.
Her face brightens immediately, and she walks up to the bar with the easy familiarity of someone who has done it a hundred times before. The bartender laughs and reaches over to squeeze her shoulder.
“Thought you left town.”
“Just for a few days.”
Her gaze shifts toward the kitchen area behind the bar.
“And you’re still burning things back there, I see.”
The cook barks out a laugh.
“Only when you’re not here to complain about it.”
Sanji watches all of this from where he stands.
At first, it's casual. Just idle curiosity. Someone who clearly knows the staff. Someone comfortable here.
But then she smiles at something the bartender says.
And something in Sanji’s chest quietly… stops.
It’s not the usual reaction. Not the dramatic heart pounding, not the sudden nosebleed, not the theatrical declaration that normally follows when a beautiful woman enters the room.
Just… stillness.
Sanji stares.
The cigarette between his fingers slowly burns down unnoticed.
The bartender pours a drink without even asking and places a small plate of food in front of her.
“Same as always.”
She laughs softly. “You know me too well.”
Her attention finally shifts. She notices Sanji standing behind the bar. A stranger.
Her expression turns politely curious.
“Oh,” she says, glancing between him and the cook. “Did you finally hire help?”
The cook gestures lazily toward Sanji.
“Guest chef. Show-off pirate.”
Sanji should say something.
Normally, he would already be leaning forward, smiling charmingly.
My beautiful lady, allow me to introduce myself—
The words sit ready in his head.
But when she looks directly at him... He forgets them. Completely. For half a second he just stands there. Blinking.
“…Ah.”
Brilliant. Smooth.
Sanji clears his throat quickly and straightens, suddenly very aware of his posture, the flour on his sleeve, the cigarette between his fingers.
“I— uh—”
Why are words difficult all of a sudden?
“I was helping with the kitchen.”
The sentence comes out stiff. Awkward.
The bartender squints at him. That was… not what he expected.
She tilts her head slightly, studying him with quiet interest.
“Are you the one who fixed the sauce?” she asks.
Sanji blinks again.
“…Yes.”
Her eyes light up.
“That was you?”
She looks genuinely impressed.
“I thought something tasted different tonight.”
Sanji’s brain short-circuits. She noticed. Of course she noticed. Why is that suddenly the most important thing in the world?
“Oh, it was nothing,” he says quickly, glancing away for a moment and rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a small adjustment.”
The cook nearly chokes.
Nothing?
Sanji never calls his cooking nothing.
She smiles warmly.
“Well… it was really good.”
Sanji feels heat climb up the back of his neck. He takes a quick drag of his cigarette just to have something to do.
Across the room, Zoro notices.
“…Oi.”
Usopp follows his gaze.
“What?”
Zoro jerks his chin toward the bar.
Sanji is standing completely still, staring at the woman like he forgot how to exist.
Usopp squints.
“Why isn’t he flirting?”
Nami glances over too.
Sanji finally remembers himself.
Right... flirting. That’s a thing he does. He turns back toward her quickly.
“My lady, if you’d like, I could—”
He stops. The line collapses halfway out of his mouth.
Why does this feel different? Why does he suddenly feel like a teenager trying to talk for the first time?
“…cook something for you.”
That’s it. That’s the best he can do.
She smiles again, softer this time.
“I’d like that.”
Sanji looks like someone just handed him a treasure chest.
“Ah.”
He spins around immediately, grabbing a pan.
“Of course.”
The cook watches him silently for a moment. Then leans toward the bartender.
“…Your friend just broke the pirate.”
The bartender grins. Across the room, Zoro takes another drink.
“…He’s doomed.”
Sanji moves like a man on a mission. Or a man trying very hard not to look like he’s panicking.
The pan hits the stove a little harder than usual. Oil, heat, quick, practiced movements.
Normally, cooking for a woman is an event for Sanji. There would be poetry. Compliments. Dramatic declarations about the beauty before him inspiring the dish.
Right now? He’s quiet, focused. Almost… careful.
Behind him, the bartender slides the drink across the counter. She takes a sip and leans her elbows on the bar, watching with open curiosity.
“You staying in town long?” she asks.
Sanji nearly drops the knife.
“No—!” Too loud. He clears his throat.
