#also finishing this zoro fic …

[missingn000]

hey all! i wrote a what-if character study & action fic for if king fought sanji instead of zoro during the raid on onigashima. i'd really love if you gave it a read! thanks so much!

link

playlist

happy reading!

[a-bit-of-cest]

Fun Fact: Some deer have been documented eating their own shed velvet. My boy really is emergency rations (pre-rut munchies count as an emergency).

[noxitsnox]

I just rewatched 10 things i hate about you and all i could think about was zosan

The vibes, the main characters... Everything just screamed zosan

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym AU wips

(Part 3)

Sanji actually tried to tell Nami about Zoro’s behavior and that he went into the girls' changing room with Vivi and Koala. But she just laughed at him.

“Did one of them tell him to set them down or to leave the room?”

“No…not that I noticed…” Sanji said, slightly pounding.

“Then he didn't do anything to violate their personal space. Believe me, if Vivi wouldn't want him to be there, she’d kick him out in no time.”

Sanji sighed and nodded, admitting his defeat and went back to the bar. He sat there for quiet some time until two of the girls came over to order a strawberry shake from him.

“Right away my lovely ladies.”

They smiled at him and then turned to each other to continue their conversation.

“It’s so lovely to see her again after such a long time,” the blonde one said.

“Yes, but to be honest, she didn't have to go through all of this just to get that body,” the brunette replied. “It’s achievable with training and a bit help of steroids or something like that.”

“True, true. You know I can't imagine getting my breasts chopped off just to look a bit more buff.”

Now, Sanji's curiosity was piqued. He leaned a little closer to the girls to hear better, and they went on about a woman (apparently) who used to come to this Gym and left almost three years ago, never coming back once, and now suddenly was back again. Sanji couldn't remember someone new besides Zoro. But those two were clearly talking about a girl. Maybe she went to the Gym when Sanji wasn't there. And what was all that talk about getting her breasts removed? He couldn't quite follow that part of the conversation.

“Two strawberry shakes, for two beautiful girls,” Sanji put the drinks in front of them smiling.

“Thanks, Sanji! That's what I need right now,” the blonde smiled back and the brunette nodded along.

“I couldn’t help but follow your conversation a bit.,” Sanji admitted. “Who are you talking about, if I may ask?”

The girls looked at each other, then at Sanji and the blond sighed almost inaudibly.

“Just an old friend of ours,” she said, but the way she pronounced the word friend told Sanji a lot about that apparent friendship. “You actually know her. But we promised not to tell her name to anyone who doesn't know her three years ago.”

“And you keep that promise?” He was actually surprised by that - judging by how she just told him between the lines that she couldn't stand that girl.

“We unfortunately have to,” the brunette chimed in. “Otherwise we aren't allowed here anymore and this is the best Gym for women in this town.”

That was interesting! Who of the girls was so close to Nami that she threatened others to ban them from the Gym for literally just telling a name? And who matched the vague description he had from listening in on the conversation. He had to find out!

prev | next

First part

[tetzoro]

omigieeee good morning and happy wednesday friendz ! the sun is shining out today and i’m sensing good things on the horizon !! chopper is here to say don’t forget to drink water + unclench your jaws !! 🤍

[revasserium]

so i made a list of all the fics that i wanna actively work on/have muse/ideas for in the next few weeks and --

the zoro brainrot is still very much active but im trying to do some other things.... some....

[miscreantahead]

i miss writing fanfic but idk how any more

[strawhatsoraya]

i'm still alive i promise

[reineyday]

@erinyra ur tags 😂😂

Mihawk needs to do something really hot and sexy like get trapped with Shanks in a situation where they are surrounded by hostiles who pose a semi-significant threat while he does not have his sword (Shanks' fault) but Shanks' has his, for the sole purpose of scoffing when Shanks says he'll fight them off, telling Shanks that he is in no fit condition to fight even rabble like this, before reaching over, pulling Gryphon off Shanks' hip like he owns it, and completely obliterating every single person surrounding them with it.

[soaked-doors]

“Those two things can exist at the same time. Like you said, it's all—it's all tangled up together, you and me.”

double page spread for one of my favorite luzo fics of all time, poly philtatos (the most beloved by far) by my good friend - @swordsmans!

I knew I wanted to do a double page spread the second I finished this fic and I drafted abt a dozen ideas before landing on what would ultimately become this. There were so many snippets and moments I wanted to illustrate but I ended up doing more of an abstracted version of the fic as opposed to 1:1 drawings of scenes 

funnily enough while the fic itself is told in zoros pov this spread is framed mostly through luffy’s eyes - his tears literally frame comp for their reunion, the moment he loses zoro, and the centerpiece of the first page which is this weird abstraction of him on the beach seeing zoros corpse-not-a-corpse in the waves just beyond his reach. 

gyro put the crane wives’ never love an anchor on the playlist for this fic which i heavily used as inspiration in picking ornamental things for the spread (the anchor, the fleet of ships by luffy, and the nautical rope splitting the second page). also just like. overall really heartbreaking lyrics guys 

there are smaller elements throughout the spread that are 1:1 references though (all i will say for these is if you know, you know hehe) i wish i had more time to do a lengthier piece for fanart for this fic bc it's one of the few luzo fics that have been rattling around in my brain forever now - once again please please please read poly philtatos if you haven't. gyro is a masterful writer and they deserve all the love! ok byeee

[missingn000]

[writingmeraki]

1.6k words in and I'm not even close to being done.......😭 why do I make everything so complicated as I write 😭😭😭😭😭

what if i....wrote....something about....my demon.... specifically jeong guwon.......

thoughts?

