#can i go back to being numb now. i'm done w/ this i don't wanna feel things anymore

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

why am I so fucking easy though he barely even manipulated me

[revasserium]

hiii i'm a new follower and i love your writing so much

ik u said no requests in ur bio but i just finished reading ur sanji fic.. so even if ur still not taking requests i'd just like to throw in an idea that u may or may not feel like using in the future, up to you (i'm requesting this with opla sanji in mind but if u wanna use it for zoro that's cool too)

k so imagine reader being invited to a friend's wedding, & being excited to go until they find out their ex is coming too (with their partner of some amt of yrs). so now reader is pressured to bring someone w/ them & ends up asking their best friend sanji bc they don't want others thinking they're still hung up on the past.

wedding dress

opla!sanji; 6,544 words, pining with a happy ending, fluff and a tad of angst, flirting, lovesick!sanji, whipped!!!!sanji, no "y/n", zeff is a whole mood, confessions, sanji-appropriate nickname usage, modern!au?

summary: you invite sanji to be your plus 1 at a wedding

a/n: im so sorry this took so long. but. better late than? never? also, there is a tiny bit of rehashing for ep 6 of the live action for sanji and zeff's relationship so... spoilers?

It’s a chilly, overcast kind of day when the call comes in. And in retrospect, Sanji thinks he should’ve known better when he’d seen your name on the caller ID. He’d hesitated, because by god if it wasn’t his New Year's Resolution to get the hell over you this year, but it’s almost December again and he still can’t help the way his heart races at the sound of your voice.

“Hey sweetheart — long time no talk!” he answers after a brief moment of contemplating his entire life, dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“Hey! Sorry for calling so… out of the blue…” your voice is still as sweet as ever, and the way his stomach twists at the tinkle of your nervous laughter makes him want to kick himself. Still, he forces himself to stay calm, clearing his throat as he checks the oven — it’s almost done pre-heating.

“Now you know what I said about actin’ a stranger — just because you moved halfway across the entire world doesn’t mean we ain’t best friends anymore, right?”

It’s what you’d said when he’d been standing at the airport, three seconds from dropping to his knees and begging you not to go. But he hadn’t, because he knew how hard you’d worked for this — for this opportunity abroad, to study art in the birthplace of the Renaissance itself, in the heart of Italy.

“And… you might be able to come visit me, right?” you’d said, rocking on the balls of your feet, your eyes full of what Sanji could only call false hope — which is always, always the worst and most painful kind.

Sanji had swallowed and nodded and said something or other about Europe and fine dining, but there’s a terrible, prickling heat eating up the back of his neck and a voice that’s screaming at him to pull you to him and kiss you. He doesn’t. And he regrets it to this day.

“Ah — right… I’m actually calling because… I’ll be in the area in about a week and…”

Your voice pulls him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, hitches a smile to his face that he knows you can’t see but he’s sure you can hear.

“Oh! That’s great, darling! You’ve gotta come for a drink, I’ll whip up all your favorites — we can make a night —”

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

There are a few moments in everyone’s lives when they learn the true meaning of a thing for the very first time — elation, pride, stomach-twisting guilt, and… fear. True fear, the kind of fear that shakes the muscle from your bones and sends them tingling, threatens to overwhelm you with numbness. Fear, that pushes adrenaline through you like a drug, forces the world into a terrifying, all-consuming focus.

Sanji feels the fear coursing through him, wild and contentious at your words.

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

He can’t bear to think of it; he’s so terrified he can barely breathe.

Then comes the moment after, the wave of everything else that the fear had washed away — confusion, anger, guilt (always guilt, for some reason), because isn’t he supposed to be happy for you? For you, the person he loves most in this entire world, to find love, to know happiness. He should. He should.

“Oh.”

Sanji sags back against the hard, metal counter. Almost mindlessly, he reaches into his pockets with shaking hands, digging around for a smoke.

Your breath is soft in his ear, too far across the phone line and a thousand miles of ocean.

“I originally wasn’t even planning on going — she’s not a very close friend — we had like one class together but —”

And within the span of a minute, Sanji also learns relief. The kind that melts the world around you into sizzling butter and champagne bubbles. The kind that makes you want to lie down on the ground and scream.

“— it was so close to your restaurant so I said yes but I didn’t know he was gonna be there and —”

You’re still talking, rambling like you do. And it takes nearly everything inside Sanji to pull himself back to the conversation.

“Sorry, love, who did you say was gonna be there?”

“My ex — you know the one —”

Sanji grimaces, flicking on his lighter with still-shaking fingers.

“Mm, yeah I do. The tall, dark-haired bastard who —”

“Yeah well — he’s gonna be there too and I just —” he hears you swallow hard and take a long, steadying breath. An unnameable something is calcifying in the depths of his stomach as he waits for you to collect yourself.

Curiosity? Why had you called like this, so suddenly, about a wedding where your ex was going to be? Concern? Were you thinking of going back to him?

But slowly, as you stutter through your next few words, the unnameable thing obtains a name — dread.

“— I just don’t think I could do it myself, y’know? And — and you were the one who got me out of it wh-when I decided to break it off with him so…”

Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and casts his eyes up at the high, white-slabbed ceiling of the kitchen, scored with long strips of bright, fluorescent lighting that floods the entire room in a direct, unforgiving glow.

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

“Course I’ll come with you, darlin’. It —” he wets his lips, taps off a bit of ash from his cigarette, and sucks in through his nose, clearing his throat of the words still lodged there, “— it’d be my honor.”

Relief — he hears it in your voice, and by gods he can almost see it — the way your whole face would light up, washed as if by the setting sun, your eyes wide and dark, your cheeks flushing his favorite fucking shade of pink and —

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really owe you for this one —”

Sanji makes a valiant effort at a nonchalant chuckle; it comes out sounding like a dog with a bit of bone stuck in its throat instead.

“Nonsense — what are best friends for, anyway?”

