đ Rest their head on my museâs shoulder/ ̶k̶n̶e̶e̶
⥠sanji // non-verbal starters
Without an effort did his golden head roll onto her shoulder, strategically positioned by fate underneath as if to receive it; like it had been sculpted to accommodate Sanjiâs head when heavy and in need of a firm but soft support for a resting pillow.
Morgan had not even understood how this had come to pass.Â
She sat beside Sanji but her eyes were fixated on the ocean and on the ballet blue waves performed just for the pair of them. Everyone else was away, each crewmate of Sanjiâs entertained with their onboard hobbies. With the pair of them being silent as if mute, it would be of no wonder if Sanji had bored himself to sleep, though Morgan could swear she had heard him take a drag of his cigarette not long ago.Â
She liked to watch Sanji smoke even if it was a sinful pastime to have, to watch someone you loved snatch a portion of his life with every intake. Perhaps a pirate did not care to curate a long life. Perhaps a man should not care for saving a future always so uncertain instead of indulging in the pleasures present time gave him, cigarettes and the rosy lips of ladies.
Still, Morgan found beauty in the figure of Sanji smoking. Even the smoke would she romanticise by comparing it to powdery silver riding the air. This was Sanji, her gentleman of golden hair and a firm grip, capable of kindling an inner feeling of safety without having to adopt a stance. Whose mouth blew silver.
Morgan returned her gaze to Sanjiâs head and cocked her own to have a better view of his eyes. They were shut, coincidentally, and she could not tell whether he had fallen asleep â how long ago had that happened, too? â or if he was closing them on purpose for a momentary rest.Â
He ought to be tired. Earlier that day, before this piece of paradise, Morgan had sat as quietly as the crew allowed her (when her engagement in their business was not demanded) and stood a watcher to their domestic life. Sanji had lost his temper at least a dozen times within an hour and never had his hands stopped working, bare or armed with knives.Â
It should be stressful, working on a short fuse and having to feed, on a daily basis, people who liked to carry extra matches.
Morgan felt empathetic in a special way. She felt that, for a day, for a moment, Sanji should be the one getting pampered and she wanted to be the one, sole responsible for it. She wanted to run her fingers over his hair, caress his cheek, tell him to put his tobacco aside and put all the troubles away with no helper but her fingertips. Her lips. Her whole body and soul, should it please him to be pleased by her.Â
Morgan could not think of anything more lovely than her and a tired, in desperate need of comfort him heading indoors for the day, while the horizon darkened and their bodies slowed down.
â Rest your head on my lap if youâre so tired. â She said, not without a command that came to her so naturally. And, as if nothing could make her happier but to say it out loud would be too forward, she added â I do not mind. â
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Sanjiâs signal was promtly and rightly understood, his commanding finger not looking rude in the slightest. He had his work over the flames and though any cook would be upset at having his hard work and provisions go to waste as a fair reward for their lack of attention, Sanji was a proud and sensitive chef who would do more than pout at spoiled food. Whatever he was cooking - everything he cooked - was a work to be done with care and no small dose of passion. Morgan respected Sanjiâs time in front of the stove and kept quiet, only her thoughts speaking in her place.
Talking to Sanji about her love life and the intimacy within it was no issue, even if a lady shouldnât. She might, of course, through whispers and amid polite giggles while in the company of her lady friends who, in the same fashion, would speak of the same aspect of their lives and how satisfied or not they were with their partners, whether they had been chosen by their hearts or their fathersâ vision. But Morgan did not have any lady friends and though it sounded like a terrible thing to say, Sanji was the closest she had to one.
Not that she saw him as ambiguous of appearance or manner. Not at all. The point of the comparison is solely to demonstrate how at ease Morgan felt around the cook.
Morgan regarded Sanji as a very attractive man and an almost perfect match for virtually any woman - he was courteous and gallant and, if his body performed as well as his words were sweet, he was bound to be a great lover in all regards of a romantic relationship as shared between a man and a woman.Â
If Morgan could be the captain of her heart, she might order it to fall for Sanji instead of his grumpier counterpart. Sanji would treat her right and ask her to stay by his side, for he would make everything in and out his reach to make her happy instead of cowering before those bittersweet things called feelings. Alas!... She could not. And hearts do not listen to reason, they care not about it... Which was why she was in this predicament of loving a man who would never see her under the same light and relieving her sore heart by exchanging words with one of the few men who might or would.Â
Her eyes fell on the fingertips drumming on the worktop. Sanji was organising his thoughts... For that, too, Morgan let Sanji have his time.
