There was one thing everyone at Hogwarts found particularly strange.
Nobody had ever been inside your dorm room.
Which wasn't exactly intentional.
You simply preferred spending time in everyone else's rooms.
Movie nights? Mattheo's room.
Study sessions? Theo's room.
Sleepovers? The girls' dormitory.
Reading? Daphne's room.
Board games? Blaise's room.
Late night hot chocolate? Literally anywhere else.
Over the years, nobody had really questioned it.
After all, you practically lived everywhere BUT your own room.
───
"Reader?"
"Hm?"
"Where do you even sleep?" Draco asked one afternoon.
"My bed?"
"WHERE IS YOUR BED?"
"My room?"
"You have one of those?!"
"Last time I checked, yes."
───
Eventually, everyone simply accepted the fact that your room had become Hogwarts' greatest mystery.
Until one Friday afternoon.
"Can you grab my notes from my room?" you asked Pansy as you quickly packed your bag for Potions. "I completely forgot them on my desk!"
"Sure."
"Oh! They're probably next to my-"
"Your what?"
"...Never mind! You'll find them!"
Pansy narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
That should've been her first clue.
───
The moment she opened your dormitory door, she froze.
"..."
"..."
"...WHAT THE FUCK?"
Your room looked nothing like anyone had imagined.
The walls were covered in climbing vines that glowed softly under the sunlight.
Tiny magical flowers floated lazily around the room.
Bookshelves overflowing with magical plant encyclopedias lined one side of the room.
There were approximately twenty flower pots hanging from the ceiling.
A tiny Bowtruckle was sleeping in one of them.
A magical terrarium sat beside your bed, glowing softly.
Your desk was covered in pressed flowers, little sketches of magical creatures and notes written in colourful ink.
And beside your window sat what appeared to be an entire miniature greenhouse.
It looked less like a Hogwarts dormitory and more like a magical botanical garden.
Pansy slowly closed the door.
Then opened it again.
Nope.
Still there.
"...Reader is secretly a Disney princess."
───
The first thing she noticed wasn't the plants.
It was the fact that she'd been dating you for YEARS and somehow knew absolutely nothing about this.
You'd never once mentioned:
• your pressed flower collection,
• your magical plant journals,
• the tiny enchanted butterflies living beside your bed,
• or the fact that you apparently spoke to your flowers.
The realization made her heart ache slightly.
You'd genuinely thought everyone would judge you for this.
Which meant one thing.
Everyone was going to love it immediately.
───
Five minutes later, she found Astoria.
"You need to come with me."
"Why?"
"Reader has been keeping secrets."
"...SHOULD WE BE CONCERNED?"
"Only emotionally."
───
The two girls quietly entered your room.
Astoria immediately burst into tears.
"THERE'S A BABY BOWTRUCKLE!"
"I KNOW!"
"WHY DOES SHE HAVE A SWING FOR HIM?!"
"I DON'T KNOW!"
"LOOK AT THE LITTLE MUSHROOM PILLOW!"
"STOP POINTING THINGS OUT! I'M TRYING NOT TO CRY!"
───
Twenty minutes later, Daphne was recruited.
"Why are we whispering?"
"Reader has a magical greenhouse in her bedroom."
"...I'm sorry?"
"JUST COME INSIDE."
Daphne stood silently in the doorway for a moment before smiling softly.
"This is the most Reader room I've ever seen."
"RIGHT?!"
"She named her flowers."
"THEY HAVE NAME TAGS!"
"THEY HAVE BIRTHDAYS!"
───
Naturally, nobody could stop there.
Mattheo was next.
He walked into the room before stopping completely.
"..."
"..."
"...THERE'S NO WAY THIS IS THE SAME GIRL THAT STOLE MY ENTIRE WARDROBE LAST WEEK."
"APPARENTLY IT IS!"
"WHY IS THERE A TINY WATERING CAN NEXT TO HER PILLOW?!"
"WE DON'T KNOW!"
"THERE'S A BOOK CALLED '101 WAYS TO TELL YOUR FLOWERS YOU LOVE THEM'!"
"...SHE'S EVEN WEIRDER THAN WE THOUGHT."
"AND WE LOVE HER EVEN MORE FOR IT."
───
Eventually, everyone was sitting in your room admiring everything they'd found.
Theo was currently reading through your magical plant journal.
"She's been documenting their growth since second year."
"SECOND YEAR?!"
Draco was carefully examining the enchanted flower pots.
"These are ridiculously expensive."
"HOW DOES SHE AFFORD THEM?!"
Blaise had somehow found an entire drawer dedicated to magical flower seeds.
Lorenzo was currently introducing himself to the Bowtruckle.
"MY NAME IS LORENZO! DO YOU LIKE BISCUITS?"
The Bowtruckle immediately climbed onto his shoulder.
"WE'RE BEST FRIENDS NOW!"
───
Meanwhile...
You were wandering around Hogwarts completely confused.
"Has anyone seen the others?"
"No."
"That's strange."
After another twenty minutes of searching, you eventually decided to check your dormitory.
The moment you opened the door, your soul practically left your body.
Silence.
Nine heads slowly turned towards you.
"..."
"..."
"...I CAN EXPLAIN."
"NO!" Pansy interrupted. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US YOUR ROOM LOOKED LIKE THIS?!"
"BECAUSE IT'S WEIRD!"
"It's YOU!" Astoria immediately protested.
"THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT LESS WEIRD!"
"THERE'S A BOWTRUCKLE SWING!"
"HE LIKES SWINGS!"
"THE FLOWER POTS MATCH YOUR CURTAINS!"
"I HAVE A THEME!"
"YOU PRESS FLOWERS BETWEEN BOOK PAGES!"
"THEY LOOK PRETTY!"
Everyone immediately started talking over one another.
"THIS IS ADORABLE!"
"YOU HAVE PLANT BIRTHDAYS!"
"YOU TALK TO YOUR FLOWERS!"
"YOU TUCK THEM INTO BED WHEN THEY LOOK SAD!"
"THAT WAS ONE TIME!"
"THERE'S PHOTOGRAPHS OF MAGICAL CREATURES EVERYWHERE!"
"THEY'RE MY FRIENDS!"
───
Slowly, you looked around the room.
Nobody was laughing.
Nobody thought it was weird.
Nobody thought less of you.
Instead, they all looked completely fascinated.
"You... don't think it's strange?"
"Reader," Theo smiled softly as he closed your journal. "We're nine people dating each other. Strange stopped existing years ago."
"Besides," Mattheo added, holding up a tiny flower crown he'd found on your desk, "you're telling me YOU thought THIS was the thing that would make us judge you?"
"You literally cried because a Puffskein sneezed last month."
"IT WAS ADORABLE!"
"EXACTLY!"
You couldn't help but laugh.
Looking around your room, you realized something.
You'd spent years hiding this part of yourself because you were afraid people would think it was too much.
Instead...
They'd somehow managed to love it even more than you did.
And somehow, by the end of the evening, your room was no longer just your room.
It had quietly become everyone's new favourite place in Hogwarts.
After all...
Plants always grow better when surrounded by people who love them.
SYNOPSIS - lorenzo berkshire, hopelessly struck by cupid’s arrow, has no idea how to act around the girl of his dreams- unfortunately for his friends, they’re the only ones forced to witness it…
ᝰ.ᐟ stupidly devoted lorenzo berkshire x f!reader, various hp characters x f!reader, chap 07!!
WARNINGS: obsessive behavior, swearing, incorrect time stamps, google translate, a little toxic, really down bad enzo, sexual thoughts.
ᥫ᭡. : “hello loveliessss, he's finally introducedd !! and lmfao enzo threatening him AHAHAHAHA, anyways I hope you guys like this chapter- love u all so muchhh!! mwamwa xoxo”
SERIES TL : @aztronomvii , @d1m-cataclysm , @lilianaloopsy !!
CREDITS : divider by @sperocordolium - everything else by me!! (please DO NOT steal, copy, or repost.)
CHAPTERS : previous! - next!
check out my other works on wttp !!
Beware what or who you let into your heart. Some love bites deeper than you expect...
Description : After the incredible and unforgettable night with Tom, Mattheo and Theodore. You start to doubt if they actually want you or do they just want to use you.
a/n : sorry it took me a while to update. I was sick for like two days, anyways I’m feeling a bit better. It’s currently almost five in the morning so please tell me if I made any mistakes, especially if I accidentally wrote in first person instead of second person. Dw I will proofread it again but if I missed any please tell me. It would mean a lot. Anyways, enjoy!
Tags : no smut, fluff (idk?)
Masterlist part 1 part 2
You were woken up by a loud plat of a pillow hitting your face. Your eyes are squinted into slits as you glare at the girl hovering above you, the pillow abandoned on the carpet floor.
You grow as you slowly sit up. “What the f-”
Pansy cuts you off “why the hell was Tom, TOM RIDDLE, carrying you into bed.” She practically screams, “ AS WELL AS THEO AND MATTY?” You raise an eyebrow at her. Her eyes widened, “No no no, look I know you’re gorgeous and stuff, Matty, yup I might understand, Theo?? He doesn’t usually hang out with girls. But Tom? Tom riddle, I haven’t seen him interacting with another girl since fourth year. So you have to tell me what happened.”
A flush creeps up your neck as you quickly shake your head.
“Y/N! You can’t.” Pansy stands up in frustration. “You can’t leave me hanging like that.” She takes both your hands in hers. “You can’t leave me hanging like that… I need to know. NOW.”
You try to hide your smirk as you stand up and walk to your closet.
For the rest of your day. She kept on pestering you with questions. Why won’t you tell her? What really happened between you three? Was it anything serious or just a fling?
Now that’s when you actually stopped dead in your tracks.
You were in the library when she asked you that question. That scene just kept on replaying in your head over and over again.
Pansy leans against the shelves asking her questions. “Where did you guys even go? How did it happen? Were you all alone?”
She stands up and sits in the chair beside you. “Was it anything serious or just a fling?” She leans her head on one of her palms. Then she turns to look at the clock. “Shoot.” She mutters and turns to you. “I have charm. I can’t be late, again.” She stands up and scurries out the door. But before she leaves she yells back to you. “ Tell me everything after!” Before going away. Madam Pince shoots her an annoyed look before returning to her duties.
But you were stoned. In your seat. “Was it anything serious or just a fling?” The thought invaded your mind like a tsunami enveloping the land. Overwhelming you. You were so lost in the pleasure and the thought of the moment you never thought of the seriousness of the situation. Did they only do it because they felt sorry for you? Or they were just messing with you? Or… a slight chance, it was serious and they were enjoying it as well.
You bury your head in your arms that are laid crossed on the wooden table. You squeeze your eyes shut as you process the inordinate thoughts.
Suddenly the sound of a wooden chair dragging across the floor jolts you upright. You look to your left to find that Blaise Zabini had taken a seat right next to you. He smirked as he looked at the scattered books around you. He picked up an opened one in front of you and started to read it. “Potions?” He asks with amusement. “Still struggling? Had our boy Theodore not been doing a good job helping you?”
