#X-Whips

[kudotsurugi]

X-Whips Battle Network AU OC - GAIA.exe

I originally drew this NetNavi alongside the others in the line-up picture, but I realised I never actually posted this one, so... remedying that today😅

This is GAIA.EXE, based on the Star Droid Terra from Rockman World V/Mega Man V for the Game Boy. To briefly explain her rough backstory idea, (SPOILERS FOR BATTLE NETWORK 6)she is an amalgamation of remaining data left from Colonel, Iris and the Cybeasts from their final battle at the end of the game. After the game's events, said data fragments combined into a new form and identity. I never settled on whether she'd be a friend or foe, but I did see her being similar to Bass at first, wandering the cyber world until she found herself in the hands of a new NetOperator. 

[profoundpoetrycowboy]

Is It Me, Or The White Hat Hacker (Or Hatty)'s Four Design A Default Avatar When The Players In TOME Didn't Customize His Avatars?

[momoiro-hime]

putting my ocs in every AU i want part. 34791

| Do NOT repost or use without permission.

[a-hazbin-reader]

[justjams7787]

bro is WHIPPED

[humuhgod]

whipped old man w this lil new phone

[gladiatorcunt]

- A ROTTEN TREE BEARS ROTTEN FRUIT | I.

god loves you, but not enough to save you

cw: kinktober prompt (whipping/flogging), blasphemy, inaccurate religious practices, lyrical sadomasochism (more so sadism on his part), erotic religious imagery and references, this dynamic is so weird, implied (as in in my mind) bi reader and charlie, plus sized reader, reader’s chest referred to as ‘breasts’ & ‘tits’ and their crotch referred to as a ‘hole’ but they do have a seperate one other than their ass, pregnancy fantasy, vomit mention, don’t know shit about the show fuck you ryan, blood kink, interchangeable ‘charlie’ & ‘mayhew’ based on pov

do not translate, repost, or feed this work to ai |

kinktober 2024

“Shh, let me clean you up, Father.” You smile, so softly, he could snap your neck if he squeezed hard enough.

You run your nails over his back, trimmed to an appropriate length. Father Mayhew sighs the way Adam might’ve when Eve’s walls clenched around him, God never being more important than this bliss. You’re so devoted, so devout in your worship but he’s beginning to think that you cry out to a different God than he does. If you even believe in an invisible one anymore when you have a savior in the flesh.

“Thank you, dear. That’d be great.” The pulls are pulled from his lips like rotund wooden beads, as if he has no choice but to endure the stretch as they exit his body one by one.

You shuffle off the bed and kneel behind him, stroking your fingertips down his back like he’s a marble statue you just can’t help but reach out and touch. The opposite of Delilah cutting Samson’s hair, you only want to imbue him with your pure love from the inside out. Spooning milk and honey over the tender welts.

His eyelids crinkle as you kiss the nape of his neck, blotting your lips with rouge. There is no inch of his back left without, and when you arrive at the bigger gashes you lavish the cut with your tongue. Drinking his life away and cleaning him up like a good little whore, servicing the man becomes the only thing of importance to you. You dip the tip of your tongue in the recess of the deeper wounds, and caress his tensing abs from behind when he grits his teeth and traps a curse behind them. You only kitten lick him, but often he wishes you would get real dirty with it, caressing your tongue over his muscles in broad and messy swipes.

His scars from previous lashings glint in the low light of the candles surrounding you. You give them their just desserts of course, grateful pecks of attention and acknowledgement. Soothing his pain, that is the only excuse you have to encroach on the verge of breaking your vows. Father Mayhew gives you a purpose and stops your bleating with a heavy hand if you forget your place. Stern hand to raw and stinging flesh.

Sometimes there is no pillow when you kneel behind him.

The next step is that you turn around and face the wall after picking up the cattail whip off the bed and returning it to its rightful owner. You’ve already discarded your habit, no tunic, coif, or veil left on your person. They’re folded neatly beside you, only your rosary nestled in the embrace of your heaving breasts. Your peaks harden in the stuffy humid air, all the oxygen in the world confined to this small room.

He saddles up behind you, his sweaty chest so close to the flesh and contours of your back. Father Charlie breathes you in, taking whiffs of your debauched scent in between silent prayers. He never allows himself to be as forward as you are, his thread of control over his desire has not snapped yet. There are boundaries he can push, but lines he can never cross.

