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cozage · 1 year

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HI COULD I REQUEST A SHANKS ZORO SAMJI REAUEST WHERE AFTER AN ARUGMENT WITH THEIR GIRLFRIEND THEY GET THE SILENT TREATMENT FROM THEM AND HOW THAT PLAYS OUT AOR HOW THEY RESOLVE IT? THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH PLS TAKE BREAKS AND DRINK WATER 🫶

A/N: I am definitely trying my best thank you! :) Apologies for the length of Zoro’s but i know that man would not apologize easily.

Characters: f reader x Shanks, Zoro, Sanji

Cw: angst with a happy ending

Total word count: 1.9k

Silent Treatment

Shanks

Shanks didn’t get mad easily, and neither did you. But today you were both in a bad mood. And something that would’ve been a small disagreement had blossomed into a full fledged fight because of it.

He avoided you all morning, but by mid-day, he realized that your mood wasn’t lifting. At night, he opted to take watch so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. He hated fighting before bed, and decided it was better to let you both get in better moods before you talked about it again.

The next morning he saw you walking on the deck. “Hey! Do you mind adjusting the sail to catch the northeast wind a bit better?”

You shot him a glare, but did as he asked without comment.

“Thanks!” he called, but you didn’t respond to him. You just sat in a chair on the deck and flicked through a magazine.

Oh boy. Now he was fully aware of just how irritated you were. He glances around on deck and doesn’t see anyone else, so he walks over to you. He walks up behind your chair and leans down to get a better view of what you’re reading.

“Whatcha reading?” he whispers in your ear. His voice startles you, and you huff out an irritated sigh. You start to get up, but he wraps his arm around you and pins you to the seat. You squirm, but he only holds you tighter.

“Shanks, get off.” Your voice is clipped and short with him. He presses his lips against your cheek for a long time, waiting for you to stop fighting him. You realize you’ll lose this fight no matter how long your struggle, so you calm down and still your body.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, tickling your skin with his voice.

“I’m just frustrated with you!” You slam your magazine shut. “I know you have goals and they’re important, but I have goals too! You may be the captain, but I thought we were a team.” Your voice is starting to crack, and you hold back a sniffle as he holds you.

He hums against your cheek, lips still placed there. After a few moments, he pulls away from you and walks around to bend down so he’s at face level with you.

“Your dreams are important,” he says, grabbing your hand. “You are important. I’m sorry I was so focused on my own wishes that I overlooked yours.”

You nod, accepting his apology, and wipe your eyes with your free hand.

He raised your hand to his lips and gave it a few quick kisses. “I’ll do better in the future, I promise.” And you believe his words fully and completely.

Zoro

Zoro wasn’t an idiot. He knew he was in the wrong for escalating the fight so much. And he should’ve never said those things to you in the first place. But he figured as long as you both had time to cool down away from each other, then you could act like nothing happened.

When he finally left the crow’s nest for dinner, he found you sitting between Nami and Luffy. He could tell you were still mad, so he grabbed a meal to go (which Sanji was happy to give him if it meant he wouldn’t have to see the mosshead’s face)

He didn’t realize just how mad you were until he went to your room and found it locked. Your fights had never been so bad that you’ve kicked him out of your room before. He banged on the door for several minutes, and when you finally opened it, he felt relief. Until you walked past him without a word and walked to Nami and Robin’s room.

Zoro is so prideful. He hates apologizing, but he knows he needs to do it. He lays awake in bed all night trying to figure out what to do. He spends half the night thinking how he just needs to wait it out, and the other half wanting to go wake you up right now and force you to forgive him.

He dozes off at some point, and in the morning he’s awoken by the soft click of the door opening. He bolts up, ready to say something, but he only finds Nami, glaring at him while she’s grabbing clothes from your drawer. “Apologize,” she hisses as she leaves the room.

But he can’t, damn his pride. He hides out in his workout room, trying to ignore the pressing weight of your absence.

After lunch, you walk into the crow’s nest. You don’t want to see him, but you need a few weights to work out.

“Hey!” He’s not sure what else to say when he sees you, and it feels like a pretty lame start. But you don’t even look his way. You just grab your weights and start to leave.

He grabs your arm and you pull away from him, trying your best to ignore him. But then he blocks your path to the door, and you finally speak one word to him, against your will. “Move.”

He can feel the anger still thick in your voice. “I’m sorry,” he rushes, trying to keep you there.

“For what?” you shoot back, glaring at him. “What are you sorry for, Zoro?”

“I-” his voice falters, not sure what to say or what to apologize for, and you roll your eyes and push him out of the way, taking your leave.

He doesn’t go down for dinner, and he opts to sleep in the crow’s nest tonight. He figured that he got the bed last night, you could have it tonight.

He hears a light knock on the door, and he rushes to open it, hopeful that it’s you. But Sanji stands on the other side. He’s holding the weights you took down earlier, and a plate of food.