It was to no avail. Even if Sanji was given a whole year to think on the matter, Morgan thought, he would never arrive a conclusion. He could not be blamed, even less so when he did not know the identity of the man and hence had no idea of what kind of dynamic was at stake. Maybe if Morgan was infatuated with someone Sanji knew and if heâd seen them interact... Heâd have a clue. Â
It was a good thing Sanji was clueless, though, for reality might prove too awkward and large to take in should he ever see his friend sufficiently at ease to perform a public display of affection towards the subject of their talk for the chef to do the maths and start imagining Morgan in the manâs tattooed arms... No sentiment other than friendship was needed to go crazy over such a figment.Â
There was a sly smile on Morganâs lips at Sanjiâs remark. Once more, it just proved how much of a good man he was. Though calm and polite enough to address her as âmiladyâ, he was frustrated and this frustration, as far as Morgan was concerned, could be coming from several sources. Sanji might be frustrated at himself for not knowing what to say, yet he might share the feeling for the man who was not willing to take an offer the chef would not refuse, judging from his words.
âAnd what might âthatâ be, exactly? My longing?â Getting up and showcasing that smile, still, Morgan stepped closer to Sanji. âOr my flesh?â Maybe teasing him was wrong when he was not made of stone... so, in order to rest Sanjiâs spirits, she patted his hands before turning her back on him and starting a circular walk around the kitchen. Another sigh left her lips.Â
âI guess you are right. I should talk to him; ought to. I reckon I will never get an answer otherwise for, you see, heâs not very talkative about matters of the heartâ The figurative heart, that is. Her pacing ceased. Her right hand went under her left one, hovering her front. âBut where do I even begin? How can I avoid the aggravation of asking him the reason why he wonât...âÂ
Morgan had a hard time finishing her answer and it was not hard to see why. How could a lady like her ask a man âWhy arenât we having sex?â without her face glowing red? Without sounding desperate, needy, lonely? Without making a fool of herself?
âYou must think me pretty foolish...â She admitted it herself, her foolishness, with a sad giggle that sounded equally cute and pathetic.
Once Sanji is home alone, he takes the blow-up doll and monster dildo that Law has given him and takes them to his roommate's chamber. There he puts the sex doll on Law's chair and drapes one of his friend's coats over her rubbery shoulders after he has decided that she looks a bit pitiful. He does not know where to put the ridiculous dildo, so he just places it on the table. Thanks to the suction cups on the base it stays upright perfectly. Sanji leaves it at that and returns to his own room.
Lawâs face turns black upon entering his room to see that someone is sitting at his desk, in his favourite fur coat! How dare anyone intrude into his chamber and put on his clothes? Sanji?! Law chucks his backpack aside to his bed and rushes into the room to snatch back his coat, when he realises itâs only Rosie the sex doll which Sanji has ungratefully returned. Law huffs to himself and glowers at the sight of the monster dildo that Rosie is gazing at longingly with her 2D plastic eyes. Talk about a lack of hygiene! Did Sanji expect Law to touch the dildo after it had been up in his ass? Please! Law curls his lip in disgust and steps back. If Sanji had wished to annoy him, though, Sanji could have at least set up the scene a little better? Put in some effort and arrange the doll on Lawâs bed in a suggestive pose? With the monster dildo in one of her holes?
Law lets out a dramatic sigh and sinks down onto his bed. He stares at Rosie the sex doll and scrutinises her assets or lack thereof.
Now, that was a lot of cash Law blew out of goodwill to make Sanji happier. How dare Sanji return it? What was wrong with Rosie? Did Sanji hate blondes? Or were her orifices too large to accommodate his girth nicely? Did Rosie make Sanji feel insecure? Was the monster dildo too small? Did Sanji not like the design?
Goodness gracious, Sanji is, without a doubt, the most difficult person Law has ever met. Law had tried time and time, many times, to get Sanji to answer his questions, to learn more about Sanji, besides that Sanji could cook very well. But Sanji remained tight-lipped throughout it all. A spy would have been more forthcoming with information than Sanji the tight-lipped tight-ass, for real! Why couldnât Sanji just answer his questions? Law truly wished to know what Sanji felt about waking with breasts on his chest. It weighed on Lawâs mind day and night. And what did Sanji think about women with cowsâ udders? Bizarre questions they were, but in the future, cowâs udders might become a thing. Scientific research and development could be incredible like that. Perhaps, for women with breast cancer or men who wish to have breasts, cowâs udders could be a possible alternative option.
