#Sanjis over the Vinsmokes but nobody else is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halfvalid · 7 months

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nobody but you

ABOUT

alternate title: the jealous character trope is actually kinda fun to write

rating: teen+

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!vinsmoke sanji | live action!straw hats ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

description: sanji flirts endlessly with you while dining at the baratie. zoro is displeased.

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, fluff, kissing, no use of 'y/n', establishment of relationship, flirting, alcohol consumption, pda

author’s note: i got like ~5 requests to write this so here you guys go! this was a popular one lmao. the story is a vague spinoff to my other fic pretty in that, but it doesn't have to be read to understand this one.

You’d volunteered to deal with the docking fees for the Going Merry, locking up the pirate ship as the rest of the crew entered Baratie. You were just five or so minutes late entering after the restaurant the rest of the Straw Hats had gone into. You’d never seen anything like it before—an eatery right in the middle of the ocean, in the shape of a giant fish.

You stepped into the building cautiously, glancing around the wide expanse of the main room to try and catch a glimpse of your friends. The restaurant was big, with a mezzanine that you’d entered in and stairs leading down to the first floor. The host, a fishman who was standing at the reservation desk, glanced up to take a look at you.

“Ah, you must be with the pirates,” he said pleasantly. “Right this way, miss.”

You nodded, wondering how Luffy was intending on paying for the bill of such a place as you scoped out the area. It was far nicer than anything you would’ve expected—but then again, he’d somehow managed to score the Going Merry from Kaya back in Syrup Village, so you figured he��d work something out.

Finally, you caught a glimpse of the rest of your crew, tucked away in a circular side booth that the fishman led you to. Luffy brightened upon seeing you, waving you over with a hand so excitedly you feared it was about to flop around like rubber. Considering his powers, that was a more than likely situation, actually.

“Thank you,” you told the host, then turned towards your friends. “No food yet?”

“You didn’t miss much,” Usopp said, a little snicker in his voice. “Just the waiter getting our drink orders. He was flirting the heck outta Nami.”

“Oh?” you asked, a smile flickering up your lips. The only open space in the table was between Zoro and Nami—you gave Zoro a confused look, and he gestured down to his swords, which were caught in the ledge between the chair and the wall. You snickered. “Ro. You’re such a loser.”

“Shut up,” Zoro muttered, hand on your waist as you climbed over him to get to the empty seat. It stayed there for a moment longer, even after you’d arranged yourself in the seat, before he finally dropped his hand. Usopp made a face that you pointedly ignored.

“What’d you guys order?” you asked instead. If there’d been a menu available, the waiter had probably taken it away; still, there wasn’t much variety in the East Blue, so you could expect there’d be a lot of seafood and not much else.

“One of everything,” Luffy responded brightly. “So we’ll be able to try the whole menu!”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Cap?” you asked, brows raised. Luffy shrugged.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Quit it with the nickname,” Zoro muttered. Neither him or Nami had gotten any more receptive to it since you’d first started calling Luffy it. Usopp didn’t seem so keen on it either—if only because he fancied himself Captain Usopp. Luffy liked it, though, and that pleased you enough to keep using it.

“I’ll get you to start saying it eventually,” you teased, nudging Zoro in the arm. He shook his head, but there was a suggestion of a smile on his lips as he glanced away. “Just you wait.” You turned to Nami, eyes sparkling. “What about the waiter, though? Was he cute?”

Usopp laughed at that, and Nami gave you a disparaging look. “Come on,” she started. “Not you too. Zoro was all—”

The sound of footsteps cut off her speech, and you glanced up to find a lean, blond man pausing by the lip of your table. He held a silver plate, upon which perched a variety of different drinks—beers, milk, water. “Here are your drinks,” he said, voice lifting with an accent you couldn’t quite place. “And appetizers.”

He had just finished placing the last of the drinks balancing on his forearm on the table when the waiter glanced up and registered you sitting there. His expression instantly changed, the crease of his mouth softening into a pleasant smile, his previously-dull blue eyes bright and sparkling. “Well, hello there. An addition?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m late,” you said. The waiter flashed a grin, white ivories shining under the fluorescents.

“Oh, absolutely no problem. They say those who are late are fashionable, and you, madam, certainly fit the bill,” the waiter said. Your eyes widened, glancing over to Nami to find her shaking her head, but the waiter didn’t stop there. “I’m Sanji. What can I get for you to drink? We’ve got a wide selection of fine wines that might suit your taste.”

“Oh, um—” you started, glancing at the rest of your crew again. Usopp was hiding his snicker, and Nami was giving you a tired look. Assumedly this had been the man who’d tried it on her, too—to unfortunate ends, probably, considering how Nami was. Not that this would be any more effective on you. Your eye was already captured by a particular green-haired swordsman, after all. “I don’t really have anything in mind.”

Sanji looked pleased about that, clasping his hands together around his platter. “Ah, let me guess, then. A bayberry or red currant wine, perhaps? Fruity, tart, full of flavor.” he winked. “A feisty drink for a feisty girl.”

“Can’t say I’ve tried it, but sure,” you said, the faintest smile on your lips. “I’ll let you know how I like it.”

Sanji grinned, looking rather satisfied with that, a delighted little smile on his lips. “One red currant wine, then. I’ll have it right out. And would you also like to order a meal, or…” He glanced over at Luffy, presumably referencing your captain’s more-than-outrageous order. “Are you all set?”

“I think we’re set, thanks,” you assured, and Sanji nodded. He flashed you another bright smile before turning on his heel back off to the kitchen.

Usopp finally let out the laughter he’d been keeping in, choked sounds emitting from his throat as he thudded his chest with a fist. You rolled your eyes, but it was good-natured, letting Usopp laugh.

“Well, at least I’m not being singled out,” Nami said with a sigh, and you exchanged a sympathetic glance with her. She patted your hand comfortingly, then scrutinized the water Sanji had gotten her. “At least he didn’t put it in a flute.”

“Zoro, you’ve got competition!” Usopp called, still laughing from the entire ordeal. You glanced to your side, to where the swordsman sat. Zoro had stiffened sometime during the conversation, jaw clenched and arms wound tightly across his chest. He hadn’t even touched the beer that Sanji had set in front of him, eyes fixed carefully to a spot beside Luffy’s head and refusing to look over at you.

“He’s a waiter,” Zoro said crisply. “He buses tables for a living.” With that, he grabbed his bottle, popping the tab and taking a swig.

“I don’t know, man, did you see the way he took down those pirates?” Usopp turned to you, all excited again. “Oh, you missed this whole thing! Two pirates were fighting over a seat or something, and Sanji just demolished both of them! You would’ve loved it.”

“He is a really good fighter,” Luffy agreed. Their words did nothing but seem to annoy Zoro further.

“Can we not talk about the restaurant personnel? Surely you can think of more interesting topics of conversation.” His tone was sharp, and all icy, and you inched your hand closer to his leg to tap his thigh in question. He glanced down at your touch, but didn’t deign to say anything else. He just picked up his beer again, nursing it while the rest of the crew continued on with their conversation.

Despite Luffy changing the subject, Zoro didn’t speak, and you kept peeking glances over at him in concern. Your feelings for him had just continued developing ever since Syrup Village, although neither of you had reasonably talked about the closet incident since it’d happened. What with the reveal of Kuro and the escape from the marines and all, there hadn’t exactly been time to. But you’d been on good terms, and the actions he made around you—pressing a hand to your waist as you moved past him, turning towards you first mid-conversation, shoving you down when the marines had fired their first cannon at the Going Merry.

Before you could whisper to him and question what his silence was about, though, Sanji reappeared, carrying two platters filled to the brim with plates. They were laden with different types of meat and vegetables, sauces glinting under the light and hot steam still billowing.

He set the dishes on the table, somehow managing to arrange them so they all fit on the countertop. Sanji set down the last plate then turned to you, placing a glass and a bottle of dark crimson wine on the table in front of you. He had to lean over Zoro to reach, and Zoro flinched, but still didn’t say anything as Sanji uncorked the bottle and poured you a glass.

“Tell me what you think,” he said, all smiles again. “I’ll be embarrassed if it isn’t to your liking.”

You picked the glass up, swirling it carefully inside the glass before leaning down into the cup to take in a full sniff. You tilted your head back to take a small sip, moving the liquid around your mouth to fully savor the flavor before finally swallowing. The wine was sweet, light rather than rich with a delicate tartness that burst on your tongue. You glanced up just to see a giant grin had stretched up Sanji’s mouth, brightening his face up considerably.

“What?” you asked.

“Not often do I see a patron who knows how to taste wine properly,” Sanji answered with a little duck of his head. “A lady of class, I see. How do you like it?”

“Not too strong. I like the tartness,” you answered. “A good recommendation. Thank you.”

Sanji gave you a little bow, hand flourishing to the side as he dipped his head. “I live to serve.”

“Yeah, well, why don’t you serve me another beer?” Zoro said abruptly. Usopp coughed, and you could see Nami elbow him out of your peripheral vision. Luffy just looked confused.

Sanji’s face fell almost immediately after Zoro had spoken, his eyes flickering away from yours. “Of course. I’ll be right back,” he said, a tight smile at his lips. He ducked out of the booth, and Zoro let out an irritated noise, tongue flicking against from the roof of his mouth.

Usopp snorted, fully this time, and you turned to glance over at him—he and Nami were both hiding their gazes, though you could see smiles cracked along their lips.

Zoro glared at them. “Shut it.”

“Not saying anything!” Usopp said, though he half-hid behind Luffy like Zoro was going to lunge over the table to get to him. That didn’t seem… entirely unlikely, actually; Zoro’s right hand rested firmly on the handle of one of his swords, fingers ready to pull the blade at any second. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to say something. But not in front of everyone else. It wouldn’t be appropriate, you decided.

Eventually your meal wound down to an end. Zoro got less and less tense throughout it, though you were fairly certain that was due to the drinks he was having rather than any actual reassurance. Sanji, thankfully, came back with the bill in the middle of a conversation you really didn’t want to think about—Luffy and his marine grandfather was not something your mind wanted to dwell on—only for him to disappear again.

Just moments later, a man with a braided mustache came storming out of the kitchen. Luffy did some more of his Luffy nonsense, and, honestly—you were getting too tired about all of this to pay any close attention. You spared a glance over at Zoro again. His face was as blank as ever.

“Okay,” Usopp said slowly, a few delayed seconds after who’d undoubtedly been the head chef yanked Luffy out of his seat. “I’m ready to check out whatever’s outside. Let’s go.”

“What about Luffy?” you asked, perplexed.

“He’ll find his way out of that,” Nami said with a sigh. She stood up, knocking back the rest of her drink. Since she wasn’t exactly wrong, you got up, glancing over your shoulder at the last of the group that remained seated. “Zoro?”

Zoro was staring into his now-empty bottle of beer. He still seemed off, the line of his mouth creased downwards, jaw set tight. “Yeah,” he said finally, standing to his full height and slipping out of the booth. He offered you a hand, helping you down from your seat, but said nothing more.

The four of you headed out to the mouth of the Baratie fish, which boasted a bar decorated with neon lights. You found a place to sit by the fish’s bottom lip, and you turned in your seat, staring out at the sea. The water was dark with the night, peaceful ripples moving across the water that sent shimmering waves across the blue.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” Usopp said. “Come, Nami?”

“Huh?” Nami glanced up, and you turned to watch the exchange. “Oh, I’m okay, Usopp. Thanks, though.”

“No,” Usopp insisted, a smile still pasted on his face as he jerked his head, not very discreetly, in your and Zoro’s direction. Nami seemed to realize, then, eyes going wide before she got up from her seat.

“Actually, on second thought, I’ll join you,” she said, far smoother than Usopp had been. “God knows you don’t have any money to pay for a drink.”

She breezed past him, ignoring the offended gape Usopp left in her wake before he was scrambling to follow her. You turned your attention towards Zoro—he was lounging in the seat across from you, one hand on his swords with his legs crossed. “Hi,” you said carefully.

He stiffened. “Hey.”

You pursed your lips, mulling over the ways to go about the conversation before ultimately deciding to spit it out. “What’s wrong?” At his raised brow, you were prompted to continue— “During dinner. You were acting weird.”

Zoro shook his head, dropping his gaze from yours. You could see the faintest trace of freckles spattered along his cheeks, the yellow glow from the lanterns reflecting off his skin. “Nothing’s wrong. Just… the waiter.”

“The waiter,” you repeated. Zoro shifted, legs uncrossing and hand tightening around his swords again. His voice was low the next time he spoke, and you could barely hear him, having to lean forward to catch all of his words.

“He was flirting with you.”

Your breath hitched, but you tried to keep your tone casual. “He was flirting with Nami too,” you said, glancing up to meet his eyes. Zoro still wouldn’t meet your gaze, staring out into the East Blue behind you.

“That’s different.” Zoro’s eyes finally lifted, long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks as you met eyes. You shivered, gooseflesh suddenly prickling up everywhere on your skin—the back of your neck, up your spine, down your arms and legs. “I don’t like Nami.”

You tilted your head to the side, meeting his gaze. The words sent a little rush through you; a rush you got practically every time Zoro looked in your direction, actually, which was only a little bit annoying. The amount of influence a man you’d known for, comparatively, not that long had over you had you rolling your eyes all the time, but… you trusted Zoro at this point, as uncooperative as he and Nami had been throughout your entire journey.

“You’re jealous of a waiter.”

“Don’t—” Zoro sighed. “Don’t put it like that.”

“But it’s true. You’re jealous of a waiter,” you said, unblinking. Zoro rolled his eyes, teeth resting along his lower lip in an almost-bite. You snickered, tone sloping upwards to become more teasing, almost sarcastic. “How the mighty have fallen. From me practically begging you to say I looked nice in a dress to this.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Zoro said, uncrossing his legs to lean over and press his hand over your mouth. You laughed, surprised, as he leaned over you, eyes sparkling at the reaction. “Not another word.”

He removed his hand, giving you a look. You betrayed his trust almost immediately. “Of a waiter.”

“Do you want me to put the hand back?” Zoro threatened, but you were full-on laughing by now, and he couldn’t do anything but watch. The sounds escaped from your mouth, ringing out in soft, lively hiccups. He shook his head, hand falling to his side as he watched you, a ghost of a smile tugging up the side of his mouth.

“Sorry, Ro,” you said, unable to suppress your grin even as your laughter died off. “It’s a little funny, you have to admit.”

“I’d like to hear you talk if someone was flirting with me,” Zoro muttered, so quiet you could barely hear. You had to stifle another laugh.

“Okay, well, unlike you, I don’t get territorial over people I haven’t even talked about my relationship with, but I appreciate it.” You nudged him. “It’s kinda cute.”

Zoro seemed lost in the first half of your sentence, and you could practically see the cogs whirring in his head. For a moment, you were worried that the closet had been a one-time thing—but no, he’d mentioned just earlier that he liked you, so clearly something else was the matter.

Your worries were answered in just another moment. “...We’re supposed to talk about our relationship?”

“Zoro.” You gave him a look of disbelief, forced to suppress another laugh, though this time it was out of incredulity. “Yes. Have you ever dated anyone before?”

Zoro made a face at that. “Keeping that to myself, thanks.” He dropped his chin, glancing down at where you were, still leaning over you so you were forced to crane your neck to stare up at him. He tilted his head to the side. “So what kind of talking are we supposed to be doing?”

“You know, the establishment of being exclusive; a cementation of our feelings; what the relationship entails; where we want it to go…” You paused, watching as his eyes flickered down your face. Your words were going in one ear and out the other. “You’re not listening at all, huh.”

“Not really,” Zoro said, not sounding very apologetic about it. His free hand came to cup the underside of your jaw, tilting your head up just so. “Is the talking really that necessary?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your cool. “Eventually.”

“Eventually,” he repeated, stretching out the syllables of the word as he quoted you. “So we can do it another day.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. “What were you thinking?”

Zoro was slotting his lips over yours before you could say another word, his fingers digging into the hinge of your jaw to allow him better access. You smiled into the kiss, lips curling upwards and open to let him lick into your mouth.

It wasn’t too risqué, but Zoro took your breath away all the same, an appreciative murmur low in his throat as he kissed you. One of your hands wrapped around his wrist, tugging him insistently downwards so you could get a better angle at his mouth, sucking gently at his lower lip. He nearly stumbled, losing his center of gravity before steadying himself, one hand coming to rest on your ribcage as the kiss deepened.

“Guys!” Usopp’s voice came somewhere from the right, high-pitched and excessively scandalized. You felt Zoro scoff into your mouth.

“You realize you’re in public, right?” Nami deadpanned, plopping down in the seat next to you. You nudged Zoro’s head away, his hand still on your jaw, half-craned over your figure. Nami looked unimpressed, eyes flickering from Zoro to you and back again. “Get a room. Go back to the Going Merry for all I care.” She extended a hand, placing a mug of beer on the table before you before handing you a matching one. “I got you drinks. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” you said, leaning up to press one final kiss on Zoro’s lips before turning to take the glass Nami had outstretched. Usopp groaned, covering his eyes with one hand and lifting a giant cup of something with the other. It was so big you wondered how he’d even been able to carry it. You eyed him. “You’re going to pass out drinking that.”

Usopp made a face at you. You just laughed.