There’s a tiny pause where Sanji can feel the words best friend scraping along the insides of his mouth, barbed and harsh, leaving his tongue feeling raw and metallic.

“You really are the best friend anyone could ask for,” your voice is soft and honest and Sanji wants nothing more than to chuck his phone into the industrial blender.

You tell him that you’ll send him the details, that you can’t wait to see him soon, that you’ve got a world and a half of catching up to do, that you’ll buy him so, so many drinks, and that you’ll come bearing presents. He laughs at the right times, makes soft noises of consent and agreement, and when finally, finally you tell him goodbye, he clicks off the phone and takes another long drag of his smoke.

And then, he whips his hand back and throws the cigarette butt into the large sink, where it tinks against the metal and sizzles sadly in the murky dishwater.

“Real sucker for punishment, aren’tcha, lil’ eggplant?”

Sanji groans, turning around to find Zeff with his arms folded, the hip to his bad leg propped against a counter.

“Will you fuck kindly off — can’t you see I’m going through a thing here?”

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

“You been going through that thing for the last year and a half since you chickened outta askin’ her to stay so —”

“I didn’t chicken out — I — it was her dream to go to Florence and study —”

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

Sanji bangs his palm against the counter and sighs, “It’s not like I could leave you here with —”

“With what? A thriving restaurant business that I started? A guest list out the door and round the corner —”

“I — I helped!”

Zeff rolls his eyes, “Ah sure ya did, but I never asked you to, did I?”

Sanji huffs, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the torrent of horrible, sad, acrid things he could say and could never mean, so he swallows them back down. When he looks up next, Zeff is still standing there, but there’s a softness around his eyes.

He opens his mouth a few times, but eventually, all he says is, “The oven’s over heatin’.”

Sanji swears and jumps up to tug open the oven door. A wave of hot air whooshes out and nearly catches him in the face. Behind him, he can hear Zeff’s dark, gravelly chuckle, and the dull clunk of his wooden leg.

“You burn the kitchen down, you pay for it.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door swinging behind him, and Sanji very much alone with the too-hot oven and a counter full of things he can’t really remember the recipes for anymore.

Nearly a week later, Sanji finds himself standing at the airport, rocking on the balls of his feet, nearly in the exact same place as he’d been a year and a half prior. Except this time, you’re not walking away from him. You’re walking back towards him. He wonders if there’s a name for deja-vu in reverse and comes to the realization that that’s just called… a memory.

And memory seems to work in strange ways now, images superimposing themselves on top of one another — the flicker of a film lens, the bat of an eyelash, the shadow of a smile crimping the corner of your lips. All of this, he sees in the here and now, but he sees it in the air around you too, shimmering and mirage-like — all his memories and dreams of you layered over the shape of you. Your memory like a ghost of itself, trailing behind you as you walk towards him, a shy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed from travel and the cold and —

He doesn’t let himself hope. Not this time.

“Hey!” your voice is just as bell-like as he remembers it, pitched a little higher than it usually is, probably out of nervousness. But it still feels like a kick to the guts. Sanji forces himself to smile.

“Hi, love,” he says, leaning down as you reach him, but the motion aborts halfway because — is it still appropriate to hug you like he’d always done? To press his lips to your cheek or your hairline and revel in the bright citrus of your shampoo, to soak in the butter and cream of your skin like he used to?

There’s an awkward half-second pause before you’re standing up on tip-toe and Sanji’s heart nearly drops out of his ass as you lean in. But then — your lips skim by his cheek and your arms are around him, and stupid, stupid, stupid heart — thundering in his chest like horses or hooves or fists or thumping rabbit’s feet — leaping into his throat and pattering against the base of his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. But it’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

He breathes and distantly, a part of him notes that you still use the same shampoo.

“Hi…” your voice is warm by his ear, a bit muffled, but he can’t help the way it makes him shiver, “It’s… so good to see you.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice to do the normal thing and, oh, you know — work.

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough as he nods again. He feels your arms slackening around him and a fierce, terrifying thing is flapping its wings in his stomach, screeching at him not to let you go. But he does — like he did before.

“I — I missed you too,” he says, though his voice sounds flat and scratchy and he clears his throat again.

A dozen different expressions flicker across the lovely planes of your face and finally, it settles on endeared exasperation.

“Please don’t tell me you still work through like three packs of smokes a day.”

Sanji laughs then, shaking his head as he reaches over for your luggage, “Nah — well, maybe not three but —”

You whack him softly on the arm.

“I actually tried to quit right after you left.”

“You did?”

Sanji shrugs as the pair of you start to make for the exit. He feels your gaze go slanted and shrewd.

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

You whack him again and this time, he dodges out of the way just to bask in the bright spark of your laughter as you chase after him.

“Seriously though, you know how terrible they are for you!”

“Sure do,” he says, tugging one out of his pocket as soon as he clears the airport doors, pivoting left towards the parking garage. You have to jog to keep up with his longer strides, your breaths misting the air between you in silvery puffs.

He makes no move to light it as he helps toss your luggage into the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You huff as you wiggle into the passenger’s side.

“Then why —”

Sanji waits patiently for you to buckle your seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting soft against the middle console. He slates you a glance.

“Cause,” he says, fixing his eyes back on the road, an easy smirk twisting his lips, “it’s a metaphor.”

You groan, sinking into the seat, “Just because you read John Green one time —”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I read his entire bibliography after you showed him to me.”

“Ugh, whatever you manic-pixie-dreamgirl-loving ass.”

“Yeah, whatever — you actual manic pixie dreamgirl.”

You smile and Sanji allows himself the brief and aching delusion that the past year and a half didn’t happen, that you never left, and that you’d never leave. That you’d always be here, warm and laughing and just within reach.

The rest of the car ride is spent in mundane conversation, in how was your flight and tell me about Florence and how’s Zeff doing these days and I wanna know about your latest dish. It’s light and easy, and Sanji lets it warm the air around him. By the time he pulls into the front of your hotel, all the unsaid words from the past year and a half have soaked through his socks and into his shoes. It sloshes out onto the pale pavement as he opens the car door.