“Good lamb, God recognizes your penance and forgives your soul.” He whispers, dragging the strips of leather down your back until goosebumps rise to the surface.

When you least expect it, he strikes. You muffle a shout into the wall and Father Charlie’s cock jumps under his towel. Briefly he imagines slamming into your tempting body dry, with no preparation, making you sure you feel as much pain as possible. The way you’d wince with every step around the church, the begging in your puppy dog eyes when you’d take communion. How he could hold it above your head like a bone in the shape of a fractured cross, dangling just out of reach of your gorgeous mouth.

The devil gives him dreams of fucking your throat until you’re vomiting and hoarse.

Every droplet of bed peeking out from the cracks of your skin to say hello nourishes him. He shushes you when you’re unable to hold back your sounds, cooing when he notices you humping the air after the fifteenth hit. You just can’t help yourself, nerdy by nature and nurture.

You start soaking the pillow beneath you, imagining what he must look like. A man and his broad hulking body curling around you as he hurts you. Your hole suddenly feels so empty, you have a night of riding your pillow ahead of you, you just want to be good for him in all the ways you’re supposed to be.

As you let a demon of sex control your body, he spies a flash of a white lacy thong nestled between your plump ass cheeks. He knows that if you had also worn a towel, he would’ve hooked his fingers under the fabric and pulled it off. You don’t get to hide any part of yourself from your Father. And he knows he will have to give himself another lashing for those thoughts alone. Even the secret wedding he plans as he strokes his angry red cock, always edging himself, he’s afraid of what would happen if he lets go. How loud the iron gates would be when they creak open. Like the way he wants to spread your ass open and toy with the hidden puckered hole.

His words are in his actions, reopening your old wounds and bringing the warm leather across your back one last time, he hopes your blood soaks through the material. Staining it, the way you have already stained his heart. Father Charlie grins despite himself when you slump against the wall, sliding his bible-roughened hands over your love handles and sticks his pecs to your shoulders.

“You did lovely, today. The Lord thanks you, and I’m so proud of you, you know that?” His thick fingers brush along the bottoms of your tits, never going higher.

He wants to slap them, wrap the beads of your rosary around them until the flesh bulges, painting your nipples in a mix of both of your blood. Marking your souls irreversibly. Marriage of the spirit, a ritualistic wedding in the eyes of the beholder. You shiver like a mouse in front of a snake, and beads of precum fall from his cockhead.

Did Saint Teresa have these feelings when she had the vision of an angel piercing her heart with their golden spear? Did Saint Sebastian when he was pierced by those arrows under the order of the Emperor? Did David when he wrenched Goliath’s head back by his hair and bested him into humiliation? Did it compare to the covenant he formed with Jonathan?

He kisses your glittering scars in thanks and washes your blood away with his lips and tongue too. But unlike any other day in which you’ve done this, he stands up with a grunt and pulls you up with him. Father Mayhew falls backwards onto his bed and so you follow dutifully, and because the hold he has on your wrist is strong to the point of bruising. You lay your head over his heart and pant into his skin as he teases your plush thigh, tracing crosses into the chubby expanse of skin.

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” He cajoles, walking on that burning tightrope with you.

He wonders if your cunt would be just as chubby, if you’ve ever thought about humping the organ bench, riper than the forbidden fruit, and he mentally catalogs an extra long session of repentance. To be fresh and clean again. Father Charlie will go through his sermons with his lighthearted tone and charming personality, desperate to hide that he’s thinking of plunging his tongue in your asshole. Sipping and slurping up your musk like it’s the only holy water he needs to live. Or entice you into eating his ass, you would love being able to serve him properly, no doubt.

To nourish you with his fragments, his vertebrae and viscera. The body and the blood. The teeth and the testicles.

He’ll sit in quiet contemplation in front of the pulpit, pouring wine over your body in his mind. Following the red trail with his tongue as it trickles down the valley of your chest and dips in and out the folds of your belly. He’ll leisurely open his mouth on a silent moan at the top of your mound, the hairs like yellowing blades of glades against his philtrum, in a perfect paradise there’d be blood there too. His own personal, pervertedly literal, red sea.

You’d look so beautiful, swollen and fat with a child growing in your womb. A shame that can never happen, but a blessing that no heretic of a man could snatch you up and take you away from him. Your flock is here, and the heavy crook of his staff is all you need to guide you back home when you go astray. Trapped in his thighs, molded by his hands, punctured into line with his cock.