“…No. I’m just visiting. We leave tomorrow.”
The cook snorts quietly.
She nods, accepting the answer easily.
Sanji risks a glance over his shoulder. She’s relaxed. Comfortable. Like she belongs here. Like this bar is home. Something warm settles in his chest.
He turns back to the pan before she catches him staring again.
Across the room, Usopp is halfway standing on his chair.
“THIS IS A HISTORICAL EVENT.”
Nami yanks him down.
“Sit.”
“But he didn’t even call her an angel!”
Zoro watches quietly, elbow on the table, sake bottle in hand.
“…He hasn’t blinked in five minutes.”
Luffy is chewing loudly.
Back at the bar, Sanji slides food onto a plate with practiced precision. It’s simple, perfectly balanced.
He wipes the edge of the plate automatically before setting it down in front of her.
“…Here.”
She glances down at the plate, then back up at him.
“You made that fast.”
Sanji shrugs lightly, trying to appear casual.
“I cook for a living.”
She picks up the fork and takes a bite. Sanji watches. He tries not to, but he does.
Her expression shifts immediately. Not exaggerated, not dramatic, but surprised. Her eyes soften slightly as she chews.
Then she laughs quietly.
“Okay.”
Sanji freezes.
“That’s really good.”
He feels the words land somewhere deep in his chest. It’s a compliment. Sanji has heard thousands of compliments about his cooking. But something about this one, it feels different. Real.
He exhales slowly and lights another cigarette.
“…I’m glad.”
She takes another bite. Then glances toward the chaotic Straw Hat table.
“That your crew?”
Sanji follows her gaze.
Luffy is currently trying to steal food from Zoro’s plate. Zoro is attempting murder. Usopp is narrating the fight like a sports commentator.
Sanji sighs. “…Unfortunately.”
She laughs, and it’s such an easy, genuine sound that Sanji forgets to breathe for a second. She looks back at him.
Then the bartender leans in.
“So,” he says loudly, clearly enjoying this, “you going to introduce yourself to my friend, pirate?”
Sanji straightens slightly. Right, that. He turns back to her.
“…Sanji.” He hesitates. Then adds more quietly, “Black Leg Sanji.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly in recognition.
“Oh.” She smiles. “I’ve heard of you.”
Sanji nearly chokes on his cigarette.
“You have?”
She nods casually. “Straw Hat crew. Cook who fights.”
Sanji blinks. Then looks strangely embarrassed.
“…That’s one way to describe me.”
She wipes her hands and offers one across the bar.
“I’m glad we met.”
Sanji stares at her hand for half a second. Then takes it carefully. Her grip is warm. Firm.
Across the room, Usopp slams both hands on the table.
“HE TOUCHED HANDS.”
Nami smacks him.
“Lower your voice!”
Zoro just drinks.
“…He’s done for.”
At the bar, Sanji slowly lets go of her hand. Something unfamiliar settles in his chest. Not panic. Not the usual infatuation. Something quieter, something deeper.
He looks at her again. Really looks this time, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought forms that he immediately tries to ignore.
This one’s different.
Sanji takes a slow drag from his cigarette.
Yeah…
He’s in trouble.
— 🌊 —
Part 2
If you enjoyed this, reblogs are always appreciated.
Reader really likes Sanji's pet names
Warnings/Notes/Tags: Fluff, short fic. Reader is a crew member. I haven't reached timeskip in the anime and haven't finished the live action yet either so this fic is set in pre-timeskip, or just whenever, and can apply to either OPLA Sanji or anime Sanji. Not proofread
WC: ≈1.6k
You sigh dreamily, leaning your head on your hand as you watch him in the kitchen. You were a mere 10 feet away, right at the dining table but with no concern of if he heard you or not. Nami shoots you a disgusted look as Robin paid no mind. You three were supposed to be reviewing each others notes gathered from the last island you visited, maps, papers, notebooks, and sketches strews about the table. You were supposed to provide your sketches of the landscape and mentioning things unique to the island but you were busy watching the chef flutter about in the kitchen. Your paper went from organized notes to being littered with little sketches and doodles of said man who insisted making you three afternoon snacks.