He helps you roll your luggage up into the lobby and tells you he’ll be here at 3PM to pick you up tomorrow. The venue’s just three blocks away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you say, pursing your lips, waving as he backpedals towards the automatic doors.

“You’ve still gotta send me pictures of the dress you’re wearing — I gotta find a matching tie.”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed, “Right — and here I thought I might surprise you.”

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

“O-oh! Er — well, you can just — just tell me what color or —” he waves vaguely, “send a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against —”

You nod, eyes glittering, eager once more, “Oh! That’s a good idea — I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Sanji says.

“Great!” you echo, perhaps a bit too chipper.

He gives you one last smile before turning and striding from the hotel, firing up the engine as calmly as he can, forcing himself not to turn and check if you’re still watching him through the brightly lit, sliding glass doors. He allows himself a glance through the rear-view mirror as he pulls away from the drive and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re still standing there, right in the middle of the lobby, fingers wrapped around the handle of your suitcase, your eyes fixed on the shadow of his retreating car.

He lights the smoke the second he turns the corner, your shadow no longer in his rear-view mirror.

That night, Sanji dreams in fits and leaps, flashing images and long, sticky streams of could-have-beens —

He dreams of your laughter in a white-tiled kitchen, of powdered sugar and eggshells cracked and leaking on an exposed wood counter, chopsticks clinking against a thick glass mixing bowl. He dreams of your voice echoing off the shower tiles as you sing off-key, the way you used to when you’d sneak into his college dorm for movie night and a midnight snack. He dreams of coffee mugs and errant rose petals and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He dreams of dancing with you in his arms in a darkened dorm room that morphs into a bigger room with a softer carpet, one that he’d never seen before but he knows implicitly (like bodies know) is his home — it has pictures on the walls, trinkets lining the far bookshelf, your favorite scarf draped over the back of the well-worn sofa.

In the dream, you pull your head back from where it's pillowed against his shoulder and smile up at him. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hovering half an inch from yours.

Sanji jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, fingers fumbling for his phone, groaning as he smashes the orange snooze button and flips over to bury his face back into his lumpy pillow.

“Ah… fuck.”

It’s not the first time he’s had that dream, and he knows it won’t be the last. But it’d been so real that night, real enough to make him wonder if it just might come true.

He rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes and peers blearily at all the notifications on his screen. There’s a text from you with a picture attached. He clicks it open to find a short message attached to the picture — I really did want to surprise you…

He blinks for three seconds at what looks like a blurry picture of studded black silk before he remembers —

“Send me a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against.”

He allows himself a laugh, swinging his feet out of bed even as he types back — you coulda just told me it was black…

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, before the text appears — well there are different shades of black, right???

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

A string of tongue-out emojis, followed by an equally long string of middle-finger emojis.

He spends the rest of the morning fussing over which specific black tie to wear before settling on one that he’s quite sure is the exact same shade of black as your dress (and yes, he does have quite the collection of black ties), before tugging his best suit out to press.

It shouldn’t feel so easy, slipping back into the rhythm of things, of texting and smiling and hearing your voice in his head when he reads your texts. It shouldn’t feel so easy to forget the months of radio silence and guilt, the oppressive, resonant weight of what might have been if either of you had done a single thing different that day at the airport — he wonders if he should’ve reached for your hand, he wonders if you’d ever looked back.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

He is waiting for you in the lobby at 2:45, wearing a hole into the plush Persian carpet, collecting strained looks from the concierge who had assured him three times in the last four minutes that he’d already rung up to your room and that you’d said you were on your way.

“Wow, you’re early — sorry I took a while — I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair and —“

Sanji lifts his head and thinks distantly that all those rom-com cliches of a guy looking up, time itself slackening, the room smearing sideways around him, the music going slow, the lighting soft — all of it is painfully, startlingly true after all.

Because there you are, walking towards him, still saying something, but he can’t make out the words anymore because time isn’t really a thing anymore, is it? He can’t focus on that and also the dark glimmer of your dress, the way the neckline skates just beneath your collarbones, barely skimming the skin there before it slips down along the slope of your shoulders in a way that makes his breath unspool inside his chest like loose threads.

And in the slanted, ethereal light of the winter afternoon, your dress looks like it’s cut from a swath of darkest midnight, moonless and scattered with stars.

You blush as Sanji attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor and hitch his lips into something resembling a smile.

“W-wow… you look…”

Your smile is shy as you press your palms against the dress, looking down, “Thanks… you don’t think it’s… too much?”

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

“No! I mean — it’s —“ his mouth is dry, drier than he ever remembers it being, and suddenly it’s very hard to swallow and Sanji isn’t even sure the muscles in his neck know how to perform the action, let alone force words out alongside it. He struggles for another few seconds, his jaw working furiously as his eyes skitter down and back up the shape of you.

“You look… perfect,” he says, finally, because the word has been ricocheting around his chest like a stray bullet and he had to let it out somehow.

“Thanks — you don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, your voice breathy in a way that makes Sanji’s stomach squeeze.

He offers you his arm, and you glide forward to take it.

He drives the three blocks to the wedding venue in a daze, his mind spinning slow and off-axis, tilted so by the gentle waft of your perfume, the lullaby of your voice as you chatter nervously about this and that and the weather, I mean, can you believe it’s gonna be an outdoor wedding in the winter? He wonders briefly why you’re so nervous, and then he’s reminded of the reason he’s even here at all — your ex will be here. Ah. Right.

“Ready?” he asks, offering you his arm again as the both of you follow the meandering stream of arriving guests toward the paved outdoor garden area where the ceremony is due to take place.

