SANJI who loves every inch of your skin...
⤷ f!reader, suggestive, pining, unrequited feelings, 750 words
sanji who watches the way your fingers curl around your fork as you bring the meal to your mouth, your grip firm but delicate. your painted lips lift into a smile, begging to be kissed, but his focus is still on your hands, with your long, painted nails clicking against the silver utensil. you're saying something to him—something he knows he should respond to. but he's too caught up in daydreams, wondering what those same hands would feel like dragging down his back, nails scratching into his skin as you look up from under him with hazy eyes.
sanji who can't help but stare from across the ship as luffy helps you apply sunscreen on your back, his hands sloppily smoothing the white lotion over your skin. sanji knows you only asked luffy because he doesn't make a big deal of things like that, but he's irritated that luffy can't even do it properly.
luffy's hands slide across the delicate planes of your back, and sanji feels the cool wave of jealousy wash over him. you move your hair out of the way, and the muscles between your shoulder blades flex, the skin of your back smoothing along your spine with each of your movements. sanji feels his hands twitch, and he's desperate to massage the tension there, erase the knots that have formed in the last few weeks.
his illusion breaks when you yell at luffy for haphazardly slapping the lotion onto your skin, already distracted by something else. instead of turning to the only other person on the deck, instead of begging sanji to come help, you yank the bottle out of luffy's hands and give up on the task entirely.
sanji, who nearly cuts his fingers off when you walk into the kitchen wearing a mini-skirt, showing off the long expanse of your smooth legs, more skin than he's ever seen you show. you smile at him, sweetly, innocently, like you have no idea you drive him crazy.
"is something wrong, sanji?" you ask, eyes flicking down to the knife in his hand, before back to his own eyes.
he shakes his head, mouth too dry to form a response, as nami snorts from behind him.
you take a seat beside her, and sanji can't help but take a peek over his shoulder, sliding his gaze under the table, where your legs are stretched out. he swallows thickly, face turning red as a vision of your thighs on either side of his cheeks flashes into his mind.
as if able to read his thoughts, you cross one ankle over the other, politely tucking them back under your chair while sanji tries not to lose a limb.
sanji, whose head is so full of you, he forgets his manners entirely. he's never been afraid of telling women how they enchant him, but something about you terrifies him. perhaps it's because he knows his feelings are real, and he doesn't think his heart would recover if you didn't feel the same.
he swings the door open without knocking, not even considering the fact that you might be changing—which you are.
sanji gets less than a second peek. you've only taken your top off, exposing the lacy, black bra that shows off the delicious curves of your breasts.
his jaw goes slack, his mind emptying until your name is the only word he knows, and you let out a small yelp, throwing your discarded shirt over his eyes. it smells like vanilla and a scent that's distinctly you, something so sweet he feels himself already growing hard.
"sanji!" you shout, anger seeping into your words. "would it kill you to knock?"
he tries to calm himself down so he can form a proper reply. the last time he pissed you off, you didn't speak to him for a week—he doesn't want that to happen ever again.
“sorry!” he says quickly, though his throat is raspy and he doesn’t sound very sincere at all. "i wasn't thinking."
you’re so close—too close—when you pull the shirt off his head, just a few inches away. the scent of you is even stronger, circling him like a cloud. your lips are pursed, eyes narrowed, and sanji prays that you don't look down—you might just kill him.
"clearly," you say, rolling your eyes. "you're lucky i don't want to starve on this ship." you give him one more glare, and though sanji feels his knees go weak, he resists the urge to fall at your feet. "knock."
"i will," he promises, though his mind is already wondering how far he can go before you actually make good on your threats.
Opla!Sanji x femreader who’s the sister of Nami and Sanji always give the reader strawberries 🍓
VINSMOKE SANJI (LIVE ACTION) ✰ THE LANGUAGE OF STRAWBERRIES
You’re sitting on the deck, reading a book on your lap when you hear someone say, “You’ll burn that pretty skin if you stay out here much longer without a hat.”
You looked up, and there he was. Sanji. In his hands, held behind his back, was something you couldn’t see.
“I’m fine,” you replied, remembering what page you were on. “I like the sun.”
“The sun likes you too,” he replied smoothly, and then, with a flourish that would have made a stage magician jealous, he brought his hands forward. “Might be something that the sun and I have in common, then.”
A small porcelain bowl. And inside, a neat little pyramid of strawberries, their red so vivid against the white dish it almost hurt to look at. They were perfect—plump, glistening with a faint sheen of moisture, their green stems still attached like tiny crowns.
“Sanji…”
“For you, mademoiselle.” He lowered himself into a graceful crouch beside you, setting the bowl gently on the space between them. “I noticed you’ve been looking for them.”
You reached out tentatively, your fingers brushing the cool surface of one berry. “I counted them,” you told him. “We ran out. I saw the crate this morning. It was empty.”
Sanji’s smile widened, a glint of mischief in his eye. He plucked one of the strawberries from the bowl and held it out to you, his fingers careful not to bruise the delicate fruit. “Did you now?”
You took it from him, your fingers brushing. A deliberate thing, you were sure. “Yes. I was going to ask you to put strawberries on the next supply list. I’ve been thinking about them for days.”
“Well, it seems that we still have them in stock,” he winked, nodding toward the berry in your hand. “Tell me if they’re to your liking.”
You bit into it. The strawberry was just in the in-between of sour and sweet, just to your liking.
“These are perfect,” you sighed after you’d swallowed, licking a stray drop of juice from your lip. “Where did you get them? We haven’t docked anywhere in two weeks.”
Sanji leaned back on his heels, reaching for his cigarette case. He paused, glanced at the strawberry in your hand, and seemed to think better of it, leaving the case untouched. “A chef has his secrets,” he said lightly. “Wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, would it?”
“Sanji.”
His name on your lips, spoken with that mix of exasperation and fondness, made him chuckle. “Alright, alright. Let’s just say I’ve been… cultivating a small stock. For emergencies.”