[grandline-fics]

Hi I'm so in love w your blog I love your writings 💙 n e ways I was wondering if you would write a small multiple character fic w luffy and zoro when you hide an injury💙 tyyy

DESCRIPTION: You hide an injury

WARNINGS:  light injury description but nothing bad

CHARACTERS: Zoro, Luffy

WORDS: 1,268

A/N: I'm so glad you like my writing and thank you for the request. I hope this was to your liking!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

————————

ZORO

He’d told you not to push yourself. He warned you the dangerous of training beyond your limits so soon after a battle. Zoro told you to listen to your body and like a fool you wanted to prove to him you were strong, that you could do it. You should have listened because when you made the next rep in your training you felt the pull in your back and the pain jolted through you to the point your eyes blurred with tears, the air was slammed out of your lungs. The weight dropped out of your hand loudly and you stumbled back to the window seat closest to you, shuddering out slow, shallow breaths as you tried to calm yourself from the initial shock. By the time the hatch opened and Zoro’s head appeared you’d managed to control your expression. “What happened?”

“N-nothing.” You insisted, still breathless that you hoped you could just pass off as tiredness from the training. “Was getting tired and the weight slipped. Just catching my breath.” Zoro watched you carefully as he entered the Crow’s Nest fully and approached you, his keen stare never moving from your face. You met his gaze as much as you could and tried to seem as relaxed as possible even though the pain was still spasming in your back. Yes, you’d endured harsher injuries in countless battles and you would recover from this without any issue. All you needed to do was take it slow and easy and rest. The only problem was managing to keep it hidden from Zoro to avoid him getting smug about you not listening to him.

“Looks like you’ve caught your breath, you going to start up again?” Zoro asked casually, jerking his head back towards the weight on the ground. “Seems like you weren’t finished.”

“Uhh I would continue but that’s a heavier weight than I’m used to. Better to quit while I’m ahead right? Last thing we need is an injury.” You forced out with a tight smile, stiffly getting to your feet and heading towards the hatch. It wasn’t until you were nearly there that you realised you’d have to stoop down to lift it open and make the climb down and you felt like crying or cursing. Just as you prepared to do what would bring you more pain, Zoro’s arm wrapped around your waist gently to keep you upright. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Stopping you from hurting yourself anymore than you already have.” You tensed at that and let your eyes slide closed in slight annoyance that he already knew. Zoro had a talent of seeming laid-back and unobservant when really he was taking everything in, you hated that about him but also admired him for it. For now though your pride was wounded along with your back and you couldn’t help but pout when Zoro crouched down to open the hatch before lifting you gently but securely into his hold with one arm before using the other to carry you down the mast. 

When you were safely in your shared room you let out a groan when you lay on the bed. A sigh of relief followed when Zoro’s hand went straight to where the pain was at its worst, applying just the right amount of pressure and care to help your back. It got so good that you could feel yourself beginning to fall asleep but Zoro’s voice saying your name got your attention. Softly you let out a hum to show you were listening. “I told you so.”

LUFFY

You loved Luffy, you truly did. You loved how energetic and fierce he was, how he always had a smile and a laugh for nearly any situation. You loved how serious he got in a fight and how no one, no matter how much bigger they were or how important they were he still faced them head on if they did something to bring his fury on them. What you didn’t like was that sometimes that energy and that fightable spirit remained even when he was asleep. For the most part you managed to get used to it, jumping awake some nights when he let out a yell that he’d kick his dream opponents ass. Other times you’d wake to him bolting upright in the bed, his fist reeled back to throw a punch only for his body to flop back down against the mattress, his sleep undisturbed. 

One night however was one were Luffy’s dream fighting struck hard and more intense than you’d experienced before. When he bolted upright in the bed and yelled out you were tossed onto your back blinking wildly in the dark as you adjusted to being violently woken and trying to make out Luffy’s form. You waited patiently for him to start to make his attack and flop back onto the bed again but this time it didn’t play out the way it usually did. 

Over and over Luffy punched the air, sleepily grunting out attacks and insults. You knew not to wake anyone if they sleep-walked but you weren’t fully sure on those that sleep-fought. You gasped and managed to avoid Luffy’s arm whipping back, hitting the pillow where your head had been mere seconds ago. Cautiously you sat up in the bed and scrambled to think of something, anything to soothe him. Then you did the only thing you could think of.

“Luffy! You won!” You cheered out, loud enough to reach Luffy’s ears but not too loud to wake the others on the ship. You sighed in relief to see the broad grin stretch out across his face and with a sleepy laugh he threw himself backwards. You settled against the pillows and prepared to fall asleep again when Luffy let out a cheer, arms and legs kicking out in celebration. With your eyes closed you didn’t see it coming and you were hit hard with enough force to be knocked awkwardly and painfully onto the floor. On impact you felt your wrist spike with pain and you bit back the urge to cry out. Thankfully you hitting the floor didn’t wake Luffy and you were able to slip back into bed.

When morning came you woke first and were able to change into your clothes for the day, picking a shirt that hid your bruised wrist and forearm from view. You knew nothing was broken and it would heal, it just looked worse than what it was. If anything you were lucky that this was your only injury for facing Luffy. You were prepared to keep a low profile for the day but unexpectedly Luffy appeared behind you so fast and cheer out an excited good morning to you. With a startled yell you spun and put your hand on your chest, the action slipping your sleeve down just enough to show the beginning of the bruise. Luffy’s eyes widened and he reached out to take you hand. “What happened?!”

“Uhh…” You glanced at your hand in his hold and sighed. You couldn’t lie to him. “You pushed me out of bed, hit it on the floor. I’m fi-” You were cut off with a yelp when Luffy lifted you immediately. “Luffy! I’m fine, it’s a bruise.”

“No! You’re taking it easy if you’re injured!”

“It’s just my hand, I can still walk.”

“No! I’m your legs and arms today.” Luffy insisted before grinning at you when you laughed and shook your head in resignation. How could you argue with the Captain when he looked at you like that?