“No, but… you’re here so…” you let out a breath and for a second, Sanji almost thinks he hears the hint of an ache in your voice. An ache like an old scab picked at too many times, like unrequited love, perhaps. It’s an ache with which Sanji is so intimately familiar that he immediately tamps it down and vows not to think about it again for the rest of the night.

There are stiff-backed waiters wandering around with plates of hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of bubbling pink champagne.

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

“Bottoms up,” you say, tossing back the entire flute in one.

Sanji cocks his eyebrows, grinning as he follows suit, smacking his lips.

“Alright then, I guess if that’s how you’re playin’ —”

Your laughter is light, if a little strained, but he remembers how quickly bubbly drinks tend to go to your head and makes a concerted effort to slow down. You make it all the way through the actual ceremony without bumping into your ex, though you do lean over and grab Sanji’s hand as the bride and groom exchange vows — something about love being a choice, one that they promise to make every morning of every day for the rest of their lives — and he looks over to find you misty-eyed, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sap,” he whispers, leaning over. It earns him a choked laugh and a half-hearted elbow in the ribs, but it’s worth it to see the tension melt from your shoulders.

Sanji turns back towards the bride and groom, exchanging rings now, and unbidden comes the images of you and him standing where they are — you in a dazzling white gown, him still in a dark suit, but one perhaps of more expensive material and much better tailoring. He thinks about all the things he might promise you, wonders at what you might promise him in return —

“I promise to love and cherish you —” you might say.

“I promise to make all your favorite foods,” he might say.

“I promise not to touch your emotional support le creuset pans.”

“I promise not to make you taste all my experimental dishes —”

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

He imagines the way the crowd would titter, how the officiator would affectionately clear his throat. He imagines Zeff’s warm, well-worn laughter, rough and a little torn at the edges because he’s just as sentimental as the next guy behind all the beard and gruffness. He imagines the crowd smiling up at the pair of you, the way you’d squeeze his hands to get the both of you back on track —

He jerks out of his reverie as you tug your hand away from his to clap, and it takes him a beat to realize that everyone else is clapping and cheering too. He blinks — the bride and groom are kissing, pulling apart as the music swells around them and they link hands to walk back down the aisle.

Sanji clears his throat and hurriedly gets up to clap as well, his eyes trailing the radiant smiles on both the newlyweds’ faces. Another sharp ache sings through him but he feels your hand in his again and he can’t tell if he wants to grip you tighter or pull away. They’d both hurt just as much, wouldn’t they?

“C’mon, let’s get inside — I wanna judge the catering with you,” you whisper, your breath tickling his cheek, and he knows without having to look that you’re standing on your tiptoes, your chin almost propped on his shoulder.

He fights down a bout of shivers and smiles, “My favorite part of any formal event, honestly.”

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

So you spend the entire dinner service whispering to each other about the food —

“God, this steak is so well done I think it just might dislocate my jaw —”

“What’s in this sauce?”

Sanji chews thoughtfully before making a face, “Dunno, but it’s got oregano.”

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

“Yeah, but we both know how much sugar and butter goes into that right?”

You nudge him with an elbow, “Weird, cause I’m pretty sure happiness is also made of sugar and butter.”

“Well for me, it’s always been…” but Sanji trails off, biting his tongue. No. He can’t say that — not now. Not here.

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

So instead, he swallows passed his own mouthful of regrets and attempts a lopsided grin. And thankfully, your attention is drawn elsewhere by a loud peal of laughter before he has to make a shitty joke about happiness being a well-lit kitchen and a gas-lit stove.

You’re both at least a bottle of champagne deep when it finally happens, inevitable as a summer storm — your ex saunters up to you on the dance floor, sporting a grease-slick grin, eyeing you up and down like a piece of well-cut meat. Sanji is at the bar, grabbing more drinks and you’re catching a breath of fresh air just outside the dance hall.

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

Sanji turns sharply at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing — Asshat. Fantastic. The bartender is putting the finishing touches on two custom cocktails but blinks, confused, as Sanji swipes both drinks out from the bar and casts him a hurried grin.

“Thanks mate, these look great,” Sanji raises the cocktail glasses at the bewildered bartender before hurrying off, slowing ever so slightly as he reaches you, straightening his spine and smoothing out his shoulders.

“Here, got them special-made for you,” he says, pressing the cocktail into your hand, cutting into something that Asshat is saying.

“Oh! Thanks — oh wow, this looks so good!” you beam up at him, taking a sip.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you were still hangin’ out with this guy,” Asshat says, hooking his thumbs into his belt-hoops and jutting out his chin.

You frown, pressing your lips, “Excuse me?”

Asshat scoffs, posturing, “I mean, when we broke up, it was cause o’him right? So I just thought you might’ve realized what a mistake that was and —”

Sanji barely has the time to feel offended before Asshat is gasping and stumbling back. You’d tossed the remainder of your drink straight into his face.

“What the —” Asshat sputters, his fists clenching, but quick as anything, Sanji swipes out a leg that catches him right in the shins and makes him stumble. In one fluid movement, Sanji pushes his own drink into your hand before reaching out the other arm to steady the now flailing Asshat, catching him around the shoulders.

“Whoa there! Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend!” he says, loud enough for the people around you to hear. He thumps Asshat on the back in a would-be kind gesture before tugging him close, still coughing, and hissing in his ear —

“Listen here, you asswipe — you’re gonna turn around and walk away and stay the fuck away from us for the rest of this wedding, you understand? I’ve got plenty more o’this for ya if you don’t, got it?”

Sanji scuffs his foot along the gravel-covered ground in a motion that could easily be mistaken as fidgeting, but you know better. And so, it seems, does Asshat, who scoffs and shoves Sanji off him with a glare, but after another second, straightens his drink-soaked jacket, turns, and stalks away.

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

“Hey darlin’… you alright?” Sanji turns and bends down to level his eyes with yours.

“Y-yeah — thanks — you didn’t need to —”

“Nah. Course I did — it’s why you invited me, right?” he allows himself a lopsided grin that borders on self-deprecating and you look up, eyes wide.

