😳

Went on an OMG Sanji bender this weekend - one request posted, another on the way!

Sanji x GN!Reader

Warnings: Middle school party games, friend group shenanigans, obliviousness and miscommunication to comedic effect…and also dirty talk, semi-public sex, light dom/sub dynamics, handjobs, and a rookie author’s first attempt at smut. (Plz bear with me - if I forgot to list any warnings, please kindly lmk).

Summary: A party game ‘round a campfire stirs up some stray feelings. But, contrary to all you hopes and expectations, things don’t go at all according to plan—Sanji, flirtatious, hopeless, lovey-dovey Sanji - does absolutely nothing. From there, everything just snowballs: you try everything, half the crew is in on it, and he’s still clueless. In that case, it seems your beloved cook has left with no choice. The time has come, to take matters…into your own hands.

⸻

The fire crackled.

Luffy had eaten three helpings of marshmallows and declared the night a crew-wide game night, which was already a bad idea. But then Nami added rum, and Usopp dared Chopper to dance, and now there was a bottle on the ground.

Spinning. Mocking.

You sat cross-legged across from Sanji, trying not to think about how he’d spent the last twenty minutes flirting with Robin, Nami, and you in perfect, predictable rotation. He was all fluttering lashes and “my sweet,” like always.

And you? You were so goddamn over it.

The bottle spun. It pointed to you.

Then it spun again. It landed on—

Zoro.

You heard Sanji choke.

You raised a brow at the swordsman. Zoro blinked at you, expression unreadable, but you caught the flicker of recognition in his eye—the IOU. The deal. The plan.

He leaned in—and you kissed him.

One Mississippi….

Two Mississippi….

Three—

You pulled back with a smirk. Zoro wiped his mouth like it was no big deal, though you caught the way his ears turned a little red.

Sanji, on the other hand, was short-circuiting.

“What in the seven seas was that?” he shrieked.

You looked at him lazily. “A kiss. That’s what the game is, right?”

“With him?!”

Zoro smirked. “She’s got taste, eyebrow.”

“You shut your mossy face!”

The crew cackled. Brook played a rimshot on a tin cup. Even Robin smiled behind her book.

But you were watching Sanji. The way his jaw clenched. The way he wouldn’t look directly at you now.

And that’s when you realized—He wasn’t mad you kissed Zoro.

He was mad you didn’t kiss him.

⸻

It started the next morning.

You expected… something. A flirty joke. A dramatic soliloquy. Hell, even a fainting spell.

Instead?

Sanji made you breakfast. Exactly the same as he made everyone else’s. Smiled. Bowed. Flirted with Nami instead.

You stared at your plate as if it had personally betrayed you.

⸻

Two days later, the situation had escalated to emergency levels of frustration.

Sanji wasn’t avoiding you. He was being normal—and it was infuriating.

So, naturally, you built a team.

Nami listened to your rant, sipped her tea, and said, “So we’re poking the chef with a stick until he breaks? Count me in.”

Usopp was bribed with snacks.

Robin simply offered an amused, “I do enjoy romance disasters.”

Zoro…took the most work.

You found him training on deck and gave it to him straight. “You still owe me from the campfire,” you said. “Time to cash in.”

Zoro narrowed his eyes. “You want me to flirt with you in front of curly-brow?”

You smirked. “Not flirt. Just… play along. A look here, a little shoulder touch there.”

Zoro looked pained. “Disgusting.”

“Sanji’ll implode.”

“…Fine.”

⸻

Phase One: Mild Jealousy.

A casual lean on Zoro’s shoulder at dinner. A slow drag of your hand down his arm after a sparring match. A lingering glance across the galley.

Sanji spilled flour. Twice.

Nami clocked it. “He’s cracking.”

⸻

Phase Two: The Hint.

Luffy, bless him, was recruited for one line only.

You planted it during a lazy evening while Sanji was chopping onions, pretending not to listen.

Luffy—swinging in a hammock out on the deck—hollered after him: “Hey! Sanji! Did you know our swabbie likes you?”

Sanji froze. From outside the chef’s purview, you vehemently gestured to Luffy ‘keep going-!’

“…As in… likes-likes you!”

A pause. Sanji didn’t look up. Didn’t so much as poke his head out the galley window. “Shut up, Luffy,” he called back. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You nearly screamed.