“Sorted out your issues with the waiter, then?” Nami asked, turning to fix a knowing look on Zoro. He rolled his eyes, effortless as ever as he settled back down into his seat.

“Still don’t like the waiter.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, and Zoro scoffed, picking up the mug Nami had gotten him. You could see the smile behind the glass rim, though, even as he clearly tried to hide it, and matched it with one of your own.

Zoro ducked his head to smile into his beer. Usopp made a gagging sound. “God,” Nami muttered, but their criticisms might as well have been deaf to your ears by then.

All you could see was Zoro.

#one piece live action #one piece netflix #opla #reader insert #x reader #opla roronoa zoro #opla zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #one piece live action x you #one piece live action x reader #opla fanfic #opla fanfiction #opla zoro x reader #kiki writes!

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paperultra · 5 months

Text

candy stripes.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5,048 words Warnings: Swearing, hospital setting [A/n: Soulmate AU. :)]

sortiger (adjective): delivering prophecies of the future; having the qualities of being oracular

Nobody else can see the string but you.

You wish you didn’t. It has no texture, no weight, so you can’t understand why it can’t be invisible too. But the string demands attention with every use of your hands, seizes your eye when you wash dishes in the morning and brush your teeth at night, a garish and bloody red that matches the stripes of your uniform.

You hate your string and you hate the color red.

Miss Xinyu, the old lady in Room 30, has one too. At least, that’s what she had told you when you gained the courage to mention yours one day, not knowing what it meant and how much you would come to dread it.

“It’s your red string of fate,” she had explained. “It connects you to the person who understands you more than anyone else in the world.”

In other words, your soulmate. Your one and only.

Miss Xinyu says you’re a lucky ducky, knowing what your future holds.

Her string goes into the ground now. You don’t think being reminded of a dead person whenever you look at your pinkie is very lucky.

The biggest reason why you hate the string so much, though, is because you’ve always had a problem doing what you’re supposed to unless you want to, which causes a lot of trouble for a nine-year-old girl. You already have trouble being nice to patients who are mean to you, so how can you love and wait for someone you’ve never met? It makes you feel icky.

Why can’t you choose? How come you have to have one at all?

Your only source of comfort is that your string is very, very thin and runs out of the hospital. That means your soulmate, whoever they are, is very, very far away. You’d very much like it to stay that way.

But it doesn’t.

—

Nurse Taoh wants you to watch the patients in Room 8 while he finishes his charts. You don’t really want to, if only because it’s Nurse Taoh asking – he likes to order you around more than Dr. Gu – but you don’t want to get into trouble again, so you go.

(… And okay, you are just a little bit curious about the new inpatients. You only know three things about them: one, they were brought in together last night while you were in your room poking holes into your paper instead of correcting it; two, they’re a man and a boy, presumably father and son; and three, everyone says it’s a miracle they’re still alive.)

(Then again, you’ve seen many miracles here.)

The unit is quiet as you walk down the hallway. Quiet, but not silent, as your polished shoes squeak like little mice against the floor and you whisper the room numbers as you pass by them. Two, four, six – eight.

You stop and knock, three sharp raps against the brown wood.

“Hello?” You open the door and poke your head in. “My name is –”

The squiggly-patterned curtain that often separates patients for privacy is drawn, and you clamp your mouth shut as you realize the patient closest to you is asleep.

Shutting the door silently, you creep closer to the foot of his bed. The man underneath the sheets lies quietly; he is little more than a skeleton, eyes sunken and bones sticking out underneath blistered skin. His beard is long and scraggly, but it pales in comparison to his mustache, each side braided and sticking out to the sides.

He looks angry, even though he’s sleeping. You hope he’s not the type to wake up and yell at you as you tiptoe past to check on the boy.

You pass the curtain, catch a glimpse of the bed sheets, and see –

Red.

Your feet root themselves in place, the room suddenly devoid of air.

You stare. Blink hard, twice. Look again. Then, trembling, you look down at your hand.

Your eyes trace the string around your own finger, following down to the dip of it that barely touches the ground and back up over the blankets until it ends in a red loop around the boy’s pinkie, tied off with a little bow.

Your stomach turns.

Stumbling forward, you make your way to the visitor’s chair in the corner. You slump down into it and stare straight ahead at the curtain, refusing to look at the boy’s face.

He continues to sleep.

You don’t want him to wake up.

—

The boy does not stir during your first meeting, but that small mercy is quickly eclipsed two days later by a single bowl of chicken broth.

The look on your face is sour as you walk down the hallway again, the broth splashing up against the lid with each step. Because most of the patients in the hospital you live in are elderly, the staff have somehow gotten it into their heads that you simply must spend time with the boy in Room 8 because he is your age and you need to socialize with other kids. You very much don’t want to. Not with him, at least.

Dr. Gu is just leaving the room when you arrive. She gives you a quick smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling, and pats your head.

“So you heard that the boy woke up, huh?”

You grunt, looking away with a pout. “Can’t you give this to him, Dr. Gu?”

“Nope. I have to finish my rounds,” she says. “Go in and have a chat. His name is Sanji. You’ll like him.”

“I doubt it,” you mumble underneath your breath.

Dr. Gu probably hears you, but she doesn’t scold you, merely patting your head one last time before you enter Room 8.

The dividing curtain is drawn this time. The window curtains are pulled back, too; it’s a somewhat cloudy day outside, but bright enough to sharpen the shadows on the walls and make the boy look even paler than you remember.

His eyes are closed as you approach. A sprout of hope that he might have fallen asleep again blooms in your chest – you’ll just leave the broth on the table, you think to yourself, and go about the rest of your day. Nobody said you had to watch him drink it.

You get about five feet away, already planning to drop some books off to the other rooms, when the boy’s nose suddenly twitches.

His eyes open to thin slits. Your hope shrivels like a weed in the desert as he speaks.

“What’s that?” His voice is quiet and raspy.

Your eyebrow twitches. “It’s just chicken broth,” you say tartly, setting the tray down on the overbed table and turning it around so that it’s over his lap. You take off the lid and steam bursts from the bowl.

The boy reaches up to rub his eyes. The red string dangles from his pinkie, and you quickly look away with a scowl.

“Who are you?” he asks, scooting back to sit up more as he gradually becomes more alert.

Reluctantly, you give him your name. “Will you need help with the soup?”

He shakes his head. His gaze latches onto the contents of his bowl, and he stops, transfixed.

You scramble to stop him as he suddenly grabs the bowl and attempts to gulp it all down in one go.

“Don’t do that! You’ll throw up!” Without thinking, you seize his hands and pry the bowl away from his mouth. A few drops of broth splash over the blankets and his gown, and your irritation grows. Now you’ll have to fix that. “Drink it slowly.”

“I haven’t eaten anything for weeks,” the boy complains. “What do you know?”

“I’ve been studying medicine since I was a little kid,” you retort. “So I know a lot.”

He frowns. “You are a little kid.”

“I’m nine years old!”

“No, I’m nine! You don’t look as old as me!”

There’s no way this … this brat is the same age as you! Fuming, you let go of the bowl and jab a finger at his face. “I am nine years old and I know more than you! You can’t drink the broth like that!”

You’re met with silence. The boy’s eyes are wider than saucers. Pride wells up inside you at your ability to shut him up.

But then he puts the bowl down and seizes your hand, and your pride gives way to horror as he folds down your index finger and lifts your pinkie – the pinkie with the red string wrapped around it.

He lifts his own pinkie, the rest of his fingers folded. Your jaw clenches when you see how the string has shortened to mere inches, bridging the space between his hand and yours.

“Holy shit,” the boy says. The largest grin spreads across his face, and it’s blinding and scary and you hate it, you hate it. “It’s you! You’re my soulmate, aren’t you?!”

“No,” you reply quickly, whipping your hand behind your back and backing away. “No, I’m not!”

“But you see the string too! I knew I’d meet you some day. How come you’re”— he pushes the table away, eagerly but just gentle enough so no more of the broth spills—“how come you’re hiding it behind your back?”

“I’m not your soulmate,” you bark, panic rising in your chest. “Don’t you ever say that!”

You only catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across the boy’s face before you turn around and dash out of the room.

Mrs. Hong finds you in the storage closet later, curled up behind the shelves of gauze and IV tubing. She coaxes you out with a promise of rice balls and no questions asked. You wish all the adults were more like her.

—

The next day, Miss Jaylee hoists you over her shoulder like a human sacrifice and brings you to Room 8.

“I don’t want to see him! You can’t make me!”

“He’s refusing treatment and food unless he sees you,” the woman answers briskly, each of her steps jostling you up and down. “You don’t want to be responsible if Sanji dies, do you?”

“I don’t care if he dies!”

Miss Jaylee clicks her tongue and walks faster.

You flail, feeling a little guilty for your cruel words but too proud to take them back. Sanji couldn’t have heard you, anyway, and nobody here is going to let him die no matter what he does or what you say.

You hear a door swing open. Miss Jaylee walks into Room 8 and turns around, and you lift your head, glaring at Sanji as his face lights up and his cheeks turn rosy.

“[Y/n]!”

Your own cheeks burn in embarrassment at the position you’re currently in. This, you only now realize, is way worse than walking into the room voluntarily.

“How come they’re carrying you? Are you okay?” he asks.

“Let them treat you,” you snap, arms limp and dangling. “And eat your stupid food or I’ll get in trouble.”

“Okay.” You nod, opening your mouth to speak again only for him to continue, “But only if I get to talk to you afterwards.”

What is he, a prince?! What makes it so easy for him to demand such things?

“That wasn’t what you told them,” you protest, squirming, but Miss Jaylee only tightens her arm around your waist.

(“Be nice,” she warns. You growl.)

“It’s important,” Sanji stresses, looking pointedly down at his hand and then back at you.

You bite down on your tongue as the red string glimmers in the light.

Dr. Gu and Nurse Taoh stare at you expectantly. Your neck is starting to ache from craning it, and there’s a feeling that you’ll never stand on your own two feet again unless you do what he wants.

“… Fine,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Only once you promise to stay does Miss Jaylee let you slide off her shoulder. You stand to the side, arms crossed impatiently as they take Sanji’s vitals and ask him some questions. He’s only half paying attention, head turning to look at you more than once, which you merely turn up your nose at.

“All right, we’ll leave you two to chat now,” Dr. Gu says. “If you need anything, just let [Y/n] know, okay?”

“Okay,” Sanji says.

With that, the three adults leave, and you and Sanji are left alone once more.

“I’m glad you came. They were starting to get mad at me,” he says, then cuts straight to the chase. “How come you don’t want to be my soulmate?”

“Because I don’t want a soulmate,” you immediately reply.

“But why? It’s nice, isn’t it? Being special to each other?”

“You can’t be special to me. We’re not even friends.”

For the second time, Sanji looks hurt.

“…We’re not?” he asks. You shake your head. “But … you brought me food.”

You’re befuddled. “Because Dr. Gu made me,” you say, trying to ignore the disappointment on his face. “Besides, I yelled at you yesterday. Friends don’t yell at each other.”

“I thought that you were maybe just really surprised …” His voice gets smaller and smaller. “Some people get mad when they’re just surprised …”

“I wasn’t surprised. I saw it when you were still asleep.”

“Oh,” Sanji mumbles. He looks down at the sheets, scratching at the wrinkle in the thin white fabric. “Okay.”

He says nothing more. You fidget, wondering if he’s pretending to look like he’s about to cry or if he really is trying not to. You’re not good with people who start crying.

You chew on your bottom lip. Sanji tucks his hand with the string on it underneath his bed sheets, his eyes disappearing behind his tangled hair, and fine, you feel kind of bad whether he’s tricking you or not.

“I’ll only be friends with you if you don’t talk about being soulmates,” you finally tell him begrudgingly. “Not ever, okay?”

His head shoots back up. “Really?!”

“Only if you don’t talk about it! I’m serious.” You huff at Sanji’s sudden change in mood and click your tongue. “If you stay sad you might not get better. Don’t get the wrong idea!”

He nods, grinning bigger than ever.

Oh, dear, you think as he promises that he’ll be a really, really good friend, you might have made a mistake.

—

By the fifth day, Zeff, the man who was brought in with Sanji, is awake.

You hear them arguing before you see them, pushing a cart of books for Sanji to browse through as per your agreement the day before. They’re loud, and Sanji calls the man an old shitbag right as you knock and push the door open.

“I’m here,” you announce, and the two quiet down to look at you. You give Zeff a polite smile. “Hello, sir. I’m [Y/n].”

“Hello, little miss,” Zeff says, his features softening from the angry expression he’d directed towards Sanji a moment before.

“Why are you being nice to her and not me?” Sanji pipes up from his side of the room, all puffed-out cheeks and petulantly crossed arms.

“Because she don’t make my ears ring with nonstop whining,” the man answers sharply. “Now get a book and read so I can finally have some peace and quiet.”

“You get a book and read,” Sanji grumbles.

“What was that, boy?”

You cut in before they start bickering all over again. “Do you want a book too, Mr. Zeff?”

Zeff’s gaze flicks over to you once more, and your shoulders tense. The man takes a deep, calming breath, and then he sighs, reclining back into his pillow and closing his eyes. “No, thank you, little miss,” he mutters. “Reading’s no good for my head right now.”

“Do you have a headache?” He grunts in affirmation. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

“No, no, don’t need any of that.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a headache,” Sanji accuses.

Zeff’s mustache twitches. “All you need to know is that you oughta stop yappin’ when a man wants peace and quiet!”

(Not again.)

As you give up and walk over to draw the curtains, Sanji says your name desperately. “Can we read somewhere else?” he pleads when you glance at him. “I don’t want to be stuck in here with him right now.”

Narrowing your eyes, you appraise his weak-looking frame, pointedly skimming past the red string that snakes over to you. “Can you even walk around yet?”

“Yeah,” he says defensively. He wriggles out of the bed sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Holding onto the side rail, he stands up and grips the IV pole for support. Though he’s a little shaky, he shuffles a few steps towards you and smiles when he manages to do so. “See?”

Well, you think, if you and Sanji stay here, you’ll need to have some light in order to read. But it will probably help Zeff if the room is as dark as possible, so if you guys go somewhere else, Sanji’s lamp won’t need to be on.

“Okay,” you agree. “Wait here. I’ll get some slippers.”

Ten minutes later, with Sanji shuffling along in his slippers, IV pole in one hand and your arm in the other, the two of you arrive at the common room and find chairs in the corner to sit down in.

“These’re mostly history books and stories for old people,” you explain as you pull out the one cooking-related book you could find from the top basket of the cart. “This was the only food one I could find.”

“That’s okay.” Sanji takes the book from you and begins to flip through it. “Oh, this one’s about seafood in the South Blue! Have you ever had any?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. I’ll try it someday, though … hey, this fish looks like a fried egg!”

Against your will, you perk up. “… Really?”

For the next half-hour, Sanji fawns over the spices used on grilled Sea King meat and how to cook wine clams and the best fish for South Blue-style sushi. And it’s … not boring. He doesn’t hog the book, and the pictures are cool, and he asks you which ones you think are the coolest or would taste the best. Looking at a book with another kid is different from reading with an adult. It feels like you’re sharing, not like you’re being tested on your comprehension or how to pronounce long words.

Hanging out with Sanji is okay when the string doesn’t sour it.

“So you want to cook all of these one day?” you ask after scanning through a full-color page of steamed Ocean Hawk feet.

“I want to cook things from all four seas,” Sanji says. His legs bounce with excitement. “That’s why I’m gonna find the All Blue.”

“What’s that?”

The boy glows.

“It’s where the North, East, South, and West Blue seas all meet. Think about it – fresh-caught fish from all over the world all in one place! I’ll be able to cook dishes no one’s ever cooked or tasted before.”

You’ve never heard of such a place. But Sanji talks about it with such conviction, such resolve, that you figure the All Blue could really exist.

“I hope you find it,” you say, and you mean it.

“I will.” Sanji closes the book. “And when I do, I’ll cook something just for you. A-As a friend.”

He peeks over at you, his eyes even brighter and bluer than before, his cheeks flushing a familiar red. And you find yourself believing him, just a little bit.

—

Sanji keeps his promise.

You know he still likes you (blech) and so does most of the staff (double blech). Nurse Taoh thinks it’s funny and teases you about your little boyfriend in Room 8 who always asks where you are. Mrs. Hong reminds you to be sensitive whenever you stop by to pick up meals. Dr. Gu tells you to tell her right away if Sanji ever does something that makes you uncomfortable.

But he never does. Sometimes his words spill out clumsily like a broken faucet and other times he blushes and stutters, leaving you to wonder what he’s going on about, but he doesn’t try to kiss you or hold your hand, and he doesn’t say a word about the red string that is very much still there. If anything, he just annoys you at times, with how nice he is to you and how sunny he gets when you eat lunch with him sometimes.

You’ve never seen somebody so happy to be in a hospital before, even if it’s just because he wants you to like him. It’s weird.

It’s on the eighth day of Zeff and Sanji’s stay that you learn not everything is how it seems.

You’d gotten in trouble the night before for digging holes in the garden – you had kept the seed from your dinner plum and wanted to see if you could make it grow, but Miss Jaylee had caught you while taking Mr. Hu out for some air – so you’re somewhat grumpy on your way to Room 8, two notebooks in hand.