“No! I — that’s not —”

“It’s okay, love — I promise I’m not offended —” Sanji’s babbling, he knows he is — but he has to, because the alternative of letting you speak, of letting you confirm what he already knows to be true (that you’ve only ever seen him as a best friend, that you love him in all the ways except for the one way he wants you to, in the one way he loves you) is too much. He tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs up his shoulders, pulling them up towards his ears like armor.

And then you lean in and kiss him, and every single word he’s ever thought of saying just to fill the silence turns to mist and mornings on his tongue. His mind turns blissfully blank and when he regains consciousness (or has he? Because isn’t this the dream he’s dreamt every waking moment of his life for the past… however many years?), he thanks every god he can name that he feels his fingers in your hair, his other hand cupping the soft curve of your jaw. He tastes your uncertainty against his lips and presses in, hoping, praying that if he just kissed you hard enough you might understand.

When you pull away, he can’t help the satisfied purr that curls up his chest at the pinkness in your cheeks and the slightly glazed-over look in your eyes.

“O-oh — sorry I —”

Sanji shakes his head, leaning in to push his forehead against yours.

“Nah, nah, nah — if you tell me that was a mistake now I might just turn around and never speak to you ever again — because don’t you dare —”

You let out a helpless laugh, shaking your head as you reach up to cover his hands with yours. It’s only then that he realizes they’d been shaking. He swallows and he thinks he can taste every single morning after for the rest of his goddamn life in the whisper of your breath.

“It — it’s not, I wasn’t —” you close your eyes and Sanji holds you still, foreheads still pressed. Distantly, Sanji is aware that people are cheering, that more drinks are being poured, that the dance floor is probably a mess. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything else ever again — why would he? Now that he’s got you.

“Shh… take your time, love… we’ve got all the time in the world.”

He feels the relief take you, and then you’re falling into him, burying your face in the lapel of his suit jacket, probably smearing it with your foundation. Vaguely, Sanji considers framing it when he gets home.

“I’m… I’m sorry it took so long — I’m sorry I didn’t — that I wasn’t…” you curl your fist into the material of his shirt and thump him lightly on the chest, even as he laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“I know, darlin’… I know.” Sanji presses his lips into your hair and can’t help a smile.

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

“I thought about you every single day,” you admit, your voice small when you finally pull back to look at him again. He thinks there might be tears in your eyes, or maybe it’s just the starlight caught in the thick night sky of your lashes.

“Did you now?” he asks, fumbling for some semblance of normalcy amidst this night of revelations.

You nod, fervently, and god he wants to kiss you again. Briefly, he wonders if he should, if he’s allowed to now. Instead, he smiles and cocks his head.

“So? What changed?” and he can’t help the tiny note of hurt out of his voice, the slightest shiver of disbelief. After all, cynicism is a hard habit to break.

Especially after so many years of practice.

You shrug, sighing, “Nothing — everything. I mean — I’d always… but then I thought — you had your career as a chef and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. But it —” you lick your lips, and Sanji nearly breaks when you tear your eyes away from his. He wants to force you back, to soak in the dark and bright of your gaze till he can see the world exactly as you see it.

“It’s always been you…” you say.

At this, Sanji does break. He tips your face towards him with a thumb and a forefinger and leans in, waiting for you to pull back, bracing for it. But you don’t — instead, you press in and close the space between you again, and again, and then again.

He wants to tell you — he needs to tell you that it’s always been you too, that there’s never been anyone else. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he’s known, even though both of you were children back then, and neither of you had any idea what “love” actually meant. He knew then, too.

“Love…” his voice trails off, but you smile, and he knows you know, knows that you can hear it in the rawness behind his voice, in the softness of his breath, in the way it shakes.

You make to kiss him again. But your lips hover half an inch from his and you stop. Sanji sighs.

“What — why’d you stop?”

Your smile is sweet and sharp, honey glinting on a razor’s edge, and he knows that he has you. And maybe that he’s always had you and was just too blind, too terrified, to see it.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

You bat your lashes, pulling an expression of mock affront onto your face.

“Well at least wine me and dine me first —”

Sanji licks his lips, “What’dyou think I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Sanji smirks and kisses you again, slowly this time, languid and deep. Unhurried. He luxuriates in the way you go soft in his arms, in the way he can feel the gentle hitch of your breath as he runs his tongue along the edges of your teeth, coaxing you towards him, closer and closer and closer.

The hardest, angriest part of him wants to swallow you whole, bite down just to hear you hiss, to taste your blood on his tongue. To make you feel even a sliver of the pain he’d felt. He tamps it back down — there’s time for that later.

Instead, he forces himself to pull back and allows himself the satisfaction of watching you chase him, pursing your own lips with a bashful look away, your cheeks dark.

“So,” Sanji takes half a step back, puffing out his chest in the best imitation of a fuckboy at a wedding party, “wanna get outta here?”

You let out a helpless laugh, falling into his side. He lets the sound ring through him like so many silver bells.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He chuckles, looping an arm around your middle and leaning towards your ear.

“Your place, or mine?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure I still have a toothbrush at your place.”

Sanji hums, “You still have a whole drawer at my place.”

You smile up at him, open and happy and sincere, “Then… I guess that’s your answer then.”

[darksaiyangoku]

RWBY: Patience

Jaune laid on his bed after rough day of training. Ozpin took control of Oscar today and ramped his and Noctis's training tenfold. Even with his fast healing, he still felt sore. Sitting next to him was Yang, staring at him quizzically.

Yang: Jaune? You okay?

Jaune: Huh? O-Oh yeah, I-I'm fine. *sits up* W-Why? What's up?

Yang: ...that's what I was gonna ask you. You invited me to your room and didn't say a word to me since.

Jaune: Oh. Um, well, I... I kinda wanted to talk about what we're dealing with.

Yang: The Haven situation?

