I thought I’d make this post because I’m much more active on tumblr these days (this is my fangirl renaissance ok)
About me
background: I’m Anglo-Indian but I call Australia my home. I’ve studied creative writing and my goal is to publish my fantasy novel one day. I like doing creative things and petting dogs from time to time.
sign: Gemini ♊️ (don’t come for me I’m nice I swear (´◔‸◔`) )
fandoms: Star Wars (my first love), Marvel (I’m an og girlie), One Piece, The Witcher, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Bridgerton, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Wheel of Time, anything Jane Austen has touched, (and others I can’t remember but you’ll see turn up here)
other things I’m a fan of/like: All things cinema and TV, fashion, art, literature, nature, dogs, sweet things, lilac, certain YouTube commentary channels I binge, crocheting
My writing
Sous chef - opla!Sanji x reader
Part 1
Part 2
Writing ideas:
Continue with Sous chef series
Kanthony fic?? (Cos I’m obsessed with them)
More Sanji fluff (there’s never enough)
1700s One Piece au?? Golden age of pirating au??
Clark Kent/Superman is my new babygirl soo fics incoming??
💡 I’m open to suggestions, prompts and ideas, but I obvs will not write everything - only things I have clear ideas for and time for 💡
I saw the new Superman movie and it was so cathartic for me..
To see a main character who is a man be loving and genuine to everyone around him; to have such a great love for humanity, even if he himself is not biologically human. What makes him human is that he feels, he loves; he dares to consider others in an inconsiderate world. Clark isn’t afraid to be vulnerable. He doesn’t view it as unmanly or a weakness, but a way to connect with the people around him and show them there’s hope.
People were going to die!
I keep thinking about this scene with Lois and this line and its delivery in particular. It’s not that Clark didn’t think about the consequences when interfering in an international dispute; he knew that there would be some ramifications to his actions. But would that mean he let a genocide happen? No, obviously not. The frustration he feels when his actions are challenged, as if any other way would’ve prevented or slowed down the progress of evil, is so valid.
Does that make him idealistic? Perhaps it does, but in a world as cynical and as hateful as ours has become, isn’t it so refreshing to see a character be allowed to trust others and see the good in everything? Isn’t it refreshing to see them do good to the maximum amount? Like when did it become so radical to be nice to others?? And when did it become cringe to be earnest and genuine about your feelings or about the things you believe in?
I’m so glad kids, especially boys, get to look up to this new Superman because they can learn that it’s okay to be kind and to express themselves, and stand up against the atrocities committed against their fellow humans.
Grandmas were so right about puzzles and knitting and crocheting and solitaire and reading slow and slippers and baking and watching deer in the backyard send post
genre/tags: Sanji x reader; first-person pov; fluff; pining (but is it mutual??); angst; hurt/comfort; friends to lovers
warnings: brief anxiety mention
summary: following their late night kitchen heart to heart, things become more complicated when the other Strawhats take notice…
a/n: thankful for the support for the last part! ♥️
Continuing my low key self indulgent series hehe.. 🤭 It took me longer than I wanted to write this next part but I was determined and here we are lol 😅
taglist 💕 @vespidphoenix @dark-academia-slut
𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰!
(。･ω･｡)ﾉ♡
“Nami, we are just friends.”
I stated this as matter-of-factly as I could.
“Right, and Zoro likes tea with his lunch instead of beer. Cut the shit, y/n.”
Our sweet navigator hadn’t budged from the spot she was judging me from.
Her eyes were determined to pierce through my shield, but I held fast. I flapped my arms up, exasperated by the fact that she kept pushing.
“Look, I couldn’t sleep so I came to the kitchen, I fell really hard and Sanji helped me feel better, that’s all.”
She smirked, “Oh, I’m sure he did.”
“No,” I scoffed in disgust, “not like that. He was also awake, taking note of our supplies, before I came in, got knocked by the swell, and he patched me up. Then we were talking for some time, and I guess we were both more tired than I thought. Just fell asleep, right then and there.”
