#I’m so happy and tired | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mamayan · 8 months

Text

★Yobai☆

Mitsuri Kanroji x Fem! Reader x Obanai Iguro

Synopsis: Someone put a strange idea in your girlfriend’s mind, and she’s roped you into a night of passion to seduce the Snake Hashira for his birthday.

Blame @desi-the-blue-eyed-kakushi this is becoming a thing lol I may just need to do an entire series… Original idea and inspiration for yobai from @rottmntrulesall ♥️

Read Kyojuro here, and Sanemi here, for their yobai nights!

tw: MFF • Fem! Reader • Sub! Reader • 3some • Vaginal Sex • Praise/Overstimulation • Soft Dom! Mitsuri • Switch! Obanai • Mitsuri calls you plum •

When your lover Mitsuri told you about her idea for celebrating Obanai’s birthday, you hadn’t imagined it to look like this.

Where she even got such an idea was lost to you, as you watched the beautiful pink haired girl bounced on her heels in excitement. You looked around the neat space, not a single object out of place. The bed made, clothes hung or folded, and there were no other personal items to be seen except for a poorly attempted embroidered snake set against a dresser. Mitsuri had taught you the basics and encouraged you to make something of your own. You’d made that nearly a year ago, for his birthday last year. It felt wrong and invasive to be staring at his things like this.

“Mitsuri… are you sure this is—,” she interrupted your soft murmur, her excitement just too high as it draws nearer for Obanai’s return from the bath. You tried not to think too hard about the broken lock to his estate’s front doors, or the fact that you’d been dragged along into a crime no less, breaking and entering. Obanai being a stickler for rules, most likely won’t take to this very well but… You side eye Mitsuri, her cheeks flushed and smile bright in place. She didn’t look nervous at all, and that realization struck you with a sense of instability. Mitsuri was always bold, gentle and empathetic too, but she was confident about everything but herself it seemed. You selfishly liked to think your love aided in her self esteem though, as her love did for you.

You wanted to think it would be the same for Obanai. You knew he returned Mitsuri’s affections, obediently following her and eager for her praise and attention, but your relationship wasn’t the least bit similar. You weren’t sure if it was a good or bad thing.

“Oh! I should go see if he has any candles, that’s romantic isn’t it? If he has enough, I can make a heart with them!” Her declaration and grin, as if the idea was so ingenious she couldn’t fathom why she hadn’t thought of it earlier, made you pause before you could object.

“M—,” she was gone. You were alone in Obanai’s room now, and the man himself was due any moment for… whatever this was exactly. To seduce him? Mitsuri had certainly painted a romantic and erotic image in your mind when she’d had two fingers in your pussy, breathing salacious images for you to conjure as you drew nearer and nearer to your orgasm. You’d been too engrossed to think clearly, agreeing of course to the promise of pleasure and inclusion of the man you adored.

You were about to give way to your own cowardice and make a run for it when the shoji slid open.

You had to duck to avoid his blade, panic and adrenaline flooding your system at the unexpected but also anticipated fight which would arise from entering unannounced to a sword master’s home. It only took Obanai a moment to realize you weren’t some sort of burglar or demon awaiting him. His hair was still slightly damp, his bandages removed and face on full display as he stood before you in a plain yukata with his sword pointed at you. Kaburamaru peaking out from around his neck, tongue flicking out as if in greeting.

“(Y/N)…?” His confusion is quickly replaced with irritation.

“I could’ve killed you, what are you doing here? At this time of night? Are you an idiot?” His voice and tone are icy, glaring heterochromic eyes narrowed on you. His sword is quickly sheathed as he stomps towards you, and it’s all you can do to stutter out “w-wait!” before he can haul you out of his estate. Although it’s certainly embarrassing to you, and you’re more than a little anxious and self conscious, you knew it would do more damage to not speak up with honesty.

His grip on your upper arm isn’t painful, but he’s firm in his hold that you aren’t able to squirm free. He tries to ignore the way you being in his room has him heating up, intent on dragging you home to your own bed to sleep properly. You were the weaker of the two, between him and Mitsuri, therefore Obanai was more cautious in your safety. “You should know better,” his hand raised, finger pointed and almost touching your skin as you flinch back reflexively. You knew realistically this reprimand is exceedingly light for Obanai, as you’ve seen his true wrath unleashed for stupidity on lower ranked slayers in the corps. It didn’t stop your eyes from watering a little, your lip from wobbling, or Obanai from nearly stumbling away from you.

“I just wanted to tell you happy birthday…” his left eye twitched at your words. Kaburamaru moving down his arms and sliding to the floor, slithering away from the strange quarrel going on.

“You could’ve easily said it in the morning, don’t cry—,” his hiss of guilt and annoyance not the least bit gentle. “It’s the middle of the night idiot! You shouldn’t—,”

“Shouldn’t what?” Mitsuri’s appearance had the Snake Hashira nearly turning to stone.

