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revasserium · 7 months

Note

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

accidentally in love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, finished with that book already?”

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

Sanji blushes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you making?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, shit —”

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

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

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

He wants to reach for you.

Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.

An alarm goes off.

“Oh fuck —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey —”

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

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

“We’re not done talking about this.”

You cock your head, “About what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kitchen — after dinner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This afternoon —”

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

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

One word from you and —

“So? What about you?” you ask.

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

“Me?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

Another kiss.

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

“That’s two.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you ever doubt?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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crazyk-imagine · 8 months

Text

Napping and Cooking

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Straw hat!reader

Characters: Vinsmoke Sanji, Straw hat!reader, Monkey D. Luffy, Roronora Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Arlong

Warnings: Fluff, fighting, the asshole Arlong, Sanji being subtlety flustered, you take lots of naps, Sanji being adorable as hell, everyone worrying over you, protect Nami plan is a go, Sanji being like a boyfriend but nothing's official

Word Count: 1,849

A/N: Reader sleeps a lot because her abilities take up a lot of her energy.

Reader also had a lot of hair and it sometimes gets in their face so she has to flip their head upside down and then back up or run their hand through their hair to see.

Reader has a jacket like Mihawk but it goes down to her knees otherwise she'll trip

This man... is something else

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You enter the restaurant and slip past the host in search of your crew. You can hear Luffy and know exactly where they are. You stand in front of the table, "you guys ditched me."

"You were still sleeping," says Luffy.

"You didn't wake me up," you tell them with a pout.

"We tried to," Nami tells you.

"You’re the one that wouldn’t wake up," Zoro adds, glancing at you; wondering if you’ll even make it through the meal.

Sanji glances your way and notices your figure standing in front of an unattended table.

He admires your jacket as he heads over.

"Fine, you tried. Now move over, stretchy." You try to move him only to fail, which your captain laughs at. You roll your eyes and walk over him, Usopp being kind enough to scooch over, so you have room.

You sit at the top of the booth. You didn't realize it, but you zoned out until Nami smacked your leg. Your jaw drops as you rub the spot. "Ow. Was that necessary?"

She gestures to the blond standing in front of the table.

"And for the madam?"

"What are we doing?"

Nami and Zoro roll their eyes.

"We're ordering our drinks," Usopp tells you.

"Ah, right. Water."

"And would the madam like stilled, sparkling, mineral? With ice or without? Cubed or crushed?"

The corner of your lip twitches. "Well, aren’t we sweet? You want to please all the ladies you, see?"

His head drops, he glances at the ground before looking back up, staring at you through his lashes and hair. "Only the ones who entice me with their beauty."

"I'll let you surprise me."

"Excellent choice, madam. You will not be let down."

"I know I won't."

"What was that?" Zoro asks.

"What?" You turn to him.

He starts rattling off everything Sanji said.

"He was being polite."

"To you," the orange haired girl mutters.

"Huh?"

"He only called me madam once and then you stole his attention. Clearly there was something about you that caught his eye."

"I don’t think so."

Every single kind of water he offered was brought to the table.

After Zoro loses the battle and the head chef along with the blond come in to help him, you two start talking each time he's here.

"I smell food," you lean against the doorway.

He chuckles, "I would certainly hope so. You're the only one who hasn't eaten. Are you worried that worried about your friend?"

"Of course, I'm worried about the idiot but not enough to lose too much sleep over him. My abilities take up a lot of my energy and sleeping helps me. I was napping."

He nods, "ah, now that makes sense." He glances up from the ingredients he grabbed. "Would you like to eat something?"

You nod, "I would, kind of why I came down here."

"I know. How do you feel about exposing your palate to an array of flavors?"

"I think I made a mistake."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Nonsense. I'm going to make you an unforgettable meal."

You were up on the roof when Argon and his crew entered.

You secure the rope around your waist before jumping down. "Why are you picking on people less than half your size?"

"Who are you?"

"Someone who's already kicked your bony nosed ass."

He growls, realizing who you are.

"You want to fight someone? Fight me," you smirk. "I'm a better opponent than stretchy." You tug at the rope, rolling it up. "Come on, then. Try to hit me."

He comes at you, and you dodge him.

Again.

And again.

He growls before his hand clamps down on your jacket (something you made sure happened on purpose).

"Don't touch my jacket."

"Why? You gonna cry if I do."

"No," you grab his hand and twist his wrist, "you might. Clone shift."

He's baffled at the sight of him, standing before him. "Stop it. Turn back."

"Nope."

He and Luffy are outside before you can stop him.

"Hey, you two idiots."

His crew turns to you, eyes widening at the sight of their captain even though he just walked out the door.

You punch the two of them hard enough for them to roll on the dock outside the restaurant.

You walk over to check on Sanji and Usopp, the former taking a big hit on his back.

"Are you two-" you groan and hold onto the railing as you shift back to yourself.

Blood catches the story teller's eye. "Did you take some of Zoro's cut?"

All the pain in his body left him as the blond urges forward to catch you.

"So, what? It's nothing. I can take it."

"You overexerted yourself enough already. Come on," Sanji says, helping you up.

"Are we going to help Luffy?"

"We are, you're not."

You let out a small disagreeing noise.

"Don't argue with me."

You all catch the sight of the energetic captain falling into the water and rush over.

Sanji's quicker than you and takes action. He throws off his shirt and jacket before diving in.

You force yourself to stay awake and not pass out.

His head pops up back in the surface.

Usopp helps haul the rubber man onto the dock.

You hold a handout for the chef, but he doesn't take it. "Where's Nami?"

"She's gone. She's apart of Arlong's crew," Usopp tells Luffy.

Sanji's body slumps down, his butt resting on the heels of his feet.

Dots cloud your vision and your feet sway, you knew the second you cloned, you were done.

Sanji and Usopp catch you before you could fall.

The blond man leaning down to listen to your heartbeat and make sure you're- "She's still breathing."

"She," Luffy takes a deep breath, his voice coming out scratchy. "She did too much."

"We need to get you two back on your ship."

You wake up and find yourself in your room.

You sit up, finding no one else here.

You grab your jacket and make your way to the kitchen.

"He convinced you?"

Sanji jumps, not expecting you to be awake. "Are you hungry?"

You nod and slowly make your way over to the couch. "No objections. I'll take whatever the chef makes."

"That can get dangerous if you say that to the wrong person."

"Good thing I'm just talking to you."

The corner of his lips twitch as gets back to work.

"Hey, I just-" Usopp smiles when he sees you here. "You're up. How're feeling?"

"Hungry and tired."

"The usual, cool. I wasn't worried, at all." He stops in front of the chef. "What's new on today's menu?"

"Not for you."

He gasps, "rude. I fought in that battle too, you know."

"You crawled away like a bug being found under a log."

He whines when you out him.

The other two enter the kitchen.

Zoro glances at you, "you're an idiot."

"Way to make a girl feel special asshole."

"You're going to have a scar."

"You're welcome for making sure you don't die because of your own mistake, moron."

He leans against the wall, watching over everyone.

Luffy stretches his arms out to hug you, letting his body slam into you. "You're awake. Are you okay? You passed out. Is that always normal?"

Usopp smacks the captain, "get off her. She just woke up, you're not helping."

"Food is ready."

"Time to eat!"

"No," Sanji smacks Luffy with the dish towel. "The lady gets hers first."

You stick your tongue out at your friend. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

"Other than my good looks."

The green haired man rolls his eyes, "would you stop flirting and feed the idiot before he steals the food."

"Not until the lady gets hers."

"The lady will be fine."

"You call yourself a man. A true man would make sure-"

You flick the two of them on their foreheads. "Shut up."

You give Luffy and Usopp their bowls, "eat you animals."

"Oh, we told the town of your sacrifice," you explain to Nami.

"We didn't know. Could you ever forgive us?" The guard asks.

"This is going to be a massacre," the orange haired girl says.

"For them," you crack your knuckles. "I got this."

Usopp thins his lips, "I don't think so. You're just gonna lose consciousness again."

"Why don't I knock you unconscious?"

Sanji steps forward and pulls you off the side. "Excuse her, she was woken up from a nap." He covers your ears. "She's cranky."

You smack his hands off you.

You sit on the wall, watching as everyone fights. It was the smart move, save more of your energy.

It was only when they started bad mouthing Nami that you really started getting fired up. "Woah! Hey! Hey!" You grab a rock and throw it at the fishman's head. "Don't bad mouth my friend!"

Sanji removes his jacket without removing his gaze.

"Now you've done it," Zoro mumbles.

You jump down and walk towards the green haired man.

Sanji doesn't stop until the fishman has been taken care of.

Zoro judges the chef, with him calling out his finishing move.

"Ignore him. You did good, Sanji."

He lowers his head, unable to respond to your comment.

Zoro shakes his head, not in the mood to deal with his pining.

Usopp makes his way back to you.

"Nice of you to join us."

The storyteller smiles. "Yeah, just- uh- wish I didn't miss so much of this."

You glance at Zoro and raise a brow, both of you knowing that he doesn't mean it.

The green haired man just gives him a look of disappointment.

Nami runs away from the deteriorating building and glances back over her shoulder. She turns back and runs towards you guys.

Sanji opens his arms with a smile, "Nami!"

She ignores him and throws her arms around the second in command and storyteller.

You offer him a sorry look before turning around at the sound of her calling your name. "Are you okay?" You ask.

Instead of replying she throws her arms around you, holding you tightly. "Thank you."

"Why?"

"You and Luffy gave me something I never thought I could have."

You smile. "Alright kid, get off me." You wipe her under eyes, making sure no one knew how much she was crying. You pat Sanji's shoulder, "she just doesn't know you yet."

"That would make sense."

"Where's Luffy?"

"He's still in there, fighting Arlong."

You huff, "why can't he wait for help?" You groan and start to take a step forward when they stop you.

The chef grabs your wrist and pulls you back. "Nope."

"Are you nuts?" Usopp asks. "I mean seriously. You want to fight that fishman?!"

"I'm not going to let Luffy-" The building collapses. "Great! My oldest friend is-"

"Nami! We are you're friends! We are your crew!"

"Still alive! Yay!" You jump up and down before throwing yourself into the blond's arms.

"Look who finally got their hug."

"Shut up, Nami."

Continue to: Part II

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4K notes · View notes

togenabi · 7 months

Text

things I won't tell you

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x princess!reader

♡—the new royal chef doesn't seem to recognize you without your crown. who's going to tell him? . . . certainly not you.

word count♡— 7.3k (cries)

genre♡— fluff, royal chef x princess au

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader is a princess, reader wears dresses, reader has siblings (oc's), sanji made me google fancy food, mentions of zeff, sanji gets jealous if you squint, no use of y/n, proofread (but only a little)

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is detached from any canon, its basically just a big chunk of sanji fluff. please enjoy!

You've never really dreamed for yourself. You had always just let life fall into place around you.

The kingdom is prospering, entering a new age of commerce. Artists, craftsmen, and inventors sail seas just to be part of it.

Your sister Chrysanth is a wise queen, as you always knew she would be. She’s fair and just, always knowing what’s best for her people.