Mostly, Law did want to know more about Sanji but he couldnât find it in himself to ask normal, ordinary questions because those sounded like Law actually wanted to become friends. And no, he could not risk that. Law needed to keep up his asshole act and thus, he would persist in bombarding Sanji with the most asinine and ridiculous questions his brain could think up. Already, Law had a tremendously long list he wished to spring on Sanji soon when Sanji least expected it. But firstâŠ
Law stomps to Sanjiâs room and bangs open the door without knocking or calling out to announce his presence beforehand.
âYou fucked her and then you dumped her to me?â Law crosses his arms to look more menacing. âExcuse me. I will not take your exes and your discards. First, you cheat on granny with Rosie, and now, sheâs useless to you, all because her mouth is too big?â Law feigns utter disappointment in Sanjiâs life choices.
âYou donât return presents,â Law continues. âMaybe I shouldâve given them to granny instead, you ungrateful bastard. So, what should I do with Rosie and the toy?â Law taps his fingers on his arm in a moment of thought.
âYou should take them to the old-age home,â Law suggests, deadpan. âI like to do some charity from time to time since you sin enough for the both of us and we gotta repent somehow. Go get the dildo off my desk now, I am very busy and have a lot of work to finish.â Of course, Law doubts Sanji would take the toys back, but he had to say something.
It was not even that late but everyone had already retired to bed save for Ace, Sanji and Zoro. Since the swordman was on watching duties, though, Luffyâs brother and cook were alone in the kitchen.
Seeing the insane pile of dishes waiting to be washed, dried and put away, and being polite, Ace offered the cook his help. Sanji dismissed it, not finding it fair that the guest should clean for the residents while they had a nice rest or post-dinner leisure in the rooms of their choice. With an exhausted and brave face, he tied his apron around the waist once again and lit a motvational cigarette.
âCâmon, weâll be done faster if I helpâ
There was no way to argue against that fact. Sanji let down his guard and with a tired but grateful smile muttered âthank youâ between his teeth. The pair of them divided chores, Sanji doing the washing, Ace the drying and both storing the wares away according to the instructions of the master of the kitchen.
Like Ace had very wisely said, they got the work done in half the time it would take Sanji to do everything all by himself. They were free now and the night was still young.
Sanji wanted to thank Ace with more than two barely audible words, though, and considered getting a skillet out to make sweet crĂȘpes with ice cream before a better idea occurred to him.
âNot even the Marimo knows of thisâ he said while opening a cupboard and rummaging inside for something that must be rather well hidden and alcoholic in nature, if a reference to Zoro was needed.
âYou donât have to keep the act around me, you know?â
âHmm?â Sanji didnât really get it at first but it didnât take him long to understand what Ace was suggesting. âItâs my autopilot.â
Finally he found what he wanted and grabbed a bottle of wine out of the cupboard. There was a fancy label glued to it and its name was also fancy-sounding when Sanji said it out loud, not without a dreamy quality to his voice: this one bottle must be properly savoured by those whose taste buds could manage, which was why it was crucial for Zoro not to know of its existence - the bastard would rather drink it right out of the glass mouth than have it served on a  glass in celebration of a special moment like it deserved.
âFrom the South Blueâ The bottle was given to Ace for him to analyse the label while Sanji fetched them a couple of red wine glasses.
From the South Blue⊠Not from Baterilla but from some other island where vineyards were of economic importance. It still made Ace wonder⊠how close or how far could this island be from Baterilla? And that, of course, made him think of his birthplace and feel bad about not having yet paid it a visit.
âYou donât like wine?â The glasses clinked when Sanji placed them down on the table in front of them but it was the polite worry of someone who knows somethingâs wrong and doesnât wish to put a toe out of line in Sanjiâs voice that got Aceâs attention. The cook was smart and sensitive - two traits that made it very hard for lies to go unnoticed.
âYeah, I doâ It was not Aceâs favourite thing but if that meant having a good time with the cook, why not?
The two of them consumed the wine as it mainly should be, slowly and accompanied by a nice talk, though it probably deserved a cheese board for the tĂȘte-Ă -tĂȘte as well. It didnât make much sense now and, the chef figured, it wasnât that important. Unlike Ace, he already had to divide his mouth between the two pleasures, drinking and smoking.
Ace had always understood the cook to be a good listener and overall a pleasant person to chat with but he was surprised at how easy it was to talk to Sanji, the wine that loosened the tongue as it slipped inside the mouth and down the throat having nothing to do with it.
