☆★

☆ Something like that

★ The weight of sleeves

☆ Hands that wander

★ Soft edges

☆ Too much salt

★ Hide and... sike?

☆ Unspoken

★ After the pantry (part two of Hide and... sike?)

Hellooooo.

oh my god its been so long! ive had not log in in a whiiiile, i know.

ive been really busy and today are my finals 😫😫

im really nervous tbh, but once i get them done i will try to upload something i SWEAR

This means A LOT to me. I mean it. Thank you so much, I love writing, and knowing that it helped you and made you write makes me really happy. Really, thanks a lot for your words, I apreciate it. I will keep writing for you guys to enjoy it. I want to thank you again, you really made my day :)

questions questions questions

hi loves <3

So, I need your help with a little something. But first — holy shit, thank you so much for all the love the Taz Skylar fic is getting. I really appreciate it !!!

I’ve received a lot of comments asking for a part two. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it, so I don’t really have a clue how to continue it. If you guys could give me some ideas for what part two could be about, I’d be really thankful!

I also need your opinion on a little idea I have. Since I LOVE OPLA and anime Zoro, I’ve been thinking about writing some fics about him too. I’ve read a lot of stories about him, but Zoro and Sanji have very different personalities, so I’m not sure how to write my own yet. I was thinking of doing a lot of enemies to lovers (because of his personality), but if you have any ideas or requests, let me know!

navigation ☆ | request ★

pairing: Taz Skylar x reader

summary: You and Taz have been attached at the hip since One Piece started filming. Best friends. Nothing more. So when he drags you into an Instagram cooking live, the 80,000 people watching can clearly see what you two can't.

a/n: I NEED you guys to send me more request for writing Taz, i love doing it 😭😭

The live started with chaos.

Not that you were surprised, Taz Skylar has never done anything quietly in his life.

"No, no, hold on, I'm not even ready- "

"Too late, we're live, say hi."

"You didn't even- oh my god."

The camera — propped against a mug on his kitchen counter — captured the following: a dusting of flour across a wooden board, a bowl of eggs, and Taz Skylar's grinning face as he physically dragged you into frame by the sleeve of your sweater.

You yelped. Tried to duck behind him. Failed, because he was broader than he looked on screen and kept moving.

"Everyone," he announced to the phone, "this is my favorite person to annoy. Say hello or I'm telling them about the time you fell asleep in makeup."

"You wouldn't."

"Would."

You sighed at the camera, face half-hidden behind your hand. "Hi. I'm here against my will. He texted me 'emergency' and I thought someone was dying."

"Someone was," Taz said seriously. "Me. I haven't eaten since craft services at noon and I'm fading, ____."

"You had a protein bar during Mackenyu's scene."

"That was four hours ago."

The chat was already scrolling at lightspeed.

THEY'RE SO CUTE / oh my god, ____ i love youuuu / TAZ STOP DRAGGING HER / best friend energyyy

You pointed at the screen. "They agree with me. You're dramatic."

"I'm passionate. There's a difference." He turned back to the counter, rolling up his sleeves with unnecessary flare. "We're making pasta. From scratch. She's going to help."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"I don't know how."

"Neither do I. We'll learn together. It's called bonding."

You stared at him. He stared back, completely sincere, and something in your chest did a stupid little flip that you immediately ignored. Because this was Taz. Your coworker. Your best friend. The guy who stole your fries and sent you voice notes about his theories and once carried you piggyback across a parking lot because you said your feet hurt.

Nothing more.

You pulled up a stool. "Fine. But when this fails, I'm ordering pizza and you're paying."

"Deal."

Taz measured flour. You cracked eggs (badly, but only two shells fell in). He whisked. You added salt. He talked to the chat — answering questions about filming, dodging spoilers, doing that thing where he laughed at his own jokes — and every thirty seconds, he'd glance at you.

Just a flicker. Checking in.

You pretended not to notice.

"So," he said, kneading the dough with his hands, "chat wants to know how we met."

You snorted. "You mean besides the table read?"

"Besides the table read. The real story." He looked at you, flour up to his wrists, and raised his eyebrows. "You gonna tell them, or should I?"

"I'll tell them." You turned to the camera, deadpan. "He sat next to me at the first rehearsal and asked if I wanted to see a video of his dog. Before he even said hello."

"In my defense," Taz said, "she's a very cute dog."

"You showed me six videos."

"Because you laughed at the third one and I got encouraged."

The chat melted.

that's so wholesome / he just wanted to make you laugh / TAZ YOU'RE SO OBVIOUS / they're just friends... right???

Taz squinted at the screen. "Why is everyone typing in caps?"

"You're a public figure. It's how they communicate."

"That's not- never mind." He tore off a piece of dough and threw it at you.

It hit your cheek.