On the other hand, your brother August is Captain of the Royal Guard. He’s an excellent swordsman, who has yet to be beaten ever since he took command.

As for you, the youngest of the three, you have no idea what you’re doing.

The most likely outcome would be for you to be married off to settle some political arrangement. Unpleasant as it sounds, you would have agreed to it for the sake of the kingdom.

But the moment you said so, Chrysanth gave you a look unbecoming of a queen and immediately shut it down.

“Look,” She gestured to the view outside. “Does that seem like a kingdom who needs help to you? I work my butt off precisely so that we won’t have to depend on anyone else.”

“Besides,” She adds, “if anyone wants your hand, they should fight to the death for it.”

And so, for now, you work for your sister. Helping manage general affairs and the kingdom’s business agreements—even though she could easily hire someone else.

“I love that you insist on working,” Your brother told you once. “You could have been a socialite, but you’re here with us, serving the people.”

Of course you are. Because even though you didn’t necessarily plan it, you are proud and committed to your work. You’re happy with your own, mundane accomplishments.

Or at least that’s what you try to remember when you glance at the tall pile of documents on your desk. You’ll relish the satisfaction that will come when it’s gone.

The candle beside you burns low, flame becoming dimmer and dimmer as the hour grows late. You should probably replace that. Pulling open your drawer, your eyes scan its contents for a candle.

You’re fresh out of the tall ones that fit in the candleholder, but you have one sculpted like a cinnamon bun—a gift from August a few birthdays ago. It’s not exactly the best for illuminating your work, but something makes you strike a match and light it still.

It smells like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, you can’t help but inhale the decadent scent deeply.

The aroma triggers an embarrassing grumble from your stomach. You feel your ears burn despite the fact that no one else is around to have heard it. Perhaps a midnight snack is in order.

Unexpectedly, light seeps through the gap beneath the large wooden double doors to the kitchen. In all your years, you’ve never encountered anyone in the kitchen at two in the morning.

Normally, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. Knowing the chefs, they would likely fuss over you and put whatever they were doing on hold.

But you fear that your stomach will disagree with that, so you decide to knock and enter the kitchen anyway.

There’s only one chef inside—a tall, blond man with his back to you. You don’t think you recognize him. He must be one of the new hires.

When he hears your footsteps on the stone tiles, he turns around.

His expression, at first, is curious. But after a beat, his mouth curves into a charming grin that catches you completely off guard.

“Hello there, miss.” He nods in greeting, eyes alight with a look that no one usually dares when it comes to you.

“I’d be happy to fix up something for you if there’s anything you’re… craving.”

When you expected the chef to fuss over you, this isn’t what you meant.

Your first instinct is to look at his surroundings for alcohol. Perhaps he’s intoxicated and not in his right mind?

But the (sober) chef seems to have mistaken your silence for bashfulness, because he presses you further, “Trust me. I may be new around here, but I know my stuff.”

Unsure how to respond to his blatant (or insolent, your sister would say) behavior, you try to gently decline his offer.

“It’s alright,” You say, still uncertain about him. “I was only going to make a sandwich and be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” He insists. “If you’re hungry at this hour, it means you’ve been busy working too hard.”

He approaches the pantry, retrieving one too many things for a mere sandwich. Your concern grows when he grabs garlic, several leafy vegetables, and a lemon.

“You, my dear,” He points at you with, is that a cucumber? “—deserve a proper treat.”

You sigh, it looks like he doesn’t intend to back down. Maybe you should just let him do what he wants and see if he can back up all the talk. Pulling one of the chairs from beneath the kitchen island, you take a seat as you observe the flirtatious chef.

At least he seems to be enjoying himself. His hands work with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience; and he smiles proudly when he sees you watching.

“I meant what I said, I’m a damn good cook.” He’s begun chopping the vegetables. “My name’s Sanji, by the way.”

The question now is whether or not you properly introduce yourself. It's difficult to deny that you enjoy his attention. The casual and relaxed manner he addresses you with is… a nice kind of different. When else are you going to experience that if you let this go?

Alright. For tonight, you're not a princess. You're someone who stumbled upon a chef—a handsome one, it dawns on you. This is a chance encounter in the palace kitchens. And, you glance over at the dressing and ingredients he prepared, why should you turn down good food?

You decide to only give him your name. It feels strange introducing yourself without your title, but you don't tell him that.

“It makes sense that your name is as captivating as you are.” Sanji's voice is smooth, easygoing as he moves around the kitchen.

Nothing about his demeanor changes. Either he really doesn't know anything about this country's royalty, or he's skillfully controlled his reaction and is hiding that he knows.

There's also a third possibility: that you look so haggard and tired that you simply do not appear royal anymore.

Subconsciously, you look at your typical office clothes… Maybe you should go on that fitting the royal stylist has been pestering you about.

On the topic of style, however, your companion has unusual attire for a chef. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt with a necktie. His black slacks match the suit jacket draped over one of the chairs.

Your attention is diverted when Sanji begins rolling up his sleeves. He juices the lemon he had sliced in half, arms flexing as he twists the fruit.

Clearing your throat, you ask him a question to distract yourself. “What are you making?”

He smiles as if he’s glad you asked. “A dish that suits a beauty like you, of course.”

Several minutes later, he presents you with a sandwich. The slices of bread are whole wheat; the layers of ingredients between them are all in varying shades of green.

“A green goddess sandwich, made with care for the goddess in front of me.” Sanji pushes the plate towards you.

It's easy to stay composed despite the flattery because your hunger makes you focus on the food. “It really does look excellent.” You compliment earnestly.

He gestures to the plate before placing his hands in his pockets. “Tastes excellent too, try it.” Shaking your head at how confident he’s being, you pick up the sandwich.

It might just be the best sandwich you’ve ever had in your life. The flavors are fresh, and you catch the hints of lemon blending with the dressing. The bread is soft, contrasting with the crunch of the cucumbers and sprouts.

You're completely surprised, and it must be obvious based on how Sanji reacts. He lets out an adorable, pleased laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“I knew you’d like it, ma chèrie.” Sanji reaches a hand towards your face. Your heart just about stops when he brushes his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth. His eyes look so intense, like you'll drown in them if you stare too much.

It feels as if your face could burst into flames at any second, so you turn away to hide your flush.

As Sanji grabs you a glass of water, you ask him if he’s eaten. “I did, but it’s nice that you’re worried about me.” He answers. You almost choke on your drink.

Once you've finished your meal, you stand then grab your empty plate and glass. But Sanji mirrors you, blocking the way to the sink. Why must a chef have such broad shoulders?

He shakes his head, trying to get the dishes from you. “Can’t let you do that, love.”

“Why not?” You frown, pulling your arms back so he doesn’t reach them.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be working any more—”

“But you’re allowed to?” You look up at him defiantly.

Sanji stares at you. You stare back. There's a few seconds of silence before you sprint the other way, running around the kitchen island to get to a different sink.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sanji yells after you.

You’re almost there, but Sanji catches up to you easily. Before you know it, he’s blocking the way again and you curse, remembering his long legs.

“Sanji, let me do the dishes.” You plead, but he’s as stubborn as it gets.

“The knives I used need to be washed anyway, and I’m not about to let your pretty hands do that.” Sanji winks, and you give up. He pries the dishes from your hands.

Seeing your shoulders slump disappointedly, he offers you a compromise. “If you really want, you could throw the rubbish in the bin and wipe down the counters.” Okay, you can do that.

“Are you sure this is the only way I can repay you?” You ask, grabbing a washcloth to begin cleaning up.

“That’s plenty of help, my dear.” Sanji answers.

But after a moment, he seems to have gotten an idea. Your brows raise in curiosity as you question him, “What?”

“...I was just wondering,” He begins, looking at you with that flirtatious glint in his eye. “Since we had such a wonderful time tonight, would you be willing to join me again?”

“That depends,” You press your lips together to suppress the smile blooming on your lips. “Will you cook for me again?”

Sanji laughs, throwing his head back. “Darling, that’s a given.”

He gazes at you while he dries his hands. There’s a grin on his face as he asks, like he already knows your answer. He probably does. He’s probably right.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Even though you got back to your chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning, you woke up feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever been. There’s a spring in your step as you get ready for the day, and you pick clothes that are slightly more dressy than your usual attire. Sanji shouldn’t be able to notice that you dressed up for him, right?

But your sister does.

Seated at the head of the table, Chrysanth stops eating to analyze your clothes the instant you show up to the dining hall for breakfast.

You could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Avoiding her gaze, you bow to greet her before taking your seat, “Good morning.”

The queen only smiles at you knowingly, eyes still flickering over you with enraptured excitement. Very much unlike a queen, however, she kicks your shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” You yelp.

“So…” She lets the syllable drag on. “Who’s the guy?”

You focus on piling food onto your plate, choosing to ignore her. “What guy?”

“Your guy.” She says, giddy. “Is he your guy yet?”

“Hm?” Is your only response. Breakfast looks lovely. Should you ask for coffee or tea today?

Chrysanth kicks you again.

“Hey!” You rub the skin to dull the pain. “Stop that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” She persists, waving a hand to gesture at your clothes. “You only wear that skirt when you want to impress someone.”

Mentally cursing her for knowing you too well, you continue to act nonchalant.

“Really, it’s nothing.” You try to clarify. “I just thought that it would be a nice change.”

She doesn't believe it. Not one bit of it. Thankfully though, she drops the topic. Your shoulders relax as the discussion switches to work-related ones. She’s telling you about her plans to approve a restaurant in the museum when your brother joins you for breakfast.

Once he’s seated, August takes one look at you before tilting his head. “Who’s the guy?”

Chrysanth looks far too smug and triumphant than you’d like. You bury your face in your hands. Would Sanji also tease you if he knew?

The rest of the day is uneventful, the only change to your typical work day being that you avoid your siblings like the plague. You have lunch brought to your office and skip on dinner.

Sanji had already started cooking by the time you got to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” He says. Of course you don’t, whatever it is smells amazing. “I thought I’d start early so you wouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“Thank you for going through the trouble.” You say, glancing at the ingredients he had laid out: there are crushed tomatoes on the counter. Pasta simmers in a pot on the stove. You recognize the tubed shapes with ridges surrounding them.

“Rigatoni?” You ask, turning to the chef.

Sanji nods, “With a simple, creamy tomato sauce. Nothing too extravagant, but still specially made for you.”

He puts the pasta into two bowls, grating parmesan cheese on top. Your mouth waters.

“Here you are, darling.” It pleases you more than you thought it would when Sanji sits across from you to eat as well.

There’s something homey and yet luscious about the taste. He really outdid himself. “It’s delicious, Sanji.”

“I live to please.” Sanji says before standing to retrieve two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Zweigelt.” He says as he pours for you both. “Juicy and fresh, with just the right amount of acidity.”

You almost swoon at the rasp in his voice. You never realized someone could be so attractive when talking about wine.

As he clinks his glass with yours, you think to yourself that this might be your favorite dish from him. However, true to his word, he surpasses your expectations every time.

After a few weeks, on your sixth (or is it seventh?) time meeting Sanji past midnight, you've reached the point where you're able to open up to each other beyond the pleasantries that come with the food.