⸻

Phase Three: The Breakdown

You stormed into the galley late that night under the pretense of cleaning up. The galley was warm. Not from the oven—though something half-baked still sat forgotten on the middle rack—but from the tension pulling tight between the two people alone in this room, you and Sanji, thick as honey and just as resistant to let go.

Sanji, of course, was already there. Was likely he’d been there all evening, even after supper—sleeves rolled, flour-dusted, half-cursing the stubborn dough that ‘wouldn’t cook right’. But of course, he was gonna try to spruce it up anyway. After all the flour spilled over the past week, he wouldn’t have the chance to get more till y’all reached the next island.

You brushed past him. He tensed.

You leaned in, hip against the counter, grabbed a spoon, and tasted a smear of frosting off his finger.

He went rigid.

“You’re a damn coward,” you said flatly.

He blinked. “I—I beg your pardon—?”

You stepped closer. “I kissed Zoro because I knew it’d piss you off. I got Luffy to shout it because I wanted you to know. I’ve had a thing for you forever, Sanji, and all you’ve done is pretend not to see it.”

He stared at you. Jaw slack. Flour in his hair.

“I…” he stammered. “You—like me? Wha—really?”

You grabbed his tie. Pulled him close. Whispered against his mouth: “I’m about to show you how much.”

He stood in front of you, apron still on, fingertips sticky with frosting, breathing shallow.

You hadn’t let go of his tie.

He was blinking down at you like you’d just spoken in tongues, heart thudding so loudly in his chest you could see the pulse in his throat.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered, breath shaking. “You—you’ve seen me. You know how I act. I’m—”

“You’re you,” you said. “And I’ve been watching, too. I’ve seen you flirt with everyone but never really touch anyone.”

His mouth opened. Closed.

You stepped forward.

He stepped back—until his back hit the galley counter.

You followed.

“You look at me like I’m art and treat me like glass, and Sanji—” your voice dropped to a murmur, “—I don’t want to be glass with you.”

Your hands moved to his waist. His chest heaved under your touch.

“I want to crack that polished mask. I want you to feel.”

Sanji swallowed hard. “I feel everything with you.”

“Then stop pretending you don’t.” You reached between you. Took his frosting-covered finger in hand…brought it to your lips…and sucked it clean.

Sanji groaned. Actually, physically groaned. His knees wobbled.

You smiled against his finger. “Not frosting,” you said sweetly.

“I—mon dieu—”

You cut him off with a kiss. It wasn’t soft—it was claiming. Your mouth took his with a slow, deliberate press, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw as he froze—then melted. His arms hovered in the air, unsure where to go, unsure if he was allowed.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips: “Touch me, Sanji.”

He shuddered.

His hands landed on your hips like gravity had finally won, and you felt the whimper he tried to swallow the moment his palms met skin under your shirt.

“You’re not humoring me?” he breathed.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. His cheek. His neck. “No.”

“You actually—you want me? Like this?”

You kissed his throat where it pulsed. “Every version of you.”

He looked like he was about to cry. “I’ve wanted to be wanted like this for so long,” he whispered. “I just didn’t think I’d ever—you—”

You kissed him again. This time, slow. So slow it burned.

His hands tightened. His breath turned ragged. “I’ll do anything,” he said hoarsely. “Whatever you want. I’ll let you take the lead—just don’t stop kissing me.”

You nudged his legs apart. Pressed your thigh between them.

He whimpered.

Something in your chest trilled - and gods, if that wasn’t an addictive sound-! Your hand slid to his belt. He tensed—but didn’t stop you.

He was hard already—aching. And he kept his hands behind his back, like he needed permission to want this too much.

“Please,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”

You pressed your mouth to his ear. “I want you,” you whispered. “Flushed. Breathless. Making noises no one else ever gets to hear.”

His breath hitched hard.

And when you wrapped your hand around him and he bucked into your palm, moaning your name like a prayer—he finally believed it. You wanted him. Not the act. Not the mask. Him.

Sanji was shaking.

Not because of your hand on him—though gods, the heat of your palm, the confident claiming of it, had him clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

No, he was shaking because this wasn’t some fantasy. This was you.

You, who called him out when he hid behind dramatics. You, who made him laugh when he thought he was too tired to smile. You, who tasted his frosting like it meant something.

And now your lips were brushing his jaw, murmuring things into his skin that no one had ever dared say to him before. Things like:

“I want you ruined for anyone else.”