You blinked. Slowly picked it off. Held it up like a piece of evidence. "Did you just throw dough at me?"

"It was an accident."

"It was not."

"You looked stressed. I was helping."

"I'm going to put this in your hoodie pocket."

"You wouldn't."

You stood up.

Taz backed away, hands raised, dough dangling from his fingers. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry- ____ put the dough down-"

You advanced. He circled the kitchen island. The chat was screaming so fast the words blurred into one long KISS HER YOU IDIOT and THIS IS BETTER THAN NETFLIX.

He was faster. He was also laughing too hard to run properly, and you cornered him by the fridge, pressing the wad of dough against his chest like a tiny, floury grenade.

"There," you said, breathless. "Now we're even."

Taz looked down at the dough. Then at you. Then at the dough again.

"You're ruthless," he said.

"You threw first."

"I love that about you."

And he meant it. You could tell he meant it. Not in a romantic way — just in the way he said things, big and sincere and slightly too honest. He'd told you he loved your dark humor before. He'd told you he loved your work ethic. He'd told you he loved the face you made when you were concentrating.

You'd stopped questioning it months ago.

But the chat hadn't.

DID HE JUST SAY LOVE / I'M SCREAMING / they're looking at each other like THAT / someone tag the whole cast

You stepped back. Cleared your throat. "Your dough is getting dry."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine, you've been ignoring it for three minutes."

Taz glanced at the counter. The dough sat there, slightly neglected, next to the bowl of eggs. "Right. Pasta. Yes." He washed his hands and returned to kneading, but his ears were pink.

You noticed. Because you always noticed.

And then you immediately hated yourself for noticing.

The rest of the live was a disaster in the best way.

You answered chat questions while Taz rolled out the dough. No, you weren't dating anyone. Yes, you loved working on One Piece. No, you couldn't say anything about Season 2. Yes, Taz was annoying in real life.

"Hey," he said, not looking up from the dough roller. "I'm standing right here."

"I know." You smiled sweetly. "That's why I said it."

Chat: they're so married / ____ has golden retriever energy and taz is the golden retriever / wait that doesn't make sense / nothing makes sense I'm just happy

"What's your favorite thing about working together?" you read aloud. Then paused. "That's a good question."

Taz stopped rolling. Looked at you.

"You go first," he said.

"No, you."

"I asked you."

"I'm shy."

"You're not shy."

"I'm shy today."

"Liar." He leaned on the counter, chin propped on his hand, watching you. The camera caught the softness in his expression — the same softness he got on set when Sanji looked at a particularly good ingredient. "Fine. My favorite thing is that you make me laugh. Like, actually laugh. Not the PR laugh."

"The PR laugh?"

"You know." He demonstrated. A fake, polished chuckle. "The 'I'm being filmed' laugh."

"That's horrifying."

"That's acting, baby."

Your stomach flipped at baby. He called everyone that. He called the craft services guy baby. It didn't mean anything.

"You're deflecting," you said.

"Oh come on, I'm just complimenting you." He smiled, crooked and warm. "Now you go."

You looked down at your hands. Took a breath. "My favorite thing is that you... care. About people. Like, you pretend to be all cool and whatever, but you remember everyone's coffee order and you text to make sure I got home safe and you- " You stopped. Realized you were saying too much. " -you're just. A good friend."

The chat was suddenly, eerily quiet.

Then:

...FRIEND???? / oh they're both oblivious / someone get them a clue / TAZ LOOK AT HER FACE

Taz was looking at your face.

His expression had gone very still. Not upset — just processing. Like you'd said something important and he was trying to figure out what.

"____," he said slowly.

"What."

"I didn't know you noticed that."

"Noticed what."

"The texting thing. The coffee thing." He tilted his head. "I thought I was being subtle."

"You're never subtle."

"Fair."

The pause stretched. The dough sat there, rolled flat and forgotten. The chat was holding its collective breath.

Then Taz snorted. "We're supposed to be making pasta."

"We're terrible at this."

"The worst." He picked up the cutter and started slicing noodles, but he was smiling. Not the PR smile. The real one.

When you reached over to help, your fingers brushed his on the handle of the cutter, neither of you pulled away.

The pasta turned out fine.

Not great. A little thick. But you ate it on his couch, sitting cross-legged, while he replayed the live on his phone and groaned at his own jokes.

"Did I really say 'that's acting, baby'?"

"Multiple times."

"I'm going to die."

"You're going to be fine." You stole a noodle off his plate. He didn't stop you.

Your phone buzzed. Then again. Then a third time.

Jacob 😎: so Jacob 😎: the live Jacob 😎: you know the whole internet thinks you're dating now, right?

You locked the screen.

Taz was looking at you. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." You smiled. "Just work stuff."

He nodded. Didn't push. Went back to his pasta.