He tells you about his dream of traveling the seas in search for the best ingredients the world has to offer. You admit how you sometimes feel like life is just taking you along with the current—that you’ve never had a burning, passionate dream to aspire to.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Sanji hums contemplatively. “There aren’t any deadlines when it comes to finding dreams.”

“I do worry that you’re working yourself to the bone, though.” He adds, and for once, his smile looks different somehow. It’s a fond, gentle smile that’s sweeter than the macarons he made for you.

“What do you mean?” You take a sip of water.

“While I'm flattered you enjoy my food so well, do you eat properly? Shouldn't the palace be treating you better?” This time, you actually choke on your drink.

Could it get more embarrassing than this? Your ears burn as you cough, trying to clear your throat and settle your heart.

“Breathe, love." Sanji, ever the gentleman, is next to you in a flash of a second. He pats your back gently and supportively. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”

“It's alright—and, I do eat,” Your voice comes out raspy. “It's just that I don't usually have an appetite for dinner.”

“But that leaves you hungry for a midnight snack?” Sanji asks, a knowing expression on his face as he refills your glass.

“Exactly.” You smile. Thankfully, your throat has calmed down. Picking up a vanilla-flavored macaron, you savor the taste that melts sweetly on your tongue. Returning to his chair across from you, Sanji watches you eat happily.

“I take pride in my desserts, but that chocolatier in Belltower street… The sweets are just—out of this world, I tell you.” He looks so excited as he talks, eyes aglow and gestures animated. “The chocolates are handmade and everything. I'm sure you've heard of it?”

“Um…” Hesitating, you certainly remember issuing a business permit for a chocolatier; but you can’t say you’ve gone there yourself.

Sanji’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Surely you’re pulling my leg. You haven’t been?”

“...”

He observes you quietly, like he's considering what to do next. There have been instances when Sanji stays quiet, doesn't eat, and only watches you chew. The times where he insists that he's content with seeing you eating well. Those were awkward at first, but you learned that was just part of spending time with him. Your reaction was a reward on its own.

But this isn't like that. Something feels oddly different in the way he seems to be gathering his composure. The silence almost worries you, but thankfully he breaks it first.

“You’ve saved me the trouble of thinking of a place to take you to.” Laughing, Sanji practically glows in elation. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

You had a peculiar sense that you would’ve loved going anywhere, as long as you were with him.

Feeling bold, you suggest, “I’m free this Saturday if that’s good for you?”

He gives you that soft, enamoured look again. Something makes you hold your breath, your fingers tingle and the entire rest of the world slows down. You’re almost certain you’re giving him the same look.

“Even if I wasn’t, love, I would have gone to you anyway.”

The next day, a Thursday, your brother unexpectedly knocks on your office door.

“Hey,” You smile. “Is something wrong?”

It’s rare for August to look for you in the middle of the day. If either of you need to speak, it’s usually you who heads into the training grounds to talk to him. The other way around occurring is curious.

“I wanted to invite you to watch the knights train this Saturday.” He says coolly. “It would boost their morale if you spoke a few words.”

The commander goes on to speak, not catching that you’ve short circuited somewhat, trying to rack your brain for a valid excuse to decline him.

“And maybe, you could pick out a personal knight like I’ve been telling you.” August prompts. “You really should—”

When he pauses, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, you suddenly recall why you stopped trying to hide anything from him.

“You already have plans.” He says, face carefully blank.

“Yes.” Thank goodness he understood. But wait, his eyes are widening. Why is he making that face? Why is he looking at you like he just figured out—

“You have a date.” Darn it all.

August is bewildered, not knowing what to do with the information he put together. He awkwardly brushes his fingers through his hair.

“...Is he a good guy, at least?” He settles with, asking carefully in that concerned way he does when he looks out for you.

Biting your lip, you nod. “He seems to be, so far.”

“Okay.” August responds. “Does Chrysanth know?”

“It’s nothing serious.” Yet. Yet? Do you want it to be? “You’re the first I’ve told.”

A worrying thought suddenly pops in your mind. Your turn to him, distressed. “Please don’t tell her yet, August.”

“Why?” His frown deepens, like he’s about to ask more questions. Unfortunately for him, you decide you’ve had enough talking about Sanji to your brother for today.

“Aren’t you busy?” You grab his arm, guiding him out of your office. “Don’t you have training to get to?”

“I do, but—why can't Chrysanth know?” You open the door for him and try to push him out, but August plants his feet; still trying to figure you out. He doesn’t budge an inch.

But then he makes that face again. That annoying ‘aha!’ face.

“You really need to go, good luck with training! Tell the knights I said hi—” You manage to shove him out with all your strength, but at the last second before you close the door, August turns around again.

“He’s a commoner, isn’t he?” You slam the door at his face.

It doesn't matter. Sanji's status will never matter to you. Not when he's holding your hand so sweetly while he guides you through the winding streets of the city. You recognize some shops by name, knowing who owns what and when they established their business. But Sanji knows these streets, and he's more than happy to show you.

“Ah, one moment, my dear.” Sanji pulls you towards a quaint little cart overflowing with flowers. He flicks a coin to the vendor, eyes scanning all the vibrant colors and bursting petals.

Somehow, without you needing to tell him, he picks one in your favorite color. You're starting to feel like that's just part of being with Sanji—that he knows what you want, and knows what you need before you do.

The flower is soon tucked into your hair, behind your ear. His fingers linger on the side of your face—and normally, you'd break eye contact and shy away. Maybe let out a halfhearted excuse that you should continue on your way. But you don't.

You smile back at him, not bothering to hide the genuine happiness you feel. And when Sanji pulls back, you're already holding out your hand before he reaches for it. There’s something in his eyes. Something that makes you feel like you're walking on air when he tugs you along again.

As planned, Sanji takes you to the chocolatier he told you about. The building is small, tucked between larger shops in the middle of a busy street, but there’s no doubting the quality of their confections.

The elderly chef behind the counter greets Sanji like a grandson she hasn’t seen in forever. She ushers him in, enthusiastically pointing to this and that, saying she moved some furniture around as he suggested.

“It looks perfect, grand-mère.” Sanji smiles, taking in the beautiful glass display. Chocolates of every flavor cover the shelves from end to end.

Grand-mère’s eyes light up when she sees you. She casts an approving look at Sanji, “I like this one. She might even be too good for you.”

“That’s because she is.” Sanji laughs, and you pretend to browse the menu while they talk.

“No need for that, ma chèrie.” The menu is plucked from your hands. Sanji sets it aside, pointing instead to where grand-mère is behind the counter. She's wrapping up a box of chocolates that she hands to you.

“No need to pay, dear.” She smiles, patting your hand. “If he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

Sanji whisks you away through the streets again. You've never been this far into the city before. Looking back at the path you've taken and not recognizing any of it, you know you’d be absolutely lost without Sanji by your side.

“Almost there.” He tells you, pointing to a cobbled path that inclines upwards.

What meets you at the top of the path is a small clearing. A stunning tree with blossoms on its branches stands at the center. Flowers and petals flutter away and fall onto the iron bench beneath it.

“Sanji, this is lovely...” You trail off, letting go of his hand to catch a flower into your palms. The flower twirls delicately between your fingers before you turn back to Sanji, tucking the blossom into the pocket of his suit.

Sanji takes your hand before you can pull away, bending down to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

The two of you spent hours under that tree, sharing chocolates and stories—feeling like this is how things are supposed to be. Not necessarily the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the sun setting beautifully in so many warm colors.

Just Sanji. With you, next to you.

All at once, it sinks in that he could be the dream you've been waiting for. But you don't tell him that.

Being enlightened on your feelings for Sanji becomes a second thought, however, when you’re swamped with work the following week.

“Don’t these people ever get tired?” Chrysanth groans, leaning back on her chair. “Why is planning a festival so hard?”

You approach her desk and place another stack of documents onto it. The numerous piles are getting concerning.

She scowls at the papers, then scowls at you. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Of course I do.” You tap a stack of documents to her left. “The guest list for the ball needs to be approved by tonight so we can send invitations out.” She groans again, but picks up the list anyway.

You’re unable to see Sanji as often as you’d like, but you both promised to meet once a week. Even if it’s only for a few short heartbeats together.

You dearly miss him. You think about him as you hand Chrysanth menu plans for the ball. If he saw it, he’d say that he could come up with something better.

She glances at the menu, studying it. Or at least, that’s what you thought she was doing—until her next words proved you wrong.

“So, how are you and that chef doing?”

Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It sank down, deep into the depths of the earth. It also must have taken all the air in the room along with it. How did she—

“August?” You blurt out.

Chrysanth shakes her head, “Zeff.” Oh no. Sanji’s boss knows? Does Sanji know that you’re—

“According to Zeff,” She proceeds, cutting off your thoughts. “One of his subordinates has been cooking a lot of personal meals over the last few weeks.”

“I can explain—” But your sister holds up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.

She calls your name, and then you realize how serious her tone is. “Are you familiar with the kitchen’s rules when it comes to using ingredients and supplies for personal use?”

“...I’m afraid I'm not.” You didn’t know the kitchen had any such rules… but surely Sanji does. Your voice stutters, “I, did—is he in trouble?”

“He isn’t.” She answers, though her expression is still grave. “But I think that you should be aware of how much he’s doing for you.”

Chrysanth opens a drawer to retrieve a list of kitchen rules. Reading it over, everything is standard and straight to the point. You find the answer to your confusion towards the end, a small, nondescript bullet that reads:

All staff must reimburse the cost of all ingredients used for any reason outside of official duties.

“He must know who I am, then.” You say, feeling relieved that he didn’t break some sort of impossible rule. “He wouldn’t have done so much for me if he didn’t.”

Your sister purses her lips, letting the silence linger for a second before responding, “He doesn’t know, love.” She hands you another document. “He’s been paying back every cent out of pocket.”

Tracing over the timestamps and the different ingredients listed, you stare at an outline of your time with Sanji. It’s nice to reminisce, but you can’t help but wince whenever you spot something particularly pricey. What on earth are you to do with this man?

“Zeff recognized your name when he asked Sanji who he was cooking for.” Chrysanth explains. “He didn’t tell him, but he came to me and requested for Sanji to be repaid.”

“Since anything served to me counts as official duties of a royal chef.” You piece together.

“Exactly.” Chrysanth nods. “However, doing that would expose your title to him. Which is why I wanted to speak to you about this first… You should tell him.”

“I know.” Letting out a deep sigh, you agree. Sanji deserves to know more than anything. Nevertheless, the thought of him changing how he treats you—or worse, leaving—because of your status, frightens you to your core.

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” You say, but your sister’s expression slowly changes. What did she plan this time?

“Or maybe, you could put the kitchen dates on pause and tell him in a few weeks.” Surprisingly, she hands you an invitation to the ball.

“I can’t bring Sanji as my date.” No matter how much you wish you could.

“Are you sure about that?” Chrysanth is unable to contain her grin. “Open it!”

‘…you are cordially invited to the spring masquerade ball.’

You gasp, “You turned it into a masquerade?”