Jaune: Not just that. It's everything. I mean, just last year, the only thing we had to worry about were Team CRDL being a bunch of jerks. Now we find out there are gods, girls who can do magic, these relic things and a witch to top it all off. *deep sigh* I'm starting to think we're in way over our heads.

Jaune felt an oddly warm touch of metal and looked down to see Yang holding his hand. He looked back up and saw her frowning. Her lilac eyes looked dull, as if all the joy had left her.

Yang: To tell you the truth, I think so too. All I really wanted to do was get Ruby back. But now we're dragged back into this mess and it's not gonna get any easier.

Jaune: Well... what's stopping us from walking away from this? We don't have to do this, you know? We could all just start fresh. Let Ozpin deal with this himself.

Yang shook her head. She couldn't believe how selfish he was sounding right now.

Yang: Jaune, listen to me, *turns to face him* if we really could walk away from this, don't you think we would've done it already? This isn't exactly how I imagined ending up. But if we're not gonna stand up to Salem, who else is there?

Jaune: There has to be some other huntsmen and huntresses more capable than us, though. Why would Ozpin put his faith in a bunch of kids?

Yang: Because we've faced these dangers and we know it better than they do. Think about what we've lost. Vale, Lucis, Beacon. It's all gone now. *clenches fist* If we don't join him, all of Remnant is gonna end up just like them or worse... and that's not a world I want to live in.

Jaune stared into Yang's eyes and turned himself to her. A newfound fire was burning in his heart.

Jaune: I don't wanna live in that world either. I'm just scared.

Yang: So am I. *smiles* But we're not facing this alone. Haven won't fall like Beacon did.

Jaune and Yang continued staring into each other's eyes. They leaned in closer and Yang closed hers. Jaune was about to do the same, but hesitated and dragged himself back. Yang momentarily opened her eyes and gasped faintly. What were they doing?

Yang; Oh no. J-Jaune, I'm so sorry-

Jaune: N-No, that was my fault. I shouldn't have-

Yang: No don't say that I- I should probably go.

Jaune: Yang, wait!

Yang shook her head and reached for the door, frantically leaving the room. Jaune's arm was still outreached. Clenching his fist, he growled quietly. What was he thinking? He didn't mean to scare her like that. His chest was aching at the thought that Yang would hate him. Tears fell from his eyes as he sank to the floor. He didn't want to face it, but the truth was that he started to fall for her. It had been a month since they arrived in Mistral and he and Yang had been through so much together. He wanted to be with her so much. But in the back of his mind, he thought of Pyrrha and the pain that casued him was unbearable. It was tearing him apart.

Jaune: 🎶Just have a little patience.

Still hurting from a love I lost

I'm feeling your frustration

But any minute all the pain will stop🎶

Outside the door, Yang was sitting down, crying to herself.

Yang: 🎶Just hold me close inside your arms tonight

Don't be too hard on my emotions🎶

Jaune/Yang: 🎶'Cause I need time

My heart is numb, has no feeling

So while I'm still healing

Just try and have a little patience🎶

Yang: 🎶I really wanna start over again

I know you wanna be my salvation

The one that I can always depend🎶

Jaune: *pounds ground with his fist* 🎶I'll try to be strong, believe me

I'm trying to move on

It's complicated but understand me🎶

Jaune/Yang: 🎶'Cause I need time

My heart is numb, has no feeling

So while I'm still healing

Just try and have a little patience, yeah🎶

Jaune: 🎶Have a little patience, yeah🎶

Yang: 🎶'Cause these scars run so deep🎶

Jaune/Yang: 🎶It's been hard

But I have to believe

Have a little patience

Have a little patience🎶

Jaune/Yang: 🎶Woah, 'cause I, I just need time

My heart is numb, has no feeling

So while I'm still healing

Just try, and have a little patience

Have a little patience

My heart is numb, has no feeling

So while I'm still healing

Just try and have a little patience🎶

The two of them breathed in deep and stared at the door between them.

Jaune: Yang...

Yang: Jaune...

Jaune/Yang: I'll wait for you.

[1111jenx]

Placements that indicate someone deeply dark and secretive or won’t open up easily with many trust issues?

I love how you guys always ask the best questions:) Here are some things I've been noticing. Please keep in mind that this is strictly from my observations and research, if needed i'll link the links for yall to read more into it���

Astrology Notes:

Trust Issues Edition🌙

for more post like this click here

Capricorn suns with some Aquarius placements (or heavily fixed placements)/Capricorn Venus: They're naturally cold and detached with the outer world, very business-like and a lot of ambitions (capricorn rules over general business matters and air conditioning LOL i'm dead serious guys) -> Struggles with opening up sometimes, they had a harder trusting people because they always have to watch their back but these people can also be extremely possessive of their loved ones. emotional security matters a lot but will not show you. hate being seen as "weak" or a "failure". prideful by nature but cries themselves to sleep. keep getting wronged by the ones they trusted most.

Capricorn moon: selfish tendencies and their loved ones need to know this. will call you out. will get back at you for what you did. they know that everything comes with a price. don't believe in karma sometimes.

Aquarius moon: complexity and complicated thought processes. may come off as confident and relaxed but are extremely anxious and neurotic. their inner emotions are deep and dark, very similar to pisces but less dreamy and more idealistic. always look guarded. aquarius moons are tired of being disappointed so they just don't think about it anymore. tired of trusting.

Pisces moon: queens and kings of feels. understand emotions on another level. easily relate to pain and suffers and can "put themselves in others shoes". innocent and childlike sometimes. get used for their kindness and vulnerability. they tend turn to hate this side of them and put on a show of being heartless and unemotional to keep these energies vampires away. don't trust people easily anymore because they know people can't keep promises. suspicious but hate themselves for being suspicious.

Gemini moon: emotionally numb now cause they gave people too much chances. don't tell people everything they're thinking about because they would not be able to say it all. retreat when they sense harm.