One of them is blank for Sanji. He wants to record all the meals he’s gotten and write down how he would make them. The second notebook is full of your notes that you need to study for your quiz tomorrow.

Zeff is sleeping again when you enter. You move quietly across the room to where Sanji is lying with his back to the door.

“Sanji.” You can see his shoulders tense underneath the sheets, but strangely, he does not roll over to face you. “I have your notebook.”

No answer. That is even stranger.

Frowning, you walk around to the other side of the bed. Sanji moves to bury his face into his pillow, but not before you hear a very soft, wet sniffle.

“Sanji?”

“Sorry.” His voice is high and so muffled you can barely understand him. “You can just leave it on the table.”

“Why are you crying?” In the back of your head, you know it is not the most sensitive thing to ask. But for some reason, you need to know. “I won’t laugh or tell anyone.”

You hear another sniffle from the mop of blond hair. It takes a long time for Sanji to answer, but he eventually does.

“I don’t like hospitals.”

Your brow furrows. “Oh,” you say, somewhat surprised. Most people don’t like being in a hospital, you’re pretty sure of that, but you didn’t know Sanji didn’t like it this much. “Why?”

Maybe he’s tired of getting poked all the time, or the bland food, or the hospital smell. Nobody here can change that. Maybe he’s homesick. The hospital can’t fix that, either.

Sanji turns his head slightly and takes in a small, shuddering breath. “’Cause it … it makes me remember my mum … when she was sick,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.

“… Oh.”

You had assumed, upon learning that Zeff and Sanji were not at all related, that Sanji was like you and never knew his parents. He’d never talked about having any before, only his time on the Orbit and with Zeff. But he does know them – his mother, at least. And she was sick. The memory is what’s making him so sad, and it’s yet another thing that the hospital can’t help.

You don’t want him to be sad. You did make him your friend, after all, even if he does annoy you sometimes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, standing awkwardly with his notebook still in your possession. You remember what Miss Jaylee has told other patients before. “That, um, must have been really hard for you.”

Sanji squeezes his pillow more tightly.

Should you go? Should you talk to him some more?

“Please don’t tell anybody,” he whispers before you can decide. “Especially Zeff.”

“I won’t,” you reply firmly. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry I can’t hang out today. I really wanted to, but, um …”

“It’s okay. We can do it later.”

“Okay.”

You set his notebook and a pen on the bedside table. After some thought, you refill his water and, after even more hesitation, fix the bed sheets on him a bit so they’re not as twisted up. That is the best you can do.

The red string follows you as you quietly leave Room 8, and you don’t think about it at all.

—

“How do you spell necessary?”

“N-E-S-E-S-A-R-Y.”

“That doesn’t look right. I think it’s S-S-A-R-Y.”

“Maybe you can find it in the book,” Sanji suggests, kicking his feet as he lies on his belly next to you.

“Yeah, maybe.” You flip through the pages of your textbook, searching for the correct spelling lest you get marked off again.

It is the tenth day. Sanji is doing alright, and Zeff is up and about with his new leg. Dr. Gu says they’re good to go, so they’re leaving after Zeff finishes breakfast. You’re not sure how to feel about it.

In the meantime, Sanji is helping you with your essay about scurvy. He knows quite a bit about it, which makes sense since he’s lived at sea, and you hope the perspective he’s supplying will impress Dr. Gu.

(“That’s why every ship needs a good cook,” he tells you proudly. “We make sure everyone eats right so they stay healthy.”

“That’s why you and Mr. Zeff are going to have a restaurant ship, right?”

“Mmhm.”)

Sanji rests his face in his hands, cheeks squished against his palms while you continue to scan through your textbook. You finally find the word in a photo caption and, with a triumphant noise, jot it down correctly.

Someone knocks on your door. The two of you turn to face it simultaneously.

“[Y/n]?” It’s Mrs. Guo.

“Yeah?” you call, already slightly irritated.

“Is Sanji there? It’s time for him to leave.”

A frown presses down on your lips. Sanji sighs and gets up as slowly as possible, taking his notebook with him.

“Coming,” he says.

The two of you dawdle on your way to the hospital entrance. You pet Cabby the dog when you run into him and his handler and stop by the kitchen so Sanji can thank the cooks. There’s no rush, not really, but an uneasy feeling continues to well up in your stomach anyway.

Upon arriving at your destination, Zeff waiting at the double doors with a giant bag of treasure slung over his shoulder, Sanji stops and turns to face you.

“I’m – I’m going now,” he says, as if just realizing it.

“Okay,” you say.

You and Sanji stand in silence for a moment before Sanji’s bottom lip starts to wobble.

Yours starts to wobble too. The uneasy feeling in your stomach bubbles up into your throat and behind your eyes.

“I’ll write you,” he blurts, voice cracking. “You’ll come visit, won’t you?”

“I don’t know.” You don’t know if they’ll let you. The hospital is busy and the ocean is big, bigger than you, and you don’t know it at all like Zeff and Sanji do. “But I’ll write back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You are crying now.

For the first time, your arms wrap around Sanji, and he clings back as both of you bawl. Your tears and snot stain the shoulder of his brand-new clothes. Your uniform grows damp at the collar. It doesn’t matter at all.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” you croak into his shirt, face hot and eyes blurry.

His grip tightens. “You will,” Sanji replies in between sniffles. “I know it. Even if it’s when we’re really old, we’ll see each other again.”

“Okay.”

You believe him. Not because of fate, but because you want to.

—

You write to each other every single week for the next ten years. You tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

—

“You seem nervous,” Nami says. “Don’t tell me a little bribery got under your skin?”

“No, no.” You wipe your hands on your thighs and try to relax against the back of the booth. “Just … not used to places like this, that’s all.”

The Baratie is nicer than you imagined. Sanji had kept you up to date over the years, sending newspaper clippings and recipe drafts as the restaurant he and Zeff founded grew in staff members and reputation, but seeing it in person is a whole different deal. You’re telling the truth when you said you’re not used to a place like this.

But it’s not why you’re nervous.

“Hey, look!” Usopp exclaims, pointing across the room. “I think those guys are gonna fight.”

The rest of you look. Near the kitchen, two men are arguing, and the pink-haired man sitting at the table stands up when the pirate shoves his food onto the floor.

Usopp sucks his teeth. “Yikes.”

Luffy leans forward in interest. Zoro simply stares, and Nami rolls her eyes.

One of the waiters approaches them. You watch as he tries to deescalate the situation, but neither party is having it.

The pink-haired man draws a gun.

Within seconds, the gun and both would-be brawlers are on the floor.

The waiter shoves his foot into the pink-haired man’s back to keep him down, then picks up the plate of bread rolls again, stepping over both groaning bodies with the ease of one who’s done it before.

He reassures the other customers as he approaches your booth. You’re not concerned about the fight so much as you are about the way that you know.

It’s been ten years, but you just know, even before he gets close enough for you to see the red string that trails up and disappears into the black of his pants pocket. Even before you see the blue of his eyes and the annoyed set of his brow, exactly the same as you remember.

He places the rolls down onto the table, and for the first time, you wonder what you want.

“Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?”

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader #soulmate au #woefully inaccurate portrayal of patient treatment and progression of recovery i'm sorry #usually i'd be more of a stickler but this is one piece where people don't die after 85 days eating nothing but their own leg #zeff and sanji definitely aren't ur typical patients anyway even in the opla universe lol

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inoreuct · 1 month

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undercover op with sanji in a dress?? i think judge would be pissed asf if he picked a backless one and decided to own that metal spine bcs he’s a badass 😏😏 (unless cyborgs are discriminated against. are they? are they common in this au?? or are sanji and his sibs the only ones?? I’M SO INVESTED PLS 🤲🏻)

ooooh anon anon anon,,, YOU READ MY MIND WITH THE BACKLESS DRESS also cyborgs are pretty uncommon but they aren’t really discriminated against— more seen as things to be put on pedestals and not people, though. some see them as feelingless machines, and sanji’s siblings definitely aren’t helping that rep :((

there are other cyborgs but the vinsmokes are the most well-known, and their power + skills and apathy (save sanji) have people kissing the ground they walk on with a mix of fear and reverence. sanji just wants to be a Normal Guy, though, and zoro treats him like one, and it both pisses sanji off and makes him immeasurably happy. make of that what you will 🤭

“Found him.” Zoro frowns at his monitor, double-clicking with his mouse to zoom in. “Grey jacket, next to the beer taps.”

“Yeah, I see him.”

He tracks Sanji over the security camera, watching the blond slink through a crowd that parts for him effortlessly without even seeming to realise. Zoro can’t blame them, seeing as he looks good enough to stop traffic. “Remember, he doesn’t know what’s—”

“Going on, I know, I know,” Sanji mutters under his breath, weaving around a woman who gawks with her mouth slightly open as he flashes her a soft smirk and a wink. “Keep him unaware and get the drive. I could do this in my sleep.”

“I know,” Zoro echoes, even as he holds back a scoff and an eye roll. He’s in a bad mood and he knows exactly why.

He’s scrunched up in his chair in sweatpants and a ratty tank top, a half-drunk can of beer steadily forming a puddle on the desk next to his keyboard as he watches Sanji sidle up to the bar and order a drink. Their target sneaks a look to the side before ducking his head and taking a gulp from his own glass.

The man’s a small-time photographer who looks clean-cut but understated— Insignificant. He’d been chosen precisely because of that fact; GERMA66 had deemed him acceptable as an oblivious carrier of a thumbdrive that supposedly contains plans for whatever the hell Judge is up to next.

Their job is to intercept it before it gets to Charlotte Linlin, or anybody she’s affiliated with.

The bartender returns with Sanji’s drink and he takes it with an elegant incline of his head. “Old fashioned?” he asks, gesturing to their target’s glass, and there’s a pause before the poor man looks around quickly.

“A-Are you—?” he starts, pointing to himself.

Sanji laughs, silky and soft. Zoro takes a controlled breath. “Who else?” He raises his own glass to his lips, and Zoro knows what’s in it. A rum and orange cocktail with Kahlúa and cacao nibs in the egg white foam on top. “That is an old fashioned, isn’t it? Yeah.” The blond’s lips curl up behind the crystal rim, a bold red and sharp at the edges. “You seem the type.”

“You seem the type,” Zoro mocks silently, scowling at the screen. He doesn’t even try not to scoff this time; his chair complains with a loud creak when he throws his weight back, sullenly crossing his arms over his chest.

Look. He’s not sulking, alright? It’s just— difficult. Sanji twists sideways, leaning one elbow on the bar, and the back of his dress dips low enough for his entire spine to glimmer silver-wet in the dim lights. Where was he?

Right, difficult. Sanji’s over there buttering up a literal nobody, and Zoro has to sit here, in his apartment, in this shitty rolling chair with no back support where he’s close enough to go in if Sanji needs backup. He listens to his partner flirt over the comms and grits his teeth as he tries to consciously keep his fists unclenched.

He’s not jealous. It’s just that he’d gotten used to the idea of there not being anyone else, he supposes. Neither of them have any time for romance outside of their jobs, and at some point being together had just become routine; and Sanji’s a flirt, sure, but at the end of the day it’s always Zoro that he ends up with. They have toothbrushes at each other’s places. Sanji has weights by his shoe rack and Zoro has a block of chef’s knives tucked into the corner of his kitchen counter.

Sanji’s laughter grabs his attention, and Zoro realises that at some point he’d lost the thread of the conversation. The blond pinches the collar of their target’s grey windbreaker between his thumb and forefinger, running down the length of it, and their eyes meet through the camera as Sanji pushes off the countertop and the man scrambles to follow.

His dress drags along the floor. The red satin is made heavy by crystalline beading, draping down to just above his hips as he makes his way to the lift lobby, and the man trails behind hanging onto his every word like a starstruck fool; Zoro suspects he himself isn’t much better. The lights of the lift lobby are harsh as they make their way up to the hotel above the bar, and Zoro switches from camera to camera all the way until the man’s sliding a key card into a lock and disappearing when Sanji shoves him into the room with an exaggerated giggle.

His expression sobers when looks directly at the camera across the hall. Strands of hair are drifting out of his chignon and catching in his lashes. “Sorry, mossy. Gonna have to sign off for now,” he whispers, and Zoro can hear the soft smile in his voice before he pulls his earpiece out and shuts the door.

Silence.

…Yeah, Zoro’s jealous.

It’s enough to have him finishing his beer in two chugs, leaning back to drag his hands over his face and groan. He knows what it looks like. Knows what it’s supposed to look like; a hookup, plain and simple. Judge can’t know that Sanji’s the reason the drive won’t make it to Linlin. It’s risky, sure, but they’re banking on the fact that he doesn’t know that Zoro knows anything about how Judge still has Sanji under his thumb. And if Sanji gets some fun out of it, well— Zoro can’t fault him.

It doesn’t change the fact that he feels sick to his stomach, and it’s pissing him off because he has no right. None at all. He isn’t entitled to anything; Sanji doesn’t owe him, or anyone, anything. It doesn’t matter how he feels. It doesn’t matter how close they sit when they’re falling asleep in the middle of a movie on Sanji’s couch. Sanji’s already been backed into a corner by his bastard of a father— Zoro refuses to complicate things for him any more.

He’ll get up in a moment. Grab a bottle of something stronger this time. The apartment will be his till morning, anyway, so what’s the rush?

And then he hears the front door beep as somebody enters the passcode, and he nearly falls out of his seat sitting up straight.

Zoro glances at the clock as footsteps echo through the entrance; it’s only been twenty minutes, give or take.

Multiple hard somethings clatter onto his desk, and he looks up to find Sanji leaning against the doorway. “Help me out. I’ve got a screw loose,” he says, grinning, and then there’s a moment before Zoro groans.

“If you think that’s funny then you clearly do,” he replies tiredly, standing as Sanji sits on the other side of the table.

He picks up the screwdriver he’d been given, reeling a little. Sanji isn’t supposed to be here, and yet— Here he is, pulling pins from his hair left and right and dropping them all over Zoro’s desk as his chignon untwists itself. A weary sigh leaves Zoro’s lungs. “Where?”

“L4, R6, L12 and 16, and… R23.”

“23?” He frowns. “That’s lower than usual.”

Sanji grimaces. “Slept wrong last night, I think.”

“Hm.” Zoro flips the tool in his hand as Sanji gathers his hair over his shoulder; it’s gotten long now, enough to dust the tops of his shoulder blades with soft, shimmering gold. He rests his thumb at Sanji’s hairline and drags down gently until he gets to the first corresponding vertebra and he’s careful as he fits the screwdriver head in, turning slowly until the joint tightens.

“Did you sleep with him?”

Sanji makes a pfft sound and doesn't even turn, used to Zoro’s straightforward questions. “‘Course not. What, not confident enough in my abilities?”

“No.” Zoro clamps his mouth shut when he realises how defensive he sounds. “No,” he amends, voice marginally less tense, four fingers wrapped over the edge of Sanji’s ribs as he moves down. “I just thought… You were having a good enough time. He liked you. No reason not to.”

“I didn’t want to. That’s the reason,” Sanji says, and it’s flat enough that Zoro knows to ease off. “When we got into his room I knocked him out before I nicked this,” he taps the thumbdrive he’d tossed onto the table with the screwdriver, “out of the lining of one of his jackets.”

Zoro narrows his brows. “Knocked him out how?”

Sanji shrugs a shoulder. “Compressed his carotid. Pretty sure the poor guy was enjoying it, honestly.”

They’re quiet for a while after that. Zoro holds Sanji’s side, elbows digging into the table as he crouches down to see what he’s doing. He resists the urge to press his nose to Sanji’s skin. Beading digs into his knuckles as the screw clicks into place.

“Zoro.”

He stills. They rarely use each other’s names. “Yeah?”

“Did you—” Sanji’s breath catches, the moment suspended until he shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

He’s beautiful, Zoro thinks. The scarring that frames his spine is smooth under his thumb. “Did it hurt?”

“Hm?”

“When he…”

“…Yeah.” Sanji puts the heels of his palms on the table, fingers curling over the edge, thumbs pressing into the sides of his thighs. “He said it was my fault, anyway,” he sighs, letting his weight drop so his shoulders hunch up to his ears. “That I wasn’t even supposed to feel pain, but I ruined it before he could… perfect me.”

Zoro lets his eyes flick up, gaze falling on the elegant curve of Sanji’s nape before he focuses on the last screw.

He’d made a promise to himself on that fire escape. The metal melded to Sanji’s back is a constant reminder to both of them that he’s a double agent. Everything they do is a risk; hell, they both lose sleep over it. Zoro’s used to his phone ringing in the middle of the night. Sanji’s finally starting to allow himself to call.

The blond’s head is hung low as the strap of his dress slips off his shoulder, and Zoro slides it back up and lays it in place. He’s done with Sanji’s spine. “How’s that feel?”

“Hm?” Sanji blinks as he looks up, before rolling his shoulders back. “Better.”

“Alright.” Zoro barely stops himself from drumming his fingers on the table as he bites his lip. He turns around under the guise of readjusting random things on his windowsill. “It’s late. You staying over?”

“…Oh, fine,” Sanji relents, waving a hand. “Too tired to go anywhere, anyway.”