“Mitsuri too…?” He felt his nerves lighting up. As they always did in her presence. It wasn’t the same comforting warmth which you gave him, the kind that relaxed and soothed. Mitsuri was crackling and commanding.

“I didn’t find any candles, but we can make it romantic with just us anyway.” She grinned, unconcerned about her property damage which Obanai would surely find later. She pressed both Obanai and you back, closing the shoji behind her as she entered the room fully. You noted the room seemed smaller like this.

“Mitsuri, you shouldn’t be here either, I’m aware you both now just want to say congratulations, and thank you, but—,”

“We didn’t come here to say happy birthday silly, we came here to show it, right plum?” Your nickname caught your attention as reality sank back in. Numbly you nodded, not looking up as you studied the wood polish beneath your feet. “Which means come here~” she cooed. You snapped to attention, heart rate skyrocketing as you nervously shuffled closer to her. Her jade eyes soft and promising as you looked into them.

Obanai stayed silent, watching in an odd sort of fascination the dynamic you both shared. He was envious of both of you ironically. The dominance Mitsuri held over you, and the submission you gave Mitsuri. He held his tongue though, unsure what he was supposed to do now. Though he trusted and loved you both dearly, he still struggled to say it and even show it physically.

Mitsuri led the room.

“You want to show Obanai how grateful you are for him being born, so why don’t you get on your knees plum, let us both see your pretty mouth.” You obeyed, shakily dropping to your knees and opening your mouth like Mitsuri loves. Obanai would never be able to remove the erotic sight from his mind again.

“She’s offering her mouth for you to fuck Obanai, are you going to deny her and make her sad?” He’s dazed and startled by Mitsuri’s change in tone, her beautiful eyes sharper and trained on him. Her hand is placed gently on your head, and you leave your own in your lap as you wait with an unsure mind.

“She’s nervous because you’re waiting…” you hear her murmur, but your eyes are trained on the sharp lines of his scars. When his eyes connect with yours, something dark passes through them, but he wordlessly begins untying his belt. His lips are set in a frown, but his cheeks are warm and flushed.

“Does she even deserve my cock though?” You nearly break and close your mouth, as Obanai grips his hard aching cock and positions it just before your lips. Not touching though. “She hasn’t asked for it at all.”

Your eyes widen. Mitsuri giggles.

“P-please, Obanai, I want you to fuck my mouth,” it felt as humiliating as always, just as flustered as when Mitsuri makes you beg.

He’d never admit it drove him wild, having you like this. Like he’d awoken to some sort of fever dream and conjured you up before him. Sitting with your mouth open, begging for his cock. This sort of thing only happened in novels he believed.

He grunts, sneering down at you and making the scars on his face more menacing. They seemed to enhance his features with his mood. “You asked,” he murmured, before sliding the tip of his cock in your mouth. He still smells a bit like soap, his taste neutral as he moans, muttering something beneath his breath before his lips are stolen aggressively by Mitsuri. He doesn’t mean to shove himself deeper in your mouth, but you relax and let his cock brush back and forth inside your mouth, getting a little deeper as time goes on.

A hand is on the back of your head, keeping if you from pulling away. The soft but firm touch familiar and letting you know it’s Mitsuri as Obanai’s cock dips a bit too deep and gags you. You can’t pull away despite choking, tears pricking your eyes even as your core throbs painfully. You want him inside of you, desperately, but this isn’t you leading so you stay where you are and let him continue ravishing your mouth.

“Mm, Obanai, aren’t you just adorable? Well? Does her wet little mouth feel good? Do you want her to make your pretty cock cum?” You shiver at her arousing choice of verbiage, her sly tone teasing as Obanai’s hips jerk and he groans low in his throat.

“Fuck, yes, Mitsuri, I want to fill her mouth.” His voice sounds strained as he works his cock at odd depths and varying speeds in your mouth, poking into your cheek as he watches the skin protrude before sinking back into your throat.

“Good boy, go ahead, today is your treat. Go on and cum for us Obanai.” He loses it, his balls drawing tight as he moans and releases into your mouth and down your throat messily.

You’re made to take it, struggling to breathe through your nose as he rocks his hips and the fine curls of his pubic hair kiss your nose. He finally pulls out, Mitsuri’s hand now running through your hair soothingly. “So good for us plum.” Your blurry vision flicks up to her figure, her words encouraging you as you lean against her leg offered in support.

“She did such a good job… doesn’t she deserve a reward Obanai?” You blink the tears away, a few escaping down your cheek as Obanai stares at the pathetic and arousing sight you make. Your clothes still intact but your face being covered in his cum and your own salvia doesn’t help your decency. He can’t help the warmth spreading through him again, as he drops the rest of his clothing and moves to grab you up.

You’re swung lightly onto the bed.

“She’s an idiot that deserves more punishment than this but…” he’s close, pressing you flat against the futon and nearly kissing you. “I guess I’ll be nice this time. Say thank you.” He smirks when you do, the sight so confident it fills your heart as you look at him. There had been time he’d rather lose a limb than reveal his face, and while it’d taken longer to show you himself, and even longer to feel completely comfortable, it feels worth it now. His eyes daring but soft, because even as he calls you foolish he’s equally supporting and helping you despite it.