"He's right there" Nami says flatly, trying to nudge you from your heart eyes and very obvious swooning
"He can't hear me, he's focused on the food" You said with certainty, before adding, "He looks so handsome when he's focused"
Nami faux-gags, rolling her eyes as Robin chuckles.
"Why aren't you guys dating again? Not that I want you both to, it would be disgusting if you guys were all lovey dovey in front of our faces." Nami asks
You shrug, "I'm in no rush. I'm very open about liking him but it's not anything I want to deal with right away. Just crushing on him is a lot of fun." You explain, eyes never leaving him
Nami seems to accept the explanation, albeit still finding the longing looks annoying. She and Robin go back to the papers as you take a minute just looking at him, mentally promising yourself that you'd go back to your ntoes after a minute.
You watch the way he moves stations, chopping up nuts and toppings as he waits for the savory snack to cook on the stove. He checks on it a few times, timing his prep and cook time perfectly as he finishes up cutting chives and moves to flip the crepes on the stove. You eye the way his tie is loosened, the top button undone to relieve him slightly of the heat of the kitchen. His sleeves are rolled up, giving you the perfect view of the flex of his forearms as he lifts the heavy pan. You could hear him humming to himself and you see the shape of his smiling cheeks from behind.
Gosh, you wish you could hear his sweet voice right now. It would be the cherry on top of how delicious he looked.
While the girls are busy, you call out to him, "Sanji?"
The girls pay your shenanigans no mind, used to you always chatting him up
"Yes, My Love?" He answers back, his voice certain, smooth, and clearly comfortable the way he's in his space.
You melt, you know he used those pet names on everyone but hearing it directed at you was enough to fuel your daydreams.
"Nothing" you answer back, just wanting to hear what pet name he'd call you this time, in that suave voice too.
That seemed to energize you, letting you go back to your work as you wait for him to finish cooking
-
Another day, you wake up to the crew already having had breakfast. You decide to make yourself a meal as you were too late and Sanji already packed the leftovers in the ice box and washed the dishes. After making yourself a simple omelette, Sanji comes back in the kitchen to wash the remaining dishes. He finds you already eating and gives you a good morning kiss on the head. You note how touchy he was and let your mind wander if he would act the same or more affectionate if you both were an item.
You eat slowly, wanting to wait for him to finish so he could join you in the dining room. Once he does, he walks over and sits with you, claiming he had free time and 'a lovely woman such as yourself should never eat alone.'
You chat him up, enjoying the food and letting him taste your cooking, something you don't do as often anymore now that he makes all the crew's meals.
There's a gap in the conversation, allowing you both to sit in comfortable silence, before you pipe up once more, "Sanji,"
He instinctively turns his head to you, letting you look into his ocean blue eyes, "Yes, Dear?"
You hum in content, shaking your head dismissively with no further response as he looks at you a little confused but with a smile nonetheless. You finish your food and get up to wash your plate as he wonders what antics you were up to.
-
A few days later, Nami indicates you were near the next island. Everyone waits outside, waiting to dock in a few hours. You sit outside on the upper level of the ship, basking in the sun with the drink Sanji made you. You sip and savor the flavor, the mocktail refreshing in the morning sun. Sanji finishes handing out the drinks and takes a smoke break at the railing of the ship.
"This drink is great! You should use this syrup-to-soda proportion more!" You call out to him, praising the technique he mastered in making mocktails. You weren't against drinking alcohol per se, but it was morning and you had stuff to do later in the day so he thoughtfully prepared you something not intoxicating. You would beg to differ though, anything he made you was intoxicating enough
He grins back at you at the compliment, "Thank you, Darling!" He yells back, dramatically making a small bowing gesture as you playfully pretend to applaud him. You both giggle at each other, your cheeks warm and you heart wanting just a little more of his affectionate titles.
"Hey Sanji!" You couldn't help yourself
"Yes, Sweetheart?"
You grin, not getting enough of his terms of endearment. You wave your hand around, "Nevermind!"
He looks at you with a smile and furrowed brows, not knowing why you kept calling but never responding to his reply. He shakes his head with a chuckle, letting you get up to whatever you were doing.
-
It was one night when he finally asked. He was catching a breather outside in the cold night air before getting ready for bed. You followed him out, wanting to milk more time with him in the day.
You approach him from behind, "Mind if join you?"