“You really are stupid, marimo,” he sighs, handing the weights and the food toff to the swordsman.

“Wait, cook…” Zoro hesitates. He knows he’s going to have to swallow a lot of pride to do this one. “How do I fix it?”

Sanji scoffs, and Zoro can tell the cook is about to patronize him, but he stops himself. “You apologize, idiot.”

Zoro’s eyebrow twitches, and he struggles to remain calm. “Apologize for what?! She started it!”

“No she didn’t, you moron!” Sanji yells, kicking him in the side. “You started it when you didn’t listen to her wishes! And then you called her selfish and all sorts of other names, and THEN you kicked her out of her own room! You have plenty to apologize for, so do it!”

“How was I supposed to know it was going to bother her?!” Zoro yelled back, grabbing his swords. “I’m not a mind reader!”

“That's your problem, marimo! You can’t think for a damn second about how your words and actions might affect other people!” Sanji’s words finally start to sink in through Zoro’s thick skull, and he pauses, his hands still resting on his blades.

“Just apologize and know what you’re apologizing for, moss for brains.” And with that, Sanji leaves Zoro alone to think about it for the night.

He made a list. It was easier to write everything down. And it turned out that he had messed up on a lot of things. He was surprised you were still with him, when he had it all written down like that.

He let you eat breakfast before he found you. He pulled you aside from the crew and led you up to the crows nest balcony. “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for your hand.

“For what?” you shoot back, pulling your hand away from him. You see a hint of irritation twitch over his face, but he reaches into his pocket and unfolds a piece of paper.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you, and for saying things I didn’t mean. I’m sorry I got so angry I didn’t see you as a person - a person that I love so much. I’m sorry I always leave my stuff around and that I make it easy for you to trip over stuff in our room. I’m sorry I never separate the laundry, and-” His eyes glance down to the paper now, and he keeps reading. “I’m sorry that I don’t wash the toothpaste out of the sink, and that I always take your fries even though you love them, and I’m sorry I steal the drinks Sanji makes for you, and that I interrupt your social time with Nami and Robin to make you train with me and that-”

You grab the paper from him and he stops. Your eyes scan over the paper, and it’s full of sloppy handwritten things that you’ve gotten upset with him over the past few weeks. Some of the things were silly, others were ones that had been irritating you for weeks, but the page is filled.

Your eyes filled with tears and you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a long, deep kiss.

When you pulled away from him, he stared at you nervously. “So, uh…are we good?”

You laughed and rested your head against his chest. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Sanji

“Drinks for the ladies?” He’s holding out a platter of seltzer waters, but you ignore him.

He notices it immediately, and he tries his best not to give an outward reaction. He knows he’s in the wrong, and he should throw himself into the sea for making you feel so upset.

He cooks instead. And he makes a spread of your favorite treats with the freshest ingredients he has in the pantry. He spends all afternoon slaving away, and he’s extra snippy with Usopp and Luffy when they try to steal away any of it.

When he serves it to you though, you give him no response. You barely touch the food he offers.

In a desperate attempt to win back your grace, he makes your favorite dinner entree for the crew as well.

But you don’t show up for dinner, and he takes a plate away to search for you. He finds you sitting on the railing of the bow of the ship, and he cries out to you, startling you.

“Y/N!” he weeps. “Please don’t jump overboard!” He holds you back, smothering you against his chest.

“I’m not going to jump, idiot!” you yell, pulling away from him. “I just want to be alone!”

He calms down, but you see his eyes darken in shame. He holds up the plate as a peace offering. “I brought you dinner. Your favorite.”

You want to take it. You’re starving and it’s your favorite meal in the whole world. But you turn back to the sea, putting your back to his offer. “I’m not hungry.”

“But-”

“God, Sanji!” you scream, pissed off now. “You can’t just fix everything with food! Sometimes I need to hear actual words from you!”

You hear him pause for a moment, and then the soft click of his shoes against the wooden deck of the ship as he approaches you. His strong arms wrap around you and hold your stomach as he presses up against your back.

“I’m sorry.” The smell of his cigarette smoke is comforting to you, and you breathe it in and lean back into him, finally relaxing. “I was insensitive and cruel and I should’ve never treated you like that.”

It’s the apology you’ve been craving all day. You just wanted an apology with words rather than food, and now he’s finally understood that.

“I think I’ll take that meal now, if you don’t mind,” you hum, appeased with his apology.

“Of course,” he said, kissing your cheek before he pulled away to grab you dinner.

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eideticallys · 1 year

Text

I Don't Mind If It's You

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: maybe styling spencer’s hair should be an everyday thing for both of you.

genre: fluff

word count: 1081

author's notes: i missed spencer's long hair so i decided to write a self-indulging fic about playing with his hair. also posted on ao3 (spencereids).

