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papayainsectorone · 4 days ago

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Back To Sector One

The Prequel (Part 1)

content: childhood-to-teenagers, rivals-to-lovers, coming-of-age, karting culture, longing, emotional repression, first times, fumbling affection, slow burn, shared history, soft smut, deep nostalgia, one (1) very sacred kiss in a trailer

word count: 2,6 k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

back to sector one - long fic - 1.5k special

series masterlist

The first time you met Oscar Piastri, your helmet was too heavy for your neck and tilted slightly left, no matter how tight the chin strap was pulled. You kept fiddling with your gloves—red, secondhand, slightly stiff from last week’s rain—because one of the fingers kept folding in on itself and making your grip awkward.

You stood beside his kart #81 on the start grid, knees aching from how hard you'd been squeezing them together. Your dad was still crouched beside the engine, grumbling to himself in short, sharp curses—“flooded again,” you heard him mutter, frustration layered over worry.

You stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice the half-circle of boys stealing glances at you. Some were whispering. Some of them laughed.

You straightened your back. Pulled your gloves higher up your wrists. Bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to anchor yourself to the moment.

Except for one kid, slightly taller, pale, who wasn’t looking at you at all. He was looking at your kart.

Not with curiosity. With intent.

He wandered over like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he did this sort of thing all the time. His race suit was still creased in the elbows and his gloves hung from one hand like he'd just slipped them off. His number 81 taped crookedly on his back.

“Flooded?” he asked, nodding toward your engine.

You blinked. “It’s not—” You paused. “Yeah. Probably.”

He crouched beside you, propping his gloves under his arm, and without asking, tugged gently at your wrist to see your glove. You froze.

“The finger’s twisted,” he said, tugging the seam straight with small, sure fingers. “You’ll never feel your steering wheel right like that.”

You swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry,” he added with a shrug.

Then he grinned, just for a second, crooked and boyish and jogged back to his kart as the grid marshal began shouting numbers.

Later that day, he won. You came third.

But for four laps, you ran wheel to wheel. And on turn 9, tight, late apex, gravel waiting on the outside, you sent it past him with all the instinct your seven-year-old brain could summon.

You didn’t know it then, but it would be a pattern. You, showing up where he didn’t expect. Him, watching. Quietly recalibrating.

He never forgot that pass. Not in all the years that followed.

By the time you were ten, you and Oscar had learned how to fight without speaking.

Not punching or yelling—real fighting. Kart-to-kart. Side by side. Tucked low in the seat with grit in your teeth, pulling one another into new limits, lap after lap. There were weekends you couldn’t remember what track you were on, what trophy was being handed out, what the names of the other kids even were but you always remembered him.

You swapped wins like playground dares. You'd laugh when you beat him. He'd shake his head and say something defending. But it never came with venom. There was no room for that between you.

Oscar had always been composed—too composed. He never slammed doors or kicked tyres. He just walked the paddock with his shoulders high and his jaw tight, like he was holding something in. But you? You burned. Every loss made your hands shake. Every bad kart setup made you want to cry in the portable toilet until the air stopped feeling like sandpaper in your lungs.

He noticed that.

He always noticed things.

Like the time you sat alone on a tyre stack after a blown engine knocked you out of the race. You hadn’t spoken in two hours. He didn’t say anything either, just walked up behind you, dropped a pack of gummy worms in your lap and sat beside you, shoulder to shoulder, his helmet still tucked under his arm.

You didn’t thank him. He didn’t expect you to.

When people talked about you, it was always in doubles. Oscar and you. you and Oscar. “The rivals.” “The kids.” “Future of the sport.”

They said it like you were a brand.

But they didn’t know what you two really were.

Like how Oscar always sat in the same chair next to you during driver briefings, even when it meant crossing the room. Or how you always brought an extra banana, because he’d forget to eat when he was too focused and the low blood sugar made him shaky in the steering wheel. Or how you’d sneak into each other’s team tents when the mechanics weren’t looking, just to whisper track tips or talk setups over half a chocolate bar.

You knew he was quiet when he was scared. He knew you talked too much when you were angry.

And you both knew, though you’d never admit it out loud, what it felt like to be different. You, for being the only girl that was fast enough to make the boys sweat. Him, for being too precise, too polished, too internal.

You weren’t friends in the way other kids were. There were no sleepovers or shared school lunches. You had separate homes, separate lives.

But on race weekends?

You knew each other.

By age thirteen, the rivalry was legendary. Coaches speculated. Parents sighed. Cameras lingered on both of you a little longer.

People whispered: They’re gonna kill each other, or fall in love. You just rolled your eyes. He just turned his focus back to the data screen.

But sometimes, when your helmet came off after a race, hair stuck to your forehead, face flushed, a ribbon of brake dust along your collarbone, Oscar would look at you like he knew something you didn’t.

And sometimes, when he passed you his water bottle without being asked, his fingers would brush yours just a second too long.

Nothing ever happened. But the air between you had already begun to shift.

Fourteen was the year things got serious.

You were both taller, faster, sharper. The races were televised sometimes now, streamed on channels with ticker bars and grainy commentary. Your helmets looked sleeker, and your suits fit better. But more than anything, the pressure had changed.

There were scouts now. People with clipboards and folded arms. And sponsors, asking uncomfortable questions your parents couldn’t always answer. Like: Does she have the media presence for it? Or: Is he mature enough to handle Europe?

You and Oscar didn’t talk like kids anymore. Your conversations, usually whispered in the shade behind the trailers, were about aero packages, tire compounds, seat fittings, which teams were scoping out who. You knew which recruiters wore which shoes. He memorized which drivers had family money and which ones were running out.

Still, somehow, you found space between the noise. Small moments, mostly.

One night after a race, you sat together on the curb outside your trailor, eating slices of watermelon from a plastic box and flicking ants away from your shoes. Your hands were sticky, and the air smelled like sunburn and petrol.

You shrugged. “The track doesn’t suit me. I hate turn 11. It’s too tight.”

He picked at the watermelon rind. “You always say that before you win.”

You laughed once, low. “That obvious?”

He smiled. A rare, real smile. The kind he usually saved for podiums or good telemetry graphs. “Only to me.”

That was the year he started looking at you like he was cataloguing you, memorizing the shape of your eyebrows when you were mad, the rhythm of your speech when you were nervous.

It was also the year you stopped changing in front of each other in the paddock.

There was no conversation about it. Just the realization—quiet and mutual—that something is different. Your rivalry was still fierce, but different now. A new awareness in the way he leaned closer when you looked at data screens together.

He started wearing cologne. You started noticing.

You both danced around it clumsily, afraid to ruin something neither of you could name.

Until that one night.

The rain had canceled qualifying, so everyone piled into the nearest diner—drivers, coaches, families—dripping and cold, making too much noise. You and Oscar ended up in a booth alone, sharing a milkshake, both pretending your knees weren’t touching under the table.

You’d started teasing him, something stupid about the way he said “kart” like an Aussie still learning how to swallow his vowels and he’d rolled his eyes, said, “You’re so annoying, you have the same accent” and leaned in like he was going to shove you back against the seat.

But he didn’t.

He hesitated. His eyes flicked down to your mouth, and then he looked away too fast.

He didn’t kiss you. Not yet. But you felt it—almost. It burned behind your teeth all night.

You didn’t sleep. Neither did he.

It wasn´t long after that, when people had stopped calling you kids.

Oscar had been picked up for a European junior program. He was flying to the UK often, spending more time in boarding schools and simulator rigs than at home. His schedule started to blur, tests, travel, training. And you? You were still fast. Still you. But sponsors were hesitating now. Asking questions no boy ever got asked.

“Do you think you’ll still want to race after high school?” “What happens if she gets a boyfriend?” “She’s got talent, but is it marketable?”

You never told Oscar how many contracts slipped through your fingers. He never told you how lonely it was, waking up in countries that didn’t feel like anything.

The last time you really saw him before he left for good was in winter—off-season, but you both still wore fireproofs for a demo day at a half-empty circuit just outside Melbourne. The sky had been pale and washed out, the kind of blue that made your knuckles sting. You were paired for a two-person exhibition race. Australia never felt this cold. You couldn’t stop shivering during warm-up.

Afterward, you both ended up in the back of your trailer, wrapped in blankets, arguing over lap splits and laughing too hard at your own inside jokes.

You were still shivering, your teeth clicking together when you weren’t speaking. So he nudged your foot with his.

“Come on,” he said, already shifting beneath the fleece. “I’ll warm you up.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. He slipped under your blanket without hesitation, his thigh pressing warm against yours, shoulders hunching close as you both pretended not to notice how close it made everything feel.

Still bickering. Still grinning.

It was the same as always. Familiar. Safe.

Until it wasn’t.

You don’t remember the exact moment it changed. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, like he was memorizing you again, but slower this time. Or how your knee brushed his and neither of you pulled away. Or maybe it was just the silence that bloomed after one too many shared glances. A held breath. A pause where a laugh should have been.

Then he said your name, barely above a whisper. Like a question he already knew the answer to.

And you looked at him.

Everything stopped. The racing, the cold, the years of almosts.

He leaned in first. His lips were chapped, his breath shaky. The kiss was soft, cautious, so careful it made your chest ache.

You kissed him back like your whole body had been waiting for it. Like something inside you had finally clicked into place.

But the second his hands found your waist, tentative, trembling, you both froze, blinking against the gravity of it all.

You pulled back, barely an inch. “I’ve never...”

His voice was small. Almost startled. “Me neither.”

You stared at each other for a beat too long. Then like something broke and you both laughed, quiet and breathless.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “I might actually pass out.”

He shook his head, smiling nervously. “If you do, I’ll definitely panic.”

“Don’t panic,” you said, a little too fast.

“Then don’t pass out.”

You laughed again. Then he kissed you, slower this time, like the shape of your mouth was something he wanted to study. His fingers hovered before they touched your skin, tentative on the hem of your shirt. You nodded, just barely. It felt like giving permission to gravity.

Every movement was clumsy. Shaky. So much fabric, too many layers. Your hips bumped. A zipper got caught. Your elbow hit the wall. At one point you both collapsed in a tangle of limbs and nerves, laughing so hard your eyes stung.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling. “Worst foreplay ever.”

“Speak for yourself,” you mumbled, trying to peel off your base layer with cold, stiff fingers. “I think we’re doing great.”

But then—when the laughter faded—it changed again.

There were moments of stillness. Of breathing. Of unspoken questions and wide eyes and fingertips that trembled before they settled.

When he touched you, it wasn’t rushed. It was reverent. Careful, almost reverently so—like you might break if he moved too fast.

And when you touched him, your hands were cold and unsure, but he didn’t flinch. He just looked at you like this was the most sacred thing either of you had ever done.

There were gasps. Quiet whimpers. A few tears—not from pain exactly, but from the strange, aching tenderness of it. From feeling seen. Known. Safe.

He kissed your collarbone like it mattered.

You whispered his name like it was something you’d only just learned how to say.

You clung to each other. And when it finally happened—slow, clumsy, imperfect—you held his hand. He kissed your knuckles like he was afraid he didn’t deserve this and you kissed the corner of his mouth like you were afraid it wouldn’t last.

When it was over, you lay on your side facing him, heart thudding like a misfiring engine, the silence humming between you.

“...Well,” you whispered, voice wrecked. “That was... surprisingly not terrible.”

He just laughed. You watched his face until the sound faded.

“If I ever get married, it better be someone like you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like me?”

“Yeah,” he smirked. “Someone that can beat me on track and someone who makes me feel like this.”

He kissed you again. Just once. Like punctuation. “Then I guess I’m your only option.”, you answered.

You didn’t talk about what it meant.

Neither of you could.

He left for the UK two weeks later. You didn’t say goodbye at the airport.

You messaged. For a while. Short notes. Voice memos. Data screenshots and dumb photos. It was almost enough.

Then the replies slowed. Then they stopped.

No fallout. No drama. Just… distance.

Life moved forward. And the part of you that had always been defined by “Oscar and you” slowly became “you.”

You didn’t know it at the time, but that was the last time you saw him for almost twelve years.

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the-cosmic-cauldron · 6 months ago

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How the Moon Signs Crash Out

For those who don’t know what crash out means here is the Urban dictionary definition: Means to get really mad or upset; lose all your self control.

We think the water signs would crash out but every element has a point of crash out when it deals with their emotions, read below.

Fire Moon

Fire moons are the most obvious “crash-outs.” They’re the first to crash out because they act impulsively; they don’t always think things through before reacting. So, why do fire moons crash out? It’s primarily over their pride. If you play with their image or challenge what they deem as right, they’ll crash out. If you try to make them seem weak, attempt to overpower them, or force them into a position of submission or docility, they’re going to crash out.

Fire moons also crash out if you try to make them understand your perspective—especially if it clashes with theirs—and they perceive it as the start of an argument. Any slight form of disrespect will set them off. If they feel disrespected in any way, they’re crashing out. Attempts to control them can also trigger this response. However, if you respectfully suggest something, they might listen. It’s when your tone shifts to one of disrespect—like raising your voice—that they crash out.

Ignoring a fire moon is another sure way to provoke them. They will crash out if you play with their image, reputation, or how they see themselves. Similarly, if you try to dictate how they should live their life or act smarter than them, questioning their intelligence or ability to think critically, they’ll crash out.

Honorable mentions for what might make a fire moon crash out include:

• If someone flirts with their partner, they’re crashing out.

• If anyone disrespects their kids, even slightly, they’re crashing out.

• If someone talks badly about their family, they’re crashing out.

• If a trusted friend betrays or flips on them, they’re crashing out.

Fire moons are the ultimate crash-out personalities. If you ever meet one, tread carefully. Anything they perceive as disrespectful could set them off.

Earth Moons

Earth moons are known for their calm demeanor. People enjoy being around them because they provide a sense of stability and avoid unnecessary intensity—after all, earth moons struggle to handle too much emotional or confrontational energy. However, certain situations can push even an earth moon to their breaking point. Here’s what can make them “crash out.”

Because earth moons are naturally calm, they are particularly affected by intensely emotional and confrontational individuals. When faced with someone who is provocative, blunt, or openly expressive without regard for consequences, earth moons can lose their composure. They simply can’t handle that level of emotional intensity and may react by “crashing out.”

Triggers for Earth Moons:

1. Financial Instability:

Earth moons are deeply connected to material stability. If they lose their job, experience financial struggles, or dip into negative balances in their bank account, they will crash out. The loss of any valuable material possession they hold dear can have the same effect.

2. Breakups:

After a breakup, earth moons often struggle with overwhelming emotions. Their inability to process intense feelings calmly can lead to a full crash out.

3. Friendship Fallout:

Earth moons value long-term friendships, so falling out with a close friend can cause a significant emotional reaction.

4. Missed Opportunities:

If they’re rejected for a job or an opportunity they were counting on for stability, they can spiral into frustration and anger.

5. Disrupted Environment:

Earth moons need a sense of order in their living space. If someone starts moving their belongings or changing things around them without permission, they’re bound to crash out.

6. Overwhelming Demands:

Earth moons value their personal time and space. If someone demands too much of their time and ignores polite requests for space, the earth moon will eventually snap.

7. Being Wrong:

Earth moons take pride in their logic and reasoning. If they believe they’re right about something and later discover they were wrong, it can shake their confidence, leading to a crash-out moment.

8. Emotional Pressure:

Pushing an earth moon to express emotions in a way that feels uncomfortable to them can cause them to react negatively.

9. Being Controlled or Dismissed:

If someone tries to tell an earth moon how to live their life—especially someone they don’t respect—they won’t take it lightly.

10. Prolonged Exposure to Emotional Volatility:

Earth moons prefer calm, stable environments. If they’re forced to deal with someone who is consistently emotional, moody, confrontational, or volatile, their patience will wear thin, and they’ll eventually crash out.

11. Dealing with Bullies:

Earth moons try to avoid conflict, but if they’re exposed to bullying behavior for too long, they’ll eventually lose their calm and lash out.

Honorable Mentions:

• Earth moons crash out over material possessions. If someone moves, touches, or disrespects their belongings, it’s a major trigger.

• They also struggle with emotional instability after a breakup, the end of a friendship, or job loss.

• Being wrong about something they were confident in can push them to react strongly.

• Prolonged emotional confrontation or demand for their time will wear them down until they snap.

Although earth moons may not seem like the “ultimate crash-outs,” they can go all-in when their stability and calm are disrupted. Once they reach their tipping point, their reaction is swift, intense, and affects everyone around them.

Air Moons

Air Moons might seem chill because they tend to intellectualize their emotions. People often perceive them as logical when it comes to feelings, believing that emotions don’t bother them much. However, Air Moons can ultimately be the biggest “crash-outs.” Let’s break down why Air Moons might crash out.

Air Moons often analyze and intellectualize their emotions because they don’t fully understand the emotional landscape. When they’re forced to deal with intensely emotional situations, much like Earth Moons, they crash out. However, Air Moons crash out in a unique way—they try to process emotions through communication and logic, often failing to let those emotions flow naturally. This can lead them to accuse or assume things about people and situations that aren’t true. They rely on patterns and past experiences to create preconceived notions, which only adds to their frustration.

Triggers for Air Moons:

1. Things That Don’t Make Sense:

Air Moons crave understanding and clarity. If something doesn’t make sense to them, they lose control and crash out. Their curiosity is so strong that when they can’t figure something out, they start assuming things, which only fuels their frustration.

2. Lack of Communication:

If they feel ignored or if communication isn’t flowing the way they want, Air Moons will crash out. They thrive on dialogue and connection, so feeling shut out is a major trigger.

3. Challenges to Their Intelligence:

Air Moons take pride in their intellect. If someone plays with their intelligence—makes them feel dumb, uneducated, or less knowledgeable—they’re bound to crash out. They need to feel five steps ahead of others, and any slight to this will set them off.

4. Opinions and Beliefs:

Air Moons are deeply attached to their opinions, even when they aren’t entirely logical. If someone challenges their beliefs too much or tries to “win” a debate, Air Moons will crash out. They always want to feel right, and being told they’re wrong about their life, thoughts, or perspectives is a surefire way to trigger them.

5. Threats to Freedom and Independence:

Any perceived attempt to take away their independence is an automatic crash-out moment. In relationships, if their partner becomes possessive, controlling, or overly emotional, Air Moons will react negatively.

6. Emotional Intensity:

Air Moons struggle with highly emotional people. If someone is too intense or moody, constantly expressing their emotions, Air Moons will eventually crash out. They can’t handle being around excessive emotions for too long.

7. Petty Triggers:

Sometimes, Air Moons crash out over minor things. If they don’t like the way someone talks to them, or if they’re in a mood, even a small annoyance can set them off.

8. Perceived Verbal Threats:

Air Moons are highly sensitive to words. If they feel someone is trying to intimidate, disrespect, or talk down to them in a condescending or sarcastic way, they will crash out.

9. Lack of Praise:

Air Moons often feel a sense of superiority because they intellectualize their emotions. If they don’t receive acknowledgment or praise for their ideas, logic, or reasoning, they’ll crash out.

10. Being Called Emotional:

Never tell an Air Moon they’re emotional. They refuse to see themselves that way and will crash out if you try to label them as such. Comments like “You need to get over it” or “You’re stuck in the past” will only fuel their frustration.

11. Overstimulation:

While Air Moons enjoy being social, too much time around others can overwhelm them. They’ll start to feel overstimulated, with too much energy and inconsistency in the environment, leading to a crash-out.

12. Inconsistency (From Others):

Air Moons can be unpredictable themselves—they might ghost people, not text back, or fail to show up. However, if someone else is inconsistent or unpredictable, Air Moons will crash out. They expect reliability from others, even if they don’t always provide it themselves.

13. Challenges to Their Identity:

Air Moons will crash out if they feel someone is challenging who they are as a person. If they think they can take on the challenge, they’ll fight back. If they feel it’s too much, they’ll still crash out, but in a more chaotic way.

Final Thoughts:

Air Moons may not seem like the ultimate crash-outs at first, but once their calm exterior is disrupted, they can spiral quickly. Once the air starts moving, it doesn’t stop—it becomes a whirlwind of frustration, overthinking, and emotional outbursts. Tread lightly around an Air Moon if you don’t want to witness their crash-out firsthand.