He glances at you as he lights a cigarette, "You're always welcome to join me, Darling" replies with a smile that was enough to warm you in the cold of the night.
You stand with him, looking at the stars and trying to remember the constellations you read about but couldn't quite memorize. He looks far from the ship, enjoying the quiet company you were always able to provide.
After a few minutes, you break the silence, now so used to getting doses of dopamine from him to conveniently, "Sanji?"
"Yes, Dearest?"
You shrug, "Nothing" you say, content with the name. You fail hold back a smile, cheeks warm and heart buzzing in the familiar but butterfly inducing feeling that he always gave you.
You expect him to just leave it again but this time he asks you, "Why do you keep doing that?"
"Doing what?" You instinctively play dumb
"You know what. You keep calling my name but not saying anything after. Not that I mind, I'm just curious" he adds the last bit, knowing you and not wanting you to feel bad or like you couldn't call for him whenever you want.
You sigh, the jig is up and you have to come clean now. "Fine, fine. It's because... well, you call every woman by a nice, endearing name. I know it's just natural to you but I just so happened to really like it" you say, a cheeky grin on your face when you nudge him.
You knew it was something so lighthearted he wouldn't be bothered by it at all. "Is it so wrong that I wanna hear it every now and then. You have all the names to spare, and if I'm being honest, I'd prefer if you use them on me more than other women"
It was his turn to blush. Sure, you both always had a sense of affection that was special to you two. You always went back and forth on the sweet gestures and you were always a little more open to his touches than other girls, but he didn't expect you to want this much more of him.
He's left speechless as he tried to take in your request.
You giggled, loving the effect your flirtations had on him. "Maybe you'd be more inclined if I returned the pet names. Doesn't that sound nice, Honey?"
That got him. He might as well be short circuiting the way he stammered and the blood dripped from his nose. You take your handkerchief, one that smells as sweet as you, and pressed it to his nose. He was frozen, not knowing what to say as he just held the hand pressing the handkerchief to his nose.
"I- I- I- that sounds.... so good" He would've phrased is better, but his brain could not process how amazing it was to hear the same sweet names from your mouth. Your voice was now the one carrying the titles, with him the bearer of them.
You giggle, cupping his face and holding his nose as long as he needed
˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
A/N: Been a while but FRICK I love Sanji sm I had to write a little sumn sumn. Don't worry yall I'll still post sometimes I love crushing on characters. I just be writing whatever whenever. Thanks for reading!!
It's rare that Luffy falls asleep without clinging to you like a child to a well-loved teddy bear, or perhaps a particularly zealous octopus, but today, as you emerge from your quarters where you spent time crafting letters to a few of your friends on other islands, you find him sprawled on the lawn of the Thousand Sunny, likely fast asleep with his hat covering his head.
You approach slowly to inspect him, but he murmurs something that resembles your name, and with affection surging inside you, you decide you'll give him a taste of his own clingy medicine. After a quick check around to make sure no one can see - thankfully, everyone else seems to have found something to do, with the deck now deserted - you decide to plop right onto his chest, trying to match the outline of your body to his, chest to chest, limb to limb.
"Huh?" Luffy mumbles, in a daze. You pull off the hat from his head, placing it on yours for safekeeping, then give him a big grin.
"You spent too long without bugging me so I got worried."
He blinks.
"Bugging?"
Despite this, he has a wide grin on his face, his arms looping around your waist eagerly.
"I never bug you," he insists.
He's right, he doesn't, you decide, a smile creeping on your lips yourself. Changing the topic promptly, you ask, "What did you dream of?"
Your head finds its usual spot cradled in the space between his cheek and his shoulder, one hand trailing down the length of his arm to intertwine with his fingers. Like this, you are engaged in a sort of horizontal ballroom dance, even if your preferred dance partner is hard to imagine as elegant more than boorishly endearing.
"You," he says, promptly.
"Convenient," you tease, but he means it, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
"You did something just like this, actually, but we were both huge from all the food we just ate. Like two big balloons."
Your mouth twists in mild apprehension.
"This sounds kind of terrible since I don't stretch like you."
He shakes his head, a few fingers idly trailing in your hair.
"You were cute. Like always."