It’s second nature to leave a set of pyjamas on the bed; Zoro usually takes the couch, if only because the springs are hell for the tactile sensors in Sanji’s spine. He’s just leaving when Sanji steps out of the adjoining bathroom with a wash of warm air with a towel around his waist.

“Pretty sure your bed’s meant for two,” he says lightly before grabbing the clothes and disappearing back through the door, and Zoro blinks. Sure, he’d splurged on a queen-sized mattress, but he’s never shared it.

He ends up lying down anyway and swiping through his phone mindlessly until Sanji comes out again, hair brushed back. The covers pull as Sanji climbs under and he stretches to turn the lights off, before they’re laying there in silence.

Zoro’s half asleep when he hears it.

“We didn’t do anything in that room.”

“It doesn’t matter if you did.”

“But we didn’t,” Sanji insists, and Zoro hears I didn’t want to do it, any of it, and he doesn’t even realise he’s reached for Sanji’s hand until their fingers brush.

“I know,” he says, gentle. Their hands lay in the space between them until Sanji threads their fingers together, rolling onto his side.

“Just, uh,” he begins, clearing his throat gruffly. “Just wanted to clarify.”

Zoro laughs against his will. His shoulders shake with it, and he hisses when Sanji kicks his shin. He finds the knuckle of Sanji’s thumb as he brings their hands up between their pillows, rubbing over the bone. “Go to sleep, curly. We’ll go through the drive tomorrow.”

Sanji’s lashes flutter before he swallows. “Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, marimo.”

He turns his face into his pillow. He smells like Zoro’s body wash.

Zoro stares at his ceiling and wonders just how much he’d be willing to give to protect this man falling asleep next to him.

(He wakes not long after sunrise the next day.

Sanji’s ribs rise and fall against his palm, the corner of his borrowed shirt riding up. He’d rolled over Zoro’s arm sometime in the night; his other hand is tucked close to his chest, his ankle skin-warm and pressed to Zoro’s shin. His hair is all over the place and Zoro’s pretty sure he’s drooling.

He smells even more familiar now, like cheap lavender detergent that Zoro buys on a discount, leftover hair wax and orange from the night before. Just a hint of mint toothpaste. There’s the slight rasp of stubble when Zoro drags the heel of his hand across Sanji’s jaw, and the man mutters in his sleep, flipping over to face the other way and hug Zoro’s arm to his chest.

Well. Zoro doesn’t usually sleep in. He’s a busy man, he’s got weights to rep and evidence to process— But seeing as his arm’s trapped, there’s not much he can do, is there?)

(The next time he opens his eyes it’s past noon. He smells caffeine and hot butter, and it drags him out of bed to the kitchen; Sanji’s standing over the stove, hair shoved up into a haphazard bun with a blue ballpoint pen, spatula in one hand and Zoro’s laptop balanced on the other.

“About damn time, you log,” he huffs, jerking his head towards the table. “Coffee’s ready, help yourself. You won’t believe what bullshit Judge is trying to pull.”

Zoro raises both eyebrows and decides to save himself an ass-kicking by keeping his mouth shut. He pours himself a mug of coffee and sits down. “S’that my pen?”

“It’s—” Sanji frowns. “I picked it up off the floor.”

“Hm. I was wondering where it ran off to.”

Sanji rolls his eyes, leaning over to put the eggs down. “You’re fucking horrible. Are you telling me you only have one pen?”

“No. I was just looking for this,” Zoro reaches up and yanks it from his hair, “pen.” He yelps a laugh when Sanji swats him over the head and drags a chair out. “It looks better down, anyway,” he chuckles, wrapping a curl around his finger and tugging before he lets go. “Now run me through what’s going on.”

The blond gives him a stink eye and sighs, turning the laptop so it faces them both. “Okay. So…”)

(Zoro settles in, drinks his coffee, and he still hasn’t figured out how much he’d give. He’s starting to think there isn’t a limit.

He thinks he’d be okay with that, though.)

(part 1 | part 2)

#cyborg sanji au #that last line… be careful zoro be careful #they’re literally married?? and they’re still not together?? guys PLEASE #the way i had to fight w myself to not make sanji answer “when i fell from heaven?” when zoro asked “did it hurt”#THERE’S MORE COMING FOR THIS AU KEEP YA EYES PEELED #WILL BE SEEING MORE STRAWHATS + MORE CYBORG DETAILS #judge is about to earn himself many more haters that’s all imma say #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK AGAIN ANON 😽😽#ino writes #ino’s ask box #zosan #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro #black leg sanji #sanji #one piece sanji #zoro x sanji #one piece

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crepes-suzette-373 · 5 months

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Ichiji can "fear" (or panic)?

A while back I said that something feels funny that Ichiji was visibly sweating when Sanji freed the Vinsmokes from the candy.

Another thing that caught my attention is that Ichiji's face was heavily shaded in that scene, and it's a scene didn't seem to warrant heavy shading for lighting effect.

So, I checked through the artwork for comparison. Here's my artwork related hyperthink.

I'm noticing that when characters are in panic/in distress/experiencing turbulent emotions, sensei draws them with cross hatching on their face. Sure, sometimes the hatching is just "lighting effect", but when there's no intense lighting that warranted that kind of shadow hatching, the hatching means strong emotional reaction.

There's also dark shading for intimidation/horror effect, but based on context that's not what this is either.

Usually the "distress shading" is on the eyes, but sometimes there's more shading on the other parts of the face too. Below are examples of that on characters when in distress, panicking, nervous, or tense:

Well, Ichiji's eyes can't be seen, so my guess here is that sensei chose to cross hatch a large portion of his face (maybe to make sure you can see it?). In these instances, he's the only one whose face has that kind of intense shading when nobody else does, so it's not because of "lighting".

Also, I want to point out again, in the left picture, it wasn't just one or two drops. It was drawn in a way that implies he was sweating very profusely (the drops were dripping off his face). That seems rather intense, if it's not meant to be anything.

Example of comparison:

The only other ones with "stressed out faces" in that scene are Sanji, Bege, and Judge, so Ichiji's oddly shaded face is not lighting. Those three people I specified are feeling emotional pressure/tension in that scene.

(Also, might there be a significance in choosing to also screentone-shade Yonji there? We know that Yonji is rather openly emotional, so this might be something to scrutinise as well)

And if you apply that reading to other scenes it feels appropriate. For example, this part here:

The distress lines being drawn there probably meant that he was also concerned, but he's gritting himself to not linger and stay on track.

He may say "leave her for being weak", but I think that's not what he meant. He's prioritising "the mission" (covering for Caesar and Bege, so the Straw Hat crew especially Sanji can escape) over their individual safety.

Even if it had been himself who was knocked down, I can bet that he'd say the same thing. Stop getting distracted, get going with the mission.

Once Caesar made it out safely with Bege, you can see him also having sweat droplets and sighing in relief.

In the scene when he commands the ship to go, my read of it is that he's feeling the tension of knowing they're going to fight a tough enemy:

He's probably not sure they'll come out of it unscathed, and he's concerned for their safety, but still determined to step in to help. Just like how he's making that same face when saying to leave Reiju and keep going.

The "proof" is that Niji and Yonji don't really do this. Yonji sort of made that face after he did Winch Danton, and he and Niji somewhat do it too when Big Mum screams. Both are contexts of "physical strain" stress, from pain and exerting energy.

Otherwise, they don't have that distressed shaded face even when clearly showing concern:

In that third picture, you can even see that Reiju has the "distressed hatching" on her forehead, in comparison to Niji and Yonji who both don't at all (in the second picture).

Ichiji was making those faces when not under any physical strain, and was actually not making that stress face when Big Mum screams (even though Reiju has that same distress hatching on her forehead then).

My tentative guess is that, while Ichiji might not have empathy/sympathy like Reiju or Sanji do, what he might have is the ability to feel "fear". Maybe adjacent feelings too, like panic or very intense worry that's beyond just concern (Niji and Yonji can still be "concerned" too, as shown above), as well as "relief" in response when the fear is alleviated.

It somewhat fits with what I had dissected in the "thug Ichiji" analysis. He seems angry despite what looks like a smile on his face (I argue it's a sneer, and not a smile like Niji and Yonji were doing). Sometimes, people lash out in anger when they are scared.

Edit: Just wanted to add, to be clear. Yonji has been given the "shaded face", but I meant that it's rather clearly the intimidation one, when he was telling the Straw Hat crew he doesn't want to help Luffy. And I said in the context, Ichiji's shaded face don't seem to suggest intimidation.

The only possible counter I could think of for Ichiji is that "Oh, it's not fear/other emotions, he's just really angry the whole time".

#vinsmoke family #one piece #vinsmoke #vinsmoke ichiji #manga read along #ichiji #theory #analysis

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oneprompt · 2 years

Note

Sanji for NSFW prompt #3, per favore!? We all know being tied up is kinda his thing 😏

3authors note : n/a .. please enjoy <3

Sanji x Gn! Reader : “ You look a bit tied up. Should I just come back later ? ”

<3 <3 <3

NSFW

<3 <3 <3

note : reader is described as afab.

What a vision it was, your dotting prince, tied from the waist up. Velvet rope snug around his pecs, the rope accentuating his sex appeal more then ever.

Tight muscles, porcelain skin... Sanji was the most beautiful of the Vinsmokes, body and soul entirely clean of sin. What an angel he was. Your sweet, darling prince.

“Are you feeling alright, my love?” You cooed, lips spread out into a smirk, your thigh ghosting over your handy work. The way Sanji’s eyes wavered with excitement as your fingertips just barely brushed along his exposed thigh. If it weren’t for Sanji’s bindings, he’d be all over you right about now. Hands caressing every inch of you, mouth worshipping every nook and cranny on your body. You were a godly deity, in his eyes. Nobody deserved to be pampered more then you did.

From your head to your toes, you resembled the beauty of a greek figure, making him mirror a pathetic mortal in your presence. Sanji wanted nothing more then to love on you, crumbling his masculinity for you. And that’s exactly what he shall do.

“I feel great, Y/n..!” Sanji quickly replied, staring at you. Eyes oozing with a glimmer of lust and affection, he couldn’t help but stare at you. “B-but could you perhaps... let me touch you? J-just for a moment?” He stammered, voice trembling with utter weakness.

You glanced at your lover, tipping your head to the side, “Hmmm,” your finger rested on your lips, eyebrows crinkled in thought. “I’m not so sure... you look a bit tied up.” If it weren’t for Sanji’s undying fondness for you, he’d visibly curdle over such an atrocious pun.

“Don’t tease me, love..” Sanji pleaded, voice needy just for you. The way your body was in arms length, the dim light highlighting every dip of your curves. He was desperate to palm at your most sensual spots, pouring his endless streams of love upon your dear body. He wanted to paint your chest in his semen, his drool marking the rest of your body with his endless kisses... Sanji wanted you and nothing else, purely intoxicated off of your figure.

Oh, how much you wanted to fold then and there. Letting your lover pamper your body in the upmost pleasure, finally meeting his sweet release as he relished upon your body. But what’s the fun in letting somebody get their way? You couldn’t help but fall captive to Sanji’s weak sides, the way his erect cock leaked precum with a humiliating look on his face. Oh, how you fancied this image...

“Aww,” you let out a falsehood whine, eyes rolling to the side. “You do seem awfully tied up... maybe I should come back later,” you sighed, ignoring the needless pleas from Sanji.

“N-no..!” Sanji frowned, trying to lean as close as he could to you, face squished against your thighs. The sensation of your thighs against his cheeks was enough to make him wince out in pleasure, his erection throbbing as he rubbed his face against your thighs. Your prince was now acting as a lowly lap dog, throwing away all his dignity for the sake to get the slightest contact with your bare skin.

“Aren’t you being greedy?” You smiled softly, eyes half lidded as you stared down at your partner, hands stroking his blonde locks, Sanji continuously rubbed against your rosy thighs, forehead resting snug against your crotch.

Sanji panted delicately, dainty chest heaving with every lewd breath that fell limp out of his throat. “Please, Y/n... Can i at least get a small taste, if nothing more..?” He begged, the light muscle dangling from his mouth ever so slightly.

What an unsavoury face for an unruly pirate to make...

“Okay, fine.” You pushed your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to Sanji. The way his eyes widened in excitement, face burning with arousal, You could tell just how much he wanted this. What a naughty, naughty prince...

You pulled him by his hair, pushing him face first into your crotch. Without a single bit of hesitation, Sanji captured your bundle of nerves into his mouth, sucking and licking it as if he would never get to taste such a delicacy again.

The sight of Sanji was too much to bear... Hair messy within your fist, the rope remaining as tight around him as it was before, his mouth full of your cunt. Making somebody like Black Leg Sanji into such a slutty mess..

Oh, how electrifying it was to break somebody who was so respected... If only the world could know the slutty Sanji you grew to love.

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sashi-ya · 1 year

Text

𝑥𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡; 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑦 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡. 𝐍𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞⋆˙⊹ Sanji x afab! reader. nsfw

request: Anonymous asked: love the list!! i'd like the request 'naughty or nice' with Sanji nsfw 👀 w/ afab with f pronouns? thanks! | tw: nsfw. kinda sanji being a top, kinda. oral sex. masturbation (both). creampie implied | wc: 1k | masterlist | taglist: @zella07 @jin-supremacy01 @alexkanroji @jenwooly @owlham|

While Sanji has always been a sweetheart, tonight things took an unexpected turn; Sanji is the one topping you and his strong hips feel menacing to your body...

“You’ve been a very naughty girl this year, (Name)-chwan” he whispers, nobody should listen to you two as right by your side your nakama sleep.

“S-Sanji-kun, what- what’s going on? You ne- never act this way” you ask, allowing him to crush you against the wall of the Thousand Sunny’s hall.

Sanji lets you go instantly. He never, ever, will do anything to hurt you. “I’m sorry, (Name)-chwan. I thought you want- wanted this” he mumbles, with his eyes glossy from forming tears.

Soon, you remember what you told him during dinner; while everybody was feasting on his delicious preparations, someone brought up the famous “naughty or nice” topic to the table. And while you helped Sanji to do the dishes -well, look at him do them- you came closer whispering how much of a naughty girl you’ve been this year…

“No, don’t say sorry. I was just surprised… I love it ~” you purr, pulling him closer to the initial position where your back got pressed against the wall and your hands were held by him by the wrists.

“You do…? Naughty girl…” the blonde asks, grazing his goatee against your chin. His kitty like lips barely touch yours, and the single all blue eye showing fixes on yours.

You nod, biting your lower lip and making a little sexy dance to make him even more hot and bothered. “Will Santa give me my present either way?” you ask, with pouty lips making Sanji smirk with a Vinsmoke devilishly smile.

His strong grip lets go of your wrists, but now his cooking hands begin to peel your clothes in a rather violent and passionate way. You don’t complain, you want him to go feral. He kisses your shoulders as they get exposed, and then down in between your breasts.

And there is nothing Sanji enjoys the most than a pair of boobs. He nuzzles on them, he inhales the natural scent of your skin, and then slowly but surely he concentrates in the erected buttons. He bites and nibbles. He pulls and sucks with great dedication while his hands sometimes squeeze them against his pointy nose. He is in total heaven, indulging in the sweet taste of your flesh while you do too, squirming under his embrace.

You try to supress your moaning by biting your lips harder, even if some low whines scape your mouth. Those whines, and the grunting of Zoro turning around in his cot -completely asleep- make Sanji to use one of his soft hands to silence you. “Shh, my sweet chocolate… you are gonna wake them up ~” he purrs, with a smirk so perverted that again doesn’t belong in his usual sweet self.

You widen your eyes, as not only his tongue enjoys the bumpiness of your nipples, but also his free hand is now diving into your sex. Middle and ringer up your entrance, beckoning motion he knows works best. Sanji is usually pretty soft and romantic, but you have requested for him to go wild, and that’s exactly what you are getting.

And it’s so good the way he pleasures you, your legs begin to shiver and your knees to come closer one to the other. Your nails carve on the hard surface of his suit shoulders, your forehead becomes sweaty, and it gets almost impossible not to whine loudly.

“You are being too loud, (Name)-swan! Let’s go somewhere else…” he mumbles, taking his fingers out of your sex, completely dampened in your arousal honeys. Sanji lifts you up with absolute no effort and takes you to his kitchen. The blonde deposits you over the counter, spreading your legs just so he can fit in between them and then kneels like a prince he is.

His mouth gets to your core’s height, and before attacking you with his mouth he licks his lips sexily. Pale hands, a little veiny, bury in your inner thighs to leave them spread apart as the tip of his tongue touches the ambrosia of your folds.

You cover your mouth as he plays with your anatomy and your heels end up on his back. He enjoys it so much, he begs you to keep doing it. Sanji can’t help but love the fact of putting you over his, of your feet being on top of him.

The prince of Germa adds his fingers to the oral delight, and your orgasm surrounds you until exploding. And as the good cook he is, he doesn’t waste a single drop of your climaxing reaction. But it’s not over, and you don’t want it either. Sanji is about to explode, and he needs so much relief too.

“Com- come here” you plead, with a suffocated murmur by your own residual orgasmic spasms.

Sanji immediately stands up, caressing your cheek with loving but expectant motion. “Yes, my adored (Name)-swan?” he asks, panting, with his hardness about to break through the gabardine of his pants.