“Look,” she said, standing up, placing her hands on her hips, “as much as I love him, I would love him even more if I didn’t have him flirting my way. So if he’s into you now, well that makes me a very happy woman who can finally navigate this boat in peace. That being said, I would still like to know what’s going on between you-“
“There’s nothing going on,” I snapped, “and there never will be.”
I didn’t intend to come off so aggressively and I saw her step back when she heard the anger in my voice.
“Sorry,” I breathed, “didn’t mean to get worked up like that.”
But she took no notice of my apology and pointed at me saying, “Does this have to do with the thing you still won’t tell me about? Is that what’s been holding you back?”
I rubbed my forehead with my hand, “yeah, it is.”
She shook her head and crossed her arms, as her frustration reached its peak.
“You know,” she said, this time with a knowing smirk, “secrets come out. They always do. With time and through fate, they always come out. I mean just look at me. I thought I had it all worked out, thought I could keep my secrets to myself.
“But what Luffy taught me, what this whole crew taught me, is that you shouldn’t have to carry your burdens alone. Secrets are better shared with those who can share the load.”
“I know, Nami,” I sighed, “but I can’t tell you, nor the crew, least of all Sanji. You know how he gets.”
“You know you can trust us, but you still don’t want to tell us? Why?”
“I can’t answer that.”
She looked up at the ceiling, as if asking the gods for help, but of course she got no reply.
“I’m not going to get anywhere with you on this, am I?” she sighed. I shook my head.
She paced about the room as I sat back down on my futon, bringing my knees up to my face. She sat down next to me, letting out a big sigh as she did.
“I’m sorry, Nami, but I promise when the time is right I’ll tell you.”
She glared back at me and looked like she was about to say something, but was cut off from a voice outside our door.
“Nami, have you seen y/n around? I’m trying to- oh. You’re here”
Sanji stood in our doorway, looking a bit flustered but still managing to flash us a wide grin.
“Morning ladies, you’re both looking as lovely as a golden sunrise on a calm sea.”
Nami and I rolled our eyes in unison.
“Morning Sanji, had a good sleep did we?” Nami poked, and I felt my cheeks flush red.
“It was good,” he sighed, “until the chill set in and I realised I was alone in the kitchen.”
“Oh,” she said, “were you with someone last night?”
I could have strangled her right then.
“What, oh no, I was ugh, counting beans and I must’ve dozed off. Didn’t realise I wasn’t in my cabin, you know with the others, yeah.”
“Counting… beans?” I could see her fighting every urge to cackle at his pathetic explanation.
“Ugh, yeah,” he stumbled through his words again, “the beans in the barrel. Coffee beans, green beans, soy beans-“
“Well, you should borrow a blanket or a shawl next time to stay warm, in case you fall asleep again. Y/n has a spare one, you should ask her for it.”
I shoved her shoulder and saw her biting down hard on her lip.
“I might,” he said, looking at me then, “as long as I know she’s keeping warm too.”
I couldn’t take this back and forth any longer, and I couldn’t stand the sight of him in the doorway, looking like a lovesick puppy dog waiting for a bone.
“Sanji,” I said finally, “hi, hello, good morning. Why are you here?”
“Oh well, madam, I was actually looking for you.”
“Me? Why were you looking for me?”
“Well, I’m taking you up on that offer, since breakfast is a big one today.”
“Offer? What offer?”
“You being my sous chef, remember?”
Shit, I thought, I’d forgot, I’m screwed!
“Oh of course, yes, just let me ugh change into something more chef-like. Yeah.”
“Alright, my swan, I’ll start prepping while you get ready.”
He flashed us both a grin and walked back to the kitchen, completely missing Nami’s face of pure joy.
It was as if what she had just witnessed between us was better than any treasure she could ever imagine to find in all the four seas and no amount of berry could be used to describe how much she enjoyed that.
Nami stretched out on my futon, exhaling loudly. She rested her head on my lap, and stared wistfully up at the ceiling. I was numb to her and everything around me.
I felt like I was losing my mind.
Ever since we met him at the Baratie, she noticed how he would go that little bit further with me, how his hugs lingered longer, and how his words were kinder.
And she had constantly reminded me of this fact.