“You’re beautiful when you beg.”

“You deserve to be adored.”

He whimpered.

Your hand didn’t move yet. You kept it there—firm and present, but still. He was so hard, it hurt. But he didn’t rush you. He couldn’t.

Not when your free hand curled behind his neck and stroked his hair with the kind of reverence he’d only ever dreamed about.

“You really thought I didn’t mean it,” you said softly.

“I didn’t know how to believe it,” he confessed.

His eyes were glassy now, his breath coming in short, shallow huffs, and it hit you just how deep this went for him. —How long he’d been waiting for something like this. How many times he’d given his affection away like candy… and never been offered anything real in return.

Until now.

Until you.

“I’m going to take my time with you,” you said against his throat. “I’m going to make you say thank you when I let you come. And you’re going to mean it.”

His whole body shuddered. And the only thing he could say, in the softest, most broken voice was:

“Please.”

A plea. A prayer. A surrender.

“Please,” he whispered again, and it was barely that.

You smiled against the shell of his ear. Not cruel. Not smug. Just… sure. “Say it again.”

Sanji whimpered—actual, desperate whimpering, the kind that made his thighs tense and his grip on the counter tremble. “Please… let me come. I can’t—mon dieu, I can’t—”

“You can,” you murmured, dragging your hand down his length slow, until his knees buckled and he gasped like he’d been punched. “But not until I say so.”

He dropped his forehead to your shoulder. His whole body was radiating tension—like one wrong breath would shatter him. But he didn’t beg again…not yet.

He waited.

And gods, that alone made you ache.

Your grip shifted. Tighter now. Rhythm steady. Pressure perfect. You stroked him with a precision that bordered on cruel—not fast, not enough, but just enough to keep him buzzing, coiled, teetering on the precipice.

Sanji was panting. Moaning into your skin. Eyes clenched shut, hips barely twitching in your hand like he was fighting his whole instinct not to thrust.

“Good boy,” you whispered.

He made a noise at that—sharp, high, desperate.

Your thumb slid over the head of his cock, slick and flushed and pulsing, and he choked on a sob.

“I c-can’t—please—please—”

You kissed him. Softly. Deeply. And then, finally:

“Come for me, baby.”

He came like he’d been set on fire.

With a cry that was almost your name and a stuttering breathless moan, Sanji spilled into your hand—his whole body jolting, hips jerking against you as his knees gave out. He would’ve collapsed if you hadn’t caught him.

You held him. Kissed his forehead. Let him ride it out.

And when his breath finally slowed, and he blinked up at you, wrecked and shining and dazed, you whispered one more thing:

“Now say thank you.”

He shuddered. Grinned, a little crooked. Then leaned in and murmured, “Thank you.” And kissed you like it was a promise.

Author’s Note: AY! Fellow Supernatural fan! —Thank you so much for such a fun request. I hope you can forgive the delay. I had a hell of a time writing this - there’s so many country songs I love it kept changing my mind about which one I wanted to include here. Either way - I hope you enjoy!

Jukebox Superstar

Sanji x F!Reader

Warnings: Suspension of disbelief, Carrie Underwood lyrics, crack concept taken adorably seriously.

Summary:

On afternoons like this one, most of the crew is scattered aboard the Thousand Sunny. Usopp and Luffy are off doing something loud, Zoro is off napping somewhere. Sanji, for his part, was prepping a light lunch in the galley, humming a tune under his breath. Out the galley window, he could see your sundress silhouette hanging laundry up near the clothesline on deck.

Sanji hears it faintly at first. A slow, honeyed melody drifting in on the breeze.

He pauses in the middle of slicing tomatoes.

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive…”

The knife stills in his hand.

That voice—your voice—is twangy, rich, and full of unfiltered emotion. He’s never heard you sing before. He definitely didn’t expect to hear you covering Carrie Underwood.

“Carved my name into his leather seats…”

He forgets completely about the tomatoes, wiping his hands and making his way to the door of the galley like a man possessed. He peeks around the corner and finds you, hanging up a towel, swaying a little, completely unaware that anyone’s listening.

Your voice swells with the chorus, unapologetic and full of fire. You even throw in a little hip movement, clearly caught up in the performance.

“Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats…”

Sanji blinks. Once. Twice. His brain is short-circuiting.