[liesmultixxx]

annabeth: *pouring her heart out*

percy: *nodding*

(internally: the earrings!!! oh my gods the love of my life looks so wonderful😍😍)

not him focussing on little details because he’s just that whipped

[rhetorical-conscience]

James: We need to talk about your mental health.

Regulus, trying to change the subject: Actually, what I need is to be dicked down right now.

James:

Regulus:

James, removing his tie: You know, one of these days that isn't going to work-

[kudotsurugi]

X-Whip Comics Season 2 Ep.3 (2/??)

And so, the exhibition match gets underway as Alpha and Zetto demonstrate the new rules. But what surprises will the X-Whips find, as the duo reveal their super forms?

As a reminder, this is a story that takes place after the events of a What-If Season 3 story that I made before the A2Z movie trilogy was even conceived. So while some things from the trilogy may carry over, this is essentially a separate timeline.

Also, the new names in the tags are of characters that make an appearance in the crowd on page 4 of this part. We'll be seeing them later in the story.

Episode 1(Part 1 / Part 2)

Episode 2(Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/Part 4/Part 5)

Episode 3(Part 1/Part 2[HERE]/??)

—–

Welcome to X-Whip Comics, a series of comics featuring some characters from the TOME RPG and their random shenanigans.

These were initially comics I shared on a Discord server, but I was convinced to share them online, soooo.…. here we are! All characters presented belong to their respective owners.

[pxuvalentinx]

Head empty, no thoughts, just inexperienced Choso.

Oh how his little puppy eyes would look up at you, filled with excitement and lust as soon as you take your shirt off, revealing the plump tits he’s been taking a glance at every now and then. He’s always felt ashamed for looking at them, but he couldn’t help it, the unexplainable desire he felt just kept his eyes fixated.

How the bulge in his pants would just grow bigger with each second you let him stare at your chest. He feels like he could cum then and there as soon as you let him touch them as well.

And just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, you lifted your little skirt up to show him that drenched pair of panties which was covering your entrance. His jaw hung open as a little huh.. escaped his lips. All his years of just killing off other curses or humans, he never would’ve thought that he’d kneel in front of a human, watching her gently rub the little nerve bundle through her panties. If he had a tail, it would be wagging from left to right for sure.

Choso watched carefully as you rubbed the fabric against your pussy. He was mesmerized, not only by the sight, but also by the quiet whimpers you’d let out every now and then. You made his heart pound 5 times faster, made his cock throb, and made this oh so dangerous curse drool without even noticing.

Inexperienced little Choso who could only whine as you shoved his face against your clothed pussy. He wasted no time licking the soaked fabric, trying to reach as deep as possible with his tongue. All his blood shot into his dick, while you were riding his face.

‘Hah…That’s it Cho…Oh fffuck..Such a good boy f' me Cho…Such a good..haaah' You could’ve sworn he’s done this before, he knew all the good spots. Choso’s puppy eyes only grew bigger at your praise, he loved being at your mercy, pleasing you, making you feel good, maybe even making you cum. And you made sure he knew just how good it felt.

Don’t get me started on how whiny and needy he gets as soon as he feels your tight little cunt around his length for the first time. 'Oh fffuck…Baby..Baby…Baby..Ah so tight…s’ good…I..hah..love this…love you..’ He wasn’t going to let go of you anytime soon, now that you’ve showed him this new sensation, this feeling that he never wanted to be unaware of again. His thrusts were so sloppy, so needy, so filled with lust.

From now on Choso would never hold back again whenever he accidentally got hard because of something you did, he’d fuck your brains out, even though you were supposed to be the one in control. You turned little inexperienced Choso into a whore for your touch<3

reqs are open (slow atm tho), reblogs, likes and feedback is more than appreciated. stay safe!!

[pa-pa-plasma]

love fics where Danny ends up in the DC universe & every alarm goes off at once & the magic users are like "yeah that's the most powerful being in the universe & also possibly super evil we are FUCKED fucked" & the Justice League is freaking tf out trying to find this thing that casually tore a hole in reality & it just cuts to Danny (Fenton) standing in the background blissfully unaware & like "man my life sucks but at least i have this candy bar—" *drops it in a puddle*

[ohimsummer]

OBEDIENCE TRAINING

— minors dni, bully! satoru, dubcon, oral [ m. receiving ], nicknames (puppy, dog), hair pulling, body worship

“kiss it.”

your eyes meet gojo’s, daring blues that just crave your defiance. there’s a light burning in your scalp; he keeps pulling your hair harder every time you hesitate. it’s not worth it.

gojo watches, hissing as you lean forward to press cherry-flavored lips to the head of his cock. it throbs at the affection, spilling drops of precum through the part in your lips to leave a salty taste in your mouth.

