Luffy 

Your captain has no clue what day he lives in, much less that Valentine’s is coming, but thankfully, he’s got Sanji for that. 

So, when the day comes, he’s shoved into your room with a box of chocolates, a bouquet of flowers and the threat that if he dares eat any of the chocolates, the cook will shove his foot so far up inside his ass it will come out of his mouth. 

Sanji still can’t believe you decided to give your heart and soul to that monkey (he swears he loves his captain) 

You spend the evening in your room. Hearing him rant about anything and anything, laugh at his own jokes and play a guessing game only he can understand. 

In many ways, Luffy is a simple man and that brings you comfort. There are no hidden intentions, no mixed feelings or miscommunications. His love is clear and honest. Luffy just is. 

Which is why the words that come out of his mouth do not surprise you. 

“If I finger you, can I finish the rest of the candy?” 

No need to ask. 

Luffy might be oblivious to most things, but he knows you. And he knows exactly how you like it. Two of his fingers explore your insides like a map, massaging your walls and pressing against the places that make your toes curl. His lips suck on your tits, tongue running on top of them, his saliva making your skin shine. 

“Luffy...” You whine, grabbing onto the pillow with one hand and palming his cock over his shorts with the other one. He’s rock hard but seems to be in no rush to fuck you, content with the taste of your skin on his tongue. 

He hums against your skin before pulling away, a thread of spit connecting your nipple to his lips. He looks around, looking for something on the bed, but his fingers don’t stop for a second, his middle and index moving in a “come hither” motion while his thumb toys with your clit, “there they are!” He’s quick to grab the box of chocolates and open it up with his free hand.  

Food and sex together aren’t a weird concept in your relationship, so you pay no mind to it. That is, until he’s biting on a jam-filled candy and letting some of its filling fall on one of your nipples. Your eyebrows furrow, and your mouth opens in a gasp when he sucks it off you. 

“You make them taste even better, sweets”, he says more to himself, but you can see that the sweet treat has done something to him. His eyes are now half lidded, his mouth dribbles even more, and his pace grows harder. 

“Luffy! Fuck just like that!” You push your tits closer to his mouth. 

He continues the action again and again until the entire box is empty and you’re blissed out from the pleasure. It’s then that he says, 

“Now, I’m craving something else.” He licks the remains of the sugar off his lips and pulls down his shorts; his cock slaps against his abdomen. 

“That candy was great, Sanji! Thanks!” The younger man says as he pats his cook on the back. 

“Sure,” Sanji answered, defeated. No anger or energy left as he knows it was his fault Luffy got laid last night... fucking lucky monkey. 

Zoro 

Marimo is dumb when it comes to a lot of things. Directions, for example. But when it comes to you, one or two gears work in his brain. 

“You don’t have to remind me, twirly brows.” He says as he does crunches. 

“We don’t?” For once, Sanji is pleasantly surprised by the mosshead. 

“I’ve already got covered.” 

Nami doesn’t buy it. She narrows her eyes as she asks, “What did you get her?” 

“There was this fine liquor store at the last isla...” A punch landed on his head before he could finish. 

“I fucking knew it!” 

He isn’t that stupid... It’s just that alcohol clouds his thinking. 

Sanji and Nami have to punch him and get him back to his right senses, but in the end, it all works out. 

Rice balls, your favourite dessert, and, of course, sake. All while looking at the stars from the crow’s nest. You lean on his chest while he hugs you from behind. No words are needed; his touch and love are all you need. 

It isn’t until you feel his lips travelling down your neck, sucking on the skin, that you remember that drunk Zoro tends to be more handsy than sober Zoro. 

Your face is squished against the cold wood, your hands barely able to keep you in place, but that’s the last thing on your mind. His thrusts are brutal, unforgiving. Your juices spill down your cunt and his cock and land on the floor. Screams and cries of pleasure fall from the window, alerting the crew and any other ships near you. And Zoro couldn’t feel any prouder. 

“You like it rough, don’t you, woman.” He says as he takes a sip from the sake bottle. 

“Mmhm,” you nod, “yes, Zoro, please fuck me harder”, you whine. 

He laughs, but gives it to you, “You are such a whore for my cock.”  

His balls slap against your clitoris, your boobs bounce at his rhythm, and your hips bruise from his hard grip. His cock stretches and moulds your insides with every stroke; you have never been able to get used to his size, and you are sure you never will. Tan, long, thick, with multiple veins running across it, and a bulbous tip. You have explored it with every inch of your mouth and cunt; you are completely in love with his cock, and Zoro knows it. 

His hands spread your cheeks, watching the way his dick goes in and out of your sweet cunt, a white, milky ring around every time it comes out. 

“Tightest fucking cunt,” he moans. His dirty mouth is always what drives you crazy, he’s got no shame and no regard, speaking freely of how he feels or likes about fucking you, “you gonna make me cum, baby? Want me to fill you up?” 

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, Zoro. Please cum inside me.” 

“Don’t worry, girl. I’m gonna fuck you full.” 

His pace quickens, his hips moving with purpose. At this point, you can barely gasp his name; your head filled with only air and him. Your fingers press on your clit, your legs quiver and clench, desperate for release. 

“Come on, woman. Cum on my cock.” 

Your legs give out, but his hands are there to support you. He pulls you and presses you against his chest, continuing to move his hips as you chase your high. Your clit is beyond sensitive and exhausted, but the look he gives you is enough to fire you back up. 

“I’m not done with you.” 

The next day, while you can barely walk, he’s training his heart out. 

You sit next to Robin and Usopp, your head lying on the table as you groan from your tensed muscles. 

“Rough night?” Robin teases. 

“More like he gave it to her, rough,” Usopp adds. 

You feel like dying from embarrassment and tiredness. 

Robin just laughs behind her hand. 

Sanji 

The absolute master when it comes to romantic holidays 

He’s been preparing himself for this date for months (mentally for years, but no one must know that) 

Buying the finest ingredients at every island the crew stops, spending his entire share of money in things he knows you’d love and that remind him of you. 

In a calendar, he crosses out each day, getting closer and closer to the fateful date (Zoro makes fun of him every morning, and that’s the first fight of the day for both) 

Makes a list of everything he plans on cooking, decorating and doing for you and the crew (well..., more like you and the girls) 

The night before, make sure to secure the fridge with what appears to be a thousand locks and traps. Luffy still tries, but the sea stone chains seem to do the trick (thank gods) 

When the morning finally arrives, you find the cutest outfit hanging on the door, courtesy of your boyfriend’s money and Nami’s fashion input. 