Water Moon

Water Moons are often perceived as the ultimate crash-outs, but the truth is they can be quite calm—until they’re pushed too far. People don’t always understand this about them. Let’s break down why a Water Moon might crash out.

Why Water Moons Crash Out:

1. Self-Protectiveness and Boundaries:

Water Moons are extremely self-protective. If someone invades their personal space, crosses their boundaries, or confronts them abruptly, they’re going to crash out. They don’t tolerate invasive behavior or anyone overstepping their limits.

2. Lack of Emotional Understanding:

Water Moons will crash out if their emotions are misunderstood. If they express their feelings and someone twists their words or tells them they feel differently than they do, they’re crashing out.

3. Emotional Reciprocity:

If a Water Moon opens up and shares their emotions, but the other person doesn’t reciprocate, they’ll crash out. Vulnerability requires mutual respect, and they won’t tolerate feeling like they’re the only one opening up.

4. Loved Ones and Family:

Water Moons are fiercely protective of their loved ones. If someone insults or disrespects their family, friends, or those they care about, they’ll crash out—especially if it happens repeatedly.

5. Intrusiveness:

Water Moons value privacy. If someone pries into their personal life, tries to psychoanalyze them, or pushes for details they aren’t willing to share, they’ll crash out. They only share what they want others to know.

6. Feeling Disrespected:

A Water Moon won’t tolerate being made to feel stupid, weak, or incapable. If someone tries to undermine their emotional intelligence or strength, they’ll crash out immediately.

7. Not Getting Their Way:

Water Moons are deeply connected to their desires and emotions. If they don’t get their way in situations that matter to them, they’re likely to crash out.

8. Lack of Love and Nurturing:

Water Moons need emotional nourishment. If they feel unloved, unseen, or untouched—whether through physical affection, kind words, or emotional support—they’ll crash out. A lack of care or affection is a significant trigger for them.

9. Stagnation:

If a Water Moon feels like they’re stuck in life, in “stagnant waters,” or unable to move forward, they’ll spiral and crash out. A sense of progress and growth is essential for their emotional well-being.

10. Breakups or Friendship Endings:

After a breakup or the loss of a close friendship, Water Moons can lose control of their emotions. The pain and emotional intensity are overwhelming, leading to a crash-out.

11. Feeling Betrayed:

If someone switches up on them—acting friendly one day and then cold or hostile the next—Water Moons will crash out. They value consistency in their relationships.

12. Volatile Environments:

Water Moons thrive in calm, emotionally supportive environments. If they’re surrounded by manipulative, cold-hearted, or emotionally unavailable people, they’ll eventually crash out. They also won’t tolerate rudeness or outright disrespect.

13. Feeling Unappreciated:

Water Moons invest deeply in their relationships and emotional connections. If their efforts go unnoticed or unappreciated, they’ll feel hurt and eventually crash out.

14. Being Pulled Out of Their Space:

Alone time is crucial for Water Moons. If someone tries to force them to engage when they need space, they’ll crash out. Respecting their need for solitude is key to maintaining harmony.

15. Forcing Realism or Logic:

Water Moons don’t like being forced into a strictly logical or overly realistic perspective, especially when they’re in an emotional state. If they feel pressured to abandon their emotions for practicality, they’ll crash out over time.

16. Dismissing Their Trauma:

Water Moons are deeply affected by their past experiences. If someone dismisses or disregards the emotional pain or trauma they’ve endured, they’ll crash out. Their experiences are integral to their identity, and invalidating them is one of the worst things you can do.

Final Thoughts:

If you don’t want a Water Moon to crash out, it’s important to respect their boundaries, emotions, and need for connection. Water Moons are like waves—when they crash, they can disrupt the emotional stability of everyone around them. Handle them with care, and avoid testing their patience. Once they reach their breaking point, they’re hard to stop.

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heartavenue · 4 months ago

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݁.ི Things To Script!

So you're scripting, but you're at a loss and don't know what to add anymore? Well, Love sees you, and I got you! Here are some things that I am scripting personally; some of these are a little...on the nose... but I think they're worth it nonetheless. Feel free to use them!

Disclaimer: Any similarities that you see are completely accidental. I can assure you that I came up with these off the top of my head while reflecting on my life and watching Netflix.

1. Water never gets into your ears 2. You don’t feel faint while taking hot showers (or just feel faint in general) 3. Not wearing a bra is not a big deal 4. You have a bidet 5. Parents respect your privacy (knock before entering your room, etc) 6. The word is full of color just like it was when you were a child 7. You still have that childlike sense of wonder, and it can never die 8. Flowers can regrow roots, so when they are cut they can live and not die! 9. Architecture has personality and is not drab and boring 10. Perfume lasts all day 11. Lip gloss NEVER smudges (or makeup in general) 12. Your bath/shower water never gets cold 13. You always feel heard, and people respect your opinions and consider your opinions 14. Your clothes fit you just how you picture it in your head 15. You have the money to afford the life that you DESERVE 16. Natural bodies of water don’t contain flesh/brain-eating bacteria 17. Animals aren’t endangered and can’t go extinct 18. Wildlife/nature is preserved, admired, and respected. There are national parks put in place to prevent the destruction of our home! 19. Astral events happen more often and are celebrated more! (Think eclipses, northern lights, shooting stars.) AND they are visible to all areas of the world. 20. More walkable cities near you or just in general! 21. Capitalism does NOT exist. 22. Animals can understand you when you speak to them! 23. Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy, etc. exist 24. The allure of Christmas magic is well and alive 25. The cost of living is low, and the minimum wage is $20 26. Your hair never gets tangled, greasy, or frizzy. 27. You’re allowed to express yourself in any way, whether that’s through clothes or body modifications, and no one judges you for it! 28. More festivals, carnivals in your town or neighboring towns. 29. Holidays feel the same way they did when you were a kid 30. The moon is a little closer, light pollution doesn't exist so the stars can shine brighter, and the grass is a little greener. 31. You remember when you were a kid and you thought the moon followed you? Well, now it does! 32. Disney doesn't use that horrid 3D art style, and they have the ability to produce GOOD movies again. 33. Eargasms are real. Don't ask any questions. 34. Hugs from the people that you cherish are warmer, and they last longer 35. Better day-to-day interactions with strangers that will just keep you smiling for the rest of the day 36. Food (cough cough food in AMERICA) isn't full of the toxic stuff that are banned in every other country 37. Dandruff does NOT exist 38. You never forget to put on your jewelry, you can always find your jewelry, and it's very durable 39. You're very good at karaoke 40. You never forget to put on deodorant, lotion, perfume, chapstick, etc 41. Your favorite flowers, trees, plants in general grow near you! 42. When you wash your clothes, the stains come OUT (this is so personal for me) 43. Water glimmers and shines just like it does films! 44. No hyperpigmentation. 45. Other planets are visible to the naked eye 46. Pineapple doesn't feel like acid in your mouth 47. Banana doesn't take over the whole smoothie 48. More representation in the media of marginalized groups 49. When you wash your face, water doesn't trickle down your arm 50. When you open yogurt it doesn't look like that (yk all liquid and yucky) 51. You can listen to music as loud as you want and your hearing will never be affected 52. The fruit you get is always ripe 53. No cloudy nighttime skies to get in the way of your stargazing! 54. You can never burn your tongue 55. You cook chicken thoroughly each time (I have a fear of eating raw chicken please) 56. A secret hideout for you and your special person 57. Bedbugs, lice, ticks, wasps, hornets, and yellowjackets do not exist (I love bees, let the bees STAY!) 58. Outfits that you imagine in your head comes out EXACTLY as you planned 59. Artists release live versions of their albums (chappell roan a live version of naked in manhattan is NEEDED on streaming

These are just a few things that I could think of. As I think of more, I will be sure to add them to the list. Okay happy scripting my loves! ၄၃

#things to script #desired reality #reality shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting community #shifting realities #shiftblr

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solxamber · 9 months ago

Note

Can't wait to request Skully boy, but let's do a part 3 of White Rabbit!Reader since the overblot aftermath is usually somewhat of a positive effect on the overblot person, I want it to do the opposite to White Rabbit!Reader since before their overblot, they were always jumpy, timid and anxious.

Now, I kind of want them to be like this half the time whenever someone bothers them:

Aftermath of White Rabbit! Reader's Overblot

Characters: All NRC + Staff + Rollo, Neige, Che'nya

Original White rabbit! reader ask ; White rabbit! reader overblot ask

thanks for the request <3

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is probably the first to notice the difference. While he usually relied on your obedience to the Queen's rules, your newfound bluntness shocks him. He asks you to organize paperwork, expecting the usual nervous compliance, but instead, you sigh and mutter, “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to it, don’t have a heart attack.” Riddle is speechless for a moment, his face flushing. Though he won’t admit it, he’s at a loss. “What… happened to you?”

Trey Clover

Trey has always been the calm, stable figure in your life, a grounding presence in Heartslabyul. But even he’s taken aback by your sudden shift. “You’re not the same nervous bunny I’m used to,” he remarks when you snap at someone who’d pushed you too far. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Guess I finally had enough.” Trey offers a small, understanding smile, knowing all too well the pressures of keeping up appearances. “If you need to blow off steam, my kitchen’s always open. Just don’t burn out.”

Cater Diamond

Cater, who usually plays things off with a lighthearted comment or a perfectly timed selfie, can sense the change in your mood. "Whoa, who flipped the switch on you, bunny?" he jokes, holding up his phone for another pic. You barely glance his way, grumbling, "Put that away before I snap." Cater's smile falters briefly, unused to you being so short with him. "Yikes. Someone's in need of a chill day. Maybe a group selfie will help?" He backs off but keeps an eye on you, curious how long this new attitude will last.

Ace Trappola

Ace is taken aback but more intrigued than anything. He used to enjoy teasing you for fun, always expecting a shy or flustered response. Now, you roll your eyes and say, “Do you ever stop running your mouth?” Ace laughs nervously but is secretly impressed by your sass. “Hey, I liked you better when you were jumpy. You were easier to mess with.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce feels bad. He didn’t realize how much the teasing had affected you until now. He approaches cautiously, noticing your new, weary demeanor. When he tries to help, offering to carry something, you grumble, “I’ve got it, I’m not helpless.” Deuce scratches his head, feeling guilty. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I’m sorry if we pushed you too hard.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona finds your transformation amusing at first. As one of the few prey beastmen in the school, he always enjoyed calling you "herbivore." But now, when you meet his taunts with a dry “Yeah, real original, Leona,” he raises an eyebrow, both impressed and a little curious. “Finally got some backbone, huh? Good. Don’t expect me to go easy on you just ‘cause you stopped cowering.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie is caught off guard by how done you seem with everything. He tries to pass off some chores, as usual, but you just give him a deadpan look. “Do I look like your personal assistant?” Ruggie chuckles nervously. “Whoa, you’ve changed. Guess I’ll just… do it myself, then. Heh.”

Jack Howl

Jack, being the most straightforward, notices something is wrong immediately. He never liked the way people teased you, and now your exhaustion worries him. “You don’t look so good. Is there something I can help with?” When you respond with a tired “Just let me get through the day, Jack,” he frowns, unsure how to handle this new side of you.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul appreciates how compliant you were before, especially when he needed help with contracts or deals. Now, your indifference makes his eye twitch. “Care to assist with a little… business?” he asks. “Do it yourself, Ashengrotto,” you reply without even looking up. Azul’s smile falters. “How… unfortunate.”

Jade Leech

Jade enjoys your shift in attitude. To him, it’s fascinating to see prey become more assertive. “My, my, you’ve grown quite bold, haven’t you?” he muses. You don’t even glance his way, muttering, “Bold? I’m just tired.” Jade chuckles, intrigued. “I do hope that exhaustion won’t stop you from keeping things interesting.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd used to love squishing you just to see you jump. Now, when he wraps an arm around your shoulders and you groan, “Not now, Floyd,” he pouts. “You’re no fun anymore, Little Rabbit. Bring back the scaredy-cat!” He sulks but also seems weirdly fascinated by your new attitude, poking you to see if he can get a reaction.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim’s sunny disposition remains unchanged, but even he notices that something’s off. He invites you to join a party, only for you to respond, “I’m not in the mood.” Kalim blinks, genuinely concerned. “Hey, is everything okay? You always used to come… I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is more analytical about your change. He senses something deeper at play and approaches cautiously. “You’re different now,” he observes. “No kidding,” you mutter, pushing past him. Jamil hums thoughtfully, wondering if there’s something he can learn from your overblot experience—or if it’s just another thing he needs to keep an eye on.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is used to elegance, control, and composure, so your new bluntness strikes him as unbecoming. “You’re really letting yourself go,” he comments sharply. You simply stare at him, unbothered, and say, “And you care because?” Vil frowns, his perfectly crafted facade slipping for a second. “Honestly, how disappointing.”

Rook Hunt

Rook finds the change in you utterly fascinating. “Ah, the hunted has become a hunter in their own right! Magnifique!” You stare at him with exhausted eyes, muttering, “I’m just trying to get through the day, Rook.” He laughs, completely unfazed by your exhaustion. “Every day with you is an adventure, mon lapin!”

Epel Felmier

Epel, who never liked being underestimated, gets where you’re coming from. He nudges you with a grin. “Bet you’re sick of everyone treating you like you’re fragile, huh?” You shrug tiredly, “Sick of a lot of things.” Epel chuckles. “Yeah, I get that. Don’t let ‘em push you around anymore.”

Idia Shroud

Idia is a little freaked out by your change. You used to be predictable, easy to understand—now? Not so much. He glances at you from behind his tablet and mumbles, “Uh… you okay? You seem… different.” When you snap back, “What do you think?” Idia recoils, instantly regretting his question. “Yikes… never mind…”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho, ever the optimist, immediately notices your shift in behavior and tries to cheer you up in his own enthusiastic way. “I can analyze your stress levels! Maybe we can find a way to relax together!” he offers, his eyes lighting up with data scans. You give him a tired look and sigh, “Thanks, but I just want to be left alone.” Ortho frowns, his usual cheerful energy dimming. “Okay… but remember, I’m always here if you need help!” He can’t quite figure out how to help you, but he makes a mental note to keep monitoring your well-being.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus can feel the weight of your exhaustion and frustration. He’s perceptive and doesn’t need to hear you say much to understand how deeply the overblot has affected you. “You carry a heavy burden now,” he says quietly. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I have a choice.” Malleus watches you with a somber gaze. “You do. You always have a choice.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia is concerned but also intrigued by your sudden shift. “My, you’ve grown up in such a short time,” he teases, though his tone carries a hint of seriousness. “Not sure if that’s a good thing,” you mutter. Lilia’s eyes narrow. “Be careful not to lose yourself, young one. This world can be… unforgiving.”

Silver

Silver, ever the calm and observant knight, is probably the least surprised by your change in demeanor. He approaches cautiously, noticing your exhaustion even before you speak. “You’ve been through a lot. Don’t push yourself too hard,” he advises softly. When you sigh and mutter, “I’m just tired, Silver,” he nods, understanding in his quiet way. “If you ever need to rest, I’ll stand guard for you.” He’s not one to pry but offers his silent support.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek is offended by your change in attitude, especially since you no longer respond as deferentially as you used to. “What happened to your respect for authority?” he barks. You shoot him an irritated glare. “Respect is earned, not given.” Sebek’s jaw drops, his mind struggling to compute your audacity.

Rollo Flamme

Rollo has always had a certain disdain for the chaotic nature of magic, and as someone who seemed so harmless before, you were never a particular blip on his radar.

But after your overblot, when you return to a more cynical, jaded version of yourself, Rollo is... intrigued. “I see you’ve shed your naïveté,” he comments one day when you cross paths, eyeing your newfound sharpness.

You sigh and rub your temples, muttering, “I’m too tired for whatever lecture you’re about to give me, Rollo.” He raises an eyebrow, slightly amused. “Perhaps you’ve come to realize that order, after all, must be maintained by force. Even for someone like you.” His words are clipped, but there’s almost a sense of kinship as he recognizes the exhaustion that comes from living within strict expectations.

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is disheartened by your exhaustion. He approaches you with genuine concern, his wide, innocent eyes full of sympathy. “I’m sorry if anyone’s been making things harder for you,” he says softly. “You don’t deserve that.” You give him a tired smile, “It’s fine. People just… don’t know when to stop.” Neige nods. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

Che’nya

Che’nya finds your new personality endlessly amusing. “My, my! You’ve finally joined the cynical side of Wonderland!” he teases, popping in and out of view. You roll your eyes, unimpressed. “I’m too tired for your games, Che’nya.” He grins, floating above you. “That’s what makes it so fun, friend.”

Crowley

Crowley had always seen you as one of the more manageable students—timid, hardworking, and, most importantly, someone who didn’t cause him headaches. But after your overblot? Let’s just say he’s... mildly concerned. “My dear White Rabbit, surely you don’t mean to talk to your esteemed headmaster in such a disrespectful tone!” he blusters, feathers metaphorically ruffled when you brush past one of his long-winded speeches with an eye roll and, “Please, for the love of Seven, just get to the point.” Crowley is left gaping, unsure whether he should reprimand you or seek out some sympathy for your newly discovered spine.

Divus Crewel

Crewel is quick to notice your shift in attitude and respects your newfound bluntness—though only to a point. “You’ve finally found some grit,” he comments, his voice sharp as usual. “Good. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment.” You nod wearily, “I’m way past judgment.”

Mozus Trein

Trein raises an eyebrow at your attitude shift but doesn’t comment much. He simply sighs, “I hope you’re not letting stress affect your studies.” You shrug. “Stress is part of the deal, Professor.”

Sam

Sam’s sharp eye notices the change immediately when you stroll into his shop, a bit of a scowl replacing your usual fidgety demeanor. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite bunny. What’s got you hoppin’ mad today?” he teases lightly, hoping to bring a smile to your face.

But when you shoot him a tired look and say, “Sam, please, just give me the potion before I scream,” he lets out a low whistle. “Whoa now, partner! You’re wound up tighter than a jack-in-the-box! If anyone knows about stress, it’s me—how ‘bout I toss in some tea on the house?” He’s concerned, but he can’t resist a little ribbing, hoping to ease your frustration.

Masterlist

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loganhowlettshousewife · 8 months ago

Text

logan howlett x autistic!reader

series masterlist - my masterlist

logan understands you better than anyone else. his senses are enhanced from his mutation, every noise hitting him at a higher intensity than it does anyone else, every scent reaching his olfactory receptors no matter how faint. it doesn’t often bother him, it’s something he’s had to deal with his whole life, but there are certainly times when the world around him can become overwhelming in its intensity.

and so he understands you, when things get to be too much for you. he understands, though not in the same way, how it feels when there are too many separate sounds hitting your ear drums, when certain textures make your skin crawl, when the bright fluorescent lights that most places use make you want to collapse to the ground and cry. he doesn’t blame you for being overwhelmed, doesn’t judge you or treat you as if you’re lesser for it.

it’s impossible to truly understand the feelings of autistic overstimulation without being autistic, but logan’s understanding of it comes as close as possible, and you’re forever grateful for his silent support.

you often wonder how you ended up so lucky, to have someone who understands you the way he does, who never complains when he has to cut a date short for reasons that wouldn’t affect anyone else, who removes you from situations he knows will be difficult for you to deal with.

he’s become a safe haven for you. you don’t need to mask when you’re alone with logan. he told you once that he can tell when you’re masking, that there are hints in your scent that betray your true emotions, and every time you find yourself slipping into that persona he pulls you out of it with a gruff “stop that”.

he helps you take off the clothes that feel scratchy against your skin, redressing you in fabrics that he knows will soothe the angry corners of your mind, the ones that scream in a loud cacophony that even you can’t understand, crying out for relief from something. he turns off the lights in the room, sits with you in the dark, doesn’t speak unless you request his voice. he lays down on top of you - a newer development, since he used to vehemently refuse, worried he’d crush you under the weight of his adamantium skeleton - letting the pressure of his body against yours ground you to the present.

and he’ll never utter the words out loud, never speak them into existence under any circumstance, but it helps him too.

it’s been a long time since he’s been allowed to exist in silence like this, and he realises that he likes it when the world isn’t a jarring mess of noises and sights and scents around him. it’s nice to be able to focus on a single feeling rather than continuously compartmentalise the myriad of sensory information being thrown at him. you’ve helped him realise that it’s okay to take time for himself when his brain starts to feel fuzzy and raw and wrong, when the world becomes too much to handle.

he’s not good at being vulnerable, not good at being gentle. he’s rough and gruff and violent, a man born of blood and loss. but the more time he spends with you, the more he realises that perhaps his temper isn’t an inherent facet of his personality the way he’d always assumed, but rather a response to how uncomfortable he always feels, a response to the overstimulation constantly brimming inside him, an outlet for the buzzing under his skin.

he has words now for things he never understood before, concepts floating around in his brain. you’ve changed his life, taught him new things about himself at the old age of 200, when he thought he was surely stuck in his ways, broken beyond repair, an unfortunate mistake.

he’s far from perfect, knows it as surely as he knows his own name. but this, taking care of you, making sure no one bothers you while you come down, overstimulation going from a twenty to a ten to a five, until you can breath again without feeling like your chest is collapsing on itself? this is something he can do.

this, he will always do.