Your clothing is almost torn as he removes it from you, hissing complaints when he snags a knot or forgets there is a button. You aren’t even given time to feel self conscious, only aware in the back of your mind this is the most intimate you’ve ever been with him.

“I love you.” It’s said so softly he nearly doesn’t hear it clearly.

He stills, and Mitsuri, who’d crawled up beside your head to sit and watch, let her eyes flick up to your face. You lay so sweetly beneath them both, allowing them full control of your body because you trust and love them. Mitsuri is silent, only internally squealing at the cute way you decided to confess, only reaching to thread her fingers with your own as show of support while Obanai processes your words.

“You…” he’s frowning, brows pulled together and it the sight yanks at a ball of anxiety bundled in the pit of your stomach. “Do you even understand—,” he goes to lay into you, but you already know where he wants to go.

“I love you Obanai!” Half naked and huffing indignantly, you glare at him with all the force of a rabbit. Mitsuri is forced to turn her head away to conceal the laugh which threatened to break free. Unlike her though, Obanai is happy to glare back and even manhandle you. His hand grips your jaw, smushing your cheeks as he points down at you.

“You don’t get to confess first, I do,” he’s immature at the oddest times, but you’re helpless against him because he’s red like an apple and breathing heavily.

“There’s no rule that says—hah!” He smashes his lips against yours, and you can’t help but compare his kiss to Mitsuri. Where she’s warm he’s cool, his body temperature actually lower than your own by a little, but his mouth is warm inside as he forces your lips open to slip his tongue inside.

When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects you both for a moment before breaking.

“Fuck, you… You’re mine, do you hear me?” His confession isn’t as loving or sweet as yours, but his claim is encompassing. His forehead knocks against your own, and for a brief second, you see the conflict and doubt war in his dual colored eyes.

He’s nervous and scared.

It seemed to ironically dissolve your own fear. Your arms moving, Mitsuri allowing your hand freedom, to wrap around Obanai’s neck and kiss him, deeply, as if your lips could proclaim your love better than your voice. It could. It was less about dominance and more about warming one another up, as you felt Mitsuri’s fingers softly massaging your scalp as you kissed him. Obanai letting you lead for a moment as you moaned, his hands caressing your body and back to working on removing your clothes.

Mitsuri helped, happy to get you naked like him, and pleased when his eyes locked with her.

“You too…” he looked to the side, “please…”

“Ufufu, of course, I can’t let you two have fun alone tonight at least. We need at least three for a birthday party.” Her movements were quick and efficient, stripping herself and revealing each creamy inch of skin and captivating two sets of eyes. She doesn’t hesitate to let her hair free of her braids, proudly crawling back onto the futon to lean over you, kissing you with all the familiar sweetness she encompasses.

“Pretty plum, how do you feel?” She’s whispering, but your heart soars as she checks in on you, looking for any signs of distress. You were nervous, but as she touches you, caressing you with familiar hands, Obanai watches. How could he not? He wants to both step away and let you both continue all night and squeeze himself between.

It’s his birthday today though. Clearly he wasn’t going to be on the sidelines.

“Come here,” Mitsuri encourages, bringing him in for a similar kiss, and grabbing his hand to trail up her body. You watch hungrily, as Mitsuri shivers and smiles while Obanai palms her heavy chest. Mitsuri showing him exactly what she likes as she kisses his face and up to his ear, whispering something likely wicked as he moans and drops his head.

Her hand wrapped around his cock, moving her hand over the pretty swollen tip, reddened and leaking as she pumps it. “Mitsuri,” he gasps, back hunching a bit as she coos. “Obanai is so pretty too, isn’t he plum? He still needs to reward you~” he hissed as she jerks him a bit tighter, the pain and pleasure waring now.

“So pretty,” you affirmed, transfixed by the image of Obanai looking so overwhelmed. It’s usually you in that position. It felt oddly nice to see it in reverse. His eyes snap to you, and it’s like the image from a moment ago was a lie as he smiles wickedly, his hand moving to cup your pussy as you jolt in surprise.

“I do need to reward her, don’t I plum?” The condescending tone he adopts when using the nickname Mitsuri gave you is devious. You don’t hate it though, not as Mitsuri releases him in favor of tormenting you now.

He drops to his chest, yanking your legs apart as Mitsuri leans over you to capture a nipple in her mouth.

“W-wait—!” Your head falls as your back arches, a warm wet tongue licking straight up your pussy as another swirls around your nipple and sucks.

You’re helpless to the pleasure and attention, drowning even. Obanai isn’t experienced, but he’s eager and observant to every twitch and moan you release. He can’t help it, licking up your dripping arousal and lavishing your clit with his tongue, moaning at your taste and his painfully hard cock. He hums in appreciation as you gasp, one finger now working you open as he licks and swirls around your hardened clit. “Obanai~” his name on your lips is a gift in itself, but he’d never tell you. Instead he slips another finger in, eyeing you from below as he sucks on your clit and works your tight cunt open with firm consistent stokes inside of you.