You raise an eyebrow at him. Confused. “W-what do you mean? Why would he be helping me?” You let out a nervous laugh. “It’s not like I know him that well. I mean yeah I know he's in the group but w-why would he be helping me? Like… what….?” You tried to hide your nervousness behind a chuckle but it came out so….. wrong.
Blaise squints his eyes just a bit and places the book back down. “Well,” he scoots closer to you. “Firstly, he’s in the same class as you.”
You nod. “Y-yeah but t-that”
He presses a finger to your lips. “Ba-ba-ba.” Only when you actually press your lips in a thin line does he continue. “The other day in the common room he said and I quote. Y/N’s grades are giving me a headache. Honestly I’d rather teach her the curriculum myself.”
“H-he… said that?”
Blaise nods in confirmation. “Taken by your reaction. He hasn’t done shit.” He pats his thighs with his hands. “Classic Theodore Nott. Playing the long game. Avoidance is his specialty. Boy, is he terrible when it comes to his feel-” then with a sudden realization of what he said. He presses his lips together and stands up. “Uh- well I should get going… I have uh… divination…”
Blaise hurries out the door. After a moment of silence you yell at him “but you didn’t even take divination as your elective.” You throw your hands out in confusion as Madam Pince slams a hand on her desk and shushes you. You lower your head apologetically and continue your studying. But Blaise’s last word caught you off guard. Theodore… long game… feel- he cut himself off but you are sure he was going to say feelings… feelings??? What feelings ? Avoidance. You were so confused. Confused by what happened last night, your recent interactions. Everything is just too much. You were so lost in your own thoughts you had forgotten you have DADA. Fuck….. Snape is on the verge of having you as his broom for being late again… for the sixth time this semester. You hugged all your items as much as you could and ran out.
As you reached the classroom door, Snape was in the middle of teaching. When you knocked, his head slowly turned as if he knew who it was and what he was expecting. He let out a long aggravating sigh “Miss Y/L/N. Seventh time this semester. Forty points off-”
“Professor. I’m sure it was just an honest mistake and an act of clumsiness. Y/N’s tendency of being late is accommodable if she understands the material and doesn’t disrupt the class.” A familiar warmth fills you as you hear that voice. Dark hair covers his forehead as he gives Snape a charming smile that fools everyone. Tom’s eyes show an amusing glint. But he doesn’t turn to look at you.
Snape looks between you and the Riddle. “But causing me to pause in the middle of my lecture is disrupting my class, Mister Riddle.”
“No one told you to stop. She could’ve just gone in here and sat down while you continued your teaching. Is that right Y/N?” His eyes slid to yours smooth and sharp like glaciers.
You nod frantically. Snape closes his eyes and mutters something before gesturing to you to come in.
You searched the room and found that the only seat left is the one next to Tom. He looks up at you and smirks. He pulls the chair out and pats the seat of it. “Shy, darling?”
You give him an exasperated expression before sitting down. When your ass is fully seated on the chair. He grabs the leg of it and pulls you closer to him. His hand slides around your waist before pressing you to his side. You had to slam your mouth shut muffling a yelp.
For the rest of the class you avoid eye contact at all costs. You noticed Tom staring at you but you ignored it. It doesn’t mean anything anyway. You thought to yourself. After class ends. While Tom was packing his things you quickly got up and left. Mattheo, who is always waiting outside, ready to walk you to your next class, gets cold shouldered as you walk past him.
During the whole day of classes. You had specifically ignored Tom, Mattheo and Theodore. Not wanting to do anything with them. Of course, they noticed. So, you made sure to always walk with either Pansy or a random slytherin you found in the hallway pretending to be engaged in a very serious conversation.
But, you still talked to Draco, Blaise and Lorenzo.
After a long day of classes and avoidance. You didn’t even attend lunch or dinner. You had to ask Pansy to bring you plates of food up to your room.
Lorenzo picked up on what was going on and decided to visit you.
You were chugging some mashed potatoes in your mouth when a soft knock on the wooden door stopped your administration.
You knew that knock like the back of your hand. “Come in.” Your voice is muffled by the mushy substance.
Enzo slowly pushes the door open and closes it behind him. “Hey princess.”
“Hi.” You wipe your mouth with a napkin before scooting over making space on your bed. “What’s up?”
The mattress dips under his weight as he adjusts his position so that he is sat comfortably. “Are you okay?”
A line forms at your eyebrows. “Yeah, why?”
“Well… you’ve been avoiding a few specific people… a lot. By I mean a lot I mean that you won’t even look at them for more than two seconds. Compared to before, you couldn’t even take your eyes off-”
You cut him off. “Woah woah woah way to expose me Enzo.”
“Oh come on! Don’t try to act like you were being subtle about it. It was pretty dang obvious.” He chuckles. Then his smile drops as concern lines form at his forehead. “So, spill it princess. What’s going on?” His warm gentle hand covers yours.
You let out a deep sigh. And look down at your intertwined hands. “T-the other day… Matt, Theo, Tom and I… kind of…”
“Yeah yeah I already know that part. Skip to the point where you’re avoiding them will ya.”
Your face beats up as you look at him with widened eyes. “W-what do you mean?”
“Come on princess! You really think Theodore wouldn’t brag about it to the whole house? How they made the composted Y/N come all over his fin-”
You put a hand on his shoulder. “Alright! That’s enough! I don’t need details.”
“Details? Hon, you were the one in the moment. You’re the one with details.”
“Ughh!!” You bury your face in your pillow.
He lifts your head up as he peels the plush pillow away from your face. “Now,” he strokes your hair in a soothing manner “will you please, tell me why you’re avoiding them after having such an amazing orgasm of your life.”
You roll your eyes at him. You grab the pillow back and press it to your stomach. Your head bows down. “I-I didn’t know if… if it was real. I don't want to be just a fling to them you know? Someone they can use when they’re bored.”
Enzo looks at you empathetically. “Well, I guess they’ll tell you themselves.”
Your eyes snap up and you see the three of them now standing in your room. Enzo gives you one last squeeze on your shoulder before leaving. The door shuts behind him as they all stalk closer to you.
The hint of smoke fills your nostrils. Stronger than before. As if at least two packs were inhaled in the past few hours.
“A fling?” Mattheo grits out. His index finger and thumb grips your chin. Hard. “Are you doubting your worth towards us?” His gaze remains unfaltering.
“Tsk tsk tsk, Cara Mia. You wound me. How could you ever think of yourself like that? You’re worth so much more.” Theo sits next to you.
“So you’re telling me. You ignored me for the whole DADA. Oh sorry, half of DADA, covered for you because you were late. Refused to talk to me. Because you thought we used you out of boredom?” Tom says calmly. “You’re so wrong darling. You’re not a fling to use out of boredom. We’re not some delinquents. We are completely obsessed.”
Your eyes widen as you process his words.
“Utterly, completely obsessed.” Mattheo murmurs as he leans in closer. His grip is tightening. “Something we would want to break, then worship afterwards.”
“You are our downfall.” Theo whispers beside your ear.
That’s when you know. These men are utterly defeated because of you. They don’t want to use you, but cherish you. And ever since then. You never so doubted them.
(There will be more!! I’m planning to write a lot of chapters for this so stay tuned!!)
Summary: Slughorn teaches everyone about Amortentia.
Trigger Warning(s): none that I can think of :)
Word Count: 619
A/N: I'm thinking about turning this into a series, but I'm unsure if I'd like to continue with Draco or do different characters. Let me know what you guys would like in the comments :)
Masterlist
Potions class should’ve been easy for you. It should’ve been your forte, only it was the complete opposite. Why you had a natural luck of stirring the potions properly, you failed at everything else. You couldn’t tell the difference between some of the ingredients, and to be honest you didn’t really care. You cared even less, if that was even possible, when Professor Slughorn had announced to the class that today’s potion would be Amortentia.
Amortentia must have been the most stupid, money grabbing potion to ever exist. A potion that smelled what the person found most attractive and bypassed free will – yeah, you’d pass. You didn’t need to be dangerously infatuated with someone, and vice versa.
You rest your head lazily on your palm and let your potions partner do all the work. You watched with sleepy eyes as they dropped in the rose thorns, then peppermint. They looked more than happy, eager even, to be putting this potion together. Your potions partner’s eyes had a sheen of focus to them, practically glittering as they slipped in the powdered moonstone and stirred. The liquid gradually turned into a pearly color. It was beautiful, you had to admit, but you wanted to stay far, far away.
At least, that was your plan before you heard Slughorn going station to station asking students to take a whiff and describe its smell. You groaned as he bounced over to your station, eyes locking with yours.
“Not a fan, eh?” Slughorn asked, practically chuckling to himself. “What do you smell, Y/N?”
“Nothing,” you answered blankly.
He shook his head, grinning like a fool. “You can’t smell the potion from there. Scoot closer and then tell me.”
You obliged with great disdain. Your partner moved out of the way a fraction, allowing you to bend towards the milky liquid and take a quick whiff.
You hadn’t expected the smell to be so strong. Leather burned your nose, a metallic scent–galleons–lingering after. At the base of it all, something crisp and tart. You huffed. What a load of shit.
“Leather, galleons, and green apple,” you answered finally, disinterest lacing every word.
Professor Slughorn chuckled, but thankfully moved his attention to your potions partner. Not long after, he dismissed the class, and you couldn’t have gathered your stuff and fled faster. You were on your way to your common rooms when you felt someone yank on our robe. You turned toward your potions partner, eyebrows knit with irritation.
“Pansy is going to kill you,” she said in a sing-songy voice.
You rolled your eyes. “And why would she do that?”
Your partner dawned a disinterested look. “‘Leather. Galleons. Green apple,’” she recited, doing a horrible impression of you.
You looked at her, face blank. “This tells me nothing.”
She playfully shoved your arm. “That’s Draco.”
You pursed your lips. “Wrong. I just like money.”
Your partner rolled her eyes. “You’re helpless. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”
It was your turn to roll your eyes. The rest of the walk to the common rooms was silent. You just wanted sleep, wanted to forget about that horrible, horrible potions class. Unfortunately, you didn’t make it to your common room before some Slytherin boys ran into you and your partner. They were rough housing, shoving and pulling each other down. Light blonde hair popped into view, its owner swaggering after the idiots.
“Crabbe, Goyle,” Draco called after the brutes.
You didn’t pay attention to what he said after, didn’t notice that he had looked at you with disgust when he passed by. No, you only noticed the cologne he wore that had faded throughout the day – or was that his natural scent?
what canon draco malfoy would be like when he likes you and when you’re dating
author’s note: this is my personal interpretation of Draco based on his canon personality and how I believe he would genuinely behave when liking and dating someone. since we mostly see him through Harry’s perspective, parts of his private personality are naturally open to interpretation, but I’ve tried to keep his established traits, flaws and circumstances in mind. I’d genuinely love to hear what you think, whether you agree, disagree, or have anything you would add.