“good dog.”, gojo praises, patting your head and giving you a patronizing grin. “do it again.”

another kiss, slightly longer this time. another head pat, another ‘good dog’ to remind you of your place.

“i don’t think i should have to tell you to keep going.”, gojo spits, and you cringe as his fist tightens in your hair again. “kiss it again. make me feel good. i want you to worship me like you mean it.”

there’s no room for bluffs or lies in his expression. gojo means what he says, and you know if you make even a single error, he’ll be doing more than pulling your hair next time.

a blissful sigh escapes through his glossy, pink lips, upturned into a menacing smirk as he watches you shower his length in kiss after kiss. you wrap a tentative hand along it—slowly in case gojo chooses to scold you again for whatever reason—and run your tongue along the underside of his cock. he lets out a low moan as you cross over that sensitive vein, before pressing another firm kiss to the head.

dipping lower, a harsh twitch runs throughout gojo’s body as you lap at his heavy balls. he curses, ‘o—oh, fuck—!’, tossing his head back and bucking up into your touch, where you continue stroking him. ‘jus—just like th—at, shit!’, gojo stutters between bites of his lip.

it takes no time before his chest is heaving, and you can tell he’s on the verge of climax. you study him, partly because he told you not to dare look away, and partly because he is actually quite pretty, though that’s a shock to no one.

“may i, satoru?”, you ask sweetly, politely in that tone just as he instructed you, batting those long lashes at satoru because he just loves when you do that.

gojo’s brows furrow and his jaw goes slack, before he moans out his permission. “yeah, yeah, go ahead, puppy.”

you press one more kiss to his cock, and then suck him down as far as he’ll go. it’s the last push he needs before he’s cumming in your mouth, releasing thick spurts of white deep in your throat, hips bucking and the choked gags you can’t hold back are just the cherry on top.

a few minutes pass as gojo goes limp. he rubs a gentle thumb over your head as he catches his breath, legs still twitching as you layer delicate kisses over his softening cock.

“now,” he rasps out a final question, smiling down at you, “what do we say?”

“thank you, satoru.”

🐾: @anthoosies @teddybeartoji @higurumapet @starlightanyaaa @hehehehesthings @rosso-seta @paradiseoflosers @sbgg @krraayy @astral-hydromancy @lcvelina @lynettess @savethegoddamturtles @apatauaia @sataraxia @starsharkz @h-4-bib @idkluvv @b-b-b-my-b-f-f @sugu-love @xinfvl @mikeysflag @ichikanu @marichat0n @gyaruismind @sugojosgf @xocherishxo @sukunastarr-69 @glmpsfs @anxie-tiddies @euphoriagrae @astrasworldsblog @lovesickliyue @deepenthevoid @bubblez-blop @luvvmae @risuola

[hoonvrs]

TRAINEES — l. heeseung smau

PAIRING heeseung × fmr

SYNOPSIS heeseung wasn’t known as ‘the ace’ for nothing, constantly ranking number one after every monthly evaluation. then suddenly a new name takentakes over first place — baek ‘Rin’, and heeseung doesn’t take lightly to competition.

GENRE smau, fluff, crack, more to be added

FEATURING ( enha ) all, ( fromis9 ) chaeyoung, jiheon, ( txt ) yeonjun, ( newjeans ) minji

WARNINGS swearing, kys/kms jokes, friendly bullying, sex jokes, loser heeseung ( more will be added if necessary )

STATUS ongoing, slow updates

TAGLIST ( OPEN )

S. NOTE new smau and as the queen of loser!enha that means loser heeseung agenda dun dun dunnn ( let’s completely ignore timelines cause if i keep switching between new and old pics don’t clock me.. )

noot hee you will always be famous

also please don't spam like as it shadowbans me and lessens engagement <3

PROFILES

flower boys | hybestars

CHAPTERS

01 bang sihyuk count your days.