And Sanji between your legs.  

He couldn’t help himself; he just had to have dessert first. 

“Sanji!” Your nerves and senses are just waking up, but you can feel every single stroke from his mouth. He alternates from sucking on your clit, humming around the little bud, and swiping his tongue up and down your entrance, licking and thrusting himself inside you. 

“Good morning, my love.” He pulls away for just a second, giving you a bright smile. His lower face is covered in your slick; the view makes you clench. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” 

You open your mouth to answer, but only a moan escapes it. Sanji’s fingers were unforgiving in their pace, looking for that tender place inside of you. 

“You look absolutely beautiful, mon amour.” He mumbles against your core before diving back in. 

Sanji is no messy eater. He’s careful, precise and romantic; he knows your body better than he knows his own. You are a delicacy and deserve to be eaten as such. 

You grip and pull on the sheets, your legs tremble and close around his head, and your teeth break the skin of your lips, trying to conceal your moans so as not to wake up the rest of the crew. 

“Please, please, please, Sanji...” you beg, but he’s giving you everything and more. 

“Come on, my love. Give it to me, cum on my mouth.” He says against your lips, his tongue coming out to give a long lick on the underside of your clitoris. 

One of your hands comes up and pulls on your nipples while the other pulls on his hair, your head is thrown back, and you lift your hips off the bed. The chef is immensely enamoured with the view, his hips thrusting and humping against your bedding, trying to relieve some of the tension. 

“Cum, baby, please, cum for me.” 

And you do. The knot finally snaps, and your juices fly out of you, his face and the bed getting covered in them. His hand quickly moves to your clit, rapidly flicking it to prolong your pleasure. 

“Yes, yes, just like that, baby. Thank you, my sweet.” 

After that wonderful wake-up, he brings you breakfast in bed and continues doting on you. 

(By the way, Luffy is quite annoyed at the fact that only you get to have breakfast in bed.) 

Ace 

He’s somewhat prepared. 

He asked Thatch to teach him how to make a cake, but he figured if the cake took forty-five minutes at 175 °C to bake, then he could just triple the temperature, and that would lessen the time. With his Devil Fruit, that would be easy enough, right? 

Well, a burnt kitchen, a punch to the head and a visit to Marco made it clear that no, that wasn’t the way. 

One burnt cake and a lot of begging later, Ace found himself with a perfectly good cake. One, he had to fight the urge not to shove it down his throat. 

Izou was also nice enough to help him choose a lipstick for you. Ace was quite hesitant to ask him for help (since you still harbour a crush on the older commander), but the wanojin was a gentleman about it. Or at least, he tried. 

“I think this one will look nice on her, Ace,” Izou said, handing him the small tub. 

“Thanks, man.” He put on his backpack. 

“Sure. I’m sure she will look just as gorgeous as that night...” The samurai teased. 

“Okay, okay, man. Fuck off.” 

That night you had eaten cake, drank sake, laughed, danced and kissed by the light of the moon and the ease of the sea. The world seemed to disappear when it's just the two of you. 

You were elated and so, so grateful for your boyfriend, and you needed to thank him, repay him for such a date. 

A lightbulb went off. 

“Oh gods, baby girl.” Ace moaned, leaning back against the ship’s mast. 

You moved your head back and forth, lips wrapped around his thick cock, tongue tracing the underside. Your eyes firm on his, tearful from when you’d gag. 

His tongue traced his lips, then his teeth bit them, moans, cries and promises came out of them. He’d give you world, sun, moon and stars, whatever you want, just please, please suck him deeper. 

“Fuck, I fucking love your mouth, baby.” He let out a pleased laugh. 

Relaxing your throat, you took him deeper. Your jaw protesting, your breathing heavy and laboured, cheeks covered in tears, and you fighting back on your gag reflex, but you loved every second of the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. 

You moaned around him, sending shivers down his spine. Then, you pulled away, gasping for air, your hand quick to replace your mouth. Saliva dripped down his shaft, your lips and hands, but you didn’t care. Your hand tightened around his length, jerking him just like he likes it. Your lips wrapped around the head, sucking and licking it, next your tongue travels up and down the rest of his dick. 

“You are so fucking good, so fucking good.” He groans. His fingers thread through your hair, pulling you closer to him. His hips move involuntarily, thrusting inside your mouth. His skin feels warmer than usual, and you know he’s losing control of his powers. 

You pull him out and spit on it, your hand focusing on the tip, “cum in my mouth, Ace.” 

He looks down at you and moans loudly. He absolutely loves cumming inside your mouth; it’s his second favourite thing. 

You show him your tongue, slapping his cock against, “please, please daddy, cum in my mouth.” Your eyes beg for it. 

His breathing grows heavier, his abs contract, his neck and face are pink-tinted and sweat runs down his freckles. One of his hands runs over his hair, pulling on it while the other caresses the back of yours. His hips move desperately; he can feel it, it’s coming. 

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum, baby girl.” He moans. 

You suck harder, faster. You need it. 

He fucks your mouth with such fervour you know there will be a bruise at the back of it, but you don’t care. 

“Fuck!” Spurts of his thick seed fill your mouth; his grip tightens on your hair, and hearts cover your eyes. Ace cumming is the most beautiful view in the world. Drowsy eyes, plumped, bitten lips, blushed, freckled cheeks and chest and the sweetest, hottest smile in the world. 

Ace went about his day as any other, happy and blissful from last night's events, oblivious to someone’s eyes. 

“’s a good, it was me who was on night watch and not Pops, right Acey?” 

The freckled went stiff, turning to the man watching him on the side. Izou. Izou with the biggest smile on his face. 

Law 

Sucks at romance and anything love-related but know he’s trying. He’s just stupid. 

Sachi and Penguin desperately try to help, but he quickly realises that even if those two get laid, it does not mean they know jack shit about love. 

(Dear gods, what would Cora-san do?) 

(Trip downstairs and light himself on fire probably, but with a bouquet of roses in hand nonetheless) 

So, Ikakku and Bepo are his best bets on that ship. 

Law may be a great captain, surgeon and pirate, and he happens to be hot, but my gods is he dumb. 