⋆｡°✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧°｡⋆
When he likes you
Draco would probably dislike the feeling of liking someone if it meant he could no longer remain completely in control of the situation. He is extremely concerned with pride, reputation, and the balance of power between himself and other people.
He might make fun of you more often than usual simply because it gave him an excuse to get your attention. If you were not easily impressed by his family name, wealth, or status, it would frustrate him—but it would probably make him more interested in you as well. Draco is used to people either admiring him, fearing him, or reacting to the Malfoy name, so someone who remained unimpressed would be difficult for him to ignore.
He would likely try to impress you by mentioning his family connections, showing off his belongings, or drawing attention to the things he believed made him superior to everyone else. At the same time, he would probably watch you when he thought you were not looking and immediately turn away if you caught him doing it.
He would become jealous long before he admitted that he cared. If you seemed particularly close to someone else, especially someone he already disliked or considered beneath him, his reaction would probably be irritation rather than honesty. He might insult them, question your judgement, or suddenly find reasons why they were not worth your time.
If you defended someone Draco looked down on, he could react in a surprisingly personal way. To him, it might feel as though you were choosing them over him, even if that was not what you intended at all.
Draco would also be very conscious of whether you were considered “suitable” according to his family’s standards. If you came from a family the Malfoys respected, he would probably be much more comfortable allowing himself to pursue you openly. If you were Muggle-born, or came from a family his parents disapproved of, liking you would not immediately make his prejudices disappear.
He could experience genuine conflict between what he felt and what he had been taught, but that conflict would not automatically make him kinder or more accepting. He might resent you for making him question things he had previously considered certain. Any real change would have to happen gradually and through his own choices, rather than simply because he had fallen for someone.
If you rejected him, he would probably not handle it gracefully. Draco is extremely sensitive to humiliation, and being turned down would feel like both a personal rejection and a blow to his pride.
Outwardly, he might pretend that he had never been serious about you in the first place. He could become cold, dismissive, or openly spiteful, particularly if other people knew what had happened. Rather than admitting that you had hurt him, he would be far more likely to behave as though you were the one who had embarrassed yourself by rejecting him.
That would not necessarily mean his feelings had disappeared. It would mean that protecting his pride had become more important than allowing you to see that he cared.
When you’re dating
Draco, especially while he was still young and at Hogwarts, would probably be a difficult boyfriend.
He could be possessive, easily offended, competitive, and highly concerned with how your relationship appeared to other people. He would likely want everyone to know that you were with him, particularly if he believed other boys were interested in you.
If he held your hand in public or kept an arm around you, it would partly be because he genuinely wanted to be close to you and partly because he wanted to make your relationship obvious. Draco would enjoy the feeling of being chosen, especially in front of other people.
He would probably be bad at apologising. Even when he knew he had behaved unfairly, admitting that he was wrong would feel humiliating to him. He might attempt to make peace indirectly instead, perhaps by bringing you something, sitting beside you as though the argument had ended, or doing something helpful without acknowledging why.
Draco grew up in a wealthy family where affection and approval were often connected to status, achievement, and appearances. Because of that, he might find it easier to buy you an expensive gift than to have an honest conversation about his feelings. He would know how to give you something impressive, but he would not necessarily know how to explain why he had been hurt.
If someone insulted or embarrassed you, Draco would defend you, but probably not in a particularly mature or peaceful way. Rather than simply comforting you or telling the person to stop, he would be more likely to humiliate them in return. His instinct would be to establish that nobody was allowed to treat someone connected to him that way.
That protectiveness could feel reassuring, but it could also become controlling. Draco might believe that caring about you gave him the right to interfere in your friendships, question the people you spent time with, or decide who was and was not worthy of your attention.
Privately, however, he would probably be far more insecure than he appeared in public. He depends heavily on external approval, particularly from his family, and much of his arrogance is tied to the identity he has been given. Being genuinely known by someone would therefore be both appealing and frightening to him.
Any softer side of Draco would appear gradually and almost entirely in private. He might become quieter when the two of you were alone, seek out your company without needing to perform for anyone, or allow himself to sit closer to you than he usually would.
He could lean against you when he was tired or rest his head on your shoulder when nobody else was around. But if you smiled too knowingly or pointed out that he was being affectionate, he would probably pull away and make a dry comment to restore some of his dignity.
His affection would often be mixed with pride. He might act as though giving you his attention was a privilege, even while arranging his entire day around the possibility of seeing you. He could complain about waiting for you and then continue waiting anyway.
A relationship with Draco would require patience, but patience alone would not be enough to change him. Loving him would not automatically remove his prejudices, insecurity, selfishness, or fear of disappointing his family. He would have to recognise those things himself and make the decision to become better.
An older and more mature Draco, particularly after the war, could become considerably more thoughtful and considerate. Experiencing the consequences of his family’s beliefs would likely make him quieter, more cautious, and less certain of his own superiority.
Even then, he would probably remain reserved, proud, and uncomfortable with emotional vulnerability. He might become a better partner, but he would never turn into someone who constantly expressed his feelings through dramatic declarations or effortless romantic speeches.
His love would be shown in smaller, more restrained ways: remembering what you preferred, making sure you had what you needed, choosing to remain beside you, and allowing you to see the parts of himself he worked hardest to hide from everyone else.
I really enjoyed writing this one, and I’d love to know whether you agree with my interpretation of Draco. I’m planning to continue this series, so let me know which character you would want next!
notes a short drabble of how his big hands and long fingers satisfy you ♡ for ref, his hand is 23-24cm (9-9.5in) long, with a span of 28 cm (11 inches). the avg is 19cm long!
when you're both making love, he wants you to know that you're undoubtedly his. he shows this by grabbing onto your throat as he drills his cock inside of you; the pressure his fingers put onto your neck make you feel so lightheaded. you pathetically attempt to hold onto michael's waist with your legs for support.
just putting one finger inside already sends you over the edge. michael is more than able to hit your cervix—it's that long and thick. when another finger enters into your folds, you can't help but start to cry. he doesn't admit it, but the sight of you trembling under his hands puts a hard tent on his pants.
michael was so shy to do this at first, but over time, he realized how much he loved slapping your ass. he enjoys how plump and hot it becomes, feeling the heat as he rubs the same spot to soothe the sting. your whimpers only make him want to do it harder, but he knows that he can't bring himself to. he loves you too much to risk actually hurting you.
he loves putting fingers down your throat to see you choke on it. the way your eyes water, your lips tighten, and your moans muffle through his digits is his favorite kind of foreplay. it gets him so hard that it makes him so, so impatient to replace his hand with his cock. “just a little more, baby," michael coos.
sometimes, when you both go out together, he'd wear his iconic rhinestone-studded glove. it gets you so wet to think that just the other night, his long fingers were gloved by your pussy instead. you've yet to ever tell him that, but you know he has his own dirty thoughts of you even outside of the bedroom.
No thoughts just ghost getting a text from a number he doesn't recognize, right?
He usually ignores them, has no interest in much of anything besides when he'll be sent back to base and what he'll eat the next day. But the words that only flick across his screen have him pausing, opening the text.
Unknown number: dad? Cam you pick me up(? My frriends dirched me and I feel weirf
And the thing is, ghost is no vigilante, hardly even a good person. But he knows too well what sort of situation this is. Has seen it, has played it, has been bystander to it. So he grabs his keys, checks his knife, texts back
You: where are you, kid?
He receives a location pin in return. Shit. Bad part of town for whoever this kid is to be in.
Ghost turns a thirty minute drive into a ten, though it doesn't feel fast enough. Rolls to a stop outside of some club, and spots you.
You, clearly more than drunk, supporting yourself against a fence while two men lean over you.
Ghost will make sure to call price about the bodies. Tried hard enough to make it look like a robbery gone wrong...the smashed in heads may prove that hard to believe. Whatever, not his problem, he's legally dead.
No, ghost is more concerned about you, blinking up at him without a hint of recognition "dad? ...m sorry."
"It's fine, kid," ghost grunts, pulls you by the hand until you can support yourself against him. "Let's get you someplace safe, yeah?"
In retrospect, putting the stranger who was definitely drugged alone in his bedroom without a note wasn't his brightest idea. Ghost doesn't exactly have a guest room, and having you sleep on what is functionally a concrete couch just seems cruel. So he spent the night covering up some impulsive decisions, then panicking when he realized he had no actual food in his apartment and running to the closest 24/7 shop.
Which is how he ends up dropping eight grocery bags on his apartment floor in the attempt to dodge a frying pan.
All credits to you, it leaves an extremely impressive hole in the wall. Lot of force for someone hungover and coming out of being drugged. You glare, wide-eyed, terrified and looking far younger than you had last night "who the hell are you?!"
Ghost, grunts, puts himself on the other side of the room, "I'm dad, apparently."
Hiii how are youuu hope you’re doing well! I loveee how you wrote sanji the the obsessive!sanji fic. IT FITS HIM. I would love to see moreee please(๑>◡<๑)
obsessive! sanji headcannons
[x reader (obv)]
a/n: first time trying hcs, idk if this is how it works. anywhooo, i hope you like it!! this might be a bit lazy which im very sorry for but im still trying out this new genre while also actively losing my motivation in writing abt one piece for now 😭 also yes!! im doing well these days aside from being super stressed with projects haha, im glad you liked the fics :)
tw: toxic, mentions of stalking, sh (to some extent)
ps: i have seen all of yalls teach me a lesson requests, they are currently in progress <3
Sanji has always been in love with his girlfriend. Yes, he may have once felt an attraction to other women prior to you but since the day he met you, he became a faithful man.
He was a desperate man knelt at your altar, a needy devotee begging for a mere morsel of your attention.
It had started to become concerning to those who witnessed his affection. It was lovey-dovey at first and they'd noticed his clinginess earlier but they left it up to it being "the honeymoon phase" of your relationship, however, they were also quick to notice that this phase seemed to never end.
He would grow agitated whenever you weren't around, unable to follow the recipes he could usually create with his eyes blindfolded. He could hardly breathe, let alone have his hands function properly.
The only thing he never failed in making was your favorite meal.
It was a cultural dish. He hadn't ever heard of it before until you mentioned it in a passing conversation. Since then, Sanji had lost his mind trying to recreate it to perfection.
When he finally did, he saw the delight on your face. He felt like his sleepless nights had actually amounted to something.
Sanji, who after an argument, would bang his head into the wall of his room multiple times. He'd curse himself out, make self-deprecating comments, cry to himself, before finally composing himself enough to apologize first regardless of whether it was his fault or not.
His life had no purpose if you were angry at him. Everything he'd lived for would amount to nothing.
He never let you talk to people for more than thirty minutes. He said they were trying to steal you from him, trying to be more likeable than him.