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes

autistic!reader taglist: @thegothempress

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caturnmoon · 1 year ago

Text

Astrology Observations #2️⃣

⚠️POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS!! ED’s, Poverty, Abuse, Death⚠️

☢️Saturn in the 2nd house can highlight a scarcity mindset towards money, and values. Low self esteem is possible here, and so is the potential to experience poverty at some point in life. Dramatic financial losses. Also since Saturn rules restrictions and the second house is ruled by the throat and mouth, this can indicate a history with eating disorders. I myself have this placement and have a history with Annorexia.

☢️This placement can also get better with time and wisdom, as Saturn highlights naturally. With hard work and re-alignment of values (2nd house) this placement can indicate wealth, success, and a strong moral compass. Someone who know how to handle money quite efficiently.

☢️Lilith in the 2nd house can indicate sex work, and also unorthodox means of earning money in general. (Think Pablo Escobar)

☢️Neptune in the 1st house can indicate someone who can struggle with body dysmorphia. I personally have this placement and I can confirm that I struggle with seeing myself in the mirror like others do. Neptune rules illusions and in this case this affects the physical appearance and how you view yourself (1st house). Folks with this placement can also deal with a lot of projections from others onto them. People see them how they want to see them.

☢️Uranus in the 8th house can indicate sudden gains and losses as well. Either inheritance due to loss of someone or through handling the finances of another, like a partner. This can also indicate sudden abrupt deaths too.

☢️Cancer Mars isn’t necessarily the blubbering cry babies most people I see claim they are and I get really tired of it. Lol most professional athletes have heavy cancerian influence in their charts (Michael Jordan for example) and also in mars. Cancer mars is also fiercely protective of those the love and isn’t one to fuck with in a crisis. The crab is defensive and withdraws from threats cautiously and strategically when needed. Emotions aside. This placement indicates a survivalist who thrives in times of crisis.

☢️Whatever house you have your Pluto in is more personal to you than the sign, and can highlight where you experience the most transformation in your life.

☢️Honestly I personally look to houses more in general when looking for activity that’s unique to a persons actual life rather than the sign. Not that the signs don’t matter-they do-but I feel there’s waaaayyyyyy too much emphasis on signs at times in social media.

☢️Stelliums in signs can be significant and also in houses too. It can highlight an area of life ruled by either the sign or house that will be a major area of focus for you in this lifetime.

Until next time! 👽🖖🏼

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citrinae · 8 months ago

Text

forgive me, for i love being bad for you.

sanji x reader (ft. platonic!zoro)

summary; everyone agrees that you and roronoa zoro are like two peas in a pod: cool, unbothered, hitting pubs on the regular. everyone, except your boyfriend sanji—who’d try anything to distract you from your visibly chaotic lifestyle. even visiting a potion shop. or: sanji needs to get out of his head in four acts.

contents; angsty vibes, lowkey love triangle, miscommunication™, abandonment issues, drinking, sex pollen, a little dubcon tbh, piv, oral sex (both receiving), facesitting, multiple orgasms, creampie, college/modern!AU, witch!sanji, jealous!sanji, afab!reader, wc: 7.3k (wheezes), mdni. spooky carnival is still in town, go catch it if you’re in for a bad time.

masterlist.

Zoro sets his glass back on the table with a forceful clink. There’s liquor rolling to the corner of his lips.

“I still don’t get it,” annoyance hangs from his voice as he speaks. “How the fuck you put up with him?”

Your reflection looks back at you from the amber in your glass.

“He’s sweet and he cooks for me,” you mean it. Despite Zoro’s lack of trust in your newfound romance, slightly taking to repulse, Sanji has been nothing but a dream to you. Resting his cheek on yours as you were watching some movie you borrowed for the night, swinging hands as he took you grocery shopping. Everything about him buzzes with the type of comfortable affection one meets in magazines, or in Christmas commercials, and you’re sure to fall harder for him by the day. “Have you taken the time to cook for someone you dated?”

“Yeah?” Zoro washes the accusation away with another sip. “You into cooks?”

“Apparently.”

“‘s he a good cook?”

A smile, prideful. “Nothing but a wizard in the kitchen.”

“Christ, you’re even starting to sound like him,” he teases further. “Putting random words together and expecting to make sense.”

“He’s a good cook, Zoro,” you tell him again.

There’s a pause.

“No kidding.”

At a loss of what to say, you clumsily try to fill the silence.

“Yeah.”

“As long as you like him or whatever,” defeated, waving his hand. “Just keep him outta my sight, will you?”

“Deal,” you say, downing your drink as you do. Bitterness lingers on the roof of your mouth, throat burned and numbed out. Suddenly your mind wanders somewhere else. “Care for another round?”

Zoro’s smirk is sly, devilish. “Now that’s more like my language.”

So you get yourselves a second refill that turns into a third, and a forth, until there’s no more use to bother about keeping count. Your surroundings seem to start whirling for a second. You close your eyes, then open them. And everything gets back into place.

On the day you met him, somewhere around campus, basking in the sun like a stray cat on trim lawn, you and Zoro hit off immediately. Scruffy hair, bomber jackets, eyes looking like he’s about to fall asleep any minute, Zoro is the type to never dwell on things for longer they’re worth. Always a guy of instinct, speaking truths others might opt to stay away from. On the other hand you have a knack for chaos he easily complements, so for over a year now he’s been a good and loyal friend to you, your time together something neither of you would regret or give up on.

He’s the one who introduced you to Sanji. Now it’s clearer to you that Sanji had most probably asked him to. Neither of them expected it when you agreed to go out with him, “It’s just a fucking date, chill out. Free meal you know?”; and to your own surprise, your heart skipped a good beat when you saw him that night.

Sanji. Annoying, perverted, absolutely fucking delusional Sanji, lighting up a cigarette in front of his car. Light fell nicely on his rings as he kept a hand around a flower bouquet—the pretentious kind, with a wrapper and ribbon and all. Red button-up, black jeans, coat. Heart-warming smile.

Everything about the scene felt like something taken from those really sugary rom-coms you and Zoro make fun of when drunk. Yet somehow you admired Sanji for putting in the effort. His hand quivered on the door handle, “You look sensational, my dear.” Adjusting your seat belt, you told him that he didn’t look so bad himself, and by the pink crossing his face as you did, you deduced he might not be used to having flattery thrown his way.

At dinner he told you he was raised in a small restaurant down east, and that they sold soy wax candles and herbs right next door. Wiping up your mouth with a handkerchief, you tried to come up with a quip around it, “And you stocked healing crystals and runes as well, right?” But then he just propped his hand in a palm, a wide smile blooming on his face that made you unsure whether he was playing along with the narrative or simply felt happy to talk about his past. “Sometimes we did, yeah. But we were more into the culinary side of things.”

When, a couple days later, you told Zoro that you and Sanji had spent the night together, he didn’t hesitate to let you know that he thought it a bad idea. He warned that Sanji was weird—not in the sense that he had a wandering eye or spent a rent-worth on cigarettes. He was simply weird. Fingers drumming on wood, “Caught him mustering some nonsense crap to a jar once. Like he was enchanting it or something.” Soon you were reliving the conversation you had on your first date. “You mean he’s, like, Sabrina the Teenage Witch?” Zoro didn’t catch it. “Who?” he said, and you waved him off. “Nevermind.”

The sneer he wore back then was similar to the one he makes now, seeing the blue light of your phone fill the room with a notification.

“It’s him,” you say, fingers instinctively hovering to your lock screen. Neither can you help looking at the hour displayed in blinding white: 01:51 A.M.

Zoro keeps himself from rolling his eyes. “Tell him I’m bringing you to your dorm.”

You text; the reply comes in a beat.

“He asks if you even know where my dorm is.”

“Of course I—” Zoro clicks his tongue. Then he snatches the phone from your hands and presses ‘record’. “Of course I know where to go you jackass,” he snarls, throat pulsing.

Taking your phone back, you check the message popping in not long after. “He says he’s coming over.”

“Fine then. Whatever.” It’s low. He sounds irritated. “Let’s pay and we’ll wait for your princess outside.”

And that’s exactly what you do; take care of the bill, grab your jackets and throw yourselves out. Feeling the crisp air on your cheeks, you realise you’re so much drunker than you’ve felt inside. You’re light, feathery, persistently on the verge of being blown out. Concrete flounders around you and you have to put in some additional effort to maintain your balance. Time becomes harder for you to register or something Zoro has just said made you cackle for too long because here is Sanji, your sweet boyfriend Sanji, parking his car not too far away from your forms. You can tell he put on himself the first things he saw in the wardrobe. His hair is slightly disordered, his step heavy as he rushes to your direction.

“Evening Angel,” Sanji chirps, pulling you into a hug, and you cannot help but dig your nose into the soft fabric of his hoodie, closing your eyes, glad to finally have something to lean your weight onto. His tone drops when he looks at Zoro. “Mosshead.”

Zoro’s hands are sunk into his pockets. “Told you I got everything under control.”

“Pardon me if I didn’t believe you.” Sanji is sardonic. “Looking at the state of this slump, seems like I was right not to.”

“Not my idea to come here, bitch,” Zoro drones. His breath fogs the air as he speaks. “Next time get your head outta your ass and listen to people before running your mouth.”

Some of Sanji’s cologne still hangs from the soft fabric. “This was the only place that allowed us to play cards,” you say against his chest.

“Aha,” he flattens his hand across your back. “At least tell me you played for money and bled this loser dry. Tomorrow will get yourself something pretty with stupid mosshead pocket change.”

“You done talking?” Zoro says through gritted teeth.

“Yeah,” Sanji’s lips press into a thin line. He’s slowly urging you towards the car. “We’ll be off in a beat.”

“We didn’t play for money,” you tilt your head to look at him, trying to match his steps as you distance yourselves from the pub.

“What a pity.” Between wry and affectionate.

You raise a loose fist in the air. “Till the next one, Zoro!”

“See ya daredevil,” Zoro shifts his weight from one leg to another. “Tuck your princess in and give him a sweet goodnight’s kiss, yeah?”

“Fuck you,” Sanji heaves, closes the door behind you.

On the way to your dorm, he doesn’t ask about how many you had or lecture about being alone—with Zoro—late at night. Why would he? He’s aware this is a part of you, and he’d lie if he said he doesn’t melt watching the glimmer in your eye and your lips curling into a wicked smirk each time you tell him how much fun you had. Though he does worry about you, sometimes, when you willingly throw yourself in all kinds of dangerous shenanigans. Seeing your head slipping down the backrest, silently Sanji casts a spell on your eyelids to make sure you sleep unbothered until tomorrow morning. Tucks some strands of hair behind your ear, yet his eyes are still fixed on the road, and his hands are both rested on the steering wheel.

Normally, he wouldn’t have been so exhibited with his magic had you been awake. But for now he takes the liberty to carry himself as if he were alone or in the company of the shitty bunch at the Baratie that taught him the craft to begin with. Foliage and plains and cottages move remotely in his wingspan while he continues to think of you. Your smile, your laughter, the nonchalant way you coil your arms around his own to show you around the places that you have so many stories to tell about. To him you are a bundle of new experiences and joy, something pleasant and airy he wishes to emanate himself someday. Always honest, always so easy to approach. Dandelion seeds whirling loosely in the wind.

But the one thing he cannot seem to take his mind from is that having a bent for partying also means having a bent for Zoro.

Lazy, shabby, perpetually absent-minded Zoro.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

Sanji has never really liked the guy, for reasons he doesn’t have the time or energy to list. Tolerance is perhaps too much to describe the compromise he’s willing to take; but he attempts it, for your sake. Because no matter how he tries looking at things Zoro adds something to this life of yours he certainly doesn’t have, or doesn’t know how to make up for. No matter how well you fit in his arms, early in the morning with sleep still heavy on your lashes, throaty voice narrating a dream so bizarre it plucks a laughter from his lips, the nights will always be reserved to someone he wouldn’t even bother to understand. Because he doesn’t want to.

Window rolls down; he lights up a cigarette.

Moments pass. His car stops by a pair of victorian-esque gates he doesn’t take long to recognise. He carries you on his back all the way to your dorm room, putting to sleep everyone he stumbles upon as he does; he isn’t supposed to be here, and certainly you aren’t supposed to return this late at night. He’s thankful you chose to sleep in the bottom bed. With this thought in mind he arranges your pillow and places you under the covers, slowly, gently almost like you were made of glass. From his tote bag he picks out a flask and a piece of paper he scribbles on: “for your hangover—sanji <3”

ii.

The sun bleeds through stained glass in dazzling shades of pink and blue and yellow. Wind chimes, cluttered shelves. Dusted books. The air is thick with the smell of wood and incense. Sanji picks at the fingers that he keeps tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He isn’t allowed to smoke in here, but fuck does he need a drag. Light catches across the variety of bottles and jars lined up in front of him, all displayed in eye-catching colours and labelled in alphabetical order.

Would I? He tries his best not to pick up the light blue piece lingering a little too at hand not to be a work of fate. Should I? Sanji kisses his teeth; he takes the thing into his palm.

There’s a piece of paper attached by lace ribbon. Writing is dainty, yet small and hardly intelligible.

Truth shows itself in wicked colours;

betrayal, freedom, promise.

For they who shall drink this wicked brew

take a night in their beloved’s embrace.

Is their bond seen pure and true,

the Garden sees no place for others.

Like the first lovers on Earth—

runaways from Eden, they shall be.

Sanji takes a deep breath. Flips the flask on all sides, reading and rereading, biting his inner cheek. It’s not like he doesn’t trust you. He does, with all his heart. And yet he cannot help but shamelessly wonder: if Zoro hadn’t introduced you, would you and him have ended up together? Does he stand in the way of something which is meant to be? “I’m pathetic, fuck.”

He tastes blood.

Talking to you about this is out of the question, since that would mean admitting Zoro is a better match for you. Plus, honesty is one of the things he admires about you. He’s sure you wouldn’t cheat. To bring this up would only lead to conflict and the sort of disappointment he’d rather choke to death than see reflected in your eyes.

“This shit is ridiculous.”

The flask makes a frail sound as Sanji throws it in his basket. Stomping the floor with his foot, a cold sweat bobbing at his nape, at checkout he’s greeted by a gorgeous woman dressed in a velvet dress and speaking with a faint voice he doesn’t care enough to pay attention to. There’s a black cat sleeping on a shelf behind her.

“Is this everything you needed?” she asks, carefully placing the goods in a paper pag.

Sanji drops some cash on the counter and leaves without saying a thing to her.

iii.

“What do you think, my dear?” Sanji asks you on the other side of the table. The potion he bought a week ago forms a bump inside the pocket of his dress pants.

You want to be sure of your answer, so you take another forkful of your food, still steaming hot and methodically arranged on the plate. It’s good. No, it’s tremendously good, better than you imagined it to be.

“Sanji, this is incredible,” you say, not allowing yourself the time to fully swallow. “And I’m not only saying this because I like complimenting you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” His face brightens, a mix of pride and the unpretentious joy he takes from cooking to other people. However he still looks to be preoccupied by something else you never find the right timing to ask about.

Embarrassment hitching up your throat, you drag your fork across ceramic. Sanji stays silent for a moment; his plate is barely touched. In hopes to escape the tension, your eyes wander to look at his curtains, his shelves, an enframed picture with a gruff old man and a much younger Sanji cheerily holding out a slice of lemon cheesecake. The apartment is small, but tasteful, with decent flooring and a rent anyone your age can afford. White walls, light blue cushioning. A closed balcony where he grows basil and rosemary.

You are going to sleep over tonight. It’s not that you've never done this before; have dinner together before deciding on a movie you’ll never get to watch because his hand grips on your thigh a little too tightly and your knee presses itself somewhere too bold to go unnoticed. But something feels different now, you cannot quite tell why. He feels different. With his avoidant eyes and stuttering words and index finger that frequently climbs to scratch an eyebrow.

“If you wanted to break up with me you could’ve chosen a café, you know?” you hear yourself saying, arms folded.

“What?” His chair scrapes the floor; he tries not to cringe from the sound. “No, no.” It's ferm. It's rushed. “Why would you think that?” goes unsaid.

Fingertips digging into the table, Sanji doesn't know how he ended up on his feet. He takes the opportunity to take the seat next to yours, plate and cutlery clanking along as he does. “No one's breaking up with anyone, sweetheart,” words fight their way through the knot in Sanji's throat.

Sanji shoves his fork in his food which now looks less parmigiana and more like something a primary school kid would make for their art class assignment. Fuck, adding wasted food to his trainwreck fog of thoughts is the last thing he wants for tonight. After he swallows it down, his tone finally relaxes.

“I was actually thinking of proposing something, now that we’re soon to move up to dessert. Something I'd like us to try,” he says.

It registers quickly. “Like in bed?”

“It might sound a little weird, though.” Sanji avoids meeting your eyes. His chest rises and falls in a disjointed rhythm as he tries his best to empty his plate.

“I like weird,” you say, propping your head on a fist, curiosity pushing your mouth a little higher.

He cannot help but mimic your smile. “Well I bought us something.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, I did.” Not wasting any more time, he pulls the flask out of his pocket, displays it on the dinner table—clear liquid bottled in cerulean crystal, ribbon unfastened and label removed. Your eyes widen. “I was doing some grocery shopping, and stumbled upon this,” Sanji explains.

You take it in your hands, blinking, carefully not to damage the contents. “Is this an aphrodisiac?”

“You can call it that,” he says. “It stimulates the senses, so everything should feel a little more intense than usual. I know I haven’t been necessarily adventurous with you, dear,” looking into his plate, then at you. Inevitably he starts thinking of Zoro. “Thought maybe I can start from somewhere.”

Your hand reaches his. “You don’t have to go out of your way for me. You’re perfect for me, yeah? And I have fun with you. Lots of it, actually.”

“I know—” heat rising in throat, he reaches to loosen his shirt collar. “I mean, you’re perfect for me, too, hell I cherish each and every moment we spend together. Kind of felt intrigued to experience this with you, is all. However it’s definitely ok and understandable if you don’t feel comfortable doing it.”

Inspecting the flask in your hands, you give it a second of thought. You know the kind of shops Sanji frequents: equipped with dust and smoke and mysteries. The between-buildings types you have asked about before, and received a response either too vague or too straightforward to be taken seriously. Even still, trust has never been an obstacle. You trust Sanji; he has trustworthy eyes and a soothing voice that feels like a kiss on one’s eyelids. He’s good to you, always has been, when he cradles your face in his palms and calls you his sun and moon and stars, stardust dripping from his eyes as he assures you’re the best he’s had.

“Does this have any side effect or some sort?” you look up to search for his gaze, and like pulled by a magnet Sanji returns it.

“No,” he says. “Wears off in the morning. Like nothing happened.”

If you don’t end up running to Zoro, that is. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach as the thought snipes through his mind. He’s not sure how to feel about lying to you, either. But maybe it’s for the best; if it turns out he isn’t your meant-to-be after all.

Decisive, “Fuck it. Let’s do it, then.”

Sanji’s smirk fades out the anxiety. “In this case our next course will consist of one more secret ingredient.”

Feet swinging, tapping against the floor. Walls drifting apart and closing in. Moments have passed through you like sequences from a dream, and you fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater as Sanji sets the dessert on the table—two delicate things, like they were long intended to play the highlight of your night, light pink and beautifully decorated with dried rose petals and pomegranate seeds. For a minute you marvel at Sanji’s attention to detail, the love he puts into any dish as he turns them into something special and palatable.