“Even if I never get to know all your secrets,” she said quietly, “at least I can hold this one against you. You know, he only cuts your carrots into heart shapes, when he makes us soup.”
“Really?”, I lied, “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Can you even cook?” she asked after another silent moment had passed between us.
I looked down at her. She knew what I was going to say.
“No.”
I changed into some black slacks and a t-shirt, and headed over to the kitchen.
The room was alive with the sounds of rashers of bacon sizzling intensely on the pan, the crackling of flames within the stone oven and the soft, rhythmic thumping of metal on wood. Smoke rose from the stove and the oven, hanging in the air and carrying the sweet scent of bread, the earthy aroma of mushrooms, butter and thyme, and salted meat to every corner of the room.
Sanji had his back to me as he sliced through potatoes in halves then quarters and then smaller still, probably for hash browns.
He moved the knife intently, with a ferocity that seemed barely human, and yet the potato pieces did not come out mangled or broken as one would expect from such intensity, but instead in perfect little cubes, each evenly portioned to form the hash shapes. To say I was intimidated was an understatement.
“Doesn’t really look like you need my help here.” I had moved back towards the doorway unconsciously, perhaps hoping I could get out unscathed.
“On the contrary, y/n,” he said over his shoulder, “I’m swamped this morning and your help would be invaluable.”
I couldn’t let him see how deeply underprepared I was, or how concerning it was that I had gotten this far in life without ever making a real meal or that I lacked any and every culinary skill there was. But it was too late now.
“Oh, ugh, are you sure? I mean you look like-“
“Grab that apron over there and come over.” He pointed to an apron hanging near the doorframe, without looking back at me, and continued to make his way slicing through various other vegetables he was adding to the meal. I begrudgingly put it on.
“Can you please crack those eggs over there into that bowl?”
He pointed to a large silver bowl that was on the counter, right of where he was dealing with the vegetables and meats.
“We’re going to make omelettes and everything else will go with them. We have to get as much as we can from this batter since we also have to eat, not just Luffy, so don’t worry about adding an egg or two extra.”
He smiled, and I melted like butter in a pan at the sight of him.
I stood beside him and stared down at the eggs in the carton, and at the other cartons stacked against the wall.
It was then that I felt my palms tingle and swell with moisture, as I tried to move my hand to pick up an egg. In an instant, I felt my throat dry up, and I felt a rising surge of heat from within me flush over my cheeks, and panic pulse through my chest.
Thump, thump, thump, THUMP.
The sound of my own heartbeat flooded my ears and nothing else.
My breath quickened and I became acutely aware of it. I tried to take in air in small, quick breaths. I didn’t even notice that Sanji had stopped cooking and had turned me to face him, holding my shoulders and calling my name.
“Y/n, are you alright? Can you hear me? Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay, y/n.”
But I couldn’t hear him. My vision blurred over, as my eyelids flickered sporadically. He stopped calling out to me, perhaps realising that it was no use in this state, but continued to hold me steady, rubbing my arms as he did.
My mouth still gaped wide, trying to take in breath but as he held me, my breathing began to even out.
Gods, I thought, this is what I panic about?
“Sanji,” I felt my mind returning, “Sanji. Oh, my gods, Sanji, I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” he said, “don’t apologise. Are you okay?”
He stepped back, keeping one arm on me still, and reached for a glass of water. I faced the floor, too quickly perhaps. My head felt hollow.
“I should’ve told you upfront,” I began, “that I don’t know how to cook, that I’ve never learnt or tried, or rather had the patience to. I’ve just survived on the cooking of others. I shouldn’t have offered to be your sous chef last night, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Woah, hey, it’s alright, y/n.”
“I’m sorry, oh my gods. The truth is… I’m terrified.”
I could see a slight smirk appear on his face as he listened to me.
“Of me or of cooking?,’ he chuckled, “and please, don’t say me.”
“What if I said both?” I said, sheepishly.
“Well, then I’d say you have nothing to be afraid of and I can teach you how to handle both.”
I felt my breath catch again as butterflies began to flutter and whirl violently around inside me, and I thought about how he could probably use my face to light the pan again with the heat that radiated off my red cheeks.