Sanji, who most definitely has a secret shrine of pictures he took of you, with and without your knowledge. Pictures of you from every angle, every dress you'd ever worn, every jewellery you wore, every meal you'd ate, everything you owned. He had a place completely hidden away beneath the wooden planks of the ship where he stored his deepest desires in a journal, the cover of it being a photo of you with sketched hearts surrounding your face.
Sanji, who expected you to listen to his every whim, and would secretly 'punish' you if you didn't. He'd once told you to cut off Luffy entirely and stop talking to him but you'd refused, obviously, because he was not only your captain but a close friend as well.
The next day, your favorite watch was somehow broken in half. He pretended to not know anything, until he saw how upset you seemed. He couldn't bear to see his precious angel cry because of him.
So he got you a new one. He never told you that he'd broken the old one, but he played the part of the saint who had so graciously paid to replace the watch. You thanked him and he managed to convince you to stop talking to Luffy in exchange for it.
You never knew he'd been the one to break everything you loved solely for the purpose of making you listen to him, you only knew how kind he was to replace them all.
Sanji cannot live without you. He cannot even fathom a universe where the two of you are not side-by-side, bound to get married whether you wanted to or not.
Because if there did exist a universe where the two of you never existed within each other's presence, he would still hunt you down. He would still find you and love you, and he'd make sure you loved him too.
portgas d. ace cannot fuckin’ believe this is happening.
portgas d. ace swallows. his calloused hand trembles as he snakes it into his unbuttoned shorts.
all the while, he can’t look away from you — his best friend — touching yourself.
this whole thing started with an awkward conversation about the half-hard cock digging into your backside after an afternoon nap. there was no avoiding it, not when ace buried his face in his hands and grumbled something about being pent up.
you, in turn, made a joke about how you haven’t gotten off in weeks.
ergo: you get it, you’re pent up, too.
there was a beat of tension. then:
“you… uh… i mean, if you need to… take care of it…?” you said, eyes darting to the curve straining against the front of his shorts. ace felt dizzy. you chewed your thumbnail.
isn’t that how most things like this start, slow and curious?
“i mean, we’re best friends,” are the words that put the metaphorical nail in the coffin, mumbled around the nervous habit of a bitten nail, “think of it as… mutual support...?”
he agreed too quickly, swallowing down a bout of unnerving want.
“right. i’ll do me. you do you," he rasped, head nodding and pupils blown wide, "yea. mutual support. good thinkin’, scraps."
that nickname felt like foreplay. it punched the air out of your lungs.
and so it began: mutual support. more like mutual masturbation, but who's correcting the record in a moment like this? not ace. definitely not ace.
no, portgas d. ace is too busy trying to remember how to breathe. is it hot in here? it feels hot in here. fuck, yep, it’s hot because he’s doing the thing — the thing where sparks of ignition dance across the sweat on his skin. it’s a dead giveaway that he’s excited. losing his edge.
your hand steadies under the waistband of your underwear, your head against the pillow. ace lies beside you, your shoulders barely touching, body heat bleeding into one another. your leg is thrown over his thigh, and your bunk has never felt smaller.
portgas d. ace is panting, and not once do his eyes break from yours.
not when you bite your lip so hard it almost bleeds, not when he thumbs the head of his throbbing cock, not when you slip your fingers through your folds. his jaw falls open, nostrils flare, and finally, his eyes fall to the pearling of your nipples through your tank top.
“fuck,” he mumbles, “…is this… is this okay?”
“yea. yea, it’s… it’s good. are y-you good?” you breathe, and your eyes fall to the sight of his cock, pulled from his shorts. you almost whine, because it’s pretty. thick and throbbing and he’s stroking himself faster now and his forearms flex while he does and that’s your best friend—
your faces are close now, shoulders touching. your toes curl against his calf. your eyes dart back up to his. he’s staring while he nods, his gaze is intense. enarmored. the look in your heavy-lidded eyes is no better.
portgas d. ace’s abdomen tenses, his breath stutters, and he sighs out:
"keep — fuck — keep looking at me like that."
you’re biting your lip again when you nod, working a tight circle against your clit beneath your bottoms. your lashes flutter, and your breath hitches higher, and you make a soft sound in the back of your throat. his mouth is parted, and so is yours, and when you both huff out a needy pant, it mingles.
portgas d. ace can’t resist. his eyes snake down again, toward where your fingers work themselves quicker and needier beneath your bottoms — ace wets his lips, curses to himself.
this is uncharted territory. the kind of territory that isn’t supposed to exist between best friends.
“fuck, you’re so hot,” the honest appraisal rushes out like a tie between a prayer and a revelation, “m’close, scraps—”
portgas d. ace is fucking up into his own hand while staring at you, and good fuckin’ god, it is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. his hips roll, his muscles tense, and you whine when you spy the precum beading at the head of his cock. you’re right there, right at the edge.
“—me too,” it breaks from your throat in a whisper; you squirm, and ace’s breath fans across your face, “i’m… i’m gonna—”
“yea?” his forehead knocks against yours, and he nods, “you gonna come?”
he’s goading you; his nose brushes against yours. you can’t help that his name trembles out of you with a hunger. “ace, ace—”
that’s all it takes. ace smothers the sound of his release in a kiss that’s devouring. it’s the sort of kiss that doesn’t happen between best friends. the kiss sends you over the edge, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that watching your best friend finish across his chest while you come around your own fingers isn’t really best friend material, either.
portgas d. ace, kissing you like a man starved while you finish hard enough to tremble, certainly isn’t going to complain. after all, you’re best friends. best friends help one another out.
summary: as a baroque works spy, you had many missions that involved leaving your home, your husband and staying undercover for days, weeks and even months. during one specific assignment, you just couldn’t do it.
warnings: sir crocodile is his own warning, beware. smut. pinv. fingering. spanking. dirty talk. creampie. he’s so in love with his wife it’s actually gross. the hook stays on. not proofread. no use of y/n. mdni.
word count: ~4k
masterlist
Usually, you were the one who came to him.
Tonight was different.
Crocodile barged into your shared room, half annoyed, half worried you were home. As your boss, he was a little pissed and a whole lot vexed when you left the grounds of your mission to come back earlier than anticipated. However, as your significant other, he was worried and ready to kill whoever wronged you.
When he saw you on the bed, sitting with your legs crossed and pouting, the confusion took over him.
You were a professional. As his top spy, you would never get out of a mission before time unless it was absolutely necessary — in other words, unless you had been caught and unmasked as a Baroque Works employee, which would surely ensue a physical confrontation. And it would have to be a tough one to make you flee.
Still, you didn’t seem hurt. Only… bothered?
He raised an eyebrow. Surely there had to be a good reason why you sent a message telling him you were home and needed to meet as soon as possible, if not earlier. When his Den Den Mushi rang and his secretary told him about said message, he stood up and came to you in record time — you wouldn’t disturb him for no good reason. His heart, that he didn’t even know he still had before meeting you, was beating way too fast for a man of his stature and age.
Your eyes met his and you whined like a child, “I hate it there!”
Oh. Okay.
That was a first for both you and Crocodile.
You had been specifically assigned for a mission within the division of the Alabastan army near Rainbase to gather information and report back to your boss — a.k.a. Crocodile. He had chosen you for your discretion and resilience, as well as handy abilities when it came to the military.
Yet, there you were, as unprofessional as you could get, whining to him. He couldn’t believe his ears. Amused and relieved, he let a half smirk appear, tilting his head, as patronizing as he could get.
“You hate it there?”, he asked back, approaching you with easy, slow steps. Predatorial.
You pouted. “The men are smelly and rude, and talk spitting in my face”, you argued, “I hate it”.
It was endearing, really. He stepped closer, closing the space between you and him. He stood tall by the bedside, especially given that you were sitting, and took your chin in his hand, thumb caressing the side of your jaw before all fingers squeezed your face, making you pout more.
“That’s why you blew the mission and came back early?”, he tilted his head to the side again, eyes sharp, “Because you threw a fit over ill smelling idiots?”
“I didn’t blow the mission”, you tried to say, but he was squeezing you so tight you almost couldn’t. You probably sounded like a child, trying to let out words with a forced pout and lips smushed, “I snuck out”.
That made Crocodile’s grip lighten, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he used his hand to force you upwards by the jaw, making you stand on the bed. Still, even with the extra height from the furniture beneath you, you didn’t quite match him.
You were so close to his face you could feel his breath on you. He smelled of sand and salt, something familiar and, yet, distant. Your hands immediately came up to his shoulders, using it as leverage both to balance yourself and to feel him some more. After all, you missed your husband dearly.
“You… snuck out?”, his words were careful and calculated. Knowing him, anything could follow that tone. Praise or punishment equally — and truth be told, you would enjoy them both.
You nodded yes, jaw still encased by his large hand. Heavens, how could a man be so huge? Before you met Crocodile, you had no idea how tall a man could stand. Not only physically, but his very personality made him bigger than others, perhaps even bigger than life. Gravity shifted around him.
It’s no secret you were shocked to your very core upon meeting some of the others Shichibukai. The warlords (and lady) were all physically well-composed, so to say. Doflamingo specifically horrified you with his gigantic figure, but not in the same way Crocodile did. No, he was much more dangerous. You prayed never to cross his path again.
Crocodile promised, on the day he took you to this meeting some of the Schichibukai attended, that he would never put you in harm's way. At least, not harm from which you couldn’t defend yourself.
But, my, oh my, how could you defend yourself and keep a clear head above your shoulders against disgusting, sweaty, bad mannered young men? It was far too much for your poor, poor heart.
It wasn’t your fault, really. Crocodile had gotten you used to a life of luxury and not wanting for anything. He spoiled you beyond belief, showering you with riches, luxuries, exquisite cuisine and lingerie. How could he ever expect for you to give that up? Above all, to give up the comfort and safety of his arms?
Still, every now and then, when he didn’t trust anyone else with a mission, he would put you on the field, but those times were becoming rarer and rarer.
So, it was his own fault you couldn’t stand your ground around new recruits whilst you tried to charm your way into the General’s war room. You would be much better off just sneaking in and out of said war room than spending days gaining the trust of the squad and infiltrating slowly but surely.
Crocodile didn’t agree. It was more effective to have oblivious informants than to outright steal something in the dead of night. He might not be above killing, torturing and stealing, but only if it gets him somewhere. Never careless, never rushed.
You knew he was right, of course. It didn’t make you any less annoyed, though.
He lifted an eyebrow in front of you, expecting a response that hadn’t come.
“Yes, I snuck out”, you admitted again, defeated but relaxed to be home, “They don’t know I’m gone”.
His smirk was growing, dangerous. The way his eyes squinted above his scar was like a lighting bolt straight to your core.
“I missed you”, he confessed. It wasn’t what you expected — for your husband to appear with words of endearment and affection before your annoying and megalomaniac boss did.
He knew he took you by surprise when your mouth opened slightly, despite his grip. Letting out a small chuckle, he let go of your face, instead moving his hand and arm to cradle your waist and bring you even closer.