“Captain, you’ve been dating her for months; you cannot be this clueless.” Ikkaku groans. 

Law pouts and crosses his arms over his chest, looking away. Just like a small child, “I fail to see what’s wrong with my idea.” 

“Looking around for and classifying coins is not a date, Captain,” Bepo says, trying not to cry from the absurdity of the plan. 

“To me it is.” The surgeon grumbles. 

He and the polar bear plan and coordinate to stop at an island so you can have a date. Everything's been carefully examined and detailed to Law’s standards, but when does life ever go his way? 

That morning, he finds out the fucking Marine has completely taken over the island and its perimeters, so you had to change course immediately. The nearest island is two days away. Well, fuck. 

He’s pulling his hair out from the stress, barking orders around and hysterically looking for an idea. 

“Law?” You poke your head inside his office. His eyes are scanning every romance novel on the ship, but he finds nothing; all of them end in suicide. He just might... 

“Law.” You try again, this time stepping in. A tray in your hands. Two cups of tea, a candle, some matches, and two cups of instant noodles. 

His heart instantly churns at the sight. Of course, you had been the only one to pull something together. He can’t help but think you deserve better. 

“Love...” He’s out of words, the anxiety and exhaustion of the date finally catching up to him. 

“Bepo told me. Do not stress about it, babe. Happy Valentine’s Day.” You leaned down, kissing his cheek. 

Law groans, that wide mouth bear. 

The rest of the evening is spent with you sitting on his legs, sipping tea, recounting old tales and discussing various themes, and you love every second of it. 

Law is bad with feelings or words, but he knows there are other ways. 

“Law!” Your nails scratch his back, leaving angry red marks over the Jolly Roger tattooed on his skin. 

But he can’t seem to care less; his hips continue their assault on your cunt. His lips whisper sins against your ear, his hands grip on your hips, pull you closer and prevent you from slipping away from the pleasure only he can give you, “feel good, sweetheart? Do you like the way my cock’s so deep inside you?” 

You are long gone. Two orgasms with his fingers, one with his tongue, and now chasing another with his member, knocking on your cervix. Your mouth only knows his name, and your eyes gloss from the sight of him. His eyes dazed, passion and lust fill them, his eyebrows furrow and his lips open and close with every thrust. Moans and groans end up in your neck, along with some hickies. 

Law usually doesn’t allow himself to lose control like this, but he figures today is a special date. Sex tonight is loud, messy, and raw. He hasn’t felt this alive in years. 

His pace quickens, his rhythm grows desperate with every second, and the idea of you cum around his cock is the only thing on his mind. 

“Harder, faster, more, more, more, Law!” You don’t know what else you are asking for, but you can feel yourself hanging over the edge, just a bit more. 

And it's like he knows, his fingers press on your clit, drawing circles on top of it, that’s enough. You cum around his cock with a gasp and trembling, but he doesn’t relent. Your nerves cry in overstimulation, but Law is not done, not until he feels you again. 

“You are going to give me another one.” He declares. His hips don’t stop, and neither do his fingers and mouth. 

“’s too much...” you whine, throwing your head back and pushing against his chest. But he doesn’t allow you to run away. 

“One more, give me one more. Milk my cock, love.” His words are getting crasser, nastier, and that’s how you know Law’s head is filled with pleasure just as much as yours. 

“Law!” You cry out. 

“One more, one more...” He continues saying. Even if his cum drips down your cunt and legs, even if it can’t fit anymore inside of you. 

The next morning is payback for keeping the crew awake the entire night. 

“My gods, if you two are going to be that loud and nasty, at least have the decency to invite me, even if it's to watch,” Shachi says, while drinking his coffee, a smile on his face and dark bags under his eyes. 

“Shachi!” Law scolds him. 

Sabo 

You firmly believe there’s nothing hotter than a revolutionary. 

Sabo is that in the complete sense of the word. Dauntless, radical, rebel, mighty, strategic. His sense of justice took your breath away the second he opened his heart and mouth. 

And while your boyfriend is all that, he’s also a clueless idiot whose head is filled with food, his brothers, Dragon..., and, of course, you. 

It’s up to Koala and Ivankov to help him not disappoint his girlfriend on such a day. 

“You may be chief of staff, but you are also so unbelievably stupid it almost hurts, Sabo-kun,” Ivankov says as they arrange a beautiful bouquet of flowers. 

Koala nods as she watches him write a letter for you (that actually was his idea, but she left a big bump on his forehead just so he didn’t forget to do it.) “I know, I know.” He laughs but is secretly scared of receiving another “reminder” from his best friend. 

Dinner, flowers, gifts, the letter and a walk along Ivankov’s island’s beach. Quite the date if you were to ask Sabo, yet he couldn’t help but feel like something was once missing. 

Ah, right. 

Your thighs are burning from the motion, your knees crying from the sand that’s digging itself onto your skin, but you don’t dare stop. For his pleasure, and, selfishly, mostly for yours. His cock is hitting right on the spot, your entire body shivering in delight and encouraging you to go harder. Your hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled and stained, panties pushed to the side, tits popping out of your dress, and his pants pulled down just below his waist. 

Sabo is lying on the sand, arms behind his head and a bright smile on his face, biting his lips sometimes, moaning freely. The view is simply immaculate. You, jumping on top of him, choking his cock as your life depended on it, your tits bounce deliciously, and the ethereal look on your face is the most gorgeous you’ve ever looked. Using him for your own pleasure, he won’t complain about it. 

“Come on, baby. Give it to me harder, I know you want to.” His words rile you up, making you clench harder around him. 

“Oh gods, Sabo!” You close your eyes and scream, as nobody can hear you. And if anyone does, your boyfriend doesn’t care. 

He lifts one of his hands, “Slap!”, a hard smack against your bottom. 

You cry out, loving the pain, craving more of it, “Yes, please, please, more” 

He lands an even harder slap, “You like that, baby? You like being treated like a slut?” 

Your muscles are begging you to stop, but you can’t, you won’t, “Yes, Sabo!” 

“Who do you belong to?” Smack! 

“You!” 

Smack! “Who?” 

“Sabo!” Tears spill down your face, euphoria crawling all over your body. 

“Louder!” Smack! 