“Strawberry emergencies?”
“Mhm. A certain someone’s cravings qualify as a top-priority emergency in my book.”
You hummed. “You’ve been hiding strawberries. For a week. Just in case I wanted some.”
“Among other things.” He gestured to the bowl. “There’s more where that came from. I’ve got a little patch growing in one of the planters behind the galley. Took some doing to get the soil right, but—” He shrugged, as if it were nothing. As if he hadn’t secretly cultivated a strawberry patch just to surprise you with fresh fruit whenever you pleased.
. . .
“You grew strawberries,” you said slowly, “on the Going Merry. For me.”
“Well,” he said, and for the first time, a hint of genuine shyness crept into his voice. He rubbed the back of his neck, that boyish gesture he never let anyone else see. “I like doing things myself. And I like making people happy with food. Combining the two seemed logical.”
“Logical,” you repeated, smiling.
“Of course.”
Sanji picked up another piece and offered it to you. “Now, are you going to let me spoil you, or do I have to start listing off all the ways strawberries are superior to other fruits? I’ve got arguments, you know. Health benefits, versatility in desserts, aesthetic appeal…”
You took the bowl from him, your fingers tangling deliberately this time, both of you letting the contact linger. “I’d like to hear them.”
“Would you now?” He sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours. “Well, first of all, they’re the only fruit brave enough to wear their seeds on the outside. That takes confidence.”
“Confidence?”
“Absolutely. A strawberry doesn’t hide what it is. It’s bold. Vibrant. Sweet without being cloying.” He watched you take a bite, his gaze fond. “Reminds me of a certain someone, you know?”
You nearly choked.
“Are you comparing me to a strawberry?”
“I’m comparing your finer qualities to those of a strawberry,” he corrected smoothly. “There’s a difference.”
“And what, exactly, are my finer qualities?”
Sanji took the question with theatrical seriousness, one hand coming to rest on his chest. “Well, let’s see. You’re bold. You don’t back down from a fight, even when you probably should. You’re vibrant—when you walk into a room, it feels brighter. And you’re sweet without being…”
He paused, searching for the word.
“Cloying?” you suggested.
“I was going to say ‘fake.’ But cloying works too.” He grinned. “Also, you’re devastatingly beautiful, but I assume you already knew that part.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. You offered him the half-eaten strawberry in your hand. Sanji looked at it, then back at you. He didn’t take it from your hand. Instead, he leaned in and took a bite directly, his lips brushing your fingers for the briefest moment.
His eye stayed on yours the whole time, as if testing your reaction.
“Delicious,” he laughed quietly, nodding.
You swore your heart did something that it wasn’t supposed to do. You pulled your hand immediately, your fingertips tingling. “You could’ve told me to just feed you. You’re going to break your neck from that angle.”
Sanji just smiled.
. . .
“You really didn’t have to do this,” you said eventually, your voice soft. “The strawberries thing. We could’ve just gotten some at the next island.”
“I know, but I wanted to.”
“You’re very thoughtful, Sanji,” you told him. “Thank you. I wanted to let you know.”
He exhaled, a shaky breath that might have been relief. “Well,” he managed, recovering some of his swagger, “if we’re letting each other know things, then I should probably mention that I’ve been growing those strawberries for three months. Since you said you missed them.”
“Three months?”
“I wanted to make sure I had the technique right before I presented them. Couldn’t very well give you subpar strawberries, could I? What kind of chef would I be?”
You stared at him. Three months. He had been tending to a strawberry patch, hidden behind the galley, for three months, just so he could surprise you with your favorite fruit whenever you wanted.
“That must’ve been a lot of work.”
“Nothing’s too much work when it comes to you, mademoiselle,” he replied.
“You’re laying it thick today, huh?”
Sanji took a deep breath, exhaling with a laugh. “Taking all the chances while I can.”
You set the bowl aside—half-empty now, your craving thoroughly satisfied—and before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned into him, your head finding the spot on his shoulder that seemed to have been made for you. Sanji went rigid for a second, then relaxed, his hand coming up to wrap around yours carefully.
“All the chances are definitely yours.”
Sanji might’ve just won the whole lottery at this point. Starting with a seed of strawberry as an investment.
“Now, if you’re done with those, I was thinking of making strawberry shortcake for dessert tonight. Fresh cream, a little vanilla bean, maybe some mint from the other planter. What do you think?”
You tilted your head up to look at him. He was so close you could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw and the way his eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled. “You’re going to use your secret strawberries for shortcake?”
“I grew them to be eaten,” he said reasonably. “And I happen to know a certain someone who deserves something sweet. Always.”
“You already gave me strawberries.”
“Pre-shortcake strawberries,” he corrected. “A mere appetizer. The main event is yet to come.” He grinned, and it was that grin—the one that managed to capture your eye during your first meeting at the Baratie. “I take my duties as your personal chef very seriously. That includes dessert.”
“Since when were you exclusively my personal chef?”
“Mm.” He feigned thought. “Now?”
You laughed again, and Sanji looked at you like you’d hung the moon. “Alright,” you replied. “Shortcake. But I’m helping. I think the others would want some, too.”
“Absolutely not.” He said it with such immediate, theatrical horror that you laughed again. “You’ll be my taste tester. Sit there, look beautiful, and tell me when I’ve achieved perfection. Those are the rules.”
“Those are arbitrary rules you just made up.”
“They’re the chef’s rules,” he said primly. “Non-negotiable.”
You reached up and flicked his shoulder. Sanji blinked, startled, and then his face split into a wide, genuine smile that transformed him from suave gentleman into something boyish and utterly charming.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I’m lucky you think I’m cute,” he countered. “And I intend to keep being lucky for as long as you’ll let me.”
You felt your face grow warm again, but you just hid your face on his arm. “That might be a while.”
A while, indeed.