Your cheeks grow warm like the gentle sun decided to focus its undivided attention on you.
"Go back to sleep," you say, thumping his chest gently.
"Mm... okay!" he agrees, wrapping his legs now around you too, too securely, and you consider that you might have accidentally booked yourself busy for the next hour or two. "This nap will probably be even better now that you're here."
a/n: @pizzapartyplayhouse made the mistake of posting this and made me revisit a fic idea I’d been meaning to finish! Also god Gal Gardner PLEASE take me PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
cw: Gal goes for reader and reader is into it, flirting, cursing, gn!reader (no description of features/clothing)
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
You run into Guy from a different universe and find out you’re not ready for the Gal Gardner Experience.
Not that she minds.
Gal Gardner/Reader, Guy Gardner/Reader
"So we're going to go meet some alternate universe versions of you?" You ask Guy as the two of you soar through the skies.
"Somethin' like that," Guy gruffly returns; there's a sleek manner in which his bowlcut rolls back against the velocity of the wind, truly highlighting just how much his brow is furrowed—almost as if he's not excited. Almost as if he's worried. "Buncha other doubles of the honor guard, too."
"Ooh," you dryly comment back, "So some alternate Hals and John's? That doesn't sound too bad."
"I'm not worried about 'em," Guy says, which implies that he's not worried about them, specifically. He's worried about something else.
You can read Guy like a book—most others proclaim ease of ability to do so as well, but he's a book that you can easily translate. Where everyone else might need extra time to parse through the hieroglyphics, it's far easier for you than most. You know what he's saying.
"As in, you're worried about what the other Guys are gonna do?" You ask with a smirk—his eyes flash over to you, but it's not angry. It's territorial. It's proprietary.
"Yeah," he affirms, "To you."
This is where bewilderment overtakes amusement, giving way to confusion. "What about me?"
He's quiet for a second, jaw setting rigidly, his eyes zeroing in on the horizon beyond the both of you. An elapsed silence descends tautly; you don't intrude—you know he'll come to it in his own time.
"If you exist anywhere else," he finally responds back, "I know those other fuckers are gonna want a piece."
You dignify this with the gravity you think it deserves—but you can't keep the veneer up for too long. You laugh, a bubbly, bright noise.
His eyes dart back, mildly insulted. "Ain't no laughin' matter—I'm serious."
"Yeah, and jealous, too." You slyly tease back—his jaw sets rigid again, but you can catch the ruddy hue to his cheeks he doesn't deny. His glare schools back on the skies.
"Come on, honey," you say, using the term of endearment that he likes, easing your way back into his good graces. "I can handle you."
"You sure about that?" He growls, but there's no real bite, because it's true.
"Yeah—so I can handle a few other Gardners." You tease.
He's silent again as the two of you close in for Oa.
"Really," you ask as the two of you approach certain doom, "How hard is it gonna be?"
You remember this outfit, because Guy went to the liberty of putting it on for you once. He said it was from his 'Warriors' phase—long before you met him. Long before you became his Blue. Ancient history. It looked good on him, and you made sure to inform him thoroughly, physically, vocally.
But you don't want to tell him how good it looks on her. The way it fits her curves, in that easy, cocky body language she occupies so well like a glove. And you especially don't want to tell him the way that she's looking at you—the way she has been ever since the two of you walked into the Alternate Universe Oan Convention of 2026.
"Gal," she says with a slanted tilt to her eyes, her voice familiar and husky as she grabs your hand for a shake, "Gal Gardner."
Fuck, she's hot.
"Nice to meet you, Gal." You smile politely up at her, at this alternate of Guy. There's something subtle and not about the way she oozes this charisma that your Guy doesn't.
There's something cavalier about the way she smiles—just like your Guy. There's something strong and warm about the way she clasps your hand, like Guy, when he claps a hand around you.
There's something dangerous about that handsome look in her eye—like she wants to sink her teeth in—Guy has it, but it's tempered, trained. You wonder how many beats of her story are similar to Guy's—or how far back or forward hers is in comparison to him.
She hasn't let go of your hand.
"Back at you," she husks. "You know, got someone like you back on my Earth, too."
"Oh," you chirp back, ignoring the way her rough palm is sliding down the length of your wrist, "You have a Blue like me?"