On the one hand: you, radiant in the afternoon light, voice smooth as Tennessee whiskey, singing your heart out.

On the other hand: country music.

You finish the chorus and start humming into the next verse before you catch him watching.

You freeze. “Sanji!”

He throws up his hands, flustered and guilty like he walked in on something intimate. “Merde—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop! I was just—you can sing? And you sing country?”

You squint at him. “Is that a problem?”

His expression melts into soft disbelief. “No, no! Not at all. I just—of all the genres, I thought you’d go for something… I don’t know, sultry. Maybe soul. Not… twang and heartbreak and whiskey.”

You snort. “First of all, I’ll have you know heartbreak and whiskey are a timeless combo. Second—soul and country aren’t that different if you’re paying attention.”

He steps closer, slowly, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. “Mon amour… you’re full of surprises.”

You smirk, grabbing the towel basket. “Wait till you hear my Dolly Parton impression.”

Love how you wrote Sanji. Was wondering if you could write a sorta scenario where he comes out as Bisexual to the reader that he’s in an established relationship with?

Basically some hurt/comfort for Sanji, cause god knows how much toxic masculinity you can fit in that brain.

Author’s Note: Hello friend! So sorry for the delay. I know this is long overdue, but I *LOVE* this idea and I hope I did it justice for you -Enjoy!

Safe Space

Sanji x GN!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, LGBTQ solidarity, all that lovely-sweet Hallmark shtick.

Summary: Sanji…has a confession to make. He just hoped you can keep your promise to love him when he does.

Late in the evening, the ship is quiet. Most of the crew is already asleep—except in the galley. The soft clinking of dishes and the hush of the sea fills the air. You’re perched on the counter, watching Sanji tidy up after supper.

Sanji dries his hands on a dish towel, his back turned to you longer than necessary. He’s quiet—too quiet for someone who usually can’t go more than ten seconds without a flirt or a flourish. His shoulders are tight, like he’s holding something in.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You okay?”

He flinches, just barely, and then exhales through his nose. When he finally turns to you, there’s something in his eyes that makes your chest tighten. He’s not wearing the usual mask—no grin, no lidded eyes, no teasing tone. Just… him.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, voice low.

You nod, hopping down and stepping closer. “Alright.”

He rubs the back of his neck, gaze darting to the floor. “This isn’t easy for me. I’ve tried to say it before, but it always got stuck.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I—I’m…I’m bisexual.”

You blink—processing not just the words, but the tension in his voice, the way he’s bracing for… something.

“I’ve known for a long time,” he says quickly, as if afraid to give you time to react. “But I—there’s this… idea people have about men like me. Flirty, ‘womanizer.’ They assume I’m faking it, or being greedy, or confused. And I didn’t want to be another punchline.”

He finally looks up, eyes glassy but defiant. “I didn’t want you to think that.”

You step into his space without hesitation, taking his hand in yours. “Sanji. I love you. All of you. That doesn’t change because of who else you’re capable of loving.”

His breath hitches.

You squeeze his hand gently. “You’re allowed to be complicated. You’re allowed to be. You don’t have to justify it, not to me. Not to anyone.”

He drops the dish towel, and his arms are around you in an instant, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. His voice is muffled in your shoulder.

“Thank you. God, I—thank you.”

You run your fingers through his hair, anchoring him there. “You’re safe with me, Sanji. Always.”

I loved the first part with sabo (you take your time to write the second part, I'm not here to pressure you or anything, just breathe)

I would just like a headcanons or scenario with the monster trio (especially Sanji-kun of love) where they discover and their reactions when female reader tells them that she is the daughter of a yonko...... Shanks, she is shanks daughter! (I know Luffy will be happy since he likes Shanks) but Zoro and Sanji don't know him! At least. Not personally. And I would like to know their reactions to the three of them. Thank you in advance if you accept 🥺

Hello my dear!

Thank you so much for your patience with the Sabo piece. It makes me so happy to hear you enjoyed the first part. I am about 1/2-way done with part three as we speak, but I want to get that ending *just* right, so it's gonna take a bit longer to finish & publish.

(And if you're interested, I could also do an interlude about Ace and Luffy's POV on that particular request; just DM and let me know ;)

Now, without further ado, I hope you enjoy these lovely reaction headcannons/scenarios - Enjoy! :)

***

What's in a Yonko-?