And if he sat a little closer on the couch than before, if his shoulder pressed against yours and stayed there, neither of you mentioned it.

But the flour was still under your nails.

And his hoodie smelled like home.

DONE ☆★

THANK YOU for asking me to write about Taz, also the cooking live was such an amaizing idea !!

navigation ☆ | request ★

pairing: Sanji x reader

summary: Part two of Hide and... sike?

WARNINGS: smut, +18, vulgar languaje

After what happened in the pantry you started to avoid him.

Not too obviously, you just… drift toward other parts of the ship when he walks into a room. You sit next to Nami instead of near the kitchen. You laugh at Usopp's jokes a little too loudly when Sanji glances your way.

It's fine. You're fine.

Except at night, alone in your bunk, you can still feel the ghost of his hands on you, his mouth on your neck.

You press your palms to your burning face.

This is fine.

One day he catches you by the railing. Just the two of you. Sunset. The sea is stupidly romantic.

"You've been avoiding me," he says. He didn't accuse you. He was just stating a fact.

"I've been busy."

"Busy," He takes a slow drag of his cigarette. "avoiding me."

You don't answer.

He steps closer. Close enough to smell his cologne. Close enough to taste the cigarette smoke in his breath.

"Was it something I said?" His voice is low. Careful. "Or something I did?"

Something you did, you want to say. Everything you did. The way you looked at me. The way you said my name. The way you haven't looked at anyone else since.

"Neither," you say instead.

He studies your face. His eye moves across your features like he's reading a book he can't put down.

"Liar," he says softly.

Your eyes drop to his lips. Is he going to kiss me? Then Sanji smirks—like he heard the thought—and lets his gaze travel down, taking his time coming back up.

Then he walks away.

You exhale. Fuck.

The crew had decided to stop at an island for resources. They piled into the dinghy — Nami with a list, Zoro with a scowl, and Luffy, who couldn't wait, already jumping off ahead of them.

Sanji stepped in after them, brushing tobacco dust off his sleeve. He was going.

Good, you thought.

"Coming?" Usopp asked you.

You shook your head. "I'll stay. Someone should watch the ship."

Usopp shrugged. "Suit yourself."

The dinghy pulled away from the Going Merry. You watched them go, exhaling slowly. Finally. Peace. Quiet. No footsteps in the galley. No smoke drifting past your window. No him.

You turned to enjoy the empty deck —

And nearly walked into Sanji's chest.

He was leaning against the mast, a fresh cigarette tucked behind his ear, watching you with that unreadable expression.

"Changed my mind," he said before you could speak. "Someone should stay with the ship."

Your heart stopped.

He was on the dinghy. I saw him. He stepped in —

"You jumped off," you said flatly.

Sanji's mouth curved. Just slightly. "Did I?"

The silence stretched between you, heavy and knowing.

"Relax," he said over his shoulder. "I don't bite."

That's not what I'm afraid of, you didn't say.

You're pretending to read a book. You haven't turned a page in twenty minutes.

Sanji walks in. Doesn't say anything. Starts wiping down the counter.

The tension is unbearable.

"You could have gone," he says eventually.

"So could you."

He sets down the rag. Turns to face you. Leans against the counter with his arms crossed.

"I stayed because you stayed," he says.

Your heart stops.

"Why?"

He pushes off the counter. Walks toward you slowly. Not stopping until his knees bump yours. You're sitting on the bench. He's standing over you. Looking down.

"Because I'm tired of you running away," he says quietly. "And I'm tired of pretending I don't think about that closet every single night."

"You think about it?"

"I think about you." His voice drops. "Every. Single. Night."

He reaches down. His fingers trace your jaw. Tilts your face up to his.

"No more running," he says. "Tell me right now if you don't want this. I'll walk away. I won't bring it up again."

You should say no. You should protect yourself. You should—

"Okay," you whisper.

His thumb brushes your lower lip.

"Okay?"

"I don't want to run anymore."

Something in his expression shifts. Relief. Want. Hunger.

He takes your hand. Pulls you gently to your feet.

"Then come with me," he says.

"Where?"

His lips twitch.

"My room. It has a lock. And a bed. And no rubber pirates."

He leans in. His mouth hovers over yours.

"I believe I promised to take my time with you."

The door clicks shut. The lock turns.

And then his back is against the door and you're pressed against him and his hands are in your hair and his mouth is on yours — deeper than the pantry, slower, deliberate.

No more hiding.

He walks you backward toward his bed. His hands never leave you — your waist, your face, your hips. When your knees hit the mattress, he makes you sit and stands in front of you.

"You're beautiful," he says. Like it's a fact. Like the sky is blue.

Your face burns.

His crotch is at your eye level, with a smirk you lift up his shirt and kiss him below his pant line.

"Love," he breathes. "you have no idea what you do to me."

"Show me."