Your trembling hands unbuckle the fine belt around his tiny waist and soon his erect sex gets exposed. It feels warm to the touch, and the drips of precum bathe your fingers as you begin pumping his shaft.

Sanji, defeated by your soft -but precise- touch, presses his forehead on your shoulders. He lets himself go, completely at your mercy. And mercy is what you don’t have, because while you jerk him off you kiss his pale, milky skin of his neck. Leaving the imprints of your feral needs with your teeth, enjoying how red it gets and his whimpers fill your ears.

“You have been a very naughty boy, too… don’t you, Sanji-kun?” you ask, whispering in his ear. You can feel his whole body shaking, like as if he had been struck by a lightning of pure pleasure.

“I- I did ~” he purrs, with wet kisses on your collarbone. This time less precise and rather desperate as he gets closer to climaxing too.

“Then… why don’t you fill me up with your cum, naughty boy?”

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misc-headcanons · 4 years

Note

Sanji having a bit a depressed and kind of down in the dumps/insecure when his brothers try flirting with reader since they're always the loved and special ones and reader just looks at him tired "can i punch these losers" or something like that?

Sanji was already filled with dread at the thought of his s/o being anywhere near his brothers, but he knew from the second she had insisted to accompany him at Zou that there was no way in hell ____ was changing her mind. Even Bege and his men, who had strict orders to only take Sanji with him, eventually lost the battle of wills when ____ marched in front of Sanji and told them to either make space for an extra passenger or just shoot her in the face now, because that's the ONLY way they would get to leave with just Sanji. Bege was annoyed at getting crap from the Charlotte Family for this little change of plans, but...he had to admire this kid's guts to basically dare his men to shoot them in front of Sanji. He couldn't think of many loved ones who'd go that far without hesitation for their partner, except for his own wife Chiffon. And if you remind him of his Chiffon, you get one free pass to piss him off. As Sanji took ____'s hand and walked into the familiar cold walls of Germa's castle, he felt another creeping sense of dread as he thought about his brothers' reactions to seeing his s/o. Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji always enjoyed taking the things he loved most and either destroying them or taking them for themselves. He clenched his fist and squeezed his s/o's hand, and they turned to face him. "Hey, it's okay," ____ said gently, squeezing his hand back and smiling. "You're not going to face them alone this time. I'll be right here!" Sanji gave ____ a small half-smile, pushing down his creeping insecurity and fear as he looked at them. That's why it's not okay, he thought silently. His thoughts briefly drifted to the late nights on the Sunny with her, feeling her fingers run through his hair while she sleepily murmured praises to him (just because she knew how much he loved hearing those words of affirmation from his dear "princess"): "You're so brave", "You're so strong, I always know I can rely on you when I'm in danger…" Compared to his brothers, he was nothing. He couldn't even protect himself, much less the people he truly cared about and loved. The large doors creaked open, and the two of them entered the fortress. A timid young servant named Cosette, who seemed to recognize Sanji and welcomed him warmly, led the two of them to the throne room. ____ happily chatted with Cosette as they talked fondly about "the young Prince", and Cosette actually laughed out loud when ____ had described how lovestruck Sanji was when they'd first met--he'd swooned so hard that he'd fallen off the ship! When someone else had entered the throne room behind them--three "someones", actually--Cosette's smile quickly dropped and she immediately looked down at the floor. ____ looked over at the three men, immediately recognizing them as Sanji's biological relatives. They hadn't seemed to notice her, and instead circled around Sanji and Cosette like a group of sharks. "Well, well," the redheaded one teased, "Our little brother's finally back, with his tail between his legs." The green-haired one roughly clapped Sanji on the back, shoving him to the ground. "I'd say we missed you dearly, but...we all know that's a lie." ____ flinched, and Cosette's eyes widened in alarm; she knew ____ wanted to say something, or to defend Sanji. But she didn't know the Vinsmokes, and she didn't know that doing that would just make things worse. The blue-haired brother raised an eyebrow and waved Cosette away. "Shouldn't you be getting dinner ready with the rest of the staff? You're not slacking off, are you, Cosette?" His voice was soft but predatory, and Cosette trembled a bit as she quickly backed away. "N-no, Master Niji," she replied hastily. "I...I was…" ____ stepped forward to put herself in between Cosette and the blue-haired brother. "She was the one who brought us here," she said firmly. "She wasn't slacking off, she was doing her job and greeting us as guests." She clenched her jaw a bit and looked him in the eye--a difficult task when the person you're staring down is wearing sunglasses. When she made her presence known, the mood of the three brothers immediately changed and they forgot all about Sanji and Cosette (who took the opportunity to quietly make her way out of the room). The green-haired brother who'd knocked Sanji down stared at her with wide eyes and the beginnings of a nosebleed. "Woah, she's kind of uppity, but she's hot!" He pushed his way past Niji in an attempt to introduce himself. "Are you a new servant or something?" His gaze drifted lower on her body, and his eyes turned into hearts. "I can...ah... take your measurements for your uniform~" ____ raised her eyebrows and fought the urge to laugh at such a godawful attempt at flirting. "Wooow, are you like this with any woman within drooling distance," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or am I just special?" Before he could respond, she turned away from the three of them and went to help Sanji up off of the floor. The red-haired brother blocked her path and turned her around to face the other way. "Oh, don't bother with him," Ichiji said with a slight purr to his voice that made ____'s skin crawl. "Servants usually deal with the trash we leave behind, but nobody should have to deal with...that." His hand on her shoulder traveled a bit lower down her arm. "I'm Ichiji, the oldest brother. You can call me 'Master Ichiji' for now, but when we're alone, I wouldn't mind you using something more affectionate. And you are?" ____ stared up at Ichiji, amazed at just how stomach-churning he and his brothers were within just a few seconds of meeting them. She always thought Sanji could be a bit much when it came to flirting, but compared to this...she was actually pining for the days when Sanji's flowery monologues and nosebleeds would annoy her. She rolled her eyes and squirmed out of his grasp. "I'm not interested," she snapped. "But you can also call me 'Sanji's girlfriend', if that's not 'affectionate' enough." Sanji failed to look up from the floor, as he felt a wave of anxiety fluttering in his chest, the shameful tears welling in his eyes, and the cold sweat covering his entire body. He hadn't heard their voices in years, and he'd gotten so much stronger, yet it had been so easy for them to push him around like nothing had changed. He had wanted to get up, to fight back and not leave ____ to face them alone, but...it was too much. Everything was too much. He was shaking, about to cry like a child from one push to the ground. Just being near them left him feeling like he couldn't breathe. When he finally managed to look up, all he could see was ____ kneeling down to help him up. "Hey," she said softly, "You okay?" He blinked up at her in awe, and for a moment the stifling, dizzying heat all around him seemed to fade a bit. When he saw Niji grab her arm and pull her towards him, it came rushing back ten times stronger. "You? With him!?" Niji and the other brothers snickered and laughed harshly. "I was gonna reprimand you for speaking so rudely to your betters, but...now I just want to help you. If I could feel emotions, I'd probably feel bad for you right now." He glanced at Sanji and smirked, seeing his weak younger "brother" close to tears, and then back to ____ as she tried to pull her hand away from his. "Look, a pretty thing like you shouldn't be with him. He's worthless, a good-for-nothing who's only getting a bride because it's convenient for our family. You should be with a real man." He put his other hand on ____'s waist, and Sanji's eyes burned with rage; he knew exactly what Niji was doing, trying to steal another precious part of his life just to spite him. He's right, a small, pitiful part of himself thought. They always get whatever they want, because they're stronger. They're "perfect". I should've known better than to let ____ come here. I'm not strong enough for her...I'm not strong enough for anyone. ____ flinched at the feeling of Niji's hand on her waist and glared at him with slitted eyes. Yonji snorted at her expression. "Careful Niji, I think you pissed her off," he teased. Ichiji crossed his arms and scowled at his younger brother. "Oi, you really think you're gonna take her for yourself? I'm the eldest, so she's mine," he snapped. "No fair," Yonji said, glaring at Ichiji. "Who cares who's older? I should get her since I'm the strongest." "You're joking," Niji said dryly. "Tell me you're joking, Yonji." Yonji gave Niji a cocky smirk and put his fists up as he faced his elder brother. "I'd be more than happy to prove it," he challenged. "C'mon. Whoever wins gets to keep her!" Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji all grinned at each other, eager to prove their strength with another fight. Niji set ____ up onto the throne room's meeting table and mockingly pinched her cheek. "Don't worry, this'll only take a few minutes," he said. "Just sit tight for a minute, and then I'll take you to our royal tailor to get fitted in something pretty." A slight bit of pink colored the visible parts of his cheeks. "You already look gorgeous, but I bet you'd look even better in something...blue." Ichiji barked a laugh and led his brothers outside. "Nah, she'll look great in red though," he replied cockily. As the two elder brothers playfully shoved each other while they walked out to fight outside, ____ could hear Yonji's boisterous voice outside the doors to the throne room. "Screw that; when I win, she's gonna wear my cape and nothing else!" ____ crinkled her nose in disgust and hopped off of the table to help Sanji up. When she saw the shaken look on his face, she immediately took him by the hand and sat him down in one of the nearby seats. There were some nights where he'd wake up in a panic, with that same look on his face after tossing and turning during a nightmare--a night of remembering his childhood here with them. She gently ran her thumb over his shaking fingers and tried to help him steady his breathing, just like she would if he had just woken up from a nightmare. "Sanji, honey, can you breathe with me? Just like that...in, out...in, out…" She slowly reached to wrap her arms around him and when he had finally started to breathe normally again, she sighed gently with relief and kissed his cheek. He bit the inside of his cheek, cursing his weakness and wishing ____ had fallen for someone stronger, someone better, who deserved her. After a few minutes of silence, ____ ran her fingers through his hair and sighed before kissing his cheek again. "I know this is an understatement," she muttered. She held him closer and smiled against his skin. "But...your brothers fucking suck." Sanji turned and stared up at her with surprise. He'd never heard anyone say that about them before. He was quiet for a moment, and then snorted a bit before nodding in agreement and wiping his face with his sleeve. "Um...yeah, that...that's an understatement," he said, his voice a bit thick and shaky. ____ continued to cuddle Sanji as they laughed quietly together. "I mean, seriously? All three of them are total shit. I can't believe they're related to you." Sanji's heart soared a bit at the way she'd said that and emphasized "you". They really weren't anything like him; and to her, that was actually a good thing. She imitated Yonji's voice. " 'I can...uhhh...take measurements for your uniform~' ". She shuddered and groaned with disgust. "Ugh, that Caribou guy was less slimy and he was literally made of mud." The two of them laughed again, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cosette's face peering at the two of them behind the slightly ajar door to the hallway. The maid's face was tearstained like Sanji's, but she was smiling at ____ from behind the door when she closed it and turned around to give them some privacy. She was glad that the young Prince had found someone to give him the love he deserved, after all these years.

#one piece #one piece scenario #one piece scenarios #sanji #vinsmoke brothers #black leg sanji #female s/o #mine #queue #Anonymous

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bipherpol · 5 years

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i’m not entirely sure when i’ll get around to posting it so i’m gonna ramble a minute about the leverage au currently sitting in my WIP folder

for those unfamiliar, leverage is (was) a delightful show that aired on tnt for five seasons and started back in 2008 about a group of thieves who were basically ocean’s eleven but robin hood. every episode had a caper, every episode had a corrupt/evil asshole who needed to be taken down a peg or fifty.

(if you haven’t seen it and you enjoy media about con artists/thieves/capers, media about found families and media involving a fuckload of competence porn, please watch leverage. it’s great. i love it.)

anyway

so the straw hats are the main crew.

luffy is the resident bleeding heart and a hitter who decided he wanted to be a thief because he spent too much time with shanks as a kid who definitely is a thief and a grifter and was a terrible influence on luffy (according to garp, who works for the fbi.) while they haven’t appeared at all in the plot i have so far, ace and sabo are on their own crews and are a hitter/thief and grifter/thief/hitter combo respectively. (sabo’s crew, naturally, is based off the revolutionary army and specializes in conning corrupt politicians and getting them taken down.)

nami is. well. nami. she’s a thief and a grifter and is behind at least 50% of the planning for every job. in a bit that may or may not be a take-off of the episode “the san lorenzo job” where they take down crocodile in alabasta, she pretends to be vivi’s fiancee much like sophie does in the episode for michael vittori. because reasons. (bellemere was also law enforcement but, while she encouraged the girls to be on the right side of the law, wasn’t as pushy as garp) (RIP bellemere but arlong’s the fucking mob in this fic so.)

zoro is. zoro. primarily there to beat the shit out of people. can steal and do sleight of hand and can pull grifter duty if need be but would rather just hit people.

sanji! is a grifter and a hitter and a thief and his vinsmoke backstory is mostly canon barring genetic enhancement bullshit and he did ditch them and get raised by zeff, who is (was) a thief in his own right, much like archie does for parker in leverage, only with way less issues because zeff doesn’t do the ~real family~ shit archie did. so. (related: yes the vinsmokes will come up at some point. no, they’re not all irredeemably evil in this universe because the genetic modification shit didn’t happen which means they’re all just products of judge’s bullshit abuse but that’s an essay and a half so i’m gonna leave that be for now.)

robin! grifter. information. can also beat the shit out of people. primarily a grifter. best one on the team and is very good at getting things/information/money/etc out of people. her backstory isn’t canon but i’m working out the details on how to best write her into things because i don’t want to have to necessarily wait until croc to get her on the crew. also behind a decent amount of the crew planning.

franky is the hacker, naturally, and splits the gadgets dude role with usopp. it’s franky. like. what else was he gonna do.

usopp! partially gadgets dude. also the team forger. the best forger in the country, really, but usopp wouldn’t know an ego if it bit him in the ass.

chopper is literally there to patch them up after fights and rarely pulls double-duty as a grifter if need be.

brook is also there! grifter, primarily. is very good at playing upper class if they need him to.

jinbe (like i would forget jinbe) is also a hitter and can grift if need be and mostly meets luffy in the first place because ace is like “this is my little brother he’s a little shit” and jinbe’s like “......where the fuck did my wallet go” and luffy’s moved, like, twice, and not out of jinbe’s line of sight. so jinbe likes him and joins the straw hats.

aside from the straw hats!

again, sabo’s crew is essentially the revolutionary army. what else would he do.

law shows up, def, and yes the heart pirates too. (i can’t leave bepo out, i just can’t.) mastermind, doctor, grifter when need be. (bepo is actually the team grifter for them but nobody believes them because bepo is cute and adorable)

smoker and tashigi are law enforcement, of course.

i’ve mentioned shanks, who is a grifter/thief/hitter and definitely used to be on a crew with buggy and trained under rayleigh and shanks definitely has the rest of his major crew. also did/does the occasional job with mihawk when he can drag mihawk out of “retirement”

and then! the other thing that i really really want to write in this universe at some point!

so, in leverage, season two, episode seven is called “the two live crew job”. the plot is a rival crew shows up and takes the painting the team was going to steal and then someone tries to kill the main crew’s grifter so they fake her death and steal a thing out from under the rival crew to extort them into giving up the painting they wanted in the first place.

naturally, when i hit “the two live crew job” in my (...fifteenth?) rewatch to work on this universe, it was about the same time i hit water 7/enies lobby. you can probably guess what’s next.

“the two live crew job” in this universe is straw hats vs. cp9.

(quick crew rundown for cp9: lucci - grifter/thief in that order, kaku - thief/grifter, kalifa - hacker/grifter, blueno - hitter/grifter, jabra - hitter, kumadori - grifter, fukurou - information) (all of them can also double as hitters, but jabra’s best skills are punching people and baiting lucci so. it’s also blueno’s focus, though he can also grift better than jabra.)

idk how all the details for that mess would work yet but i want to do it, so.

i did mention vivi, who is, aside from nami’s fake fiancee and sort-of their client, can work as a thief and a grifter and may or may not help the crew on occasion. because i love her.

hancock - grifter. (like there was any doubt, really.)

you get the point! anyway, so the straw hats do it because luffy is luffy and wants to help people and thinks laws are mostly bullshit so they rob the fuck out of rich people and ruin their lives a little bit and help out the people who got screwed over by them.

at some point, there is an alliance a team-up with the heart pirates because law’s exasperation at luffy’s ability to fuck up his plans remains one of the best things

aaaand i think that’s it for now. obviously, it’s not a perfect au but i’m working on it, so.

#my nonsense #anyway i'm gonna be honest i wanted to kind of do this and rewatched the show for better ideas on it #and then i hit two live crew and went 'okay now i have to write it' so.#anyway don't mind me

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sleepdepravity · 7 years

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Title: basically memento probably Word Count: 10,887

The plan went wrong, because of course it did. It always did.

It was easy enough to disarm Pudding, knowing what was coming. He could even bear to point the gun at her as long as he didn’t think about it too hard. And then it was a matter of revealing Big Mom’s ploy to the Vinsmokes, and then Luffy and the others jumping out of their hiding places and breaking hell loose right then and there.

In the confusion, Sanji would slip away from the altar and everybody would just run for it, into the convenient mirror world, out to the entrance hall, out the front door, away from the castle, away from the island, away from every bit of this miserable mess that he had let everybody get caught up in.