Monster Trio x Red-Hair F! Reader

Warnings: Slight!AU, mild-to-average swearing. The reader has a vague backstory.

Prologue:

You didn't know it then, but part of the reason Shanks stopped in the East Blue all those years ago was to check on you and your mother.

Unfortunately, your mother was not there to greet him - just you and a rambunctious monkey of a boy who proceeded to be your anchor in the storm.

Shanks could not be more grateful that his little girl had found a family there at Party's Bar. But the guilt of leaving you alone...of not being there when you lost your mother...the burden laid heavily on his chest, and he couldn't bring himself to tell you the truth.

Little did our red-haired captain know, but you still had fleeting memories of him. Memories of your father are like shards of glass in the back of your mind, waiting to catch the light. Unfortunately, those little shards of memory would not find the light for some time yet.

More than ten years after Shanks' 'vacation' in Fuschia Village - two years after Sabaody and Marineford and the shattered hearts that came after - you were sailing back to the Archipelago on your own.

It was at the request of your beloved captain that you'd waited this long. If you'd had it your way, you would have carved a path through hell to find him again by the end of those first 3 days. But once you read those headlines and saw Luffy's mourning face on that paper's front page, you couldn't even pick yourself up off the floor.

The sun had nearly set when you came across an island in the distance. With your newly-tuned Haki, you were able to notice a grassy outcropping. Jutting out in a sharp peninsula, you could see two clearly marked monuments at the point of those cliffs, enraptured by fresh flowers. The first monument was dressed in a great white coat like a scarecrow flapping in the wind. Fluttering from the second monument...was a bright orange relic you thought you'd never see again.

Without a second thought, you set course for that island. Barely bothering to moor your boat, you charged up that beach and scrambled for the cliffs as quickly as possible. Your rational mind protested the rush, but your heart was never one to listen. Ace was a part of your heart, just as he was a part of Luffy's. He was your friend, your partner in protecting his troublesome brother from danger. A shoulder to lean on after the death of Sabo.

First Sabo, now Ace...Were you and Luffy truly destined to be alone in the world?

No. You still had your crew. That's what you were going home to. But you had to see this through first. You had to say goodbye to the first family you'd found--one last time.

When you reached the precipice of that cliff, you expected to be alone. But no. What you saw instead had your feet screeching to a halt, startled-stiff in place with a shock you hadn't known since -since Sabo's death, Ace's death, your mother's death...

It was him.

As the sun fell into the sea, it painted the sky with vivid, vibrant watercolours like a bleeding wound across the sky. Crimson bleeding into amber and gold as it rippled with flashes of white on the tide. Silhouetted by all this light - was a familiar black coat.

The coat would have needed to be more on its own, however. The strange figure sitting in front of these memorials, sipping a bottle of sake with the breeze - you might not have known him if not for just that one shard of light. One last ray of sunlight caught crimson hair and set it ablaze.

Fire. Fire. Fire.

Suddenly, it was as if the whole world caught fire behind your eyes:

A pair of children, embers in the wind, slipping on wet sand, laughing at the waves roaring. ‘Hey, wait up!’ Luffy.

A blurry silhouette behind a crackling curtain of flames, a burning shove, a grating scream; ‘Don’t wait, GO!’ Ace.

A last whispered wish shared between a mother and daughter's glassy eyes: 'Set out to sea, my love. You're father's waiting for you...'

It's only then that the man seems to register your presence. His posture straightens, and he turns to look at you, brows furrowed. It appears to be a ready snarl. But at the sight of you, his threatening words falter.

"-Y/N?"

A man turns in the doorway, a smiling crescent moon; ‘Wait for me?’ The sun lights his hair on fire.

Fire. Fire. 

Father.

"Shanks-" the word is a gasp as if the breath had been kicked from your lungs.

"Wait, what are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be -?"

"It's you."

LUFFY

The moment the Red-Haired Pirates dropped you off at Sabaody, you fucking bolted for Shakky's Bar. Beckman already had the drop that Rayleigh would have brought him there first. 'Him', in this case, being Luffy. -And there was no way you would go another second without telling your best friend the good news.

"Luffy-!"

As it turned out, you were the last to arrive. The rest of the crew was gathered together, and all turned to stare at you as soon as you arrived. When the others clocked your presence, many rose from their seats, eager for a reunion embrace, but you forestalled them for the moment.