“Sabo!” It was simply too much. Your climax exploded between the two of you, head spinning, vision blurred, your legs shaking, and finally giving out, making you fall on top of him. You pressed yourself closer to his neck and cried out when his hips continued where you left off. 

“The island is big, Sabo; you guys didn’t have to fuck twenty feet away from the base,” Dragon said, pressing his hand against his eyelids, exasperated. 

Vinsmoke Sanji

It was in the evening — he was prepping the ingredients for tomorrow’s breakfast when you trudged inside. He didn’t glance or look, just from the foot steps alone; he knew his pretty girl had come in.

“I’ll be right there beautiful, just need to prep these—”

You take him in a hug from behind. Face pressing into his spine.

His chopping, halts.

Blinking, eyes going wide.

“Er—”

You nudge your face into his back and he flinches, his back arching when you press yourself even deeper.

A shiver running down his shoulders—a pleasant one.

“H-hey, what’s with the sudden attention—?”

“Shhh.” You mumble into his shirt, he smells good. Like cologne, like those fancy cigarettes he so likes and cooking wine. A bit sweet, almost. You want more of it, more of him.

“Just enjoy this moment whilst you still can, Sanji.”

He drops his chopping knife. Prepping forgotten.

He turns, however rigid, and faces you.

You don’t let go of him no, you immediately press your face back into him, into his chest.

Arms wrought around his waist.

Sanji leans back against the counter, one hand going to the small of your back, and the other to take a quick smoke before plucking out his cigar. Jaw going up so not to blow smoke in your face.

Damn. Sorry Luffy but he has to admit it. He could die right here, right now, and be the happiest man alive.

He looks down to you “Why are you spoiling me today? Did you like the parfait that much? I’ll make some more if you want, if it means I'll get more of this.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” you nuzzle into his chest, smiling. “I just missed you. That’s all. Promise.”

And he chuckles at that.

Locking you in an embrace, hands on the small of your back. Trying to breathe as slow as possible as he leans his cheek against your hair.

“Don’t hesitate missing me more often.”

Smoker

(note: opla smoker... i'm not over him, not anytime soon)

Reports regarding the recent incidents at the harbour has been delivered — and that’s what he was over seeing, back leaned against his chair, legs tossed up his office table and on his third cigar of the hour.

And when you peeked inside, you’ll earn yourself a look over his report papers. And earning even an accusing brow when he sees the little mischievous smile on your face.

“Whatever gotten you giddy — better not force me to scold you.” he says as you tiptoe forward, hands behind your back as you come close. And when he returns his glance to his reports once again—that’s when you entrap him in an embrace.

Your nose nestling to his neck. Breath hot on his throat.

He freezes. Blinks twice. Before digging his molars into his cigar and giving you a hard glance.

“Hey, doll, is everything as it should—”

You withdraw. Cupping his stupidly handsome face, before leaning in, kissing him on the cheek. His nose. His temple. His chin and jaw and everywhere else. Lipstick marks all over his face. He’s bashed pink.

“You’re so handsome, I want to eat you.”

“… right—” and before he can continue, you manoeuvre into his lap and bury your face into his neck.

A proud, pleasant, victorious smile appears on your face when you hear him drop the reports, drill down his cigar and widen his knees to make space for your seat.

You resist calling him a good boy.

His larger palm goes to the small of your back, just resting there before taking hold of your jaw, grip firm as he makes you look at him.

“What’s with all the attention today? Are you well?” he says, rubbing your lower lip with his thumb — all business and broody and you snort. Not taking him seriously with all those lipstick marks across his face. “Just shut up and enjoy this moment before it passes.” That’s all you say before you bury into his chest again.

And he leans back, heart beating a little too fast. A little too hard.

And you know what?

Sure.

He’ll take it.

Whatever his pretty girl says.

Dracule Mihawk

He was cooking, chopping up vegetables with such precision and focus you almost think he’s going on a limb, and not a carrot. That’s when you trudge inside the kitchen, and he hears you. Not withdrawing his gaze from the cutting board, not once.

“Dinner won’t be ready before eight, and no, you won’t get a test bite this time.” He says, his knife not stopping — not until he feels your hand on his shoulder blade.

At that; he halts. Not blinking.

You slide your hands up his back, feeling how his toned muscles underneath his ivory shirt flexes beneath your fingers. His heart stutters, just a little before turning to face you.

You have mischief spelled in your eyes, a smile all too playful and giggling.

He tilts his jaw and gives you a brow. “Is everything well?” He says as you catch his hands in yours. Interlacing your fingers.

You come closer, and he presses himself against the counter at your sudden boldness.

“Dear?” You say, leaning in, cheeks all flushed and a corner of his lip jerks. Frowning.

You’re beautiful. And it’s having its effect on him.

His hands reaches out to your face, removing a lock of hair so to see you clearly. “Hm?”

You bring his hands close to your collarbones, still holding them, as you tiptoe, “Kiss me.” You say before closing your eyes and pout your lips.

Dracule Mihawk doesn’t get flustered or bashful, no. Absolutely not. But he does part his lips, eye twitch (just a little) as you keep tiptoeing up. His head short-circuits and when he’s silent for just a second too long, do you open your eyes, scowling and withdrawing.

“Whatever. You lost your moment, buddy.” You wave him off, turning on your heel but just before you get the chance to even take one step further—does he grab you from behind.

Hand on your shoulder and an arm slung across your collarbones.

He pulls you into his chest, feel his warmth radiate into your spine, and he takes a hold on your jaw. Forcing you to meet his lips.

He kisses you, and it’s not tender—but bruising. And when he parts, you’re the one who’s all flustered. A satisfied smirk makes it to his cold mouth, rubbing your lower lip with his thumb.

“Clingy today, aren’t you? What’s with the change of heart.”

You turn to face him, hands going to his shoulder blades as you bring him into an embrace. And he let’s you. Holding you back.

You press your face into his chest.

“Missed you, that’s why.” You nustle against him, “I missed you so much.”

He blinks. Sharp eyes narrowing — and somehow softening. “I see.”

And he brings you closer by the small of your back, placing his chin on top of your hair.

He won’t admit it, but he wouldn’t mind if you missed him a little more often.

Portgas D. Ace

Ace was polishing the beads to his necklace, sitting at the edge of his bed when you stepped inside. He spots you, and an immediate grin comes into face as he puts his necklace back on and flexing it at you. “Babe, look, they’re glistening aren’t they—?”