“Sanji, stop that, I-I really know nothing about cooking. I don’t even know what to do with these eggs.” That seemed to get a genuinely worried reaction out of him, as he furrowed his brow in confusion.
“You don’t know how to crack an egg?”
“Oh, I didn’t even know that's what you wanted me to do with them.”
“How else would you make an omelette? How else… would they get in the bowl?”
I was silent. He inhaled deeply as he studied me with those sparkling blue eyes. A moment of realisation seemed to seize him then, as he guided me to the bench and sat me down.
He handed me the glass of water, made a motion with his hand for me to drink, and as I tipped the cooling swell down my throat he said, “I’m sorry if I made you anxious. I didn’t know you couldn’t cook, m’lady.
“Please, if you’re not comfortable, don’t feel like you have to stay here or like I’m forcing you to be here, it’s alright really, but just know that… well I do like your company all the same.”
Before I could speak, he put his hand up to gesture to wait, stepped away quickly to grab the bacon and mushroom mix in the pan off the stove, and put out the flames from the oven before coming back to squat down on his haunches in front of me, holding the bench to keep him steady.
He must’ve noticed how big my eyes looked staring at him.
He reached out his free hand hesitantly but I took it in both my hands, perhaps a little too eagerly, as he wobbled from being surprised by my grip.
“Sorry,” I said, helping him balance, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because, well, I was embarrassed. You’re such an incredible cook and everything you make is so brilliant and delicious, I just couldn’t say no to you last night. But I feel like an idiot now, I should’ve just told you.”
I could’ve sworn I saw his cheeks turn pink as I spoke. I fidgeted nervously with his hand, feeling the coarseness of his fingertips and how soft his palms were in comparison.
“You know,” he began, “if you wanted to learn, all you had to do was ask, madam. But tell me, how’d you survive without cooking anything then?”
“I mostly ate whole foods,” I said, “things like bread, all sorts of bread, fruits, wheels of cheese and dried meats, things I knew would keep or could be eaten quickly. And if I had a pot, anything I could just chuck in with a bit of salt and pepper. Better to survive on that then nothing at all.”
He smiled a soft smile and brought his other hand to where our hands were and pulled me up to stand as he did. I had to look up as he said, “Well today I’m going to teach you how to crack an egg, and maybe make an omelette.”
I sat on a stool to face him, opposite to where he was cooking on the benchtop.
“Now watch carefully,” he said, “you hold the egg like this.”
He took the egg in his right hand, the bowl in his left.
“Crack it against the rim of the bowl, so that the break is clean.” With a deft hand, he tapped it firmly against the bowl, and split the shell with his fingers so the yoke fell out perfectly into the silver crater below. He made it look so easy.
“Now you,” he said, beckoning me to come to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”
I stood in front of the bowl and eggs and he stood behind me. Taking my hands, he guided my left to hold the bowl and my right to hold the egg.
“Hold the bowl firm now,” he said and I nodded in reply. “Keep the egg sideways in your hand, so it’ll make a clean break in the shell.”
His mouth was so close to my ear as he leaned in and whispered his instructions, I felt the heat of his breath against my neck.
Goosebumps rose and trickled all across my body as I felt the strength of his hands against mine. Holding the top of my hand, he moved my arm to make the action.I suppose it made sense for a chef to have as firm a grip as he did, but I hadn’t thought about it before. And I also hadn’t thought about how that grip was making me feel.
“And now we just tap it firmly but still with power on that edge.”
As he brought my hand with the egg down to crack against the bowl, I was more aware of how good it felt to be touched by him, and that his face was only inches away from mine, and the goosebumps, and how if I just turned to the right, just a little…
CRACK!
The egg split and I jolted a little, as he guided my hand over the bowl and let the yoke fall out to mix in with the previous yoke.
“You’ve done it, madam, you’ve officially cracked an egg.”
I nudged him with my elbow as he laughed, and I hoped he didn’t see me blush.
He showed me how to whisk then, when we had cracked the amount he needed, and when to add the rest of the ingredients. He showed me how to butter the pan, told me oil was good too, showed me how to pour, and wait and flip, and how to watch the colour, how to make sure it didn’t burn.
