cw: gn!reader, fluff. using prompt from here.
They smell like her, the tangerine trees. They smell like her and she smells like them—sharp but sweet. Nights like this, when you’re plagued with insomnia, wracked with dreams of a life left behind, that you come to the grove and sit for a while, letting the smell of citrus—the smell of her—fill your lungs until everything feels right again.
“What are you doing up here?” Nami appears out of the shadows, hands on her hips, her brow knitted into a worried expression.
“Couldn’t sleep.” You lean your head back against the tree trunk, stretching your legs out in front of you. “It’s quiet up here.”
“It’s cold too, aren’t you freezing?”
The night air had worked its way under your thin sweater, up your pant legs, had settled on your skin in such a way you had barely noticed it until she mentioned it. The thought of her in the sweater she’d worn earlier, the way it fell off her shoulder and she never bothered to fix it, how she balled her fists up in the too-long sleeves, how it felt when she brushed against you when she handed you a cup of tea—that was more than keeping you warm, you dared not tell her.
“I guess it is a little chilly, isn’t it?” you chuckled as a shiver invaded your limbs.
“Is it too cliche if I give you my jacket?” Her smile is warm, inviting, like a mug of hot cider held tightly in your palms.
“It’s okay, really,” you demur, heat filling your cheeks and warming your chill-bitten ears. “I should head inside soon anyway.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, plucking a fruit from the tree closest to her and sitting down beside you, long legs draped over yours like it’s nothing, like every touch doesn’t make your skin prickle. You aren’t heading inside now, by her design.
She peels the tangerine, slowly, almost reverently, and splits it in half, hands you a portion and nods at you as she pops a section in her mouth. You mimic her, and cool spray of juice hits the night air as you sink your teeth in.
“You have some on your chin,” Nami says, her gaze resting on your lips.
Before you can raise your hand to wipe it away, her mouth is on yours. Her lips are warm and tangy and sticky-sweet, just like you hoped, just like you dreamed when you’d watch her laugh in the sunshine. You hold the tangerine sections in one hand still, the other running up the felted sleeve of her coat, as if to remind yourself she was real, and this wasn’t another dream amongst the tangerine groves.
“I think I missed,” she murmurs as she pulls away, slowly swiping her thumb across her bottom lip. “It’s still there.”
You lean closer, your heart thrumming, the taste of citrus on your tongue. “Then maybe you should try again.”
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