Bubblyluffy - Luffy My Beloved

The Zoro and Chopper bond is so cute

I miss luffy like he's my real boyfriend

the smiler.png

you’re gonna carry that weight

I may not be a catch but you are not Monkey D. Luffy so we are both settling.

Even Without Power

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x female! reader

a/n: : clearing my drafts 😭

summary: Captured and cuffed with sea prism stone, you and Luffy endure fear and helplessness—until the crew arrives, and Luffy unleashes his fury to protect the one thing he refuses to lose: you.

wc: 1.7k

contains: Protective!Luffy, Sea Prism Stone imprisonment, captivity angst, emotional hurt/comfort, intense tension, slow and tender post-rescue intimacy, and Luffy being dangerously furious when someone threatens you.

Your head was pounding.

The first thing you noticed was the cold stone beneath you. The second? The tight weight around your wrists.

Sea prism cuffs.

Then you heard his voice.

“(Y/N)... hey, wake up. Please.”

You opened your eyes slowly, vision blurry—but there he was. Luffy. Sitting on the ground next to you, wrists shackled just like yours, his hat hanging off one knee.

“Luffy?” you rasped.

His eyes softened instantly. “You’re okay.” His voice cracked just a little, relief pouring out like a flood. “Thank god.”

You tried to move, but the sea prism cuffs made every muscle scream. “Where…?”

“Some bastards grabbed us when we were separated from the crew,” he said through clenched teeth. “I woke up first. Tried to break the chains, but…” he held up his wrists with a bitter laugh, “I can’t even stretch.”

You glanced at him. His face was pale. His hair clung to his forehead. He was furious. But he was holding it in—for you.

And then the door creaked open.

“Well, well,” a voice drawled. A tall man with a jagged scar across his cheek strolled in, a small crew of thugs behind him. “Our little captain and his pretty friend are finally both awake.”

Luffy’s body went rigid.

“Don’t talk to them,” he said lowly.

The man smirked. “Aw, come on. We just wanna have a little fun.” He stalked toward you, eyes lingering far too long.

Luffy snarled. Actually snarled. “I said don’t touch them.”

You flinched when the man crouched beside you, brushing a finger under your chin. “They’re a cute one. What do you think, Straw Hat? You sure you wouldn’t rather trade places?”

“Don’t touch them!” Luffy bellowed, lunging against his chains. His whole body shook with rage, fists clenched so tight they were turning white. “If you lay one more finger on them—”

The man chuckled, unfazed. “What’re you gonna do? You’re powerless.”

Luffy’s eyes burned—pure fire behind them, like he was ready to kill with just his stare. “You don’t get it,” he growled. “Even if I can’t use my powers… I will still tear you apart if you hurt them.”

You felt it—his presence. Even cuffed, drained, and chained to a wall, Luffy still felt like a storm ready to break loose.

The thug paused, like he finally noticed the danger in the room. The way Luffy’s aura shifted—deadly, protective, unyielding.

“Y’know what?” the man said, standing. “Maybe we’ll just give you two a little more time to think about your situation.”

As soon as the door slammed shut, you slumped.

Luffy turned to you immediately. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” you whispered. “But… he scared me.”

“I won’t let him touch you again,” Luffy said fiercely, eyes locked on yours. “No matter what.”

You leaned against his shoulder. He leaned right back.

“We’re gonna get out of here,” he said softly, like a promise. “I don’t care how—I’ll find a way. I’ll protect you.”

The cell was cold, silent—except for the soft clinking of chains when either of you shifted.

You sat beside Luffy, arms brushing, wrists heavy with sea prism cuffs. Every time he glanced at you, you saw the storm still behind his eyes. He was still furious—at himself, the enemy, the cuffs. All of it.

“We’ll get out soon,” he muttered, gaze fixed on the locked door. “The crew’s gotta be looking.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “But…”

Before you could finish, the door creaked open again.

Same guy. Same smug smirk. This time? A little more confident. Like he was sure no one was coming for you.