“Baby,” your laugh is a casual play at fragrancy Sanji takes in with a one-sided smile. “There’s no way I can run my teaspoon into this.”

He takes the seat to your right. “The real deal happens when you taste it, sweetheart,” he says, reaching for a teaspoon of his own, strands of blonde hair brushing one cheek as he does.

And when you eventually do it, run tableware through moulded cream, you relish the sweetness that melts on the roof of your mouth. Sanji asks if you can tell the other thing apart from the dish. You say no, I don’t, do you? I think it’s the pomegranate, he acts like he’s uncertain even though you’re sure it shouldn’t take more than a few seconds. I only used some as decor. But here it’s rather pungent, not that I’m complaining. Child’s play. Halfway through your tasting, a second question comes.

Do you feel anything?

I don’t.

Do you?

No.

Sanji’s heart clutches in his chest. He’s impatient, laughable even, he knows he is, since spells like this should take longer to surface. Three times he mouthed the chant and the potion gracefully vanished into steam as it poured down the servings, no drops left. By the look of that, Sanji might at least expect something to happen. Either bad or reassuring.

Yet you stay your familiar comfortable selves even after you’ve eaten the whole thing, carrying on as such when you help him—at least attempting to, he never lets you lift a finger—clean the table and watch him washing the dishes from one of his counters. Sleeves pushed to elbows, fingers sunk into the sponge, hair pushed into concentrated, concentrating eyes. Water rolls off his wrists—drip, drop. He tells you something, but you cannot hear him. It hovers towards the ceiling and in the back of your head, a muffled sound engulfing you not less like the numbing feeling of being underwater. Shamelessly you ask him to repeat.

Okay, maybe you do start feeling some way.

Sanji turns off the tap. A crushing silence.

“I was wondering if you thought of something to watch tonight,” he turns to look at you, and stops.

He cannot tell if it’s your eyes, suddenly looking bigger, or your collarbones, stretching in and out in anticipation, wet lips looking wetter, slightly parted as you breathe, but he feels helplessly drawn to you, like you’ve been tied up by some invisible rope that keeps rolling up, more and more, thinning the space between your bodies. Air catches in his lungs as he lets himself be torn apart by his awe and not knowing what to do with it.

Just as indiscreetly you wrap your eyes around his shoulders, his chest, his biceps, looking so much more strained under his shirt. Watching him make a step towards you, it seems like his eyes have gotten brighter, cheeks catching a faint tinge of pink, and you have to fight the impulse to dip a hand under your sweater and see how those long fingers of his would feel on you.

Your fingertips bite into the front edges of the counter. “Not yet, no,” you say, a little disconnected from yourself. Sanji’s scent is an intoxicating mix of rosemary and sandalwood. “Guess we’ll have to browse and see what comes our way.”

“Sure. We’ll look.” Stepping forward, Sanji is the most relaxed he’s felt in days, his limbs and shoulders so much lighter as he moves, comfortably numb in the absence of a thought which has weighted on his back like a fiend draining him of his life force. He knows he has been waiting for something tonight, an answer, you calling a name he cannot bring himself to remember, and yet his mind is blank with nothing but the image of his lips crashing on yours.

His presence radiates need, and it sends an electric shiver down your spine as he comes closer to you, fingers running over your knuckles. When your eyes align with his, you find it impossible to look anywhere else. So you sink into the blue and drown. Sanji leans further in, and his breath is sultry against your earshell as he speaks.

“Fuck knows what’s happening to me, dear,” he says, a hoarse sound that makes your thighs squeeze together. “But please tell me you’ll ride my face before anything else.”

But he sure knows what’s going on. He put a spell on you; or something along these lines.

Your body moves by its own as you push forward, biting your bottom lip, pressing your chest against his. “Want me to fuck your mouth, pretty?” your tone echoes the urgency of his request.

His lips trail down your ear and across your neck. Suddenly your legs are wrapped around his torso. “Oh, and even more,” he tells you. “I want you to cream on my mouth so much that you’ll never find any other to please you just as good.”

“Then why am I not in your bed yet?” It comes out more desperate than it should. Without realising your fingers have unfastened at least two of his shirt buttons, and now they seem to cling onto his collar for dear life.

Something flares in him; powerful, primal, which he hasn’t been aware he’s had before, sliding a hand under your hips and picking you up before slamming his lips against yours. The kiss is deep, all tongue. You return it with closed eyes and a breathy moan that pulls Sanji in a frenzied daze. Hands curled at his nape, you lose yourself in the taste of nicotine and pomegranates as you let him carry you past dim lit walls and into the bedroom. He doesn’t bother to turn on the lights. When he hurls you in bed, it’s with a deliberate movement, careful not to bruise you in any way but not the less forceful altogether.

Then you take care of the rest of his buttons and belt, and he moves his focus to your pants, tugging them off while your mouths can’t gather the resolve to leave each other. Your fingers rake themselves through his hair. Smoothing the skin under your sweater, his hands stop to flatten around your breast. As Sanji presses his weight on you, it becomes impossible not to notice how fucking hard he is, greedy and throbbing against your soaked panties. He’s at his most unbridled tonight, and yet he touches you with the ritualistic devotion of a priest, mouthing syrup into your ear like lighting candles on an altar. The full moon spills in her light through the window, blue and delicate, and for a moment there you are sure Sanji’s contours have caught a prismatic glow, colourful flashes whirling in your vision, wavering around him like some sort of aura.

After he breaks away, you are still tied together by a thin thread of saliva. He pushes your panties aside, and your back arches when he slides a digit, and then a second one, into your slit. There’s lust in his eyes, the kind you’ve never seen on him before, drinking in the sweet faces you make while his fingers press in and out of you in circling motions, rubbing your clit just so sweetly as he does.

“Look how wet you are, dearest,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Always such a lovely mess for me.”

“I want you, Sanji,” you say, aware that you cannot hide the way he makes you feel by looking at him alone.

It’s you, Sanji.

Your voice echoes in his heart like water dripping in a cave, let it melt inside him with something close to relief. He wants to thank you; and yet he cannot tell exactly what for. What he does instead is pull you into another kiss, less vicious and more affectionate, keeping you close with a hand flattened on your nape.

The more you kiss him the brighter the room looks. Spectral rainbow fading behind his form.

“Could you shift your hips for me?” Sanji eventually suggests. “Let me taste you, honey.”

It doesn’t take long to figure out what he means by that. Like a thing of habit, you let Sanji take your spot on the bed, then climb your way onto his face. You take yourself a moment before starting to move, but all wariness disappears the moment he drags a flat tongue across your slit. His voice vibrates into your core as your taste has him mumbling seared praises against your folds. Further you drop yourself on his mouth, and more he laps at your pussy, wet and desperate, coaxing you those sounds that fill the room and blend in with the moonlight.

Sanji’s tongue has always managed to make you shiver. But this time is different, because you can feel everything; nose and beard and lips, drenched in your slick, white-hot as they rub themselves against your favourite spots. You can feel it when his eyes close and open, taking his time to savour the moment, and when he lets out a pleasured sigh to let you know how grateful he is to be allowed the luxury of tasting you, there is a delirious sensation rushing from your heat and climbing to your back like an electrical shock. It makes you thrust your hips harder against his mouth, call out his name with the urgent solemnity you didn’t know your voice could be able to reproduce.

Looking at the way Sanji’s lower body tries to helplessly grind against nothing, cock straining in the confines of his boxers, bulging and stained with precum, you come to realise he must be feeling the same as you do. Oh, but Sanji revels in seeing how sweet you can be for him, and how good he can make you feel when he eats you out. He doesn’t mind the pain as long as he gets to lick you off his chin after he’s done. Never someone to dismiss your pleasure over his own. And yet.

As his mouth diligently works on the heat that is now building in your stomach, and your movements pick up in pace to reach the high, you cannot help not to stare at his cock, thrusting the air to catch up with your rhythm. Hands running a touch across his stomach, you lick your lips. Sanji moans into you when you lean down to tug at his boxers.

“Angel, what—” you hear him saying.

Not allowing him the time to protest, you press yourself onto his face. “I’m so close, please,” you inform him, in a voice you don’t recognise. “Please don’t stop.”

So he doesn’t, running his tongue around your clit, not letting a single drop go to waste. You’re almost there.

“Good goddess, fuck,” he huffs, feeling your hands on his balls, and shortly after your mouth kissing him at the tip.

He comes that instant; let heat shoot in your mouth and down your throat as you wrap your lips around him, swallowing and licking off everything you can. There is something wrecked in his voice as he’s taken through his crescendo, something like a prayer sent to an all-mighty, and even then he continues to kiss your folds and drag his tongue across you until you come to climb a peak of your own. With Sanji’s taste lingering on the roof of your mouth, tears begin to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you call for him, over and over again, enveloped in pleasures you never thought that existed.

Only when you’re brought back, a panting mess, you realise Sanji remained just as hard as you left him—something only that weird sex drink could’ve made it happen. You take the opportunity to lift your hips from his mouth and better adjust yourself at his crotch; he starts shifting awkwardly the moment you do.

“There’s no need to, really.” Sanji is hesitant as he looks down at you, lips red and goatee still soaked with your slick.

“But I want my meal,” you say, already licking at the tip. “It’s only fair you let me have one too.”

He’s having a hard time saying no to you; but how can he, when you talk with that voice, and when you look at him with those pleading eyes that reflect the gates to Heaven and more? Your mouth takes a little more of him, hot tongue trailing up and down his cock, and his eyes roll back into his head in visible defeat.

Sanji runs his fingers through your hair. His tone takes to yearning, “So my precious darling is hungry, huh? Cute and silly for my cock?”

“Mhm,” bottom lip rolling up, wetly.

Half smug, half dazed. “Then it’d be cruel of me not to keep you fed.”

Deeper you push your mouth around him, until he’s twitching in your throat and you start to gag. Sanji’s thumb finds your cheek—please don’t do anything you don’t want to. But you wouldn’t stop. You cannot stop. Not when you get to hear the whimpers he makes as your lips press around the skin ever so slightly, when you look up at his heaving chest, his parted lips, pushing out a broken exhale, the eyes that now flood with wavering reflections of the moonlight and tears threatening to wet his lashes.

“Oh, my angel.” It’s coarse, struggling for air. His eyes shut close. “My sun, my everything. Yeah, like that. So fucking good.”

Hands coated in spit, you reach to give his balls a gentle squeeze, continue to fill your throat. Once praises have started to spill from Sanji’s mouth, they don’t stop, and they touch a point at which the words feel like no more than babbling, trashed and incoherent, with his hair blown in both of his eyes. His hand sometimes runs to his forehead, other times he uses it to caress your face and pet your hair, but no matter what Sanji stays loud in letting you know how good whatever you’re doing to him feels.

The moment he sets both of his hands on your head, you know it’s because he’s getting close. With a fearful thrust of his cock into your mouth a growl leaves him, and soon after his second release spills down your throat, warm, somehow sweet. You swallow; his chest expands and contracts in attempt to catch his breath.

Specks of light dash off Sanji’s lips. Pulling you at his level, he clashes them against yours into yet another kiss, sloppy and greedy as he runs his hand down your curves, sinks his fingers into your skin. The touch sears everywhere it reaches; and you cannot do anything but melt in his arms, let yourself be moulded by this growing need that somehow can never quite satiate you.

“Hope you don’t think you won’t be rewarded for that,” Sanji breathes into your mouth.

Your lips rolling to his jaw, you say, “Hope you don’t think I’ve had enough of you.”

“I’m here for you to take,” with a quivering hand Sanji squeezes your pussy. “Will always be.”

His fingers send a delightful shock throughout your body. Something close to a moan tears from your throat. “You're such a whore for me, Sanji.”

“Can you blame me?” Sanji rubs his tip against your inner thigh. “Darling, please look at yourself.”

“For the love of god—” wet and breathless against his ear. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Your impatience endears him, has his heart beating so much faster than it already does. Still he starts slowly, pushing you onto the pillows, taking his time to relish your expression as he lifts your legs and lovingly sets them atop his shoulders. Sanji almost laughs at himself, because even under the influence of this potion that brings out anything wild and viscerally troublesome he has in him, nothing delights him more than getting to unravel you with the same care one deseeds a pomegranate in the kitchen.

Placing a kiss on your calf, he croons, “Say, sweetheart, what about you? Who do you crave for just so?”

Not wasting a beat, “You, Sanji.” It’s you.

He could get off by these words alone.

“And what do you want from me?” he starts to coat himself in your slick, pressing the tip on your clit every now and then. “Do you want me to fuck you, maybe? Fill you up and call you beautiful?”

You can only nod, legs coiling around his neck in anticipation. “Yeah, yeah. Please fuck me.”

Then you can feel him burying himself into you, and it rips a sound from your mouth as soon as he does. Your hips lift to increase the friction. You accommodate him easily, trembling under him and through the persistent knot in your stomach that has you wanting for more.

When he bottoms out, his voice is low, hypnotic. “Like this?”

“Like this,” you echo, drowning yourself in the wild glimmer flaring in his eyes.

Fingers dug into your legs, his temples sweaty, Sanji pulls out, then drops himself back in, each motion steadier than the other. Wet sounds fill the sheets as your bodies coil and flatten together like nothing matters in this world but you and this moment and the moon capturing your contours in ethereal glow. Nothing, no one. Sanji speeds his hips, chest flushed and sweltering. Usually you’re not as permissive with your sounds as he is, but tonight they seem to just pour themselves out of your mouth, every sigh and moan and whimper, sugar waterfalls thickening the air as Sanji moves you into each thrust.

“Ah,” you hear him say, a man aflame. “Refresh my memory, would you, angel? Who did you want to fuck again?”

Through an exhale, “You—” a pause. “Only you.”

“You feel so good,” he whines, collapses with a slapping sound. “So sweet, so perfect for me.”

Blue and pink and yellow; just as vivid when you close your eyes. He goes in deep, deeper, and your thighs are shivering against his torso.

“Yeah? You like that?” legs tightening their grip around him. “Like it when I take you good and confess?”

“More than that,” Sanji is breathless. “Makes me insane. You’re making me go insane.”

You wouldn’t admit it, but you know how it feels. To have your sanity run scarce by a voice telling you how faultless you are, that no matter how you see yourself you will always be a cosmos in someone else’s eyes. If anything, you should know this better than anyone else, the maddening feeling of being fed honey and sugar glaze as your thoughts are pressed against body heat. Lost in his trance Sanji picks up the pace, and there’s a wet, debauched mewl that overrides even the careless crash of your skins.

Lip caught under your teeth, “Want to, mh—wanna hear another confession, baby?”

“What’s on your mind, my sweet?” Sanji’s lips ghost over your calf.

“Think I—” with a thrust your eyes are hurled to the ceiling. “Fuck, I think I love you.”

Vulnerable.

Suddenly his chest drops against yours, a chance for your legs to flatten across his back, pulling him the closest you can. His fingers interlace with yours as he sinks into the crook of your neck.

Reckless.

The pace doesn’t slow down, but you can very well tell it’s become sloppier than before. A lost rhythm. When you look at him again, you are quick to notice the dampness pushing at the corners of his eyes.

“I love you too,” glad to finally word it this way. “I love you so much.”

Then he continues to rut into you, shaky voice fogging your neck the moment your nails pierce into his back. Your hips thrust themselves up, desperate for tandem. Heat erupts inside you. Another peak you’re yearning to chase.

“‘m gonna come, ‘m gonna come,” you tell him, cheek brushing over his hair.

“Let go, my dear,” in a frail tone. “Let me hear you.”

With a squeeze of your hand Sanji fucks you the way you need him to—viciously.

He could try. He could at least try to make you fall so hard for him that you will keep your words even after the spell wears off.

You pull at his hair, mean and senseless as a sudden burst of pleasure tears through you. Your lips move without being able to hear the words. There must’ve been something you said, though, you’re sure there was, because Sanji’s soon chasing after, hung on a mournful vowel, flooding you through his end.

The moon soaks into your bodies.

iv.

Sanji wakes up with tinnitus. He blinks, once, twice, waiting for the specks of colour before his eyes to rearrange into furniture. The next thing he recognises is your breathing, small and lukewarm on his chest. Instinctively his arms wrap themselves around you, and there’s a long exhale when they do. You’re naked, both of you. His head becomes heavy with flashes of last night, lips pressed together, bending sternum, and soon they are replaced with the sound of a name he thought he couldn’t remember. Sentiments he thought he discarded.

He thought he would lose you.

But you are still here.

Before knowing it, his arms are shaking, and like he’s done many times when he finds it impossible to contain himself, he covers his eyes with an elbow.

He starts crying.

Muffled, subtle, more worried about waking you up than about having to figure out an excuse for his tears. Droplets roll off his cheeks and onto his collarbone. His chest jerks up and down in a pathetic staccato. He wishes he were someone with more control over his emotions, sometimes, during moments like this. But he isn’t, and he cannot change, just like he cannot be many other things.

A soft rustle beneath the sheets. Arms squeezing his torso.

“Sanji, hey.” The words come out rasp, still filled with sleep. When he doesn’t answer, there’s a thumb wiping across his cheek. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I’m sorry,” is all he can manage.

Warmly, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups again. “I’m so sorry.”

Because he doubted you. Because he cannot fucking stop doubting himself. Heaven knows he’d tell you all these things, were he a braver man. Instead there’s only one thing that seems to be coming out of him, a broken record.

“I’m sorry.”

You wouldn’t want to pressure him. Without saying anything else you keep Sanji in your arms, squeeze him tighter as his tears blend with your hair and your fingers move to soothe his frantic shoulders. Salt pours on his bottom lip. Sanji accepts the comfort despite his better judgement, burying his face into your neck, trying to focus on the sound of your breathing. You stay like this for a while.

There are so many things he’d want to tell you; the kind of things that eat through his guts and tear him apart. Silly images of him taking you to the Baratie, teaching you the way around potions, topping your hand as you sign your name in blood and knowledge, are you to feel rebellious enough.

And he will, one day; talk to you about everything he’s ever seen and touched. Now, however, he closes his eyes and hopes you will somehow catch a flicker of all the love he has in him; everything that makes him foolish.

by far the longest thing i've written in years & it's a boring au. now excuse me but i need to go lie down for a while.

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #one piece smut #sanji smut #mdni #spooktober 2024

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girlkisser13 · 6 months ago

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being married to shoko ieiri would include

• shoko is not a morning person at all, so if you’re an early bird, you’ll usually be the one making breakfast while she groggily leans against the counter, sipping coffee with half-lidded eyes.

• if you’re a night owl like her, expect lazy mornings where neither of you want to get out of bed.

• if she’s had a particularly long night, you like to bring her coffee in bed, and as a thank you, she presses lazy kisses against your collarbone.

• she has a bad habit of overworking herself, often staying at the morgue or tending to injuries for far too long. you’re the only person who can convince her to take a break, dragging her away for food or a nap when she’s been running on fumes.

• shoko is the most unorganized person you know. she leaves little messes everywhere— discarded cigarette packs, half-read books, scattered notes from medical cases.

• if you’re more organized, you’ll likely be the one tidying up after her, while she shrugs and calls it "controlled chaos."

• she likes to rest her feet in your lap whenever you’re sitting on the couch together. it’s her way of claiming your space without making a big deal out of it.

• physical affection with shoko is subtle but constant. she’s not big on grand romantic gestures, but she’s always leaning against you, nudging your knee with hers, or resting her chin on your shoulder when she’s standing behind you.

• when she’s drunk, she gets extra clingy, slumping against you and murmuring how much she loves you, her usual deadpan demeanor slipping into something much softer.

• she’s got a dry, teasing humor, and half her declarations of love sound sarcastic— "ugh, i guess i love you or whatever"— but there’s always real warmth behind her words.

• when she’s feeling affectionate, she’ll run her fingers through your hair absentmindedly, especially when she’s sleepy or lost in thought.

• she has a bad habit of stealing your clothes, especially oversized hoodies and shirts, because they smell like you and they’re comfortable. if you try to call her out on it, she just smirks and acts like she has no idea what you’re talking about.

• late-night conversations in bed are a must. shoko rarely opens up, but with you, she shares the weight of her responsibilities, the things she’s seen, the losses she carries.