At least, that was the plan before he felt something slip into his head and pull…

“As if you’d shoot me, idiot!” Pudding spat, letting her cute facade drop. Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji could see the roll of his memory bunched up in her hand, a pair of scissors hovering threateningly near. To the audience, she bellowed, “Nobody move, or I’ll make this brain-dead moron really brain-dead!”

Seeing his friends freeze, Sanji followed suit. This was where his self-indulgence had led him, his greediness, his selfish impulse. Truthfully, he had somewhat expected this – but like hell he would drag everybody else down with him. “Forget it, just run!”

Nobody ran. He sort of expected that too. What he didn’t quite expect was for Judge Vinsmoke to stand up, cape flapping, and shout, “Men, to arms!”

Or, no, he sort of expected it. He just really hoped that none of the Vinsmokes would have been stupid enough to try.

Clones upon clones threw themselves forward, a ludicrous sight in the face of Big Mom and her own army – though Brook evened the field a little by somehow expelling the souls of the more inanimate soldiers. The clouds above roiled with purpose and threatened to pop with thunder, but as pockets of cold and warm air collided in the atmosphere, they recoiled and twisted in odd formations, like a creature in pain. And Big Mom’s various officers/offspring clashed to a standstill against the opposing masses.

A group of Vinsmoke soldiers collected themselves in front of the altar, weapons pointing at Pudding. She watched them approach, gazed across the mess of the ceremony, realized that she had failed; and when the soldiers took yet another step, she screamed, or maybe yelled, howled, really, and pulled the film in her hand taught and

Sanji couldn’t see it happen, but he could feel it, blades slashing, stabbing, sliding through something, a word, a taste, the face of a person – and then Pudding was gone (punched, kicked, simply blown away?) and he was gone as well, toppling over and drifting away in the middle of an outright war.

The first person Sanji sees by his bedside is Reiju.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he breathes out, sitting up.

Her mouth quirks upwards, lopsidedly. “Hello to you too.” Her eternally placid face makes him open his mouth to curse her out a little more, but then Chopper speaks up.

“You’re awake!” he chirps, and Sanji practically jumps. And maybe it was bad of him to notice Reiju over Chopper, but the kid could barely peer over the side of the bed without something to stand on. “Reiju, could you tell everybody? I gotta do a check-up now.”

Reiju nods and stands up, and there are no words for how surreal this feels. Sanji can’t even figure out why it’s surreal. As soon as she closes the door behind her, Sanji strains out, “Is she, are there, is there any more of them – “

“It’s just Reiju.” This is said softly, the feeling of a fireplace on a winter’s night. Chopper pushes his chair over and sits up on it. “Um, so. You don’t actually have a lot of injuries this time around...but, how does your head feel? What do you remember?”

That’s...certainly a question. (Two, technically.) The world is a little bleary, but that might be from being recently unconscious. He can move his limbs and accurately touch his nose and all the other stuff that implies a working brain. The real nail-biter was the memory.

“Pudding-chan got me,” Sanji says, kneading his forehead. The Vinsmokes. Outright war. The wedding. Every single piece of shit thing he did before. “How is everybody?”

Chopper shrugs. “We survived. The Vinsmokes survived. Do you know what you forgot?”

“Uh, no. I forgot it.”

Chopper gives him a look usually reserved for Zoro; the exasperated ‘I leave you for one second’ look, not the ‘aaaaaaaaaaaa’ look. “What about any holes in your memories you notice? Like, if you let it play in your head?”

It’s not exactly an exact science, but Sanji can’t say he knows any other way to do it, and so he leans back and runs through everything he can. But what does a hole in your memory even feel like? How can he recognize it from just plain old –

“Oh,” he says, and Chopper perks up. There’s a hole – except not the hole he expects, but an actual hole in his memory, as in, this dark hole just appears one second – not like there’s a hole in the sequence of events, see, but a hole in the actual scene itself where there’s obviously not supposed to be a hole, does that make sense?

Chopper frowns and tilts his head. “Um, I think so. Like someone just cut one part of it out? I mean, I guess that’s what she did, but...”

“I mean, I can just fill in the hole if I think about it,” Sanji adds. “It’s not like I forgot what’s there, it’s just...I can’t remember it automatically. Not a big deal.” It’s unnerving, though, looking back and seeing these imperfections, cuts and gashes littering past faces and places.

Chopper appraises him for a moment, then smiles. “Well, if that’s all there is, then okay! I’d like to monitor you some more, but I can’t see how – “

The infirmary door bursts open and Luffy reaches the bed in a single bound, followed by the others. Chopper shouts at Luffy to quiet down, stop crowding, starts explaining Sanji’s condition. But Sanji focuses immediately towards the back of the group, at the one lingering behind, and he points at Reiju and says, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It’s odd how she looks more shocked than he is.

Anterograde amnesia, Sanji learns, is a special sort of amnesia where the patient can’t make new memories. He has no idea how many times he’s learned it, and that sort of thought came with a special kind of paranoia where the only person he’s afraid of is himself. His only solace is that he will forget the whole thing soon. Ignorance is certainly bliss.

“You can still learn things,” Chopper had said, and then dove into a full-blown explanation about cognition and memory storage and the different types of memory that Sanji didn’t need amnesia to forget. “And...it could be temporary? Not that I know how devil fruit-induced amnesia works, but...”

“Zoro! Sanji-kun!” Nami’s voice snaps in the air like a whip, and he spins to face it like a compass with its mind in the gutter. She’s standing on the upper deck, hands clutching the railing tight as she leans over it, a familiar sight, something he can recognize as pure frustration. Her expression is changing as he watches, however, and she opens her mouth like she’s going to scream, except nothing comes out – maybe because at the same time, her hands shoot up and covers it.

He must’ve done something, right? But thinking about it, he has no idea what even happened before Nami’s admonishing tone, and that’s odd, sorta freaking him out, and

There’s a sudden force of wind behind him, strong enough to make him take a steadying step forward. It was a localized gust, as though Nami had shot her artificial wind straight through him, except clearly this wasn’t the case at the moment. No, what really tips him off is the tickle of something through his jacket, against his spine, and he cranes his neck behind him to see, a sword. Tensed, not quite touching him, but resting on the threads of his jacket, in the way, perhaps, a hummingbird would rest on a twig. And, trailing up the sword, past the hilt, all the way up the arm, there’s Zoro, with an uncommonly un-Zoro expression on his face, the expression of someone who is not in total control.

The non-existent past manages to catch up with him anyways, and he steps away and turns around – too quickly, maybe. Only then does Zoro lower his sword, sheathing all three – also too quickly. Zoro stomps heavily to the mast and climbs for the crow’s nest before anybody could say anything.

Sanji brushes a hand against his own back as he watches Zoro climb, even though he’s sure there’s nothing wrong back there. But Nami notices and hops down to the first floor, stairs apparently forgotten in the moment. “What is it? Are you okay?” she demands, and turns him back around when he tries to face her. “Chopper! Get over here!” He feels her pat his back down, looking for tears, feeling for cuts (because maybe Zoro knows how to slice a body and leave clothes intact, who even knows with him) and Sanji finds himself focusing on her touch, the probing pressure here and there, pushing him a little every time because he can’t seem to stiffen himself against her prods.

“What just happened,” he almost asks, but when he tries to say it, it comes out as “Fuck,” instead. Because, holy fuck, Zoro attacked him from behind, Zoro snuck up on him, but Sanji knows that isn’t right because he knows there’s something wrong with him and he knows something happened before that, but no matter what he thinks, in his mind, all it looks like is Zoro backstabbing him. And something’s churning in his guts, his organs are spinning around like a blender because he doesn’t want this in his head. His own assurance that Zoro wouldn’t do that, ever, keeps clashing with the physical fucking evidence he has, and it’s terrifying.

Nami isn’t checking his back anymore, just keeping her hands around his waist, and she murmurs, “Maybe you should stay out of fights...”

Sanji feels the weight of a book in his jacket at all times, now. When he takes it out, it greets him with the comforting title, ‘You Have Amnesia. (Keep this on you at all times)’ And inside are pages and pages of things someone else did, or it feels like someone else did, someone who happened to do things that he did. One page is full of ‘I woke up.’ Over and over, with every previous one crossed out. That one he tears out.

“What are you doing?” says a too familiar voice, and Sanji startles and whirls around, and there’s Reiju.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he breathes out, but Reiju just strides over and grabs his wrist, pulls it up, and that’s when he realizes he was crumpling something in his fist. The wad of paper tips and falls as he uncurls his hand, only to be snatched out of the air by Reiju, who picks it carefully open and scans the page.

At her frown, Sanji tries to peer around her side, only for her to pull it to her chest. “Hey!” he blurts, and then almost flushes at how much of a kid he sounds. He straightens unconsciously, matches her gaze (what is that look? Distant? Horror?), and says, “Is that yours?”

He meant it as a pointed statement, but once the words left his mouth he realizes that he really didn’t know. Is it hers? Did he steal some note from her? Why the fuck is she here?

“Is this what it’s like?” she asks, turning her head to the side. She scratches at her arm absently, lips pressed tight. “Waking up over and over again?”

He opens his mouth to say, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” but instead he just clicks his teeth closed again, looks down at his shoes. And he doesn’t even need to be aware of the notebook tucked in his jacket to understand what’s going on.

“Whole Cake Island didn’t happen yesterday.”

Reiju says nothing, but stiffens. Like he just said something impossible.

“But it feels it did,” Sanji adds, and why does his voice sound so passive? “I know it didn’t because I’m here, but the last thing I remember is the shitty wedding, like it happened seconds ago, only I know, I know that something or some things happened between then and now, I just don’t know what – I’m just guessing, and I’m guessing that I’m guessing all the time, and guess what!” He throws his arms out wide. He’s shouting at this point, and he doesn’t know when he started. “Out of every single idiot on this ship, now I’m the one who’s last to know anything!”

And, and, oh man what a fucking riot, because he knows, in the same way he knows that Whole Cake Island must have been a long time past, he knows that he will have this breakdown again and again, this feeling of bitterness over and over, and Reiju is right to look on in horror upon the futility of his existence, though in actuality, she’s probably looking in horror as he throws his head back, hand over his eyes, and cackles. It’s so funny, his stomach is aching, it’s so funny, tears are pouring out his eyes, it’s just that funny.

He’s holding a clean pot by the sink.

It looks dark out the window, nothing like the rosy blush of morning, so in that case, it must be evening. He should be thinking about dinner dishes. Sanji fills the pot with water – rib soup? Maybe tomato with eggs? – and browses the fridge, reading the notes taped to each item with the date bought – what’s about to spoil? This octopus has been here a while – and after he starts the stir-fry, after he slices and boils the tomatoes, the lotus roots, chops up the octopus, mixes the sauce, after all that, his focus is broken by the sudden entrance of Usopp.

Usopp seems surprised to see him in the kitchen (about as surprised as Sanji is seeing him) and his hand sticks to the door as he bites his lip. “Uh, Sanji? Why’re you…?”

“Cooking?” he finishes incredulously. “It’s my job? Someone has to make your shitty dinner,” and Usopp flinches at that, and Sanji halts, looks out the window, looks at the laden stove, looks back at Usopp, who’s looking at the floor now. “Oh,” says Sanji, and in that word is more resignation than disappointment, and he turns off the stoves.

“Luffy’ll eat it.” Usopp smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach reassurance, instead wavering around plain tired.

Sanji looks at all the food, because it hurts less than looking at that face. His brain pushes against the idea of just chucking everything into that rubber stomach – as if Luffy needed more. But he couldn’t ask everybody to stuff themselves. He could put them in the fridge for later – it only would damage his pride. (Not leftovers, but close enough to bother him – when was the last time he ever got food back?)

Usopp leaves the doorway and helps him file all the unfinished dishes away in containers, helps him wash (re-wash) the pots and pans. And before they leave, he snaps his fingers and says, “Wait, you should write down what you were making, for later.”

Sanji stares at him with a look of wary surprise. “Making what?”

There are four drinks on the tray.

They’re definitely not for the guys. He refuses to believe he’d ever put this much care making something for them. And there’s not enough, anyways. Does that mean there are more girls than he knows about? (Does this mean Robin’s here?)

The prospect sends an automatic thrum through his whole body, but there’s also something else. He has no idea how long they’ve been on board.

Nami’s at the orchard, elbow deep in loam, but she wipes her brow and smiles, taking a drink in her dirt-clad hand, and she’s so fucking industrious he could cry (and the glasses had been so pristine, he could cry). He’s already on the move before he can think of asking her about the other recipients he doesn’t have a face to.

If two more women joined and he can’t remember them, does that mean he’s been acting like it’s the first time they’ve met? Every single time he sees them? He can imagine in great detail the way that scene would play out just because he’s played it out so many times that if it were a movie reel, it would have deteriorated long ago. And, the idea is fucking horrifying. These ladies are reliving their first impression of him every single day and god he wants to crawl in a hole and die, but also, if he sees them he would absolutely do it again.

There’s a white blur that lands heavily in front of him, and oh, it’s Carrot. That’s one relief. She catches sight of the tray and swipes a glass, downs the whole thing, and tosses it back on the tray in one movement. She’s definitely a sporty kind of cute, a type of energetic he’d definitely swoon over, but he’s not about to do the full works at the drop of, well, her. She blurts out a “Thanks!” and carries on her way.

So that leaves one more mystery woman. Sanji continues to the deck proper; judging by the sun, Robin would likely be enjoying its light with a book. Maybe he can ask her, since Carrot ran off before he got a chance to get a word in. Would it be okay to ask her? What should he ask? God, does this other woman hate him? Does she only ever know him as ‘the one who drops everything to run over and belt poetry about beauty and romance?’ Do the others have to keep apologizing for him?

There are two deck chairs, and Sanji grimaces. Then almost backs off and over the side of the Sunny once he actually sees who she is.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Reiju looks up from her conversation with Robin. Reiju is talking with Robin. Reiju and Robin are in deck chairs side by side, reclining in the sun together and chatting. His sister. Robin and his sister. What did she tell her? He thinks in a panic, but he doesn’t know which ‘she’ he’s worrying about. Both options are all sorts of uncomfortable, but most of all, Reiju is on the ship with his friends and on good terms somehow and he’s just having a hard time reconciling the fact that two different parts of his life collided in unexpected ways behind his back so much that he’s not actually sure what he’s feeling and also aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

“Discussing recent literature,” says Robin, her countenance as calm as ever like this is a normal thing that happens all the time, which, considering how things are, it probably is. “Are those drinks for us?”

The way she talks, the way that nobody comes running at his sudden outburst, throws Sanji off-balance enough to trick his brain into stopping the alarms. “Yeah,” he finds himself saying, finds himself hustling over to serve Robin. And his sister.

“It appears we share the same tastes in books,” Robin continues. She accepts the glass with a nod. “As such, we have been conversing about certain titles we have both read and sharing recommendations on titles we haven’t. I do hope to obtain a copy of the one about the man who was eaten alive by eels. Did you know, he was found only when his wife's sister's cousin brought over an excellent unagi dish to the family potluck? Someone bit into the prosthetic pinky he was known for." ”

“Is that so,” Sanji hears himself say as he hands over another glass.

Reiju doesn’t look at him when she takes it. He sees that her mouth has flattened. “Yes. It is.”

“I’m not quite sure when we’d be able to find an area that specializes in North or West Blue literature, however. And Reiju understandably was too preoccupied at the time to recover her personal library.”

“That’s a shame,” he says. He’s still just standing there. The tray still has Carrot’s cup on it and he keeps holding it up instead of tucking it under his arm and now his wrist is feeling sore. He’s staring at Reiju.

“Excuse me,” Reiju says after a moment, then stands up with her drink and walks somewhere inside.

Sanji’s still staring at the door she goes through. Robin’s stopped talking for the moment, but it feels like she wants to say something more.

“Do I always, react like that? When I see her.”

The way Robin doesn’t answer is answer enough.

He’s not really sure he wants a sibling talk. He’s not sure how he even feels about Reiju. Despite Whole Cake Island. Because of Germa. He doesn’t know what he’ll say if he gets the chance, but he’s a fucking adult and he’s pretty sure a sibling talk is needed whether he wants it or not, and he goes to the kitchen to drop off his tray and forgets what he’s looking for.

He wakes up and almost tosses himself off his bed, because the last thing he knows is everybody warring against a fucking yonkou, over him, and what happened? Where is he? Did everybody make it?

Sanji glances around, and this is the Sunny he’s on, the familiar quarters he’s slept in, the usual quiet calm of snoring crewmates that he knows well. He hears sheets rustle behind him and from across the room, Luffy sets a hand on his head and mumbles, “You’re fine. ‘S fine,” before his arm goes limp and snaps back into place. There’s the sound of someone else rolling over and Sanji turns and jumps at the sight of Jinbei.

Jinbei, for his part, doesn’t look surprised, but leans up against an elbow and says, “Did you sleep well?”

He doesn’t know the answer. He feels well-rested though, so he says, “Yeah.” He can’t keep the guarded tone out of his voice, though, and coughs to get enough time to collect himself. Whole Cake is behind them. He can see Usopp drooling on his pillow, so it must be far behind him. But Jinbei is here, which means…

“I’ve joined the crew,” Jinbei says, and Sanji is sure he’s recited this before but the words don’t sound tired or pointed or anything. “Carrot and Reiju are new members as well.”