He does. He starts unbuttoning his pants, revealing his underwear. He runs a hand over them, caressing his cock.

"Do you want it?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, please." You beg.

With a stifled laugh, he finishes undressing. His cock is in front of you, hard and throbbing. You grab it, making Sanji groan. Looking into his eyes, you start rubbing it up and down.

"Fuck." he moans.

Looking into his eyes, you open your mouth and take it all in. Sanji's entire cock in your mouth.

"____, you're going to kill me, fuck. Don't stop."

You start sucking his cock. Between moans, he grabs your hair, moving your head back and forth, pushing his cock deeper into your throat. He grabs his cock with his hand, pulls it out of your mouth, rubs it all over your face, your lips, slaps your mouth with it. You moan, laugh, and revel in the ecstasy of the moment.

He puts his hands on your breasts, fondling them under your shirt. You take off your shirt and give him free access. Sanji kneels in front of you and starts sucking on your breasts. You moan, lie down on the bed, and he lies on top of you.

The rest of your clothes come off — piece by piece, kiss by kiss. He touches you like he's memorizing you. His mouth finds places that make you arch off the bed. His hands learn exactly where you're sensitive.

His hands slide down to your hips. He guides you slowly. Your breath catches. His does too.

And then there's nothing but the two of you — moving together, breathing together, falling together.

Afterward, he doesn't let go.

His arm wraps around your waist. Your back presses against his chest. His lips find your shoulder.

"Stay," he says. Not a question.

"Okay."

The ship creaks. The sea is quiet. Somewhere on the island, your crew is shopping and laughing and causing chaos.

DONE ☆★

I wasn't planning on making a second part of this fic, but to be honest it was necessary.

navigation ☆ | request ★

pairing: Sanji x reader

summary: You thought no one could see you blush in the dark. You were wrong.

The Going Merry had many secrets. Nami's hidden cartography tools. Usopp's poorly concealed explosives. Zoro's ability to get lost in a straight line.

But the hottest secret on the Grand Line lived in the crow's nest.

High above the main deck, tucked into the shadows behind the storage lockers and the folded fishing nets, there was a small alcove. It was barely large enough for two people. A coiled rope served as a cushion. A single porthole let in moonlight.

No one ever went back there. Not even Zoro, who preferred the open center of the circular room for his weights.

It started, as most things with Sanji did, with food. You'd wandered into the galley late one night, unable to sleep, the storm outside rattling the portholes.

That night, Sanji had been polishing a glass. He looked up, and his usual flirty smile softened. He knew how painfully shy you could be. A blush was your default expression, and you spoke so softly that Luffy often leaned in, cupping a hand to his ear. At that moment he didn't see a target for a pickup line. He saw you, trembling slightly from the thunder, wrapped in an oversized sweater.

"Couldn't sleep, love?" he'd asked, his voice a low, gentle rumble.

You'd just shaken your head, hugging your arms. He didn't push, he just made you hot chocolate. Thick, rich, with a dollop of whipped cream and a single cinnamon stick. As he handed you the warm mug, your fingers brushed. You flinched—not from fear, but from the electric shock of it.

He noticed. He always noticed.

"You're shaking," he murmured, stepping closer. The kitchen was small, the storm loud. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I don't think it's because of the cold, is it?"

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. For once, the shyness didn't make you step back. It just made your heart pound.

That was the first time he kissed you. Soft. Questioning. He tasted like mint and smoke. You answered by grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer. The hot chocolate was forgotten, growing cold on the counter.

That was three months ago.

Now, the crow's nest was your sanctuary. The alcove behind the storage lockers was where Sanji went to lose his mind.

"S-Sanji… someone will come up here…" you whispered, your back pressed against the curved wooden wall.

He was on his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up the outsides of your thighs. His suit jacket was discarded on a barrel of fishing nets. His tie was loose. His blonde hair, usually immaculate, was falling over his forehead. He looked utterly, devastatingly undone.

"Let them," he breathed against your stomach, pushing up your skirt just an inch to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the skin there. "Let the whole damn sea hear you."

Your fingers threaded through his hair, a choked gasp escaping your lips. It was always like this. In the common areas, you could barely hold his hand without turning the color of Chopper's emergency hat. But the moment that alcove swallowed you both, a switch flipped.

His passion unlocked yours.

He kissed you like you were the last source of oxygen on a sinking ship. Deep, desperate, searching. His hands were respectful in public, but in here? They were explorers. They traced the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the sensitive skin behind your ear that made you whimper.

"That's it," he murmured, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. "There's my girl. Don't hide from me."

He stood up, crowding you against the wall. A coil of rope squeaked beneath you. He lifted you easily—he was strong, far stronger than the chef let on—and your legs wrapped around his waist. The position was scandalous. The friction was heaven.