-
“The waiter’s flirting with your sister, huh?” Zoro stated, not really questioning.
Nami didn’t look up from her cake. “I know.”
“You don’t mind?”
She finally glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “Zoro, he grew her a secret strawberry patch. For three months. I’d be more worried if she wasn’t flirting back.”
Zoro took that into consideration. “Fair.”
Then, Luffy popped in between them. Where he was just moments ago was the true mystery. His mouth full of strawberry shortcake. “Sanji makes even better food when he’s happy,” he said, as if that explained everything. “(Name) should flirt with him more.”
“I don’t think I can stomach that,” Usopp piped in.
“I don’t think you’re one to talk,” Nami told him. “Remember when we were about to leave Syrup Village?”
“I—“ Usopp weighed his chances. “You’re right.”
At least they had strawberry shortcake. The best across the East Blue.
☆ "I Love You... Not Like That" — (OPLA) Strawhats x Reader ☆
Genre: Platonic, Fluff || They/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed
A/N: Reader says 'I love you' in a purely platonic way to their new crew members, who don't know where this "confession" suddenly came from. Hilarity ensues
──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────
Luffy
ᯓᡣ𐭩 The only one that doesn't second-guess it. He loves being Captain, he loves his crew, which includes you in it. He's done way worse on much less logic. Doesn't even cross his mind that it could potentially be read a certain way. Genuinely just takes it as appreciation
ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Oh! Love you too!"
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Now he's saying it all the time. Before heading somewhere, when saying goodbye, basically unless something serious is happening he'll say it almost whenever. He wants his crew to know he cares for them! Pair that with a pretty bad understanding of dating norms in general and you get a very platonically affectionate Captain
ᯓᡣ𐭩 The main reason why it eventually just becomes habit around the crew. He's so full of hope and dedication to his friends, why not let them know it? He almost gets offended if someone forgets to say it to him at least once a day. You've accidentally created a monster
Zoro
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Completely flies over his head that you're talking to him. Doesn't stop moving, doesn't turn his head, not even an acknowledging hum. It's only when he realizes you're staring that he gets confused, and then it slowly clicks
ᯓᡣ𐭩 "No, you don't"
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Confused, but very blunt about it. There's no way you do. You don't know each other that well, and he's had too many people try to cozy up to him just cause of how strong he is. Never worked for them, definitely not for you. You end up explaining to him that you didn't mean it how he's thinking, clearing up the misunderstanding
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Even under this new meaning, Zoro isn't sure if he believes it. But he's not uncomfortable with it, so he gives you the okay. He doesn't return it, mostly out of embarrassment. It feels too heavy to throw around as casually as you do. He warms up to accepting it, though, and if you don't say it to him as often as usual he will think something's wrong
Nami
ᯓᡣ𐭩 She just stares at you. Tries to figure out if you're being serious or not. When your expression doesn't change, she almost thinks you're messing with her on purpose just to be a jerk. But you seem dead serious about it
ᯓᡣ𐭩 "...What?"
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Fully confused, doesn't hide how she's kinda weirded out by it. After Arlong, you definitely know one another better, but she wouldn't jump that far. Immediately starts asking you why you think you do, which is when you realize that she took it a different way
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Once you define the difference, she's still a bit wary, but not entirely put off by it. She gets used to hearing you say it, and over time maybe she could even learn to internalize it. You even sometimes get a "you too" if she's in a good mood
Sanji
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Like many things with him, it depends on your gender. If you're a girl (or fem presenting)? He's grinning, leaning closer, turning on the superficial charm. If you're a guy (or masc presenting)? He's very confused. Stares at you out the corner of his eye with a furrowed brow. Very not used to men around him being so open with affection, or getting this from men in general
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Either way you have to catch his attention and explain what you really meant. Love isn't just dating and whatnot, it's a deep care for someone. And even if you're still a bit new to each other, you love what you've seen of him. Not because of a crush or anything, but because you admire him as he is
ᯓᡣ𐭩 A bit reassured (or a little disappointed, depending), Sanji can't help but feel your words are hollow. Even if he was initially excited at the idea, he knew it was basically impossible for you to mean it on any deep level. You barely knew him beyond what he could cook for you. It's your consistent love over time that convinces him. When it doesn't waver no matter what happens between you
ᯓᡣ𐭩 If you're fem, he returns every 'I love you' with charming enthusiam. And if not, he'll give a small smile and acknowledging head nod. No matter what, the two of you eventually get to a point where you're the only one that can get a "love you" out of him even on a bad day
Usopp
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Doesn't think you're talking to him. Literally looks around all confused, wondering if someone walked in while he wasn't looking. He's about to ask about it when he turns back and sees your eyes directly on him
ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Oh wait- ME??"
ᯓᡣ𐭩 He's flattered, honestly, but he also awkwardly mentions Kaya to you. Y'know, if you were there then you'd remember why he isn't exactly... y'know? He's stumbling over himself but he's very sweet about it, trying so hard not to hurt your feelings while you just laugh a little
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Once you tell him the difference between loving and being in love with someone, he gets it. Kinda. He doesn't say it as often as Luffy, but will never leave you hanging if you say it to him first. Expects a full "I love you" every time though, anything less and he starts thinking he did something wrong somehow
s. You become part of the Straw Hats quietly: through tinctures and sleepless nights, warm soup after long hours in your lab, and Sanji waiting for you in the kitchen after dinner.
wc. 6.3k
w. botanist reader, angst, a hint of jealousy, explicit content, nsfw
read on ao3 | m. list
...
“Can’t sleep?”
Sanji startles when you step into the kitchen.
He shakes his head, eyes glassy, tears clinging stubbornly to his lashes. He’s nursing a beer, a cigarette resting unlit between his fingers as he sits at the table. Moonlight spills over him, almost turning him into a painting you’re not supposed to touch.
