Can you do Hannibal x Reader who's very professional when needed but like naturally is a punk and has a messy style? (preferably M but wtv youre comfy with)
You are the first who sent me a request!!!!
OF COURSE I write this for you ❤️
I hope you like it<3
. . . . . . . . .
~professional punk~
-Hannibal Lecter x secret punk M.reader-
Tw: 🚫
No one really knew you.
You were the kind of person who kept work and private life perfectly separate. Not even Will, your partner at the FBI for what felt like forever, knew more about you than you allowed. Even Alana, who had been your therapist for a long time, had never been able to see behind your façade.
You were one of the best in the Bureau. Always impeccably dressed, sharp-eyed, steady-voiced, and thinking three steps ahead. No one had ever seen you act unprofessionally. For Will, you were often the invisible safety net—more than once you’d kept him from making a fatal mistake or even dying in the field, though he would never admit it. But no matter how well they thought they knew you, they were all wrong.
When Hannibal Lecter first heard about you, his interest was immediate. He volunteered to become your new psychologist. Jack gratefully accepted—much to your displeasure. You were convinced you knew yourself well enough and didn’t need help. But Jack and Hannibal insisted: your job was too demanding, your environment too dangerous, to neglect this kind of “stabilizing” therapy.
So you reluctantly agreed.
Session by session, something between you began to shift. The conversations grew warmer, almost familiar. Hannibal started inviting you regularly—once for a cup of tea, another time for one of his infamous dinners.
And yet, he noticed something—you never returned the gesture. You came when he asked, but you never invited him to your home.
Hannibal began to wonder what you were hiding.
Until the day he finally saw something slip.
During one of your sessions, something caught the light in your face—barely visible, but nothing escaped his eyes. Narrowing them slightly, he recognized it: an inwardly flipped septum piercing. You hadn’t worn it during the last session, which meant it was new. Freshly pierced, still in its healing phase—you couldn’t take it out even if you wanted to.
Hannibal could have stayed silent, letting his mind spin its own theories. But instead, he addressed it directly, his tone soft and curious:
“You have a new piece of jewelry in your nose. May I ask what inspired such a… bold decision? It is quite the contrast to your usual appearance.”
He smiled faintly as he saw your professional mask falter for the briefest moment. You muttered a hasty excuse about an important appointment and ended the session early. For Hannibal, that was all the confirmation he needed: in his mind, you were in the middle of a personal turning point.
And he wanted to see it with his own eyes.
He met with Jack, skillfully convincing him that knowing your address was essential so he could “check on you regularly.” Once he had it, Hannibal prepared a carefully crafted lunch and set off.
The address led him to an older apartment building. For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if he had the wrong place. Then the door opened. A woman, around your age or slightly younger, stood there with wild, spiked red hair, shaved sides, multiple facial piercings, and dark smoky eyeshadow. Her outfit screamed punk. She chewed her gum lazily, eyeing him with mild suspicion.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a Mr. L/N. Does he live here?” Hannibal asked politely.
Her face brightened. “Yeah, he lives here. And you are?”
“Hannibal Lecter. His psychologist.”
She stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in.
Inside, Hannibal found a home that clashed violently with the image he had of you: shelves crammed with vinyl records and CDs, walls covered with posters of various punk rock bands, anti-government slogans plastered everywhere—a delicious irony, considering you worked for the government.
He settled into an old leather armchair as the woman dropped casually into another seat, asking what brought him here. Hannibal lifted the warm lunch container he’d brought. She nodded—and in that moment, you walked into the living room.
You wore faded jeans patched with fabric and chains, an oversized shirt screaming EAT THE RICH, your hair a tangle. Your septum ring was now fully visible, alongside a collection of bracelets and chains clinking softly as you moved.
You froze when you saw him sitting there, sweat prickling your brow. Then, silently, you raised a hand in a small wave.
If Hannibal had been in his twenties, he might have fallen head over heels for a man at least twenty years older in that very moment.
Aaron always wondered what it would be like to get away from Regina's grasp. Even though they broke up last summer, he still couldn't get her out of his life. If he tried to talk to a girl- they weren't allowed to see him anymore. But, he actually ended up admiring someone- you.
You were more punk, how we say- artsy, loud, unapologetic, political, all of that. Hanging out with the "art freaks" Regina despises because of your friend, Janet.
You played in a punk rock band, you were living the life- atleast to you. Doesn't matter if you weren't popular, you were doing what YOU wanted, and that was sick as fuck.
Someone else actually acknowledged that. This guy from your calculus class- Aaron Samuels. Regina's man candy, the hottest guy in school, or atleast to everyone else's standards.