• shoko is fiercely independent and needs her own space sometimes, but she also loves knowing you’re there. you don’t have to entertain her or constantly talk; just being in the same room, existing together, is enough.

• she doesn’t make a huge deal out of the idea of marriage itself, but when she commits, she commits. you don’t have to worry about her heart straying— when she’s yours, she’s yours.

• she can be a little emotionally distant at times— not because she doesn’t care, but because she’s used to handling things alone. being married to her means slowly breaking down those walls and showing her that she doesn’t have to carry everything by herself.

• if you get married in a more traditional sense, don’t expect her to care too much about the planning. "as long as there’s alcohol, i’m good," she says.

• you’ll probably have to be the one making most of the decisions while she just shows up, looking unfairly gorgeous in whatever outfit she throws together last minute.

• she never makes a big deal out of anniversaries, but she always remembers them. instead of grand gifts, she surprises you with something meaningful— a book you mentioned once, a rare night off where she takes you out for drinks, or just a quiet evening where she lets herself be fully present with you.

• shoko doesn’t like unnecessary drama, so fights with her are usually brief. if she’s upset, she’ll let you know in her usual blunt way, but she’s not one to yell or hold grudges.

• if you’re the one who’s mad, she’ll give you space at first, but if you stay quiet for too long, she’ll nudge you with a sarcastic, "still mad? should i start writing my will?"

• she apologizes in her own way— maybe by bringing home your favorite drink, running her fingers through your hair when she thinks you’re asleep, or pulling you into a loose hug and murmuring, "don’t be mad. you know i love you, right?"

• shoko loves slow, sleepy kisses in the morning, the kind where neither of you are really awake yet and everything feels warm and hazy.

• she has a habit of tracing random patterns on your skin absentmindedly, whether it’s on your arm, your back, or your thigh.

• if you’re stressed, she’ll plop down beside you, pull you into her lap, and run her fingers through your hair until you relax.

• she’s the type to initiate a make-out session lazily, pulling you in by your collar and murmuring, "come here," before kissing you slow and deep.

• when you’re lying in bed together, half-awake or just enjoying a moment of quiet, you find yourself lightly tracing over her beauty mark with your fingertip. she pretends not to notice, but if you stop, she’ll shift closer, subtly inviting you to keep going.

• you’ve made a habit of pressing a gentle kiss just beneath it, especially when you’re feeling affectionate. the first time you did it, shoko rolled her eyes but didn’t move away. now, she’s completely used to it— maybe even expects it.

• if you ever want to reassure her or just remind her how much you love her, you simply brush your thumb over it. it’s a small, intimate gesture that doesn’t need words, but shoko always understands.

• if she ever gets ready in the morning and absentmindedly covers it with makeup, you dramatically gasp and act betrayed. "how dare you hide my favorite thing?" she laughs and flicks your forehead before wiping it off just to humor you.

• if you’re sick or injured, she switches into full doctor mode— cool, efficient, but also quietly concerned. she’ll check your temperature, bring you medicine, and stay by your side, though she’ll act like it’s no big deal.

• on the flip side, if she is sick, she’s the worst patient ever. complains the whole time, insists she’s fine, and grumbles if you try to take care of her. but if you insist, she’ll eventually give in and rest her head in your lap with a muttered, "you win."

• shoko isn’t the best cook, so meals are either takeout or something you make. if you force her to help, she’ll dramatically sigh about how you’re torturing her.

• she’s incredibly low-maintenance but appreciates it when you do small things for her, like making sure she eats properly or reminding her to take breaks from work.

• she pretends to be annoyed, but deep down, she secretly likes that someone cares enough to nag her about it. <33

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zeyris-daydreams · 6 months ago

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Not a request, but how do you think poly yandere Boothil and Robin would work together

Yandere! Boothill x reader x Yandere!Robin

Omg!! I absolutely love the idea of a Robinhill poly!! The mutual worry goes insane, and I’ll make sure to marinate their experiences in a seasoning of their experiences!

Boothill is a man who knows what loss is. After all, loss sent him on his journey, and bore a seed of vengeance in him. For Robin, loss was immaterial. It was what she felt to be loss of freedom, and loss of close ties. In that Robin and Boothill understood each other, and their experiences, albeit similar on the surface, shaped them differently.

Boothill is protective from his past experiences; scared that if he doesn’t hold his close ones, they’ll slip to never be seen again. The fear of further loss, embraced by his single-mindedness as a Galaxy Ranger, is quite the shake to deal with. It’s worsened by a sense of posessiveness, creating a similarly determined approach with you.

Robin however knows how it feels to be left with limited options, and so despite her ever-growing affection to you, she is rather reasonable. She can’t stop her feelings, but she can judge things from another perspective as well; Boothill never doubted her abilities or expertise when they combated the monkey-virus, after all. And, despite his possessiveness and jealousy, he knows she can take care of himself. She truly is an angel, in all the meanings of this word.

Then again there’s you, too, fortunate or unfortunate enough to have their gazes on you. Perhaps it is Robin to initiate, and perhaps it is Boothill. Both work out in the end; one way or another, their relationship based on trust and understanding starts to encase you too. Maybe not in the same understanding or trustful way, but still, it is based upon care for your being.

I believe Robin and Boothill may initially find their ideals to crash, it doesn’t lead to an argument. With your person, Boothill believes that the best course of action was to protect what he likes most; you, and Robin. Robin however understands it, and given she likes Boothill too, there is no fuss around the topic. Therefore no extreme measures need to be taken.

In your case… compliance isn’t promised, that’s what Boothill had told “singing queen” when discussing you over lunch. Because in case of you rejecting them, how can they ensure your safety? Robin does not wish to cage you. Boothill believes the only way to ensure safety would be to keep an eye on you, supervised.

And, given your acceptance isn’t promised, Robin is fairly easy to convince. While she doesn’t plan to hold you hostage - goodness, no. She’d never do that to someone else - she can try other ways of conviction. If you understand their care, then you’ll surely choose to stay; that is something that Boothill can get behind.

And, if you choose to stay, then it’s not keeping a bird in a cage.

Their mutual care for each other extends equally to you, really! I mean, Boothill can take care of himself! And, Robin is intelligent, she did well all this time too, dealing with so many things. . .

You have to understand why it’s just different with you. You have to.

Maybe she will have to.. tune you slightly. Slightly, promise, it’s not even going to hurt! Boothill and Robin mutually don’t want anyone’s feelings hurt. And so it’s unacceptable if you offend either of them as well - same as if you were being treated badly.

Obsessive care and being protective of you isn’t bad treatment, however. You simply have different needs from them. That’s it.

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myinconnelly1 · 30 days ago

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Slow Down

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Word Count: 2157

Summary: On a mission, you and John Walker are captured and left in the back of a cargo unit with a strange plant.

Warnings: SMUT, sex pollen, dub!con if you really want to take it there, loss of virginity, John Walker being an asshole as a defense mechanism

“You doing okay there, Sunshine?” John asked as he sat across from you. You sneered at the nickname. You were both tied up facing each other, your knees bumping into each other occasionally as you squirmed trying to get comfortable in the shipping container you were trapped in. Sweat was pooling in the collar of John’s uniform, as the heat was starting to get to him. Everything had been fine until you had let out the tiniest whimper.

“Fuck you,” You groaned. Your body ached, the heat was suffocating you, but the chill that was licking at the back of your neck was worrying you. Maybe you were getting sick, maybe the plant in the container was irritating your allergies.

“Don’t tempt me,” Walker chuckled with a light strain. He hated the way his cock twitched to life at your sounds and squirming, and the only defense he had was to be an asshole.

“Gross,” you muttered. You tried to adjust the way that you were sitting, stopping yourself and choking as you almost fucking panted from the friction of your movement. “I think that plant is making me sick.”

You and John had been avoiding looking at the plant since you had been tied up and left in here. You knew that the container had been loaded onto a truck and that you were on the move, but there were no windows, so you had no idea where you were going. Neither of you had wanted to mention how the plant was affecting you, but at this point, a full hour later, it was starting to become overwhelming.

“I think it’s infecting us, not making us sick,” John said. He was obviously picking his words very carefully.

“Us?” You asked for the first time acknowledging out loud that both of you were feeling the effects.

“I don’t know for sure what you’re feeling, Sunshine, but if my suspicion’s right then we’re feeling pretty much the same way,” John’s cadence and tone oozed confidence and smugness. Usually, it was so irritating, and you would walk away before you had to deal with any more of it. But you couldn’t get away this time.

You let yourself look at him. He seemed so calm and collected, but underneath that, you were starting to see the cracks in his composure. He was drenched in sweat, his jaw clenched tight to the point that he was practically shaking. His biceps were bulging against his uniform which was about ready to split at the seams. As your eyes trailed lower, your breath caught in your throat as you saw the outline of his massive straining erection.

“Like what you see, Sunny?” His voice was lower, gruffer, lacking his normal bravado and irritating arrogance. His voice went straight to your core and for the first time, you realized that you weren’t only drenched from sweat.

“Shut up,” you said, clearing your throat. He scoffed at the way you looked away in embarrassment.

“It’s just a hard-on, Sunshine, we’re both adults, we’ve all seen them.” Instantly, his tone changed back to defensive asshole mode. Was he mad that you had rejected him? You could have laughed at your inner thoughts.

“Not everyone wants to see you- your hard-on.” You said. You had started so confidently trying to emulate Yelena’s sass, but you stumbled over your words and felt your face heat with humility. Walker didn’t seem to miss anything that had just happened as he watched you closely. You dropped your head back groaning in your misery. You felt that tight coil in your belly, as desire ached within you. It wasn’t focused like it had been before when you had seen some hot stranger. This was general, broader. That was a dangerous line of thought as your mind started to drift to how broad John’s shoulders were. You wondered how wide he would spread you.

“Sunny, you’re killing me with that look,” his voice shook you out of your little fantasy. “Look I know this situation sucks, but I think this plant is a real problem. I don’t know about you, but I can’t think straight when you look at me like that. How about I close my eyes, and you take care of yourself, then we can deal with these stupid vines.” His vulgarity and directness caught you off guard and any retort you had died on your lips when he suggested that you just get yourself off in front of him. True to his word, he closed his eyes, tightly.

You wiggled in the confines of your rope bonds and stretched your fingers to touch your clit. You nearly jumped out of your skin with the intensity of the sensation that you were feeling. You had told yourself to start slow, to let yourself get over the fact that you were touching yourself in front of another person, but like a touch-starved animal, you searched out your own pleasure with quick, clumsy fingers.

“Jesus, Sunny,” John groaned. Your pants were interrupted by a gasp at the way his voice hit you. You weren’t sure why he had taken to calling you Sunny instead of Sunshine, but the way he spoke sounded so intimate. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Yes.” You couldn’t stop yourself from speaking, despite how strange this whole thing was. Walker wasn’t your friend, you only worked together, and based on the way he treated you, you thought he hated you.

“You should try touching yourself under your clothes,” He whispered. You thought maybe you had imagined his suggestion, but you didn’t care. You shifted, bumping his knees as you got your hands in your pants and nearly sobbed from direct contact. “You sound so pretty.” Your fingers faltered at those words. No one had ever said that to you. “Don’t stop,” he urged.

“It’s not right,” You cried as you continued to touch yourself. Every part of you was high-strung, ready to snap, but you just couldn’t quite get there.

“Slow down, Sunny,” John said. He had opened his eyes when your legs had spread and were touching both of his. “Slow circles.” You panted at the instruction, slowing your fingers down and gulping air like you were about to drown. “So pretty, Sunny, slide your finger inside of yourself. Think of the best cock you’ve ever had.”

“Haven’t,” You murmured letting your fingers slip inside your core, imagining it was John’s cock.

“Shit!” he cried, bowing over himself. The ropes around him snapped as you both came.

He shoved the plant away from you both and then untied your ropes.

“We’re getting out of here, hold onto me tightly,” He instructed. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he grabbed his shield and threw himself, and you, through the doors of the cargo unit. You both landed with a hard thud onto the highway, as cars swerved to avoid you. John held you tightly and rolled out of the steady stream of traffic.

“We need to get out of here before they come back. We should regroup with the team,” You said as you both stood up and brushed off.

“Comms are down, we’ll have to find a place to lay low before we can get ahold of the team,” John said. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, but you could still feel the fever from the container clawing at your belly. It had only been enough to get away. Not enough to be okay. You nodded and you both started walking quickly.

Thankfully it wasn’t too far from the previous exit, and only another mile to an interstate motel. It wasn’t nice, but it was low visibility, and you thought you might be safe for a little while. John hadn’t spoken a single time while you had been walking, and you took that as a good thing. Maybe you could pretend that the event had never happened, you could just take care of the problem by yourself like you always had before.

He walked into the motel room first, making some changes to the layout like blocking the door with the couch and covering windows if possible. You found the phone in the room and tried to call your team.

“Fucking caller ID!” You spat as you hung up the phone. You should have known that no one would pick up the phone to some random number they didn’t recognize.

“I have a transponder, now that we’re stationary I’ll turn it on,” John said calmly. Too calm for your taste.

“You had a transponder this whole time, you could have turned it on in the shipping container?!” You shouted at him. He reacted lightning fast, hand covering your mouth before you could squeak. Your back hit the wall as he pressed his body against you.

“I couldn’t reach it in the cargo unit, Sunshine. Keep your voice down before you attract attention.” His eyes searched your face as he saw the arousal from earlier return to your look. He left his hand fall away from your face and traced your arm, drawing little circles with his thumb. “When I told you to imagine the best cock you’d had earlier, we’re you…. Was that….” He seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say. “Are you a virgin, Sunny?”

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t want to voice it to him. You nodded your head, looking down. He grabbed your chin and lifted you back up to look at him. His eyes flicked down to your lips and back up to see the light in your eyes. That was all it took.

He slammed his lips against yours, devouring your mouth. His hand on your arm squeezed tightly, as he licked into your mouth. He used one of his knees and slotted himself between your legs, as he rutted his covered cock against your core. You wrapped your arms around his neck holding on as tightly as you had when he had jumped with you out of the moving truck earlier.

Something inside of John seemed to snap and he lifted you, your legs wrapping around him instinctually as he pulled away from the wall and lowered himself over you on the bed.

“Tell me to stop and I will, Sunny,” he groaned into your mouth.

“Please don’t” you begged as he continued to kiss you.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me.” You started peeling clothes off each other. He was naked above you before you knew it, and you couldn’t help but stare at him. That oh so well-defined outline that you had seen earlier, did nothing to prepare you for how big he actually was. “Don’t worry, Sunny, it’s gonna fit,” he said as his fingers played with your clit and spread your slick to prepare you. “But I’m gonna take it real slow.”

“John,” you gasped as he notched the tip at your opening.

“I’ve got you, you tell me if it hurts,” He groaned against the skin of your chest. He bucked his hips up slowly easing his cock into you, before retreating to give you time to adjust to his girth.

“I can’t,” you sobbed as he stretched you. He held himself up with one arm, the other hand playing with your clit, occasionally touching where he was sinking himself into you as if he was in awe.

“You’re doing so good for me, Sunny. Take a deep breath and relax, I’m gonna make you feel good.” You did as he said trying to slow down your breathing and your heart rate before you exploded. You felt like those ropes that had been wrapped around John earlier, ready for him to break you. “Jesus, you’re so fucking tight,” he moaned as he kissed any bare skin he could reach. His praise and encouragement were enough for your body to relax some and he sank home with a grunt of restraint.

“Please move,” You panted. “Want you to make me feel good. I want to come all over your cock.” You thought you might have actually killed him that time, as his brain seemed to short-circuit before he started to thrust into you. Slowly and gently, building quickly edging you closer and closer to your climax. You thought you were going to scream when he started to touch your clit again, and you drenched his cock as your orgasm slammed into you.

“You pretty when you cum, Sunny, making such a fucking mess all over me,” He whispered as he pulled your nipple into his mouth, his thrusts getting sloppy. He released your tit like he couldn’t breathe and looked down at you as your whole body bounced with the force of his thrusts. “Wanna make a mess inside of you, think you can take it?”

“Yes!” You cried. “Please.” He growled at the way that you begged and pulled your body close to his kissing you deeply as he came inside of you.

Part 2

#john walker #john walker x reader #x reader #loss of virginity #john walker x virgin!reader #sex pollen #Sunny & Honey

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notiddygothgf · 2 years ago

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❛ Talk to me, baby. I'm goin' blind from this sweet, sweet craving, whoa-oh. Let's lose our minds and go fucking crazy. I-I-I-I-I-I keep on hoping we'll eat cake by the ocean. ❜

★ pairings: choso kamo x f!reader

★ synopsis: you and choso find a way to beat the heat.

★ c.w.: sexual tension, PWP, porn without plot, happy ending! au?, idk everyone's happy lol, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, cowgirl in the backseat, creampie, blowjobs, choso has mommy issues lowkey, and the reader caters to them lowkey. dom/sub undertones, choso doesnt know how to deal with his horniness lol, old fashioned, nasty ass sex, just read it you'll love it.

★ a/n: hi baby girls!! I have been holding onto this one for a MINUTE bc I wanted to make sure it's perfect. im doin a lil bit of a kinktober, so send those requests in! I hope u all love it as much as I do. bitchz w mommy issues wya???🗣️🗣️

★ w.c.; 8.6k

masterlist

CHOSO LOVED THE BEACH. Not for the reason one might normally proclaim such affection for an otherwise family-friendly pastime, but it was a valid reason nevertheless. He used to hate it, actually, especially when Getou and Mahito would drag him out there on the hottest day of the summer for their stupid villain conventions. He was quite comfortable at home in all of his layers. But there was something about the beach these days, something that had him reconsidering his bias.

Call him classless, call him perverted. Whatever it was, there was this strange pull towards the beach that had him in a chokehold. He just couldn’t quite place it.

“You’re staring,” Megumi remarked.

Choso’s brow quirked. Letting his head loll to the side, teetering just off the edge of his beach chair, he offered the following words to his brother’s friend. “No, I wasn’t.”

He totally was. The way his sun glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as you walked past the two was a dead giveaway. But, shit, you looked too good to be true. You were this pretty little thing, strutting around in a pretty pink bikini, soaking in the rays of sunlight, and you were bringing a drink to your friend, Maki. Looked like a lemonade. Also looked like booze. It could have been anything, in all honesty, he wasn’t looking there.

If there was a god out there, he hoped they would forgive him for his ravenous gaze. He had always had a little thing for you, if you will, but the moment you had walked onto the beach today he found himself completely enamored by you.

As you bent down to set the drink in the sand, the bottom of your small pink bikini slipped inward, revealing the smooth, sand-dusted skin of your plump little butt. Then you plopped down on the beach towel next to your friend and popped open the bottle of sunscreen.

Choso watched – rather shamelessly – as you sprayed some of it onto you arm, rubbing it in. You held the canister towards your chest at arms length and released some more of the sheer spray onto the skin there. It trickled down, catching the light of the sun, dripping down between your breasts–

A pair of hairy, pale legs obstructed the view.

“Found a sand dollar,” Spoke none other than the world’s quirkiest little brother, Yuuji Itadori. In a rather fitting slow-pan up to his face, Choso took note of the dorky goggles that he had popped over his eyes. He was shirtless. You would think that the man would have learned that you don’t need to go deep sea diving at the beach by now. “You guys coming?”

Megumi took the words right out of Choso’s mouth. Or, actually, ‘word’ might be more fitting.

“No.”

“I’ll pass,” Choso sighed, repositioning his sunglasses over his eyes. Silently, of course, he cursed his brother for putting on such a show in front of – what was he talking about? Choso Kamo… letting his desires cloud his love for his brother? He usually wasn’t this bad. “I thought I threw those out on you?”

“I bought new ones,” Yuuji muttered. He practically tore the goggles from his face, sending locks of pink hair standing up in the air. Tossing them to the side, he plopped between Megumi and Choso on the picnic blanket.

“Of course you did,” Megumi, who had, for a brief – but beautiful – moment been alluded into believing his friend had decided to keep his remarkable lack of social awareness to himself, reached into the cooler they had filled earlier that day and produced a much needed refreshment.

“Hi!”

Choso, Yuuji and Megumi all turned their heads toward the sound.

It was you. His ‘crush’, as Yuuji had embarrassingly called it. And, shit, you looked even prettier up close. Your hair looked so soft. So did your–

He shook the thoughts away.