You don’t say anything else. Just move quietly to the sink, reaching for the kettle you’d filled earlier. It’s still warm. You go through the motions by habit, preparing a blend of chamomile and lavender, a careful pinch of valerian folded in at the end.
Sanji doesn’t speak. Not even when you sit across from him and slide the cup gently in his direction.
He doesn’t look up, just gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.
You pause, then reach into your pocket and set a small glass vial on the table between you. Your own tincture. Herbs steeped in alcohol, measured carefully, patiently. Something to quiet the mind, to help him rest. If he wants it.
“Drink the tea,” you say softly, reaching for the bottle still hanging loose in his hand. It’s warm. Untouched. “Last resort… just a few drops of this.”
You nod toward the vial. He doesn’t move.
“You need to sleep, Sanji.”
“There’s nothing else you can do?” His voice cracks and when he finally looks up at you, you see the look on his face.
He looks broken. Not just tired. Not just worried. Completely broken.
“I-I did what I could,” you say, the words catching as your gaze drops to the table. You can’t hold his. “With what I had. I’m not a doctor.” Your fingers curl slightly against your lap. “And she needs one.”
Silence settles between you. The strange thing is you barely know him. You barely know any of them.
You met Sanji when he pulled you out of that wax prison on that godforsaken prehistoric island. Little Garden, they’d called it, like that made it any less of a nightmare. You hadn’t meant to end up there. Stowaway life never really went according to plan, but that time had been particularly bad.
You’d managed to sneak aboard a ship, desperate and running out of options. You were chasing a plant, a night-blooming flower rumored to grow only in extreme climates, its petals said to ease fevers and slow certain poisons if prepared right. You’d been tracking it for years. You were so close.
Mr. 3 had been closer.
He’d found you before you ever found the plant. Would’ve killed you, too, if you hadn’t talked fast enough, twisted the truth just enough to make yourself useful. Worth keeping. That was the problem, really.
He kept you.
Close. Chained. Always within reach. Days blurred into weeks inside that suffocating wax house. You stopped counting eventually. Hope slipped through your fingers slowly, until even the idea of being rescued felt ridiculous. There were moments where you thought it might’ve been easier if he had just killed you.
Then the door burst open.
Mr. 3 always locked you in whenever he left, so at first all you heard was a voice, different from the others you were used to. You thought you were imagining it. But then it came again. And you called out for help.
Sanji opened the door to find you exactly as you were: tear-streaked, shaking, chained to the wall like something forgotten.
“Hey,” he said, softer than anything you’d heard in weeks, stepping toward you carefully, like you might break. You were already crying harder, breath hitching, wrists raw and bleeding where you’d been pulling against the chains. You didn’t care how you looked, didn’t care about anything except the fact that someone was there.
“Hey, you’re okay.” He murmured, crouching in front of you. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
You still don’t know what it was.
Maybe the way his voice sounded so gentle and soft. Maybe the way his hands touched you when he freed you, when he wrapped your wrists, tending to your wounds. Maybe it was just that he came at all.
But you trusted him.
“Do you have a ship?” You’d asked, clutching at his shirt before he could even stand, fingers tangling in the fabric like if you let go he might disappear. “I-I have a Log Pose. Please– just let me come with you.”
You remember how desperate you sounded. He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t even hesitated before letting you tag along.
That was how you ended up here.
You’ve met the captain, the swordsman, the navigator–
And the cook.
And now you’re sitting across from him in the quiet of the night, watching him fall apart over someone else.
The silence stretches for too long. You don’t understand his relationship with the navigator, you’ve barely had time to talk to her before she collapsed on deck a few days ago. But from what the other girl, Vivi, told you, they’re close.
You try to get a grip on your feelings, but they slip through your fingers anyway. The bitter taste of jealousy settles at the back of your throat as you force it down. Sanji saved you, after all. It makes sense to feel attached to the person who pulled you out of something like that. You think.
He exhales shakily, dragging a hand on his face.
“There’s gotta be something you– we can do.” He murmured. “I can’t just sit here, she– she’s burning up, a-and I’m– I’m making tea.”
You don’t know what to say. You’ve given Nami some of the last of your analgesics, but you’re just a botanist. You’re no doctor. You’re not even sure what even happened to her.
“If something happens– if she–” He cuts himself off, breathing hard. You watch his hand curl into a fist, knuckles whitening. “I should’ve noticed sooner,” he says, quieter now. “I should’ve paid attention, I–”
You don’t think. You just reach out, your fingers closing gently around his hand, coaxing it open. He doesn’t resist. His palm is warm, tense under yours, and you trace slow, absent circles against his skin with your thumb, grounding, steady, offering what little you can when words feel useless.
There’s nothing you can say that would reach him right now. So you don’t try.
“I don’t know what to do.” His voice cracks. “If she doesn’t get better–”
The rest dissolves into quiet, uneven breaths as he bows his head, shoulders starting to shake, like he’s trying to hide it even now. You’re moving before you can realize what you’re doing.
Your chair scrapes softly on the wooden floor and you step around the table, wrapping your arms around him. Sanji hesitates before giving into the hug, burying his face on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulls you closer, almost desperate, shoulders shaking with his sobs.
His fingers bunch into the fabric at your back as his shoulders shake harder, the restraint he’d been holding onto finally slipping.
Your breath catches for a moment, but your arms tighten around him instinctively, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, the other sliding along his neck.
“It’s okay.” You whisper, lips brushing lightly against his hair. “I’ve got you.”
He exhales against the fabric of your cardigan and pulls you tighter.
For a moment, you let yourself sink into the warmth of his skin. Your hand moves slowly against his back, something to anchor him while he falls apart.
You stay like that a while, letting him get it out, feeling the tension leave him little by little until the shaking eases and his sobs soften into quiet sniffles. Even then, he doesn’t let go right away, just holds onto you, and you almost get lost in the warmth of his body, in how easy it would be to stay like this.