“Well, Straw Hat. You said I shouldn’t touch them,” he said with a sneer, walking toward you, “but what’re you gonna do if I do it anyway?”

Luffy’s voice dropped into something cold. Dangerous.

“Don’t.”

But the guy just laughed—and then grabbed you by the arm, yanking you roughly toward him.

That was it.

Luffy. Lost. His. Mind.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF THEM!”

He lunged. Full force. The chains snapped taut with the impact, but it didn’t stop him from fighting like a wild animal, dragging the entire wall if he had to, roaring with fury.

You cried out as the man shoved you against the bars, but then—

“BOOM!”

The wall behind the cell exploded.

Smoke. Dust. Screaming.

“(Y/N)!!” a voice called—Nami. Then another—Zoro. Usopp. Sanji. Robin. Brook. The crew was here.

The enemy turned just in time for Zoro to charge him, blades flashing.

Sanji darted straight to you, kicking the guy in the gut and dragging him off you.

Luffy’s cuffs clattered to the ground as Franky, with his giant hands, crushed them open. The second they were off—

Luffy didn’t move.

He didn’t even look at the enemy yet.

He rushed to you.

“(Y/N)!” He dropped to his knees in front of you, grabbing your face gently but frantically, eyes scanning every inch. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Tell me.”

You blinked back tears, heart hammering. “I’m okay—just bruised, I’m okay—”

He crushed you into his arms before you could finish.

“I was gonna kill him,” he mumbled against your shoulder. “I was gonna kill him if they didn’t show up. I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t protect you—”

“Luffy.” You cupped his cheek, making him look at you. “You did. You protected me the whole time. And we’re safe now.”

He exhaled shakily, nose brushing against yours, eyes still burning but softer now.

“…Okay,” he whispered. Then he turned slowly—toward the enemy.

Sanji had him on the floor. Zoro stood nearby, arms crossed.

“Don’t kill him,” Nami warned.

“I’m not gonna kill him,” Luffy said, voice flat. “But he’s gonna wish I did.”

You didn’t stop him.

Because in that moment, Luffy wasn’t just a captain. He was a storm wrapped in rubber and rage.

But before walking away, he looked back at you one last time.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, gently. “And after this… I’m not letting you out of my sight.

Hours later you were back on the Going Merry. It felt like heaven compared to that dungeon.

You were clean, bandaged, wrapped in warm clothes, and finally free of the sea prism cuffs. But the whole world still felt a little heavy.

You sat on the bed in the infirmary cabin, staring at your hands. Your wrists were sore, skin still red where the cuffs had clamped down. And your body ached, sure—but your heart ached worse.

Then the door opened quietly.

Luffy stood there, silent. His vest was off, bandages around one shoulder, and he looked... tired. Not physically, but emotionally. The kind of tired you don’t sleep off.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You smiled weakly. “Hey.”

He walked in slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should, until you patted the bed beside you.

He sat—then instantly leaned into you, head dropping to your shoulder like a magnet. His arms wrapped around your waist tight, like he still thought someone might try to pull you away again.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured.

“You didn’t even try.”

“…I didn’t wanna leave you alone.”

You reached up, running your fingers through his hair. “You saved me, Luffy. Even when we were chained up. Even when you couldn’t fight. You were still protecting me.”

His grip tightened.

“I hate that he touched you,” he mumbled, voice rough. “I hate that I couldn’t stop him. If the crew hadn’t shown up—”

“But they did.” You turned toward him, placing your hands on his cheeks. “And now I’m safe. I’m here, Luffy. With you.”

His big brown eyes met yours, vulnerable and wide. “I thought I lost you.”

You leaned your forehead against his. “You didn’t. You never will.”

He closed the tiny space between you and kissed you—soft, slow, and a little shaky. Like he needed to feel you to believe you were real.

Then he pulled back, just a little. “I’m gonna stay here tonight.”

You blinked. “In the infirmary?”