02 ain’t that ur rank

03 sunKISS MY ASS

04 i purple you heh

05 she gagged you omg

06 meeeeee :3

07 u pack of slags

08 Woah, calm down jamal

09 rupaulations 4:20

10 is somebody gonna match my freak

11 isn’t she so dreamy ( + 0.1k wc )

12 Donatella VERSACE

13 go train with your other bitch then

14 yare yare heeseung kohai

15 shoulda coulda woulda

16 STAY AWAY FROM HER

17 enemies 2 friends 2 strangers

18 not me I don’t care

19 whys he kinda good….

20 double homicide

21 macbeth hyungnim

22 u send?

23 eat a taki moss

24 u need psychological belp.

25 im gonna hump someone

26 SIX BOMBACLART EGGS

27 i’m no longer a penis boy

28 who let the schizo out

...more to be added

copyright © hoonvrs 2024 all rights reserved

[revasserium]

Okay okay hear me out Rain: reader watching Sanji cook, just sitting, waiting, maybe reading a book but catching glances at him every so often and he knows they're looking at him and just smiles....sorry I love that man

accidentally in love

opla!sanji; 2,569 words; fluff, banter so much banter, flirting, flustered!sanji, whipped!sanji, no "y/n", confessions, "sweetheart", fem!reader, straw hat"!reader

summary: in which sanji is trying to cook dinner but you're very, very distracting. or, sanji finally meets his match.

a/n: i know i said i might not write for anyone other than zoro but i lied. i guess i'm a sanji bitch now too. fuck.

Sanji’s always liked to say that he can cook anywhere, anytime, given that he’s got something that resembles heat and a smattering of ingredients — like any great artist, he knows how to make do. But, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this — the quiet of a ship’s kitchen, the gentle sway of the ocean, the simmer and pop of fat on a pan, the soft bubbling of boiling water — and you.

You, perched on the counter with your legs hanging off the side, hair piled up and pinned with a chopstick, a book in your hands or on your lap, the early afternoon sun spilling in to caress your skin like so many loving fingers. Sometimes, he’ll glance over while chopping onions or mincing garlic to catch a glimpse of you, and he’d find himself stilling, his fingers slowing, his breath suspended in his chest, caught like an insect in amber: held weightless and perfect.

“You’re staring,” you say, flipping a page without looking up, a smile twitching at your lips.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve found that admiring beautiful things helps me in my creative process,” he says, his grin going lopsided as he lowers his eyes to the ingredients on the cutting board — tiny, plump cherry tomatoes ripe to bursting. He resumes slicing each in half with swift, decisive cuts and relishes in the sound of your laughter.

“Careful with that mouth of yours — someone might accidentally fall in love with you,” you flip another page.

Sanji slides the cut tomatoes into a bowl and wipes a hand on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Accidentally? C’mon, you gotta gimme some more credit. But if anyone’s fallin’ in love, it’s gonna be with you.”

Another page. Sanji plucks a few zucchini from a large bag and starts to julienne them into thin strips.

“What are you making?” you ask, finally setting the book down in favor of peering at all the ingredients he’s got laid out. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing up.

“What, finished with that book already?”

“Nope — just found something more interesting to look at, that’s all.”

Sanji blushes.

Let it never be said that Vinsmoke Sanji can’t take as good as he gives but by all the gods and monsters and sea kings — you’re a damn good flirt. Almost as good as he is, he used to think. Now, as he covers up his rapidly darkening cheeks with a chuckle, turning away to grab a potato for skinning, he wonders if you might just be better.

“You never answered my question, y’know.”

He looks up again, his tongue feeling strangely swollen and uncoordinated in his mouth. You’re grinning at him, your legs still swinging, but in the few seconds he’d looked away, you’ve inched closer, your outer thigh now almost pressing against the edge of his cutting board.

The first time he’d found you perched up on his long work table with a book in your lap, he’d blinked, crossed his arms, and debated on asking what on earth you thought you were doing. Chefs generally do not take kindly to their prep spaces being treated like free real estate for sitting, but he’d never been able to say no to a beautiful woman, now has he? And least of all you.

“Thought you could use the company,” was your answer to his then-unasked question. He’d laughed, nodded, and gotten on with his breakfast prep. But that was months ago and since then, it’s become something of a habit; a ritual, almost.

“What question was that? I was —” he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers almost slipping on the freshly peeled potato, “distracted by your —”

“What are you making?”

“Oh —” Sanji returns his gaze to the cutting board, now acutely aware of the smell of your skin, creamy and warm. He swallows, trying to focus on slicing the potato.

“Just a cherry tomato and zucchini noodle pasta — not often that we get such fresh produce. But Luffy’d asked if I can make chips from scratch the other day so that’s what this bad boy’s for,” he says, holding up half the potato.