When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t try to hide his face. With another sniff, he lets out a weak, wet laugh, lifting a hand like he’s going to wipe at the tears that soaked into your cardigan.
“Sorry,” he says, like he can brush it off if he says it lightly enough.
You smile, soft and sympathetic, tugging your sleeve down over your hand before reaching up to gently wipe the remaining tears from his face, careful and unhurried. “Don’t be.”
The moment lingers, quiet and close, before you shift and sit beside him on the bench, the space between you smaller now as you push the mug of tea toward him again.
“You need to rest, Sanji.” You murmur.
He nods, but doesn’t move to drink it.
You sigh softly and lean your head against his shoulder instead, not pushing, not insisting… just staying there, letting the weight of it say what you don’t.
You’re not going anywhere.
…
“Hey,” Sanji says softly.
You inhale sharply, eyes snapping open as you straighten at your desk, disoriented for a moment as sleep clings stubbornly to you. You blink a couple of times, rubbing at your eyes as you try to place yourself, your surroundings slowly settling back into focus.
Oh, yeah. The Going Merry. On your way to Alabasta.
“What happened?” You clear your throat, thirst settling bitterly on the back of it.
“Nothing,” he says with a small smile, a quiet breath of laughter slipping through his nose as he leans against the doorframe, relaxed, like he’s been standing there a while. “You missed dinner.”
“Oh.” You stretch where you sit, arms lifting over your head until your spine pops, the stiffness from sleeping hunched over making itself known all at once. “Sorry.”
Your lab is still tiny, barely bigger than a supply closet, but it’s yours. Between the cluttered desk, the scattered notes, and the bundles of drying herbs hanging wherever you managed to find space, it already feels lived in, and with the medicinal plants Chopper brought aboard, you finally have enough to keep yourself busy again: tinctures to refine, ointments to test, combinations to try and fail and try again.
“Don’t be,” he says, his gaze drifting over to the room, to your open notebook and scattered tools and supplies. “You’ve been locked in here all day.”
“I didn’t mean to.” You stand up and brush your lab coat, just to have something to do with your hands. “I just… like to feel useful.”
Sanji takes a step towards you, but still keeps his distance.
“You are useful,” he replies, like it’s obvious, like it doesn’t need to be said twice. “Chopper’s been talking about your work non-stop. You’ve got him excited.”
You laugh softly. “Well, I’m glad.”
There’s a moment of silence between you both, and for a second you don’t know where to look.
“Come on.” Sanji says, breaking it gently. “Come eat.”
You suppress a sigh, shrugging off your lab coat as you follow him into the kitchen. A plate of creamy soup is waiting for you on the table, still warm, a faint curl of steam rising from the surface. The others have already eaten and retreated to their quarters or scattered across the ship, leaving the space quiet, just the two of you and the soft creak of wood beneath your feet.
“It smells good,” you say, only to keep the silence from stretching too far.
Sanji takes the seat across from you, and it reminds you too much of the night he cried in your arms. You clear your throat and reach for the spoon, dipping it into the soup just to have something to focus on.
He watches you, expectant, chin resting on his palm, those blue, ocean-deep eyes fixed on you with a softness that makes your chest feel a little too tight. A faint smile curves at the corner of his lips, and you try not to get overwhelmed by the attention, keeping your gaze on the spoon as you bring it up.
“It’s really good,” you say after taking a sip, savoring the slight tang.
“You like it?” He asks, the question coming out softer than you expect.
“Yeah.” You smile, already dipping your spoon again, taking another sip before the warmth fades.
Sanji watches you for a moment longer, like he’s making sure you mean it, before pushing himself up from his seat to grab his own plate. When he sits back down across from you, you frown slightly, the realization settling in a second too late.
“You haven’t eaten yet?”
He pauses halfway through settling into his seat, like he’s been caught doing something he didn’t think you’d notice, then shrugs it off easily, reaching for his spoon.
“Was waiting,” he says, like it doesn’t mean anything.
“For what?”
Sanji doesn’t answer right away, just starts eating, a little slower than you expect, like he’s buying himself time. When he finally glances up at you, there’s a faint smile there, something quieter than usual.
“For you,” he says.
Your cheeks warm instantly, your heart skipping several beats, your chest tightening as something soft and unsteady settles there, your stomach fluttering in a way you’re not prepared for.
“Oh.” Your voice comes out quieter than you intend, and you look away quickly, hoping he won’t notice the heat creeping up your face. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” He insists, and when you glance back at him, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips..
For a moment, the silence stretches, but it’s not awkward anymore, it’s comfortable. You try to focus on your food, on the warmth of the soup, on anything that keeps your mind steady, but your attention keeps drifting anyway, catching on the way his sleeves are rolled up, the line of his forearms, the quiet precision of his hands as he eats, the way his lips brush the spoon.
“Don’t tell the captain,” he says after you finish your food, gathering his and your dishes, and bringing them to the sink. “But I made dessert for you.”
“For me?” you ask, pointing lightly at your own chest.
He just nods, already moving, pulling two small bowls from the fridge and a couple of spoons from the drawer. There’s something almost careful in the way he sets everything down, like he’s pretending it’s casual when it isn’t.
Sanji places the chocolate mousse in front of you, and you just stare at it for a second.
It’s beautiful. It smells rich, sweet without being overwhelming, and you already know it’s going to taste amazing.
You look up at him, a little stunned despite yourself.
“You made this?”
He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Wasn’t hard.”
“No, of course it wasn’t.” You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You can make anything. It’s just… you don’t usually make dessert, so…”
Sanji glances at you, his gaze softening before he shrugs one shoulder, lowering his eyes to his mousse like it suddenly requires all his attention.
“I wanted to thank you,” he says softly.
You frown slightly, caught off guard. “For…?”
He exhales, like he’s steadying himself, then looks back up at you.
“For that night,” he says, quieter now. “For being there for me when I was… breaking down.”