----------------------------------------------

TAG LIST (If I've missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld

[tetzoro]

good morning friendz and happy thursday ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ᰔ today is gonna be a good day i can feel it teehee im sending out good vibes !! have a wonderful day ^_^

[revasserium]

hiii i'm a new follower and i love your writing so much

ik u said no requests in ur bio but i just finished reading ur sanji fic.. so even if ur still not taking requests i'd just like to throw in an idea that u may or may not feel like using in the future, up to you (i'm requesting this with opla sanji in mind but if u wanna use it for zoro that's cool too)

k so imagine reader being invited to a friend's wedding, & being excited to go until they find out their ex is coming too (with their partner of some amt of yrs). so now reader is pressured to bring someone w/ them & ends up asking their best friend sanji bc they don't want others thinking they're still hung up on the past.

wedding dress

opla!sanji; 6,544 words, pining with a happy ending, fluff and a tad of angst, flirting, lovesick!sanji, whipped!!!!sanji, no "y/n", zeff is a whole mood, confessions, sanji-appropriate nickname usage, modern!au?

summary: you invite sanji to be your plus 1 at a wedding

a/n: im so sorry this took so long. but. better late than? never? also, there is a tiny bit of rehashing for ep 6 of the live action for sanji and zeff's relationship so... spoilers?

It’s a chilly, overcast kind of day when the call comes in. And in retrospect, Sanji thinks he should’ve known better when he’d seen your name on the caller ID. He’d hesitated, because by god if it wasn’t his New Year's Resolution to get the hell over you this year, but it’s almost December again and he still can’t help the way his heart races at the sound of your voice.

“Hey sweetheart — long time no talk!” he answers after a brief moment of contemplating his entire life, dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“Hey! Sorry for calling so… out of the blue…” your voice is still as sweet as ever, and the way his stomach twists at the tinkle of your nervous laughter makes him want to kick himself. Still, he forces himself to stay calm, clearing his throat as he checks the oven — it’s almost done pre-heating.

“Now you know what I said about actin’ a stranger — just because you moved halfway across the entire world doesn’t mean we ain’t best friends anymore, right?”

It’s what you’d said when he’d been standing at the airport, three seconds from dropping to his knees and begging you not to go. But he hadn’t, because he knew how hard you’d worked for this — for this opportunity abroad, to study art in the birthplace of the Renaissance itself, in the heart of Italy.

“And… you might be able to come visit me, right?” you’d said, rocking on the balls of your feet, your eyes full of what Sanji could only call false hope — which is always, always the worst and most painful kind.

Sanji had swallowed and nodded and said something or other about Europe and fine dining, but there’s a terrible, prickling heat eating up the back of his neck and a voice that’s screaming at him to pull you to him and kiss you. He doesn’t. And he regrets it to this day.

“Ah — right… I’m actually calling because… I’ll be in the area in about a week and…”

Your voice pulls him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, hitches a smile to his face that he knows you can’t see but he’s sure you can hear.

“Oh! That’s great, darling! You’ve gotta come for a drink, I’ll whip up all your favorites — we can make a night —”

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

There are a few moments in everyone’s lives when they learn the true meaning of a thing for the very first time — elation, pride, stomach-twisting guilt, and… fear. True fear, the kind of fear that shakes the muscle from your bones and sends them tingling, threatens to overwhelm you with numbness. Fear, that pushes adrenaline through you like a drug, forces the world into a terrifying, all-consuming focus.

Sanji feels the fear coursing through him, wild and contentious at your words.

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

He can’t bear to think of it; he’s so terrified he can barely breathe.

Then comes the moment after, the wave of everything else that the fear had washed away — confusion, anger, guilt (always guilt, for some reason), because isn’t he supposed to be happy for you? For you, the person he loves most in this entire world, to find love, to know happiness. He should. He should.

“Oh.”

Sanji sags back against the hard, metal counter. Almost mindlessly, he reaches into his pockets with shaking hands, digging around for a smoke.

Your breath is soft in his ear, too far across the phone line and a thousand miles of ocean.

“I originally wasn’t even planning on going — she’s not a very close friend — we had like one class together but —”

And within the span of a minute, Sanji also learns relief. The kind that melts the world around you into sizzling butter and champagne bubbles. The kind that makes you want to lie down on the ground and scream.

“— it was so close to your restaurant so I said yes but I didn’t know he was gonna be there and —”

You’re still talking, rambling like you do. And it takes nearly everything inside Sanji to pull himself back to the conversation.

“Sorry, love, who did you say was gonna be there?”

“My ex — you know the one —”

Sanji grimaces, flicking on his lighter with still-shaking fingers.

“Mm, yeah I do. The tall, dark-haired bastard who —”

“Yeah well — he’s gonna be there too and I just —” he hears you swallow hard and take a long, steadying breath. An unnameable something is calcifying in the depths of his stomach as he waits for you to collect yourself.

Curiosity? Why had you called like this, so suddenly, about a wedding where your ex was going to be? Concern? Were you thinking of going back to him?

But slowly, as you stutter through your next few words, the unnameable thing obtains a name — dread.

“— I just don’t think I could do it myself, y’know? And — and you were the one who got me out of it wh-when I decided to break it off with him so…”

Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and casts his eyes up at the high, white-slabbed ceiling of the kitchen, scored with long strips of bright, fluorescent lighting that floods the entire room in a direct, unforgiving glow.

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

“Course I’ll come with you, darlin’. It —” he wets his lips, taps off a bit of ash from his cigarette, and sucks in through his nose, clearing his throat of the words still lodged there, “— it’d be my honor.”

Relief — he hears it in your voice, and by gods he can almost see it — the way your whole face would light up, washed as if by the setting sun, your eyes wide and dark, your cheeks flushing his favorite fucking shade of pink and —

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really owe you for this one —”

Sanji makes a valiant effort at a nonchalant chuckle; it comes out sounding like a dog with a bit of bone stuck in its throat instead.

“Nonsense — what are best friends for, anyway?”