“Mm, look at you plum, are you feeling good?” You nod weakly, moaning as Mitsuri sucks a few marks onto your skin.

“Please, Mitsu, you too,” you jolted in pleasure as Obanai blows cool air on your pussy. Mitsuri smiles, giving you a quick kiss before shifting and swinging a leg over your face.

Obanai can only moan as he watches Mitsuri settle her own dripping cunt over your face, your lips parting to lick at her.

He’s nothing if not observant.

Your tongue swirls around her clit, as she rocks and grinds down against you, and you find Obanai copying the exact way you eat Mitsuri. When you suck her clit, he sucks yours, and when you lick and let Mitsuri ride your face, he nearly smothers himself in you.

You lose it, your end coming quickly as you hold Mitsuri’s hips as she rides and bucks against your face, her moans long and sensual. “So good sugar plum, your mouth feels so good~ how is it? Is Obanai just eating your pussy so good?” You can’t even pull away to tell them you’re coming. Only able to weakly tap Obanai’s shoulder, but with his head between your legs, he’s hardly paying attention.

You cum, body shaking and locking up as your eyes roll back and the knot in your stomach snaps.

“Oh fuck,” he pulls away for a second to breathe, realizing your convulsing is your orgasm, and watching as you twist and moan into Mitsuri’s pussy. Your cunt soaking the futon beneath you as you try to scoot away from all the pleasure.

Mitsuri sits up, twisting around and settling again over you face, so she could face Obanai properly now.

“What’s wrong dear? Aren’t you going to fuck her pussy too?” He’s stunned by Mitsuri’s erotic display, pinching her breasts as she rides your face, moaning as you lick and suck greedily.

He more gentle spreading your legs wider, slotting himself in between to line his cock up with your tight entrance. He’d never admit to being nervous, but his eyes speak louder than words as they look to Mitsuri.

“Here, let me help~” she leans forward, bringing Obanai forward too with an arm around his neck while her other hand grips his cock and lined him up to your entrance again. “Now push,” she whispers, kissing his lips with so much love and encouragement, he melts. His tip breaches you, and your gasp and moan beneath Mitsuri encourages him further as he slowly lets himself sink inside.

“Ngh, shit, how are you so tight?” He’s panting when his hips finally touch your ass. His question rhetorical, as he slowly slides out, choking in pleasure as your gooey walls cling to his cock and try to deny him exit.

He sets a slow and somewhat experimental pace, grunting as you clamp down when Mitsuri teasingly twists a nipple. “So cute plum, doing so good, hah, taking his cock.” She’s close, and you can tell by how her powerful thighs lock up around your head, her weight becoming more evident as she fully relaxes. You can only grip her thighs and encourage her to let more weight rest on you. Too overwhelmed by the thick stretch and slight burn of Obanai’s cock piercing you.

It hurt but it felt good too. Especially when someone thumbs at your clit softly, rubbing and rolling it as you buck and moan back.

It’s not fast, as Mitsuri rocks her hips and Obanai thrusts into you, but the slowly building orgasm is enough to leave you light headed and struggling for sanity.

“Oh, plum I’m going to cum, hn~!” Her head thrown back and breasts bouncing, Mitsuri’s slick soaks your face as you lick and drink her down. Her skin reddened and sweaty by the passion building.

“I need to cum too,” Obanai’s moans becoming louder, his thrusts more sloppy and forceful as you get wetter and more vocal. Mitsuri comes down from her high before moving off of you, kissing Obanai before laying down beside you both to toy with your chest and kiss you. Obanai opts to grip your hips tight as he fucks you, the loud wet squelching of your pussy sucking him in driving him further as he groans. His tip repeatedly slamming into the spongey section of your cunt and driving you wild as you claw at his arms.

“s’too much! n-no m’gonna cum please, please let me, hii!” You squeal as tears falls, coming apart as Obanai meanly pinches your clit and throws you over the edge.

“Cum then, ah, fuck, m-me too!” His sweat drips down his nose and onto your chest as he watches your face, committing it to memory as your face twists in pleasure. Your cunt impossibly tight as it grips him as he finishes, pulling out just before his hot cum comes rushing.

He covers your chest and face shamelessly.

Mitsuri chuckles when a few drops hit her too, even thumbing a bit to slip into her mouth for Obanai to watch.

“Obanai, you taste sweet!”

He drops beside you, sandwiching you between him and Mitsuri. Like Mitsuri had done, he thumbs up a thick collection of his cum to press against your lips and force you to taste him. “Cute…” he mutters softly, looking more relaxed and sleepy.

You don’t fight it, sucking the appendage as moaning as you realize he really is a bit sweet, followed by somewhat salty and mildly bitter. You lazily suck his finger until he grows bored and pulls it free, wiping the saliva on your cheek and snickering when you whine.