“It was nothing–”
“No,” he cuts in, not harsh, but firm enough to stop you. “It meant– it meant a lot.”
His voice falters just slightly on the last words, and for a second he looks like he might say more, but he doesn’t.
You hold his gaze a moment longer than you mean to, something warm and uncertain settling in your chest, before you look back down at your spoon, turning it slowly between your fingers.
“I’m glad I could help,” you say quietly, softer than before. Then you smile, adjusting your posture, ready to taste the dessert.
You dip your spoon into the mousse, the texture giving smoothly. When you bring it to your lips, it melts almost instantly, rich and soft, just sweet enough to linger without overwhelming, and you can’t stop the small sound that escapes you.
Sanji notices. Of course he does.
His chin rests back on his palm as he watches you again, quieter now, like he’s waiting for your verdict all over again. You’re lost in the sweetness of the dessert, eyes slipping closed for just a second, when he says it.
“You’re beautiful.”
Your eyes snap open, widening as the words hit, catching you completely off guard, and you almost choke on the mousse.
“W-what?” You cough lightly, setting the spoon down as you try to recover.
Sanji freezes for half a heartbeat, like he’s only just realized he said it out loud, his posture shifting as his hand drops from his chin.
“I–” He huffs a quiet breath, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly a lot less composed than he was a second ago. “I mean–”
You stare at him, heat rushing to your face again, your heart picking up in a way that feels impossible to hide now. He glances away, then back at you, something stubborn flickering through the embarrassment.
“You are,” he says, softer this time, but no less certain.
“Sanji…” Your heart is beating far too fast, your chest tight with it. “You– you can’t just say that.”
He frowns slightly, genuinely confused. “I can’t?”
“Nami… she’ll kill you, then me, if she ever hears you saying things like that.”
Sanji blinks, pausing for a moment like he’s trying to make sense of what you just said, and then shakes his head, even more confused than before.
“You think I’m with Nami?!”
Oh, shit. Judging by his reaction, you might be completely wrong.
“...No,” you start, then immediately falter, your voice losing all conviction as heat rushes to your face. There’s a brief pause, and when you glance up, an amused smile slowly starts to curve at his lips. “I-I mean, you– you were devastated when she got sick– you climbed a mountain in a blizzard for her, I just… I thought…”
Your words trail off into nothing, cheeks burning as the realization settles in.
“Sorry,” you mumble, your voice coming out smaller than you mean it to as you look away.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, and for a second it makes your stomach twist with embarrassment, your cheeks still burning.
“She’s just a friend,” he says, reaching across the table until his fingers brush yours, then settle there. “I’d react the same if anyone else in the crew got sick.”
You glance down at his hand over yours, then nod, a little too quickly, trying not to think too much about it. But deep down, you’re… happy. You’re happy he isn’t with her and you’re happy he thinks you’re beautiful.
You suppress a grin.
“Even Zoro?” You narrow an eye at him, teasing.
He pauses, like he’s genuinely considering it, his thumb shifting slightly against your hand.
“…Debatable.”
You snort, the tension easing just enough to let the sound slip out, and when you look back up at him, there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips too.
“Did you mean it, then?” You ask hesitantly. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“I think you’re beautiful,” he says, without missing a beat, his thumb brushing lightly against your hand, “and so intelligent, and… kind, in a way you don’t even seem to notice. You take care of everyone without making it a big thing, like it’s just… natural to you.”
You still, your breath catching slightly as he keeps going, quieter now.
“And I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he adds, eyes on yours. “And I think you make this place better just by being here.”
Your chest tightens, the words settling somewhere deep, and you don’t know what to do with them, your fingers curling slightly under his touch.
He doesn’t look away. You do, because his adoring gaze is something you’re not used to. It’s kinda overwhelming really, but in a good way.
“Well.” You swallow, trying to dissolve the awkwardness. “Thank you. For the food and– everything else.”
Sanji shrugs again, like it’s nothing.
“Do you like the mousse?”
You hum, letting go of his hand and picking up the spoon again, ready to take a bite from the dessert once more.
“It’s perfect. I love chocolate. In all forms.” You smile at him. “For future reference.”
He laughs softly.
“Noted.”
After you finish your dessert, Sanji gathers the dishes and brings them to the sink, rolling his sleeves up a little more as he turns on the water. You stay where you are for a second, watching him without really meaning to, the steady movement of his hands, the quiet strength in his arms as he works the sponge over the plates, the whole thing a little too easy to get distracted by.
Before you realize what you’re doing, you’re already on your feet, crossing the small space between you. You rise onto your toes, leaning in just enough to press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
Sanji stills mid-motion.
He turns his head slightly to look at you, caught off guard in a way you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you stay there for a second longer than you probably should, your chin brushing against his shoulder as you balance on your toes.
“Thank you,” you say, your voice quieter now.
“You already said that, love.”
Your cheeks warm under his gaze. “Well… thanks again.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, softer than his usual grin, and for a second neither of you moves.
Then you step back, dropping back onto your heels, suddenly very aware of what you just did.
“I should–” You gesture vaguely toward the door, already turning away before you can finish the thought.
“Hey.”
You pause.
When you glance back, he’s still watching you, one hand resting against the edge of the sink, the other loosely holding the sponge like he forgot about it entirely.
“Anytime,” he says, quieter than before.
…
You’re sure he’s doing it on purpose now.
Every night, there’s a sweet treat waiting for you on the dinner table. Every night, after you finish work, you expectantly sneak into the kitchen to find Sanji already there, either in the middle of making something or waiting for you outright. If you take too long to leave your lab, he’ll rap his knuckles on your door and hand you a hot chocolate mug, or a plate of chocolate covered strawberries he claims were extra.
“You’re making me go off my diet, you know,” you tell him as he steps into your space, setting the plate down beside your notes and cluttered vials.
Sanji scoffs immediately, leaning his hips against the counter as he crosses one arm over his chest, a cup of tea resting loosely in his other hand.