“You sure one potato’s gonna be enough?” you shift your leg to cross one above the other, and Sanji has to swallow passed the thickness building up in the back of his throat at the sight of your soft, smooth thighs.

“Good point,” he says, laughing as he bends down to grab a few more.

You fall into a companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by the tack-tack-tack of his knife on the cutting board and the occasionally shunk-thump of ingredients being swept into a metal prep bowl.

“You’re staring,” he says. And this time, it’s Sanji who grins, keeping his eyes fixed on the remainder of the herb mix he’s chopping up.

“Yeah, I know. I’m making a habit of admiring beautiful things. I’ve heard that it’s good for me.”

Heat bursts in Sanji’s chest as if he’d swallowed a shot of whiskey or gin or perhaps something even more potent. His head spins, but he steadies himself before letting out a soft, low whistle. He fights the urge to look up just to check if you’re as affected as he is.

“Keep talkin’ like that and falling in love with you’s not gonna be an accident.”

When he finally looks up to shoot you a flirty smile, he finds himself faltering as he meets your eyes.

“Who said I wanted it to be an accident?”

The knife in Sanji’s hand slips and he swears as it knicks the skin of his forefinger.

“Ah, shit —”

“Oops.” You have the decency to look sheepish as he shoots you a mildly reproachful look. But you shift your legs and tug open a drawer that had been tucked beneath where your knee had been, pulling out a small bandage.

“Come here,” you offer, reaching out as he stares at you for a second before moving forward to give you his hand. You gently wipe away the blood before pressing the bandage to the small cut, running a thumb over the edges to make sure it’s sealed.

The air hangs between you like dust motes trapped in sunlight, like first snow caught in the silvery breaths of awestruck children.

“There,” you say, the word no more than a whisper. Your hands linger over his, his skin burning where you’d touched him. Shivers skitter down the length of his spine as he gulps in a breath of air that tastes faintly of fairytale endings and happily-ever-afters.

“Thanks.”

He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

Like this, he can count every single lash that frames your doe-wide eyes. Like this, he can feel the static thrum of electricity threatening to jump from his body to yours, and all at once, he understands why lightning always tries to reach for the closest thing to its storm-ridden skies.

Perhaps it, too, yearns for closeness — for that infinitesimal moment of connection.

He wants to reach for you.

Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.

An alarm goes off.

“Oh fuck —”

He jerks away from you, the world clanging rudely back into focus as he reaches for the lid of a large pot, his heart hammering something fierce inside his ribcage. He nearly burns himself on the thick fog of steam rising from inside the pot to reveal six flat-face crabs, freshly caught that morning.

Behind him, he hears the distinct sounds of you slipping from the long work table.

“Leaving already?” he asks as he turns back around with a stab at his usual light-hearted cheek.

You lick your lips, grinning, “I feel like I’ve caused enough damage for one dinner service. If I keep hanging around, you might lose a finger next.”

“Small price to pay for the company of a beautiful woman,” but there’s a gravel and grit to his voice that wasn’t there before, and he looks away first when this time your eyes catch. He tries to busy himself with prepping the pan sauce for the crabs.

“I’ll let Nami know that the next time she wants to peek in on you cooking.”

“Hey —”

You pause at the sound of his voice just as you reach the door. You turn.

Sanji’s expression flickers between caution and anticipation as he opens his mouth, his eyes somehow sharper and darker than they usually are.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

You cock your head, “About what?”

But there’s a smile teasing at the corner of your lips and Sanji lets out a good-humored sigh.

“Alright, go. Or else I might lose more than a finger.”

Like a heart, he thinks as you close the door behind you with a soft click.

Dinner is an appetizer of cold zucchini pasta followed by a warm, tangy tomato veloute. Then come the crabs — freshly steamed over a bed of risotto and served with a lemon and rosemary pan sauce so delicious it has even Zoro sighing with satisfaction.

“Wow, special occasion?” Nami asks, looking up as Sanji comes around with a tray full of cocktails, complete with blood orange slices garnishing the lip of each glass.

“Ain’t every day a special one with this crew?” he asks, winking at Nami as she takes her drink.

Everyone laughs, but as he sets down your drink, you notice a tiny note tucked beneath the base of your glass.

You take a sip of your drink, glancing down at the note. It has three simple words written in Sanji’s unmistakable, slanted handwriting:

Kitchen — after dinner.