After a good while punctuated by more than a glass and more than a cigarette, Ace confessed to Sanji the thoughts seeing that bottle of wine had stirred in him, though there was much about the childhood heâd had and the one that life had taken from him he did not want to reveal to anyone, not even to the attractive and pleasant cook.
Sanji probably felt something similar about Ace, for he returned the otherâs memories with some of his own while keeping himself protected in the same fashion, not blurting everything out. Though nothing too revealing, too spoiling was spoken out loud, the two men silently agreed they understood each other.
Fortunately, there were happier topics to talk about. Sanji wanted to know if Luffy had always been âlike thisâ, as he knew him, and that caused Ace to tell him of some ridiculous stories of their pre-teenage years, as going even further back in time might prove a painful matter if Ace had to explain the present company all about Sabo.
He did not know whether Luffy had ever talked to his crew about Sabo but, judging from the fact no one knew of his fiery brother before meeting him in Alabasta, he figured not. Even if Luffy had dropped Saboâs name here or there, he wouldnât have told the story properly and quickly moved to whatever thing was currently stimulating his brain.
Sanji laughed so hard he had to hold his belly in place and Ace smiled at how lovely the cook was. Sanji really was a special guy and Ace already admired him a lot for surviving a troubled past - even without the cook being too transparent about it, Whitebeardâs Commander just knew better than what the other didnât say. It was that kind of understanding two children of misfortune have, even if they canât say how or why.
âShitâ The cook complained at his lighter refusing to perform its sole task.Â
âAllow meâ, said the only man on board who could easily fix this.
Rubbing his thumb against his index finger as though in possession of a lighter, the skin acting as the spark wheel, a flame flickered above Aceâs indexâs knuckle.
Sanji leaned in, his face closer to Aceâs than it had ever been even if the angle was far from ideal, and in that moment Ace saw how handsome the cook truly was as though he hadnât realized it before, which indeed he had.
His coal eyes quickly searched for those lips, made prominent thanks to the cigarette between them and his cheeks found themselves a bit more saturated as he wondered how they would feel on his own.
More words and more wine. Now they really were misusing the drink, as the bottle was pretty much empty when it shouldnât have served more than two glasses each. This was not how civilized people should consume such an exquisite beverage, yet Sanji didnât seem to mind - his cheeks were pink like Aceâs but, though his speech was coherent and not slurry, his reason must be of a different nature. Ace figured the cook was not too used to alcohol or guessed he was but not in this quantity.
When Sanji needed help from his human lighter again, Ace provided him with fire all the same but, this time, the cook didnât return to his initial position, seated with crossed legs and an arm over the back of the sofa, wining and lounging. This time, he kept himself close.
âDamn, those are some nice lips youâve got thereâ
To Aceâs surprise, the comment came not from the voice in his head but from a voice that was not his own, though those were more or less the precise words going on in his head.
It had been Sanji. It was Sanji, looking a mix of inebriated with hot and bothered. So much it was hard to tell to what point he was in control of his tongue - or of his mind. Did he really mean what he said?
It was with great titillation that Ace saw Sanji scoot closer, support both hands on either side of him, lean himself over Ace and straddling him at last, his weight too close to Aceâs groin, not enough to hurt him but enough for him to feel a bit more aroused even if no external sign showed it.
Answering Aceâs silence, the cook added another nerve-wrecking remark. âIâd sure like to try themâ
Then do. Ace half-expected Sanji to kiss him and fully wanted him to do so. Hell, any minute now and he might be taking the chance himself, and should things escalate even more, then let them. No regrets.
There were two strong smells about Sanjiâs breath, none of them particularly pleasant. But while Ace would have ignored the everyday one, he could not do the same with that heavy alcoholic scent.
Sanjiâs conscience was clouded and Ace, who in the lonely nights would have the word âmonsterâ whispered at himself, was still above taking advantage of anyone not in possession of themselves.
âI think you should go to bed nowâ
The clouded Sanji must have thought his words meant something else, a âweâ rather than a âyouâ because he smiled and got closer, decided to kiss Ace as heâd threatened. Thankfully for both, that was when Sanji blacked out, head hitting against Aceâs chest and the butt of his cigarette uncapable of hurting a man made of fire.
With a sigh that was as loaded with relief as with the frustration of Sanjiâs actions not being sincere as he would have liked, Ace embraced Sanji so as to get up and hoist the poor cook over his shoulder, a bit like he were a bag of flour.