You noticed he's been acting, kinda weird. He'd glance at you in the hallways, always ask you for help almost every class he had with you, and- he started waving to you after-school? One day, after your drama class ended, you were chillin on the bleachers, looking over your lines when a handsome football player came up to you,
"Hey," you said softly, not really paying attention, "Hey yourself," he said with a chuckle, slightly smirking? What the hell did he want?
"You saw me doing good out there?" He asked, "not really,"
He seemed a bit disappointed with that answer, not gonna lie. Like he was hoping I'd say yes, "I've been reading my lines for drama," I told him
"Oh, drama? What play are you doing?" He asked, he actually seemed interested? The hell did he want? He never talked to me unless he needed something done with school work.
"Romeo and Juliet," I replied, "oh, you're juliet right?" He asked, "uhm, no- Mercutio," I said, he seemed to get a little- embarrassed? I'm not sure "my bad, I just assumed because youre so-" *"I'm so what?"* I asked, my tone sharper, my patience was withering by the second, and I think he noticed. "..Because you're so pretty." He told me, a bit more bummed out, oh shit. "What?" I asked, "you think I'm pretty? I thought you were into shiny, hard plastic"
"I kinda started to forget people associated me with Regina still," he said with a dull chuckle.
"I've been- expanding my horizons, recently. I wanted to know if you wanted to go out sometime?" He asked, his hair falling over his face slightly, dripped with sweat, his gorgeous brown eyes staring at me for the answer.
"I'm not gonna sleep with you," I told him swiftly,
"I wasnt- heh, I wasn't gonna ask you that," he chuckled "just a date, come on, please?" He asked. God, he was so hot.
"I know what guys like you want. You either talk to me because you think I have no standards, or you talk to me like I'm some "goth dommy mommy", eugh" I shuttered, "no, no, I swear! I- actually just think you're really pretty." He told me, something shifted inside me.
What if he wasn't just- lying? What if he didn't have some fetish for people like me? It was a nice thought,
"You for real?" I asked,
"Yes," he assured, "come on, just a date?"
"Mm.." I murmured, thinking. Did I really wanna go on a date with him?
"Fine. I get to pick the date though," I reluctantly agreed. I always thought he was- kinda cute. He has a pretty face, with- pretty hair.. and soft brown eyes.
He looked excited! His eyes lighting up slightly, but trying to play it cool. Oh wow, so nonchalant.
"Gruel," he said, "i was trying to say great and cool at the same time," he said with an embarrassed chuckle,
"Alright, well- gruel," I told him. I guess I got a hot date soon, what a nerd.
the barracks is quiet, but not really. the faint scrape of boots, the low hum of lanterns, the distant creak of the walls—it all fills the space while you sit on the edge of the table, legs crossed, dark eyeshadow smudged with glitter, lipstick chipping off. It doesn't matter; you mean business. your laptop is open, strategy maps scattered, but you’re barely touching them. you’re watching. always watching.
levi steps in without a sound, as always, and stops when he notices you. the way you’re draped across the table, black boots dangling, hair half falling in your face. he pauses. his brain tells him to keep moving, stay professional, but the quiet pull in his chest says otherwise.
“you’re still here,” he mutters, voice low. not a question, but not really a statement either.
“someone has to make sense of this mess,” you reply, voice soft but sharp, like a blade wrapped in velvet. you don’t look at him.
he tilts his head, studying you. “you make it look… easy.”
“nothing is easy captain, we just do it anyway” you say, finally meeting his eyes. the look you give him is something between curiosity and defiance, dark eyeliner making the color of your eyes seem almost… dangerous.
levi doesn’t answer right away. he shouldn’t be noticing, shouldn’t be letting himself get distracted. but he does. god, he does. every time you cross your arms, every time you smirk just slightly at something he said under his breath, he wants… more than protocol.
“you don’t talk much,” you murmur, tilting your head. “that’s fine. i like that.”
levi blinks. “you… like quiet?”
“i like honesty,” you correct. “quiet just… comes along with it. people don’t scream over me then.”
he nods slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching. he knows exactly what you mean. he also knows that if he doesn’t say it, he’ll regret it. “honesty,” he repeats. “i… like you.”
your smirk grows, subtle but deliberate. “you do?”