“Sorry to bother ‘ya,” You lowered your head apologetically. You extended your arm out towards the three men. Clutched in your small hand was the bottle of sunscreen you had been using before Yuuji had caught Choso’s attention. “My friend is out cold. Could you just get my back for me?”

Choso felt his face grow red at the mere prospect of being so close to you. He had never had the courage to actually reach out and touch you. He felt as if, for some odd reason he didn’t quite understand, his touch would have killed you. You had always been so sweet to him, offering him small talk, refreshments, and friendly jokes when it was just the two of you away from the group.

“Not a problem, Sensei,” Yuuji replied rather quickly.

He reached for the bottle. Before he could grab it, Megumi jabbed his elbow harshly into the back of Yuuji’s neck.

“Bitch, ow,” He hissed.

The glare Megumi shot him could have been heard from ten miles away. Choso sighed, refraining from shaking his head.

“I think he’s sick. I’ll bring him to the infirmary,” Megumi added quietly, standing up rather abruptly and taking Yuuji with him.

Yuuji babbled mindlessly the whole way back.

Highschoolers.

Choso looked back to you. Just you. Alone. He felt his hands get all clammy again. He blamed it on the sun. You were holding the bottle expectantly.

“Uh… I can… I can help, if you’re okay with that,” He looked away, internally kicking himself for fumbling so hard.

You only tilted your head at him. Your eyes were so pretty, wide open as they lingered over his body, his eyes, his nose. Your gaze was a wildfire spreading over the expanse of his face.

It was then that he realized he was very, very shirtless.

“‘Kay, thanks,” you smiled softly.

As you laid down on the beach blanket, Choso felt his heart race even faster. He could hardly believe this was all happening – hell, part of him wondered if he had overstepped by offering his services to you. The sun beat down on your skin, his head, the sand – he blamed the warmth flooding his face on the weather.

You were laid on your stomach only a few inches away, completely oblivious to his moral dilemma.

He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself while he reached for the bottle of sunscreen you had set onto the blanket beside you. With hands that trembled ever-so-slightly, he uncapped the bottle and squeezed a small amount onto his palm. The sunscreen was cool to the touch – so, not wanting to cause you even the slightest bit of discomfort, he warmed it up between his hands.

He then hesitantly placed his hands on the smooth valley of your upper back.

You gasped, twitching beneath his palms.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked quickly, withdrawing his hands.

“No, sorry,” You sighed, shifting on the blanket and then relaxing once more. “Your hands are cold ‘s all.”

Choso felt the blush coming on all over again. He hoped you wouldn’t turn your head back around and see him like this. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, averting his gaze.

“You’re all good, hot stuff,” You offered. “You can keep going.”

His face burned like hell at your compliment. He knew you were that way with everyone, dropping little ‘babe’s and ‘honey’s to your friends and fellow sorcerers. He wasn’t anything special, anyway. Surely, you weren’t talking to him.

He replaced his hands on your back, touch delicate like your skin would crack if he pressed too hard. He started with broad strokes, making sure to spread the sunscreen across your skin evenly. His fingers splayed out over your warm, soft skin, moving in circles. He massaged the sunscreen into your back with a tenderness that surprised even himself.

He wasn’t sure what this stuff actually did. He had seen some of Yuuji’s Jujutsu friends slather some on earlier. Judging by the name, he assumed it protected them from the sun. From what, though? Could the sun hurt some humans? He didn’t really understand.

“You’re wondering something,” You asked, seemingly sensing his pensiveness by the way his hands slowed. “Ask away.”

Choso bit the skin on the inside of his lip, “This lotion…” he asked, “What does it do?”

“Sunscreen?” You hummed. “It forms a layer over your skin so you don’t get sunburnt.”

“Sunburnt…” He reiterated.

“Yeah, that shit hurts,” You added. “I’m guessing Itadori never gave you the run-up on beach necessities…?”

“I guess not,” He remarked quietly.

“I can show you how to apply yours if you want,” You said.

Choso’s heart felt like it would burst. “Okay,” he said, pausing slightly. “I’d like that, thanks.”

Then he was back to his job. His hands smoothed over your back, dipping down a little lower until his thumb brushed against the strap of your bikini. He felt suddenly aware of how soft and warm you felt beneath his touch.

He was dangerously close to the knot in the string that held your whole getup together. He worried for a moment that the dainty bow would come undone – by some strange, supernatural turn of events – despite him making a great effort to move around it.

Choso’s breath hitched when his finger caught on the string, making the knot snap against your skin. He froze up, heart pounding in his chest, perfectly still over your body. The string felt like a fragile barrier between your warm skin and his cold touch, between your body and the thoughts that raced through his mind.

He wondered if you found him weird and off-putting. His gaze flickered up to your face, leaning over slightly, searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

But when he looked into your eyes, he found you were looking at him with the same curiosity. You smiled at him, pretty lips forming a reassuring expression, wordlessly encouraging him to keep going.

Slowly, unsurely, Choso continued his ministrations. He trailed two digits down your spine, stopping at the string. He felt a knot beneath the skin there. He knew sorcerers put themselves through rigorous training. He didn’t doubt that you were feeling sore from the mission you had just come back from a few days ago.

“You’re tense here,” He said quietly.

You turned your head to look at him, “Yeah?”

“Right here,” He pinpointed the exact area with his knuckles, pressing deep into the tissue.

In response, you moaned quietly, back shifting beneath his touch. His shorts seemed to get just a little bit tighter.

Calm down.

“You got magic hands, Choso,” You quipped, though your voice was strained as he passed over the knot a second time. “You could be a masseuse.”

He felt his nerves subside only slightly, though he felt flustered by your words.

You got magic hands.

You could be a masseuse.

Unbeknownst to him, the sensation of his touch created a pleasant tingling beneath your skin. You closed your eyes, letting him take the reins.

Choso continued to work his fingers over your back, feeling the tension slowly melt away beneath his touch. He had used up the last of the sunscreen to cover your lower back, the skin just above your bottom, and he realized his job was done.

“I think that should do it,” He said softly, voice tinged with reluctance as he removed his hands from your back.

You sat up, stretching, turning towards him, eyes sparkling, “Thanks, Cho, you’re a lifesaver.”

You’re a lifesaver.

A shy smile tugged at his lips, “Of course.”

Then, to his surprise, you asked. “You’re sweet. Mind if I sit with you?”

Choso felt his heart skip more than one beat. His eyes widened. He looked at the sand, the shoreline, anything but you. “Sure,” he said.

Smooth, dumbass.

You grinned and pushed yourself up, saying, “I’ll be right back.”

Choso took a moment to collect his thoughts as you left. He was getting ahead of himself. Way ahead of himself. Stll, you had chosen to spend more time with him. You wanted to sit with him.

Conveniently, only a brief moment after you had stepped away, Megumi returned with Yuuji in tow. Choso quirked a brow at the speed of their return.

“That was quick,” he remarked.

Megumi shrugged, “Took him to get ice cream on the boardwalk instead.”

“You get her number?” Yuuji asked.

“I was doing her a favor,” Choso’s calm facade broke. With wide eyes, he hissed, “Pervert.”

“Dumbass,” Yuuji sucked his teeth.. “Look, tonight’s the night to make a move. When else would you find yourself alone with her like this?”

And before Choso could respond, you came back, holding a speaker in one hand. “I brought snacks!” You smiled.

Some time around sundown, sometime after Getou had summoned up one of his low-grade curses to start a fire, the beach day transformed itself into a fireside chat. It was a picturesque scene. The sky was a canvas of blue, with hues of pink and orange painted over the horizon. It was mostly empty there, now. The waves lapped calmly at the shore, a quiet noise that seemed to accompany the quiet chatter of friends gathered around a fire.

There was laughter, groups of people indulged in conversations. Everyone seemed so calm, so happy, it almost seemed to good to be true.

Megumi and Itadori were caught in a cock-off with Maki. Nobara stargazing on her and Maki’s beach blanket. Gojo and Getou were talking in his direction, but not necessarily at him.

“I just think you have an unfair drinking advantage because you’re a man,” You were saying just off to Choso’s side.

The mood was light. Everyone seemed to be content.

Choso, however, couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. The warm, fading sunlight seemed to caress your features from the side, highlighting your pretty smile and making your eyes shimmer. He found himself completely and utterly enamored by you.

You and Getou had cracked open a bottle of Tequila about an hour ago. Getou’s boyfriend long-term-long-distance-low-commitment-casual-boyfriend, Satoru Gojo was red in the face, slouched against the bare chest revealed by Getou’s unbuttoned floral shirt.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Gojo chuckled, letting Getou top off his fourth shot of the night.

Getou denied any relationship with Gojo. Their eyes betrayed them, though. The connection was evident in the loving glances they exchanged.

You had a faint flush of your own, though you had only taken two shots so far.

He tried two of his own, only because you didn’t want to do them alone. He had never been big on drinking. He just didn’t want to seem like a pussy.

“Why don’t you pour me one so we can test that theory?” Nobara nudged you in the side.

Choso watched the scene unfold with mild interest.

“Because you’re a minor,” You said.

Nobara pouted, leaning back onto her blanket. “Not like I’ve never drank before.”

Maki chimed in over her shoulder, “Got vomit stains on my carpet to prove it.”

“Shut up,” She bit back.

You handled the situation effortlessly. “I don’t condone teen drinking,” You began, your voice softening as you continued, “But. I know the four you will probably go hit up one of those beachside bars tonight with your fake IDs anyway.”

“Fake IDs?” Gojo looked at Megumi out of the corner of his eye. Megumi did not look back.

You clapped. Choso’s ears perked up at the sound.

“That being said!” You raised your voice a bit. “I would rather you drink something less potent. Under adult supervision.”

You turned to Getou and Gojo, who exchanged knowing glances before nodding their approval. Choso couldn’t help but be impressed.

“So who wants a Malibu rum spritzer?” You clasped your hands together.

Excitement rippled through the group, and all of the kids, yes all of the kids, Including Yuuji, eagerly raised their hands.

Choso shot his brother a disapproving glare, one that dissipated the moment you leaned in, laying your head on his shoulder. Your voice, soft and smooth like your skin, enticed him as you sing-songed, “Let the kid live a little.”

It was rather remarkable, actually, how quickly his defenses melted at your gentle persuasion. He sighed in resignation. “Alright.”

You grinned up at him, effortlessly stealing his breath away.

“Great,” you said, getting up from your spot without another word. “I’ll go get them from my car. Don’t wait up for me, I walk real slow.”

Turning your attention back to Choso, you looked at him with a warmth behind your gaze he couldn’t quite place. “Choso, sweetie, could you help me carry the cooler?”

His heart soared at your request – at the prospect of you wanting his assistance. He got to his feet quickly, eager to help.

The sand felt cool beneath his feet as he followed your lead.

The moon hung low in the sky as you and Choso strolled through the parking lot, searching for your jeep. The temperature had dropped quite a few notches from earlier, cold breeze rustling through Choso’s hair.

When you spotted your ride, you said, “There it is!”

Choso followed wordlessly behind you. He was still quite nervous that – for the second time today – it was just you and him… alone. Yuuji’s words echoed through his mind.

“When else would you find yourself alone with her like this?”

You popped the door to the backseat open, sitting on the floor – your truck was raised a bit off the ground, so it didn’t put you too far below him.

“My legs are so fucking sore,” You sighed. You dusted your leg off with the backside of your bare foot. When you peered up at him through those long, dense lashes of yours, he felt himself fall for you a second time.

You asked him, “Mind if we take a little break?”

Choso nodded along like the dumb little dog he was for you.

You pushed yourself up and away from the truck, gesturing for him to get inside. It didn’t take much at all for him to step into it and take a seat. You settled in right next to him – perhaps a little closer to Choso than was strictly necessary. He couldn’nt help the pleasant shiver that went down his spine at the feeling of you sitting next to him; so warm, so soft, so perfect.

You let out a contented sigh and leaned your head on his shoulder once more. “I got tired of bein’ social,” You confessed.

He tried hard not to quirk a brow at the admission. Am I an exception?

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” He asked sincerely. He tried even harder to ignore the warm weight of your small head on his shoulder.

So close.

“No,” You hummed quietly. The interior light faded away, gently submerging the two of you in darkness. He could still see your face, your eyes – the way they seemed to sparkle as they looked up at him. “You’re different.”

Choso’s heart took the liberty of skipping one, two, three beats.

You continued without allowing him time to come up with an adequate response. “Can I be honest with you, Choso?”

His cheeks flushed. Still, curiosity piqued, he muttered, “Of course.”

Your voice was soft and vulnerable when you replied, “I think you’re really hot.”

If his face wasn’t hot, it sure was now. He turned away even though he knew you couldn’t see him blushing.

She thinks I’m hot?

Does that mean she likes me?

You had nothing but sincerity in your eyes while you gazed up at him. “You feel the same way, don’t you?”

He bit his tongue, answering honestly, “I do.”

He hated how calm and collected he sounded. On the outside, he was the image of composure. On the inside, he was dying a hundred times over.

You grinned at his admission. “Can I ask you something else, then?”

His lips suddenly felt very dry. He tried his best to focus on the street outside, counting landmarks and objects like his life depended on it – two seagulls, five wooden posts, two dim street lights.

“Sure,” he said.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

And, dammit, when you asked him like that – he could practically feel the last of his resolve crumble beneath your gaze, beneath the weight of your head on his shoulder, beneath your gentle touch on his knee that he hadn’t noticed until now.

You were so close. So close that if he turned his head, angled it down just slightly, your noses would touch. He felt your breath, warm and steady against his neck – a calming symphony that contrasted the trembling mess he had become,

Yuuji’s words played on repeat again. Tonight’s the night to make a move.

He was such a fool for you. Still, he considered himself to be a man of restraint.

His voice was small and scarce, hardly above a whisper when he breathed out, “Yeah.”

Time seemed to slow down as your request hung out in the air. He could feel the anticipation building, buzzing. His heart pounded against his ribcage like a mallet to a gong. He had spent months wondering what would happen if you – by some odd, small chance – returned his affections, and now, with your vulnerability laid bare, he couldn’t resist any longer.

He considered himself to be a man of restraint, that was, until he peered into your wide, longingful eyes.

With a barely noticeable nod, Choso turned his head just slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. Just as he had anticipated, your noses brushed together – he could feel the warmth of your breath on his lips.

You were magnetic.

And in that final, heart-pounding moment, your lips met in the middle – in a gentle, tender union. Choso’s hand seemed to find its own way to your cheek, touch soft as he cupped your cheek. He felt for some odd reason that you might vanish altogether if he let you go.

He wasn’t entirely sure if it had been you or him who deepened the kiss. Either way, he felt himself melt into the seat. The world outside seemed to fade away, ceasing to exist in your presence. None of it mattered – not the empty, public street, not the group of friends waiting on the beach for his return.

Yuuji.

Choso pulled away with a shuddering gasp, pressing his forehead against yours. He licked his lips, panting, “The drinks… We– we should probably– uh… get those.”

He feared that if his heart beat any faster he would explode.

You made no effort to put any distance between you and him. In fact, you put your hands on his shoulders, moving yourself so that you were situated comfortably in his lap.

“There’s no rush,” You hummed. “Getou and Gojo are probably off sucking face somewhere, and those kids have been keeping themselves entertained just fine. Who would notice?”

His eyes were everywhere but your face. For a half-curse, he found himself to be no better than a man, hungry eyes wandering over your body – your eyes, your lips, the subtle curve of your waist, the fabric of your bikini that seemed like it was hugging you just right.

You seemed to have caught him in the act.

“Do you wanna touch me, Choso?” You asked, and it sounded like an invitation.

Still, he worried he was reading too deeply into things. Doing his best to refrain from making you feel any sort of discomfort, he swallowed, “I…”

He was about to fucking explode – both metaphorically and physically, judging by the way his shorts began to tighten again at your words.

“You think I didn’t see you staring today?” You continued, letting your fingers slip into his hair.

He wanted to freeze up, wanted to feel some form of remorse, but when you were massaging his scalp so gently, so lovingly…

“I’m sorry,” he lied.

“Don’t be,” You giggled, and he felt his stomach do a fucking flip at the sound of it. You leaned in close to him, close to his ear, and whispered into it, “I was staring, too.”

He felt like such a virgin, thighs tensing up at your admission. He thought of you on the beach again – sneaking sideways glances at him, at his body, at him…

He felt his resolve break when you pressed a soft kiss to the shell of his ear.

“Kiss– Kiss me again,” he breathed, feeling slightly lightheaded from all of the attention you were giving him. You placed another kiss to the corner of his jaw. “Please… kiss me again.”

You pulled away, pressing your nose right up against his again. Your breaths were shallow and ragged now – strange. “You want me, baby boy?”

Baby boy. Baby boy, fuck.

He licked his lips, “Please.”

And then your lips were on his without so much as another word. You ate him up like a starved woman, teeth nipping at his lower lip for entry.

The last of his restraint flew out the window.

The kiss was electrifying, sent sparks shooting through his veins, fingertips tingling as they found their way to your hips. It was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He could taste you – the sweetness of your lipgloss as it smeared messily over the lower half of his face, the beat of your heart thrumming beneath his touch, the scent of sunscreen that lingered on your skin.

He found himself getting lost in the moment.

He deepened the kiss further, gripping your hips, your lower back with a bit more confidence. For a moment, he could forget about his responsibilities, his past. It didn’t matter; not now, not when he could feel your body pressed up against him, hot and soft and compliant.

His face burned when he felt that familiar tingling feeling – he knew he was getting hard beneath you, he could feel the way your hips lifted when you adjusted yourself over the tent in his shorts.

However, to his surprise, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you pressed into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing yourself even closer. He felt dizzy, sliding his tongue across your wet lips, exploring your mouth. You tangled your fingers in his touseled black locks, rolling your hips against his slowly, hesitantly, like you were testing the waters.

The jolt of electricity he felt from that small movement had him pulling away. Even in the midst of the fervor, Choso was acutely aware of his own impulses. He feared he was getting too far ahead of himself; if you kept rubbing yourself against him like that, he was gonna cream his fucking pants like a middle schooler.

“Wait, wait– ah–” He grunted, leaning back against the seat.

“Hmm?” You hummed – still, you only slowed down a little bit.

His mouth hung open. It felt so good, the friction, the feeling of your warmth rolling up and down the thin layer of fabric separating the two of you. Fuck — why did he tell you to stop, again?

He fought hard to regain his composure. “I– I’ve never done this before,” he stammered.

“Really?” You asked, teasingly, almost, like you knew the effect you had on him. You rutted up against him again, a little harder. “You’re a natural.”

He could feel you – the thin cloth covering your nether regions left little to the imagination. You felt so warm, so welcoming. He ached to pull the thin fabric to the side and sink into you.

Fuck. Stop. He turned his head away, at war with his impulses.

Again, for a half-curse, he felt like nothing more than a man. A weak man, and it was all your fault.

The whine that left his mouth felt anything but natural. “Won’t– What if someone sees us?”

You said nothing. When he looked back at you, you were undoing the knot behind your head – the one holding your bikini together.

His eyes went wide. If his attraction to you were any more obvious, his jaw would have been on the floor.

“Let them watch,” You grinned. Then you let your top fall over, breasts spilling out like something out of a porno.

He was in awe. You were perfect. There were little bits of sand stuck to the skin where your bikini lay only seconds prior, faint tanlines already forming over your skin. He felt his mouth water.

“You can touch them, if you want,” You answered his unasked question.

And he wasted no time, gently cupping one of your tits with his large, warm palm. He gave it an experimental squeeze. Then another. Then his thumb wandered down to your nipple, giving the bud a gentle flick.

You whind, hand sliding up the back of his head.

She likes that, he noted.

So, deciding to take his experiment a step further – and for the sake of conserving time, he began peppering kisses to your hot skin, to the valley between your soft, plush mounds. He held both in his hands, rolling his thumb over the hardened buds to compensate for the lack of attention.

He wanted nothing more than to take his sweet, precious time with you – committing every curve and valley of your body to memory. But, alas, he knew you were on a time crunch. Any minute now, someone could find the two of you here, like this.

He kissed his way back over to his hands. Then, finally, he wrapped his lips around that place he knew made you feel good.