The plan was to put Sanji in his cot and pretend nothing had happened, Sanjiâs gentlemanly honour not needing to be soiled by an episode of being drunk and horny that had ended very harmlessly.
As such, he had not expected to find Zoro out and about, maybe on his way to the bathroom or the bedroom if his watch was done. The swordsman didnât say a word but eyed both men - the standing one and the idle one - with suspicion.Â
To his horror, Ace joked about how tired the cook was and transferred him to Zoroâs arms. The swordsman panicked and told Ace to go do a nasty thing with himself but still didnât let Sanji fall to the floor.
Ace just ignored the string of profanity from Zoroâs mouth. âYou take good care of himâ
Watching Ace walk away, Zoro had the feeling Luffyâs brotherâs words were not limited to this night and not too friendly, either.
send me the sitting/straddling meme // quick answers or drabbles // accepting
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Unlike some, Sanji knew how to deliver, though in an entirely different way and league. Kitchen work was absorbing work, an activity which demanded attention from each and every of the five senses.Â
Yet, Sanji did not claim to be busy and asked her to leave the kitchen or to feel free to find herself a seat and remain quiet. Rather, he put his own work in second place for a bit, for Morganâs sake - it was something that seemed so small and harmless to any person but which constituted a big distraction for a chef. Morganâs invasion - a polite one, but an invasion of space and timestill - might cost the cook his precious work.Â
Sanji knew this risk was real and still gave Morgan his attention. As expected, he said that yes, she was attractive. Words that might sound fake or forced when coming out of any other personâs mouth, as it was obvious this was exactly the opinion the lady was hoping to hear - but not from Sanjiâs. Through his lips, those fine ones permanently holding a cigarette between them, the statement was as true as it could be, as though the Lord spoke through him.
Morgan smiled in a fashion as shy as her introduction for this conversation had been and then sucked her teeth at being asked the reason for this doubt.
Morgan felt it was not Sanjiâs place to ask, even when sheâd been the one to bring it up. On one hand, it was not like he was entitled to learning of something private of Morganâs. On the other, she could use a talk with a man she trusted and there was no better person for it that the cook - exactly why sheâd searched for him in the first place.
âNot quiteâ No, she could not say sheâd been insulted, it was more like... She could not stop herself from being upset. Maybe she was imagining things, making a problem of something that was not there. But even a fuss over nothing is valid when it means far from naught to one who lives it.
How could Morgan explain this situation without being too revealing? Secrecy was in order, not just for herself, but to protect the identity of the man who was causing her grief. He deserved it; he was not cruel to her.
âThere is this... gentleman Iâve been socialising withâ The key part of the word was âmanâ - âgentleâ? Not so much.  âI do think, know, he does not find me repulsive. At all. We flirt a bit... but then...âÂ
Aya was, thankfully, on the ship when Sanji asked for her. She was gathering up clothing and other necessities for the week she would be spending at her new temporary husbandâs castle. Her coworkers had asked what was going on, but it was difficult to explain, so sheâd told them she was staying off-ship for the week and to please leave it at that.
Thankfully none questioned the sudden appearance of a gold ring on her finger.
Sheâd just finished packing her suitcase when one of her crewmates told her Sanji was on deck, wanting to talk to her, and that he looked like heâd been through hell. This instantly worried Aya - what could be going on to make Sanji loose him composer?
So, leaving her suitcase in her room, Aya quickly ran up the stairs and out onto the deck to find Sanji, and he definitely looked like something was eating him up inside.
At first she was happy to see him - she didnât get to see the man she considered brother as much as she like most of the time - but it quickly turned to worry. âSanji! What, um, whatâre you doing here? Is something wrong?â She asked as she walked up to him, eyes searching his face for any clue. Had something bad happened? Was there a falling out between him and Marimo? Or was it something else, something worse?
it was not easy to define the way in which Sanji entered the bathroom while Ace was taking a bath. On one hand, the cook was decided to go about his business by the sink, not paying attention to Luffyâs brother as though this kind of breach in privacy was a normal occurrence. Indeed it was for both Ace and Sanji, only with their respective crews and not with each other. On the other, the gentleman in him still had the decency to act classy about it.
Resting his arm on the tubâs rim, Ace eyed Sanji go near the sink and a pout formed on his lips when he understood the cook had not entered the bathroom as part of a catering service. It was very disappointing.
âWhat?! No snacks?!âÂ
Sanji neednât even bring the sort of stuff they served at fancy places, strawberries and champagne... A nice sandwich would do just fine. There was nothing wrong with a bath sandwich...