Your chests bumped, and you felt the warmth radiating off of him. It was like no other feeling to be touched and to touch the man you loved so dearly after weeks apart. Horrific weeks with disgusting teenagers and even more gruesome adults.
The air was thick with tension and you couldn’t even remember your name as you nodded yes, forgetting your words but still trying to let him know you missed him as well.
“Is there anyone I need to kill for you, my love?”, his words were sweet as honey as he lowered himself to kiss your neck. His arm pulled you impossibly close, and the arm with the hook began moving slowly next to your leg, caressing gently.
This time, you nodded no. If there was a need for killing, you would have done it yourself. You were simply overwhelmed at the military base, and you felt the need to come home, to his arms — where you belonged.
For once, you weren’t running away, but towards something. It felt good.
“So, you came back out of…”, he moved his head to the other side of your neck, showering it with the same affection as the other, “...a whim?”
You stood quiet, surrendering yourself to his ministrations and trying to avoid the matter at hand. To that, Crocodile almost laughed. As if you could ignore his questions.
The hand on your waist shook you as he stood straight in front of you again, the hook now resting under your chin. He purred your name, and nothing ever sounded as good on his lips quite like it.
“I asked you a question”, the calm in his words was lethal, and you knew it.
For once, you took no time in answering, “I came back out of a whim”.
It was true, you did. You might have screwed your operation, although both you and him already knew you probably didn’t — you were just too good.
But still, there would be consequences. Obviously, and both of you knew it.
“That was deeply unprofessional of you”, he replied, and the disapprovement almost broke your heart. It didn’t. You liked being bad for him every now and then. “And what happens when you act like a hurried half-witted beginner in a mission that I specifically told you was important and to which I trusted no one but you?”
“Well, it has never happened before”, you tried to joke. After all, you didn't ever find yourself in this situation specifically. Out of pure logic, you wouldn’t know what was the outcome. Of course, playfulness didn’t sit well with a Crocodile on a good day, and it certainly didn’t on a day like this.
Before you could even process what was happening, your back was already hitting the mattress beneath you. He threw you as delicately as he could, but it was still rough.
You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him, and he just raised an eyebrow, taking his fur coat off.
Even if this — lying in the same bed, undressing — was a personal dynamic, Crocodile was never one to not mix business and pleasure, at least not when it came to you. His life was mostly business, and if he didn’t find a way to scooch in some pleasure, he would never have it. So, if you screwed up in business, you were getting screwed right back.
Simple.
It kept both of you more interested in your jobs, too. Not that he needed it. You did sometimes, regardless of the fact that the punishment was so good it almost made you want to fuck up just to earn it more often.
After you began to settle more and more, happy to reduce your workload of espionage and backstabbing to make way to studying and helping preserve history — an endeavour Miss All Sunday seemed eager to help you with —, those punishments became rarer and rarer. It made sense, yes, but you missed it nonetheless. He did too.
You didn’t take off from the military base because of this. However, it would be a big fat lie to say it didn’t get you all the more excited to come back.
You wanted nothing more than to take his clothes off and just worship his body, but Crocodile, being his usual self, had different plans.
He removed his shoes and his scarf, and then he undid his belt in the most unholy way possible. With a whip — accidental or not —, he threw it on the bed, next to you.
Next thing you knew, you were being pulled by the ankle to the edge of the bed. He had you sat down in front of him, eye level with his crotch, before he had you standing. With swift motions, he removed every layer of your clothing. First, the top. Then, the shoes. Finally, the pants. He was pleased to see that, even in the precarious state of the military base, you still found it in you to wear black, lacy lingerie.
It wasn’t the most practical on a day to day basis, but when you got dressed today, you knew were going home anyway. No reason to avoid dressing up a little.
In an act of clear manhandling, which was very common and turned you on immensely, Crocodile, with one hand on your hip, turned you around and positioned you just right on all fours, ass up to him.
You let out a surprised yelp, trying to adjust yourself on your arms, but Crocodile had other plans.
His hand came down on your ass cheek hard and unforgiving. The force of it caused your body to jolt forward, and you almost lost balance. He did it again, and again. Each time, you couldn’t help the whimpering sounds nor the way your pussy was clenching around nothing.
When he felt he had done enough, he used his hands to grab a significant amount of your ass cheek and squeeze. It was far more painful than a quick slap, and you could tell by the way he grabbed on to you that he was still holding back.
Of course that made you go for the kill.
“S’that all you got, boss?”
You regretted the words as soon as they came out of your mouth. Shit, why did you always do this? Lose your mind around your husband and just tease, forgetting the fact that he was many years your senior and much larger, taller and experienced than you.
The chuckle he let out was pure evil.
You heard his trousers drop to the floor, and although you didn’t even have time to turn around and see his face, you could tell he looked wicked. All was quiet for a beat, and then a sound of spit was heard amidst the night.
Your gigantic husband pushed you down on the bed, laid on your stomach. The hook came between your legs, parting them open, and then slowly, teasingly, almost dangerously, it was opening your folds. The cold metal caused you to shiver, but the excitement and anticipation warmed you up.
You felt the mattress beneath you dipping a little due to Crocodile supporting his knees on either side of your legs. It was all really fast, but yet, it wasn’t hasty. Without any warning, you felt the tip of his cock on your entrance. Just the feeling of his tip was nearly too much. You missed him far too much to stay sane right now.
Even though he was a huge man with a proportionally huge dick, you still could take it. He was made for you to take, and you were made for him.
Inch by torturous inch, he pushed himself into you. You were moaning and mumbling nonsense the whole damn time, unable to hold yourself back. One of your hands reached back towards him, and he just took your wrist and pinned it on your lower back.
“Did you almost blow your cover to get fucked, hm?”
It wasn’t like Crocodile to use such dirty words. He preferred elegance — he might be a pirate, a warlord and a criminal, but at least he is a classy one. The fact that he was thoughtfullessly teasing you was a sign of just how badly he wanted this too.
“Fuck me”, you whispered, almost crying.
His body lowered, so he was almost laying atop of you, squeezing all of you into the mattress. You were a fraction of his weight and height, so it wouldn’t be hard to do so. Yet, you felt so deliciously full you couldn’t care less.
His lips found their way to the shell of your ear, and you could feel his breath slightly short.
This was where you two belonged, you were sure of it. You couldn’t ever leave this man’s arms without making him feel empty, and he could never leave you without also leaving behind an emptiness in your body and soul.
He kissed your ear with such care you almost forgot the brutal spanking a couple of minutes before — almost.
You knew he was being softer and letting you adjust to the size of him because it’d been a while, but you didn’t care. You meant it when you said it: you needed to get fucked into oblivion.
You rolled your hips the best you could beneath him, making sure to squeeze his length too. He groaned in your ear, and you weren’t really sure he was annoyed or turned on. Probably both.
“You little minx”, he punctuated each word with a sharp, deep thrust, still laying on you. You yelped at each movement, because he was just so thick and going so deep. Unbelievably so.
His hips crashed against yours with so much force you felt like he was trying to fuck you into merging with him.
The hook was used to support his body a little higher, giving you room to breathe — not that you needed it, of course. All you needed was him. Him, him, him.
He stood on his knees, leaving your body for a second. That caused the saddest little cry to fall out of your lips before you could help it. He shushed you, turning you over so you laid stomach up.
“Shh, dear”, he whispered, and even though he was further from you than before, you heard him perfectly. The look in his eyes was of pure devotion, even if he still thought you did wrong by leaving your post. Baroque Works could wait when he had you in bed, warm and sweet and real and all his.
He pulled you closer again, sticking your legs up, knowing how much you enjoyed this variation of missionary. With both your legs up, your body almost in a L shape, he pushed his cock into you again, holding back a moan. He was Sir Crocodile, after all, he could not let his wife’s thigh pussy make him moan pathetically.
Although, if anything could bring this man down to his knees, it was the pleasure he found between your thighs.
Your legs fell forward to his shoulders, and your hand instinctively found its way to your clit. The depth you could feel him in this position was enough to drive you insane, and with just a little help, you would have a mind blowing orgasm.
Crocodile, obviously, was aware of it.
When he saw your hand moving south, he just slapped it out of the way. He wanted your high to come from him alone, he was just possessive like that.
You whimpered in both frustration and arousal, wanting to get off, needing it more than you needed air itself.
He let his body lower, chest against yours, whilst your legs still rested atop his shoulders. His movements grew slower, more controlled as he took charge of your pleasure.
Crocodile, despite common belief, was a simple man. Staying close to you, feeling the heat of your body and tightness of your pussy was enough to send him to Heaven. He had missed your body every cold desert night you were away on the mission. Every thrust, he was closer to his release.
However, and this was according to common belief, he was proud. There was no way he’d ever let himself cum before you.
He angled his hips so his body could press onto your cunt and apply some pressure where you needed it. The new sensation made the unholiest of moans to come out of your lips. So pretty, he thought. How very his you were at this moment.
The hook pressed down on the mattress, and how unfortunate for your silk sheets, but Crocodile needed to stop himself from putting all his weight atop of you. He kept thrusting, hitting that one spot that made you clench around him and roll your eyes back in pleasure.
Then, his hail mary — he opened one of your legs to the side with his hook, letting him see your entire puffy pussy. The sight of him leaving and then entering you was beyond delicious. He took advantage of the new position to play with your clit, drawing small circles and pressing on it like you would with your own fingers.
After all this time together, he knew your body and knew just how you liked it — not only stimulation on your clit, but deep, hard thrusts, the kind that left you sore in the morning.
Many things could be said about Crocodile, but no one could deny his devotion — to his goals, to his work, and above all else, to you.
Despite his bullying of your pussy, so intense and so deep, he still looked at you with a very specific care. He would hurt you, spank you, do the dirtiest things, all while his eyes simply could not lie. He adored you.
You came hard looking into his eyes, and he didn’t stop moving for a second, prolonging your orgasm and already loud moans.
He owned the place. His wife could scream in pleasure all she wanted.
One finger stayed on your clit as he thrusted into you. You were coming down from your high and it was almost too much already, but you couldn’t ask him to stop, even on the brink of overstimulation, because it just felt so good.
His movements became slopier and even deeper. Every time he watched as his cock claimed you, and heard as you whimpered for him, he got closer and closer to the edge.
With a grunt amidst quick thrusts, he came inside you, spilling all of him as deep as humanly possible. You took full advantage of his vulnerable state and wrapped your legs around his hips, bringing him into a semi-hug as your pussy milked him for all he was worth.
His hook came down besides your head, and you could tell, even in the haze after an orgasm, that he was controlling himself not to let his entire weight fall on you.
Screw that.
You pulled him closer, impossibly deeper in your cunt and head finding refuge in the crook of your neck. Screw his weight crushing your organs, you needed this — to feel all of him.
Contentment flooded through you. Oh, how you missed this. You hadn’t even been gone for a month and it was torture.
He happily murmured into your neck, in a very out of character manner. Both your arms hugged him, caressing his large back.
“So…”, you said after a few minutes, as he was still inside of you, mischief clear in your voice, “I’m off the hook for playing rookie?”