There’s a tiny pause where Sanji can feel the words best friend scraping along the insides of his mouth, barbed and harsh, leaving his tongue feeling raw and metallic.

“You really are the best friend anyone could ask for,” your voice is soft and honest and Sanji wants nothing more than to chuck his phone into the industrial blender.

You tell him that you’ll send him the details, that you can’t wait to see him soon, that you’ve got a world and a half of catching up to do, that you’ll buy him so, so many drinks, and that you’ll come bearing presents. He laughs at the right times, makes soft noises of consent and agreement, and when finally, finally you tell him goodbye, he clicks off the phone and takes another long drag of his smoke.

And then, he whips his hand back and throws the cigarette butt into the large sink, where it tinks against the metal and sizzles sadly in the murky dishwater.

“Real sucker for punishment, aren’tcha, lil’ eggplant?”

Sanji groans, turning around to find Zeff with his arms folded, the hip to his bad leg propped against a counter.

“Will you fuck kindly off — can’t you see I’m going through a thing here?”

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

“You been going through that thing for the last year and a half since you chickened outta askin’ her to stay so —”

“I didn’t chicken out — I — it was her dream to go to Florence and study —”

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

Sanji bangs his palm against the counter and sighs, “It’s not like I could leave you here with —”

“With what? A thriving restaurant business that I started? A guest list out the door and round the corner —”

“I — I helped!”

Zeff rolls his eyes, “Ah sure ya did, but I never asked you to, did I?”

Sanji huffs, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the torrent of horrible, sad, acrid things he could say and could never mean, so he swallows them back down. When he looks up next, Zeff is still standing there, but there’s a softness around his eyes.

He opens his mouth a few times, but eventually, all he says is, “The oven’s over heatin’.”

Sanji swears and jumps up to tug open the oven door. A wave of hot air whooshes out and nearly catches him in the face. Behind him, he can hear Zeff’s dark, gravelly chuckle, and the dull clunk of his wooden leg.

“You burn the kitchen down, you pay for it.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door swinging behind him, and Sanji very much alone with the too-hot oven and a counter full of things he can’t really remember the recipes for anymore.

Nearly a week later, Sanji finds himself standing at the airport, rocking on the balls of his feet, nearly in the exact same place as he’d been a year and a half prior. Except this time, you’re not walking away from him. You’re walking back towards him. He wonders if there’s a name for deja-vu in reverse and comes to the realization that that’s just called… a memory.

And memory seems to work in strange ways now, images superimposing themselves on top of one another — the flicker of a film lens, the bat of an eyelash, the shadow of a smile crimping the corner of your lips. All of this, he sees in the here and now, but he sees it in the air around you too, shimmering and mirage-like — all his memories and dreams of you layered over the shape of you. Your memory like a ghost of itself, trailing behind you as you walk towards him, a shy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed from travel and the cold and —

He doesn’t let himself hope. Not this time.

“Hey!” your voice is just as bell-like as he remembers it, pitched a little higher than it usually is, probably out of nervousness. But it still feels like a kick to the guts. Sanji forces himself to smile.

“Hi, love,” he says, leaning down as you reach him, but the motion aborts halfway because — is it still appropriate to hug you like he’d always done? To press his lips to your cheek or your hairline and revel in the bright citrus of your shampoo, to soak in the butter and cream of your skin like he used to?

There’s an awkward half-second pause before you’re standing up on tip-toe and Sanji’s heart nearly drops out of his ass as you lean in. But then — your lips skim by his cheek and your arms are around him, and stupid, stupid, stupid heart — thundering in his chest like horses or hooves or fists or thumping rabbit’s feet — leaping into his throat and pattering against the base of his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. But it’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

He breathes and distantly, a part of him notes that you still use the same shampoo.

“Hi…” your voice is warm by his ear, a bit muffled, but he can’t help the way it makes him shiver, “It’s… so good to see you.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice to do the normal thing and, oh, you know — work.

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough as he nods again. He feels your arms slackening around him and a fierce, terrifying thing is flapping its wings in his stomach, screeching at him not to let you go. But he does — like he did before.

“I — I missed you too,” he says, though his voice sounds flat and scratchy and he clears his throat again.

A dozen different expressions flicker across the lovely planes of your face and finally, it settles on endeared exasperation.

“Please don’t tell me you still work through like three packs of smokes a day.”

Sanji laughs then, shaking his head as he reaches over for your luggage, “Nah — well, maybe not three but —”

You whack him softly on the arm.

“I actually tried to quit right after you left.”

“You did?”

Sanji shrugs as the pair of you start to make for the exit. He feels your gaze go slanted and shrewd.

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

You whack him again and this time, he dodges out of the way just to bask in the bright spark of your laughter as you chase after him.

“Seriously though, you know how terrible they are for you!”

“Sure do,” he says, tugging one out of his pocket as soon as he clears the airport doors, pivoting left towards the parking garage. You have to jog to keep up with his longer strides, your breaths misting the air between you in silvery puffs.

He makes no move to light it as he helps toss your luggage into the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You huff as you wiggle into the passenger’s side.

“Then why —”

Sanji waits patiently for you to buckle your seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting soft against the middle console. He slates you a glance.

“Cause,” he says, fixing his eyes back on the road, an easy smirk twisting his lips, “it’s a metaphor.”

You groan, sinking into the seat, “Just because you read John Green one time —”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I read his entire bibliography after you showed him to me.”

“Ugh, whatever you manic-pixie-dreamgirl-loving ass.”

“Yeah, whatever — you actual manic pixie dreamgirl.”

You smile and Sanji allows himself the brief and aching delusion that the past year and a half didn’t happen, that you never left, and that you’d never leave. That you’d always be here, warm and laughing and just within reach.

