..♡..

🎟️from @lovehungered

ㅤㅤㅤsir crocodile was not a gentle man — and not one for gentle affections either. the vast majority of his bed fellows were given cursory attentions at best in the aftermath, and from them he received the same in turn. but with mr. prince — each exchange had taken on a vastly different tone. there was no escaping sanji's unerringly affectionate aftercare — no wriggling himself free of a few gentle touches here and there, sheets turned down before he'd even requested it, or a meal made with hawkeye's freshest tomatoes turning up on the table long before midnight. it was disconcerting. it made him suspicious. and the worst part of it all — was crocodile quite enjoyed the little attentions.

ㅤㅤㅤsanji couldn't know that though.

ㅤㅤㅤhe's enraptured in some report or another, seated on the sofa in the dim lighting of his office as the moon has reached high in the sky. reptilian gaze scans the numbers with precision afforded to years of practice, and he flips the page the same time he swears sanji materializes next to him, those suit clad legs ( crocodile notices, with a curl of pleasure low in his gut, the young man is wearing one of the ensembles he's purchased for him ) folding neatly on the cushions, and elegant fingers coming for his face. once — crocodile would've snapped. once — he would've drained sanji where he sat. but now he barely even flinches, only looks up when he feels the other tucking a strand of plum black hair that had come free from his neat styling behind a ear. a grunt is his response ( an appropriate thank you, the gift was in letting himself be fussed over at all ), before he reaches around sanji to stab out his cigar in the nearby ashtray. on his way back, he notches his thumb and forefinger beneath the cook's chin — and tilts his head up with careful consideration.

ㅤㅤThe building and its grounds are sprawling, hidden nooks and crannies awaiting their respective discovery at the discretion of the man’s leisurely gait, opposing watchful eyes about the space peering at the Strawhat and yet seemingly doing little to deter him. Given a disinclination to overly engage with this apparently esteemed  ‘ guest ’,  their forced figurative distance and lack of familiarity makes it evident that they silently search for an ulterior motive for his ongoing presence in a similar vein as their boss, efforts that Sanji made a point of not reciprocating with, hands delved within the depths of pockets  (  comportement distant à son tour  )  with blunt and curt responses negating any satisfaction to glean anything useful. But these meandering walks with a searching gaze repeatedly brought the cook to an area which seemed a little more lived-in, a differing and somewhat brooding style of decors about the space, a stark contrast compared to some rooms the blond had been privy to where Crocodile frequented.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤVegetation aside, bottles of wine were perused, a curled brow raising in surprise given some of the vintages, rarities alluding to the possibility that this collection, in fact, belonged to the world’s greatest swordsman… a factor that doesn’t stop Sanji from grasping the neck of one of the beverages to take with him, a greater sense of purpose present about the blond’s trajectory while treading back to where the journey had begun  (  retour à l’endroit où l’amante de l’homme était toujours préoccupée  ).  Beneath the thickened haze of smoke and dimmed lighting, Crocodile’s calculative eyes lap up the inked figures from the page in a manner akin to all encompassing dunes meticulously rolling over an oasis, momentary pauses giving way for an engulfing deluge of understanding - barring a certain insignia, the cook doesn’t have a clue what the other’s looking at and doesn’t particularly care within that instant, soundless steps bringing him to delicately hover, the gentle contact proffered scantly tangible  (  les ailes d’un papillon de nuit effleurant un pétale  ).

ㅤㅤThe ghost of a smile plays on Sanji’s lips while basking in the newfound attention, promptly making himself comfortable with the fold of pliant limbs, the shift of his frame causing for a glimmer of light to spark against aureate hued metal. It’d be rude not to wear the gifts bestowed upon him during such visits, but every now and again, the cook takes his chances to mismatch some items, a double barred tie pin missing one of the segments, instead paired with another entirely - it stands out like a glaring infraction for those with an awareness for finer details, the deeper contrasting tint of a suit of Byzantium purple creating a silent visual klaxon, the blond wearing it like a broken yet goading badge of pride  (  il a ses raisons  ). There’s barely a flinch as they draw closer, glaucous gaze inching across the immediacy of strong features, the coveted scent of the cigar comfortably engulfing senses and willingly taken in. The wine is set aside on a nearby table, avoidant of the surface’s ornate edges to hinder the potential for an undesirable accident.

always a gentleman. it's one of the many qualities she admires about the cook. in fact, she's sure he could have handled all of them on his own. probably would have preferred it that way to avoid putting her in any sort of danger, not that she had been in a precarious spot. once upon a time, she may have even enjoyed a good fight. VIOLENCE had followed her around since she was a child, & the only way she had seemed to get ahead of it was to inflict it on others. unlike the rest of the crew, her past is bloody & one she can't say she's entirely proud of. still, she's not the type to sit back & relax now that she has something to protect.

besides, a few BROKEN bones never hurt anyone. maybe they even learned a lesson not to rob innocent people, who barely have the means to survive daily. robin lowers her hands while still sprouting a chain from the ground to help pick up the scattered fruit. she knows he hates wasting food. ❛   they should be more intelligent when picking targets.   ❜ she says loud enough for them to hear.