Your steps are hard, fast—plunging as you throw him into an embrace.

He catches you, leaning back against the bed. Completely motionless and tense as he feels you rubbing your face in his neck. Hands tugging onto his back. And then he twitches when he feels you kissing him there. Pecking him. Nibbling him and he flinches.

“Er, babe, I—uh—” What the hell is going on?

You look up to him, your face sly and he goes pink.

You’re so pretty. Too pretty.

His heart is bulging out of his chest as he grabs hold of your shoulders.

“Did something happen? You’re being quite attentive today.”

You tilt your head, deciding to play with him a bit.

Your hands travel from his back, down to his shoulders and tugging onto his collar. Pulling him forward. Just a little.

“My boyfriend is so handsome.” You say, one palm going to where his heart sits. Its beating, hard and fast. You resist not smirking when glancing back to him, “How could I not miss his touch, hm? Tell me that, Ace.” You tug his collar again, grinning and Ace is malfunctioning.

What the… wow. Okay. You know what. He’s not complaining.

But god, he doesn’t know what to say to your sudden boldness.

He just stares like an idiot.

“Er.”

You scowl, “Here I am, giving you my undivided attention and all you say to me is… ‘er’!?”

“No what—I mean, I should, I—?”

You press your face back into his chest. He’s so warm. He smells so good. You want more of him, so you tug him closer, shushing him. “Shut up and enjoy this moment whilst you still can.” You hum, nestling close to his chest.

And you feel him embracing you back. Pressing his cheek against your hair line.

“Yes. Of course. Anything my pretty girl says.”

And he means it, even when his face is completely red, and his heart thumping out his ribs.

Anything you want—he’ll take it.

And when his most lonesome hours comes yet again, he’ll think of you and this moment again and again.

Red-hair Shanks

Shanks wakes up alone on deck with the worst hang over of his life. Slouched over a table. Damn. How much did he drink last night? He can’t remember jack-shit, anyways — he reaches for the nearest mug, still half-full, and zero knowledge if it belongs to him or not, but he chugs down the drink anyways.

“Phew,” He swipes his chin, that’s better.

He hears the footsteps of a certain beauty inching close and he looks up.

Blanket over your shoulders. He puts on that charismatic, toothy smile of his.

“Hello gorgeous, mind giving me some attention this lovely morning—” And before he gets to finish, you lean in, placing the blanket over his shoulders. Cheek pressed into his red, red hair.

Either he’s dreaming or really freaking drunk right now — but are you… are you actually giving in and offering affection? You?

Wow. He loves this dream.

He slings his arm over your shoulder, hesitating before actually pulling you in.

“Shanks.” You say, voice soft and he tenses. “You need a bath.”

You say that and yet you take in the scent of his hair, press your cheek harder against his head.

“Mmnh… I probably should; wanna join me?” He clutches you closer, and you manoeuvre into his lap. Nestling into his throat. Nudging your nose over the crook of his neck, he’s so warm. And with the morning breeze, it feels so pleasantly good, you can’t get enough of it, enough of him.

You feel him sink into your embrace, the blanket bristling heat between you two and you pull away only so you can grab his face and kiss his cheek. One on the left, then on his right, before making it to his brows.

You lean back, and the man is staring you down, taking in your features as the faintest tint of a blush is made on his ears. Heart beating a little bit too hard.

His hand travels down your spine to the small of your back. His fingers lazy, hand loose, before pulling you closer, spreading his knees so you can have more space.

“Spoiling me today aren’t you? What’s the special occasion and can we make it more often?”

You snort. “Savour it. It’s just for this moment, and this moment only.”

You lean back in, pulling him deeper into your embrace and he softens. Scoffing a little. As he sinks into your warmth.

If this a dream — he really doesn’t want to wake up.

You’re seated on a twirly chair in front of the vanity, right foot up on the cushioned surface to better polish your toes. They’re a vivid coral, matching the ones on your fingers. Nami’s lying upside down on her cot across from you, hands behind her head and feet up against the wall like it’s nobody’s business. She's finished her toes already, all coated in a beautiful teal that compliments her hair.

Everything is perfect tonight. As perfect as being bountied pirates on a ship can get. The flower scented candles around the girls’ cabin run warm, making sweetness blossom around the room. Your beds are made perfectly, pillows fluffed up just the way you like it. You and Nami move with an unspoken understanding, of unwinding and finally taking time to yourselves after a day full of adventure. 

The sound of the sea has been quietly lulling the two of you into peace, though you have to delay your sleep for an extra hour of chatting away your complaints.

Girls night always welcomes honesty—when you and Nami can talk about everything the boys would never understand. And she’s being real truthful alright, hand enthusiastically waving around like a maestro to her own words. 

And of course, the current topic of conversation was the blonde, women-loving cook in your crew. 

Nami can be blunt, to say the least. It’s what you appreciate most about her, although you wish she’d soften her words up just a little bit. 

Or maybe try to see him the way you do.

“He’s a lot.”

She’s talking about typical Sanji behavior. The incessant flirting, the hovering and his I-live-to-serve-women attitude, which she’s convinced is some type of overcompensation. 

You definitely don’t think it’s annoying. If anything, you think it’s really sweet that he tries his hardest to impress Nami. 

Matter of fact, you love it when he tries to impress the girls on this ship. Fortunately for you, the only two available ones include an independent, no-bullshit navigator who doesn’t easily fall for his smooth-talking. Now that just leaves him to focus more of his affection onto you, and you absolutely love being the center of his attention.

You bite your lips, trying to hold back your laughter. “I mean, he’s intense for sure.”

She rolls her eyes at your attempts to soften her complaints, and she truly can’t find it in her to understand why you would defend the cook. “Annoying.”

“I think it’s kind of cute.”

A beat of silence. 

And then Nami literally whips her head to face you so fast you’d think you were a treasure made of a trillion berries.

The sight she’s greeted with is one she will never forget. And not in a pleasant way, because you look positively, 100%, absolutely sure about the words you just uttered out of your mouth.

You’re hugging both your legs up to your chest, lips still bitten in a silent restraint. You’re actually melting into yourself, lost somewhere in the clouds as you swing yourself right and left in your chair. 

Where do you even begin? 