"Wait, guys, I swear this is important - Luffy-!"

"Y/N-mph?"

You found him chowing down on a ham leg the size of Brooke's afro. His eyes lit up the moment he saw you. Literally bouncing out of his bar stool to coil around you in a rubbery embrace.

"Y/N~! You're back! What took you so long~? I wanna go exploring-!"

Welcome Everyone, to my official One Piece Masterlist!

Every fic I've written, headcanon I've published, every ask or request I've answered related to One Piece will be listed here for your convenience. This list will first be categorized by character(s) and alphabetically from there.

If you have trouble accessing certain posts, if something is missing, or the links don't work as they should--please do not hesitate to let me know. I will work to resolve the problem as soon as possible.

Enjoy!

Yay!! My first ask! Thank you so much, Anon! I decided to write about the morning part of the day, if that’s okay. I’m setting this scenario after Water 7 and before Thriller Bark because I forgot about Brook & Jinbe. I hope you enjoy!

Italics = dialogue (including rudimentary French)

Bold Italics = Japanese (spelled out, idk kanji)

Gif by 1997onepiece

An Average Day

The day begins early. There’s a thread of light leaking under the door even before dawn. Peeking in, a familiar lanky-noodle of a man can be seen in rumpled clothes, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. The soft clatter of dishes can be heard as his hands shuffle about on autopilot. One fist lifting a pan from a cabinet. Another fidgeting with the silk knot of his tie. A wisp of smoke trails from the corner of his lip and out the porthole window.

Every color of dawn passes through the windows. Dusky grey as the seas and shadows of night give way to light. He readjusts the buttons on his shirt that he missed. Faded indigo grows bright as flares of sunlight scatter across the wide open sky. He settles the loop of his tie under his collared shirt. The knot sits right beneath his throat. By then, the world out the window is nothing but blue.

Freshly pressed and clean as a chef can be, ‘Black Leg’ Sanji sets to work. The sizzling of ingredients over an open flame is enough to draw a few groaning bed-heads and rumbling stomachs into the room. Most are aware enough to mumble a greeting, which the chef appreciates. A small smile tugs at the edge of his cigarette as he registers each voice.

“Good morning, Chef-san,” a sweet voice croons into the room.

The click of recognition in Sanji’s brain is enough to send his heart a-flutter. “Robin-chwan!” Steam erupts from his ears like grease in a hot pan. “What a wonder it is to see you this lovely morning!” he crows. Spinning around on a perfectly-polished heel, he serves his beloved crewmate on the pristine porcelain plate she so admired back in Water 7. “A breakfast sandwich for our lovely nightingale. Bon appetit, mon amie.”

Robin hides a darling chuckle behind a delicate hand. Sanji can feel his knees wanting to crumble under the rush of hearing her laughter. Sparkling joy rushes down his spine. But he quickly shakes himself. There are more meals to be made, after all. And many more crewmates to feed.

Just as the willowy blonde cook turns back to the stove, he hears the crisp clop-clop of hooves on the hardwood floor. “Bon-bonjou--” A bright, squeaky little yawn follows the groaning of the kitchen door. “Bon morning, Sanji~”

The older cook chuckles to himself. “Très bonjour, Chopper,” He says, passing him a little wrapped package from the pantry. “This chocolate has some nuts in it, that okay?” The little reindeer gives a sleepy nod before wandering to sit next to the elegant Robin. Sanji smiles a little, gnawing on his cigarette.

All-too-soon, that chain-smoking cook hears the all-too familiar stomps of boots. The tinkling of scabbards like wind chimes rambles closer and closer until a bulky black shadow stands in the doorway. Sanji grits his teeth, nearly sawing his smoke in half. “Marimo.”

“Curly brow.”

“Go sit down.” The chef ground out. “Your food’s almost ready.”

“I think I’ll just stand here, actually.”

Sanji whirls around towards the swordsman. “You trying to piss me off, moss-hea—“

“Morning, Sanji-kun!”

Suddenly it was as if the clouds parted and the heavens opened up before him. But even the clouds of Skypiea could have hosted such a gorgeous angel. Sanji’s spinning feet nearly collapse underneath him. He pushes himself off the counter, eager to greet the darling of the Strawhat crew.