“With you,” he said, laying down right beside you and pulling the blanket over both of you. “Right here. All night. Not going anywhere.”

You smiled, letting your head rest on his chest as he curled around you.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” he mumbled sleepily.

You tucked your hand over his heart. “Good. Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Outside, the ship rocked gently with the ocean.

Inside, in the quiet warmth of that cabin, Luffy held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

And this time, he wouldn’t have to fight to protect you. Because now, you were both home.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

I absolutely love how you write Sanji! The tenderness you give him is so comforting. Could you possibly write something where he has a nightmare and how the reader would help him through it?

hi anon!! thank you so much for your sweet words 🥺🫶🏻

i hope that tenderness is also present in this story, and i really hope you like it! not gonna lie, this was pretty hard to write. i just wanna wrap sanji in the biggest hug. our boy has been through so much 😭😭

Nightmares | Sanji x Reader

Tags: major spoilers for sanji's past and whole cake island arc, sfw, hurt/comfort, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

Sanji was no stranger to nightmares.

Unsurprisingly, many of his nightmares involved losing you. But believe it or not, those were the easier ones to get over. As soon as he woke up and saw you sleeping next to him, all of his panic and worries would dissipate.

No, the worst nightmares were the ones where his bitter memories blurred with even more horrors that his mind made up, tricking his brain until it was no longer aware of what was real and what wasn't.

He'd often dream of that solitary rock in the ocean. He'd dream that no ships passed by until his skin withered and only his bones were left to dry under the scorching sun. The hunger and thirst would feel so real that more often than not, Sanji would end up in the kitchen in the middle of the night, chugging three glasses of water and scarfing down a slice of bread before heading back to bed.

He sometimes relived being electrocuted by Enel's lightning, his whole body burnt into a crisp. In other dreams, it was Usopp and Nami who were struck, while Sanji watched helplessly, frozen by an unknown force that prevented him from reaching them.

Many times, he dreamed that he was still trapped in that dungeon, a heavy helmet locked to his head, the key nowhere to be found. He'd pull and pull, but the helmet wouldn't come off. He'd shout and shout, but no one would come and help him. Those dreams would always leave him waking up in cold sweat, grasping at the invisible iron upon his head.

Tonight, he was back on Whole Cake Island, looking down and seeing those wretched golden cuffs fastened on his wrists.

Vinsmoke Judge was there, sneering at him, "Useless—can't even do something as simple as getting married. You just needed to stand there and say ‘I do’. Was that too hard for your little brain to manage?"

His brothers were there, too. Their hard-as-steel legs finding his stomach, his back, his knees…

"Where are your little friends now?"

"Give it up, they're not coming."

"Why would they ever care about a weak coward like you?"

With a click of a button under Judge's fat thumb, the cuffs exploded and blew his hands off to bits.

Sanji woke up screaming.

He brought his hands up to his eyes, flipping them back and forth to ensure they were still there, not a scratch upon them. He clutched his precious hands to his chest, a sob threatening to escape him. His chest heaved as he struggled to fill his lungs with oxygen.

You were there in an instant.

Your hand was there, brushing his hair—damp with sweat—away from his face.

Your voice was there, gently hushing and comforting him.

"Sanji, love, breathe. It's alright. You're okay." You grabbed his face, guiding his sight to you, "Whatever it was, it wasn't real. You're okay."

You asked him to inhale with you, then exhale. His eyes slowly regained their focus.

"Tell me what's real." You'd prompt, "Your name is…"

"My name is Black Leg Sanji. I'm not a Vinsmoke. My father is Red Leg Zeff."

"That's right, honey. And where are you now?"

"I'm at the Baratie." He shifted his gaze out the window at the vast expanse of sea, the water glistening under the moonlight, "But, we're not in the East Blue. We moved this ship two years ago… to the All Blue."

He looked around again, taking in more of his surroundings, "I'm in my room—well, our room."

You nodded reassuringly, encouraging him to keep going as his breath gradually became steadier, "What else is real?"