You buried your face in his neck, shy even now, moaning softly as he rolled his hips against yours. "I can't… it's so much…"

"Look at me," he commanded, but it was soft. A velvet demand. When you reluctantly met his eyes, they were blown wide with desire, but there was a fierce, trembling tenderness there too. "You are exquisite. And for the next hour, you are mine. Let go."

And you did: clothes pushed aside just enough, frantic whispers of "please" and "yes" and "don't stop"; the alcove became a universe of two. Fishing nets rustled. A loose button rolled across the floor. Sanji's hands cupped your face as if you were holy, even as his body moved against yours with a rhythm that stole your breath.

He always finished with a smirk, breathing raggedly. "I'll make you dinner," he'd whisper. "And you'll blush at me across the table. And no one will know that ten minutes ago, you were saying my name like a prayer."

The problem was, everyone knew.

The Straw Hat crew weren't just pirates. They were a family, which meant they were nosy, insufferable, and biologically incapable of minding their own business.

It started with Luffy.

You and Sanji emerged from the crow's nest ladder one afternoon, slightly disheveled. You were fixing your hair, your cheeks flaming. Sanji was re-tucking his shirt, a smug, satisfied smile on his face.

Luffy was sitting on the barrel next to the mast, chewing on a leg of meat.

"Oh, hey," he said, mouth full. "Are you done kissing?"

You froze. Sanji lit a cigarette with a shaking hand.

"Done what, Captain?" Sanji asked, a vein throbbing in his temple.

"Kissing," Luffy said simply. "You do it up there every day. The rope is all twisted now. It wasn't twisted before."

You wanted to die. You physically turned and walked into the mast.

Then there was Nami. The navigator cornered you while you were hanging laundry. She didn't say anything at first. She just looked at you, then up at the crow's nest visible above the deck, then back at you. She raised a single, perfect eyebrow.

"So," she said casually, folding a shirt with expert precision. "Sanji."

You swallowed hard. "Wh-what about it?"

"Nothing." Her smirk was devastating. "Just wondering if you've noticed how much quieter he is lately. Less of the whole 'my love' 'my darling' 'my angel' routine." She paused, her eyes glittering. "Almost like he's getting all his... expressions of affection... out somewhere private."

Your face erupted in flames. "Nami—"

"I'm not complaining," she interrupted, holding up a hand. "It's actually a relief. I can eat breakfast without losing my appetite. So, really." She patted your shoulder, her smile wide and knowing. "Thank you for your service."

You buried your face in the laundry basket and seriously considered throwing yourself overboard.

Zoro was the worst.

The swordsman didn't tease with words. He teased with presence. He'd be napping on the deck, and as you and Sanji walked by—not even touching, just walking—Zoro would open one eye.

"Oi, Cook," he'd grunt. "You've got rope burn on your pants again. From the 'crow's nest'."

Sanji's leg would twitch. "And you've got a sword up your ass, you moss-headed bastard. Want me to remove it with a kick?"

"At least I don't need a lookout tower to get a date."

The ensuing brawl was legendary, but as Sanji was being dragged away by Usopp, he shot you a wink. A secret, just-for-you wink. And despite the mortification, your heart soared.

Vivi was more subtle. The former princess had a smile that could disarm armies. It was warm, friendly, and absolutely lethal. She cornered you on the deck while you were reading, her blue hair gleaming in the sun.

"____," she said sweetly. "Can I ask you something?"

You tensed. "Y-yes?"

"The crow's nest." She sat next to you with practiced precision. "Is it comfortable?"

You blinked. "Is it... comfortable?"

"For... activities." Vivi's smile never wavered. "I only ask because I've noticed you and Sanji disappear up there quite often. And you always come down looking... relaxed."

Your soul left your body.

"I'm not—we don't—there are no activities—"

Vivi laughed, bright and genuine. She reached over and squeezed your hand. "Relax. I'm not judging. I think it's wonderful that you and Sanji have found each other. He's never been this happy." Her eyes softened. "Just maybe check the rope next time. It's starting to look a little... overworked."

You stared at her.

She winked. "Consider it diplomatic advice."

Chopper, bless his innocent heart, was the only one who didn't understand. One night, he climbed up to the crow's nest to get a blanket, worried he'd smelled a fever (it was just the heat of your flushed skin). Sanji had answered, shirt untucked, hair a mess.

"Is ____ okay?" Chopper asked, big eyes full of concern. "Her heart rate is very elevated!"

Sanji, with the straightest face you'd ever seen, said, "She's just afraid of heights, Chopper. Go away."

As the little reindeer trotted back down the ladder, you smacked Sanji's chest. "Afraid of heights?!"

He grinned, pulling you back into the dim, warm darkness of the alcove. "Would you prefer I told him the truth? That I was kissing you senseless and you forgot how to breathe?"