SPENCER HAS ALWAYS FOREGONE STYLING HIS HAIR IN THE MORNINGS. He always thought as long as he could just flick the strands of hair behind his ear, he was good to go. And besides, he had a hair tie with him. He could just simply tie it back—no more pesky hair in his line of sight.

He has always foregone styling his hair in the mornings until he met you. While he was big on practicality & “Hairstyling is a waste of time”!” You were the exact opposite.

It’s quite a funny thing to think about. Spencer, a certified germaphobe, was uncaring about how his hair looked, whether it was kept well today or it looked like a bird’s nest the next. And then, there’s you. You’re not a germaphobe though you pride yourself as a chic woman. Not a law enforcement job could stop you from looking like you came straight out of a magazine.

You always found the time to make sure your hair looked pretty and presentable before heading to work. In your free time—quite rare for FBI agents—you liked to read magazines for trendy new styles to try or watch videos online for tutorials.

And today was definitely your lucky day. No case. Everyone is off for the holidays.

Unfortunately, that’s where your luck ended.

You got injured during your last case. Your arm is in a cast, unable to move it around like you wanted it to. Fortunately, your hand was still good & thankfully, uninjured, unlike the rest of your arm. So, although you were free to lounge around your home, you couldn’t try that one hairstyle you found in one of those Cosmopolitan articles.

Until a genius idea came to you like a light bulb turning on.

“Hey, Spence?”

You asked your boyfriend, who was busy skimming through what seemed like his third or fourth book of the day.

He’s so cute when he’s all focused like this, you thought.

He hummed in response, still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pages.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

This made Spencer look up from what he was reading, staring at you questioningly. You were the type of person who never asked for help or favors—unless needed. You often disagreed with him because he would prefer it if you told him whatever problem you had. Although he was a genius and could help with you, he knew lending an ear to someone was already a big help.

"You know I can't move my arm around, right?" You asked him, to which he nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, is it itchy?” He asked, about to go off on one of his notable tangents. “It takes around six to eight weeks for broken bones in casts to heal. Also, around that time, the injured area starts to itch.”

You nodded fondly at the man, not minding a little bit that he went off-topic. You love listening to his mini-lectures—not only do you learn something new, but you’d also hear the soft tone of his voice. One thing about Spencer is he had a pretty voice. You could listen to him talk for hours.

“There are five main reasons why your casts itch—nerves, trapped moisture, immune response, dead skin cells, and body hair.” Spencer continued tattling. “Nerves cause itchiness because the nerve endings in the skin may fire as the cast begins to harden and dry, sending itch-inducing signals to the brain. As for the itchiness being an immune response, it ensues when the body perceives the plaster of Paris or fiberglass as an outside invader. Histamines may be released. Itching, redness, and swelling can be brought on by released histamine.”

With his excitement to share facts about how broken bones heal, you couldn’t help but laugh at how dorky but adorable your boyfriend was, which made him scrunch his nose.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“You are, but I don’t mind. I like it.”

At this, Spencer’s ears started turning pink, making you chuckle some more. He scratched the back of his neck in shyness as you took it as a clue to tell him what you needed from him.

“My arm isn’t itchy, babe,” you began, “What I need from you is your hair.”

“My what?”

“Your hair.”

It was your turn to get shy. You knew Spencer wasn’t a big fan of having his hair messed with. It’s not that he hates it. He just doesn’t like messing with it that much—minus the occasional flicking behind his ear and simply tying it back when it gets irritating.

“I—um,” you explained further, trying to fight against the embarrassment you were feeling. This was your boyfriend you’re talking to! “I saw this cute new hairstyle online and I wanted to try it but you know, with the broken arm and all…” You trailed off.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” You chuckled humorlessly, beyond embarrassed at this point.

This was such a bad idea. Why did you even bring it up? You were about to start berating yourself, ready to hop onto the next train and create a new identity for yourself, when you noticed Spencer shuffling towards you, sitting on the floor between your legs.

“You want me to style your hair?” You asked incredulously, still can’t believe Spencer would let you play with his hair.

“Of course.” He replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world

Like it was an everyday thing for anyone—you—to do his hair.

“I don’t mind my hair being played with if it’s you.”

At that, you blushed as you started combing through his soft curls with your fingers. Spencer merely smiled softly at the gesture and closed his eyes.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked quietly.

“Yeah?” You asked back as you started braiding his hair. “What is it, Spence?”

“I love you.” He muttered. “I may not like it when people touch my hair out of nowhere. But if it’s you, I don’t mind having you do it for the rest of my life.”

You gasped at his sudden confession and were about to say those three words back when you felt it.

Spencer planted a kiss on your injured arm and pulled your other one down, so he could be face-to-face with you. And before you knew it, his lips brushed against yours, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

Maybe styling Spencer’s hair should be an everyday thing for both of you.

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