He took your hand, thumbing the ring on your finger. Sanji's lips upturned into a soft smile—gone were all traces of the frown that marred his handsome face before—as he admired the matching ring that adorned his own finger, "You’re the one I’m married to. I proposed to you after Luffy became the Pirate King, and you said yes. I still can't believe that's real sometimes, but it is."

He placed a kiss onto your knuckles, the thin wedding band cold upon his lips, "I'm your husband."

You couldn't help but return his smile, "Yes, you are, baby."

Sanji sighed and laid his head on your chest.

You carded your fingers through his soft, golden hair as you held him close, "Feeling better now?"

"Much better." He looked up at you, "Thanks for always being here, darling."

When you first started sharing a bed, Sanji would apologize profusely whenever he unintentionally woke you up with his thrashing or screaming. You reassured him many, many times that he had nothing to be sorry about, even going so far as to reprimand him every time he apologized. But even after the apologies ceased, Sanji never failed to let you know how grateful he was that you were always there by his side.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

When Sanji shook his head, you changed your question, "Do you want to try going back to sleep?"

"Only if you do, too."

"Of course, love. Come here."

You pulled him down to lie flat on the bed, and he curled up to your side as you rearranged the covers to wrap around both of you. Sanji placed his head on your chest again, his ear resting right on top of your unwavering heartbeat.

"We need all the rest we can get." You kissed his forehead before continuing, "Luffy's arriving tomorrow, remember? I think he's picked up the rest of the crew along the way too, this time."

You booped his nose teasingly, "He definitely expects a feast, so you have a looong day of cooking ahead of you."

"Don't remind me." Sanji huffed as he snuggled closer to you, "I know the All Blue is overflowing with every kind of seafood imaginable, but with Luffy coming by so often, it won't be long until this ocean's drained."

You chuckled. He always complained, but you knew he loved it more than anything whenever the rest of the Straw Hats came to visit you two.

"Sleep, Sanji. I'll be here when you wake up."

You started humming an old North Blue lullaby you learned from Sanji long ago, back when you were still sailing on the Thousand Sunny. He told you that his mother used to sing this to him when he was little, and it was one of the only few good memories he had of his childhood. You gently stroked his hair, carrying on with your song until you felt his breathing slow.

There was never any guarantee that Sanji would remain asleep until morning. Sometimes he'd jerk awake again, but you didn't mind. You'd always be there to anchor him. To breathe with him, to hold him, to love him. You'd be there to remind him over and over that he was not alone, and that he would never be again.

╰┈➤ masterlist

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly regret oversharing, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

divider courtesy of @cafekitsune tag list @eggrollforyou

Luffy may have fought his way out of a horrible prison and through a deadly war just to have Ace die anyway, but god damn it, Luffy's effort to save his brother was not a waste. Ace was treated like a monster by society from the day he was born, to the point that he hated every part of himself too and didn't see a reason for living, but his last words to Luffy were "Thank you for loving me."

Thank you for loving me.

Thank you for loving me.

Luffy's love was never, ever in vain. Portgas D. Ace died knowing that he was loved, his body held securely in the arms of someone who'd spent ten years trying to convince Ace that he was worthy of it.

Love is never wasted.

Just Trying To Sleep

Summary: You never seem to like sleep but with Luffy there, sleep isn't so scary.

Content: gender-neutral reader, Luffy being a love bug as usual, set on the Thousand Sunny, Sanji mentioned

Word Count: 880+

A/N: Cause I will never and can never get enough of love bug Luffy like he's too good SOB like can I just get one hug from him? Please? I hope you all enjoy!

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The deck of the Thousand Sunny was quiet. 

A rare occasion when the crew you belong a part of was as rowdy and chaotic as they came. 

Night had fallen on this part of the Grand Line, and though your crew members were not quiet sleepers, their rooms lay on the other side of the Sunny, leaving you in the silence of night. Silence only broken up by the dark waters below lapping at the hull of the ship. 

You’d been a part of Luffy’s crew for a long while now. They were your family. Your comfort but nights never ceased in being a battle for you. 