“don’t test me,” he says, voice dropping an octave, low and dangerous. but the words don’t mask the flush in his cheeks. the way his eyes follow you. the way… he wants you to lean closer.
you stand, moving so close that he can feel your energy brush against him, the faint scent of smoke and leather and something uniquely you. “good,” you whisper. “because i might like you too.”
levi freezes, then leans just slightly closer, just enough that you feel the tension between you. “might?”
you shrug, playful, teasing, but there’s truth in it. “maybe. depends if you can keep up.”
he smiles for the first time in forever, sharp, dangerous, amused. “i never slow down,” he says.
and in the quiet chaos of the barracks, strategy papers and maps forgotten, the two of you just… exist. the war can wait.
hi !!! hru? if possible, id like to request a male one piece matchup!!
im an entp 7w6, i'm often described as an eccentric, humorous, and a carefree person (it's just that i don't use my braincells that much)
i like punk aesthetic!! have a dumb scar on my nose from a cat
i'm usually friendly, but you can get a reaction from me easily and i'll get into bickerings (i'll forget it off after 5mins in total)
i have a habit of procrastrating- i can be dense too. i'm a bit reckless which makes me get scolded often
my love language is quality time/ spamming you with shitposts at 3am. i also sometimes would gift you smth silly that reminds me of you like a cat dropping a dead lizard by your door/j
im not used to direct expressions of affection that much (especially in words) so it lowkey unlocks soft spots when they pull that- i do try to give rather than receiving in that department, though it ends up goofy most of the time
i like puns and motorcycling and i'm addicted to carbonated drinks
i also like gaming and wwe watching!! i fw cute critters media... shoutout chiikawa
true that i game but i touch grass. nature outings are my breather. the way to my heart is food. i'll even pledge my allegiance/srs
i dislike paperwork and waking up early in winter
im quite knowledgeable in animals!!! i especially adore penguins. i could blabber about them forever. i also like mythology. i can be both the yapper and the listener tho
in a date, i like to be the one that's tuff like i'd be the one buying type shit 🤝 i also dont expect much like just being together talking nonsense would be cool w me....
thx !!!
I am going to pair you with …
𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐃. 𝐀𝐜𝐞
【Ｔ𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐄𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥】
You are… a lot.
In the best way.
Chaotic, funny, reckless, a little impulsive, the type to start something just to see what happens and then forget about it five minutes later. You don’t overthink things, you just go.
Ace matches that energy instantly.
You would meet in a setting that’s already a little messy, something going wrong, something loud, and instead of backing off, you jump right into it.
And he just—
Grins.
“You’re fun.”
That’s it.
You’re locked in.
Your dynamic is pure chaos.
Bickering for no reason.
Starting arguments just for entertainment.
Forgetting what you were even arguing about mid-way.
And somehow…
It never turns serious.
Your habit of getting reactions out of people?
He feeds into it.
You poke, he pushes back harder, and it turns into this loop where neither of you ever gets bored.
Your procrastination and recklessness?
Yeah, he’s not helping with that.
If anything, he makes it worse.
“Eh, we’ll deal with it later.”
And suddenly it’s later.
And neither of you dealt with it.
Your love language fits perfectly.
Late night shitposts? He’s responding.
Weird gifts? He’s accepting them like they’re treasures.
You hand him something dumb that reminded you of him?
He’s keeping it.
No questions asked.
Your awkwardness around direct affection is something he notices fast.
You can joke, tease, do everything else, but the second things get serious?
You short-circuit.
He finds that hilarious.
And… a little endearing.
So of course, he does it on purpose sometimes.
“You know I like you, right?”
Casual.
Out of nowhere.
Just to see your reaction.
Your love for food?
Oh, that’s dangerous.
Because now every outing turns into eating something.
You’re happy.
He’s happy.
It’s a win.
Your interest in animals, especially how much you can talk about them?
He listens.
Even if you go on for way too long.
Even if you start rambling.
“You really like those things, huh?”
Half amused.
Half impressed.
Your need for freedom, for movement, for not being boxed into something strict?
He gets that.
Completely.
You don’t feel restricted around him.
You don’t feel like you have to tone yourself down.
Your relationship is loud, chaotic, and constantly moving.
You bring humor, spontaneity, and unpredictability.
Figuring it Out Pt. 3 (Steve Harrington x Punk!TM!Reader)
Summary: Two movies in and you and Steve are getting comfier and cozier. It almost feels like a real date... Here's to hoping the rest of the night goes just as well!
Word Count: 2,603
Notes/CW: Transmasc, bisexual reader. Punk reader. Use of the word "boobies" (This cw is just for me tbh, I HATE that word lmao). Mentions of top surgery procedures, probably inaccurate to procedures in the 80s but finding resources for that kind of thing was hard. Also reader practices TERRIBLE post-op care, please don't do the things they do lol. Descriptions of scars.
A/N: What was supposed to be a two-part series continues on... It's looking like five parts at this point, so that's fun, I guess. I don't think I've written a series this long before! I usually do one-offs or tie-in pieces that can be read separately or together. Fun!
Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Read on AO3
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"Too old to be using the word ‘boobies’, bud." You cringed from just repeating the word to him. "Also Audrey is lovely in her entirety, not just ‘cause she looks good in those clothes. She’s such a sweetie."
Steve threw a quirked brow your way while taking a sip from his half-empty, seashell pink wine glass. "Seriously? Even her voice?"
You gasped at him. "How dare you? Her voice is cute! And just wait ‘til you hear her sing ‘Suddenly, Seymour’, Ellen Greene kills! Just a little taste of that hidden power and then poof! Back to the mousiness. Incredible."
The two of you were lounging on the couch, part of the way through Little Shop of Horrors. At this point, you both had your feet kicked up on your coffee table, still cleared off from pizza work earlier that evening. Steve had gotten up at some point to pop some popcorn, which now sat in a bowl jammed between one of your and one of Steve’s legs, the only thing putting any distance between you. Your arms were still stretched out on the back of the couch, the hand closest to Steve occasionally brushing against his neck or catching a stray hair when he turned to look at you. When it happened the first couple of times, you had thrown apologetic looks his away, but he hadn’t seemed to notice—or if he did, he wasn’t bothered.
Eventually, when it happened again, you had noticed the smallest of smiles twitching at the corners of Steve’s mouth, although he kept looking pointedly forward. After that, you stopped worrying about it.
Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes at you now. "Didn't take you for a musical nerd."
That made you throw your head back in an unapologetic cackle. "What, did the style revolving around a music genre and culture not clue you in? The three years of choir maybe? Music being a big part of film production, which is something I’m a nerd about? Interest in music doesn’t just stop at a different genre of it. Well… maybe for some but—"
"Okay, okay, I get it!" Steve threw his hands up in surrender, but the smile he was wearing was sweet. He could hem and haw and roll his eyes all he damn pleased, but you knew that Steve loved being a confidant of his friends’ interests, even when he didn’t know much about them. Especially when he didn’t know much about them.
A scene of Audrey II popped up on the TV screen, the plant having grown exponentially since its last appearance onscreen. Your eyes lit up as you pointed at it, leaning forward with a giddiness that only punk concerts and explaining about film creation could elicit from you. "Did you know that she’s all puppetry? Onstage and in the film. They made a bunch of different puppets for her—obviously—and there’s a team of puppeteers piloting her. The reason she looks so clean is because they’d shoot shots at different frame rates to make her movements look faster."
Steve leaned forward as well. His was more in confusion, though, as he tilted his head and squinted at the screen. "I don’t see anybody."
"They’re most likely hidden in the set," you explained. "Under the floor, in Twoey’s pot, behind the walls and such. Stuff like fishing line probably helps too. Skinny, transparent, thus harder to see on film after the editing is done."
"Huh." Steve frowned and nodded in a way that gave off severe dad energy—that said he didn’t get it but was glad that you were enjoying yourself. He leaned back into the couch, taking the time to take over the back of it with his arms since yours were no longer there. "Cool."
You grinned at him. It was mostly due to the film talk but, as you looked at him, you were also thoroughly pleased to see him so comfortable and lax in your home. The lighting really did do him justice, casting him in a warm glow that brought out the brown of his hair and eyes, the yellow of his shirt. The stained glass lamps casted various shapes of color around the room, some of which landed across Steve’s form in an incredibly artful way. For a moment you wished you had a camera to take a picture of him before ultimately pushing the thought aside. A camera would never do the scene justice.
A breeze from the cracked window above the TV pulled you out of your reverie with a shiver. Careful not to disturb the mood, you quietly got up and scooted around the other side of the coffee table to avoid Steve having to move his legs. You closed the window by the TV, then moved to shut the small panel window on your front door as well. You felt Steve’s eyes follow you all the while.
You turned to him, waving a hand. "You keep watching, I’ve seen this in theaters and the one from the 60s. Finally cooled off a bit, gonna go grab a jacket."
"Do you just want mine?" Steve asked. Clearly getting comfy to the point of not wanting to move, he stretched out with one lazy arm until a finger could snag the jacket from its place discarded over a nearby chair. He shifted the arm in your direction, holding the article of dark blue clothing out to you.
You raised an eyebrow. "You're not cold?"
Steve shrugged, then nodded to the vest you were wearing. "Trade ya?"
You snorted but found yourself already tugging the denim off your body. "It’s a vest. Not particularly warm."
Steve shrugged again, smiling. He looked so cozy burrowed into your burnt yellow couch. "Can give me one of your hoodies then. What about that one that you did for Halloween last year? You replaced the sleeves with a different one and did a, uh… bleach? Dye? Skull design thing on it?"