“Yes, I did. You won’t believe how much convincing it took for the ministers to agree.” She rolls her eyes, but then her smile returns. “Don’t waste my hard work and have fun with your man, littlest sister.”

You laugh, not expecting this outcome after all that. “I love you, even if you made me go through so much emotional turmoil for fun.” She cackles.

“Of course I had to make you sweat after what you put me through.” Chrysanth scoffs, “I can’t believe I had to hear about your love life from Zeff, of all people.”

“Ah,” She says, remembering something. “Speaking of, why’d you guess August first earlier?”

“...”

“...Did you tell him before me?” She gasps. “How could you! Give that invite back!”

“I didn’t think you’d approve.” You admit shyly. “He’s a commoner.”

“If he treats you well—which, he obviously does—I could care less about all that.” Chrysanth reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Only those stuck up ministers will react negatively, I’m sure. We can deal with them easily enough.”

When she lets you go, she abruptly adds, “He better be cute though.”

That sends you laughing again. “Oh, Chrysanth, he’s the cutest!”

He certainly is. Especially when he sees you and grins, opening his arms wide in expectation. You fall into his embrace when you’re near enough.

Sanji takes your hand and places it on his arm, leading you away from the kitchens.

“Some of the others are still in there planning for the ball.” He explains. “It seems preparations are keeping us both busy.”

Sanji takes you to the greenhouse, which you’ve never seen at night before. Various patches of vegetables and shrubs line the space. There are trees and flowers towards the back too. It feels like a secret hideout, being here with Sanji.

“I miss spending more time with you, love.” He whispers.

“Me too.” Your heart melts thinking about how much he gave for you. You wish you had the courage to tell him the truth now, while he’s looking at you like you put up the stars in the sky, but you can’t. You’re not ready yet.

Reaching your hands up, you caress his face gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. He places his hands over yours, keeping them there.

Sanji closes his eyes to savor the moment, and you let him. You two stay like that, your hands becoming enveloped in so much of Sanji you feel like you could recognize him with your eyes closed, with a single touch.

There’s a certain familiarity to him at this point. You would probably have some difficulty adjusting back to life without him in it. He’s so familiar that you could probably draw him. He makes you want to try.

“...I was just wondering,” You say with a knowing glint in your eye. Does he remember those words when he said them to you that first night? “We’ve been working hard for this ball, wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it together?”

You give him the invitation, and he throws his head back laughing. You send him a confused look, but it all becomes clear when he pulls out an identical invitation from his jacket.

“Ah, how brilliant you are, mamour.” Sanji embraces you again, and you bask in how perfect it feels to tuck your head into the curve of his neck.

“It will be easy to find you even with a mask.” You murmur into his skin. He shivers. “You’re so goddamn tall it’s not fair.”

“I’m not too worried about you finding you, either.” Sanji begins to sway slowly with you still in his arms. It makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t wait to dance with him.

“Are you confident you’ll find me first, then?” You ask, adjusting your hold around his middle to snuggle in better.

“I’m not sure about being first,” He ponders. “But I’ll be sure it’s you when I find you.”

The greenhouse became your new meeting place while the palace was buzzing to prepare for the ball. You could only meet for a few minutes, but you treasured the time you shared just the same.

Once, Sanji tried to feed you one of the expensive fruits growing there, but you declined, making up an excuse that you were allergic. He had looked at you strangely, but didn’t press you further.

You couldn’t find the time to see Sanji the week of the ball at all. Your time was spent welcoming foreign dignitaries, discussing business and trade. You and your sister had a marvelous time shutting down a marriage proposal from some duke from the north.

It amazes you how much you’ve changed since meeting Sanji. Had the duke asked before you met him, you probably would have considered it seriously. Whereas now, your standard is far too high. The man you choose must be able to get to your heart by cooking you the best food in the kingdom and all the seas.

You’re glowing by the time you finish getting ready for the masquerade. The dress you chose is in your favorite color, with the skirt twirling dreamily when you turn.

Chrysanth permitted you to enter the ballroom a few minutes late to avoid a royal entrance. You use the time to compose what you want to say to Sanji when you tell him the truth.

‘I’m a princess, and I think I might love you’, is that a lot to say? You sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress.

The clock on the wall chimes. It’s been fifteen minutes since the ball officially started. You put on your mask, tying the ribbon behind your head to secure it.

After one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you head to the ballroom—looking much more collected than you actually feel.

Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged to Sanji that you would find him easily, because you don’t.

You were mistaken when you thought all you’d had to do was look for a tall, blond man with a blue mask. (Sanji’s mask is surely going to be blue. He wouldn’t consider any other color. You bet your foot on it.) It’s unnerving how many people fit that description tonight.

You even find your brother before you find Sanji. August is dressed in surprisingly simple, all black attire. He looks more like a gentleman than a commander, lacking all those sparkly medals he’s usually required to wear at events.

“Where’s your date?” August asks, ducking his head slightly so that you can hear him over the crowd. “Chrysanth bragged about setting you two up.”

“I haven’t found him yet.” You answer dispiritedly. “I thought it would be easy.”

August looks around, and you know that if he knew what Sanji looked like, he would be able to track him down in a flash. You’re about to ask what you should do when August suddenly bows, extending a hand to you.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” He asks in a fake pretentious accent that instantly makes you laugh.

It would be nice to say yes, but you desperately want Sanji to be your first dance. August would understand.

But you aren’t able to decline, someone else beats you to it.

“I’m afraid her first dance is spoken for.” Sanji’s voice reaches your ears and suddenly the room is brighter than it was.

You almost gasp, elated that he found you. Were it not for that frown on his face, you would have voiced out your joy.

August and Sanji stare each other down. Neither of them say anything, but it’s clear that their first impressions of each other aren’t the most pleasant. Not liking the hostility you’re sensing is building, you tug at Sanji’s hand.

Your brother’s eyes soften at that, and he bows again, this time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later then.”

You watch August go, and Sanji grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. You'll have to properly introduce them at some point, but worrying about their relationship can wait. You really must cheer up this grump who thought he was going to miss your first dance.

“Dance with me, stranger?” Intertwining your fingers together, you smile and take in how handsome he looks. His suit is still black, but there are several accents in dark blue—the same color as his mask.

The deep navy color makes his eyes look almost crystalline, and you recognize why you love him so immensely when he smiles.

“I would be honored.”

Sanji is more graceful than you expected. His movements are controlled and precise, never moving too fast and always making sure you’re falling into step beside him.

He’s proven, once again, that he can surpass your every expectation. Sanji spins you around, catching you by your waist and grinning before sweeping you off your feet again.

By the end of it, you’re left breathless due to far too many reasons, and they all involve him.

You had tried bringing Sanji to a romantic spot; maybe a balcony, or somewhere by a fountain in the gardens—but it seems that a lot of other people had the same idea.

Everywhere was crowded, but you suppose where you ended up is romantic in its own way. With the sky being cloudless tonight, you could see every star twinkling away through the greenhouse’s glass roof.

Let the stars bear witness to you pouring out your heart to this man.

“Sanji…” You start, mentally preparing yourself.

“Yes, ma chèrie?” Sanji tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, you have his complete attention.

“There are things I must tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, not brave enough to look him in the eye yet; though you grip his hands tightly in yours.

Sanji waits. He doesn’t complain that you might be holding onto him too tightly, or nag at you for taking too long to put your words together.

When you finally look up to meet his eyes, you find the strength to breathe it out, “...I’m a princess.”

There’s this moment again, when you hold your breath and wait for his reaction; like when you first told him your name. Suddenly, it feels like you’re in the kitchen eating sandwiches with him again.

And, just as it did back then, his reaction surprises you.

His expression barely changes, the only difference being the barely-there furrow of his brows in concern.

“I know, love.” He says.

“What?!” You drop his hands in shock. “Since when?”

Sanji blinks. “Since the moment we met.”

“But, I—why did you pay everything back? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”

His eyes widen, “Ah, is that why you wouldn’t eat anything from me these past few weeks? I knew you couldn’t be allergic to pineberries.”

“Sanji, answer the question.” You pout, and he rubs your arms in an attempt to soothe you.

It’s Sanji’s turn to compose himself, you notice. He looks like he wants for your time together to stay lighthearted, when the thoughts in his mind are far from it.

“You didn’t want to talk about your duties, so I never asked.” Sanji shrugs, but you can see him getting nervous.

“As for reimbursing the ingredients, I suppose I was worried that… you wouldn’t think of our time together dearly if I was just another chef on your staff.”

Your heart shudders when he lets out a shaky breath. Oh Sanji.

“But that’s the truth isn’t it? I am, and yet I—” He pauses, eyes searching yours desperately. “If I didn’t pay for it, I would be admitting that a chef was all I’d ever be to you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same choice if I had to.” Through the mask, you can see his resolve, but his hands shake as he holds you.

“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly about you.” Sanji continues, “You’re just so lovely, making me feel like I could take on the world for you.”

With your hands quivering the slightest bit, you pull at the ribbon behind your head. Your mask clatters to the floor. Raising your hands towards him, you push his mask up until it’s off, revealing the face of the man who has completely enamoured you; body and soul and all.

You think back to how the colors lit him up beautifully, that one sunset you shared under that blossoming tree. And now, he’s still just as beautiful, in this greenhouse under the moon and the stars.

You love him all the same as you did then and every moment before. With the weight from keeping secrets gone from your chest, you finally let yourself admit it out loud.

“I love you, Sanji.” You confess. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll take on the world.” You try to say it calmly, but tears build up in your eyes. “You mean so much to me. You’re my dream.”

Sanji inches you closer, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head. “I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine.”

You quip back at him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sanji leans in the same moment you do, lips meeting in a passionate kiss that sends sparks running through every inch of your being. He pulls you impossibly tighter against him, strong hands caressing your back and holding firm at your waist. Your fingers rake through his hair, touching him to make sure he’s real. He’s here. He loves you. He knew. He always knew.

That night, you realized that your favorite taste from Sanji is his lips on yours. But, once again, he won’t hear you tell him that.

…

Sanji first saw you when a ceremony was held to welcome the new palace staff.

Everyone’s attention had been on your sister, the queen. Understandably so, but his eyes always strayed back to you. You looked gorgeous, wearing a stunning dress perfect for a princess as yourself. A cape draped tastefully down your back. And your crown sparkled brightly under the sun; but try as it might, it couldn’t be as dazzling as you.

Sanji was drawn to you instantly, and he thought he would go on with his life never understanding why.

That is, until you walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwich.

It would have been impossible for him to not recognize you. Regular office clothes or not, something was different in the way you carried yourself. It was difficult to miss.

Other people would have thought you appeared mundane. And yet, Sanji found you the most beautiful then.

Because you let yourself smile more when you don't wear your crown.

But he won’t tell you that.

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @ay0nha @watercolorskyy @holymusicalmothman @appalost

author's note (yes, again)♡— sooo, what do we think about sworn knight!zoro x princess!reader ? 👀

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writing-fanics · 7 months

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strawberry lemonade

Sanji x LuffyOlderSister!Reader

the waiter walked over the table holding the plate of bread, "Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food." He said annoyed, his hand stuffed into his pockets as he placed the plate of bread onto the table

“My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?” Sanji said, looking at the table his hand in his pockets.