You buried your face in his chest, groaning. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," he whispered, tilting your chin up. His thumb brushed your swollen bottom lip. "You just get shy when they're right."

And then he kissed you again, soft and deep, and the sound of the crew laughing on the deck faded away. The teasing would continue tomorrow. Luffy would ask if you were going to the "kissing tower." Zoro would make another snide remark. Nami would thank you again for "calming him down." Vivi would smile knowingly from across the deck.

The crew always tease them

DONE ☆★

Im back !!

How you all doing? Im finally home and i can start working at the requests, ive got a few and im so glad !! but to be honest it'll take me a time to write them all hahaha.

I also wanted to thank you guys !! The requests i've been getting are just so good and oh my god theyre really fun to write 💕

hiii babees 🫶🏻🫶🏻

I just wanted to say that i won't be uploading fics this weekend since im going to a little get away, i’ve read your requests and ill probably be working on it in monday.

navigation ☆ | part two ★

pairing: Sanji x reader

summary: You picked the wrong hiding spot and he followed you. Now the game is over — but neither of you wants to leave.

WARNINGS: a liiiitle bit of smut

Luffy is standing on the figurehead, arms wide, screaming into the wind like a man who has never had a single anxious thought in his entire life.

"WE'RE PLAYING HIDE AND SIKE!"

Nami, curled up with a book, doesn't look up. "That's not a real thing, Luffy."

"It is now." Luffy jumps down, landing in a crouch. His grin is too big for his face. "I close my eyes. I count to a hundred and you hide. When I find you, I sike you out. If you flinch or scream, you lose."

"And if we don't?" Usopp asks from the rigging. He's trying to look brave, but looks like he's about to cry.

"You get double dinner today."

A beat. Then Zoro, who was sharpening his sword in the corner, stands up. "I'm not playing."

"No one asked you, mosshead." Sanji flicks ash off his cigarette. He's leaning against the mast, arms crossed, one ankle hooked over the other. The white button-up, the black slacks, the hair falling over his right eye; all that combine makes him looks like he walked out of a noir film.

Luffy claps his hands. "EVERYONE PLAYING. READY. SET."

He slams his hands over his eyes.

"ONE… TWO… THREE…"

The crew scatters.

You run.

"Where do I go," You ask yourself "My room? No, that's too obvious. The hold, maybe?" You sigh "Come on, ____, think" Then an idea crosses your mind. "The galley!"

You slip through the door, pull it shut behind you, and freeze.

Sanji is already there.

He's standing at the counter, calmly chopping carrots. The knife moves in a steady, rhythmic thunk thunk thunk. He doesn't look up.

"Wrong hiding spot, love," he says. "Luffy checks here first. Every time."

"I panicked," you whisper.

"Clearly."

You hear Luffy's voice from the deck: "…TWENTY-FIVE… TWENTY-SIX…"

Sanji sighs. Sets down the knife. Wipes his hands on a towel. Then he looks at you.

"Pantry," he says. "Now."

He grabs your wrist—firm, warm, purposeful—and pulls you toward the narrow door at the back of the galley. It's not a walk-in. It's a closet. Shelves of spices, sacks of flour, jars of pickled vegetables.

"In there?" you hiss.

"Unless you'd rather lose."

He opens the door, nudges you inside, and follows you in.

Darkness. Tight. Hot. Your back hits a shelf and a bag of rice digs into your spine. Sanji is in front of you—too close, his chest an inch from yours, his shoulder brushing the doorframe.

He pulls the door shut.

The latch clicks.

And then—nothing.

Total darkness. You can't see your own hand. You can't see anything except the tiny glow of light coming from under the door.

He's standing sideways now, trying to give you space. But there is no space. His hip presses against your thigh. His breath is warm on your forehead.

"Breathe," he says quietly.

"I am breathing."

"Breathe slower. You're going to hyperventilate."

You try. You really try. But his cologne is everywhere—smoke and sandalwood and something clean like soap—and his hand is still on your wrist, and you can feel his pulse under his thumb.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Steady. Calm. Like he does this every day.

"…FIFTY… FIFTY-ONE…" Luffy's voice, muffled through the hull.

"How are you so calm?" you whisper.

Sanji doesn't answer. You can barely see the corner of his lips lifting into a side smile.

Outside, Luffy hits one hundred.

Silence.

Then—a scream. Usopp. High and terrified and absolutely pathetic.

"SIKE!" Luffy's laugh echoes across the deck. "GOT YOU, USOPP!"

"I WASN'T EVEN—" A pause. "Okay, I was hiding. But that was mean."

You almost laugh. Sanji's thumb presses into your wrist. A warning: quiet.

Footsteps on the deck, then the galley door creaks open and you stop breathing.

Luffy's voice, sing-song: "Sanjiiii… I know you're in here. I can smell the carrots."