From memorizing your likes and dislikes,—and not just about food—attending to your needs, whether you voice them or not, and genuinely wanting to know you for who you are. Sanji somehow manages to embrace who you were, who you are now and who you hope to become in the future, all in the same breath. 

He is never quiet with the way he loves. God forbid he doesn’t worry about others for even one day. He’s dramatic, over-the-top, theatrical. All the synonyms of spectacular you can find in the dictionary. But also grounded, selfless, and so genuine that it makes your teeth ache and your heart clench erratically. 

Sanji treats you with a kind of gentleness that makes you think you’re the most precious diamond in the Blue Sea. You are. To him. He never ceases to convince you of so. 

So it’s an absolute no-brainer that you think he is the one for you. If not the only man ever. And, the fact that you aren’t alone in this fortifies your belief. You and Sanji have your own thing. A quiet game that only you seem to understand the rules of. A kind of connection that isn’t defined by or bound to labels; one that grew from quiet glances and secret smiles. The others may not notice—for now. They’d probably brush it off as you being kind to Sanji and finding genuine friendship in him. 

But you like it that way, and you really, really like him. You don’t need to say it out loud, because you’re sure he knows you do. You’re content with what you have because you can feel it that he reciprocates. 

You are his just as much as he is yours. 

“Say that again.” Nami pumps out the sentence like she can’t believe her own ears. She’s fully upright now, propping her upper body with her hands. She leans towards you as if it’ll make her hear better. 

“I think..” you mimic her pose and lean your chest forward, palms resting on both knees as if preparing to tell her a secret, “—that he’s kind of cute.”

It’s he, now. Not it, anymore. 

God, you are hopeless. And crazy. 

“You’re kidding.” The navigator hits you with the most deadpan stare you’ve ever seen her muster in her life.

Nami tries to look back at all your past interactions with Sanji. From the first time you joined the crew to the most recent ones. Then it all clicks for her—like a puzzle piece to answer a question she’s never bothered to ask. 

It starts with the way you get quiet when Sanji’s around, a secret smile and an undeniable warmth seldom missing from your face. Gosh, you’re so shy when he talks to you sometimes. It’s crazy that it didn’t register to her because you’re typically always so sure of yourself. Then it’s how you never, ever brush off his attempts at flattery. How your sweet compliments always seemed to be drowned out by Luffy’s shouts and Zoro’s arguing. She looks back at the way you naturally gravitate towards him. It didn't matter if you were on the ship, jumping from island-to-island, in the middle of a fight or simply lounging around with the rest of the crew, you always found your way right beside him. 

Huh. 

It was all in her face the entire time. Loud and apologetic. She feels silly at the fact that she’s never thought to even look because she couldn’t fathom that any woman could genuinely put up with him. And you never denied anything either—not when there wasn’t anything to deny in the first place. 

Her words set you off like a pirate looking for the one piece. 

“Nami don’t you ever dream of a guy who’ll sweep you off your feet?”

You’re breathless, absolutely lost in your own daydreams as you twirl around your chair with a force that could blow the Going Merry across the Grand Line. There are stars in your eyes, genuinely. Your hands shoot up in a rainbow above your head, and your body melts further into the seat. 

Something’s definitely gotten into you.

“And Sanji’s that guy for you?!” She exclaims. You watch her go through all the 7 stages of grief in the span of 3 seconds. 

You laugh at her silliness, and then you’re back to swooning again.

It was as if she’d unlocked your inner beast. A lovesick, crazy girl who was spouting her dreams of romance and everything that was butterflies and rainbows. A woman who was absolutely mooning over Sanji.

From then on the navigator makes it her mission to uncover where this crush of yours came from. She can try asking the rest of the crew, but she’s 98% sure the boys are oblivious to this, or simply aren’t as perturbed as she is. (Because how has no one questioned this before?!)

Starting wasn’t hard. At all. Turns out you and Sanji are shameless. It just takes the right time for someone to pay attention and see how deep the connection runs between the two of you. 

It happens bright and early a few days later. Nami—by instinct or intuition—woke up to an empty cabin. Your bed looked freshly mussed, like you couldn’t be bothered to tidy it up before getting up. She looked through the small window, greeted by the sight of the barely peeking sun in the darkness of the horizon. Way too early for anyone to be up. Except for Sanji, who she knows is already prepping for breakfast in the galley. And conveniently, you seem to be missing in action as well. It doesn't take much to put two and two together. 

She catches you right as you are entering the kitchen.

Of course, Sanji is already busying himself on the counter, chopping an array of fresh fruits into—what Nami can’t see—hearts.

“Mon trésor.” 

It barely takes a second for you to enter before Sanji is calling out to you, gaze immediately snapping towards your figure. He doesn’t need his sight to know that it’s you. He can’t admit that it’s because he’s memorized the weight of your steps on the ship, and the sweet scent of your perfumed clothes. 

A lit cigarette hangs off from his lips, though he quickly puts it away when you make your way to the dining table. 

You rub your eyes tiredly, hand then moving down to hug yourself closer in an attempt to chase some warmth. “Hi, Sanji.”

He’s melting at the sight of you. 

This might just be his favorite part of the morning, second only to when you start talking to him. You’re in your pajamas still, shirt hanging loosely over your bare shoulders. Absolutely radiant, and so domestic. You can barely open your eyes in the morning sun, and the way you carry yourself feels heavier, but more honest. Relaxed. A good sign that you slept well. 

Sanji doesn’t fight off the small flush that makes itself known across his face.

“Do you know that every time you say my name an angel gains its wings?”

You grin at the early morning flattery while you settle down on your seat. You could look like the messiest thing on the ship and Sanji will find a way to compliment you regardless. “Heaven must love me,”

“Heaven would be a fool not to love you, darling.” It doesn’t take even a beat for him to answer, and the cook puts down his knife to come closer. He makes a point to lean his face down to yours to greet you with an open teeth grin. 

And that genuinely brings a giggle out of you, leaving Nami mildly disgusted. 

When he's finally seen your smile, he returns back to the stove, slathering butter over the surface of a pan. The familiar rich aroma and the oddly calming sizzling sound makes you soften into yourself. You slouch onto the countertop, folding your elbows into each other and laying your chin on top. “I take it that this is a good morning for you?”

“Everyday better when I see your beautiful face.” He curls his lips into a smile, sneaking a quick glance at you before winking. 