“Happy birthday~ don’t fall asleep yet, I want to ride you next!” It’s your turn to snicker, watching the way his eyes go wide with a hint of worry and sleepiness.

He’d soon find out Mitsuri’s appetite is insatiable. You relaxed, happy to watch him get overwhelmed for now.

“Happy birthday Obanai,” you smile at him, loving how his face reddens further but he smiles back.

“Senjuro-kun!” Mitsuri was running towards the young boy sweeping the front porch, his eyes widening as he takes in the Hashira.

“Kanroji-sama, good afternoon,” he vows politely, smiling at the good natured slayer.

“What brings you here?” He asks curiously, eyeing what appeared to be a bento in her hands.

“I brought you lunch as a thank you! You really are a natural match maker you know?! It’s like love just flows so freely through you!” Her gushing attracts the attention of his older brother, who begins to open his mouth and greet his friend before he realizes what she’s gushing about.

He waits patiently until Mitsuri takes her leave, bento in his hands as he feels the looming presence of his older brother.

“Ah… I swear this time I didn’t mean to.”

“This time?”

“…” Kyojuro would need to speak with the women in their neighborhood, their gossip seemingly no good for a young boy’s ears.

#did it again Senjuro #cinnamon roll fem! dom’s drive me wild #but at what cost?#Kyojuro for sure is gonna mother hen those aunties for not filtering their words #happy birthday Obanai #I struggled to finish #I’m so dead tired today lol #rip my body #Obanai Iguro #obanai x reader x mitsuri #Obanai x you #obanai x y/n #Obanai x y/n x Mitsuri #Obanai smut #Obanai Mitsuri smut #Obanai kny #kny smut

461 notes · View notes

inoreuct · 2 months

Note

more sanji drinking angst plis,,, 🙏🏼😁

y’know, it’s normal when zoro drinks. he has an iron liver and a sky-high tolerance. he get mildly tipsy with the amount of alcohol sufficient to kill a regular man.

when sanji drinks, though, it’s usually… not very good.

they’re in the galley, have been since dinner. zoro’s drowsy and full and slumped over the table with his chin in his hand as he watches sanji scrub at the dishes until they squeak, divested of his suit jacket and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, and the cook looks haggard. they’ve all been expecting it, really, what with Whole Cake being a fucking doozy— but sanji’s been holding it together perfectly. big smiles and neatly-pressed suits and coiffed hair and all.

zoro knows him well enough to know that he’s due to break at some point. still, tonight is the first time he’s seen sanji like this; like he’d just decided to say fuck it all and throw pretence to the wind. maybe it had been thanks to the emptiness of the galley, save the both of them. maybe sanji had considered it safe because zoro was in no place to judge.

but when sanji had picked up that bottle of rum, he hadn’t put it down until there was nothing left.

zoro had let him drink. the cook hadn’t even been smoking any more than usual— hadn’t had a single hair out of place, no sign of the pressure except the strain at the edges of his smile. everybody had been walking on eggshells for the past few days and sanji had just kept going like nothing was wrong, which zoro knows means quite a lot is wrong, because sanji’s a self-sacrificial bastard who wouldn’t be able to ask for help if his life depended on it.

didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt, though. he’s felt like he couldn’t breathe, the whole of last week; it doesn’t feel right seeing the cook with a bottle between his lips instead of a cigarette, liquor wetting the corners of his mouth instead of smoke. it makes part of zoro tighten into a dead knot. on one hand, it’s an unspoken show of trust— deliberately left alone so as to not draw attention to it, but one all the same. sanji would never let himself go in front of anyone else like this. maybe a few months earlier he’d think the cook just didn’t care enough for his opinion and get all offended, but now?

sanji knows he’s here. he’s never unaware of his surroundings, and especially now after… everything. he’s believing that zoro won’t judge him, and he won’t. he doesn’t. but enough is enough, and sanji’s grip on the edge of the plate is tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

it’s almost a relief in a really twisted way. zoro’s been hovering by the sidelines, sleeping with one eye open and waiting for sanji to crack just so he can catch all the pieces before the cook falls apart completely, and it seems like this is it.

his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. “alright, let’s get you to bed.”

“no.” sanji doesn’t stop scrubbing. he doesn’t even bother looking up. “why?”

zoro scoffs. “because you’re fucking drunk, cook. you’ve been washing that plate for five minutes.”

“well maybe it’s just not fucking clean, yeah?” sanji spits, quiet vitriol leadening his words even with his head bowed, and his breathing is jerky as zoro walks forward.

“oi.” it doesn’t come out harshly, exactly, but he needs sanji to know that he isn’t fucking around with this. “What the hell’s going on?”

“i don’t know.”

“what do you mean you don’t—”

“i don’t know!”

zoro lurches back at the outburst as the cook whips around, seething within the span of a second, plate dropped carelessly into the water in the sink. he hears it thunk when it hits the bottom.