The rest of the car ride is spent in mundane conversation, in how was your flight and tell me about Florence and how’s Zeff doing these days and I wanna know about your latest dish. It’s light and easy, and Sanji lets it warm the air around him. By the time he pulls into the front of your hotel, all the unsaid words from the past year and a half have soaked through his socks and into his shoes. It sloshes out onto the pale pavement as he opens the car door.

He helps you roll your luggage up into the lobby and tells you he’ll be here at 3PM to pick you up tomorrow. The venue’s just three blocks away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you say, pursing your lips, waving as he backpedals towards the automatic doors.

“You’ve still gotta send me pictures of the dress you’re wearing — I gotta find a matching tie.”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed, “Right — and here I thought I might surprise you.”

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

“O-oh! Er — well, you can just — just tell me what color or —” he waves vaguely, “send a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against —”

You nod, eyes glittering, eager once more, “Oh! That’s a good idea — I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Sanji says.

“Great!” you echo, perhaps a bit too chipper.

He gives you one last smile before turning and striding from the hotel, firing up the engine as calmly as he can, forcing himself not to turn and check if you’re still watching him through the brightly lit, sliding glass doors. He allows himself a glance through the rear-view mirror as he pulls away from the drive and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re still standing there, right in the middle of the lobby, fingers wrapped around the handle of your suitcase, your eyes fixed on the shadow of his retreating car.

He lights the smoke the second he turns the corner, your shadow no longer in his rear-view mirror.

That night, Sanji dreams in fits and leaps, flashing images and long, sticky streams of could-have-beens —

He dreams of your laughter in a white-tiled kitchen, of powdered sugar and eggshells cracked and leaking on an exposed wood counter, chopsticks clinking against a thick glass mixing bowl. He dreams of your voice echoing off the shower tiles as you sing off-key, the way you used to when you’d sneak into his college dorm for movie night and a midnight snack. He dreams of coffee mugs and errant rose petals and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He dreams of dancing with you in his arms in a darkened dorm room that morphs into a bigger room with a softer carpet, one that he’d never seen before but he knows implicitly (like bodies know) is his home — it has pictures on the walls, trinkets lining the far bookshelf, your favorite scarf draped over the back of the well-worn sofa.

In the dream, you pull your head back from where it's pillowed against his shoulder and smile up at him. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hovering half an inch from yours.

Sanji jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, fingers fumbling for his phone, groaning as he smashes the orange snooze button and flips over to bury his face back into his lumpy pillow.

“Ah… fuck.”

It’s not the first time he’s had that dream, and he knows it won’t be the last. But it’d been so real that night, real enough to make him wonder if it just might come true.

He rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes and peers blearily at all the notifications on his screen. There’s a text from you with a picture attached. He clicks it open to find a short message attached to the picture — I really did want to surprise you…

He blinks for three seconds at what looks like a blurry picture of studded black silk before he remembers —

“Send me a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against.”

He allows himself a laugh, swinging his feet out of bed even as he types back — you coulda just told me it was black…

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, before the text appears — well there are different shades of black, right???

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

A string of tongue-out emojis, followed by an equally long string of middle-finger emojis.

He spends the rest of the morning fussing over which specific black tie to wear before settling on one that he’s quite sure is the exact same shade of black as your dress (and yes, he does have quite the collection of black ties), before tugging his best suit out to press.

It shouldn’t feel so easy, slipping back into the rhythm of things, of texting and smiling and hearing your voice in his head when he reads your texts. It shouldn’t feel so easy to forget the months of radio silence and guilt, the oppressive, resonant weight of what might have been if either of you had done a single thing different that day at the airport — he wonders if he should’ve reached for your hand, he wonders if you’d ever looked back.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

He is waiting for you in the lobby at 2:45, wearing a hole into the plush Persian carpet, collecting strained looks from the concierge who had assured him three times in the last four minutes that he’d already rung up to your room and that you’d said you were on your way.

“Wow, you’re early — sorry I took a while — I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair and —“

Sanji lifts his head and thinks distantly that all those rom-com cliches of a guy looking up, time itself slackening, the room smearing sideways around him, the music going slow, the lighting soft — all of it is painfully, startlingly true after all.

Because there you are, walking towards him, still saying something, but he can’t make out the words anymore because time isn’t really a thing anymore, is it? He can’t focus on that and also the dark glimmer of your dress, the way the neckline skates just beneath your collarbones, barely skimming the skin there before it slips down along the slope of your shoulders in a way that makes his breath unspool inside his chest like loose threads.

And in the slanted, ethereal light of the winter afternoon, your dress looks like it’s cut from a swath of darkest midnight, moonless and scattered with stars.

You blush as Sanji attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor and hitch his lips into something resembling a smile.

“W-wow… you look…”

Your smile is shy as you press your palms against the dress, looking down, “Thanks… you don’t think it’s… too much?”

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

“No! I mean — it’s —“ his mouth is dry, drier than he ever remembers it being, and suddenly it’s very hard to swallow and Sanji isn’t even sure the muscles in his neck know how to perform the action, let alone force words out alongside it. He struggles for another few seconds, his jaw working furiously as his eyes skitter down and back up the shape of you.

“You look… perfect,” he says, finally, because the word has been ricocheting around his chest like a stray bullet and he had to let it out somehow.

“Thanks — you don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, your voice breathy in a way that makes Sanji’s stomach squeeze.

He offers you his arm, and you glide forward to take it.

He drives the three blocks to the wedding venue in a daze, his mind spinning slow and off-axis, tilted so by the gentle waft of your perfume, the lullaby of your voice as you chatter nervously about this and that and the weather, I mean, can you believe it’s gonna be an outdoor wedding in the winter? He wonders briefly why you’re so nervous, and then he’s reminded of the reason he’s even here at all — your ex will be here. Ah. Right.

“Ready?” he asks, offering you his arm again as the both of you follow the meandering stream of arriving guests toward the paved outdoor garden area where the ceremony is due to take place.