Sure enough, you arched into him, pink, swollen lips parting to release a pant of his name, “Choso, baby.”

He flattened his tongue over the tip of your nipple, rolling over it in slow circles – then quicker ones, until he felt the spit gathering between his lips and your skin. You responded in kind by rutting against him a little faster. He had never felt a burn quite so delightful in his life.

He can’t quite help himself from letting out a little whine when you tug on his hair. The flavor of sunscreen and salt lingered on your skin. He felt hot– you were hot, oh so hot.

Before he could return the favor on the other nipple, you pushed him away. You looked disheveled, pupils blown wide, hair frizzed up.

“Y’feel so big,” You gasped, still humping his hard cock like a dog in heat. You stopped, but only to sink into the space between his legs and the back of the driver’s seat. Splaying your fingers over his thighs, his shorts, you panted, “Wanna taste. Can I?”

He could only blink up at you. This isn’t real.

“Of course, baby,” He replied, throwing the nickname from earlier back at you, already reaching for the strings of his swim trunks when you batted his hands away. Your enthusiasm made his head spin.

He let you take the reigns – watching with hungry, lustful eyes as you undid the bow yourself. You reached for the waistband of his shorts, tugging them down and letting his dick spring free.

It nearly hit you in the face, how big the thing was. He had never actually thought about it that way, at least, not until now, when you were gazing up at it with wide eyes and wet, parted lips.

Your eyes were on his tip, glistening with a bead of precum, then wandering down the shaft as the two of you watched it drip.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

You didn’t bother pulling his pants the rest of the way down, or even acknowledging his comment. No, the moment the waistband was out of the way, you were swallowing him whole.

Choso exhaled sharply, nearly doubling over at the sensation of your warm mouth closing in around him. He felt the muscles in his abdomen tense with the strain of it – he thought he could cum like this, with your lips stretched around him, and he didn’t really think he would mind testing that theory.

His skin was hot. He burned for you.

You pulled up. Sucking him back into your mouth, you hollowed your cheeks. Then you throated him again, right up until your nose brushed his navel. He felt himself throb in your mouth.

“Fuck, ‘s good,” He heard himself whimper weakly, tangling a trembling hand in your hair while you picked up the pace.

And you went at it like you were made for it. Up and down, up and down, fitting him all the way in until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat. Over and over again, until his vision blurred a bit at the edges, mind a little hazy with lust.

You were sucking and slurping on him so lewdly – fuck, he could die like this.

You didn’t show any signs of stopping, either.

He moaned – much to his embarrassment – actually moaned. You were working him rather quickly up to what he knew would be an earth shattering (albeit poorly timed) orgasm.

You made a noise in response, though it was broken up by the nasty, dirty sound you made every time you gagged on his dick. You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes, through long, wispy lashes, leaving a trail of saliva running down his thighs that he didn’t even mind.

Choso caressed the side of your face, biting his lip. “Mmh,” he panted, “You do it so well.”

In response, you put a hand over his. You directed his gentle touch to the top of your head, instructing him to push down. Hesitantly, gently, he began to guide your head, bobbing you back and forth on his length while you sat back and let him use you.

He noticed that you were struggling to fit the whole thing in your mouth. He saw that there were tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but he knew you were determined. He used his thumb to wipe your tears away, tucking your hair behind your ears to keep it out of your face.

With a shudder and a whine, he pushed your head down a little further. You gagged on it again, swallowing him down, tightening your throat around him like you were made to suck dick.

If this was to be his last night alive, he would die a happy man.

His legs felt weak, as did his arms. You took over, gently assisting him in fucking your mouth.

“Ah– nnh, you’re–” He licked his lips, guiding your head while allowing you to continue setting your own pace. You were making him feel so good, so hot.

You pulled back for a moment to slurp unceremoniously on his tip, letting spit drip down his shaft. You wrapped your hands around him, working what you couldn’t fit into your mouth while your tongue did tricks on his tip – circles, shapes, letters, he didn’t even know anymore.

He felt like he was going dumb.

Just as he leaned his head back into the seat, you pulled off, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Got carried away,” You giggled breathlessly. “Sorry.”

Then you were climbing right back into his lap, bracing your hands on his shoulders, kissing him with a ravenous hunger.

“I’m not gonna blue ball you, don’t worry,” You licked your lips. Reaching down, you slipped the fabric of your bikini thong to the side. “I want you.”

“H–...” He trailed off, fighting to catch his breath – better yet, to regain his surroundings. “How do you want me?”

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to feel you sink down onto him, to feel your warmth envelop him entirely. He wanted you to ride him past the point of hypersensitivity. He wanted you to use him until you were satisfied – like some sort of fuck toy.

He didn’t care anymore. He had left his inhibitions at the door.

“Wanna fuck you right here, like this,” You muttered against his lips, licking a stripe from his chin all the way to his cupid’s bow. You guided the head of his dick between your folds, smearing your slick all over him in a way that made him arch up. “Wanna drain that pretty cock of yours, wanna cum all over it– can you do that for me?”

You were so nasty… so dirty that he found himself a red, blushing mess at your words. But, still…

For you?

Anything.

“Yes,” he groaned. He felt like he was going to melt if he waited another moment longer. “Fuck, please, use me until you’re satisfied.”

He hadn’t even thought about saying it. It had slipped out.

You paused, blinking down at him with wide, lustful eyes. Finally, you said, “you’re such a good puppy, you know that?”

He would be whatever the hell you wanted him to be.

“G’nna let me ride you, pretty boy?” You cooed, sliding your hands up his torso, up his bare chest, up his shoulders while you hovered over him.

This was moving quickly. Not like he had any objections to that, of course. Clearly, you didn’t either. As you positioned the tip in line with your dripping cunt, sinking down onto him, he felt his eyes roll back into his head.

He gasped, letting his eyelids fall shut. He didn’t even care that he was losing his virginity in the backseat of his coworker’s truck like some cheap whore. He would let you take it, take more, take everything you wanted from him.

You lifted your hips and then sank down on him again, eliciting a strangled grunt of your name from him. The filthy squelching sound your cunt made as it squeezed him in threw him for a loop.

He leaned forward, shivering, burning his head in your neck. “S’too tight,” he panted, though he let you continue working on him with a remarkable amount of ease – sliding back and forth in a way that had the both of you panting for more. “Fucking– shit, ah–”

“Chosooo– ‘S so big,” You moaned his name like it was made of honey, fucking yourself down onto his dick, letting all of the sinful noises flow from your lips. “Fuck, feel it in my guts.”

He would have thought you were lying to him if it weren’t for your spectacle earlier.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathed. When he looked up at you again, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. You were the image of pornographic beauty – sinful, beautiful, sultry. Your brows were scrunched together with concentration, legs trembling around him as you slowed down to savor the way he worked you open.

“Pretty baby,” He mused, running his hands over your stomach, your hips. “You keep goin’ like that ‘n– fuck– I won’t– Last long.”

“Mmh,” you giggled.

Then you picked up the speed a bit, like you hadn’t even heard what he had just said. You were rising and sinking on his dick with newfound purpose, chasing after the promise of paradise like a wild animal.

“Look at me,” he begged, eyes half-lidded and desperate, tongue running across his lower lip. “Fu-uck– please, ‘M...”

You obeyed, meeting his gaze with such a fiery passion that he almost wished he hadn’t asked you – feeling that coil in his gut grow a little tighter when your hazy eyes were on him. You bounced obediently on his cock, up and down, up and down until you were a grunting, groaning mess.

“Mm… fuckkk,” You sighed, hips faltering a bit. “Feels good, Choso.”

Choso felt his hips twitch beneath you, hands tensing on your backside. Then, slowly, he began to meet your thrusts midway. His ass lifted off of the seat, legs spreading a bit further apart while he used his strength to continue fucking you senseless.

He was mesmerized by you, by the way you clenched and squeezed him, by the way your mouth lolled open to make way for broken cries of his name, by the way your tits bounced in his face whenever he thrusted up into you.

He worried for a moment that he was being too harsh with you.

“Harder– please!” You gasped, clawing at his shoulders, at his chest.

Still, he obeyed. He fucked you dumb, hips snapping up against your ass with such strength that the whole car lurched forward. Your head came dangerously close to the ceiling.

But he didn’t have the guts to stop. Not when you were screaming for him, repeating his name like some sort of mantra. He was as weak for you as he had always been.

“Choso– Choso–”

The feeling of your warm, wet walls massaging the head of his cock had him whimpering into the crook of your neck. It was a hot, gummy abyss he wouldn’t mind getting sucked into for the remainder of his life.

“You like that?” He asked you, spare hand sliding up from your hips, past your breasts, to your neck.

He knew now that you liked it rough. He could provide that.

So, with no further warning, he gripped your hip roughly, sliding into you at full force. You cried out his name again, fingernails digging into his skin.

The car bounced every time he pounded up into you. Faster, faster.

It felt like you were squeezing him for dear life.

Choso cried out, a broken whine as he slowed his thrusts for a minute to a much slower pace. Feeling your perfect pussy clenching around him, he nearly doubled over from the sudden pleasure. “Please,” he gasped, laying his head back. “Fuck, that’s good.”

You bit your lip, sliding up until it was just the tip left inside of you, and then slamming back down onto him at full force. You repeated this action a few more times, lips parted to make way for the sinful… sultry moans that passed from between them. Clearly, you were relishing in the way he squirmed and gasped beneath you.

He couldn’t blame you. He knew that he, too was doing everything he could to commit this scene to memory, wild eyes raking over your body, over the junction where you met him. The way you were riding him… shit, he didn’t know he would be able to make the walk back.

You looked so obscene like this, all fucked out, dumb on his dick.

Throwing your head back, you groaned.

He was gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. Fuck, he knew that– cursed strength and all. But he couldn’t bring himself to slow down.

“So f-fucking good,” he stammered. He sought out your lips again, snapping his hips up against your ass mercilessly. For someone who had been so concerned about being discovered a little while ago, his quiet grunts and gasps turned into moans and whimpers against your sore lips. Louder and louder.

Admittedly, though, he was more focused on the noises coming out of your own mouth. You were practically screaming for him.

He had no idea that sex could even feel so mind-numbingly good. For him, especially, but for you…?

You froze up rather suddenly, hips spasming wildly, toes curling up on either side of his thighs while you gasped brokenly.

“FUCK!”

There it was.

He felt his face burn. You cried his name again, bouncing up and down on it, wildly chasing after that high. “Choso– m’close–”

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” He hummed, once again throwing your nickname back at you. He grinned, knowing full and well that he had cracked the code. So he kept that same speed, same pace, same everything while his fingers dropped from your neck to the mess you had made between the two of you.

He knew what to do now – surprisingly enough. He had done some… internet research after his brother had broken the meaning of his feelings down to him (along with what Choso was to do when his crush came to fruition).

What? Curses didn’t make love. Sex was transactional.

He was curious about how sex was on the human side of things.

He ran his tongue over his thumb, reaching between the steamy, sweaty union of your bodies to find your clit. He pressed down, rolling over the nub in quick, expert circles.

One look up at you, and he knew you were close to your breaking point. You looked like you were about to pass out, letting yourself be thrown around on his wild hips like a ragdoll. You were too weak to move, so you sat there and took his dick like a good girl, eyes glazed over with pleasure while he fucked you dumb.

You looked like you were in love.

Choso sped his ministrations over your clit up a little faster, feeling the knot in his own stomach begin to grow faster than he wanted. He was in another world, out of this plane, hypnotized.

All he could see in that moment was your angelic face above him, face scrunched up in pleasure – and partially in pain, as he bullied his cock into your cervix – sweat rolling down your neck, your breasts, your voluptuous body.

“Mine–” You gasped out, clawing at his shoulder blades while your back arched. “Oh– fuck! Th’s dick ‘s mine, mmh?”

It was.

He nodded. But, clearly, that wasn’t good enough. Your hand shot out to grip him by the neck, painted fingernails digging into his throat.

“‘S yours,” He gasped back into your mouth. “All yours, I swear– ah–”

You were so hot. It made him feel things– feel like he was dying over and over again in the best way possible.

That along with the way your hand gripped his throat – using your small thumb to cut off his blood supply for a few seconds too long before loosening your grip, letting him gasp for air as the blood came rushing back – he felt lightheaded.

The way your pussy was spasming around him certainly didn’t do anything to help. He knew you were close, shit, but could you hold on a minute?

You were gonna make him cum too fast.

“You’re mine, yeah?” You asked again, keeping your grip strong on his neck. “All mine?”

“M’yours,” The cursed womb grunted against your neck. His brows were furrowed in concentration. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin, careful not to leave marks. “All yours.”

He meant it. Even though he would have said anything you asked him to at this point, he really meant it. He hoped you knew that.

Judging by the way you came a moment later with a stutter of your hips and a strangled cry of, “Cho–”, he assumed you understood.

Your cunt was a warm, wet, death trap, walls milking his cock for all it was worth.

Shit, he thought. You really weren’t lying about that.

His dark eyes were burning into yours, burning with a desire so intense he felt he might burst at the seams if he kept looking a moment longer.

“Want you to cum inside of me,” You commanded him, holding his head in your trembling hands. “Fill me up, please, I need it.”

His eyes widened, blinking down at the white ring you had made around the base of his dick. His eyes flitted back up to you, pleading with you to let him go. Pleading for you to give the soul that you stole from him back,

“I can’t–” he released a trembling breath.

He thought of himself as a father raising a child. Right now, it didn’t seem so bad.

“Please, ‘m on the pill,” you begged him, gazing into his eyes like you knew he wasn’t strong enough to refuse. “Wanna feel it dripping out of me. Think about it– what– ah– what would they think? … If they knew–”

You gasped when he delivered a harsh smack to your ass, slowing his strokes so that he could savor the way you sucked him in. “If they knew we snuck off to fuck? That– that I had your cum dripping out of me while they ask what took us so long?”

“Fuckk,” Choso groaned, hips trembling beneath you. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, cheeks burning. His breaths – and yours – had fogged the windows up.

You squeezed around him one more time, placing a tender kiss to his lips. You muttered into his mouth, “Do it f’me… please, Choso.”

“Mmh–!” And that was all it took. Choso rolled his hips up into you one more time, twitching, whining, feeling your warmth spasm around him as he spilled into you. He drove as deep up into you as he could – holding onto you for dear life while the coil snap, and he came so hard that his legs gave out. Lots of it.

So much that he felt it drip out.

You sought another kiss from him, sealing your lips together. When you pulled away, you giggled, “Good boy. Good puppy.”

“God,” he shuddered, falling back against the headrest once his orgasm subsided. You fell against his chest, snuggling up to him.

And Choso, not knowing what else to do, pressed a kiss to the top of your head. To his surprise, you didn’t immediately leave him in the dust. Instead, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of your post-coital bliss.

You broke the silence after a minute or two.

“So…” You began, trailing a finger up his bare chest. “Help me carry that cooler back to the beach?”

And Choso, breathless, felt himself begin to laugh.

The two of you came back onto the beach. Choso was carting the cooler behind while you walked ahead, waving your friends down.

As you approached, Itadori remarked with crossed arms, “The hell have you guys been?” His hair was done up into two, pink, little pigtails. It was clear as day that Nobara had a hand in his current hairstyle.

“Oh!” You had grinned rather awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “We– Well, we realized we didn’t have as many spritzers as I thought. Had to make a run to the liquor store.”

Itadori raised a brow. Still, if he noticed something, he didn’t say anything about it. “Uh huh.”

Choso bent down to set the cooler onto the ground, back turned to the group.

Getou peeped up from his paperback novel, lips twitching at the sight of Choso’s back. He nudged his counterpart, Gojo.

Who nearly spat out his drink.

You sat on the beach blanket nearest to Gojo and Getou. The moment your butt hit the sand, you practically collapsed into the ground.

You could feel eyes on you. So, begrudgingly, you rolled over, throwing Satoru a weak glare. “What?”

He only nodded towards Choso.

You turned around, following his gaze. It settled over his back. He bent down, picking a few spritzers out of the ice. It was then that you noticed the harsh red claw marks on his shoulderblades.

Subconsciously, your gaze drifted down to your hips, to the skin where purple imprints of Choso’s fingertips stood out as clear as day.

You gasped, then, clamping a hand over your mouth.

“So,” Gojo began casually, handing you a shot. He leaned in, ocean blue eyes twinkling as he teased you, “Was he gentle? He seems like he would give it rough.”

You turned to his not-boyfriend, brows furrowed. “Suguruuu…”

It was with no great amount of satisfaction that Getou looked up from his novel. “Satoru,” he sighed languidly. “Not in front of ths kids.”

Gojo ignored his not-boyfriend’s remark. “Was it big?”

You sank back into the blanket, feeling the heat of your embarrassment burn your cheeks as your words from earlier came back to bite you in the ass.

Who would notice?

a/n: hello there my precious little sugarplums! I hope u enjoyed the first installment of my kinktober writings ( which will prob continue throughout the fall bc I started hella late ). send in requests! there's no part two to this, but I would write one if enough ppl requested it. yk the drill though, comment ur thoughts/wishes below! I love reading them. reblogs are alway always always appreciated bc my reach is ass on Tumblr...

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

credits: cover artist(s) unknown??, dividers: @bpdier, @cafekitsune

taglist: @missphanosaur18 , @bontensbabygirl, @megumissunshine, @chocoyanchan, @littlelovebug98, @lucisimpongod, @xochyw, @jaegerstan222 , @electro-supremacy, @mellytheteddy, @clover0310 , @soraya-daydreams, @priussy, @insanehumantinker, @staygoldsquatchling02, @nonksity, @hinata7346, @chososwhoresblog, @mindurownbussines , @hearts4sid , @simplefools , @ynjimenez

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prettyiwa · 28 days ago

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(Previous) Relationship: Sakura Haruka x Florist!Reader Content Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Insecurity, Affirmation of friendship, Food as a love language, (kinda?) Napping together, Casual (+ Platonic) affection, Mentions of drinking together Summary: About twenty minutes before everyone was supposed to meet you at your house for lunch, Sakura texted saying he wouldn't be able to come. The moment Nirei told you it was because he had a loss in the family, you knew you wanted to be there for him. Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This was a little tricky for me because I, being a canon-compliant bitch to the end, don't know the actual relationship between the people in Sakura's memories from ch. 172. Florist also doesn't know and it doesn't matter because Sakura's relationship with his grief would be complicated regardless and he likely wouldn't want to talk too much about it. As someone still dealing with grief (even years later) this was a little cathartic for me, and I hope it's that way for you, too. This chapter is sponsored by my wonderful ability to fuck up the omurice flip ✌ Very grateful to be able to tag @owoasis and @kweenkatsuki-fics 💜💜

Additionally, I think Sakura would still try to maintain his fighting skills for security (in addition to other skills he's picked up since joining Furin), so I gave him multiple, alternating jobs: day security/waiting with Roppo-Ichiza/Keisei Street and night security in the pub district.

Nerves eat at you as you raise your fist, tendrils of anxiety unfurling from your heart, twisting and clawing its way down your limbs as you rap against the door labeled 201, finding no response from the doorbell. There’s been this weight in your chest since you first received his text, twenty minutes before you were all supposed to meet at your house for lunch. You’d planned to check on him after entertaining the other two, but…

The door opens and Sakura greets you with wide eyes, brows pinched together in some mix of confusion and worry while his mouth opens, inhale shaky, dressed similarly to when he helped with the weddings. Did you interrupt him on his way out? Suo and Nirei both reassured you he’d be home today.

“Hey.” It doesn’t even sound like your voice, detached and foreign as you reassess whether you made the right move coming here. Was it too presumptuous? “Did you just come from the service?”

His brow furrows, leveling out the uneasy arches, and he shakes his head. “No. What’re you doin’ here?” Despite his expression, his voice lacks the bite you’ve come to expect from that question.

He sounds lost, not unlike how you feel.

Truth is, as soon as Nirei blurted out Sakura’s reason for canceling, you wanted to come. Them encouraging the impulse was all the okay you needed before you rescheduled lunch altogether. (They both assured you it was more than okay, but you still feel bad).