"Why don’t you wear your own jacket?" You didn’t know why you were being contrarian. You really wanted to wear his jacket. You really wanted to give him something of yours that you could see him snuggled into. You pulled your vest off.
You hadn’t paid much attention to how the fit of your tank top’s sleeves hung a bit lower on your body than normal, exposing the bit of scarring closest to your underarms. You only noticed when, while your arm was raised to toss the vest aside, Steve’s eyes dropped to stare at them.
You stood there, frozen, gauging him. You could tell right away that there wasn’t a hint of meanness or even judgment in his eyes. It was mostly curiosity, like he didn’t understand why you did it—he’d already said so, he didn’t—although you could see a hint of sadness there too.
"Penny for your thoughts?" You questioned quietly after a few too-silent moments had passed.
Steve’s eyes immediately flicked up to meet yours. He looked like a kid having been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Still, he nodded toward the scar, still pink and new. "Was it painful?"
You shrugged, rolled your head a bit in thought. In the meantime, you tossed your vest on the chair and snagged Steve’s jacket from him. You pulled it on, the soft fabric immediately encasing your bare arms in warmth and the smell of cologne and hairspray.
You said, "The procedure itself? Nah, I was knocked out. Probably too knocked out, actually. They kept me overnight to make sure I was waking up proper because they had a hard time getting me to wake up to take my meds. The recovery was kinda rough, though. I didn’t do the opiates, just basic painkillers, for obvious reasons. And didn't really have anybody to stay with me, so I—"
"You should’ve called me." Steve’s voice sounded tight. You could tell he was trying to keep sounding nonchalant, but the pain in his eyes was telling. "I would’ve come. Robin too, maybe. Make it a road trip to the city, could’ve been fun."
Your cheeks warmed under his intense, long-lashed stare. You rolled your eyes anyway. "Oh, yeah, have you take a week or so off work and do a six-hour drive just to take care of me. Not just you, Robin too! That would’ve gone over well with your jobs."
"Your safety is more important than my job," Steve said simply, sternly. You weren’t sure he had even blinked in the past few minutes, his dark eyes trained on you as he waved a dismissive hand at the idea of picking his job over being with you. "Especially Family Video. Replaceable. Easy. Wouldn’t even have to think about it. You’re not, you know."
Your next breath came out heavy. Your skin felt itchy and far too warm. The entire trailer felt like it was heating up to the point that you were briefly concerned you had left the stove on. You knew that wasn’t the case, though. It was just you. It was just Steve.
"Yeah, well," you mumbled, "everything turned out okay. Here I am. But… thanks. ‘Ll keep that in mind. Hang tight, I’ll grab that hoodie."
Steve’s eyes burned holes in your back all the way down the hall.
~~~~~
Steve really had no business looking as cute as he did cozied up in one of your sweatshirts. Rumpled hair that he’d given up on as the night has gone on. Nose tucked close to the collar, hands stuffed comfortably into the sleeves. Sleepy, half-lidded eyes, but if he had any desire to go home, he didn’t make you aware of it.
That sweatshirt in particular was one of your cooler projects, in your humble opinion. Originally an entirely black sweatshirt that you had worn to the point of thinning and fading to an ugly brown over the years, you had broken out the dye and dyed it back to its original rich color. Then, probably counter-intuitively, you had also broken out the bleach and bleach-dyed a messy skull design into the sweatshirt’s front; the back received an anatomically correct skeletal back pattern. The sleeves, too long anyway and beginning to fray, you had decided to replace with those from a soft orange sweater you had thrifted. Any patching needed was done in the rest of the sweater’s material—in a series of fun, Halloween-y shapes, like pumpkins and bones—as well as reinforcing the sweatshirt’s thinning body from the inside. It had been one piece of a last-minute Halloween costume puzzle, black jeans and boots bleach-dyed or painted with similar bony patterns and a cheap skeleton mask Joyce Beyers let you snag from her shop for a single buck as the only sale of the night, after Steve and Robin invited you to party-hop with them. You had quickly gotten bored out of your mind with the parties themselves, but your favorite duo’s company was always a joy.
You were over at the TV again, popping out Little Shop of Horrors and putting Gremlins in. Echoing Steve’s question about the first movie of the night, you asked, "What’d you think about Little Shop of Horrors?"
"Well, that puppet can sing," Steve said, his response a bit delayed in his lazy state. "You were right, the puppeti-ng is really cool at the end there."
You hummed in agreement as you stood up and shuffled back to the couch, tucking your hands into the pockets of Steve’s jacket. "'Mean Green Mother From Outerspace' and 'Feed Me' are the best songs in it. Levi Stubbs."