“No, but… you’re here so…” you let out a breath and for a second, Sanji almost thinks he hears the hint of an ache in your voice. An ache like an old scab picked at too many times, like unrequited love, perhaps. It’s an ache with which Sanji is so intimately familiar that he immediately tamps it down and vows not to think about it again for the rest of the night.

There are stiff-backed waiters wandering around with plates of hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of bubbling pink champagne.

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

“Bottoms up,” you say, tossing back the entire flute in one.

Sanji cocks his eyebrows, grinning as he follows suit, smacking his lips.

“Alright then, I guess if that’s how you’re playin’ —”

Your laughter is light, if a little strained, but he remembers how quickly bubbly drinks tend to go to your head and makes a concerted effort to slow down. You make it all the way through the actual ceremony without bumping into your ex, though you do lean over and grab Sanji’s hand as the bride and groom exchange vows — something about love being a choice, one that they promise to make every morning of every day for the rest of their lives — and he looks over to find you misty-eyed, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sap,” he whispers, leaning over. It earns him a choked laugh and a half-hearted elbow in the ribs, but it’s worth it to see the tension melt from your shoulders.

Sanji turns back towards the bride and groom, exchanging rings now, and unbidden comes the images of you and him standing where they are — you in a dazzling white gown, him still in a dark suit, but one perhaps of more expensive material and much better tailoring. He thinks about all the things he might promise you, wonders at what you might promise him in return —

“I promise to love and cherish you —” you might say.

“I promise to make all your favorite foods,” he might say.

“I promise not to touch your emotional support le creuset pans.”

“I promise not to make you taste all my experimental dishes —”

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

He imagines the way the crowd would titter, how the officiator would affectionately clear his throat. He imagines Zeff’s warm, well-worn laughter, rough and a little torn at the edges because he’s just as sentimental as the next guy behind all the beard and gruffness. He imagines the crowd smiling up at the pair of you, the way you’d squeeze his hands to get the both of you back on track —

He jerks out of his reverie as you tug your hand away from his to clap, and it takes him a beat to realize that everyone else is clapping and cheering too. He blinks — the bride and groom are kissing, pulling apart as the music swells around them and they link hands to walk back down the aisle.

Sanji clears his throat and hurriedly gets up to clap as well, his eyes trailing the radiant smiles on both the newlyweds’ faces. Another sharp ache sings through him but he feels your hand in his again and he can’t tell if he wants to grip you tighter or pull away. They’d both hurt just as much, wouldn’t they?

“C’mon, let’s get inside — I wanna judge the catering with you,” you whisper, your breath tickling his cheek, and he knows without having to look that you’re standing on your tiptoes, your chin almost propped on his shoulder.

He fights down a bout of shivers and smiles, “My favorite part of any formal event, honestly.”

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

So you spend the entire dinner service whispering to each other about the food —

“God, this steak is so well done I think it just might dislocate my jaw —”

“What’s in this sauce?”

Sanji chews thoughtfully before making a face, “Dunno, but it’s got oregano.”

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

“Yeah, but we both know how much sugar and butter goes into that right?”

You nudge him with an elbow, “Weird, cause I’m pretty sure happiness is also made of sugar and butter.”

“Well for me, it’s always been…” but Sanji trails off, biting his tongue. No. He can’t say that — not now. Not here.

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

So instead, he swallows passed his own mouthful of regrets and attempts a lopsided grin. And thankfully, your attention is drawn elsewhere by a loud peal of laughter before he has to make a shitty joke about happiness being a well-lit kitchen and a gas-lit stove.

You’re both at least a bottle of champagne deep when it finally happens, inevitable as a summer storm — your ex saunters up to you on the dance floor, sporting a grease-slick grin, eyeing you up and down like a piece of well-cut meat. Sanji is at the bar, grabbing more drinks and you’re catching a breath of fresh air just outside the dance hall.

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

Sanji turns sharply at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing — Asshat. Fantastic. The bartender is putting the finishing touches on two custom cocktails but blinks, confused, as Sanji swipes both drinks out from the bar and casts him a hurried grin.

“Thanks mate, these look great,” Sanji raises the cocktail glasses at the bewildered bartender before hurrying off, slowing ever so slightly as he reaches you, straightening his spine and smoothing out his shoulders.

“Here, got them special-made for you,” he says, pressing the cocktail into your hand, cutting into something that Asshat is saying.

“Oh! Thanks — oh wow, this looks so good!” you beam up at him, taking a sip.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you were still hangin’ out with this guy,” Asshat says, hooking his thumbs into his belt-hoops and jutting out his chin.

You frown, pressing your lips, “Excuse me?”

Asshat scoffs, posturing, “I mean, when we broke up, it was cause o’him right? So I just thought you might’ve realized what a mistake that was and —”

Sanji barely has the time to feel offended before Asshat is gasping and stumbling back. You’d tossed the remainder of your drink straight into his face.

“What the —” Asshat sputters, his fists clenching, but quick as anything, Sanji swipes out a leg that catches him right in the shins and makes him stumble. In one fluid movement, Sanji pushes his own drink into your hand before reaching out the other arm to steady the now flailing Asshat, catching him around the shoulders.

“Whoa there! Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend!” he says, loud enough for the people around you to hear. He thumps Asshat on the back in a would-be kind gesture before tugging him close, still coughing, and hissing in his ear —

“Listen here, you asswipe — you’re gonna turn around and walk away and stay the fuck away from us for the rest of this wedding, you understand? I’ve got plenty more o’this for ya if you don’t, got it?”

Sanji scuffs his foot along the gravel-covered ground in a motion that could easily be mistaken as fidgeting, but you know better. And so, it seems, does Asshat, who scoffs and shoves Sanji off him with a glare, but after another second, straightens his drink-soaked jacket, turns, and stalks away.

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

“Hey darlin’… you alright?” Sanji turns and bends down to level his eyes with yours.