He doesn't answer. His hand tightens around yours and his body shifts to angle himself between you and the door. His shoulder presses into your collarbone, his hip digs into your thigh, his face is inches from yours.

Sanji doesn't move. Doesn't flinch. He just looks at you. Even in the dark, you can feel his gaze. Heavy. Focused.

He presses his palm flat against the shelf next to your head. Caging you in. His forehead drops to yours.

He smiles. Just a little. Just enough for you to see it in the dark.

Don't. Move.

Luffy's footsteps get closer. The pantry door is right there. A thin piece of wood between you and being found.

The handle jiggles and then stops.

Luffy sniffs loudly. "Hmm. Not in here."

His footsteps retreat. The galley door creaks shut.

Silence.

Neither of you breathes.

Sanji doesn't pull back. His forehead is still pressed to yours. His breath is hot and shaky. His chest rises and falls against yours — fast, despite how calm he looked outside.

"He didn't open it," you whisper.

"No," he agrees. His voice is lower than you've ever heard it. "He didn't."

A beat.

"You're shaking," you say.

"I know."

He still doesn't move. His body is a wall of heat pinning you to the shelves, not leaving you other thing in sight but him.

"We should probably go out there," you say.

"We should."

Neither of you moves.

His nose brushes yours. Once. Twice. Testing.

"Sanji."

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs.

You don't.

His thumb starts tracing a slow circle on your hip — bare skin, just under the hem of your shirt.

"Sanji," you whisper.

His name sounds different in the dark. Thicker. He notices. His breath catches.

"Say that again," he murmurs.

"Sanji."

He kisses you.

Full and firm and deliberate. His lips slant over yours like he's been waiting for permission his whole life, his hand leaves your hip and cups your face — thumb on your cheek, fingers buried in your hair — tilting your head exactly where he wants you.

You make a sound. Small. Embarrassing. He swallows it.

When he pulls back, you're both breathing too fast.

"Oh, cherié."

He kisses you again. Slower this time. His tongue traces your lower lip. Asks. You open for him and he makes a quiet noise — almost a groan — and his hips press into yours involuntarily. The shelf creaks behind you.

He pulls back again. His forehead drops to your shoulder.

"Sorry," he breathes. "Sorry. I shouldn't— we're in a pantry. Anyone could—"

"No one's coming."

"You don't know that."

"You're the one who hasn't moved."

He laughs. Quiet. Broken. His lips press against the collar of your shirt.

"I know," he says. "I know."

His hands are shaking now. You feel it — his fingers trembling against your face, your hip, wherever they're touching.

"Look at me," you say.

He does. Even in the dark, you can see the conflict in his eyes. Want and restraint fighting in real time.

"I'm not telling you to stop," you say.

His jaw tightens.

"You should."

"But I'm not."

He stares at you for a long, agonizing second. Then something in him breaks — or maybe snaps into place.

His mouth crashes into yours again. Hungrier. Less careful. His hand slides from your face down your side, over your ribs, your waist, gripping your thigh and hooking it around his hip. The new angle pulls you flush against him — every inch of him pressed into every inch of you.

You gasp into his mouth. He swallows that too.

His hips roll into yours once — slow, deliberate, questioning. You answer by pulling him closer. His groan vibrates against your lips.

"Tell me," he pants, pulling back just enough to speak. "Tell me you want this."

"I want this."

"Tell me it's not just the dark. Not just the game. Not just—"

You kiss him quiet.

"It's not," you say against his lips. "It's you."

His breath shudders out of him. His whole body relaxes — just for a second — before he kisses you again. Harder this time.

His hand slides from your thigh down to the back of your knee, hiking your leg higher. Your skirt rides up. His bare fingers press into the back of your thigh.

"Fuck," he whispers — and you've never heard him swear like that. Breathless. Desperate.

His mouth finds your neck. Not gentle this time. He sucks hard just below your jaw — enough to leave a mark. His tongue soothes it immediately after.

"Sanji — someone's going to see—"

"Good," he says against your skin.

His teeth graze your collarbone. His hand slides higher — from your thigh to your waist to the curve of your ribs. His thumb brushes the underside of your breast. He pauses.

Looks up at you.

"Okay?" he asks.

You nod. Barely.

His thumb brushes again — higher this time. Your back arches off the shelf. His hand covers you fully, palm warm and rough through the thin fabric of your shirt.

He makes a sound. Low. Hungry.

"You have no idea," he murmurs, "how long I've wanted—"

The ship creaks. Footsteps above.

Both of you freeze.

Luffy's voice, distant: "WHERE IS EVERYONE? THIS GAME IS BORING NOW."

Sanji's forehead drops to yours. His chest is heaving. His hand is still on you. He doesn't move it.

"We should stop," he whispers.

"We should."

But neither of you moves.