Luffy grabbed the bread plate. "One of everything, please," he said. [Y/n] shook her head, smiling at her always-hungry little brother who could eat a whole buffet and still ask for seconds.

The waiter approached the table with a friendly smile and a suggestion: "May I interest you in one of our signature cocktails to elevate your dining experience?" As he spoke, [Y/n] swiftly and deftly took one of the warm rolls from the basket in the center of the table. Luffy was taken aback and protested with a playful "Hey!" [Y/n] responded by sticking out her tongue, teasingly. She then tore off a piece of the warm, crusty bread and popped it into her mouth, savoring the flavor.

As she looked up, her gaze met the waiter's. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed his flirtatious smile. "My apologies, madam. I didn't see you there. Would you like to start with an apéritif?" he asked, still smiling at her.

Her face turned bright red. "We have some rare Micqueot vintages in stock," he said, trying to impress her. "Or maybe you'd prefer a glass of Umeshu?" He continued to stare at her, captivated by her beauty.

The moment he flashed a flirtatious smile, her heart raced like a horse galloping on a race track. He leaned towards her and whispered, "You know, something sweet for someone sweet," causing her cheeks to flush with a bright red hue, reminiscent of a freshly picked ripe strawberry. She couldn't explain why she felt so nervous around him all of a sudden, her heart pounding relentlessly against her chest as if it wanted to break free.

He watched her intently, his gaze unwavering as she averted her eyes and looked down. Her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as she fiddled with the gold Roger coin around her neck, a precious keepsake that Shanks had given her and Luffy when they were children.

He smiled at her and she looked up for a moment, smiling sheepishly as they locked eyes. Usopp clears his throat and says, "Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" He tells the waiter ordering the drinks, "Two beers. I usually have three, but…" He said,

"Water." Nami said looking at him.

„And a milk." Luffy interrupted, "Three beers and a milk. a water. And, uh, for madam?" Sanji asked, his gaze once again falling on [Y/n] looked up at him and blushed, "U-Um, I would strawberry lemonade and a cup of strawberries," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of shyness. He smiled at her and said, "Right away." just as he left to walk towards the kitchen.

[Y/n] hid her face in her shirt while the other crew members chuckled, Luffy looked towards his older sister playfully. "Y/n's gotta boyfriend," He teasingly said to her. "S-Shut up!" She whispered shouted, elbowing him in the arm before, as the Sanji brought out her drinks. He smiled, at her as he placed the strawberry lemonade in front of her, along with the side of strawberries. Sending her a wink as he did so, her heart almost seemed to stop and her soul could've left her body.

"Y/n's gotta boy-" [Y/n] grabbed some meat on a stick, and shoved it into her brother's mouth silencing him.

#opla!sanji x reader #opla!sanji x you #opla!sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji reader insert #reader insert #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #taz skylar x reader #taz skylar x you #taz skylar x y/n #one piece live action x reader #one piece live action fanfic

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stuckinthesun · 3 months

Text

Sanji shows his attraction towards women very openly. Smooth compliments fall from his lips as he stands a little too close, offering to cook anything and everything for the “beautiful lady”. Blood trickles from his nose and his voice rises slightly from any attention, not to mention his talent for puffing out heart shaped smoke.

When it comes to any woman, Sanji is very loud.

But when it comes to you?

Sanji’s eyes will watch you from across the room, in awe of your presence. Red will stain his cheeks and back of his neck, and he’ll stumble over any smooth line he had. Your laugh will cause his hands to shake, rattling the tray he’s holding.

What Sanji feels for you is so different than what he thought love would feel like.

And because of that,

When it comes to you, Sanji is rather quiet.

Just thinking about how different Sanji might act if he ACTUALLY fell in love

#vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x you #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji #straw hat sanji #sanji x reader #op sanji #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #one piece x reader #op x reader

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undiscovered-horizon · 7 months

Text

4 A.M. - Sanji x Reader

SUMMARY: Sanji's doing prep for the next day and you can't sleep which leads to a heartfelt and intimate encounter.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

It's around 4 A.M. when you get up from your hammock-turned-cot and decide to find something to do. Sleep clearly isn't coming. The past two hours of staring at the ceiling and swaying with the boat filled you with annoyance at your sudden case of insomnia.

Walking down the narrow corridor of the lower deck, you can hear the tiniest of creaks as the caravel floats along the waves. The night is so quiet, you can almost hear Luffy's snoring from his room. Usopp is mumbling in his sleep. Something about a pirate crew, carrots and onions. Nami and Zoro seem to be peaceful sleepers although with time you've learned that it's only a game of appearances - the thief and the hunter sleep with one eye open.

With each step, you can hear the repetitive sound more clearly. It's quick, separated by scraping.

The low light of the kitchen makes Sanji look almost inhuman, like the spirit of a chief cook who can't let go of the ship he had spent his entire life on. He's still in the same clothes, although the double-breasted jacket is nowhere in sight. The sleeves of his striped shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms. Where he's standing, the lonely lightbulb illuminates only half of his silhouette. The blond man toes the line of visibility as though he might disappear when you blink.

He looks almost divine.

"Can't sleep?" Sanji asks without looking away from the cutting board.

Only then, when he lets you know he's aware of your presence, do you realize you've been leaning against the doorframe and watching him for a good few minutes. Knowing Sanji, he won't think you odd but you're still a little flustered.

"Yeah. You?" you answer. In a few slow steps you're standing next to him, leaning your lower back against the kitchen counter.

For a moment, Sanji looks away from the cutting board and chopped carrots. His eyes stare into yours for a moment. It's nearly an inborn reflex that a wide smile curves his lips when he sees you.

"Not a fan of sleeping alone," he says and winks at you before going back to cutting vegetables.

The blush on your cheeks darkens a few shades (maybe he won't notice in the kitchen's twilight?). Truthfully, you have entertained that thought more than once and wondered whether similar fantasies kept him awake at night too. But you always dismissed them, thinking it wrong to have such intimate dreams regarding someone who might not even reciprocate your fondness. Sanji is, after all, a ladies' man - flowery words leave his mouth whenever a woman is around, no matter if she's taken or not interested.

Still, you believe there is something more between you and Sanji. Sometimes you think you've deluded yourself into believing this but it's moments like these, like the fond silence you're sharing now, that convince you it's not just your imagination:

Most of the time, the conversation between you and Sanji flows like a swift stream. But now, when the two of you are too tired to sleep, the silence is just as good. Even if you're not exchanging words and ambiguous comments, you feel understood. Like he knows you well enough to be able to guess what's on your mind. And you know what he might say in return, all the advice and wax poetic he revels in telling you. It's perfectly strange to converse with someone without saying a single word.

"Wanna see a trick?" you ask, breaking the silence.

Sanji is putting his chopped vegetables into large bowls. The movement of his hands is both careless and calculated as though he's letting his muscle memory take over the very last step of prepping ingredients for the next day's cooking. He's done this so many times, it's useless to think about the action too much.

"You trying to impress me, princess?" he asks in a low voice with a half-grin plastered on his face. The mischievous glint in his eye never quite seems to go away, especially when you're around.

"Nah," you answer, shaking your head, "just practising to show off in front of Zoro."

Sanji tries to pout but a genuine smile is tugging at the corners of his lips. "Cold."

Still, his eyes are glued to you. Though part of you is convinced it's not because you're about to show him a cheap fair trick. You take one of the teaspoons lying around and lift it in front of your face.

"You better not blink," you warn him.

He gives you a strange look.

"And lose precious few seconds of admiring you? Never."

Like most times, you're not sure how much of his sweet words you can believe.

With a quick move of wrists and fingers, you make the teaspoon disappear. After practising for a few days, the sleight of hand is almost flawless.

Sanji nods with appreciation.

“So you’re a magician, eh?” A low chuckle rumbles in his throat. “This explains how come you’ve bewitched me entirely.”

He leans on his arm against the edge of the counter. His head is slightly tilted as he's looking down at you. The lack of space between your bodies wouldn't raise an eyebrow in any other circumstances but now, when the night is dark and silent, the close proximity makes it hard to breathe. Your chests nervously rise and fall as you're breathing in each other's air.

“Truth be told," you begin in a slightly shaky voice, "I don’t know how to reverse the spell I put on you.”

But it seems as though Sanji has seen through your facade of humour and banter. The playful glint in his eyes mellows, becoming something more heartfelt. Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you must remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m quite content doting on you for the rest of my life."

You clench your jaw and look away for a moment. Flirty banter with Sanji is meant to remain just that - half-hearted comments with no strings attached. The problem is that, against your better judgement, you've been letting his wax poetic weigh down heavy on you, savouring each compliment and ambiguous remark like a soft river wearing down an unmovable boulder over time.

“Sanji," you whisper, "you need to stop saying all those nice things.”

“Why?” His voice is just as breathy and quiet.

“Because I’m starting to believe you.”

Something about his expression changes. You can't quite put a finger on it but Sanji's face looks softer, almost somber. His shoulders become tense as he wipes his hands on the dishrag hanging over his shoulder and tosses it on the countertop.

"Would that be so terrible, love?" Sanji drones his words. Part of you is convinced that he already knows the answer. "To believe that my every thought belongs to you?" His eyelids flutter as his gaze falls to your lips. "That I would tear out my own heart and bring it to you in my teeth if you asked for it?"

The short silence feels unbearable. You can hear your own heart thundering in your chest, beating at your ribcage to finally be freed. To let it make the decision this time.

“Alright, you’ve done it," you whisper more to yourself than to him.

You can hear Sanji sharply inhaling when you grab the collar of his elegant shirt and pull him into a feverish kiss. He tastes like cigarettes and spearmint chewing gum. His shirt is imbued with the smell of cooking oil. All of those strong aromas you've learned to associate with comfort and security.

His lips move against yours with passion and desperation known only to those who made friends with longing. Sanji places his hands around your waist, pulling you even closer to his body. If he could pull you just a little more, merge the two of you into one union, he wouldn't have to go a second without you.

Then, Sanji pulls just an inch away. His hot, heavy breath brushes against your cheeks. Swollen, red lips look even more enticing than they did before.

"Are you really going to woo Zoro with a magic trick?" he asks, somewhat tense.

Your laughter brightens up the dead of night. Sanji feels like his chest is about to burst open with flowers blooming inside his ribcage where his heart should be. And it would have been if he hadn't given it to you the moment you met.

"Just shut up."

Shaking your head, you kiss him again. Still holding you close, Sanji pushes you against the kitchen counter. One of his hands leaves your waist only to rest against the side of your head to deepen the kiss.

It's around 4 A.M. when you wonder whether being in love is like having a song stuck in your head. Or like an echo that forever repeats a single name.

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angelltheninth · 8 days

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Visnmoke Sanji Teaches You How to Cook But the Instructions Are Lewd

Sanji moved his hands with yours, the size difference obvious. "You're not holding it right. You need to grasp it more firmly, make it work for you. Yeah, that's the way, now take your finger and put it into the hole, all the way in."