“Y-yeah — thanks — you didn’t need to —”

“Nah. Course I did — it’s why you invited me, right?” he allows himself a lopsided grin that borders on self-deprecating and you look up, eyes wide.

“No! I — that’s not —”

“It’s okay, love — I promise I’m not offended —” Sanji’s babbling, he knows he is — but he has to, because the alternative of letting you speak, of letting you confirm what he already knows to be true (that you’ve only ever seen him as a best friend, that you love him in all the ways except for the one way he wants you to, in the one way he loves you) is too much. He tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs up his shoulders, pulling them up towards his ears like armor.

And then you lean in and kiss him, and every single word he’s ever thought of saying just to fill the silence turns to mist and mornings on his tongue. His mind turns blissfully blank and when he regains consciousness (or has he? Because isn’t this the dream he’s dreamt every waking moment of his life for the past… however many years?), he thanks every god he can name that he feels his fingers in your hair, his other hand cupping the soft curve of your jaw. He tastes your uncertainty against his lips and presses in, hoping, praying that if he just kissed you hard enough you might understand.

When you pull away, he can’t help the satisfied purr that curls up his chest at the pinkness in your cheeks and the slightly glazed-over look in your eyes.

“O-oh — sorry I —”

Sanji shakes his head, leaning in to push his forehead against yours.

“Nah, nah, nah — if you tell me that was a mistake now I might just turn around and never speak to you ever again — because don’t you dare —”

You let out a helpless laugh, shaking your head as you reach up to cover his hands with yours. It’s only then that he realizes they’d been shaking. He swallows and he thinks he can taste every single morning after for the rest of his goddamn life in the whisper of your breath.

“It — it’s not, I wasn’t —” you close your eyes and Sanji holds you still, foreheads still pressed. Distantly, Sanji is aware that people are cheering, that more drinks are being poured, that the dance floor is probably a mess. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything else ever again — why would he? Now that he’s got you.

“Shh… take your time, love… we’ve got all the time in the world.”

He feels the relief take you, and then you’re falling into him, burying your face in the lapel of his suit jacket, probably smearing it with your foundation. Vaguely, Sanji considers framing it when he gets home.

“I’m… I’m sorry it took so long — I’m sorry I didn’t — that I wasn’t…” you curl your fist into the material of his shirt and thump him lightly on the chest, even as he laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“I know, darlin’… I know.” Sanji presses his lips into your hair and can’t help a smile.

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

“I thought about you every single day,” you admit, your voice small when you finally pull back to look at him again. He thinks there might be tears in your eyes, or maybe it’s just the starlight caught in the thick night sky of your lashes.

“Did you now?” he asks, fumbling for some semblance of normalcy amidst this night of revelations.

You nod, fervently, and god he wants to kiss you again. Briefly, he wonders if he should, if he’s allowed to now. Instead, he smiles and cocks his head.

“So? What changed?” and he can’t help the tiny note of hurt out of his voice, the slightest shiver of disbelief. After all, cynicism is a hard habit to break.

Especially after so many years of practice.

You shrug, sighing, “Nothing — everything. I mean — I’d always… but then I thought — you had your career as a chef and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. But it —” you lick your lips, and Sanji nearly breaks when you tear your eyes away from his. He wants to force you back, to soak in the dark and bright of your gaze till he can see the world exactly as you see it.

“It’s always been you…” you say.

At this, Sanji does break. He tips your face towards him with a thumb and a forefinger and leans in, waiting for you to pull back, bracing for it. But you don’t — instead, you press in and close the space between you again, and again, and then again.

He wants to tell you — he needs to tell you that it’s always been you too, that there’s never been anyone else. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he’s known, even though both of you were children back then, and neither of you had any idea what “love” actually meant. He knew then, too.

“Love…” his voice trails off, but you smile, and he knows you know, knows that you can hear it in the rawness behind his voice, in the softness of his breath, in the way it shakes.

You make to kiss him again. But your lips hover half an inch from his and you stop. Sanji sighs.

“What — why’d you stop?”

Your smile is sweet and sharp, honey glinting on a razor’s edge, and he knows that he has you. And maybe that he’s always had you and was just too blind, too terrified, to see it.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

You bat your lashes, pulling an expression of mock affront onto your face.

“Well at least wine me and dine me first —”

Sanji licks his lips, “What’dyou think I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Sanji smirks and kisses you again, slowly this time, languid and deep. Unhurried. He luxuriates in the way you go soft in his arms, in the way he can feel the gentle hitch of your breath as he runs his tongue along the edges of your teeth, coaxing you towards him, closer and closer and closer.

The hardest, angriest part of him wants to swallow you whole, bite down just to hear you hiss, to taste your blood on his tongue. To make you feel even a sliver of the pain he’d felt. He tamps it back down — there’s time for that later.

Instead, he forces himself to pull back and allows himself the satisfaction of watching you chase him, pursing your own lips with a bashful look away, your cheeks dark.

“So,” Sanji takes half a step back, puffing out his chest in the best imitation of a fuckboy at a wedding party, “wanna get outta here?”

You let out a helpless laugh, falling into his side. He lets the sound ring through him like so many silver bells.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He chuckles, looping an arm around your middle and leaning towards your ear.

“Your place, or mine?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure I still have a toothbrush at your place.”

Sanji hums, “You still have a whole drawer at my place.”

You smile up at him, open and happy and sincere, “Then… I guess that’s your answer then.”