“i don’t know, alright?” sanji laughs, eyes wild. “nothing’s wrong. everything’s wrong. everything is fucking perfect and i feel like i’m fucking dying inside.” his voice cracks right before he takes a visible breath and turns sharply, dipping his hand under the water to grab the plate and sponge again.

zoro watches his shoulders tremble. every movement of his now is precise and carefully calculated; he’s moving like a fucking robot and zoro hates it. hates the way his spine looks rigid enough to snap with a touch. hates the way his face is a placid mask, still water with a storm roiling beneath. zoro doesn’t know how to approach this other than with barbed words and concern thinly veiled as confrontation. he doesn’t know what to do other than be here because it’s better than not being here at all.

sanji’s hands have been scrubbed pink and raw. “get out, mosshead.”

“no.”

the cook’s cuticles are peeling, his fingertips pruned. he never lets either of them get this bad. “i said get out—”

“and I said no.” zoro crosses his arms. he counts three seconds of silence before sanji snaps.

“god, for once could you fucking listen?!” the cook snarls, rounding on zoro like a cornered animal and waving his arms. “i don’t want to talk to you right now! i do not want you here! so please, fuck off and— put me down, you piece of shit!” sanji borderline screams, struggling and wiggling over zoro’s shoulder as he’s hauled up and marched out of the galley.

zoro winces as the toe of a steel-capped oxford jams into his ribs, digging in deeper as sanji grunts with the effort. he doesn’t know where he’s going but they end up outside the infirmary, and he shoulders the door open before depositing sanji on the bed without preamble. “stay,” he grunts, ignoring the noises of outrage and turning to go get water.

“you can’t tell me what to do,” sanji spits from behind him, cheeks red from more than just anger as he pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. he either doesn’t realise that he’s listing to the side or he doesn’t care.

“sit down or I’ll make you.”

the cook barks a laugh that snaps in the air like a neck in rope. “try! i fucking dare you, marimo, you—”

zoro tackles him down and he screeches like a trapped cat, trying to escape even as the swordsman pins his legs and shoves his shoulders down into the bunk. “you are drunk. stop it.”

“why?” sanji shouts in his face. the cook is straining against him, all wild eyes and bared teeth, shoulders jerking with a sardonic laugh. “don’t wanna fight anymore?”

“no. i don’t.” the air is suddenly too quiet, too heavy, with something zoro doesn’t know if he should name. he watches as the cook’s face falls and twists into something sullen as he tries one last time to jerk his way out of zoro’s hold. “not like this.”

their ship rocks gently as zoro slowly eases off, shifting his weight back and sitting on the edge of the mattress with a soundless, weary sigh. there’s still a stubborn set to sanji’s chin even as he lays there on his back, unmoving from where zoro put him— leave it to him to be contrary for the sake of being contrary. the swordsman takes a deep breath to suppress an eye roll and opens his mouth to say something—

“it hurts.”

zoro stills, turning so he can see sanji better. “what hurts, cook?”

“everything.”

the blond is staring at the ceiling, unblinking and unreadable. the fabric of his slacks is riding up and zoro swallows down the urge to curl a hand around his pale ankle for comfort. he tells himself he doesn’t know where the urge to soothe came from, but he knows, he knows— this melancholy is something that sanji buries so deep, none of them catch even a glimpse of it on a normal day. his face is a blank slate, his usual fire banked, and he looks so drained. an cracked shell of himself running on empty. “i don’t want to feel it. i don’t want to feel anything,” he continues, softly enough that zoro has to strain to hear, leaning in instinctively.

glossy blue eyes flick over. golden hair scrunches against the off-white sheets as sanji turns his face towards him and whispers, “doesn’t that make me exactly like them?”

no. zoro swallows, at the same time both too wet and too dry, feeling a little like he’s been gutted with a dull knife. he says a mental to hell with it and slowly shifts his hand to wrap his fingers around sanji’s ankle, just a gentle grip, his thumb resting beneath the notch of bone. he can hear the soft sounds of the waves outside as it melds with sanji’s breathing, as he opens his mouth and comes up dry for things to say. “…get some sleep, curls.”

“can’t.” sanji purses his lips, shrugging a shoulder as he looks away like it’s no big deal. “can’t sleep. not well, at least. not since…”

zoro feels his own heart thud against his ribs as his gaze slips over sanji’s face, the redness rimming his eyes and the dark circles beneath. “i’m sleeping with you tonight,” he decides.

the cook makes an aborted noise of indignation before apparently deciding that it isn’t worth the effort. “we can’t fit two people in a bed.”

zoro shrugs, unaffected in the face of the venomous look sanji shoots him. “we can try.”

sanji mutters something to the ceiling under his breath. the swordsman pretends not to hear it.

they end up crammed onto the infirmary bed, sanji squashed against the wall and zoro almost falling off. the blond wiggles around in discomfort for five minutes before sitting bolt upright with a hissed curse and undoing his dress shirt in a frenzy; zoro stifles a laugh as he balls it up and hurls it at the desk across the room before flopping back down with a loud huff.

the cook scrunches himself up, spine pressed against the wall and one knee pulled up between them to maintain the distance, pointed at zoro’s gut as a subtle threat. “i’m not gonna bite you, y’know,” zoro grumbles. here he is doing this out of goodwill and this is how he’s treated.