You looked at the ball of dough that will eventually become a doughnut. Middle finger seemed the best choice. "Like this?"

"Yeah. Make the hole big enough so a lot can fit in. Keep your finger in until I get the cream ready." He kisses you on the cheek for a job well done. You were happy he was sharing some of his passions with you but this seemed more intense then you were expecting. Particularly Sanji's choices of words. "Okay, now put a fresh load in, make sure you get every drop. We don't want to waste good cream."

That was exactly what you meant. He did it to fluster you too, you heard him give cooking instructions before, they were never like this. He was messing with you.

"And if I mess up?" You knew how serious the blonde was about his lessons.

"Well then," Sanji took your hand, eyeing the cream on your fingers, "we clean up the mess and go again." It was his turn to suck the mess you made, until every finger was clean.

Dividers made by: @/cafekitsune

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my-love-is-sunlight · 2 months

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one piece men react to you screaming their full name

ft. Ace, Zoro, Sanji

SFW, mentions of alcohol and smoking, gn reader

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ .ᐟ ᡣ𐭩

Ace

“PORTGAS D. ACE” your voice resonates through all the walls, rooms and every nook and cranny from the Moby Dick. The mentioned stood frozen at the dinner table fork still full of food, he knew better than to run away

“What did you do now?” Marco asked eyes wide open

“Nothing!… that I remember” Ace scratched the back of his head trying to make memory of his recent activities, searching for whatever may had upset you

Marco laughed in disbelief “You’re a dead man” he said before taking another sip of his drink

You entered the room, stomping your way to your clueless boyfriend “May I have a word with you?” The tone and the politeness of the sentence made Marco fear for his dear friend. Ace nodded before he stood up and followed behind smile beaming in hopes you’ll have some mercy. A chorus of teasing ‘UUUUH’s were heard as you exited the dining room.

“Have I told you how radiant you look today?” Ace leaned over to kiss your cheek but you ducked making him loose his balance

“Don’t start with me Portgas” a shiver ran down Ace’s back, both from fear and… something else.

“You did this” you held a pillow cover in front of his face “You burned my only bed sheets, and you’re getting me new ones even if you end up in debt with everyone on this ship”

Ace was attracted to you all the time, but there was something in the way you would always stand your ground and how gorgeous you looked right now that was knocking him out of his feet. He placed his hand in the one were you held the pillow cover and pulled you in for a hug

“Im sorry sweetheart I’d get you new ones on the next island, you can borrow mine for now” you rolled your eyes and sighed, he got you wrapped all around his finger and he knew it, you couldn’t be mad at him for long

“Of course I’m taking yours, you sleep at my bed every night anyways… but wash them first” Ace picked you up and pampered your face with kisses “You look so hot when you’re angry

Zoro

“RORONOA ZORO” you screamed while exiting to the deck where he was working out, all of the straw hats looked back at Zoro in fear, Sanji holding in a laugh

Few things made this man flinch but he couldn’t help but catch himself lose balance when he heard his full name exit your lips in such an angry tone followed by your big stumps getting louder as you got closer

Everyone wrapped up whatever they were doing and ran off to the kitchen, leaving Zoro to face his demise alone

“What now?” He played it off trying to sound as nonchalant as he could not even looking your direction

“How many times have I asked you to not leave your sake around my desk?” If looks could kill your boyfriend would be a dead man

“Where am I supposed to put it then?” He scoffed crossing his arms in front of his chest, he looked at you for a second and his heart clenched at the cute way your brows furrowed and your arms rested on your hips

“Oh! I don’t know maybe, just getting silly here, IN THE PANTRY WHERE IT BELONGS!” Zoros condecency was driving you insane making your tone scale

The swordsman noticed how you were getting tense and teardrops threaten to run down your cheeks, he sighed a little embarrassed he had made you this upset. He cupped your cheeks while he apologized in that soft tone he reserved just for you

“I’m sorry I forgot to put it away last night, it won’t happen again I promise” he drew comforting circles around your cheek as he whispered

“It got all over my notebooks” oh so that’s why you were so shaken up

“I’ll clean it up baby” your boyfriend kissed your forehead as he made his way to the kitchen for a towel, as he opened the door every crew member fell comically on top of each other, they were ears dropping as they do.

Before Zoro could complain, your sweet laugh was heard at the distance which made him smile a little “You should listen to her mosshead” Sanji muttered which made the swordsman’s smile drop and scream back at him

Sanji

“BLACK LEG SANJI” even though you were screaming at him, the cook couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter at the way you wouldn’t use his birth last name as you knew he despised it and what it stand for, instead raging while using his public name.

You stormed in the kitchen eyes fixed on him, even angry Sanji thought you were breathtaking

“Yes my world?” he beamed a smile at you which you didn’t know if it annoyed or charmed you

“What have I said about smoking indoors?” Sanji felt the air get stuck in his throat, his eyes drifted from yours in shame

“I uhm-“ he laughed nervously as you got closer and closer cornering him against the counter, both hands caging him while they rested on said counter

“You know damn well I hate when my clothes smell like cigarettes, now imagine how I feel when my whole room stinks” you grabbed Sanjis tie to move his face closer to yours without breaking eye contact, you knew exactly what to do to make him a nervous wreck

The blondes heart couldn’t help but skip several beats at the way you were acting right now, he felt bad about upsetting you but he could get used to this side of you

“My apologies love, you know I cant manage to go without a smoke and sometimes I don’t want to leave your side” he twitched when his gaze met yours as he tried to explain himself

“Well you better start to manage” with a torturous slow move you took the cigarette that hanged from your boyfriends lips and threw it on the floor before stepping on it to take it out “Or I’ll move out of the room” you smiled teasingly while exploring his handsome features, stopping at his lips.

The cook turned all shades of red and pink breathing heavily, squirming a “Yes ma’m” before you kissed him passionately and breaking it abruptly

You winked at him before leaving the poor poor man absolutely stunted and a hot mess

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ .ᐟ ᡣ𐭩

Hi! This is my first time doing this type of format so tell me what you think and feel free to request. English is not my first language so correct me if I made any mistakes.

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badgerbl00d · 1 year

Text

what makes one piece boys consider fatherhood

☆ characters: sanji, law, shanks

☆ up next: one piece boys experiencing love at first sight

☆ summary: things you do around these characters that make them think of starting families with you..

☆ a/n: this was so fun to write! i hope you all find this as cute as i did :)

sanji

1k words

“But the prince insisted on it, and they had to call Cinderella. She first washed her hands and face clean, and then went and bowed down before the prince, who gave her the golden shoe..” you looked down at the now sleeping lump on your lap, and gently closed the book.

“Looks like he’s out.”

Further out on the deck of the Sunny, you could hear the others playing. You identified Usopp’s voice and Luffy's laughter.

Chopper had fallen asleep to his bedtime story and was out cold on your lap. His tiny breaths were slow and even.

“He’s been sleeping for at least ten minutes. You know, if you read to him every night he’d probably have an actual bedtime,” Sanji said, his chin resting in his hand.

He was sitting next to you, having brought you a drink to offset the evening temperature drop that had sent everyone running for sweaters.

“I know. But he’s a pirate, Sanji,” you defended Chopper’s sleeping schedule, “And he’s old enough now to not need a bedtime.”

“Ah, maybe. But not too old, it seems, for a bedtime story.”

You rolled your eyes, absent-mindedly rubbing Chopper’s back as he slept.

“You know Luffy scraped his knee, playing around with Usopp all day.”

“You don’t say.”

“I swear I’ve seen him come out of battle with less injury,” you laughed, “I patched it up for him and he said he didn’t know I was a doctor.”

“I’m guessing all you did was clean it and put on a band-aid.”

“No idea how he’s made it this long.”

Sanji smiled as he took in a long drag of his cigarette.

“Don’t smoke around Chopper while he sleeps,” you said, scolding Sanji yet again for the same thing.

He blew out the smoke, before begrudgingly putting it out on the ground.

“Wouldn’t wanna wake the baby,” he said.

“He looks so peaceful,” you giggled, “I’m glad he feels safe enough to be resting thoroughly.”

You and the cook shared a long look at how his chest rose and fell.

He would soon be snoring.

Sanji laughed, “My god! Are you sure you didn’t slip melatonin into his hot chocolate?”

You shot him a look.

“He spent all day running around with those two over there,” you gestured towards Luffy and Usopp, “And Robin had him helping her out in the library earlier. Between all that reading and running I’m sure he tired himself out. Does he look comfortable?”

Sanji nodded, smiling at you.

You softly removed his hat from his head, setting it down next to him.

“Should we take him to bed?” you asked Sanji.

“Yes. Eventually. But it’s nice out. Let’s go in ten minutes.” “All right, my love.”

You leaned back, letting your arms support your body weight, palms against the wooden planks of the ship.

Sanji scooted closer to you, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder.

You closed your eyes, not to sleep but to enjoy the cool air on your face and neck.

Listening to the sounds of laughter and footsteps come to an end for the day as sleep started to spread throughout the crew.

Sanji silently watched you, unaware of your own dozing off with Chopper on your lap.

He thought about how readily you read him a story from his favorite book. How concern for his well-being had become your number one priority while he was with you.

He felt his chest swell with a mixture of pride and love as he thought of all the other ways you cared for the crew.

Sewing Nami’s torn clothes, helping Robin with the laundry, reminding Usopp and Luffy to be mindful of their manners, and even making sure the swordsman was getting rest.

He brought a hand to your back to lightly rub it, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before gazing out at the open ocean.

Thoughts of painting a room with soft hues of blue and building a crib started to form in the back of his mind.

He imagined you carrying a baby, softly singing it to sleep.

Some unfamiliar feeling tugged at his chest, it almost felt like anticipation.

He took a deep breath and tried, to no avail, to direct his thoughts elsewhere.

A baby was- a lot. And you seemed perfectly content now.

And anyways, a pirate ship was no place for a baby.

He sighed and pulled his eyes away from you, settling them back on the sea.

Yet, he could imagine it.

With astounding clarity.

He could imagine buying diapers and binkies. Buying tiny clothes and matching outfits.

Waking you up in the morning with breakfast and coffee in a house of your own.

Coming home to you every night, staying in one place.

Your parents visiting and your lives being somewhat normal.

No bounties or navy or treaties or bars or women or swordsmen.

But not now.

The soft swaying of the ship on choppy waters lulled him back to where he was.

The sounds of life at sea slowly came back to him.

It was late and he had an early morning, full of cooking for the Pirate King ahead of him.

“Sweetheart,” he softly spoke in your ear, ever so gently nudging you awake, “Let’s get to bed, hm?”

You yawned, nodding.

Slowly you picked up Chopper, still dead asleep, and carried him down the stairs toward his room.

Sanji followed right behind, the reindeer’s hat in hand.

He opened the door for you and you walked in laying him down in his bed, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.

You stood next to Sanji, bringing your arms around his waist.

He kissed the top of your head, and then your forehead, and then your lips.

“Tired, princess?”

You nodded, resting your head on his chest.

Sanji knew what he wanted.

What you, so fondly looking down at the sleeping reindeer, wanted as well.

But you both had so much time and so many things to do first.