Cancer moon/Scorpio moon: been there done that. they know they have too big of a heart and they refuse to be jerked around like clowns any longer. can be surprisingly sociable but they prefer a smaller circle. find the smallest holes in people's words. judgy simply because they don't wanna risk it anymore.

Taurus moon: too relaxed but if placed w an air sun can have a huge conflicts between their inner world and ego. crave stability deep down but come off as charming and flirtatious so people might not take them seriously. very fixed in values. similar to their sister Scorpio Moon, they just don't forget.

Aquarius sun with a lot of Capricorn/Saturn influences: similar to Capricorn sun with Aqua influences but they tend to analyze and rationalize everything. Try to give people chances but surprisingly hate being surprised now, risks sound fun but not all the time kinda mentality. they're also a fixed sign so they take betrayal rly hard.

Sun in 10H: boss bitch placement, also can go so wrong because they know their thirst for success is real and may assume others will also not spare anything to achive success.

Sun in 8H: goodluck getting them to open up LOL

Sun in 12H: empathetic people. fear intimacy but also love it and don't like having too much close friends.

1H/2H/8H/10H/12H stellium: 1st and 2nd house stellium know that at the end of the day they can only rely on themselves so they'd rather act selfish now than be disappointed . 8H is naturally secretive and don't give in easily. 10,12th house stelliums care for people deeply but they're socially intelligent and don't want to put up with bs or get used for their kindness and humanitarian sides anymore

Scorpio stellium/ Pluto dominant people: .....i'm not gonna explain this.

4th house stellium: This deserves its own section. 4H stellium can't even trust their own family at one point, you rly expect them to trust you?

air mars+capricorn/cancer mars: guarded people. defensive but more like they're always ready to defend themselves type beat rather than losing it. it's even harder for them to trust than water mars.

air mercury+capricorn/virgo mercury: detached and calculating.

3H ruler aspects to Pluto/Saturn: realistic thinkers. will not say stuff that jeopardize their lives. their head can sometimes be faster than their hearts.harsh with their words and can be naturally sarcastic to test people's limits. push others buttons before people can trigger their own. (squares, conjunctions)

Lilith in 1H, 3H, 4H, 8H, 10H and 11H.

Pluto in 1H, 4H, 7H, 8H and 10H.

Damaged Ceres(ceres~our second moon signs, what we need to feel nurtured and love) if damaged or has a lot of aspects to Pluto/Saturn and a lot of squares/oppositions to personal planets can show one's inability to tap in their sensible side.

Lilith in cardinal and fixed signs.

Moon harsh aspects to Pluto/Saturn&Lilith (conjunctions, squares and opposition)!

Lilith conjuncts Moon

Sun square/conjuncts Lilith.

Venus squares Mercury or Moon.

Saturn opposites Sun or Moon.

Earth in the first house/ Earth risings

Chart ruler in 2H,4H, 8H, 12H and 10H.

Here are some indicators I'd pay attention too:) Thank you so much for asking boo!

love,

saint jenx🖤

[rogue-barnes-16]

WHEN YOU COME BACK (part II/II)

Summary: After months of being friends with benefits, the dangerous agreement backfires and Bucky’s feelings for Y/n are exposed. Instead of talking it out, they make the situation worse, and it might get more difficult after a dangerous mission.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Genre: angst w/ a pleasant ending

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @notexactlythatgirl @thisismysecrethappyplace @sofreakinmanyfandoms @pizzarollpatrol @bubblycypress87 @1a-girl-has-no-name1 @loislp @lovenaturefirst @dyanna-corona @2ptonpt @goodnightmode @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @mannls @cutie1365 @catch22inareddress @mybooradley @sebastianisasnack @butifulsoul125 @unlikelygalaxygiver

Warnings: language, injuries

A/N: here it is my dudes. It was, for some reason I can't understand, heavily inspired by When the party's over by Billie Eilish, Haunted by Melanie Martinez, and What about us by P!nk. Just a little curiosity for y'all, hope you enjoy <3.

Part I

Rogue-barnes-16 masterlist

That night that we accidentally found each other in a shitty bar on our way out of Stark's house after Tony and Natasha's funeral, we shouldn't have lost control.

We wouldn't be in this situation, maybe I would haven't fallen that hard for him, and maybe he wouldn't think he loves me now.

We probably would be friends, close friends, or at least regular people who don't have to hide that they're sleeping with each other.

"Hey there, stranger." his voice was broken. He stumbled to the booth I was occupying, and I realized he was somehow as drunk as me. "rough week?"

"rough five years." I corrected him, sniffing. "It doesn't seem to get better." I felt the lump in my throat mixed with my hoarse voice as I chucked another shot of tequila. When I looked up at him, I noticed how red her eyes were. "what's wrong?"

"A lot." he replied, easing his position to rest against the backrest of the booth. "Never got to tell Natalia I remember." he shrugged. "Also wanted to... Apologize to Stark. Didn't get the chance to." he shut his eyes.

"Somethin' else." I stated more than questioned. "it's somethin' else."

He hesitated before looking at me with glassy eyes "can I tell you a secret?" I nodded lazily, muttering an 'always'. "Steve's leaving."

"What?" I frowned, sitting upright. "Where?"

He shook his head no with a sad smile in his face, a sad smile that held little happiness and too much sorrow. "When, not where."

"Director Carter..." I spoke in low voice, and Bucky nodded at me. I looked down, not knowing what to say. "at least he's got his happy ending."

"Yeah." tears streamed down his face as he drank from what I recognized as Thor's flask. "I'm happy for him." I tilted my head in disbelief and he denied slowly. "I really am."

"It's just the two of us now, Bucky." I whispered leaning against the wall to face him. "you should be selfish once in a while" I advised, scooting closer to him. "say what you think, no matter who gets hurt." our thighs were brushing as I leaned on him a little too close to whisper something in his ear. "you don't owe anything to this fucked up world."