“i wouldn’t put it past you,” sanji snips in reply. “also, you stink.”

“no i don’t. i just showered.”

“irrelevant.”

“priss.”

“moron.”

“spoiled.”

“i have standards, you sentient piece of kelp.”

“you—” zoro grits out, before he stalls. somehow, throughout this whole exchange, they’d inched closer and closer together and now sanji’s shoulder is digging into his breastbone, his breath warm across zoro’s cheek even as a brush of his skin above the loose, low front of zoro’s shirt feels completely opposite. “why’re you so fuckin’ cold?” he mutters, briskly rubbing at sanji’s upper arms before the cook bats him away with a startled hiss.

“don’t—” he cuts off and huffs a harsh breath, sneering in the dark as he digs for the right word, “—coddle me.”

“why not?” zoro shoots back. the words are out of his mouth faster than he can process, but it’s too late to take them back. “give me one good reason and i’ll stop. just one.”

the quiet that falls into place after that is broken by the sound of sanji’s swallow and nothing else. it’s nearly pitch-black; they’d put out the lamp on the wall and the infirmary has no windows. if zoro strains his eye he can see sanji’s outline curled close to his own front, golden hair darkened to honey and arms wrapped around himself.

he recalls how it had felt to have fine bones beneath his hand. how the cook hadn’t kicked him off.

the hand he rests on sanji side is tentative. barely-there pressure, a ghost of a touch with enough space for sanji to back away. he settles his palm down more firmly after a few seconds, tracking his thumb up and down the bumps of sanji’s ribs, and he barely stops his breath from catching when the cook wiggles away from the wall and presses his spine into zoro’s hand.

sanji’s looking at him. he can see the occasional flutter of long lashes, feel the weight of the cook’s attention like sanji’s preparing to say something, but it never comes. a soft breath slips from his lips before zoro feels a hand curl around his waist, fingers curling into his shirt.

“sanji.”

the cook heaves a long-suffering sigh. it doesn’t hide how he’s affected by zoro using his real name; zoro can read him too well for that. knows him too well for that. “what.”

zoro readjusts, fingertips pressing into the small of sanji’s back to pull him closer, and wonder of wonders, the cook lets him. “you’re nothing like them.”

he pretends he doesn’t feel sanji’s arm tighten around him after a few seconds. he notices that his shirt’s damp right before he falls asleep, right where sanji has his face buried in his shoulder.

he doesn’t mention any of it.

the next morning is… interesting.

zoro had woken to an empty bed, with the sheets just barely warm and hazy recollections of a lithe body tucked to his side, a leg thrown over his and soft hair under his chin. he stretches and ambles down to the galley, scratching at his stomach beneath his shirt as he yawns, and right on cue— sanji’s disdainful little tongue click reaches his ears, and he smiles. everything’s back to normal, then.

there’s more of the usual; luffy getting yelled at to leave the eggs alone, i don’t care if you’re hungry, they are raw, and nami and robin being handed their special little tiny cups of coffee and tea respectively. the rest of the crew filters in, and zoro people-watches from his spot on the ratty corner couch before he eventually gets up and slides into his seat at the table.

but when sanji takes his spot beside him, it feels different. the cook’s made onigiri for breakfast, the plate set down just a little closer to zoro’s side than usual before he sits, and zoro pauses with his chopsticks in the air as an ankle bumps into his.

not roughly, or painfully, nowhere near, no. just a reminder. a small nudge that could say any possible number of things, but from the way sanji’s gaze meets his before darting away, he’d guess it’s the thank you that their cook always has so much trouble saying. it’s never a lack of gratitude— more of a refusal to acknowledge that he needed help in the first place, that he accepted it, but zoro will take what he can get.

the circles under sanji’s eyes aren’t quite so dark anymore.

zoro knocks back. he feels the rasp of his boot laces against the heel of sanji’s patent leather oxford, and neither of them pull away. the swordsman presses his lips together and takes a big bite to hide his smile, failing momentarily when sanji immediately starts berating his abysmal table manners, marimo, honestly, if you choke i will leave you to die, and yeah, sure. back to normal.

he catches sanji’s eye again, sky-cornflower-ocean blue, and he wonders what sanji could be seeing in his to make his face soften like that.

normal, and maybe a little something new.