[penkura]

PENKURAAAAA

I love your writing, especially for Law and Zoro. I'm also a sucker for the parent fics you do. What if reader and Law/Zoris kids were to surprise reader on their birthday? What would they do? How would they do it? Maybe reader thinks everyone forgot their birthday but the crew is actually just in on the surprise? Thanks for reading friend, I would love to see what you think ^^♡

HIII THANK YOUUUU I'm so glad you like the parent fics, they're some of favorite to write. 😊

I didn't think I'd finish this in time to post on my birthday but I did!! I wasn't sure where to go at first so I just started typing and this is what I've got!! I'm pretty happy with it myself, so I hope you like it too!! 😄

Law

Law has never forgotten a birthday or anniversary ever since you first got together. His ability to remember every date leaves you impresses every time, especially after your son and daughter were born, he kept every important date in the front of his mind so her never forgot. He intended to celebrate every important, special day so you and your kids knew how much he loved you. You make sure to do the same for Law, even if he’d rather you not celebrate his birthday, the grins he gets from your children every year make it worth remembering the day.

That’s why it’s very strange to wake up on your birthday without Law in your bed with you, or even your son Rosinante yelling ‘happy birthday’ to wake you. Your daughter Cora is still learning to talk, but even she would already be in your bed and giggling to help get you up for the day. It’s odd, you’re not sure what to think as you start getting ready for the day, still no sign of your family or the other Heart Pirates around. Once you leave your room, it’s oddly quiet but you pass by a few of your crewmates on your way to Law’s office, expecting him to be there at least. None of them say anything about your birthday, Bepo and Ikkaku seem a little antsy when you greet them, though you don’t think anything of it, even when they try to guide you to the kitchen instead.

You don’t go with them, saying you’d like to see your family first, opening the door to Law’s office and being surprised at what you see. Law at his desk is normal, even with your daughter sitting in his lap, but what’s different is the amount of streamers across the walls and floor, wrapping paper pieces mixed in, your children busy scribbling away on paper likely making cards for you.

It's so early you can’t believe the two are awake, especially seeing how Law appears to he asleep, his hat over this face and leaning back in his chair, but still holding little Cora so she can sit up and continue coloring.

Of course he wouldn’t forget, he was probably trying to surprise you, keeping things a secret and bringing your children to his office so you could sleep in while he got things together. That would also explain why most of your crewmates seemed anxious around you, they didn’t want you to figure it out too soon.

“Mama!”

When Rosi sees you, he’s torn between excited and upset, you weren’t supposed to see anything yet and the five-year-old was doing his best to keep everything secret after Law brought up your birthday and making cards for you. He pouts a little, but still jumps up to hug you, which you return.

“You weren’t s’pposed to see yet…”

Quietly laughing, to not wake Law even though Cora is starting to whine when she sees you, you hug Rosi a bit tighter before kissing the top of his head.

“You’re so sweet! I’m sorry I saw everything, sweetie!”

Rosi whines this time, telling you that you’re hugging him too tight, before you let him go and move to pick up Cora, who squeals when you do so and kiss her cheeks. Law doesn’t even wake at that, you wonder if he actually slept last night or not.

“You’re all so wonderful, I’m so blessed to have you guys.”

Rosi makes you promise not to tell anyone that you know, and you’re still surprised later that day at how big the party is. Law tells you later that your son thought it up, he just helped put it all together with the rest of your crew. No one finds out that you knew, Rosi keeps it a secret too and even when your daughter nearly drops her piece of cake on your shirt, it’s still the best birthday you’ve had in a while.

Zoro

While Zoro isn’t the best at remembering dates, your birthday is one he never forgets, no matter how long you’ve been together or how many other important days come and go. You know your captain and crew well enough that anything worth celebrating gets a huge party, birthdays are no exception, especially so after your daughter’s birth a few years ago. Every first for little Kuina was celebrated as only the Straw Hats could, food and drinks galore, even though she’d be confused by what was happening.

When she’s four-years-old and your birthday comes around again, Kuina is adamant on you having a big surprise party, even when Zoro tells her you aren’t the biggest fan of surprises (your unexpected pregnancy with her being an exception). She’ll pout and fuss until Zoro finally agrees, enlisting Nami and Sanji to get everything planned but not tell him the details. He trusts them to get everything planned, Kuina being their biggest help, but Zoro doesn’t want to know anything, so he doesn’t potentially spoil you on the surprise.

Kuina is better at keeping the secret than anyone else. If you ask her what she’s doing, when she grabs all her paper and coloring supplies, she just tell you she’s going to make a map with aunt Nami. That’s not unusual so you don’t question it, she does bring you her own map later that day anyway.

When your birthday finally comes around, neither Zoro nor Kuina says anything, they aren’t even around when you wake up that morning. Not uncommon though, everyone normally lets you sleep in on your birthday, but usually Zoro is there and Kuina comes running in after a few minutes to wake you both.

Once you’ve dressed and gotten ready for the day, you head for the kitchen, but you’re confused when no one you pass says anything to you apart from a good morning. Usopp just grins and says it, Franky does the same. Luffy is barely audible as he runs off to wherever, dragging Jinbei along with him. It really makes you wonder if they’ve all forgotten what today is. You don’t see anyone else until you get to the kitchen, only to have streamers from party poppers hit you in the face, hearing Kuina say ‘oops’.

“You weren’t supposed to do it in her face, Kuina!”

“Sorry, daddy!” Kuina gives you an apologetic look before she smiles, “Sorry, mommy! Happy birthday!!”

Once you’re able to see the kitchen better, there’s streamers and balloons round the room, your favorite breakfast all made and ready, a cake in the middle of the table, and every member of your crew there, you figure Luffy and Jinbei had slipped in behind you. They all give you their birthday wishes, and it nearly makes you cry which makes Zoro smirk at you.

“Now don’t cry about it. It was all your daughter’s idea.”

“Shut up, Zoro.” You may be near tears but the smile you have tells everyone you’re happy, as Kuina comes out and hugs you with a pout.

“Mommy, don’t cry! I made you a picture!!”

It’s childish work of course, she’s only four, but it’s still an adorable picture she’s drawn of the two of you, making you hug her back and lift her off the ground.

“Thank you so much, Kuina. I love it!”

You never question if any of them have forgotten your birthday again, expecting it to be due to Kuina having her own little plans for your special day. You’ll have to do the same for her next year now.