❛   i can trim it if you'd like.   ❜ she offers with a bright smile, one of those reserved only for her FRIENDS. ❛   i can handle a couple of bags, sanji-kun. i like to pull my weight.   ❜ & before he can argue about it, she resumes their walk back toward the ship. ❛   i was thinking i could cook dinner for everyone one of these days to give you a break. i suppose you could make dessert if you insist.   ❜

ㅤㅤ“ Intelligence— ”  The word is clipped with a subtle chuckle, nose wrinkling with a softly emitted huff, a somewhat disparaging look scattered across the ground at their company - one of the men writhes in a manner hinting at some trouble of placing any weight on an ankle, temporarily watchful of the damage before line of vision veers away.  “ Something tells me they’re not exactly the brightest of the bunch. ”  The cook doubted they’d cause any further trouble in the short term, but was unable to vouch for the future, second chances not afforded to everyone  (  surtout quand c’était tout ce qu’ils savaient  ).  Bag lowered, Sanji opens it as some of the nearby appendages from the ground hand him some dispersed lemons, concentration comfortably remaining with Robin given the uniform way in which they seamlessly returned the fruit, the gesture now deemed somewhat commonplace compared to when they’d first met.  “ Besides, annoying as it can be, I don’t mind us teaching them a lesson or two. ”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThere’s the flash of an amused grin with that remark, the presence of a shared joke lingering in the air with their steady pace towards the ship, a well trodden path eschewing a series of closely knit towering trees and damp soil towards a drier road with fine gravel  (  l’odeur de l’air marin servant de guide  ).  There’s a low hum of consideration with the woman’s offer.  “ A trim’d be nice. I was starting to worry you’d wanna give me a completely different style. ”  Levity aside, there had been a few occasions where the topic had been broached among the crew, the blond sometimes contemplative of a change before defaulting to the current style he found more comfortable  (  un jour, peut-être… ),  the side-swept look one he always favoured even as a child after his mother had dotingly brushed it aside one day.  “ You shouldn’t worry. I really don’t need a break. ”

After all this time, it still made him incredulous the ridiculous messes the cook always seemed on a crash course towards. It was downright pathetic how this fool's addiction to feminine attention was becoming a continued danger to the crew's safety.

"My problem is that if you can't keep your brain out of your pants. You could compromise the safety of the crew. And I can't have that." Zoro hissed back. Still, he allowed himself to be moved back from the cook a bit. He was still blocking his crewmate from exiting the alley but the bubble of personal space was allowed to grow between them once again.

"Embarrassing as being with you might be, I won't let your stupidity put the crew in danger, Cook." Zoro's grip on the hilt of Wado creaked slightly. A muscle in his arm flexing as he kept himself from forcibly cornering the chef once more. "If your antics get either of us recognized, it could alert people we're in town. the others still need rest. Don't blow this for them."

His eye narrowed at the blond. Fixing the other man with a hard stare. Still, he reached into his haramaki and pulled out the small slumbering snail. The tiny creature was held out towards the cook. Knowing the snail would be well cared for in the cook's hands, Zoro let his attention flow out of the alley. He looked on into the crowd beyond.

They were too far from the docks (judging by how Zoro hadn't been able to see ships from the street). If they were going to be getting more groceries before they left, Sanji was going to have to behave. This damn town had too many women running around it. A startling amount really, now that Zoro thought about it.

ㅤㅤ“ You ‘ can’t have ’ that? ”  A loud scoff, the heels of the man’s shoes clicking against the ground with the sway of his form drawing closer, dismissive waves of irritation grating on each growl of syllables. Blue eyes sharply poise against the other’s hardened gaze, this alone  (  un peu comme toutes leurs rencontres  )  was some form of challenge.  “ Big words coming from the guy who’s thinking about my pants… ”  The response is said with such confident conviction, but heated mien starts to uncomfortably shift into a grimace, the words having slipped out in a manner which was spur of the moment and entirely ill-conceived, frame unnervingly easing back a touch from the goading lean that the cook had adopted towards the glowering swordsman  (  bon sang  ).  Feet sidestep a little, the narrow path of the alley barely wide enough for three people, glimpses of the distant aperture exiting towards another path barred by the other’s unyielding bearing.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ Relax. No one’s recognised us, alright. We’ve got these foolproof disguises. ”  The jut of Sanji’s thumb gestures towards the pair’s outfits… which consisted of their usual clothing with long billowing cloaks thrown over them  (  qui ont eux-mêmes attiré une certaine attention  ).  Sure, there was a hood included too which could be effective, but the way it awkwardly framed the cook’s visage meant it was mussing up his hair, hence having it down for  a lengthy proportion  some of the journey and in that moment too. Regret is often a mutual feeling, one which is heightened as the blond had persistently lamented over the course of the venture how he didn’t like being lumbered with Marimo, but the navigator had her reasons for choosing them specifically, and who was he to deny her  (  ♡  ).  Curled brow furrows while grappling the mouthpiece, a disgruntled mumble under his breath while re-dialling Nami, impatience visibly setting in.