Sanji frowns at that, but somehow hearing Reiju’s name isn’t entirely surprising. Or maybe he’s learning to just roll with all this new-old information being thrown at him. Sanji asks, haltingly, “It’s morning...right?”

Jinbei nods, a gesture that seems odd without much in the way of a visible neck. Sanji hesitates before turning to his locker and changing into some clothes. “Would you like company?” Jinbei says from his bed.

Sounds more like ‘Do you want an attendant.’ Sanji tosses on a shirt and heads out without buttoning it. “I’m just gonna wash up and make breakfast, go back to sleep.” He doesn’t see the look on Jinbei’s face, but he also doesn’t hear the big lug follow him.

“I’m gonna wash up and make breakfast,” Sanji mutters once he closes the door behind him. “Wash up, breakfast. Wash up...”

“Good morning, Sanji-san.”

“Breakfast!” Sanji screams at Brook, and then covers his mouth. What the fuck was that?!

Brook doesn’t look at all confused by his sudden outburst (though there’s not many ways that Brook looks besides ‘dead’) and simply says, “Yes, that sounds nice. Be sure to wash up first.”

“Uh, sure...” And since when is Brook maternal??

Violin music accompanies him on the way up to the bathroom, matching his muttered rhythm of “Wash up, breakfast, wash up, breakfast.” When Sanji closes the door behind him, he glances around, and then down at himself.

He’s...not here to bathe. He’s pretty sure. Even if he can’t tell by his clothing or by the twilight/daybreak skies outside, the only sound is Brook playing the violin, and that must mean everybody else is asleep rather than staying up late, which means it’s morning, which means he’s here to wash up.

There’s a few sheets of paper taped to the mirror. Sanji stares at it for a few seconds and then grabs his toothbrush (or someone’s toothbrush – keeping a system was impossible with nine, now twelve people on board) and starts the morning hygiene routine.

The first sheet starts with, DO NOT REMOVE. And then, in equally urgent lettering, YOU HAVE AMNESIA!

1. Make sure you have your notebook!

Sanji pats himself down and only manages to wipe some water on his pajamas. Failed step one.

2. When you finish each thing on the list, check it off immediately!

‘The list’ is the second page, a run-down of his morning routines. Sanji squints. The boxes next to ‘brush teeth’ and ‘wash face’ are already crossed out? He can’t remember if they were that way before, but there’s a pen in his hand and he sets it down so he can shave.

There’s a third page, somewhat askew and bearing the marks of a typical Luffy masterpiece – anybody looking at it would see the multiple heads sitting on one large, round mass, rendered lovingly in joyful technicolor, and could only come to the conclusion that this was some eldritch beast. Sanji is able to recognize it as the whole crew in a group hug.

In handwriting that could be an eldritch horror all on its own, the page says, ‘REMMMBUR!! WE LOV YOU!’

There’s this jolt, like he’s missed a step down the stairs, whenever he sees Franky or Robin or Usopp or Zoro. And then this swell in his chest – they’re here! He didn’t actually think he’d see them again! And he’d smile, and their reactions would vary in their precariousness and then he’d realize, there is something wrong with him.

And then he’d realize, he’s had this realization before, who knows how many times, and it’s hard not to wonder if he’s just a nuisance, if he should just be put in an asylum and not bother anybody.

“That’s really what you want?”

Sanji blinks. He’s at the dining table. Everybody is, it looks like, including the somewhat surprising additions of Carrot and Jinbei, and there’s the heavy air of a Crew Discussion. Also, Reiju’s here.

He jumps a little at that, but if anybody notices, nobody says anything. Their attention is on her, and so is his. Her eyes flick over to him before she nods. “I don’t think I ever properly joined. I can take care of myself on my own, and there’s no reason for me to stay. This island seems amenable.”

Luffy hurms, tilting his head. “We’ve got men here too, though.”

“She wants to stay at this island,” Nami whispers.

“Oh! Um, I wasn’t gonna keep you here or anything, you can just go if you want to.” He’s got an easy smile on his lips, but it’s not as wide as it usually is. “I mean, you’re super cool even though you can’t cook, and I think I figured out how to tell you and Sanji apart finally!” (This time Sanji almost leaps to his feet because what?! But he controls himself for the sake of the atmosphere in the room.) “So it’d be cool if you stayed, but if you don’t wanna, that’s fine too!”

Reiju almost quirks a smile, but not quite, and it’s a little odd because somehow the image of her always includes a smile, even if it’s not a smile Sanji recalls in fondness. “I appreciate it,” she says, then picks up a small pack and just walks out the door.

Everybody stands up to follow her out, at least going to see her off. Sanji doesn’t get the idea until he’s the last one in his seat and ends up lagging behind as the others line up.

Reiju’s figure is small, consumed by the sand on the beach. If the sun was out, she might have blended in altogether and disappeared. Everybody’s waving, and he finds himself waving as well. Nobody’s looking at him. It feels like there’s a reason they should.

“How long was she here?” he asks. He can see the others turn to him at his voice, but he’s already pounding down the gangplank.

His feet are a little clumsy in the sand, but after getting enough momentum he manages to find a good balance and catches up to Reiju a minute later. She has the courtesy to stop once she hears his approach, but doesn’t really do anything except stare as he leans over to catch his breath.

“Hey, how long did you stay?”

It’s less a demand and more of a wheeze, but he straightens up once he hears her say, “It doesn’t matter.”

“A long time, right?”

She doesn’t answer that, preferring to look at the ground. Her face looks unnatural with that sort of expression.

“So why would you leave now?” When she still doesn’t speak, Sanji says, “Because of me?”

“It’s more because of me,” she replies, giving him a brief glance before staring back down. “They’re your friends. And it’s easier this way. You won’t notice a thing.”

“They’re not my friends,” he says, and at her disconcerted look he backtracks. “I mean, they are! But they don’t belong to me! Did you like staying there?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“But did you like it there?”

“I’m too much of a reminder for you.”

“Yeah, you are,” he says. “But did you like it there?”

She tightens her grasp on the strap of her bag. “They’re good people.”

“They’re really fuckin’ great people,” he says.

And then he says, “When I saw you at the table, it scared the fuck outta me. And imagining you on the Sunny is really fucking weird. But also, I’m a fucking asshole.” Reiju moves to speak but he raises a finger. “Don’t pull the kindness crap on me. You haven’t seen me since I was fucking eight, I’m really a complete asshole, and if you stayed as long as I think you have, I’m pretty sure you already know that. So first of all, don’t let one asshole ruin everything. There’s always gonna be that one asshole on any ship you go on, and – actually we’ve got at least two, but for some reason everybody else tolerates the other one so you’re probably fine with him.”

Reiju’s actively frowning now, which was a little better than the placid face from before. “I don’t think you’re as convincing as you think you are,” she cuts in, but Sanji’s still an asshole so he interrupts again.

“Second of all, I don’t give a fuck.”

Reiju’s face twists into an expression he’s actually never seen on her before, actual fury, and it actually scares the shit out of him but he’s not about to say so. “You can’t actually mean that! Do you really think I’m an idiot?!”

“No, but you’re a fucking hypocrite.”

“Excuse me? About what?”

“You fucking gave me a rousing speech about fucking friendship, you shithead,” he says, and Reiju gapes for a few seconds and flounders. “Yeah, didn’t think I remembered that? Jokes on you, I remember it like it was yesterday, because it literally was yesterday for me.”

It looks like she has to think for a moment to even recollect her exact words. He’s not even sure that she actually does when she says, “That’s an entirely different thing.”

“Yeah. We don’t have a genocide breathing down our backs. You’re still a hypocrite. Anyways, back to me not giving a fuck. Because I don’t. And the reason why is,” he adds a little louder, just to preemptively out-shout whatever it is Reiju’s about to shout back, “when I actually get over it and think about it a little, I don’t care, because I don’t hate you!”

Reiju gapes again, and stays like that. Her pack isn’t on her shoulder anymore but on the sand instead, strap loosely hanging from her hand. Sanji starts ticking off on his fingers. “So, in summary, I’m an asshole, you’re a hypocrite, I don’t give a fuck. And maybe I will give a fuck when I see you next time, but then I’ll go back to not giving a fuck. And you’re gonna have to remember what I just said because I’m not going to say it again, because I’ll forget it.”

Reiju is silent for a few moments. “I can write it down for you.”

“I’ll kill myself if I remember that I called the mosshead a fuckin’ great person,” Sanji says, in total seriousness. Reiju finally laughs, louder than he’s ever heard her, and he never thought he’d miss it.

The eggplant he’s holding in his hand is wonderfully smooth, a beautiful dark shade, and he presses his fingers against the skin, testing its give.

“Y’all buying that?” comes a voice across the booth. A woman stands behind baskets of produce, thick arms crossed. He can’t hear it, but he’s pretty sure she’s tapping a foot on the stone road. He smiles instinctively.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t, ma’am,” he replies, and his voice itself sounds like a bow. He holds up the eggplant. “How much are – “

She interrupts with a gritty sigh and snaps, “Five hundred per pound.” Sanji almost drops his smile.

“I’ve asked that before.” He’s answered with a roll of the eyes, and probably he’s said ‘I’ve asked that before’ before as well.

“You could stand to be a little more tactful.” Sanji jumps. That’s Reiju’s voice, standing right beside him, and when he looks around, he sees that Usopp and Zoro are milling around nearby – more specifically, Zoro is drifting vaguely in random directions and Usopp is dragging him back into place. He looks back to the produce stall as Reiju nudges him aside to directly face the stall’s owner, basket of goods swinging from her arm, and there’s something weird about having Reiju...stand up for him. It’s unnatural. “He’s a customer, isn’t he? Shouldn’t you treat him as one?”

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry ma’am. I’ve got a – “

“ – memory problem,” the stall owner finishes with another heavy sigh. Sanji hears Reiju bristle beside him and quickly clamps a hand on her shoulder before she goes for the jugular. “And none of your friends can pick out produce because you’re the only one who knows about the good stuff, and then you’ll look at something else for five minutes and we’ll have the same goddamn conversation about three times.”

He can feel Reiju’s shoulder tense at the same time his arm goes limp, and it almost looks like someone’s going to get jumped right then and there. The stall owner glances at Reiju disinterestedly. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. He’s gonna forget in a sec.”

“You inconsiderate little – “

“Too true.” Sanji chuckles and tosses the eggplant into the basket Reiju’s holding, jostling her out of her fury. “What else do we need?”

Reiju hands over a list, her eyes glimmering with frustration on his behalf, and also in his direction. It’s a shopping list with several items already crossed out. He makes sure to take his pen and strikes through the word ‘eggplant.’

“You done here yet?” the stall owner cuts in before he can even look over the rest of the list. He’s holding up her business. He’s taking too much time. He’s being a nuisance, and the shame of it all sinks deep into the mire of his guts, and that’s when Reiju flips the stand over.

His shoes click against a cobbled road and he freezes for a moment, glances around – but the town smells of things other than suffocating sugar and he can see Reiju, Usopp, and Zoro as they stop a few steps ahead, and he relaxes.

His hand flits to his jacket before he even realizes it and he takes out a book and flips to the end. Mamigo Island, it says, and then a rough map that shows the general shape of a town (this town?), which isn’t really helpful as a map at all. There’s also a list tucked in the pages, with various ingredients running down the paper, most of them crossed out with numbers scribbled next to them. The price total doesn’t seem too exorbitant just yet. And fuck, they don’t have salt?

Sanji glances back up and around at the stalls around him and then starts towards a promising one, only for Usopp to hook him by the elbow and tug him back. “Hold on, don’t go off on your own.”

His instinct for sheer assholery tells Sanji to keep walking, because he can probably just pull Usopp along if he tries. (And hey, he wouldn’t be going off on his own either.) But instead, he grunts and huffs out, “What’re you, my babysitter?”

“Technically, yes. I currently have the hellish job of babysitting you and Zoro at the same time, so I’d like to end the day with nobody getting lost.”

Sanji waits for the sentence to continue, but he’s never been a patient person. “And?”

Usopp blinks. “And what?”

“You’d like to end the day with nobody getting lost, and…?”

It takes a moment of Usopp shuffling his eyes from Sanji to Zoro and back again, but then his face brightens, “Oh!” and then falls uncomfortably. “Oh.

“Look, Sanji. When I said ‘lost,’ I was, kinda, not just talking about Zoro.”

It doesn’t take as long for Sanji to catch the meaning and he splutters a little before jabbing a finger towards Zoro. “That shitty wandering moss is right behind you and you’re worried about me!”

There’s a dangerous-sounding “Hn?” and Usopp’s pushed backwards as the shitty wandering moss himself leans into Sanji’s face with an expression like murder. “Y’got something to say to me?”

Sanji stands his ground even when Zoro’s shitty breath manages to break through his cigarette’s smoke. He doesn’t bother hiding his disgust, sneering through his grimace. “Yeah, I’m saying if you were actually moss, you’d grow on the wrong side of a tree.”

Zoro snorts. “And you don’t even know where the ship is.”

“Zoro,” Reiju starts, frowning. She doesn’t laugh, as much as he expects it, and even odder, Zoro actually holds his hands up like he’s about to placate her.

But Sanji’s already opening his mouth for a retort. “I’d still find it faster than you! I have the fucking sense to fucking go to the ocean!”

Zoro abruptly turns and sneers, as expected. “You have sense? News to me.”

And that’s it, here it comes, Sanji taps his shoe on the road, ignores the way Usopp covers his face and moans “Oh god,” huffs out smoke like a threatening volcano, and bites back, “Sure I do, allow me to knock some into you!”

And god it feels so good to fucking aim a fucking foot straight at that fucking face, he doesn’t know how long it’s been, like literally he doesn’t, and out of the corner of his eye Reiju seems about to intervene but pauses too long to hand the groceries over to Usopp, it’s too late, the clash is inevitable and he’s waiting for that solid stop when his shoe connects with metal –

– except Zoro doesn’t. Doesn’t even draw a sword. Sidesteps and walks away like it’s over already. It’s like the world’s just a little off-balance and Sanji can’t even rouse himself to kick at Zoro’s stupid back because there’s something about Zoro just walking away that’s more chilling than condescending.

He jumps when Reiju sets a hand on his shoulder. “I understand your consternation. We’re just being cautious, considering your, condition.”

“What?” Sanji says, and, in a rare moment of recall, adds, “Oh.”

He almost says something else, but decides against it because he’s not about to tempt fate. But still, he can’t stop himself from thinking, what’s the worst that could happen?

The sound of his shoulder against the iron bars is a pathetic sort of noise, possibly not even a noise at all. It’s hard to tell through the noise of the bruise growing on his arm.

The bars are solid. Didn’t even shake against his weight. Sanji’s panting, so he must have been at this for a while. Might be a good time to stop and take stock, because he doesn’t know where the fuck he is.

Instinctively, he moves to reach into his jacket for something, but encounters the issue of his arms are shackled behind his back. His legs are chained as well, which explains why he hadn’t just kicked his way out. And he’s really fucking pissed, which seems natural, but he has the niggling feeling that he’s pissed for something other than the whole being locked up thing.

The cell is solidly made, professional; it looks like it’s built to say, ‘don’t bother.’ So it seems more likely to be Navy than anything. Meaning seastone is probably at play too. Fuck.

He’s repeating it in his head – seastone, seastone, seastone – though he knows he’ll blank out eventually and end up abusing his poor shoulder more. He shuffles, paces the length of the cell; the walls aren’t made of seastone, he could bust through those, if he could figure out how to break the chains on his ankles. Though first of all…

Like a reverse jump rope, Sanji hops right over the chain locking his wrists and lands neatly back on his feet. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s trapped, but at least he’s trapped with his arms in a comfortable position.

Before he could figure out a way to break his cuffs, Sanji hears marching feet approaching down the hall. He backs away from the bars just as some big shot marine comes into view with an entourage of mooks with rifles. They don’t aim at him. He almost feels offended.

The big shot marine stands there, stroking his impressively long and thin mustache so that it points down like clock hands before springing back into place. He’s silent, stiff as the bars of the cell, could probably even blend in if the marine uniform wasn’t pristine white.

The scene plays out like this for a while, marines with rifles standing by, the big shot tugging at his facial hair, Sanji leaning slightly against the back wall but with his legs tensed. And then the big shot stops in mid-tug and says, “...Aren’t you going to ask us why you’re here?”

Without many options in the way of gestures at the moment, Sanji rolls his eyes as exaggerated as possible. “I’m a shitty pirate, shithead. It’s not hard to figure out.”

There’s a moment where it looks like the big shot is ready to tear his tacky mustache right off, but he composes himself a second later and straightens his shoulders. “We’d like you to answer some questions about the Strawhat Pirates...”

“Well I’d like you and yours to kindly fuck off.”

One marine starts to raise their rifle – shitty training job, that – but the big shot holds out a hand, and it goes back down. There’s an authoritative pause, like the big shot is waiting for anybody else to dare insubordination, and then he turns back to Sanji. “You intend not to talk?”

Sanji raises his chin. “I’m not in the habit of betraying my friends.”

And without hesitation, “Even though they’ve betrayed you?”