One day, he’d give you everything you wanted.

But for now, he’d carry you to bed.

law

0.7k words

“Okay, what about this one? Or is it too much?”

You turned towards Law, trying to smooth out the leftover wrinkles in your dress.

“You look beautiful in all of them,” Law said, writing something down, only halfway paying attention.

You groaned, already starting to try on a different dress.

“You’re not paying attention.”

“I am.”

“Law, you haven’t looked up from your notes once. And you can’t just tell me I’m beautiful in everything to make up for it!”

“Well, you are.”

“Ugh!”

A smile spread on his face at your irritation with him, as he continued to go through the loose papers on his desk.

“Look, here’s a dress that proves you wrong.”

You slowly spun around in a hideously fringed orange dress.

You flashed him a sarcastically large smile.

Law, to your surprise, did look up this time.

“Gorgeous.”

He spun around in his chair, burying his head back in his notebook.

“Ugh, asshole.”

You sighed and continued to fish through the pile of dresses.

You spotted a black lace one with a gorgeous neckline.

Much better.

“Ok, fine! I look beautiful in everything, especially this dress,” you pulled it down over your head, adjusting the sleeves, “Please confirm.”

You watched Law slide on his glasses and turn the chair back around slowly.

You laughed, “You’re so immature.”

You enjoyed the rare moments when he allowed himself to completely relax and goof off.

“Just making sure I can give you an honest score, Miss Y/n.”

Oh.. this, he very much did like.

“Orange dress better,” he lied, amused at how this provoked you.

He kept his eyes glued on you, admiring how snug the dress was on your curves.

You were going to kill him.

“You know, it’s a good thing we don’t have a kid. Or I’d have to deal with two children.”

Law was just as intently eating up the sight of you.

He’d meant every bit of it. You were always beautiful in everything, and in nothing.

But that had caught his attention.

The idea of having a kid.

You and him with a baby.

You kept sorting through what remained of the pile as your captain's thoughts trailed. He could imagine it clearly.

He’d always made sure you had everything you needed, never hesitating to spend stolen gold on you.

But he’d give you everything.

After all, who better to give you a baby than a doctor who loved you more than anyone had ever been loved before?

You, waking him up in the middle of the night to check on the baby. The crew teaching them how to speak and read. Bepo would probably have to be monitored around the baby- but only because he was stronger than he knew.

Shachi and Penguin would make proper uncles, Law thought, and he was sure that, even if he didn’t, a baby could find amusement in the Straw Hats.

He imagined the two of you cuddled at night during your hypothetical pregnancy. His cheeks warmed at the thought.

He’d do daily checkups on you, and no better care would be available.

He was already months ahead of himself and decided that while he finished watching you get ready, he’d let himself imagine it.

“Okay!” you applied a final lipstick touch-up, and softly adjusted your hair in the mirror, “Will you help me with this necklace? I’ll be back around 10.”

Law stood up, stretching his back before silently making his way over to you.

“You mentioned us having a baby?”

You rolled your eyes and took hold of the hand he extended toward you. “If you’d like.”

He rested a hand on the small of your back and pulled you into his chest, your giggles flooding his ears.

“C’mere,” he beckoned you to follow him back towards the chair he just got out of.

He pulled you down into his lap on top of him, locking his arms around your waist.

“Law,” you whined, “I’m gonna be late.”

“Of that,” he started, “I have no doubt.”

You squirmed in his grip trying to free yourself to no avail.

“Relax, sweetheart.

You aren’t going anywhere tonight.

We have a baby to make.”

shanks

0.9k words

“You look delicious, baby,” Shanks lightly slapped your ass and you swatted his hands away, picking up your pace to try and keep up with the running monkey ahead of you.

Luffy had wanted to go to the lake and Makino asked if you’d take him.

You had a certain fondness for him, he reminded you of your siblings when they were his age, restless and wild, so you readily agreed.

“Luffy!” you called, “Luffy, slow down!”

Shanks laughed and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss.

You pushed your hands against his chest- he was so damn touchy!

“Shanks, please not now, we’re going to lose Luffy if we don’t catch up with him,” you said, starting to run after him.

“Alright, alright,” he relented and the two of you ran together, laughing, after him.

He was already setting up camp when you caught up with him- those stretchy limbs set you at a disadvantage- and was asking for his swim trunks.

You set down a towel and placed the picnic basket on top of it, throwing Luffy his trunks.

Shanks sat down and pulled you on top of his lap, grabbing a beer in the process.

“What’s that?”

The boy stood in front of you, one hand on his hips, the other up his nose, and pointed at the drink.

“Beer! Try it!”

“Shanks.”

Luffy reached for the can and you turned him around before he could grab it.

“Why don’t we go in the lake?”

“But Shanks told me if I try to swim all my hair will fall out and I’ll forget how to read.”

You turned to your boyfriend and shot him a disapproving look as he erupted into a fit of childish laughter.

“Well, you don’t know how to read anyway, so let’s go!”

You secured a pair of floaties onto his arms and ran with him to the water, followed by Shanks after he set down some rocks onto the towel so it wouldn’t fly away.

He picked you both up and geared up to throw you into the cold, clear waves.

Both you and Luffy tightened your grip on the man after realizing what he was intending to do and created a tangle of arms and hands.

He still made the effort, though, and ended up getting thrown in along with both of you.

You all came up laughing and gasping for air, and Shanks held Luffy as you swam, not wanting to risk anything by leaving him on his own in the water.

After an hour or so of swimming and splashing and throwing water at each other, Luffy started to get tired and let go of Shanks, paddling towards you as best he could.

You grabbed him and he held on to you, wrapping his little arms around your neck.

Within a few minutes, he was asleep.

Shanks, who also seemed to have calmed down, smiled at you and made his way over. He kissed your cheek.

“I’m gonna go put him down for a nap. He’s so cute,” you said.

Shanks nodded, not able to resist slapping your ass as you got out of the water.

You set Luffy down on the blanket, laying down next to him. He was out cold. The warm heat of the sun covered your body and lulled you to sleep right next to Luffy.

After another hour or so of swimming in the lake and looking for pretty rocks to give you, Shanks made his way towards the both of you, unable to control his smile as he saw you and Luffy asleep bundled up together, your arms wrapped around him.

He thought, for a moment, that he might just steal Luffy away and bring him on board the Red Force. But part of him wanted a baby that was truly yours and his, Luffy was wild and untamed, and Luffy had plenty of his own adventures and stories to live on his own.

But he could see it so clearly, with how you worried about the kid and cared for him. You were protective and he knew that if anyone threatened or endangered Luffy with you around, they’d meet a grisly end.

It warmed his heart in a way he’d never experienced.

He wanted, not just to be a dad, but to make you a mother.

He sat next to you both and watched, his heart full of contentment.

“Mmm.. Shanks,” Luffy slowly started to wake up, “‘m hungry.”

“Want a sandwich buddy?”

He sat up, looking groggy, and nodded, rubbing his eyes.

Shanks handed him a sandwich from the picnic basket and rustled his hair.

Luffy ate, asking Shanks about his maritime adventures, laughing at his stories.

“Did Y/n bring juice?”

“She sure did! But you should try beer!”

Luffy eagerly nodded and Shanks stifled his laughter as best he could, you were going to kill him.

You heard coughing and laughing and slowly blinked your eyes open, your brain muddled with sleep.

Sitting up, you stretched out your limbs and turned toward all the noise.

Luffy had a beer in hand and was chugging it, you saw several other crushed cans littering the ground.

They were both laughing and Shanks looked like he had tears in his eyes.

Shanks heard you stirring awake and shared a split second of panicked eye contact with you before grabbing Luffy and running before you could start yelling at him.

You took a deep breath.

“SHANKS!”

3K notes · View notes

crazyk-imagine · 8 months

Text

Napping and Defending Friends

Pairing: Sanji x Straw hat!reader

Characters: Straw hat!reader, Sanji, Usopp, Zoro, Nami, Monkey D. Luffy, Kaya

Warnings: Sanji being sanji, everyone outing reader or sanji to the other, this is kinda cute, fluff, everyone is nosey as hell, everyone is tired of Sanji and reader going around one another's feelings, the last few lines with the crew make me giggle, reader is (not so secretly) a pirate with her own bounty 0-0

Word Count: 2,688

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You roll your eyes, listening to the two acting like children. You bump the green haired man to the side with your hip. "Shut up already. You two are acting immature for your age." You lift your plate. "I'll take more."

Sanji shakes his head to the left, moving his bangs away from his eye. He lifts the ladle, giving you a decent portion. "And I'll gladly feed those who enjoy my food."

Zoro rolls his eyes, leaving you two to flirt some more.

The sound of Usopp's voice explaining what happened drew you all in, moving closer to listen to him.

You stop mid bite to listen. "I would ask to see his supposedly bloody fingers," you shrug. "But, whatever."

"Let him have his moment," Nami mutters.

"But it's more fun to get him stuttering if I make him tell the truth. It's very easy to break him into confessing."

"And I couldn't do it alone."

"Damn right you couldn't," you tell him, earning a chuckle from the group and your crew.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Let's hear it for the great captain Usopp," Luffy shouts.

Your lips tug to the side, "that's so not going to give him an ego boost."

Sanji chuckles, covering his mouth with his hand when Nami and Zoro turn to face him.

His eyes glance at you from the corner of his eyes and smiles, his heart races and stomach flutters at the sight of you (not so gracefully) scarfing down the food he cooked.

The calm mood falls when Luffy's grandpa announces he and the marine’s arrival.

"Hey, gramps."

He narrows his eyes at you, never quite taking a liking to you like his grandson did.

Although, he did find comfort in the fact that the rubber man had someone to help and guide him (which is why he disliked you). It also didn't help that you would feed into his "becoming the future king of the pirates" dream.

Before you know it, the two family members are in battle.

Your anger gets the better of you and you forget what you've been proud to consider a usable future trait, think before doing. "Don't hurt, Luffy."

As your friend flies back, you manage to latch onto the man, his head between your hands with just a mere few inches keeping his spinal cord intact.

His nails scratch the top of your hands, the adrenaline keeping you from feeling the pain.

You try to slip your feet underneath his armpits to pull his arms back and away from you.

"Stop it," Luffy mutters, still trying to get air into his lungs.

"Huh?"

"Let go of him."

"But he-"

"This is my fight."

You grumble under your breath as you push yourself off him and if your foot accidentally finds its way into his back, oh well.

The old man grumbles the pain.

You glare at his grandpa during their fight, never letting your tense posture go.

Sanji's hand hovers over your shoulder, he hesitates to give you some sort or comfort; his hand falls beside him as the orange haired girl takes a step-in front of you, preventing you from slipping past them.

"This was all a test?"

"Go. Arlong's pirates are still on the island."

You scoff. "Now you don't want to be a dick."

The chef coughs to hide his amusement.

"Shut up."

"You can't tell me what to do Roro Zoro."

"I told you not to call me that."

You stick your tongue out at him.

"Children, I'm dealing with children," Nami mutters.

Sanji shoves his hands into his pockets.

You sit across from the stove, observing the chef's knife skills.