"Nah," she breezes, "Y'ain't a Blue in my universe—you're a hero. Nice n'goody two shoes."
"Oh, that's interesting," you comment, because it is—but Gal's smile seems like she thinks it's more than just that—"—Am I a dead ringer otherwise?"
Her smile is carnivorous. "Sure are, honey."
The way she says honey tells you that it's time to go, especially with the way it's making your heart beat faster. Among other things.
"Well," you begin by means of farewell, "Maybe we'll get to work together while you're here with us."
You pull your hand back and she's clearly reluctant to let you go, her eyes carefully focused and drinking in every detail that she has privilege to admire.
"Yeah," she drawls carelessly, "Sure hope so."
Her eyes are trained on you as you walk away, you know it. You've experienced Guy's too much before for it to be otherwise. It's a sluggish journey you make through the sea of doubles and not-quite-doubles to find your Guy posted up with a bigender Hal Jordan and an amphibian Jessica Cruz who both greet you cheerily.
"Where you been?" Guy inquires, crossing his arms and regarding you with a degree of suspicion.
"You don't wanna know," you reply back as you join him on the wall.
"Maybe I do," he shoots back wryly. A rather pink human Kilowog from a different universe lumbers past the two of you.
"Tell you later," you inform him—his eyes inform you he's not eager for this conversation to be put to the wayside.
For whatever reason that the Guardians see fit to put the three of you together on the mission—perhaps it's the assumption that if you can deal with Guy Gardner, then surely you should be able to wield Gal Gardner with ease. But it doesn't seem like she's willing to make the situation easy by any means whatsoever. The three of you are careening through a cluttered asteroid field, an already difficult matter of travel, when she decides to broach the proverbial elephant in the room.
"So, Guy," Gal shoots over your lefthand shoulder—because of course she's decided to take up flank with you—"—How'd you end up with a class act like themfor a Blue Lantern?"
"My fuckin' winnin' personality," Guy shoots back. "You want some tips for yours?"
It seems like he's not excited to offer any, from the way his eyes slant past you to her. She makes a rough chuckle, like she's amused at the brash display of territory marking he's making. For yours—not this one, ol' Gal.
"Nah, think I'll handle mine just fine," Gal retorts, "Just curious about this one over here."
"Ask 'em yourself," Guy says, jerking his head in your direction, "Or keep wonderin'."
"Yeah?" Gal asks, keeping a long, indicative look upon Guy, before sliding those consumptive eyes back to you. "Well, how'd you get stuck with him, honey?"
"'Cause I'm a real sucker for a gentleman," you say back with a sweet smile—you know that Guy beside you is puffing out his chest in that macho display of pride that suits him so well.
"Hmm," Gal laughs throatily, and it's a noise that cuttingly thrums through you, "Is that what they call it over here in this dimension?"
Thankfully, the three of you spittoon on the other side of the asteroids just in time to be thrown into the center of a fight. The conversation is mercifully put on hold before it can boil over in a manner you think that you wouldn't be able to stop.
You'll admit that the two of them have an eerily similar fighting style—they're both cutthroat with a manifested green baseball bat, and they both carry a vicious right hook. But it seems that while Guy prefers his brass knuckles, Gal goes for boxing gloves as she takes aim with haymaker after sidesplitter—not that you're watching much. Much.
After all, you've got your own enemies to fight, who are ready to cut you open with their bare hands. You take care to make sure that your own blue constructs swipe them away limply through the galactic landscape. But you can't fend them all off for as long as you hope.
And sometimes, they get a good punch in—one of them being when Guy is dispatched too far against the battlefield— and you go cartwheeling back amongst the rubble of space.
There's an oath that slides easily out of you as you go hurtling back into the limbo of gravitational weightlessness. As you tumble through the ether, your enemies—and your allies—becomefar distant blips.
You hold out your hands to try and regain some mooring as you fly. But it's not your own autonomy that enables this; instead, a familiar gloved hand grips yours with stunning, eager alacrity.
You turn, righted upside-right, and beam up at your savior. "Thanks, Guy—"
"Not quite," Gal smirks, and you feel your heart make an uneven, shaky somersault, even in the heat of battle.