Thank goodness he goes back to focusing on the pan because you are already throwing your face away to the sea, pursing your lips in a barely restrained smile before burying yourself into the crook of your arms, releasing a hidden breath. 

Sanji, that sly man, takes a quick peek from his shoulders. Seeing you, confident you, turn into a flustered puddle from his words makes him puff up so quickly. He wears his pride so boldly on his chest. No one could tell him anything for the rest of the day, and it was insufferable. 

Unbeknownst to you, he’s already started on your breakfast. He knows that you’re an early riser, and that you will almost always seek him out first thing in the morning. So everyday he sets out your breakfast ingredients and preps as much as he can. He doesn’t start cooking them before he sees your face, because he only wants the most warm and freshly cooked meal for you.

You notice it though, the way he always serves you first, no matter the time and place. Dinner? A plate of the finest meat for you first (Luffy hates it.) Going over logs with Nami? All the snacks you like are immediately placed in front of you, and a drink to compliment it following behind. He always thinks about your needs first, and if that isn’t love then you don’t know what to believe. 

Just as you are in the middle of your daydreaming, Sanji interrupts with the sound of cutlery against porcelain. He’s plating up your mouth-watering breakfast, made to absolute perfection. 

“For you madam, golden brown honey toast with freshly whipped cream on top,” he dishes out the plate in front of you, and the aroma itself sends you straight to heaven. “—extra fruit, just the way you like it.”

You didn’t think it was possible to fall deeper in love with him, but you’re proven wrong once you see the fruits that decorate your toast, all of them heart shaped. Both hand-cut and perfectly uniform using the cutter he specifically bought to use for your meals. 

You gasp in exaggeration, though deep inside you’re aching about how sweet he is to remember your preferences. “You spoil me,”

“Only the best for my favorite Strawhat.” He answers, pouring you a glass of freshly brewed coffee. 

You’re in the middle of cutting your toast in half when you look up at him, teasing by saying, “Don’t let the captain hear you say that.”

Sanji exclaims back to you in all his confidence, turning away as he places the pot on the counter. “Bah! One sirloin steak and he’ll forgive me like it never happened.”

Your giggle is like the brightest melody in his ears, and the words that follow it could bring him back from the dead. “Thank you, my chef~”

“You know my heart can’t take it,” He playfully sighs out your name, clutching his chest. Sanji stands across the table now, resting his chin on his hand against the counter top. Just happy to watch you.

“Delicious!” You continue to shoot honeyed words at him, not just as a means for him to keep sweet-talking you, but also because you think Sanji deserves all the love and goodness of this world. 

“Sing me your praises, my angel of music,”

Nami can almost see him propel himself to the sky with giddiness. 

“So perfectly crunchy,”

“—and I’m yours forever.” He takes your hand in his from across the aisle, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles as he looks up at you. 

Nami felt chills sweeping up her spine. 

You guys were so cheesy. But sort of.. cute. That was something she couldn’t deny. She’s never seen Sanji this genuine, and when someone actually reciprocates, it makes him look less like a fool. 

And the way you were bouncing back and forth on each other was like a sick game of ping-pong she couldn’t look away from.

She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why you two aren’t together already. It’s perfectly clear that you both feel the same way, and aren’t afraid to act upon it. A small part of her wants to meddle, and she’s halfway into a plan that’ll somehow get either of you to confess to each other, but then she abruptly stops.

Eh, you guys will sort that out yourselves. Eventually. You look like you’re exactly where you want to be. So, Nami shrugs and beelines into the kitchen, hoping to get a fresh plate of breakfast seeing that he’s already started with yours. 

The next time Nami catches a moment between the two of you wasn’t intentional. Right, because she wouldn’t be caught dead seeking the conversations you and Sanji had after that traumatizing event. 

It was late at night. For once a quiet one between all the chaos that seemed to follow the Strawhat Pirates. Luffy was snoring away somewhere with a full belly, Ussop tinkering away in his cabin, and Zoro likely in the crow’s nest. Nami decided to look for fresh air, feeling a little bit holed up inside her room. Between the gentle rocking of the sea and the soft melody of the waves, it was the perfect atmosphere to spend watching the horizon. 

She didn’t mean to overhear your conversation, but the door was open and a ship doesn’t exactly leave much room for privacy. She tried to leave the two of you alone at first, but found herself leaning against the galley wall to listen in in the end. 

When she takes a peek through the door, she finds you seated still and pretty on the stool close to him, cross-legged in your pajamas. Like a sous chef who wasn’t really a sous chef but boosted the cook all the same—if not a million times more. 

When you first got to the galley, you paid mind to his laser-focused expression. You didn't want to break his flow, so you stuck yourself against the counter at a distance. You were content with the picture of him from afar, but Sanji had absolutely none of it. He began your conversation of the night while silently dragging a stool and placing it right next to him by the stove. Safely away from getting blasted by the heat, but close enough to where he could feel you around him and talk to you without feeling a million miles away. 

He’s got on one of your top favorite get-ups: a classic blue striped dress-shirt unbuttoned just the right amount and his pink Doskoi Panda apron tied around the back. Sleeves deliciously rolled up to his elbows for a bonus. Though Nami isn’t attracted to him the way you are, she isn’t blind. She has to admit that the image of his forearms are a sight for sore eyes. Sanji can be quite charming at times, mostly when he keeps the talking to a minimum and does what he does best. 

You’re not even hiding it at this point, gaze tracking every languid move of his hands like you were hypnotized. 

It’s not hard for you to admire him when he’s deep in his element. You find yourself going quiet, not because you don’t want to talk to him, but because it’s mesmerizing to see the way he commands the kitchen like his own battleship.

There’s a small smile on your lips as you take in the passion he carries, and on your lap you fidget with the shiny silver ring on your thumb. It’s his ring—your favorite one that's shaped like a skull—that he gave to you for “safekeeping”, even though Sanji never ever takes them off. Even when he’s cooking. It’s incredibly intimate; a symbol of his trust for you.

He’s just finished cooking a dish of his own creation. A classic menu made of meat, but a little more experimental with the seasoning. You can only describe it as heaven in a plate, sweet and savory at the same time, with a hint of something that you can't fully describe with words. Yet, you enjoy it for all that it is, and the delectable fragrance isn't something to complain about, either. It’s almost shocking that Luffy hasn’t come running down the kitchen from the smell alone. Sanji isn’t technically done with the recipe, seeing as he’s trying to perfect the ingredients being used. He has his worn-out notepad by the counter, filled with endless scribbles and notes of improvement. The cook will come back to it once you’ve given your own comments on the taste.