(he isn’t quite sure what to do the following night. sanji’s already in his own bunk when he slips in for a quick few hours of shut-eye, but it isn’t long before he feels someone climbing in with him, and he just knows instinctively without even needing to open his eye. they’ve got limbs hanging out here and there but they fit reasonably well and zoro wakes with sanji’s sleep shirt tucked in his fist and his thin blanket pulled up around his shoulders.

it goes on like this night after night to the point where their crew knows, he thinks. even if zoro discounts the fact that most of them share a bunkroom, they’ve still got to know something’s up; sanji glows like sunlight reflecting off the ocean now, real smiles and laughs that have him tossing his head back and holding his stomach, eyes in sapphire half-moons. robin brings it up offhandedly one day and zoro hums that proper sleep’s doing their cook good— she gives him that look that she does, and he turns away with a smile that he hides in his arm.

the first time sanji finds him in the crow’s nest, he’s still asleep when zoro’s watch ends. the cook’s stretched out on the bench above as zoro sits on the floor, hand draped down against zoro’s collarbone, his face so peaceful that zoro can’t— fuck, he can’t wake him.

and it can’t be comfortable lying on his own arm like that; zoro sits down and carefully pushes him up until sanji’s leaning on his shoulder, that sharp nose tucked under his jaw, and drifts asleep.)

(he stirs awake before sanji’s gone. his eye flutters open to find the cook mid-yawn, working out a crick in his neck and bathed in early-morning light, warm and golden. the cook realises he’s watching and freezes, shoulders going tense and stiff—

he deflates a little when zoro blinks at him, sleep-warm and bleary. “gotta make breakfast, marimo,” he murmurs, reaching out after a moment’s hesitation.

the hand that cups zoro’s cheek is gently callused and somehow familiar. he turns into it like a flower to the sun and breathes in something that he never even realised he’d gotten used to, olive oil and shoe polish and orange blossom pomade. “i know,” he replies, pressing the words into sanji’s palm, and a thumb drags across his cheekbone.

“need anything before i go?” sanji asks, and they both know it’s half a joke. what could he possibly give zoro in here? a dumbbell sandwich?

that other half, though— it’s far too serious. a cold plunge of water through zoro’s muddled early-morning brain. he knows what he wants, but zoro also knows that patience is a virtue for a reason.

the cook already has a hard enough time letting people in. zoro doesn’t want to push. the hand against his cheek is enough for him, even if it is all sanji could ever want, and so he slips the blond a wry grin. “onigiri?”

“you— ugh, fine.” sanji huffs. “anything else?”

zoro frowns, growing increasingly convinced that this is some sort of trap. these are unprecedented levels of generosity. “…protein shake?”

it takes all of two seconds before sanji puts his face into his hands, taking a deep breath before zoro hears something about having to do everything myself, don’t i? the cook plants his hands on his hips, tapping his foot with one brow arched. “of all the people in the world,” he mutters through his teeth, advancing on zoro with enough of a menacing air that the swordsman leans back into the backrest, “of course it had to be you.”

“me what?” zoro says warily, eyeing sanji up and down, and opens his mouth to continue before a fist grips his collar and there’s a brush of contact at his temple— a kiss, he realises, before all the thoughts drain out of his fucking brain.)

(he’s still reeling when he stumbles his way to breakfast. still wide-eyed as he washes the plates, for once, without complaint. it’s when it’s just the two of them, when zoro twists around to ask a question that he hasn’t yet phrased, that arms lock around his waist and sanji’s forehead presses to his nape.

they’re quiet for a long, long while. “you remind me that i’m not like them, y’know,” sanji breathes, barely loud enough to be heard.

zoro turns in his hold, hands dripping all over the floor, fuck, the cook’ll make him clean that up later, he knows and he isn’t even mad about it. “what do you mean, curls?”

sanji leans into him, all sharp edges and bony joints softened by lean muscle and zoro’s fondness, fingers long and thin and laced together over zoro’s hip. “i’m pretty damn sure they’ve never felt like this.”)

(not much changes after that. franky does make them a bigger bunk to share, though, and they fight perhaps even more fiercely now; afternoons are spent toying with each other across the deck, pushing their limits, pushing each other higher until nami yells at them to stop making a racket. zoro doesn’t pretend that he can’t tell when sanji needs a little more contact, keeping him close when perfectly filed nails dig into his shirt. sanji takes care of them all like he always does, and he lets zoro take care of him— most of the time, at least. it’s still a toss-up on whether he’ll explode or break down whenever anyone tries to help him, but with zoro it’s either both in succession or neither.

sometimes he picks a fight and then cries afterwards. others, he concedes to being wrapped in a ratty old blanket and tucked into zoro’s chest where he can hide from the world.

he sleeps through every night now, though. he’s fiery and sharp-tongued and bright-eyed and when he’s had a bit too much to drink he just gets loud, fooling around with their captain and cackling with nami in a corner of the galley between conspiratorial whispers, but zoro can’t deny him anything even though he’s fairly sure they’re plotting his downfall.

he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

#THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ANONNNN #will never get tired of angsting this babygirl. i’m sorry he just has so many Issues #BUT I ALWAYS GIVE THEM HAPPY ENDINGS ALRIGHT SO IT BALANCES OUTTTT #it’s almost 4am this time this is actually horrid #GOODNIGHT ZOSAN NATIONNN #zosan #one piece #black leg sanji #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece sanji #one piece zosan #one piece zoro #sanji #zoro #ino writes #ino’s ask box

274 notes · View notes