"So…" Steve ventured after a moment. His eyes drifted over to you suspiciously, causing you to break out in a sneaky smile. "Gonna tell me what we’re watching now?"
"A Robin recommendation?" You offered.
Steve’s eyes narrowed. "What did she do?"
Your smile widened as Gremlins began to roll. Throwing your hands up in surrender as Steve’s glare turned severe, you said, "Her note said, and I quote, ‘Steve will be crawling all over you’ followed by a cute little heart. I had to know what that means, Stevie. Simply had to."
Steve was now a statue, all taut and stony.
"Steve," you tried after a moment, "do the weird little fluffballs… make you horny?"
Steve blanched, choked a breath, and you cackled in response. He immediately went onto the defense—"What? No! What the hell?"—before your laughing clued him in and he went back to glaring at you. "You’re joking."
You snorted and pretended to wipe a tear from your eyes. "Yeah, no shit, I’m kidding. So, what, not puppets, clearly, but animatronics get you a little spooked?"
In his mind, Steve was losing arbitrary cool points by the second, that goofy standard of his that he felt made him worthy of existing in the world. You could see it in the way he was getting increasingly flustered, shaking his head and waving his hands around like he could fight off the—loser allegations? You didn’t know. He was wrong, of course. Cool points didn't count past high school, and Steve Harrington was a dork. There just was no fighting it. He was an awkward, lovable, sometimes-too-handsome-for-his-own-good dork.
While you looked on like a pleased cat after it had pushed a vase off a shelf, Steve pointed a dangerous finger in your direction. "No, listen, listen—"
Your hands flung up as you laughed again. "I’m listening!"
Steve went on, "I can do no eyes. I can do many eyes. What I cannot do is a singular pair of weirdly human, robotic eyes on a… not… human… thing. Okay?"
"So it’s the eyes?"
"Eyes and— and, like… the movements!" Steve continued to flail around, this time trying to mimic a robotic slowness. So, it was animatronics.
"You don’t even like Gizmo?" You moved your hands close together and held them up, peeking at Steve through them. "He’s just a little dude. Looks kinda like a chihuahua. Or a baby."
"I like both dogs and babies!" Steve hunched further into himself as the little Mogwai in question finally made its first appearance onscreen. "That is not a baby."
You were still thoroughly amused—what an incredible fact to learn about Steve, of all people—but you were ultimately sympathetic to his plight. You moved to the edge of the couch, ready to move to action if he willed it. "Want me to turn it off? I have an ass-load of movies in my room we can pick from instead. Or you can head home if you want, it is getting pretty late—"
"No!" Steve said, a little too quickly and a little more desperate than he’d intended. It hung in the air for a moment as the two of you stared at each other, your faces growing progressively redder. It may have been the first time during this entire night that you both acknowledged the tension, albeit nonverbally.
Steve broke contact first. He took a deep breath and rolled his head and shoulders like he was preparing for a fight, then looked forward to glare at the TV. "I can handle it."
You gave him a skeptical look but settled back into the couch regardless. Tossing an arm back up over the back of the couch, it casually landed next to one of Steve’s own, which still was gripping at the cushion for dear life. Your hand found his arm to give it a comforting squeeze as you nodded and settled in for the final film of the night.
Y'all are already EATING TF out of part one. Anyways. Here more of him ❤️💙
Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4
Warnings: maybe spoilers for ATSV, IDK. Reader's in the punk scene and from Hobie's universe. Whole lotta projection. Canon-typical injuries
Features personal Hobie HCs I guess. It's just self indulgent (and for the rest of y'all too I guess)
Please RB, likes alone don't do anything for the algorithm!
-----
You don't even need to turn around to know he's there. The smallest footsteps led from your window, a tiny breeze brushing the side of your face.
"Spidey."
You finally glance up when he huffs, sketchbook forgotten as you catch sight of a new gash along his chest.
He waves off your attempt to look at the area.
"'S fine, luv. Just a scratch."
"Just a - for the love of - ugh!"
You drag him onto the couch as you brush past, a quiet laugh meeting your ears as you rummage through the medicine cabinet around the corner.
"It's really not that 'orrible!"
Even with his protesting, he shrugs his jacket off with a wince, pulling the top of his suit up so you can access the newest wound on his torso.
He can vaguely hear you scolding him, telling him that the city needs him to be less wreck less, but he has one little, uninterrupted train of thought:
This is NOT how he wanted this to go.
The original plan was simple: show if like he'd done a time or twenty, tell you that he trusts you enough for something, then wham! Mask off!
But no. Here he was, shirtless on your couch, shaking in an attempt to stay still for your caring hands to work on him.
Still..