His thumb flicks over you once — slow, deliberate — through your shirt. Your breath hitches.

"We're going to get caught," he says.

"Probably."

His mouth finds yours again. Softer this time. Almost sweet.

"One more minute," he breathes.

You pull him closer.

"Make it ten."

He laughs quietly against your mouth — a broken, desperate sound — and then his lips are on yours again. His hand slides back up to your face, cradling your jaw like you're something precious. But his hips don't stop moving. Slow. Rolling into yours in the dark. The shelf creaks with every shift of his weight.

Your fingers find the collar of his shirt. The white button-up. You fist the fabric and pull him closer — impossibly closer.

His hand leaves your face. Slides down your stomach. His fingers hook under the waistband of your pants — just a finger's width. Testing. Asking.

"Sanji—"

"I know," he whispers. "I know."

He doesn't go further, but he doesn't pull away either. His thumb presses into the soft skin just above your hip bone. His forehead stays pressed to yours.

"After this," he says, voice raw, "when we're not hiding in a closet like idiots — I'm going to take my time with you."

Your breath catches.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He kisses the corner of your mouth. "Properly. Somewhere with a bed. And a lock. And no rubber pirates trying to scare us."

You laugh. Quiet. He smiles against your cheek.

His hand slides out of your waistband. His thigh pulls back from between your legs. He doesn't go far, just enough to let you both breathe.

"We should actually go now," he says.

"I know."

"Luffy's going to come looking again."

"I know."

Sanji doesn't move. His hands are on your waist now. Thumbs tracing slow circles. His eyes are still dark, still hungry, but there's something softer underneath.

"You first," he says.

"Together."

He hesitates. Then nods.

He reaches behind him — careful, not letting go of you — and finds the door latch. His fingers curl around it.

"Ready?" he whispers.

"No."

He smiles. Real. Warm. Even in the dark.

"Me neither."

He opens the door.

Light floods in. You both squint. The galley is empty. The carrots are still on the cutting board. The knife is still there. Everything looks exactly the same.

Nothing has changed. Except everything has.

Sanji steps out first. Offers you his hand. You take it.

He doesn't let go when you're both standing in the galley. He doesn't let go when you hear Luffy scream "THERE YOU ARE" from the deck.

He just looks at you — flushed, lips swollen, hair a mess — and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You look like you've been hiding in a pantry," he says.

"So do you."

He grins. Lifts your hand to his mouth. Presses a kiss to your knuckles.

"Worth it."

You walk out to the deck.

Sanji follows a few seconds later, lighting a fresh cigarette. His hair is still slightly disheveled — one strand falling over his eye that he doesn't bother fixing, his shirt has wrinkles across the chest from where you grabbed him. He doesn't seem to care.

Luffy is sitting on the mast, pouting. "You guys are no fun, I couldn't find you."

Zoro is back to sharpening his sword. He glances up, looks at you, looks at Sanji and rolls his eyes so hard it's almost theatrical.

"Took you long enough."

Sanji doesn't rise to it the way he usually does. No immediate kick. No shouting match. He just flicks ash in Zoro's general direction.

"Shut up, mosshead."

But his voice is lighter. Distracted. His eyes keep drifting back to you.

You sit down on the deck, legs crossed, trying to act normal. Trying to ignore the phantom feeling of his hands on your waist, his mouth on your neck.

Sanji sits next to you. Closer than he needs to. His shoulder presses against yours his thigh lines up with yours. Anyone paying attention would notice. He doesn't seem to care about that either.

Nami catches your eye from across the deck. She raises one eyebrow. Smirks.

You look away, face hot.

"You have something," Nami says sweetly, tapping her own jaw, "right about here."

Your hand flies to your neck. You feel it — the spot Sanji marked. Still slightly tender.

Your face goes nuclear.

Sanji, without missing a beat, takes a slow drag of his cigarette and exhales toward the sky. "Bug," he says flatly. "Big one. Had to get it off her neck."

Nami's smirk deepens. "Must have been a very aggressive bug."

"Very," Sanji agrees. His knee bumps yours. Deliberate.

Zoro snorts but doesn't look up.

You want to die. You also want to kiss Sanji again. It's a confusing feeling.

He offers you his cigarette. "Want a drag?"

"I don't smoke."

"You could start."

You take the cigarette. Your fingers brush. You bring it to your lips, inhale, and immediately cough.

Sanji grins.

"Atta girl," he says.

And when he takes the cigarette back, his fingers linger on yours. Not accidentally. Not briefly. He holds on for a full second longer than necessary.

Nami pretends to be very interested in her book.

Luffy, oblivious, swings down from the mast. "I'm hungry. Sanji, make meat."

Sanji doesn't move. His shoulder is still pressed against yours. His pinky hooks around yours on the deck between you — hidden from everyone except the two of you.

i love messages like this 😭😭