“Like you need to be on a diet,” he says before taking a sip.
“Have you seen me?” You tease, picking up a strawberry and taking a bite.
“Hush,” he says softly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I already told you what I think of you, so none of that.”
You hum thoughtfully, nodding as you set the strawberry down again. “Feel free to tell me again some other time.”
Sanji throws his head back, laughing, and you can’t help but watch the movement of his throat, the way his blonde hair falls away from his face, before settling back into place.
He’s so pretty and he doesn't even try. When his laugh dies out, he looks at you again, his eyes softer.
“Well, you are beautiful.”
Your cheeks warm instantly and you look away, suppressing a smile.
“Thank you.”
You eat another strawberry while Sanji lifts his tea to his lips again, the silence settling comfortably around you. But when you glance back up, you catch him staring at your lips. His gaze is intent, blue ocean eyes following the slow movement of your lips around the strawberry, and the look on his face makes warmth spread through your stomach almost instantly. His breath catches softly before he looks away to take another sip of tea, like he’s trying to recover from the thought he just had.
You pretend not to notice.
“Alright then, love,” he says after a moment, sounding a little rougher than before, like he’s forcing himself back to normal. He leans toward you, without thinking much, aiming a quick kiss at your cheek. “Don’t overwork yourself, okay?”
You turn your head in the worst possible moment. His lips brush dangerously close to your mouth instead, and you both freeze.
Sanji pauses only inches away from your face. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. The lab suddenly feels far too small. Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it.
Neither of you moves. Then his eyes flick down to your lips.
And slowly, carefully, like he’s giving you time to stop him, he leans in again.
When his lips press against yours properly this time, your heart feels like it stops before exploding back to life all at once. The kiss is soft at first, hesitant for only a second before he deepens it, like he was holding back for weeks.
Your fingers tighten instinctively around the edge of the counter as you kiss him back, and the quiet sound he makes against your lips nearly melts you on the spot. One of his hands finds your neck, fingers carding through your hair as if he can’t help himself. He kisses you hard enough to leave your head spinning.
You have half a mind to stand from your stool, to get closer to his body, but as soon as you think about it, Sanji pulls away, like he’s just remembered himself.
He clears his throat quickly, taking half a step back as one hand comes up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, the other still loosely holding his tea.
“Right,” he says, voice rougher than usual. “Yeah. Uh…”
You stare at him, lips still tingling, heart hammering so loudly you can barely think. His face is pink, cheeks and neck burning.
He just kissed you. Sanji just kissed you.
“Goodnight then, love,” he blurts out, avoiding your eyes now as he gestures vaguely toward the door. “You should– probably sleep.”
“Y-yeah,” you say because you don’t think you trust your voice right now.
Sanji turns around and holds the doorknob ready to leave. You watch his back as he sighs, dropping his head.
Sanji turns around and holds the doorknob, ready to leave. You watch his back as he sighs, shoulders rising and falling once before his head drops forward.
“Fuck it.” He turns back around.
The cup of tea lands hastily on the table with a clink before he’s crossing the room again, closing the distance so fast you barely have time to stand from the stool before his hands are on your waist and his lips are on yours again.
This kiss is nothing like the first.
Sanji kisses you like he’s been thinking about it for far too long, like holding back has finally become impossible. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the sudden heat of his body against yours makes your head spin all over again.
You melt into him immediately, arms winding around his neck as a soft sigh leaves you against his mouth. He swallows the sound with another kiss, deeper this time, slower and somehow more overwhelming, like now that he’s started he doesn’t want to stop.
“God…” He breathes quietly against your lips, almost frustrated with himself, fingers flexing against your waist.
You barely manage to inhale before he kisses you again. The movement forces you back against the edge of your worktable, glass vials clinking softly behind you, forgotten entirely. One of Sanji’s hands slides up your side before settling at your back, steady and warm, while the other grips your waist firmly enough to make your stomach twist.
Then, without much thought beyond wanting you closer, his hands slip to the back of your thighs, lifting you onto the edge of the table. Tinctures and scattered notes scrape and rattle out of the way under the sudden movement, neither of you paying them any attention.
You gasp softly into the kiss, instinctively pulling him closer with your arms around his neck, and Sanji makes another one of those quiet sounds against your lips that nearly undo you completely.
He steps between your knees without hesitation now, kissing you deeper until you’re dizzy from it, from him, from the way his hands keep tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
Your fingers slip into his hair, and he exhales sharply against your mouth at the feeling, forehead almost knocking against yours for a second before he kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense.
Weeks of lingering looks, brushed hands, quiet tension and careful restraint unravel all at once in the tiny lab around you, until it feels impossible to remember why either of you tried holding back in the first place.
His lips leave yours only to trail along your jaw, and when they press against your neck you can’t stop the soft whimper that slips out of you.
“Please…” You breathe, the word leaving you before you can even think about it, your fingers tightening in his hair. You’re not even sure what you’re asking for anymore but Sanji reacts to it instantly.
He stills against your throat for half a second, and you feel the shaky breath he exhales against your skin.
“Love…” His voice is rough and strained in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Not here…”
One of his hands slides up your back, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades as he pulls you closer against him, like he physically can’t help it.
“Yes, here.” You sigh, the words half dissolving into a breathless sound against his lips. “Please, please, please.”
Sanji lets out a quiet, wrecked laugh at that, forehead dropping briefly against yours like he’s losing the fight with himself by the second.
“You’re dangerous, y’know that?” He mutters, already working on the waistband of your pants. “When I’m done with you here, I’m taking you somewhere we won’t get interrupted.”
The promise in his voice makes your stomach twist pleasantly.
“Confident.” You breathe, fingers still tangled in his hair.
“You’re the one begging me to not stop.”
Your face burns, but before you can answer, he kisses you again, stealing whatever response you had left. You lift your hips from the table to help him slide the fabric of your pants off your legs, big hands gripping your ankle as he slides it off one leg completely.