It had to be salvageable.
"-and without you, Osborne would've gotten his filthy grip into our movement, but NO, you were there to stop him -"
"How long are you planning to repeat yourself?"
You sighed, and he winced internally.
Okay. So not like that.
"I'm just worried about you, y'know?"
He nodded gently. "I can tell. Pretty obvious, actually."
You rolled your eyes, going back to work. "Yeah, well. You're our city's hero. Cheesy, yeah, but it's true."
He sucked in a quiet breath. "Yeah? If I'm the city's hero, then you're mine."
You look up at him, speechless. And he grins, hand coming to the bottom of his mask.
Plan - back on track.
"Cheesy, yeah. But it's true."
You're still staring, more in awe now, as he removes his spiked mask. He watches your eyes flicker from his coils to his multiple piercings, lingering momentarily on his lip before meeting his eyes. He's still grinning cheekily as he leans forward, stifling a groan as his newly tended wound shifts.
"Wow.."
He barely hears the word, instead feeling it roll across his chin from where you're kneeling in front of him on the couch, and his smile widens.
"That's what I thought when I saw you."
And he knows you were already hooked - everyone is, he's heard - but now you're just staring, taking him in, and he feels.. loved.
It's odd, after everything he's been through. But he can't help but revel in it, hand coming forward to cradle your cheek.
"Are we.. wow."
He leans forward further, straining against his gash, but sighs when you push him back upright before sitting next to him on the couch.
"Don't strain that."
It's crosser than he expected, but he can't help but chuckle. "Whatever you say."
"Doctors orders."
You lean forward, barely, and he follows suit. The new angle is more comfortable anyways.
"I don't like taking orders."
You know.
"What about.. significant other's suggestion?"
He leans forward further, hand coming back up to hold you.
Summary: It's 2 Am, and on a restless night, Virginia's college buddy makes an unexpected appereance to brighten up her mood.
->Mentioned OC (ish) x Cannon. Downtown Dionysus is a made up bar for my Oc Lazaro. His sister, Jerico, is mentioned.
Virginia couldnt sleep.
The buzzing of the red,neon sign was deafening. It wasnt even raining,and yet it was cloudy and lightless. Holding on to her octopus plushie,she tosses And turns in bed. The tangled blankets wrap and twist around her like a dress.
And then...pat. pat. Pat.
She opens her eyes,confused. She lays on her back and sees the way pebbles hit her glass door and down to her balcony. "What the hell?" she thought as she sat up slowly "Who is it at this hour?"
--Viiirge!-- Came the voice of somebody she knew somewhat well. She groans and lays back down with annoyance.
-- (Y/n)!!!! --She yelled.
--Open up!!
(Y/n) (L/N) was one of Virginia's college companions. She'd met them on a group project, them being the only one that actually went up to her to ask to work with her. Until now they've been something akin to a friendly fly. Sometimes it bothered her,other times it was heart warming.
Virginia wraps a blanket around her and goes to her balcony. She sees her friend, dressed in their ripped up pants and flashy vest,big boots and messy hair. (Y/n) beams a big smile at her,waving at her.
--What do you want? It's two am. --She grumbled,looking at them with annoyance and exhaustion.
--Jus' to see you!.
--You saw me, go away.
--C'mon virge! -- (Y/n) complained.-- I got soda! and warm popcorn!
A few seconds of silence go by. Not tense, just the sense of resignation when your friend convinces you to do something stupid.
--Give me ten minutes. --Virginia answered, and went back inside to change and get ready. After almost ten minutes,she goes down to where her friend was waiting. She looks at them and says--Well?
--Not here!, C'mon-- (Y/n) grabs her hand and drags her along through the streets, Through alleways, through less crowded streets. Virginia knows her friend wouldnt put her in danger like this so she simply doesnt fight it.
The sky above began to clear, shinning with stars. Milton-Haven didnt have that much light contamination, so you could see so many shinning dots above. It wasnt too cold, seeing as spring was starting to set in. Her friend stopped here and there to pick wildflowers that grew on the pavement.
--Why..?--Virginia took the gift. Her hands brushing agains the gloved ones of her friend.
--You're my friend-- (Y/n) never met her eye, or looked at her face. They had made a bracelet for her to wear, so they could look at that instead of where she was unconfortable. -- I can find more if you dont like these ones. I can keep 'em and dry em.
She smiled just a little, supressing the giggles that came up from her heart. Warmth spreads across her. -- No,these are okay. Thank you. i'm just..not used to it.
--Then i'll have to get you more flowers more often!