You were used to it. It was a battle you had waged since you were little. Though now you had company here and there, joining Robin in her own sleepless nights in the library. Tonight, though, she had found sleep it seemed. 

You were happy for her. Very much so but…it left you alone in your discomfort.

You hugged your knees a bit tighter from where you sat at the stern of the ship, peeking out at the sea through the white rungs of the railing. 

Your eyes burned in exhaustion, body feeling all too heavy.

All you wanted was to sleep, but every time you closed your eyes, shadows came to haunt you. 

So you kept them trained on the sea. On the moonlight shimmering over it’s waves and the occasional sea creature poking its head upward. 

Waves lapped at the hull. 

The ship rocked like a mother would her child’s crib.

Your eyes blurred. 

Eyelids dipped and rose. Dipped and rose. Dipped--

Something landed beside you, startling you from your wearily found sleep. Something that giggled impishly at you. 

“Whatcha doin’?” The warm sound of your captain's voice filled your ears. You rolled your head to the side, letting your cheek rest on your knees as you gazed up at Luffy. He grinned widely down at you, eyes trained on you and you alone. 

“Just trying to sleep.” You murmured. “What are you doing?” Luffy was quick to kneel beside you, leaning in so close his nose was brushing against yours. You couldn’t help the small tug your lips gave at his closeness. 

“Got hungry.” The quietness of his voice wasn’t all too quiet. Maybe two notches turned down from its typical volume. You didn’t mind. It kept your brain full and occupied and away from the shadows plaguing you. 

“Oh? And did you wake Sanji up for a snack?” Luffy’s eyes glanced away from you, lips puckering tightly. 

“...yes.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his truly horrible lying skills. It was adorable. 

“Sanji’ll kill you, you know,” Luffy whined, fingers grabbing hold of the sleeve of your pjs and giving it a small tug. 

“But he’s so grumpy when he wakes up.” You gave a small huff in agreement. Sanji was a monster if woken by someone other than the sun or an alarm. Many who tried received a swift kick to the head.

“We can say it was both of us. Maybe he’ll go easy on you then.” You said in amusement. Luffy huffed, all but smacking his forehead into yours, the motion knocking his straw hat from his head. 

“Okay.” He groaned pitifully, big old puppy dog eyes gazing straight into yours. 

You smiled, letting one of your arms slip from around your legs to snake its way around Luffy. Your captain was quick to scoot closer, face moving from your forehead to bury itself in the crook between your knees and chest. His own arms wrapped around you, pressing you tightly against him.

Your eyes began their tedious dip and rise all over again as Luffy’s warmth seeped through you to the very bone. You moved sluggishly to rest your cheek against his head, wild black hair tickling at your skin.

Dip and rise. Dip and rise. Dip--

“...are you okay?” Luffy’s voice had you lulling your eyes open once more, lips pulling into a sad little frown.

“I’m…I just don’t like to sleep I guess.” You responded, fingertips pressing into Luffy’s warm skin. “Being alone like that…scares me.” Luffy snuggled deeper into you. Held you just a bit tighter. 

“I don’t want you to be scared.” You nodded into his hair. 

“Me too.” His hands began to make soothing circles into your back. Circles that made the heaviness of your eyes and body feel unbearable to keep at bay.

“Can I help?” You nodded again.

“Stay with me? Till morning? Please?” As soon as the last words left your mouth, Luffy was plopping to sit down. His strong but gentle arms moved you around so that your side was pressed against his chest. Legs and arms wrapped around you, keeping you curled up in his warmth and musky scent. 

Keeping you safe. 

Your eyes burned in something other than your exhaustion. 

You grabbed hold of one of his hands he had stretched to allow the hold. Held it like a lifeline as sleep called to you once more. 

“I love you.” You whispered to your captain, who responded with a firm yet tender kiss on the top of your head. 

“I love you too.” He beamed, giving you a few more kisses before nuzzling his face down to rest next to yours.

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