He broke off a small bit, let me taste it, and I remembered tasting his finger a little too.
At the very end he showed me how to serve the dish and make it look beautiful.
“Almost as beautiful as you” he said, which forced me to bury the urges I felt even deeper down or I would’ve abandoned my oath right then and there.
I took it all in as best as I could but I found that I had made the most effort to memorise his touch, his breath, his smile, his sparkling eyes as they looked at me, and how it felt to be guided by those hands knowing I couldn’t guide them the way I wanted to. Or where I wanted.
By that time, everyone else had made their way to the kitchen and we seated ourselves around the bench. Usopp told tales of his daring adventures while Luffy reacted with wows and shouts of awe, and Zorro sat silently eating as much as Luffy it seemed. Nami gave me a wry smile as she sat between Sanji and me.
“Well done, sous chef,” she whispered, and I glanced up at Sanji to see if he heard her. He met my eyes with a grin.
“I hope you all enjoyed your omelettes this morning,” he said cheerfully, “you have the lovely y/n to thank for them today, I was merely her assistant.”
Luffy gaped, “you made this y/n?”
“Yes but-” I began, but he raised his goblet and said, “A toast to the best omelettes I have ever eaten in my life and the best cooks in the East Blue!”
Everyone raised the mugs in agreement and cheered and drank and laughed, and I could only blush and think how lucky I was to find this crew, even if it may only be for a short while longer.
* * *
I found Zoro on the lower deck, napping against the mast, as I made my way down to mop the deck. With one hand placed on his hilt and the other behind his neck, he slouched lazily, unbothered, as I began on the floor in front of him.
“So you like the waiter huh?” He said after I had been at it for some time.
He didn’t open his eyes.
I stopped and leaned on the mop. “I just asked him to teach me how to cook, that's all.”
“I don’t know what you see in him.”
“There’s nothing there, I just-”
He let out a loud “ha” sound and opened his eyes.
“Here I thought you were gonna stay low, keep your guard up and stay on until you needed to, like you told me in Shellstown, but now you're drooling in your soup over the waiter, who’s so eager to serve. So much for that plan of yours.”
I gripped the mop handle so hard I thought it would splinter into my hand.
I moved close to him so that my words came across as a whispered growl. “You know nothing.”
“I know that I risked my ass to bring you with us,” he growled back, “and that keeping you with us is an even greater risk. I know that if the others knew you were a swordsman, a hunted one at that, they’d ask more questions than was good for them or you. And I know I’m the only one you can trust out here and the only one who can help you track that Baroque works shithead before he gets you too. So please, don’t try to bullshit me.”
He was still slumped lazily against the mast but his eyes betrayed no sign of weakness. I crouched down so that I was eye level with him, holding the mop to steady myself.
“You don’t think I can keep my own feelings in check?”
“I’m not trying to piss you off, y/n,” he said, his demeanour unchanged, “but I can’t be quiet either. You said to call you out if I saw you get distracted.”
“He’s not a distraction.”
“But he won’t be safe either way.”
“Why are you so concerned all of a sudden,” I scowled, “it’s not like you give a shit about him. You two are such best friends, aren’t you?”
Zorro made a groan of frustration as he got up, his swords clinking against each other like bells. I rose to meet his eyes, still clinging to my mop.
“You swore to me that nothing would get in the way of you avenging what you lost and that you would lose nothing and no one else on your path. I swore that I would help you see it through to the end.” He clinked his swords as he rested his hand on top of the hilts. “So I’m warning you now,” he continued solemnly, “if you’re not more careful, you may keep that oath but lose something after all.”
He held my gaze for a moment, his eyes a fiery dark amber in the sunlight, before walking away slowly and down into the bowels of the ship.
My heart pounded in my ears.
My hands ached from where I had strangled the wooden mop handle.
As Zoro walked out of my view, I looked up to the balcony on the mid deck above and saw Sanji standing there, brooding it seemed.
No… watching me.
Swirling grey tendrils of smoke coiled in the air as he pulled a long breath and puffed out.
The glow of his cigarette reflected like fiery embers in the darkness of his glare.