Now less reluctant,Virginia follows her friend with a tiny smile as she ties up her hair, and sets the flowers between her locks. She's guided to the rooftop of an abandoned house. It's a nice view of Milton Haven, and the lighthouse was one and shinning.
Both sit together over a blanket (Y/n) had brought in their pin and patch filled bag. They huddle closer and the soda and popcorn is shared. The taste is sweet, mixed with the coke that the cool metal of the cans held.
--You can see the whole town from here--Virginia whispered in awe.-- Hey,look. The lighthouse is on. Its so pretty. Allen's been taking good care of it.
--Hes really sweet,actually --(Y/n) said-- He's just awkward. But he means well.
--I still feel bad for Dave punching him. In hindsight..
--I can give him your apology. I'm going to see him in a few days. I always volunteer to help him out, that lighthouse is bigger than it looks.
Virginia nodds,and leans on her friend a little. --If- If you dont mind.
--How could i?
Theres a brief moment of silence, where humor laces Virginia's mind as she thinks her words. She looks at her friend,mindful of the spikes in the vest they wear. Her friend meets her gaze but for a moment before their eyes derail to the bracelet.
--You must be the nicest punk i've ever met.
--We get bad press --They laugh-- Being kind is punk. --They snuggle closer, putting their head ontop of hers-- Y'know, I got gossip for you.
--Oh?
--Y'know the new park ranger?-- (Y/n) asked,virginia hesitated-- Well, theres a new park ranger,I've seen him be buddy-buddy with one of the Castro kids. Laz's sister. She's been goin' around the park now that university is almost over.
Virginia snickers-- What do you make of it?
--I dont know but i'll keep you updated.
Few hours go by,quiet chatter fills the space. Talks about the Minos Quarry, the gossip on the street. They Wonder if Downtown Dionysus,the only respectable bar in town, was open. "Maybe it is,full of people surely. With this weather" Virginia argued. "Yeah but its a week day, who's drinking on a week day?" her friend answered.
As four AM hit the clock, Dawn coming soon in just two more hours, (Y/n) added one more thing before they take her home.
--I'll always be here for you, virge. I know we aint exactly close. But i'm here, for whenever you need me.
Virginia sighed, and nodded with comfort and warmth in her soul. For a moment the past didnt exist, nor the dread that began to hang around her as of late.
😞 can you write a head cannon or whatever the hell thoses things are called about könig with a heavy metal/punk reader
.ೃ࿐ Format: Hcs.
.ೃ࿐ Reader: Undisclosed.
.ೃ࿐ Ratings: SFW.
.ೃ࿐ Word Count: 486.
[A/N: I sure can! I'm not into the punk or heavy metal scene but I do listen to the music and I'm aware of some of the beliefs in the punk subculture.]
I already stated that König would listen to nu metal/rock instrumentals so he wouldn't be caught off guard by the music you listen to. He thinks it's really cute if you show him songs that are sung in German.
If you were to ever make a CD playlist of your favorite songs it would make König fall even more in love with you (if that's possible). He would listen to it all the time while deployed or whenever he missed you.
König would love to trade band tees with you even if he can't fit your size. He would just wear them as crop tops and you would wear his as sleepwear.
He would 100% help you with your DIY clothing. He knows how to sew so he would sew patches into your crust pants or jacket. König would have so much fun with you at stores like Hobby Lobby or thrift stores just looking for stuff to accessorize you with. He would spend a lot of time carefully placing studs, pins, and spikes on your jacket trying to make sure it looks perfect for you.
He would also sew a little German/Austrian flag on your jacket, where your heart would be! He tells you that this way he'll always be with you even if he's physically gone. [:,)]
Please convince him to wear fishnets, he would look so good in them.
Very fascinated with your hair. If you have straight hair and use a lot of product to make it stay up and spikey he has every window open while dramatically coughing. He'd help you pick out different hair dyes probably making it even harder for you to make a decision.
“Ah, liebe how about this one?” He says showing you a box of dark blue dye. “Or you could do this one.” He says now holding an orange box. “Or maybe this one as well?” Holding a green box. He'd buy them all if you wanted rainbow-colored hair.
The first time König saw you he was enamored with you, he thought you were so cool. He loved your style and how you didn't care what anyone else thought. Took him awhile to work up the confidence to befriend you.
König always listens to you ramble and rant about the military industry, capitalism, and society [🤡]. Even if he doesn't fully grasp certain topics he's still mentally jotting down notes.
If you play music he would hum along with your singing/screaming, he might even start singing himself if the music is loud enough and you couldn't hear him. He loooves watching you bang on drums or shred on your guitar.
König doesn't like drawing attention to himself but he would never tell you to change your style for him. In fact, he would push you to dress that way even harder. Might wear your style around the house.