His head spun and our eyes met. "I don't." he affirmed, letting his hand drop to my thigh as mines traveled to his hair. "you don't either." he bit his lip and I sighed. "You don't have to be strong all the time."

"what...?" I questioned quietly, too focused on his lips to even process what he was saying.

"Allow yourself to cry for 'em doll." his mutter made me let out a strained, shaky breath, remembering why I had hidden in a bar in order to numb my pain, remembering why I hadn't stayed with the rest in Pepper's house. "It's just the two of us now, Y/n..."

I looked up at him through glassy, blurred eyes just to see his in the same state. His eyes flickered to my lips, just like mines had been staring St him that whole time, and something took over the both of us.

It was probably the sadness, at least partially, and the thinking that losing more wasn't possible anymore, what made us close the gap in a sloppy, needy kiss, which would be the first of many, that night and the followings.

I had desperately wanted to apologize to Bucky for two days, in hopes of getting our friendship back.

I figured he didn't inform me he was back because he didn't want to see me, and that mere thought made my heart shrink until it physically hurt.

I was getting dressed when my phone buzzed. "Sam?" I called him, utterly confused. Sam rarely phoned me, he would just show up at my door. "what's wrong?"

"The mission went wrong. So fucking wrong." I couldn't ask about Bucky before he resumed his narration. "Listen to me carefully, 'cause he made me promise I wouldn't tell you shit."

"what- why?" I inquired, sitting down in my couch.

"Those fuckers were shooting me, there was no way I could dodge all of 'em, and that dumbass jumped in fucking front of me." his voice was strained due to the anger and the worry, and I felt my heart pounding against my chest. "he received two bullets. He's in the Avengers' private hospital. Pepper got us in."

"he what..." I was already grabbing my things to rush there, but he spoke again.

"you can't come, he'll kill me if he sees you here." Sam pointed out.

"why the fuck are you telling me then, Wilson?" it was desperate, and it was shaky, but I managed to get that question put of me without breaking.

"What the hell? 'Cause you're good for him, and I don't want you to think he dumped whatever you guys have." I stood there, my mouth in agape at his words. "Sharon's telling me she'll take care of the paperwork so we can go home in a couple of days."

"okay..."

"Go see him at his apartment on... Monday." he advised me. "at 9 pm, he won't have an excuse to avoid you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the fact that he knew I would definitely not forget about the day and the time he had told me, on Sunday Sam called to remind me it, and also to inform me that he had just left Bucky’s apartment. He was now there resting, and would be until tomorrow morning.

On Monday, at 9 pm I was carefully knocking on Bucky’s door, and he answered in no time.

"Sam, you better bring Chinese food you promised or-" he stood there, resting all his weight against the door and the door frame, taking in the fact that I was there. "Fuck..."

I had planned a whole speech, apologizing for what I had said in a thousand different ways, telling him how much I didn't want to lose him, and maybe, just maybe, confessing my feelings about him.

But everything was gone the moment I saw his bruises, his bandaged body under the tee, peeking out of the collar, the way he barely could stand upright.

Everything was gone. "what the fuck..."

"he told you, didn't he?" I couldn't even look at him in the eye, but I just knew he didn't either, just by how hurt and tired his voice sounded. "that's why you're here."

"I—"

"I'm fine Y/n..." he assured me, bitterness fading from his voice the second he started to sympathize with how I must be feeling, the second he imagined the situation reverted. The way guilt and fear most likely would have been killing him slowly. "I just need a few days to heal... You don't need to—"

He gasped when I my arms embraced him almost desperately as I tried to convince myself that I wouldn't lose him. "I swear on my fuckin' life, Barnes—" I choked on my words and he wrapped his arms around me not without closing the door to rest his back against it. "don't do this to me alright?" he took a deep breath with his nose buried on my crown as his thumbs caressed both my back and my shoulder. "don't-- I can't lose you... Not you-- please not you."

I didn't realize I was sobbing until I didn't feel my tears on his shirt. "You won't" ha assured me, trying to keep his voice uniform for me not to notice that he was crying too. "I'll heal soon, don't worry." his breath was sharp as he squeezed my body against him, despite the pain that he most probably was feeling. "I got you."

I pulled away when my hands accidentally sneak under his shirt and felt the bandages. "you gotta lay down."

"yeah, you're probably right."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"If you're here to apologize 'cause you feel guilty or bad... Don't." he requested, looking up at me from my lap. "you really don't need to." his voice slowly started to drop when I ran my hands through his hair. "It was my fault... I shouldn't have... Said..."

"I love you."

"yeah."

"No, Bucky." I stopped my motions and looked at him dead in the eye. "I love you. I have done for a long time." he was quiet. "When you said... I really didn't wanna believe it... I don't know I just—" I sighed, shutting my eyes and leaning against the backrest. "I don't-- I don't wanna lose more people that I love and if I didn't say it out loud, I felt-" I took a deep breath, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "I felt like I wouldn't lose--"

I didn't even feel when he had propped himself up to reach me, I only felt his velvety soft lips against mine in the most loving, sweet kiss I had ever had.

"I get it, but we... We gotta be brave." he stated, laying down again with a wince, gazing into my now open eyes. "we don't have regular lives... And I didn't wanna say it out loud either but... I- I needed you to know." I nodded, letting my fingers ran through his short hair once more. "I don't wanna lose you, but let's be honest, that possibility exist, and..." his voice started to drop again, slowly being lulled by my touch. "I'd rather having you know how much... How much you mean to me... Than regretting not... Tellin' ya all my life..."

"You're right." I replied, leaning over to peek his lips, and then his forehead. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted... I really, really am." my thumb rubbed lazily his forehead as my eyes observed him with the love I finally was able to disclose.

"Y/n." I hummed. "lay down with me, please." he requested, lifting for my to move my legs. "I wanna hug you again." I complied without hesitation, being careful not to hurt him. "I love you." He whispered in my ear, pulling me up to rest half of my body over him.

"I love you too."