“I… don’t know.” His eyes drop to your hands, expression unchanging though you know he’s curious. “Ah, I brought… food. And sake, but mostly food. I can… I can leave it with you if you have somewhere to go or if you don’t want me—”

“No. And I’m not… I’m stayin’ here.” As he remains stock still in the doorway, unable to look up from your hands, you don’t know whether he wants you to stay or leave the food with him. He comes to a moment later, startling as his eyes jump to yours, looking more wet than before as he steps aside. “Uh… C’mon in.”

It’s not until you’re moving past him that he shuffles back in the small space, pressing him against the wall to make room for you like he can’t quite believe you’re in his apartment. Nudging the door shut with your elbow, you feel his attention on you, and you slip off your shoes, remembering the way nothing felt real after your grandfather died. Is it similar for him?

To the left is a kitchenette with its counters empty, save for the remnants of instant ramen packaging and empty water bottles. It reminds you of your first college dorm a little, but the simplicity suits him. Setting down the bags, you begin tidying, maneuvering through his space with ease.

Footsteps approach, and looking over your shoulder shows him nearing, hands halfway up in a partial attempt to get your attention. “You don’t have to—” His voice is distant and the lack of blush tells you more than you think he knows.

“No, but I want to.”

It freezes him where he stands and the way he looks at you—it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him and thought he looked small. He looks… vulnerable. If you two were better friends, you’d probably hug him right now, but you aren’t. You don’t know what kind of comfort he needs, what you could offer to help. So you focus on the tangible.

“Have you eaten?” To your right, you spot his chabudai through the open door, though there’s no sign of the ramen belonging to the empty packaging. When you receive no answer from him, you turn.

“Had some ramen earlier.”

“When was ‘earlier?’”

Suddenly unable to meet your eyes, he looks away. How much of his languor is grief and how much of it is not taking care of physical needs? It doesn’t matter. His silence tells you it’s been longer than it should’ve been.

“Well then. I think you’ll be happy with the spread.”

“Wait, what about lunch?” There’s a hint of urgency to his question, almost as if he’s remembering what you had planned for the day.

Turning back to the bags, you start unloading them, letting him see the different containers. He comes next to you and you glance over, watching as whatever protestations he had evaporate. “I brought it. Suo and Nirei both agreed to reschedule when we could all eat together. Go sit down. I’ll bring it over.”

He obliges, eyes lingering on the food before turning around. It must’ve been longer than he’s used to since he ate. As you open his cabinets in search of plates, you come across your vase, cleaned and tucked away on the shelf above. Smiling to yourself, you set everything up, a light fluttering behind your ribs (whether because of his interest in your food or the care he gave your gift, you aren’t sure). Even still, you hesitate in setting a space for you, something he invariably notices. Anxiety eats at you again, wondering whether you’re imposing, whether he’s comfortable sharing this grief with you.

“What’re you doing?”

“Sakura… I—” When you meet his stare, you’re surprised by its intensity. “I haven’t imposed on you at all, have I?” The question feels wrong as it comes out.

“The hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Would you like me to stay?” you try again, phrasing it differently.

His gaze softens before it seems like he’s seeing through you. After a beat, his eyes fall to the table and he says, “If you want. Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he remains unable to look at you. His stomach rumbles audibly and he ducks his head, that familiar bit of embarrassment poking through. Still, he doesn’t move to enjoy the food laid out before him and you read between the lines. Even with his propensity toward obliging requests, he wouldn’t have let you in if he truly felt you were unwelcome. He wouldn’t be sitting here, not eating, if he didn’t want you to join him.

When you start making your space beside him, he relaxes, shoulders no longer hunched, posture turning casual. Lowering yourself and tucking your legs beneath you, you grab your chopsticks, waiting for him to look at you.

“I’ll stay.”

The tips of his ears turn pink, but he doesn’t look away, allowing you to see the gratitude that pools in his eyes.

“Let’s eat.”

Satisfied you’re not going anywhere, he dives in, wasting no time in trying the dish closest to him. It isn’t until he gives an appreciative hum that you join him.

“So this is what you finally decided to make, huh?” he asks between bites, eyes flickering from the food to you. He seems more grounded now, closer to the Sakura you’ve come to know.

“Hm?”

“It’s… It’s good.”

The compliment sets off a wave of fluttering in your gut before you remember earlier in the week.

When you asked Nirei if he had a meal preference, he promised you he’d be happy with whatever you offered them. The same question to Suo resulted in his usual evasiveness until he told you he’d enjoy whatever Sakura requested. And Sakura gave you reluctance before supplying you with the same noncommittal answer as Nirei. He stopped answering your messages when you threatened to ask Kotoha, instead showing up to walk you home from work at the end of the day, wanting to talk in person. Omurice, he admitted, one of the dishes you’d have to practice before sharing with someone else, but his excitement at your promise to learn guaranteed that you’d serve omurice the next time you’d have them over.

All of that feels so long ago, even though it was only Monday.

“Yeah, I think I wanted to show off a bit after everything,” you say, chuckling to yourself.

Swallowing, he takes a moment to look at the spread before looking at you again. “You can make all this but you can’t make omurice?”

When you laugh, you catch the corner of his lips quirking. “I think you underestimate that flip.” He doesn’t need to know how many times you’ve had failed omurice for dinner over the last week.

“Where’d ya even learn how to do all this?”

“My great uncle has a restaurant in the next city. After my grandfather died, he came around to help and ended up teaching me and my brother a bit.”

“A bit?” he asks, raising a brow as he looks at the now half empty dishes.

“A bit. I mean, it’s not restaurant quality in the least.”

Shrugging, he grabs his water, twisting off the lid. “I think it tastes great.” He takes a swig from his water and you take a moment to appreciate his praise, feeling more than seeing when he grows somber once more. “The others. They didn’t… They were okay with putting lunch off?”

When you had opened the door earlier, concern weighed down the atmosphere for everyone. It was enough that even Suo’s mask was slipping. The moment you asked after Sakura, it came spilling from Nirei’s lips, and as soon as you expressed interest in seeing him, the address was already being sent to your phone.

“More than okay. I’m a little surprised they didn’t join me.”

His eyes shift to the right, not wanting to meet yours, and his shoulders lift slightly. “They… came ‘round yesterday.” As you nod, his shoulders lower on a sigh, relaxing when he reaches for more food. Before he plops it on his waiting tongue, he hesitates. “Did… Did they tell you to come?”

There’s something undecipherable in his question, a quiver you never thought you’d hear from him. “Not quite. I… I wanted to and Nirei encouraged me. He’s the one who gave me your address.”

As much as you want to check his reaction, you’re struck by the memory of when you and your brother tried taming the neighborhood cat. Each time you tried to pet it and called out to it, it’d run. It wasn’t until you stopped looking that it approached, nudging your hand on its own terms. So you keep your attention on what remains of the food, catching only a slight nod in your periphery before he begins chewing.

You want to ask him about it—how he’s doing, whether there’s anything you can do to ease his burden—but you get the sense that you’re doing it. He seems livelier than twenty minutes ago, seems better with some honest food in him. Perhaps all he needs is some semblance of normalcy.

“Did you know they got me an orange tree?”

Freezing beside you, his mouth falls open before processing your question. “Oh. They actually went through with that?”

“Did you all talk about it?” You figured the tree was Suo’s idea given its meaning (especially compared to other fruit trees and their potential blossoms), so it surprises you to know that Sakura was in on it, too.

When your eyes meet his, he looks away, though you notice a brief shimmer of gold, almost as though assessing whether you’re actually looking at him. “You were sayin’ that you didn’t have much time and you wanted to do more with your garden. Maybe a fruit tree or somethin’ and I thought you might… I dunno.”

“So it was you?” You’ve mentioned the garden to the group in passing, but you’ve only brought up the desire for a fruit tree with Sakura.

“It wasn’t,” he denies, leaning forward, the tiniest bit of pink appearing on his face. “Suo’s the one who said an orange tree would be best! If you wanna blame someone—”

“I don’t want to blame anyone,” you laugh, watching as he slumps forward. (If that’s the case, you’re glad Suo didn’t recommend a cherry tree). “I wanted to thank you. I look forward to planting it.”

Tilting his head, black hair falls over his white, and he peeks up at you through a tired, stormy blue eye, observing you as you get up to clear the table. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The silence that falls isn’t as oppressive, as suffocating as when you first arrived. No longer does he look like he’s caught in the limbo of his grief. As you clean off the table, he comes forward, leaning on it with exhaustion you’ve only seen a handful of times. Resting his hand in the palm of his hand, he watches as you clean the dishes and you’re glad he’s rooted in place. For him to not offer (not that you’d allow him to), he must be truly exhausted. Before joining him again, you open your second bag, revealing the plants of the day.

Setting the potted bamboo on the windowsill, you bring the chrysanthemum and China aster to the table. Sakura straightens when you do, eyeing the flowers with brief recognition. Typically a funeral flower, you only brought one, more in respect to his grief than anything. And the aster? More a promise to him, even if he doesn’t know its meaning.

When you sit, you keep your legs to the side, bringing you closer to Sakura than intended, though he doesn’t seem to mind, still focused on the flowers.

“How’ve you been sleeping?”

“W-What?” He turns to look at you, brows knitting together in confusion before he realizes your proximity.

“Have you been sleeping okay?” Leaning in slightly, you notice the circles beneath his eyes and the subtle red that you doubt is indicative of tears shed (though you can’t be certain).

“I-I’ve been fine! Don’t worry about it.”

“But I am worried about it. When my grandfather died, I… Sleep was hard to come by.”

He sniffs, looking away, though he shifts his position, getting more comfortable. “It’s been fine. M-Maybe I’ve been waking up more.”

“Yeah, that’s common.” When he shifts his weight to his left arm, he’s close enough that you can feel the heat from his body. “I could bring chamomile tea if that would help.” With how quickly he turns at the suggestion of you leaving (even if tucked inside the idea of returning), you feel the truth of his isolation right now. When you don’t move, don’t do anything but watch with patience, he calms, though that vulnerability is still present. “Do you want to try to take a nap?”

“What, together?!” He leans away from you, red shooting up from his neck, covering his entire face.

“Together. Not. Sometimes having someone next to you can help sleep.”

“I-It’s too bright out to sleep,” he says a little too quickly.

“You say that like we can’t close the curtains.”

If possible, his flush deepens, deep crimson, a shade you’ve never seen from him before. He sputters and pushes himself away until his knee knocks against the table. “Th-That’d—! P-P-People might get the wrong idea—!”

Raising both palms in surrender, you lean back, trying your damnedest not to laugh. “Do many people peep through your windows? It might be time to look into moving.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “We don’t have to. I only wanted to suggest it as an option.”

Bringing his knee up, he drapes his arm over it, using it to bury his face until only his eyes are peeking over his elbow. Never looking away from you, it feels like he’s waiting to hear your next suggestion. He doesn’t want you to leave, but he’s horrified at the prospect of napping together or even laying beside you. Perhaps…

“Are you familiar with quiet wakefulness?”

“Huh? What’s that?” he mumbles, tracking the way you tilt your head until it’s almost resting on your right shoulder.

“Usually it’s done by simply laying down with our eyes closed with the intent to rest. It’s been found to help with stress and mood. I mean, it’s not as good as sleep, but it still helps keep us sharp, you know? Better than nothing and all.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to try that instead?”

Looking down, his right lashes contrast against his pale cheeks. “Dunno. I’ve… I haven’t really taken a nap since I was a kid. Don’t remember how.”

There’s a flash of gold as you sigh, his eyes trained on you once more as you anticipate similar pushback for your next suggestion. “Do you want… You can rest your head on my shoulder if that might help? It’s fine if you don’t want to. I just… I want you to feel comfortable.”

This is how you’ve been useful in the past. When your maternal grandmother died, when your best friend’s father died, when your paternal grandfather died. You brought food, made sure they were drinking water, and you helped them sleep. It’s how you know how to be useful, but it only works if they’re receptive to it. Food and water is enough.

His golden eye turns vibrant again as pink dominates his face once more, but his gaze never wavers. You hear him swallow before speaking, voice cracking when he does. “Are you sure?”

With the barest of nods, you relax again, getting comfortable before growing still. Slowly, with exceeding care, he loosens up, incrementally coming closer until he goes stiff, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

“Could— D-D’you think… you could close your eyes?” Again, his voice is small, and you find it impossible to deny him.

“Of course.” You oblige, listening to the rustling of his clothes as he makes his way over. The air around you changes, tense, nervous, and you hear shaky, shallow breaths before feeling the heat of them on your shoulder. His hesitation is palpable, the distance between you two electric, but enough to know that he waits, afraid to come closer.

“We don’t have to do this—”

“Just— Sh-Shut up, will you?” The words come out like a plea, breathy and strained. A weight comes to rest on your shoulder, though it’s significantly lighter than you expected. “N-Now what?”

“Close your eyes and try resting.”

His exhale is shaky, uncertain, but you don’t want to ask or reassure again (you’re starting to worry that it’s only making his anxiety worse). Focusing inward, you notice the rapid beating of your heart for the first time. Regulating your breathing, you attempt to slow it, to ease your own nerves, feeling subtle movement next to you. Peeking open an eye, Sakura’s picking at his nails.

“That’s not very restful, is it?”

“Shit, sorry,” he mutters, breath heating up your shoulder as he ceases.

Chuckling, you barely turn to the right, his hair tickling your cheek, the warmth of his skin heating yours. “You don’t need to apologize.”

He grunts in response, the sound growing in comfort.

Again, you try centering yourself, letting yourself simply exist in the moment—the press of Sakura against your shoulder; the weight of his breaths against your back; the steady beating of your own heart; the feel of your hands held together, sitting in your lap. It works for another couple minutes before he sighs, the end of it weighed by mild exasperation.

“It’s not working.”

“Sakura,” you laugh, feeling him freeze behind you, “you haven’t really tried. Are you comfortable as you are?”

A beat, and then— “No.”

“Get comfortable.”

A sound rises in his chest, a grumble of sorts as his head rises, and you expect that he’ll pull away, too flustered to keep trying (the fact that he was willing to try at all makes you happier than he needs to know). Instead, he finally relaxes, closing whatever distance remained, fully pressing into your side. His arm comes to rest behind you, against you, and he places his head back where it was.

“N-Now what?” It’s gruff, probably a defense from the heat that radiates from him.

“Focus on the sound of my breathing.”

“Sounds easy ‘nuff.”

And for the third time, you relax, content with the trust he’s exhibiting. More than content. You don’t know who it is that he lost, but it’s obvious his relationship with grief is complicated. Him trusting you with this… perhaps you’re closer friends than you had originally thought.

It’s not much longer that he slumps against you, that his breaths turn shallow with sleep, that you’ve succeeded in your goal. The minutes carry on and you’re unable to focus on much beyond the gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back. He shifts in his sleep, turning his head until he’s no longer stable on your shoulder, and in your attempt to put him back, you end up turning. Still drowsy, he remains pliable, allowing you to shift you both until he’s curled on his side with his head in your lap.

His breathing changes, deeper, indicative of wakefulness, so you stroke his hair, trying to lull him asleep once more. After a minute or two, his breathing returns to that same state as before, though you don’t stop. Honestly, you lose track of time as you two stay like this, and it’s only the buzzing of your phone in your jacket pocket some time later that distracts you.

It’s the group chat—Nirei asking if Sakura wants him to bring over dinner—and it’s the first time you realize Sakura’s phone is nowhere to be heard. Checking the time before you put your phone away, you see it’s been a little over an hour and a half since you arrived.

Sakura’s head turns in your lap and, given the way his breathing’s changed again, you realize he’s awake. As much as you’d like to brush the hair from his face, you’re worried it’d be akin to looking at the stray cat as it nudged your hand. You two sit in comfortable silence, your hand resting on his head while he remains in whatever state of rest he’s found himself in for a few minutes more.

“Why’d you bring sake?” he asks, voice groggy, moving only so far as to tighten his fists where they sit by your knees. It’s more curiosity than anything, like he’s trying to understand your thought process (you’d like to know yourself).

“I… don’t know. That’s just what we did when my grandfather died, and what we did when my friend’s father died. Came over with food and sake and… I dunno.”

“I don’t… drink.” He almost sounds bashful about that fact, and when you glance down, he’s pointedly avoiding your stare.

“Oh. Well, how was I supposed to know?” The sound of your laugh pulls at the corner of his lips.

“Sorry,” he says without force.

“If you don’t want it, I can take it back. It’s not a big deal.”

Without thinking, your fingers start stroking his hair again, gentle as they brush it. His fists clench, then release, and he holds his breath when you pause, seemingly releasing it when you tentatively start again.

“I… could have a drink with you.”

“You don’t have to, not if you don’t drink.”

His blush appears, turning the tips of his ears pink then splotching across his cheeks. “It’s not— I mean… I-I’ve never had a drink. It’s not like I have a reason n-not to.”

Surprise freezes you, your hand lifting from his hair, and he half-turns with a light glare that disappears when he meets your eyes.

“Really?” It comes out much more shocked than you mean it, and it’s enough that he pushes himself from your lap, a little dizzy as he does so quickly. “Even though you work in the pub district?”

His brows furrow in indignation. “I don’t just work for the pub district!”

“My apologies,” you say, your hands coming to cover your mouth (and to hide your involuntary smile). “Where else do you work?” This blush is unexpected, especially after his little outburst. It deepens when you tilt your head and lean in, silently requesting his attention. “Sakura?”

“I… I work with Roppo-Ichiza, too.” His eyes flick away from yours as soon as he finishes speaking.

“What’s that?”

It’s his turn to be surprised, head jerking back as his eyes narrow slightly. “They’re… It’s… Keisei Street. I’m there during the day, mostly.”

“Oh.” Keisei… Street? Oh. “Really?” How fascinating that he’s never had a drink despite working in both the pub district and the red-light district!

“Wh-What, ‘really?!’”

“Nothing.”

Turning away with your dismissal, you’re surprised when Sakura leans forward, just a bit. “No, if you have somethin’ to say, say it!”

“I guess it makes sense. You see all these people misbehaving because of alcohol, you’d probably be less likely to want to try it, right?”

He stumbles backward when you lean forward. “Uh, s-sure.”

“I’m curious: how’d you end up working for either?” When his attention turns downcast, you reign in your excitement. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

He looks up at you, softer than you’ve seen from him, the hint of a chuckle escaping on his exhale. “Maybe later.”

“Yeah?” Returning his smile in kind, you wish you could see it more often.

He tracks the curve of your lips before red tints his cheeks. “Y-Yeah.”

“So, would you like to share a drink with me now, or later?”

“Would you be safe walking home if you had a drink here?” he asks, looking at the window.

Given his line of work, you’re not surprised he worries about that (especially given how you two met).

“What, you don’t trust me?” you tease with a smile. If you had some water and waited a bit, you’d be fine.

“It ain’t about that! I mean, I’d walk you home and shit if you wanted…” His sentence trails, the offer similar to the one he made Monday night. You’d be similarly worried about him making it home safe, considering his alcohol tolerance is unknown.

“How about this,” you start, leaning forward again. Taking him in, you appreciate the returned color to his skin, the energy he has now compared to earlier.

“What?”

“You come by my place and we drink there. Can be whenever.”

The sliver of defensiveness that he held onto slips, and you’re met with someone borderline eager to try something new. “I-I guess that’d work.”

Between the two of you (and between his two jobs), he would know when your schedules would align. Since it’s also a new experience for him, he’d be allowed to choose the terms by which it happens. Whatever other hesitations he has for drinking (a teasing Suo comes to mind), this would be a safe option. You’ve come up with worse ideas.

“What about…” His voice pulls you from his reverie, though he’s still working on whatever he’d like to propose. “Is… tomorrow too soon?”

“Tomorrow?” So soon? At his hesitant query, you smile. “For you, I can make it work.”

His expression falls and he shakes his head. “You don’t gotta go out of your way or nothing! Not if it doesn’t already work.”

“I think you misunderstood me. For you, it’s not going out of my way. We can drink sake together tomorrow.”

Flower Glossary:

Orange Tree: Generosity Orange Blossom: Purity, Your purity equals your loveliness

Bamboo: Loyalty, Strength, Steadfastness

Chrysanthemum (White): Truth, Grief, Death, Respect

China Aster: Fidelity, I will think of you

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#sakura haruka x reader #wind breaker x reader #wbk x reader #sakura haruka hurt/comfort #sakura haruka fluff #✒.ix writes #hanakotoba.✒#wbk.✒#this one is one of my favorite chapters so far ngl

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