He lifted his head and, oh, boy, if looks could kill. You just laughed at your scary husband and even scarier boss, fully aware that you were the only person in the whole world who would get away with the pun and for screwing up a mission.
He wouldn’t dignify your schoolyard taunts with a response. You felt his body rise and fall on your side, and you couldn’t help the little moan of sadness in losing such an intimate contact. Him being inside of you, even if without moving, already soothed your nerves and brought immense happiness.
Perhaps one could call it dependency, but your husband’s dick was just that good.
“You don’t have to go back”, he finally whispered, after a few minutes. It was the dead of night, and you two still were laying in bed together after he fucked you into the mattress.
You turned to your side, looking at him. He was looking up towards the ceiling, stoic and seemingly disinterested — which you knew he wasn’t.
“I know”, you replied, falling onto your back, “I will go because it’s important. And I will come back because you’re even more important”.
There, in the silence, bodies naked and covered with sweat, he took your hand. Gentle, almost a phantom of a touch.
“And also because I appreciate hygiene and perfume", you added, joking. That good a small huff out of him.
He tended to be serious after sex, taking aftercare and your wellbeing with the utmost thoughtfulness. It was good to lighten the mood, as Crocodile could get deep into his head and lose focus on the present.
You schooched your body towards him, finding a place to worm into and lay your head on his chest. There, you pressed a kiss to his pecs.
He just hummed.
“I love you”, you said, looking at his face, searching for his eyes — and there they were. The entrance to the soul. There was so much truth in that glare, you didn’t need to hear his answer.
You knew it in your bones.
“You’re not off the hook yet, miss”, he replied, hand coming to squeeze your butt. “You’ll have to work for it all night before going back on the field”.
You let out a tiny scream, climbing off of him to try to run away. Before you could catch it, he was already hiding his smile beneath his serious façade.
To no one’s surprise, he was quick to grab you and throw you back on the bed. And off you were again.
Summary: Sanji notices pretty quickly when you stop eating.
Warnings: unspecified eating disorder, reader gets dizzy a lot and passes out
Author’s Note: hella self indulgent but what is fanfiction if not self indulgent? i tried keeping the disordered eating habits neutral but they may be leaning into arfid habits. anywaysss enjoy the sanji fic :) there's another one on the wip list!
Masterlist here!
Word Count: 2.3k
Likes and comments are much appreciated! Do not repost anywhere! Works will be posted from my ao3 account soon.
Sanji stands at the counter, whipping up a quick dessert while the rest of the crew eats dinner. His eyes are on you, noticing how you cut up and stir the food on your plate but don’t eat very much of it. You start to lift a bite to your mouth but set it back on the plate as you laugh at something Usopp said.
Sanji counts maybe five total bites in the whole meal before you and Nami head out of the galley. He pulls a small notebook out of a drawer and adds tonight’s dinner to the list of food you don’t like. He sighs at the length of foods you don’t like as he struggles to add even a third thing to the other list.
Zoro comes up to the counter, blatantly ignoring the stressed look on Sanji’s face. “Hey cook, we’re out of booze.”
“Go tell Nami to stop at the next island, mosshead. Not my job to stock your drinks.” Zoro grumbles in response before leaving the galley with the last bottle on the ship.
Sanji sighs and closes the notebook, tucking it back in the drawer before returning to the dessert.
-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-
The next day, the Going Merry docks at a nearby island. The crew prepares to disembark and explore while restocking for the next leg of the journey. Nervous about approaching you with his plan, Sanji instead ropes Usopp in to get food.
They look for foods you haven’t yet had on the ship, hopeful that you’ll like them. Usopp suggests mild foods that Sanji can then slowly add other flavors and ingredients to if you like the base food.
The two end up with many bags of the usual food for the rest of the crew and some new ingredients in hopes that you’ll start eating more.
Dinner that night goes a little bit better. Turns out, Usopp was right and you like the mild food. Sanji watches you eat an entire plate before asking for dessert. He happily hands a small plate over, giving you a smile as he does.
As the crew clears out, Sanji’s notebook is back out as he finally adds to the list of foods you like.
-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-
This goes on for about another few weeks. Sanji’s able to add a lot to the list of foods you like, despite having to add a few more to the dislike list. Overall, he’s grateful that you’ve started eating more and that he’s able to help.
All is going well with Sanji’s plan until you enter the galley by yourself one afternoon. Needing a drink, you take one of the premade smoothies out of the fridge and search for a straw. Your search lands you in one of Sanji’s drawers. A small notebook catches your eye and your curiosity gets the best of you.
Foods she likes Foods she doesn’t like
Your heart drops reading the list. Shoving the notebook back in the drawer and closing it, you quickly return the smoothie to the fridge and run out of the room. Your heart is racing. Why is he doing that? How did he figure out my safe foods? You start to close yourself off to the crew, freaked out that Sanji has been able to figure out so much about you.
-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-
Sanji wanders into the galley later that same day, excited for the meal he has planned tonight. He opens the drawer and immediately notices the notebook is not in its usual spot. He pauses for only a moment, remembering that he did rush out after lunch. He decides it’s probably fine. No one probably saw it. He takes it out and opens it to the list of foods you like.
He spends the next hour carefully making a meal catered to your preferences, very excited for you have a meal you enjoy.
Ten minutes later, confusion lines his features and his heart aches as you pick at the food. He spots pain in your eyes as you lift a bite off your plate just to set it right back down. Relaxation dawns on him and his face softens as he looks over to the drawer the notebook’s in. The confusion returns as the connected dots fail to make a picture.
Luffy starts loudly telling a story, distracting Sanji while the crew continues to eat. You end up slipping away unnoticed during the story.
The crew starts to clear out and Sanji clears your plate off the table first. He sets it on the counter and takes out the notebook to compare the food to the lists. It’s entirely foods you’ve previously enjoyed. He turns the page and writes out the combination of flavors he used, thinking maybe two of the foods mixed together caused the problem.
He sighs before sliding the notebook back away and cleaning up dinner. He’ll try again tomorrow.
-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-
Sanji fails for four more days to get you to eat anything. The rest of the crew is starting to notice something wrong but no one’s discussing it so Sanji hasn’t figured out how much the malnutrition is affecting you.
It happens first when you’re navigating with Nami. Luckily you’re leaning on a table when your vision starts to blur. You can still hear, and continue answering Nami’s questions while waiting for your vision to clear again.
It happens again when you’re helping Usopp with some of his new inventions. He notices you pause with one of the tools in your hand and asks if you’re okay. You slowly nod as you wait for the room to stop spinning.
The third time it happens, you’re training with Zoro. He gets a hit in and freezes as he watches the blood start to drip from your arm. You don’t even notice as you will your vision to come back, having gone mostly dark this time.
Chopper doesn’t question it when he bandages up your cut, assuming it’s just a normal training injury.
The fourth time it happens, you’re helping Sanji put away the haul from an island in the galley. He watches you freeze with a box of rice halfway to the cupboard. You hold still, trying to let the dizziness pass and your vision restabilize.
Sanji slowly takes the box from you as you grab the counter. “Darling..? Are you okay..?” You try to turn to him to answer, thinking your vision’s almost back. Sanji ends up having to catch you as you pass out, landing right on his chest.
-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-
You wake up a few hours later in your bed. Turning to the side, you notice the plate of your safe foods on the desk, each clearly separated from the rest so none of them touch. Your eyes move up to Sanji, sitting in your chair.
“Sanji? What happened?”
“You passed out in the kitchen, sweetheart.” Your eyes widen and you quickly look away from him. Fuck. “You haven’t been eating either. What’s going on, my love?”
Pushing yourself up, you sit against your pillows, looking anywhere except at Sanji. “Umm…” One thing at a time. “I umm… keep getting dizzy and I have to pause in the middle of doing stuff.” Tears start to slip out of your eyes voicing the problems you’re struggling with. Sanji quietly listens, chin resting in his palm as he watches you, tears starting to fill his own eyes. “I get too dizzy to trust myself to safely move and-” A sob rips through your body, stopping your words as you pull your legs up to your chest.
Sanji waits a moment before getting up. You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting to hear the door open. Instead, the mattress sinks besides you as he sits. Cracking an eye open, you see him reach out a hand, simply laying it on the bed beside you. You take his hand, giving it a weak squeezing. He gives you a firmer squeeze back before you continue, still hiding your face.
“I’m sorry I don’t eat the food you make. It’s not-” You sniffle back another sob, trying to figure out the words to explain how you feel. “If I eat certain foods, it triggers my gag reflex and I can’t swallow them. I can’t sleep either and I don’t know if it’s the lack of food or if the lack of sleep is causing the lack of hunger.” You swallow back another sob, so close to fully opening up. “I don’t know, I want to eat all the food you make, Sanji. It always looks so good but I can’t. My body won’t let me and I don’t know how to fix it.” Your hands move up to your forehead, sobs shaking through your body as tears stream down your face.
Sanji’s voice is quiet, not wanting to push any boundaries you still have up. “How long have you felt like this?”
You lift your head, finally looking at him again. Your tears filled eyes meet his and your heart aches in equal pressure to his. “I don’t remember.”
“How can I help?”
“I don’t know.”
Sanji’s quiet for a minute before he starts to get up and almost speaks. “Wait, Sanji?” You reach back out for his hand and pull it, keep him near you. “Can you umm…” He sits back down and gives your hand a comforting squeeze, patient while you fight to get the words out. “Can you stay with me?” His expression softens but you don’t give him a chance to answer. “It’s probably dumb but I thought if someone else was here, it might be easier to sleep.”
“Of course I can stay, beautiful, whatever you need.” He gives you a sweet smile before letting go of your hand to take his shoes off. He turns towards you and takes in the fact that you’re still curled up in a ball. “Do you want me to just hang out or do you want me in the bed? Either way is perfectly fine with me, whatever makes you com-”
“In the bed.” His eyes stay on you but he doesn’t move. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before.”
He slowly nods, connecting the dots in his head so that you don’t have to voice the connection. “It’s okay, love. I’ll lay down first, okay?” He waits for you to nod before laying down beside you and laying an arm behind your back. You turn to look at him and he almost continues talking before you start to move. He’s quiet as you lay beside him, using his bicep as a pillow. You reach over him to grab your favorite throw pillow to hug. “Are you comfortable, sweetheart?” You nod and he lets himself relax as you curl slightly into him.
-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-
Your eyes slowly flutter open a couple hours later and you turn to see Sanji, still awake and reading a book that was on your desk. His arm is tightly around your waist as he holds you against his side. He looks down at you as you loosen your grip around your pillow.
“Did you get some sleep, sweetheart?” You nod and push yourself up and out of his arms.
“Thank you, Sanji. I think I’m gonna take a shower now. I’ll see you at dinner?” His heart drops slightly as he watches you. But he slowly gets off your bed and sets the book back on your desk. He gives you a small smile as he slides his shoes back on and heads out the door. I can handle this myself. Sanji doesn’t need to help.