"Oh, Gal," You feel your mouth go dry as she dominates all of your vision. It's all you can do to take in her broad shoulders, her roguish smile, the sleek cock of her brow.
"Thank you." you say, as her hand reaches up to you. Her thumb drapes up your jawline, past the full of your bottom lip—you're vaguely aware of the fact that you're bleeding from the corner of your mouth, but you have the inkling that this isn't the reason why she's holding you. It's only a vehicle of means to greater ends.
"You know," Her voice is low, "We're all in the same dimension—don't see a reason why we can't share, huh?"
Her index finger crooks under your chin, making you look up—something ricochets in the distance, but it could be a million miles off and away for all you care. Especially with the way her hand so self-assuredly roots you to this instant in time.
Gal continues. "After all, you're twice as powerful since I'm here, huh? Maybe we oughta put you on shifts or somethin'."
The hungry look in her eye tells you what the or something is.
"Don't think Guy would like that." You reply. But your voice is uneven, especially with the way that her continued access of her hand is making you feel weak in the knees.
"Yeah, he wouldn't, would he?" She asks, and she runs her tongue over her bottom lip, slow, like she's trying to savor something she hasn't gotten a taste of. "Bet I would, though."
She leans in—you can smell the leather of her jacket, the sweat of her exertion. Something forbidden tells you that it would taste good on your tongue. "Bet you'd like it, too."
"Maybe you should save it—"—You stutter, and her smile grows—"—Maybe you oughta save it for your me back home."
"Maybe I oughta take you back with me," she suggests, "Show you how a real Gardner does it."
Her fingers guide your head up to her, make you bid face her more, and something pulses to life in the junction of your legs.
"Gal—"—you begin, but there's an explosion that interrupts whatever you would have said—the two of you turn to look, you urgently, she unwillingly. "—Oh shit!"
The two of you look to see Guy hurtling a giant cannon through the throng of enemies he takes on single-handedly. You're of one mind now as you remove yourself from her grasp—she makes a noise of frustration that you'll keep to yourself in the quiet of nights when you need it. But for now, you only have one task at hand. You tear off to go save your Green, to go save your man.
"Always the good ones taken," You swear you hear Gal mutter behind you, but if you do hear it—you figure it's best to ignore it.
The day gets saved. The multiverse goes back to normal. Everyone goes back to their respective dimensions. And it seems that for some, parting is such sweet sorrow. Especially with certain guests that you've entertained while you've been gracious host to them.
Guy keeps a proprietary arm around your shoulder, letting everyone know just who you belong to. Especially to the one alternate that's got her eyes lingering on you as she saunters off in the direction of home; wherever that is for her.
"See you later, Gal," You say by means of courteous goodbye. She decides to grace you with a slow, implicative look up and down before she turns on her heel, giving you a good look at the goods that sway back and forth.
"See you around, sweet thing," she gives you as means of farewell and a two-finger salute—and then she's gone.
Guy squeezes you, his fingers sinking into the purchase of your shoulder, as he guides you back in the direction of home.
"Good fucking riddance." He grumbles under his breath, and you lean into him, feeling the familiar rhythm of his heart.
"Yeah—"—You say, turning over your shoulder back where your thoughts will poignantly remain—"—Good riddance."
Dividers provided by the talented @strangergraphics
ALSO THE BIGENDER HAL JORDAN BEING REFERRED TO…………OH MAN………….
Imagine your best friend Maki falling in love with you
At first, not even she knows. She just knows there's a weird feeling in her chest when someone gets too close to you, or she starts to get annoyed by the fact that people around you start suggesting date some guy who looks like an idiot.
She tried to convince herself that she liked your lip gloss; that was why her eyes were constantly on your lips. Of course it was because of that, there was no other reason. And of course, she could have just satisfied her curiosity by asking the name of the product, which she never did, because she preferred to observe from afar like a silly lovesick girl. Which, in a way, she was.
Everyone around her noticed. Maybe except for herself and you. She wasn't being discreet at all because, in her mind, she was just being a protective best friend. But best friends don't feel the tension in their bodies when they receive a hug from the other or feel their hearts in their throats when hands brush against each other. She'd known you for half her life, so why did your closeness suddenly affect her so much?
But Maki realized she'd been worrying for nothing after you impulsively kissed her one night.