"The harder you stare, the more likely he is to mess up," a deep voice brings you out of your thoughts.

"Do you want to try and do it?" You ask, resting your hand on your knuckles.

"You can't match his skill."

"You are too kind, madame."

"It's true. I still don't even know how you can do this, and I've been watching you prepare the vegetables for a while." You steal a chopped veggie and snack on it when the rubber man bursts in, setting a piece of paper on the counter.

"You finally got your own poster."

"Yeah, no more piggybacking off you."

"WHAT?"

"Nothing, look at the amount of berry's your wanted for."

"I know."

"Everyone's going to be after you now," Zoro tells him.

"Every bounty hunter is going to be after all of us in the East Blue," Nami adds.

"Finally, a challenge."

The orange haired girl shakes her head at you.

"Then it's a good thing we're not staying in the East Blue," Luffy explains.

You clap once. "Finally, you make sense. Let's go."

"Yes!" Luffy raises his hand for a high five which you gladly give to him.

"Come on, people. We're settin' sail. Move it."

"Have you seen a barrel on deck?"

Your brows knit together. "Sanji, did you find a plant you shouldn't have?"

"No, I-" He chuckles, "no, no. I just- I have an idea." He calls for the others and everyone gathers around. He sets his foot on top of the barrel. "I am gonna find the all blue."

Next, naturally was your oldest friend, "I'm gonna become king of the pirates."

Zoro puts his foot up. "I'm gonna become the world's greatest swordsman."

And then, Nami. "I'm gonna draw a map of the world."

Followed by Usopp. He hesitates, unsure of what his promise should be. "I'm gonna be a brave warrior of the sea."

Now everyone's eyes fall on you. "Oh, it's my turn. Uh- I don't know what to say. I feel like I've gotten things I didn't know I needed."

"There has to be something," Luffy says.

You lift your leg, "I'm gonna promise never to forget who I am."

"That's too easy."

A faux chuckle escapes you. "It's easy to forget who you were and your code," you tell Luffy.

"Alright."

"I like it," Sanji says.

"Thank you. See I knew someone would." You stick your tongue out at the rubber man. "That's enough. I'm going back inside. I need a nap."

"I can get started preparing tonight's dinner." He basically skips after you.

"I hope they figure out whatever they have going on soon," Usopp shakes his head. "It's getting really..."

"Annoying," Zoro adds.

"It's not- it could be worse."

"How much worse than two people going around their feelings for one another." Nami raises a brow causing the storyteller to look away because he did the exact same thing with Kaya.

"That's not what we're talking about right now." The man pouts and walks inside, not wanting to be outed anymore.

"Has anyone else noticed how easily he follows her after she hugged him."

"Yeah," Luffy nods, agreeing with the storyteller. "Wait- what hug? They hugged and I missed it. Oh man."

Nami shakes her head, "is that what you're really focusing on right now?"

"Yes. I think he'd be good for her."

"You do?"

"Clearly he hit his head too hard during that fight with his grandpa," Zoro adds.

"We probably should've checked to see if he had a concussion before boarding," Nami says.

"Why are you guys talking like I'm not even here?"

The three shared a look and chuckled.

"C'mon, guys. Tell me, please?"

You wake up from your nap to the smell of well-cooked food. You're still pleased Sanji decided to join the crew, it was time there was someone (else) who could prepare a nicely cooked meal and not burn eggs or not know how to cut a vegetable.

You lean against the doorway, enjoying the pleasant aroma of food coming from a few feet away.

"You're awake."

You open your eyes, not realizing you closed them. "Yes, I was persuaded to get out of bed because of what you're cooking."

"Is that the only reason?" He teases.

"Ask me again after I've finished my meal."

"Will you have a different answer?"

"Maybe."

He glances up from the ingredients he's mixing as the corner of his lips tugs upwards.

"In the meantime, I'll be over here with my eyes closed."

"Napping again?"

"No, just resting my eyes."

"If that's what you say, then I believe you."

"Is anyone going to wake her up?" Luffy asks, munching on his meal.

"Why can't you do it?" Nami asks, "she's your friend."

"And?"

"What are you all babbling on about?"

"They're trying to wake her," Zoro uses his head to gesture to your sleeping figure.

"Are you all so scared to wake such," Sanji glances down at your relaxed face, "a beautiful creature?"

Usopp groans, taking another bite of his meal. "Do something already."

The chef places hands on your shoulders, lightly shaking you until he finds himself staring at the ceiling, gasping to get the air back into his lungs.

Your face comes into view. "What were you doing?" You push yourself off him.

He groans when you pull him up.

"Waking you," he groans. "I see why no one wakes you now."

"I said, I was sorry," you mumble.

"And that's why we leave her alone," Zoro tells him.

"Shut up, make fun of Luffy or Usopp's love for food and Kaya."

"Woah, woah. Don't drag me into this. I did nothing." The storyteller raises his hands, dropping the meat he had in his hands.

"You all are going to get brought into this."

"I'm just gonna-" Usopp runs around to the other side of the counter.

You chase after him, he counters going around; eventually you stop following him and jump up on the counter and launch yourself in his direction. But are unable to catch- "You're such a bug. I am this close to squashing you under my foot."

"Your fingers are touching," Nami points out.

"Exactly, orangie," you smile at her. "Can you put me down now?"

"Are you going to continue acting like a child in my kitchen?"

"That depends on the bug."

"She's not, hold her so I can finish my-" Usopp yelps when you reach out for him.

"Stop trying to attack your fellow crew members." Luffy orders you, food flying out of his mouth.

"How did you ever deal with him?" Sanji mumbles, unable to keep himself away from you, "he has no manners."

"I don't know." You shrug, taking a bite of the dinner he prepared (as he stands beside you, leaning against the counter). You moan as the flavors hit your tongue. "Again, I'm very," you pat his arm unable to open your eyes due to the richness of the seasonings hitting your tongue. "Very happy you decided to come aboard."

He chuckles, not at all trying to hide that his cheeks are enflamed from anyone. "I am happy to hear that, mademoiselle. That is what every chef lives to hear."

"But you're not every chef."

Nami groans, closing her eyes at the sudden headache. "Can you two stop flirting for two seconds so we can eat in peace?"

You open your eyes and stare. "If you don't like it, then leave. We are enjoying ourselves and if you don't like it, then shut up."

"But-"

You stick your tongue out and shove another spoonful into your mouth. She sighs and doesn't say anything else. "That's what I thought."

"Could you say that again?" The blond asks, breaking the silence.

"Which part?"

"The part where you don't deny us flirting with one another."

"Oh, yeah." You don't know what else to do and use your spoon to move around the carrots on your plate, not entirely focused.

On the one hand this could be good, and you'd be able to confess. Although on the other hand, he could reject you and that can potentially lead to some awkwardness between you, him, and the rest of the crew. And in the case, he tells you he doesn’t feel the same, you will respect his wishes.

Is this a risk you're willing to take?

You take a deep breath. "I won't because it's true."

The others don't know what to do, this is not what they were expecting after they just started to return on their adventure for the grand line.

His breath hitches, "oh?"

You nod. "It's hard to deny the facts when they're right in front of you. Plus, these guys would make sure to do something about it at some point."

"What?"

"No," Usopp and Luffy scoff, as if they're offended.

"Okay, maybe but only because we know you two are good for each other," the rubber man argues.

"See," you use your utensil to point at the two. "They'd definitely be the first to try and plan something for us."

"Appreciate the thought boys, but I am capable of taking things into my own hands." He wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you outside.

"Are you sure it's safe to leave them alone? I think we should go back."

He tilts his head, the corner of his lips tugged upwards. "Are you, dare I ask, afraid to be alone with me?"

You scoff, "hardly."

"Then why don't you admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"That you like me."

You roll your eyes, "you're crazy."

"Am I? Or is that maybe you don't want to admit it fully to yourself because you were perfectly fine admitting that we were flirting, so what makes this so different?"

"Okay, fine." You walk back and forth along the deck. "Maybe, I do."

"I'm going to need more than that."

You stomp your foot and speed walk to him. "I am not going to repeat myself for the sake of you just wanting me to repeat myself because-"

You barely have any time to acknowledge the kiss until his breath fans against your lips. "I figured I'd save you this time."

You frown. "This doesn't make up for when I saved you and Usopp at the Baratie."

He nods, "I know." He glances from one eye to the other, "this does." And he does it again.

You put a hand on his chest, pulling away this time. "We have an audience."

"What?"

"To your left."

He glances over at them and back at you, a hint of mischief twinkling. "Let's give them a show."

"Wha-"

He presses his hand against your back, cupping the base of your neck as he tips you down.

Usopp and Luffy cheer as Nami and Zoro give looks of disapproval (even though they're happy you two did something about your feelings).

"Okay, that's enough. We get it, you two are together and you knew we were here."

The blond pulls back and smirks down at your flushed face, winking when you catch his gaze. "We didn't know you were there, forgive us."

You owlishly blink, not at all focusing on everything going on around you. You return your attention onto him, feeling his thumb brushing against your side since your shirt had risen from his show.

"Are you alright?"

You nod, "I'm fine."

"Are you? I feel as though you are not. I shouldn't have done that, shouldn't I?" He shakes his head at his behavior. "I know, I know. I'm sorry but I- I was excited."

You gently remove his hand from you before stomping past Zoro (who puts his foot out to trip the chef).

"What? What did I do?"

You groan and spin around. "You make it so hard to be mad at you."

All the worry leaves his body. He happily chases after you. "What can I do to make it less hard on you? Not be as cute, perhaps."

Nami nods, "I'm gonna go puke now."

"Ah, come on. They're not that bad."

The echoes of Sanji's voice playing coy can be heard out onto the deck.

"It's cute," Luffy shrugs.

"They won't be as cute when he has to wake her up," Zoro adds.

"Oh, that's a good idea," Usopp nods. "Make him the target."

Nami covers her face with her hand. "You're an idiot."

"What?"

"Stupid says what," Zoro mumbles.

"What?"

"I rest my case," the orange haired girl adds.

Return to: Part I

2K notes · View notes

milkedbox · 6 months

Text

no way…

#black leg sanji #one piece live action x reader #one piece sanji #opla sanji #op sanji #sanji imagine #sanji #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji imagine #sanji smut #with: sanji #sanji fanart #opla #opla spoilers #oplaedit #sanji vinsmoke #vinsmoke sanji x you #one piece

1K notes · View notes

revasserium · 4 months

Note

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

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

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

wedding dress

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

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

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

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My ex — you know the one —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

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

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

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

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

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

“I — I helped!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

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

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

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

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

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

You whack him softly on the arm.

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

“You did?”

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

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

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

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

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

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

“Then why —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

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

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

“Great,” Sanji says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah… fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

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

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

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

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-wow… you look…”

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

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

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

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

“What’s in this sauce?”

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

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

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

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

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

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

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

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

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

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

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

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

“No! I — that’s not —”

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

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

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

“O-oh — sorry I —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

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

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

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

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

Especially after so many years of practice.

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

“It’s always been you…” you say.

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

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

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

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

“What — why’d you stop?”

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

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

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

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

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

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

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

“Your place, or mine?”

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

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

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

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