It hits him harder than he wants to admit, but there’s no hiding his sudden silence or the way he sucks in his breath, and it is much too late when he finally says, “What the fuck are you talking about.”

The big shot raises an infuriating eyebrow, a gesture closely mirrored by his mustache. “How do you think you got locked up here?”

It’s ridiculous of course, says his brain, but his memory can’t give him the evidence he wants. There’s a void everywhere he looks, nothing that can definitively combat what this shithead’s saying and he wants to, he wants to, but the uncertainty is killing him, not the uncertainty in his friends, but the uncertainty of everything. Time. Place. His own fucking age. It’s enough to be paralyzing, enough to make him nauseous, he hates not knowing, and not knowing himself is the worst kind of uncertainty he had never imagined before.

But. Not his friends.

Sanji raises both hands, chains clinking against each other, and then further raises both middle fingers.

The mustache bristles upwards with indignation and the face it adorns turns a ripe shade of scarlet before he calms much too fast and rolls his shoulders. “I suppose that was the wrong angle to try. We’ll just have to start again.”

Sanji’s shit-eating grin drops. “What?”

The marines were already starting to march off, back to where they came from, and the big shot turns to leave as well, pausing enough to say, “It’s convenient, that condition of yours.”

He isn’t able to react, not before the asshole strides out of view, and it’s too late when he throws himself against the bars, hands shaking them as hard as they can, screaming as many insults as he can, anything provocative, bastard, coward, shit-sucking scum of the earth, anything to bring them back so he can keep staring them down, keep their faces existing in his mind, but nobody comes, not even when he runs out of words and just screams.

A loud noise startles him, and he almost bites his tongue off in surprise. For a moment, he stands there and considers whether the noise was just him talking and weighing how embarrassing that would be when a different sort of noise rattles the building, a boom that vibrates up his legs and into his head. It becomes an irregular beat throughout the cell he’s in, shaking bits of the ceiling down, and he hopes that the whole damn thing doesn’t collapse at this rate because then, honestly, he would be fucked.

The cannon blasts or collapsing walls or explosions or whatever stop before it gets that far, though, and the silence is all the more alienating for it. And then, Sanji hears footsteps coming his way.

He steps back as some sort of big shot marine steps into view, with a supercilious sort of mustache, hands behind his back. The mustache points up as he sneers at him. It would feel so good to kick that off his face.

“Well?” Sanji snaps when the big shot just stands and stares. “Spit it out. I don’t wanna see your shitty face longer than I have to.”

The big shot says nothing, but tosses an object into the cell.

It’s pretty busted and obviously burned, with bits and pieces missing, but it is very clearly a straw hat.

Sanji doesn’t see the asshole’s face but he can feel his sneer grow; he’s staring at the hat, noting how the red band is barely recognizable as red, the bright straw turned dusky, the smell of it curling into the air, the weave…

Sanji looks up again and sneers back. “Nice try, shithead.”

Ohhh it feels so good to see that sneer drop, even if it wasn’t kicked off. “What do you mean?”

“You just fuckin’ bought that at some market or some shit and wasted your money ruining a perfectly good hat like a stupid asshole. You fucking moron.”

The big shot presses his lips as thin as his mustache. “You don’t know that. You’re in denial.”

“We’re literally called the Strawhat pirates. That shithead’s been wearing the same goddamn hat for two years now. I see it fuckin’ every time I look at him, you think I can’t tell if it’s his hat or not?” Careful to not unbalance himself, Sanji crushes the sad little imposter and kicks it back to the bars. “Fuck off.”

The guy turns a ripe shade of red, but he calms much too fast, leaving his expression neutral. “We’ll just try something else, then.”

Sanji isn’t able to laugh at that.

He finds himself leaning his forehead against the impersonal bars of a cell, feeling like he hasn’t had a drink for ages. His breathing feels ragged against his throat, and when he grasps at anything on his mind, all he can really say is that he’s fucking pissed. Which seems natural, being trapped in a cell, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s pissed over something other than that.

Sanji hears marching feet coming down the hall and he readies his most sullen stare. The marines aren’t daunted.

He backs away when they point rifles at him, and with one smooth motion one of them swings open the door and throws another body in, slamming it shut before he can even think about charging. He tries glaring at them some more, but they don’t even look as they march off. Takes all the fun out of silent defiance.

His new roommate groans and manages to get his knees under him as he curls up, and Sanji can’t help but ask, “You okay?”

He looks like a kid, barely older than Luffy back when the crew started out, and his young eyes sparkle when they whip towards him. “Sanji! Thank goodness!” The kid tries to jump to his feet but stumbles onto his knees again, hissing at the impact. Sanji, with his arms conveniently locked in front of him, is able to at least help him up a little.

“Do I know you?” he asks, because it’s a legitimate question, and the kid doesn’t even look offended.

“I’m one of the newer crew members, Wren, just joined, pretty much a cabin boy,” he rattles off. Sanji quirks an eyebrow. Since when did they have cabin boys? “Man, I thought I was a goner, but you’re here! You can get us out, right?”

“Uh,” says Sanji, flicking his gaze back to the bars. “I’ll work on it. Where’re the others?”

Wren ducks his head, his round face scrunching up in worry. “I, well, I dunno, the marines came out of nowhere, and everything was all confusing and then I got caught, but I didn’t see what happened to everybody else...”

So, half-and-half on whether any of the others could come through and bust them out. Alright. “So, Wren, anything else I should know about you? Lock-picking skills, maybe? Would be useful to have my legs free.”

Wren shakes his head, and Sanji hisses through his teeth like he still has a cigarette clamped in them. “Well, shit,” he says, leaning his head up towards the ceiling. “Doesn’t exactly make a break-out easy.”

“Oh, but I do have something~” Wren trills, turning around and opening a fist to reveal a set of jangling keys. Sanji brightens, probably would’ve hugged the kid if it weren’t for his current handicap.

“Fuck yeah,” he says instead, and scoops the keys up to help unlock Wren’s wrists. After the kid rubs the feeling back into his hands, he takes the keys back and kneels for Sanji’s feet. “We’ll still need a good plan for getting outta here. I don’t even know the layout of the place...”

“It’s okay,” says Wren, and Sanji can see him smiling widely. “I believe you can get us back to the ship, after all, you’re a Vinsmoke!”

A second later and Sanji lowers his uncuffed leg, staring down a newly-made hole in the wall. Nothing moves beyond a bit of rubble. Wren – whoever he is – is unconscious. Impressively, he’s still clutching the keys. Must be marine training.

“New crew member my ass,” Sanji mutters, even as he starts tapping a foot on the floor rapidly, like he’s doing morse code. The marines know, they know, and they know how to take advantage of it, and fuck, but before he can dwell on it more he hears boots running towards the cells and he kicks down the back wall to start running, and yet –

Can he do this? Could he escape, even though he won’t know what he’s escaping from in a few seconds?

Well. All he can do is trust in himself.

Sanji bolts.

He’s running down an unfamiliar hall and he has no idea if he’s chasing someone or running away.

It’s a very important question seeing as there’s nobody in front of him, which is either good or bad depending on the context. But then a marine barrels down from a side hallway and immediately points a gun at him, so he thinks he’s running away. The bullet doesn’t even graze his suit as he hops to the side and then launches the poor guy down the rest of the hall.

So, running away. Where is he running to?

The Sunny, is his obvious answer. The problem is, the Sunny isn’t likely to be found in a building unless Franky’s made an extremely questionable update to a sea-faring vehicle. So, the exit. Which he doesn’t know where the hell it is, so he’s running blind, possibly in circles, and it’s a good thing nobody else is here because the fucking marimo would never let him hear the end of it.

There’s an easy solution to this, though, and Sanji looks right, left, chooses left, and then starts kicking down the damn walls. The upside is, this is a guaranteed way to exit a building. The downside is, he just stumbled into a nest of marines. It’s not that the marines are a problem, he’s pretty sure he’s got the reflexes to pound them down as long as he’s in motion. It’s just that, he doesn’t know if he’ll remember which way he was kicking to, or even that he was kicking his way out in the first place. He can’t trust that he will.

He just has to trust that he’ll get out regardless.

It’s impressive how he’s prepared to land on his feet without the knowledge of being in the air. There are marines lying face flat in a ring around him. It’s not an uncommon sight.

There’s the sound of a rifle loading and Sanji drops to the floor right as the shot sounds before running right to the gunman and relieving him of his weapon, and then his consciousness. There’s more men shouting and pouring in through a hole in the wall, on top of the men who aren’t already down, and he jumps backwards from a swinging sword, hooks it’s guard and launches the blade straight up, and as the man’s gaze follows it, he knocks him straight at the mob pushing in. Not enough to stop them, but enough to delay them. Leaning forward to duck another blade, he lets his leg swing back with his momentum and catches the guy in the chin, then swivels on his heel in a wide arc, not quite hitting anybody but driving them away from his range. There’s a long table in the middle of the room, sort of like a mess hall table, and although it’s abominably rude, he kicks it over and then kicks it again, sending it flying surface-first towards the recovering mob.

He would wonder why he’s knocking down a bunch of marines, but it’s probably for a good reason. By probably, he means definitely. As if he’s ever in the wrong. Some idiot struggles to his feet and Sanji turns and knees him in the solar plexus.

There’s a huge boom that leaves him stumbling, and then a lot of calls of “Fall back!” from one of the marines. As another boom rocks the floor, Sanji balances himself and catches sight of what looks like a fucking huge bazooka pointing its barrel straight at him, and the huge musclebrain holding it grunts and pulls the trigger,

The watermelon in his arms has quite a heft to it, and when he brings it to his ear and knocks, the sound reverberates in the juices beautifully. Tucking it under his arm, he asks, “How much for this one?”

The stall owner looks up blearily from another transaction and says, “You already paid, bud.”

Sanji keeps his polite smile fixed and nods a farewell. As he walks away with what will surely be an excellent dessert, he slips a hand into his jacket and finds nothing. He’s not sure what he was expecting, though.

Hopefully he already bought the necessary groceries earlier. Digging through his pockets turns up no loose change, and it looks like the cusp of evening. And carrying a whole watermelon around isn’t exactly effortless, so he better just go straight to the ship. The docks were easy enough to get to without even asking for directions. Follow a major road long enough, follow the smell of salt and brine, and it’ll just be there. At least town infrastructure everywhere was overall reliable.

The Sunny hadn’t been anchored right at the dock, which is to be expected. Finding a pirate ship that’s meant to be hidden is a little harder than finding the docks. A combination of asking locals about the area and trudging around the environment himself manages to pinpoint a small cove relatively nearby, and voila. There’s that familiar sunflower.

The watermelon’s getting pretty rough on the arms, but Sanji doesn’t speed up. Instead, he calls out, “Any shitheads on board? Could use some help!”

There’s no instant response as he gets closer to the gangplank. No rubber arms slingshotting a one hundred-forty pound stomach straight at him, or beautiful ladies to greet him, or any other asshole appearing over the railing. It’s only when he starts boarding that Franky skids into view, quite quick for someone so clunky.

“If you heard me, you coulda helped a guy out,” Sanji says, shifting the watermelon’s weight with a frown. But the way Franky looks stops any other gripes, the way his eyes are too wide and his hair not flashy enough – Franky is probably the only other guy who takes care of his hair as much as Sanji (besides Brook, but Sanji isn’t convinced a skeleton really needs proper hair care), but right now his ‘do is disheveled. Like someone ran fingers as thick as arms through it a few too many times.

Sanji barely manages an “Uh” before Franky fucking charges him with the typical bombastic wailing. He has the reflexes to curl around the watermelon and turn around before he gets swept up in a hug, and someone as feely as Franky probably should have thought about making his appendages most used for touching people with comfort in mind. Boxy edges are digging into his sides, and he thinks, at least it’s not the watermelon. (And then he thinks, the watermelon could handle this better than him.)

“B-bro! You’re safe!!” Franky blubbers out through his tears. “They, they said they’d – did they do anything to you? Are you okay?!”

“Franky,” Sanji grunts with the breath that hasn’t yet been crushed out of him, “stop the shitty waterworks, it’s getting in my clothes.”

As expected, Franky drops him and turns his face away as Sanji lands softly on his feet. The watermelon is fine. “What waterworks?! I ain’t cryin’!” And then, once Franky cleans his totally cry-free face and actually looks around, he snuffles and adds, “Where’re the others?”

“How should I know?” Sanji huffs before moving for the ship again.

Franky’s hand claps on his shoulder, almost digging him into the sand. “They went out to get you, though. Weren’t they the ones that rescued you?”

“From what, hiked-up prices?”

Franky’s hand seems to dig a little deeper in his shoulder. It’s only a fraction, but it’s much easier to tell with a hand made of metal. “From the marines.”

Sanji pauses, then slowly tilts his head back to meet Franky’s eyes. “Huh?”

Franky works his jaw for a while, expression uncomfortable. “You were captured by the marines. Like, yesterday, bro.”

“That’s dumb,” Sanji says, though his brain isn’t getting the message. “Whoever told you that’s full of shit. I was only shopping for a,” he looks down, “watermelon.”

“For a whole day?”

Sanji looks down at his watermelon again, then looks up. “Yes?”

Franky pinches his nose and sighs, but at the same time it sounds like a laugh. “Did you – did you just fuckin’ escape the marines by yourself and then go buy watermelon?”

Sanji recoils in offense. “What the fuck’s with the surprise? Why wouldn’t I be able to escape some shitty marines by myself?!” Though even as he says it he knows exactly why, he’s forever aware of why. But Franky claps his hand on his shoulder again and now sand’s getting into his shoes.

“You’re right, bro! My bad, my bad!” Franky’s hand engulfs the watermelon when he plucks it between his fingers like some dainty flower. As he bounds back to the ship he calls back, “I’m gonna call them! Where d’ya want this?”

“Put it on the table for now,” Sanji shouts back, jogging to keep pace. “And make sure it doesn’t fall!”

Entering the kitchen, Sanji just about catches Franky saying, “He’s here!”

“What?!” he can hear Nami shout back through the tell-tale filter of the den den mushi. “How can he be there?! We just got here! And security is through the roof, the marines are all on edge and it’s all we can do to keep these idiots from charging in!”

Sanji trots over to join Franky, never one to ignore the summons of Nami’s voice, and he asks, “Who’s here?”

Franky says, “See?” and there’s a long silence on the other end before the den den mushi droops into a sigh.

“When did he get back?” Nami says blankly.

“Just now!”

“Sanji, are you okay?! Did they hurt you?!”

“Did they send him back beaten to a pulp as a threatening message to the rest of us?”

“I’m, fine?” Sanji assures, though in Robin’s case, he thinks she’s joking. “Where the hell are you guys? Are you fucking with the marines or something?” And then, a thought. “Was I supposed to be there?” he adds, tense edging in.

“No, no, it’s quite alright. It’s better that you’re there.” The voice is familiar, and the den den mushi’s mimicked expression definitely cements it. That’s Jinbei. Maybe he joined?

“Jeez...don’t waste our time like this, idiot cook.”

“What did I do?!” he shouts back on instinct, though it’s a legitimate question, because what did he do?

There’s a little thwap and a grunt and then another voice takes over. “Nothing, don’t worry. Thanks for letting us know, Franky.”

Now this voice was too familiar. “Oh,” Sanji says. “It’s you.”

Reiju’s smile projects over the line. “Yes it is.”

“Oh, so he took care of it himself, huh?” Luffy laughs, and Sanji can hear him turn over his shoulder and say faintly, “See? No worries! We can count on him!”

“But he’s still – I mean, maybe we worry a little? A healthy amount of worry?” And then slightly louder, “I’m really sorry, Sanji, I shouldn’t have lost you, I don’t know what happened – “

“Hey, all’s well that ends well, right?” Franky laughs, but judging by the expression from the other line, Usopp’s not as amused.

“Anyways Sanji, dinner! I want meat when I get back!”

“Luffy, quiet, we’re still near – “

A bunch of gunshots, panicked screams, and then Luffy shouts, “Okaygottagoseeyasoon,” and then the line goes dead.

Sanji stares at the snail. “What?”

“Listen,” says Franky, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t even worry about it.”

The knife embeds in the watermelon about halfway, and Sanji eases it all the way down and carefully settles the halves on their ends. The smell of it is of a sweet summer and he can’t help but breathe it in. “When did we buy a watermelon? Someone picked out a really good one.”

“’Course!” Luffy calls back from the table, somehow managing to keep his food in his mouth at the same time. “You’re th’ besht at picking the good stuff!”

When Sanji looks at the rich pink, there’s no pride. The watermelon’s a stranger, and he can’t abide strange food showing up in his kitchen. But, he’s the cook. And they all trust him, even when he can’t recognize the stuff in his kitchen. So. Sanji trusts their trust.

“You’re damn right I am.”

#one piece #opfanfic #my writings #fanfiction #he is beauty he is grace that's a lie please save this man from himself #IT'S BEEN A WHILE #this one was so much trouble like oh my god #started writing even before whole cake island arc but then pudding happened which gave me the perfect way to jumpstart it #but then there was grad school and also lots of figuring out what i wanted to do with the memory thing #earlier draft had the idea that he did forget stuff entirely along with anterograde but like that got too complicated #and didn't do anything for the plot #this final version pretty much got it's start right when sanji finds luffy again #so yeah

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