He grips your knee, gently pushing your legs farther apart for him. Sanji doesn’t rush, fingertips sliding through your folds slowly, like he’s taking his time learning every reaction he pulls from you.
“Oh, fuck.” He murmurs against your ear, his tongue pressing flat against the sensitive spot just beneath it.
Your head tips back instinctively as you cling to him, thighs parting even more beneath his hands. A shaky whimper slips from your lips when his fingers begin circling your clit, slow at first, teasing enough to make your stomach tighten.
“Shh.” He swallows your sounds with another kiss as his movements grow steadier, more deliberate. “Quiet, love.”
“Fuck, Sanji.” You whisper, breath catching hard in your throat.
“I know.” He coos softly, the hint of amusement in his voice only making heat rush through you faster. He says it like he already knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and maybe that should annoy you.
Instead, it only makes you pull him closer.
You feel it building fast, your breaths turning shallow and uneven no matter how hard you try to keep quiet. Sanji keeps rubbing you in quick, firm circles that make your thighs tremble around him.
“That’s it.” He murmurs against your skin, voice low and warm as he presses another kiss beneath your jaw. “Just like that, love.”
You bite down hard on your lip to swallow the sounds threatening to escape, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly as the pressure coils tighter and tighter inside you. Sanji notices immediately and the soft laugh he breathes against your neck nearly pushes you over the edge by itself.
“So sensitive.” He whispers, almost teasing now. “And you were telling me to behave?”
“Shut up.” You manage to whisper, though there’s no real bite behind it. “I’m so close, please don’t stop.”
Sanji’s breath catches softly at the desperation in your voice, and when he looks up at you there’s something almost wrecked in his expression, like your pleasure is undoing him just as much as it’s undoing you.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
His fingers keep moving against you without mercy while his other hand tightens at your thigh to hold you open for him. He kisses you again before another sound can escape, swallowing every shaky breath and broken moan he pulls from you like he can’t get enough of them.
“That’s it, darling.” He whispers against your lips. “Let go for me.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as pleasure crashes through you all at once, white noise rushing through your ears so loudly it drowns everything else out for a moment. Your lips part on a broken breath before you clamp them shut again, trying desperately to stay quiet even as your whole body trembles beneath his hands.
It’s impossible with him this close. Not when he’s looking at you like that, touching you like he’s memorizing every reaction you give him.
A strained sound still escapes you despite your efforts, and Sanji immediately presses a kiss against your mouth, swallowing it gently as he keeps you riding through it, fingers never slowing.
“There you go.” He murmurs softly against your lips, voice warm with praise that makes your stomach flutter all over again. “Good girl.”
The words nearly undo you a second time.
Your hands cling tightly to his shoulders as you try to calm your breathing, forehead dropping against his while waves of heat still pulse through you. Sanji stays close the entire time, one hand rubbing slow and comforting circles against your thigh now, his own breathing uneven from watching you come apart for him.
“God.” He whispers with a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. “You’re beautiful like this.”
You immediately hide your face against his neck, suddenly too overwhelmed to look at him. A quiet laugh rumbles softly through Sanji’s chest at that, and his arms tighten around you instinctively, holding you close while you try to catch your breath.
“Hey.” He murmurs, one hand sliding gently into your hair. “Don’t get shy on me now.”
You groan softly against his skin, embarrassed by how intensely you reacted, by the praise, by the way he’s still looking at you like you’ve completely ruined him.
“Stop talking.” You mumble into his neck.
“That bad, huh?” He teases quietly, though there’s too much affection in his voice for it to feel mean.
You only cling to him tighter in response, cheeks burning, and Sanji laughs again, softer this time, before pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.
“Cute.” He whispers, mostly to himself.
You make an offended sound against his neck, though it comes out muffled and weak enough to make him laugh harder.
“I just had a life-changing experience and you’re calling me cute.”
“I’m flattered, love,” he replies easily. “But you were cute before the life-changing experience too.”
You finally pull back just enough to glare at him, though the effect is ruined completely by the warmth still lingering in your face and the way your arms remain looped around his neck.
Sanji smiles at you like he’s completely charmed by the sight.
The intensity from earlier slowly melts into something softer, quieter. His hands rest comfortably at your waist now, thumbs brushing absent little patterns against your sides while the ship creaks gently around you.
Then his gaze flicks over your shoulder.
“Your lab is… destroyed.”
You blink once before turning slightly to look. A few papers are scattered across the floor, several tinctures pushed crookedly to the edge of the table, and one poor drying herb bundle has been completely sacrificed to the chaos.
You snort. “That sounds like tomorrow’s problem.”
Sanji stares at you for a second before breaking into another laugh, warm and genuine, the sound filling the tiny room so easily it makes your chest ache.
“There’s my hardworking botanist,” he teases.
You roll your eyes, but before you can answer he leans in to kiss you again, softer this time, slow and lingering and sweet enough to make your stomach flutter all over again.
“C’mon,” he says quietly. “Let’s get you to bed before I forget I was trying to be gentlemanly tonight.”
The intensity from earlier slowly melts into something softer as Sanji helps you dress again, gentle hands smoothing your clothes back into place with surprising care despite the lingering flush across his face. Every now and then his fingers pause at your waist or brush your skin absentmindedly, like he still can’t quite believe this happened, like he keeps getting distracted by you standing here letting him touch you like this.
The little lab is warm and messy around you, scattered papers and crooked tinctures left behind as evidence of what happened here tonight, but for once you don’t care. Tomorrow, you’ll reorganize everything. Tomorrow, you’ll pretend your heart doesn’t race every time he looks at you.
Tonight, Sanji presses one last lingering kiss to your forehead before intertwining his fingers with yours and guiding you quietly out of the lab, the ship swaying gently beneath your feet as the Going Merry sails through the dark.