-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-
Sanji’s about halfway through making dinner when you come into the galley. He catches a whiff of your body wash as you come up to the stove to peek at what he’s making.
He spots the concern on your face and points over to a bowl on the side. “Don’t worry, darling. I got you.”
You peer into the bowl housing one of your safe foods. “You don’t have to do this for me, Sanji. I’ll figure it out.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
You return his sweet smile with a small one. “Thank you.”
He wraps an arm around your shoulder and softly kisses your temple as you reach for a bite of the food. His hand stirring the other food pauses as he sees you grimace. “What’s wrong?”
You shake your head, forcing the bite down. “Nothing.”
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong with the food?” Sanji puts the spatula down and turns you to face him.
Your eyes are on the ground between your feet as the guilt starts to eat at you. “It’s the pepper. I’m sorry.”
“No worries, sweets.” You look back up to see Sanji moving the bowl away and starting to remake your food from scratch. “Is there anything else wrong with it?”
You step away from him as the guilt consumes your heart. “No, I’m sorry, I can eat the-”
He’s careful to keep the pepper away from the food. “It’s not a problem, dear.” He looks over with a comforting smile as he works.
Shyly leaning against the counter, you watch him continue to work, effortlessly making two very different meals with no problems.
After a few minutes, he slides a fresh bowl in front of you and nervously watches as you try a bite. He lets out a breath as you smile and take another bite. Your voice is quiet, still guilty he had to do this. “This is delicious, Sanji. Thank you.”
You move behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, not wanting to disrupt the cooking he’s doing for the rest of the crew.
“Of course, my love. We’ll get through this together.” You smile against his back as his hand moves to hold your joined ones against his stomach.
With a small flick of your wrist, you shook out the dull ache that was trying to settle into the bones. Having a friend who owns a small island bar often attracted a pirate or two looking for a fight.
After seeing enough smashed brawls and helping repair the furniture well into the night, you had taught yourself how to fight.
Although it was basics, clearly you had done a decent job as you landed a clean right-hook into the jaw of a small pirate crew who had started to stir up trouble with a friendlier team - the Red-Haired Pirates.
Shanks was seated at the bar and staring at you with an expression of what seemed like awe. “I was going to ask if you needed a hand but it looked like you had it under control.” He called out as you approached.
“Ever the gentleman, Shanks. I-whoa…” you stumbled over nothing and into the post of Party’s Bar. Something didn’t feel right.
A blur of red and Shanks was on his feet before you with alarming speed. He had a hand on your shoulder to keep you steady. His other went to your waist but he immediately recoiled.
“You have a knife wound.” He informed and called out for his ships doctor. You could have sworn that there was a twinge of concern in his voice. But it instead of analysing that, you tried to register what he said.
A knife? How had you missed it?
“I would have intervened sooner if I saw his blade. I’m sorry.” He apologised while applying pressure to your abdomen. You clenched your jaw and dropped your head to his shoulder in an effort not to cry out. “Hold on, Hongo will be here any second now.”
Your knees were starting to buckle. Naturally you shifted your weight to Shanks who clearly realised and scooped you into his arms. He turned and brought you to the literal bar counter. Manoeuvring carefully, you heard the clutter of bottles and glass as they landed on the floor before Shanks lifted you slightly higher and placed you on the counter top, back pressed flat against the cool surface.
“Makino isn’t going to be pleased.” You commented as the pressure retuned to the wound site.
“I’ll personally clean it up.” Shanks said. “How are you feeling?”
You stared at the thatched roof. “Like someone is about to pour rum over me.”
Shanks chuckled lightly. He shook his head and you glimpsed the small smile on his face. “I’ll confess that I’ve wanted you kiss you silly in this exact spot.“
“Shanks, you can’t say that to someone who is bleeding out.” You laughed and immediately groaned in pain. When the ache returned to a dull fire, you blinked back at him. “How long have you thought of kissing me?”
“From our first encounter.” He answered.
Wincing at the pain as it flared up once again, you closed your eyes. “I’ll make it my motivation to not die here then.”
Shanks brushed the hair from your face and stroked your jaw. He was probably hoping for Hongo to show up soon. If not, the dream of a steamy bar-top kiss would never come true.
a/n: very self-indulgent fic. can be read with opla sanji in mind!!
the thousand sunny had long since fallen asleep.
the only room still glowing with warm light was the kitchen.
you stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up as you sliced strawberries into uneven little hearts. sanji had laughed at your attempt exactly once before quietly fixing the knife in your hand and guiding your fingers.
"like this, my love."
his hand rested over yours, warm and calloused from years in the kitchen. he never rushed you. even if the strawberries came out crooked, he looked at them as though they belonged in a five-star restaurant.
"perfect."
"they're lopsided..."
"they're yours <3"
that was enough for him.
the pie sat cooling by the window while the sea breeze drifted in through the porthole. somewhere above deck, the ship creaked with the rhythm of the waves.
sanji turned the transponder snail radio on.
it crackled for a second before a slow jazz tune floated through the kitchen.
you caught him smiling.
"don't even think about it."
"think about what?"
"i know that look."
he placed the dish towel over his shoulder with exaggerated innocence.
"can't a man dance with the love of his life?"
"you're in the middle of washing dishes."
"those dishes can wait."
before you could protest, he slipped an arm around your waist and gently stole you away from the counter.
your bare feet shuffled across the wooden floor.
"sanji..."
"hm?"
"the sink is overflowing."
he glanced over your shoulder.
"...that's tomorrow's problem."
you laughed, resting your forehead against his shoulder.
his heartbeat was steady. warm. safe.
he hummed along with the music, guiding you through slow, clumsy circles around the kitchen.
"you're stepping on my feet."
"impossible."
"you just did."
"then your feet should consider themselves fortunate."
you snorted.
"that's ridiculous."
"i'm completely serious."
his chin rested lightly atop your head.
if someone walked into the kitchen right now, sanji wouldn't even notice. nothing existed beyond the tiny world the two of you had created between the stove and the sink.
after a while, the song ended.
neither of you moved.
eventually, you pulled away just enough to reach for the mixing bowl.
"come on, chef."
"yes, ma'am."
you handed him the whisk.
he handed it back.
"you're whisking."
"i thought you were helping."
"i am."
he stepped behind you again, wrapping his arms around your waist.
"this is helping."
"you're hugging me."
"exactly."
"sanji."
"yes?"
"i can't whisk like this."
"i have complete faith in you."
you rolled your eyes, though the smile on your face betrayed you.
with some awkward maneuvering, you managed to stir the filling while he remained attached to your back like he'd forgotten people were capable of existing separately.
he rested his cheek against your shoulder.
"...i missed you."
you blinked.
"i was upstairs for ten minutes just a few moments ago...."
"the longest ten minutes of my life."
"you are so dramatic..."
"and yet i'm right."
you reached up to gently scratch behind his ear.
his shoulders relaxed immediately.
"...that's cheating."
"you like it."
"...i do."
the pie finally went into the oven.
the dishes were eventually washed.
the kitchen was cleaned.
well...
mostly.
when nami wandered in the next morning, she found a perfectly spotless kitchen.
except for two people asleep on the small couch in the corner.
sanji was sitting upright against the armrest, one hand still loosely intertwined with yours as though he might lose you if he let go.
you were curled against his chest, still wearing one of his oversized shirts.
nami smiled to herself before quietly grabbing a cup of coffee for her and robin.
she made sure not to wake them.
——————————————————
𐔌 ᛝ taglist .ᐟ : @chocolateshortcakesblog
this fic is written by @qwehwa 2026 / please do not feed any of my work into ai, copy, plagerise, nor translate them into any other language.
◡◡ ﹒ sanji x gn!reader 𖧧 requested | wc : 1.5k approx.l | cw : fluff / comedy / sanji is dramatic, of course / reader can't taste / ft. straw~hats | masterlist
sanji noticed little things.
he noticed when the butter in the kitchen was running low before anyone else did. he noticed when nami skipped breakfast because she was busy. he noticed when usopp secretly stole extra desserts and blamed luffy afterward.
so it was almost offensive that he hadn't noticed this.
"...how is it?" sanji asked proudly, setting a steaming bowl of seafood risotto in front of you.
you smiled.
"it's warm."
"...warm?"
you nodded happily.
"very warm."
sanji blinked.
"...and?"
"...it fills my stomach."
he stared.
that wasn't an answer.
he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"are you... messing with me?"
you tilted your head.
"no?"
his chef instincts started screaming.
the next day, he tested you.
he made pancakes.
everyone else nearly cried over how fluffy they were.
"these are amazing!!" luffy yelled through a mouthful.
"sanji, i think these are your best yet!" chopper beamed.
you took one bite.
"...soft."
sanji almost dropped the spatula.
soft.
not sweet.
not buttery.
not fluffy.
soft.
"...that's all?" he asked.
"mhm."
"..."
he made curry.
you said it was "hot."
he made lemon tart.
you said it was "cold."
he made garlic pasta.
you said it was "chewy."
sanji's eye twitched.
something was terribly wrong.
a week later, he cornered you in the pantry.
you looked mildly surprised.
"...did i do something?"
he crossed his arms dramatically.
"every time i cook, everyone describes flavors."
he counted on his fingers.
"'sweet.'"
"'salty.'"
"'creamy.'"
"'rich.'"
"'savory.'"
then he pointed at you.
"you?"
"'warm.'"
"'chewy.'"
"'crispy.'"
"'wet.'"
you rubbed the back of your neck.
"...i don't really know how else to describe food."
"...why?"
"...because i can't taste."
everything froze.
even the potatoes felt dramatic.
"...what?"
you blinked.
"i can't taste."
"or smell."
"...since i was little."
sanji's cigarette slipped right out of his mouth.
"you..."
"...can't..."
"...taste?"
you nodded.
"or smell."
"...ever?"
"nope."
"...not even chocolate?"
"...no."
"...ice cream?"
"...just cold."
"...steak?"
"...texture."
"...coffee?"
"...warm drink."
sanji looked like someone had personally informed him the ocean had been canceled.
he refused to believe it.
"close your eyes."
"...why?"
"trust me."
you shrugged.
"okay."
he gently placed something into your mouth.
you chewed.
"...crunchy."
"...that's it?"
"...i think it's... round?"
"...it was a strawberry."
he dramatically held his chest.
"my poor sweetheart..."
"i've never seen you this emotional."
"you've never tasted strawberries..."
"i don't know what i'm missing."
"THAT'S THE PROBLEM!"
sanji entered what the crew would later call...
the five stages of chef grief.
denial.
"maybe your taste buds are just... sleeping."
anger.
"WHOEVER MADE THIS HAPPEN, I JUST WANT TO TALK."
bargaining.
"what if i add more butter?"
depression.
"...they've never tasted homemade bread..."
acceptance.
"...i'll simply make every meal with extra love."
"how does that even work?" usopp asked later during lunch.
you shrugged.