Once finished turning down the heat, he takes a clean spoon out of the cabinet and offers you a small portion fresh out of the pan, where the dish was still simmering in the heat. 

You feel honored that you are Sanji’s unofficial taste-tester. The first time you came across the cook experimenting with new creations was a complete coincidence. That particular night you’d been restless in bed, stomach aching for a bite of food. You ended up pattering into the galley to get maybe a few crackers, a slice of bread or cheese or something that’d temporarily distract you. But you didn’t expect to feast on a five star meal once Sanji found out you were hungry. You? His precious princess starving? Not on this ship. 

What began as compliments to the chef turned into fully fledged reviews of each flavor profile, and eventually became something more intimate. A space for honesty just for you and Sanji. 

You like to think that’s where you found the real Sanji. The kind heart beyond the ladies man, the truths behind his endless honeyed words. 

You sought him out like a moth to a flame, and every night Sanji welcomed you with open arms. 

Most of the times you were there to actually be his taste-tester, which is just his excuse of having a private late dinner with you. But, other times he’s prepping meals for the next day and you’re simply there to keep him company. Either way, you’ll never skip out on an opportunity to spend time alone with Sanji.

Funnily enough, more than once you’ve caught Luffy sneaking in and rummaging through the pantry, already halfway stuffing his face with something that makes Sanji tick before he notices that the two of you are occupying the room. It’s a bit adorable that he doesn’t make a fuss about it. He never questions anything beyond “Hey… are you sneaking for snacks too?!” and then an “Okay!” followed by his high pitched laughter after Sanji kicks him out for offering you the stolen goods from his sticky hands. 

You take notice that he never lets Luffy get a bite of his cooking. Sure, if the captain asks, Sanji will make him something, but not from the same pan. A different dish all together. You think that maybe it’s because he isn’t open to someone tasting something he considers isn’t “perfect” yet, but another part of you just believes that it’s because he only trusts you to give him the honest truth. 

Still, you find it hard to believe he’d ever need one, considering everything that he makes turns out flawless. 

“More seasoning?” The cook watches as you chew on the meat slowly.

You shake your head in disagreement. “No, this is perfect, Sanji.”

“Not too sweet for you?” 

Nami sees you visibly recoil at his questions, body moving as if he was spouting blasphemy. 

He’s got his back turned to you while he rinses his hands over the sink, so he can’t see the flabbergasted frown on your face.

“This is quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.” You make an emphasis on the word “best”, sticking the wooden spoon back at him to signal that you wanted more.

“You flatter me, angel.” He grins, pulling the dish towel from his shoulders to wipe his hand. Then he goes straight to follow your command exactly and dips right back into the pan, scooping up a portion before blowing it softly to cool it down. 

You’re practically vibrating in your seat, legs bouncing and arms holding up the weight of your body as you lean towards him. 

“Nope. I’m just sayin’ the truth!” The words come with a pause as you’re swallowing your last bite, and the brightness comes right back up your face while you praise Sanji.

By the All Blue, he just wants to scoop you up and squeeze you in his arms for all eternity. You can be so shy around him, but also incredibly animated when expressing yourself. 

Once Sanji deems it the perfect condition for you, he motions the spoon to your mouth.

It’s a stupidly sweet gesture, and also his way of stopping you from eating the whole thing. You can just take the spoon from him and feed yourself, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like being pampered by Sanji. You’re not ashamed to admit that it makes you feel very special. If you truly weaponized your voice and asked him for the whole pan, he’d give it to you without a single doubt. But, it’d be a shame if he didn’t wait until he could properly serve it with some rice so you could have your very late dinner “date”.

He holds the spoon out for a beat longer to look down at the way your lips wrap around the surface, turning away only when you finish munching happily at the taste. After all, your satisfaction is his number one priority. Nami can’t see your face from where she’s at, but she can absolutely make out Sanji’s, and the way he’s staring is sensual, borderline debauched. It makes the navigator feel like she’s intruding on a private moment.

You are none the wiser to this, Sanji needs to get it together, and Nami’s very close to throwing up in front of the galley. 

Your eyes are closed as you hum contentedly once the flavors settle nicely in your stomach, and it’s then when you start to feel the weight of his stare. 

You’re only chin level on this short stool, so you have to look up to meet his eyes.

He's quiet and awfully still, taking you all in and leaving no part of you starving for his attention. There's an evident tension swimming around the kitchen, and it makes you acutely aware of just how close you are to him. Inches away. The position is a tad intimate, to say the least.

“What? Is there sauce on my face?” 

You know there isn’t anything on your face except for pure happiness, though you’re a tiny bit flustered by his attention. 

“Sorry, darling,” He's not sorry at all. He leans in to wipe the non-existent sauce, and for a second you think he’s going to deny his obvious admiration of you but then he pivots into something that is so Sanji it makes your brain melt. 

“Your beauty demands to be seen. I can’t deny you that.” He traces the back of his finger over your cheek before tucking a stray hair behind your ear. 

Time and time again, Sanji is able to surpass your every expectation. You continue to feel the weight of his stare, now much different than before because he looks at you with deep, unabashed, reverence. Not hidden, and not in halves. A softness he reserves only for you.

You’re speechless for a moment, but then he cups your face into his palms and it feels like everything just melts away. 

Now Nami understands. Why you adore him so much. Why you don’t need to scream it out to the world that you love him (although you would love to). The two of you aren’t “together” officially not because you don’t want to, or are too shy to say it out loud. But because you enjoy every part of who he is. The chasing, the teasing, the thrill; it’s everything in him that makes you feel alive. You don’t need words for him to understand that you love him, just as he doesn’t. 

Nami watches the way you look up at him, positively beaming. The silence is broken away when you start giggling to yourself, and it only makes Sanji move closer to you, his forehead bumping gently against yours as he sports an identical grin on his face.

She shakes her head, both astonished and happy to see you flourishing in his presence, before walking away with an affectionate eye-roll.

Yeah. You two are the lamest.

Mon trésor: My treasure

Aaah I couldn’t really decide which sanji to base this fic off of. I ended up doing a bit of both 🍽️