“Ah, Nami-swan!” He smiles, his heart singing at the sight of her. “What a blinding vision you are, a gift from the sea goddess herself!” He takes her hand in his, as if inviting her to dance. Her fiery sunset hair flares in the early morning light. Her warmth amber eyes dance with flattered mirth. The softness of her hand against his calloused palm has Sanji’s pulse fluttering in his ears. He leads her gracefully to the table, where she’s seated with fresh squeezed orange juice and a bowl of equally-Colorful fruit salad. “Profiter, belle mademoiselle.”

“Merci beaucoup, Sanji-kun!”

If it weren’t for the brooding Marimo glaring a variety of blades into his back, Sanji may have just fainted on the spot. However, determined to maintain his composure, he simply lifted a bento from the table and showed it to the man over his shoulder. “I told you to sit down, Moss-head. You forget where your spot was?”

Zoro grunted. Marching up to the table he swiped the bento from Sanji’s grip and dropped himself down on the dining room bench. The chef huffed. Ungrateful brute. And a messy one at that. Within a moment of sitting down, he has rice grains stuck to his cheeks and chin. Sanji rolled his eyes and returned to work. At least Zoro was enjoying the meal. That was all a good cook could ask for.

“urgh-guh-morning...” the rambling natter of a long-nosed sniper sounds almost gravely at such an early hour. Sanji can hear the soft scritch-scratch of the young man ruffling his mop of unruly curls.

“Mornin’ Long-nose,” he greets the younger man. He thinks he might hear a grumble of protest from the rumpled boy. Sanji chuffs to himself. Wordlessly, he passes Ussop a seafood omelette and a bottle of tabasco on his shuffle to the table. After a moment of hushed tapping, ceramic and silverware and murmurs of morning voices—Sanji blinks. He turns to the sniper once more. “Where’s Franky?”

“Bulled in all-Nighteye in da-shop again,” Ussop slurs. “He’s passed out. Da-sided to let’em sleep this time.”

The chef absorbs this information with a thoughtful nod. He knows there’s another bento box in the cabinet somewhere. He just needs to find one to fit Franky’s appetite. The shop is his anchoring place. Sanji will take the shipwright’s meal down there before washing up. Everybody gets messy in that place.

Speaking of appetite—“SANJI~!!”

Everybody looked up. The cook turned and braced for impact. Sure enough—THWAP! The rubbery captain smacked into him with all the force of a Marine cannonball. Sanji heaved, but managed to stand his ground. All the while, Luffy was chanting.

“Oi, Sanji! I smell food, you got food? I smell meat, do you have meat? I love meat, ‘specially meat on the bone. You got any of that, Sanji?!”

“You bet your ass I do,” Sanji retorted. Pulling open the SUPER deluxe oven Franky made last week, the chef reveals his culinary masterpiece. Three dinosaur-sized legs of meat, with a cleaned bone on one side, just like his captain liked it.

He’d had to let them marinade overnight just to make sure he didn’t make the rubber-twerp sick with undercooked meat. He wasn’t sure the impulsive freak could get sick. But he didn’t want to be the one to test that theory. Franky had to assure him many times over that the oven wouldn’t catch fire if left in attended. Just looking at the finished product, Sanji could feel his tired bones sag with relief.

Luffy had all three ‘meat sticks’ in hand in the blink of an eye. Sanji turned and growled at him. “Go sit and eat at the table, you rubber animal!”

“Course I will, Sanji. I’ll always eat what you cook!” Luffy replies with a beaming grin.

“That’s not what I—”

“Hey Ussop! I got more meat than you!”

“Of course you did, Luffy, you’re a freak of nature.”

“I think you mean force of nature—“ Nami-san commented dryly.

And so their chatter continued. Every voice overlapping and rising in a joyful noise unlike Sanji had ever heard before. Even when he sailed on the Orbit, or with the fighting cooks on the Baratie. The next time he blinked, that thrice-blasted swordsman was in front of him again. Empty bento in hand, mossy green hair mussed in all directions—the stoic fool eyed him with a level stare. Sanji was just about to bark an insult at him when...Zoro’s sash brushed past his arm. He walked just close enough so Sanji could hear:

“Itadaki—merci, Ero-cook. You did good.”

Where little embers of embarrassment were glowing on the swordsman’s ears, Sanji’s face caught fire. He stomped out his cigarette. Then quickly lit another. One deep breath. A plume of smoke follows his exhale like a sleeping dragon.

Summoned for what?