"food just feels different."
"spicy?"
"pain."
"mint?"
"cold pain."
"wasabi?"
"very aggressive pain."
everyone nodded thoughtfully.
"...fair."
sanji became determined.
if you couldn't enjoy flavor...
he'd make you enjoy everything else.
"soup."
you took a sip.
"...silky."
his eyes sparkled.
"yes!"
"bread."
"...crispy."
"excellent!"
"fried shrimp."
"...very crunchy."
"that's my specialty!"
he started asking questions constantly.
"how's the texture?"
"good."
"temperature?"
"perfect."
"mouthfeel?"
"...is that a real word?"
"...it is now."
soon, every meal became strangely scientific.
"okay."
sanji crouched beside you.
"rate today's rice."
"...nine."
his eyes widened.
"really?"
"yes."
"why?"
"...pleasant to chew."
he nearly cried.
he became ridiculously protective during meals.
"too hot."
he blew on your soup.
"careful."
he cut your meat into smaller pieces.
"this one's crunchy."
he handed you freshly baked bread.
"don't eat that yet."
he gently took away a plate.
"the filling is still lava."
"...sanji."
"...yes?"
"...i'm an adult."
"...i know."
"...still blowing on your soup."
luffy didn't understand.
"if they can't taste..."
he shoved an entire lemon into his own mouth.
"...why eat?"
you smiled.
"because i'm hungry."
"...fair enough."
he immediately stole your bread.
one evening, sanji quietly sat beside you on the deck.
the sunset painted the ocean orange.
"...can i ask something?"
"of course."
"...do you wish you could taste?"
you thought for a while.
"...sometimes."
"mostly because everyone gets so excited."
"they talk about flavors like they're adventures."
"i've always wondered what they're talking about."
sanji's heart squeezed painfully.
"...i'm sorry."
you looked confused.
"for what?"
"...that you never got to experience it."
you smiled.
"...it's okay."
"i don't really miss something i've never had."
"...besides."
you nudged his shoulder.
"everyone else looks happy when they eat."
"that's enough for me."
sanji looked at you for a long moment.
then he smiled.
softly.
"you're impossible."
"that's what zoro says."
"for entirely different reasons."
the next morning...
sanji burst into the dining room carrying breakfast.
"today's menu!"
everyone cheered.
except you.
you simply waited patiently.
sanji placed your plate down first.
everyone noticed.
it looked...
different.
the toast was cut into little stars.
the eggs were shaped like tiny flowers.
the vegetables were arranged into smiling faces.
even the pancakes looked like hearts.
you stared.
"...it's cute."
sanji grinned proudly.
"if flavor's off the table..."
he tapped the plate.
"...presentation wins."
you laughed.
"a visual meal?"
"exactly."
"that's incredibly cheesy."
"i'm a romantic chef."
"you're impossible."
"that's what you said yesterday."
"...fair."
you picked up one of the little star-shaped toast pieces.
"...crispy."
sanji gasped dramatically.
"the highest compliment!"
you couldn't stop laughing.
neither could he.
from that day on...
your meals always looked just a little more magical than everyone else's.
rice shaped into bears.
vegetables carved into flowers.
bread baked as tiny hearts.
cookies shaped like little cigarette swirls just to make you laugh.
because maybe you couldn't taste.
maybe you couldn't smell.
but sanji would make absolutely sure...
that every meal still felt like love.
this fic is written by @qwehwa 2026 / please do not feed any of my work into ai, copy, plagerise, nor translate them into any other language.
◡◡ ﹒ sanji x gn!reader 𖧧 requested | wc : 1.5k approx.l | cw : fluff / comedy / sanji is dramatic, of course / reader can't taste / ft. straw~hats | masterlist
sanji noticed little things.
he noticed when the butter in the kitchen was running low before anyone else did. he noticed when nami skipped breakfast because she was busy. he noticed when usopp secretly stole extra desserts and blamed luffy afterward.
so it was almost offensive that he hadn't noticed this.
"...how is it?" sanji asked proudly, setting a steaming bowl of seafood risotto in front of you.
you smiled.
"it's warm."
"...warm?"
you nodded happily.
"very warm."
sanji blinked.
"...and?"
"...it fills my stomach."
he stared.
that wasn't an answer.
he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"are you... messing with me?"
you tilted your head.
"no?"
his chef instincts started screaming.
the next day, he tested you.
he made pancakes.
everyone else nearly cried over how fluffy they were.
"these are amazing!!" luffy yelled through a mouthful.
"sanji, i think these are your best yet!" chopper beamed.
you took one bite.
"...soft."
sanji almost dropped the spatula.
soft.
not sweet.
not buttery.
not fluffy.
soft.
"...that's all?" he asked.
"mhm."
"..."
he made curry.
you said it was "hot."
he made lemon tart.
you said it was "cold."
he made garlic pasta.
you said it was "chewy."
sanji's eye twitched.
something was terribly wrong.
a week later, he cornered you in the pantry.
you looked mildly surprised.
"...did i do something?"
he crossed his arms dramatically.
"every time i cook, everyone describes flavors."
he counted on his fingers.
"'sweet.'"
"'salty.'"
"'creamy.'"
"'rich.'"
"'savory.'"
then he pointed at you.
"you?"
"'warm.'"
"'chewy.'"
"'crispy.'"
"'wet.'"
you rubbed the back of your neck.
"...i don't really know how else to describe food."
"...why?"
"...because i can't taste."
everything froze.
even the potatoes felt dramatic.
"...what?"
you blinked.
"i can't taste."
"or smell."
"...since i was little."
sanji's cigarette slipped right out of his mouth.
"you..."
"...can't..."
"...taste?"
you nodded.
"or smell."
"...ever?"
"nope."
"...not even chocolate?"
"...no."
"...ice cream?"
"...just cold."
"...steak?"
"...texture."
"...coffee?"
"...warm drink."
sanji looked like someone had personally informed him the ocean had been canceled.
he refused to believe it.
"close your eyes."
"...why?"
"trust me."
you shrugged.
"okay."
he gently placed something into your mouth.
you chewed.
"...crunchy."
"...that's it?"
"...i think it's... round?"
"...it was a strawberry."
he dramatically held his chest.
"my poor sweetheart..."
"i've never seen you this emotional."
"you've never tasted strawberries..."
"i don't know what i'm missing."
"THAT'S THE PROBLEM!"
sanji entered what the crew would later call...
the five stages of chef grief.
denial.
"maybe your taste buds are just... sleeping."
anger.
"WHOEVER MADE THIS HAPPEN, I JUST WANT TO TALK."
bargaining.
"what if i add more butter?"
depression.
"...they've never tasted homemade bread..."
acceptance.
"...i'll simply make every meal with extra love."
"how does that even work?" usopp asked later during lunch.
you shrugged.
"food just feels different."
"spicy?"
"pain."
"mint?"
"cold pain."
"wasabi?"
"very aggressive pain."
everyone nodded thoughtfully.
"...fair."
sanji became determined.
if you couldn't enjoy flavor...
he'd make you enjoy everything else.
"soup."
you took a sip.
"...silky."
his eyes sparkled.
"yes!"
"bread."
"...crispy."
"excellent!"
"fried shrimp."
"...very crunchy."
"that's my specialty!"
he started asking questions constantly.
"how's the texture?"
"good."
"temperature?"
"perfect."
"mouthfeel?"
"...is that a real word?"
"...it is now."
soon, every meal became strangely scientific.
"okay."
sanji crouched beside you.
"rate today's rice."
"...nine."
his eyes widened.
"really?"
"yes."
"why?"
"...pleasant to chew."
he nearly cried.
he became ridiculously protective during meals.
"too hot."
he blew on your soup.
"careful."
he cut your meat into smaller pieces.
"this one's crunchy."
he handed you freshly baked bread.
"don't eat that yet."
he gently took away a plate.
"the filling is still lava."
"...sanji."
"...yes?"
"...i'm an adult."
"...i know."
"...still blowing on your soup."
luffy didn't understand.
"if they can't taste..."
he shoved an entire lemon into his own mouth.
"...why eat?"
you smiled.
"because i'm hungry."
"...fair enough."
he immediately stole your bread.
one evening, sanji quietly sat beside you on the deck.
the sunset painted the ocean orange.
"...can i ask something?"
"of course."
"...do you wish you could taste?"
you thought for a while.
"...sometimes."
"mostly because everyone gets so excited."
"they talk about flavors like they're adventures."
"i've always wondered what they're talking about."
sanji's heart squeezed painfully.
"...i'm sorry."
you looked confused.
"for what?"
"...that you never got to experience it."
you smiled.
"...it's okay."
"i don't really miss something i've never had."
"...besides."
you nudged his shoulder.
"everyone else looks happy when they eat."
"that's enough for me."
sanji looked at you for a long moment.
then he smiled.
softly.
"you're impossible."
"that's what zoro says."
"for entirely different reasons."
the next morning...
sanji burst into the dining room carrying breakfast.
"today's menu!"
everyone cheered.
except you.
you simply waited patiently.
sanji placed your plate down first.
everyone noticed.
it looked...
different.
the toast was cut into little stars.
the eggs were shaped like tiny flowers.
the vegetables were arranged into smiling faces.
even the pancakes looked like hearts.
you stared.
"...it's cute."
sanji grinned proudly.
"if flavor's off the table..."
he tapped the plate.
"...presentation wins."
you laughed.
"a visual meal?"
"exactly."
"that's incredibly cheesy."
"i'm a romantic chef."
"you're impossible."
"that's what you said yesterday."
"...fair."
you picked up one of the little star-shaped toast pieces.
"...crispy."
sanji gasped dramatically.
"the highest compliment!"
you couldn't stop laughing.
neither could he.
from that day on...
your meals always looked just a little more magical than everyone else's.
rice shaped into bears.
vegetables carved into flowers.
bread baked as tiny hearts.
cookies shaped like little cigarette swirls just to make you laugh.
because maybe you couldn't taste.
maybe you couldn't smell.
but sanji would make absolutely sure...
that every meal still felt like love.
this fic is written by @qwehwa 2026 / please do not feed any of my work into ai, copy, plagerise, nor translate them into any other language.
im surprised bout how Captain!Reader isn’t all too common
Like imagine all the scenarios with like rivalries with other captains/crews. Enemies to lovers/secret relationship thing with a rival crew member (or a marine), or maybe smth silly like your crew setting you up with someone else
Maybe Captain!Reader’s rlly well-known and feared, or maybe they’re still at the bottom of the food chain trying to get up in the world (with the goal of becoming King of the Pirates???????) see how other’s will react to their s/o with the same goal/similar goals to their captain
IDK i just find the idea rlly fun and has a lotta potential (in my opinion)
(I could??? Write bout this but i dont feel all too confident cuz im still on skypeia…. TAG ME IN ANYTHING LIKE RHIS I NEEDDDD ITTT)
(ykw i might write bout this more)
chloes myspace @boo-shalala - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