You tuck the note away in your pocket with a secret grin, taking another long sip of the cold, refreshing drink.

The final course is a heaping pile of home-made potato chips with garlic and cheese dip, and Luffy wastes no time in shoveling half the batch into his mouth, crunching loudly over a series of vague, animalistic hums and grunts that all seem to denote happiness.

You finish your drink and slip away under the guise of going for another.

When you get to the kitchen, it's to find Sanji already cleaning up.

“Need a hand?” you ask, setting your empty glass on the counter before lightly hoisting yourself up onto it.

Sanji shakes his head, turning off the water and wiping down his hands. He pours you another drink from a large pitcher before setting it down and pursing his lips.

“This afternoon —”

“I meant what I said —” you say, cutting him off as you look away, eyes fixed on your knees as you swing your feet away from the table’s edge, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sanji clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette and a lighter, if only to keep his hands busy. The thing in his chest that he’d been so convinced was his heart for most of his life now feels very much like a ticking time bomb. Or perhaps a hand grenade, with the pin held precariously between your teeth.

One word from you and —

“So? What about you?” you ask.

Sanji sucks in a long breath of smoke, holding it in his lungs before letting it out. The familiar sting grounds him as he looks at you and wonders if you know all the things he’d do for you. All the things he’s already done.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yeah — did you mean it?” And for the first time since he’s known you, you sound uncertain, “All… all those things you said? All the things you’ve been saying?”

He takes a few steps forward, finally allowing himself to breach the delicate circle of your personal space, his free hand coming to rest on the counter next to your thigh, his palm pressing flat to keep himself from going too far, too fast.

“Three guesses,” he says, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips and linger there, “You guess right… and there might be a prize involved, hm?”

A small, knowing grin spreads across your lips even as you quirk an eyebrow.

“Three guesses to a yes or no question? C’mon, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch.”

Sanji leans in and you can almost taste the smoke on your tongue.

“But you do know better, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You suck in a breath, reaching up to tug the cigarette from his lips.

“Yes.”

You catch a flash of his smile a second before his lips find yours. He tastes of salt and tobacco and lemon-rosemary sauce.

“That’s one,” he says as the pair of you break apart. The cigarette lies forgotten on the counter.

Somehow, his hands have found their way to the bend of your waist, settling there as naturally as the tide might settle against its favorite stretch of forgotten beach.

You smile as you reach up to tug him closer, “Yes.”

Another kiss.

Sanji notes with a satisfied grin that your cheeks are just as flushed as his feels when he pulls away this time. He nods, trailing long fingers up your side, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, the other pressing at the small of your back.

“That’s two.”

You nudge his nose with yours and he feels his hand-grenade heart leap into his throat.

“And…” you hum, letting your head lilt to one side as you ghost your lips over his, “Hm, lemme think about this one…”

Sanji rolls his eyes, tugging you forward by the back of your neck, crushing your mouth to his. It’s more insistent this time — the kiss, the breath, his fingers, your hands — more desperate and fumbling, fueled by the ever-growing heat bubbling at the base of his spine.

“Yes —” you hiss, panting as the pair of you pull apart, your pupils blown wide and dark in the dim kitchen light.

“And that’s all three,” he says, his smile going wide with warmth, “See? You’ve got it. Knew you’d get there.”

“Did you ever doubt?”

Sanji shrugs, taking half a step back to admire the sight of you, with kiss-swollen lips and heat-flushed skin. Perfect might not be strong enough a word.

“There was a moment here or there,” he says, to which you respond with a light shove to his shoulder as you hop off the table.

“Oh, I meant to ask you — what’s for dessert?”

Sanji laughs, “What? Did my garlic-cheddar chips not satisfy?”

“Really? Chips for dessert? And here I was hoping for something sweet.”

You make to leave the kitchen but Sanji reaches forward, pulling you back all too easily, spinning you around and pinning you against the door. His eyes are soft with mirth but as he leans down, you can’t help but shiver at the promise of something more lingering beneath the smoke of his breath.

“Well then, sweetheart, I think I’ve got my dessert picked out already now, don’t I?”

recs r technically closed, but... if you have an opla!sanji one... send it here.

[adharastarlight]

The Marauders on a road trip:

Sirius driving at 90

James: slow down, mate

Sirius speeds up

Reg: slow down.

Sirius ignores him

Remus: Slow. Down.

Sirius immediately slows down to 50