Skilled and Talented Hands

by Sanjikunbb

Summary:

Sanji comes to the realization that the Germa tech in his body is awakening and his body might not be his own anymore. In this he reaches out to Law to help him fix his body by any means necessary to stop him from becoming the monster his father always wanted him to become.

Notes:

This is my first fanfic, and I absolutely love the dynamic of all the Straw Hats, especially Zoro/Sanji and Sanji/Law. The story starts right after the battle for Wano and the clash between Luffy and Kaido on the rooftop.

Chapter 1: Scars You Can’t See

A heavy, lingering pain prickled at the edges of his body. Every joint rigid, stiff, and aching, as he stared up at the ceiling with surprising clarity. Cool, refreshing air brushed against his skin, and the tatami beneath him felt firm and grounding. He lay on a velvety futon, its softness supporting his battered frame. The sliding door to his room stood slightly ajar, light filtering through as he tried to piece together how he’d gotten here.

Beautiful paintings adorned the walls, and finely crafted furniture filled the space, evidence of Wano’s elegance even in the aftermath of war.

He sat up slowly. Sanji's movements were stiff and sharp with pain. One hand ran through his hair and stopped. It was still caked with blood.

How long have I been out?

His eyes scanned the room, then the corridor beyond, where people moved with urgent purpose. Judging by the activity—and the ache in his bones—he must have been unconscious for days. But that didn’t matter now.

They won.
Luffy won.
He saved Wano from Kaido's reign.

A slow smile stretched across his bandaged face. He kept his promise. Luffy always does.

The castle bustled with life, but his focus turned inward as he rose to his feet. The pain lingered, but nothing felt broken. Testing his weight on both legs, each tendon and muscle protesting as he moved. Instinctively, his hand rubbed the side of his neck—Queen had landed a brutal blow. He should be dead. The memories flashed in rapid succession: Big Mom. King. Queen. Black Maria. Saving Momo, the geisha, Soma.

Somehow, he’d survived it all.

Finding his footing, sliding into a vivid yellow and black yukata, the fabric brushing against his skin as he stepped into matching slippers. The first person he saw wasn’t familiar, but with so many rushing through the castle, he knew he was safe.

"Excuse me, madam," he said with a strained but polite bow—his manners intact despite the pain—"do you know where Luffy and the rest of my crew are?"

He winced, fingers pressing to the deep purple bruise on his neck.

She bowed in return, eyes wide with concern. “Luffy is still sleeping. He hasn’t woken up yet. His room’s just a few hallways down.”

She returned to her duties in a flurry, hurrying off before he could ask more. No matter. He moved with purpose now.

Luffy's sandals were placed neatly outside the room when he arrived. The door creaked open, and before he could call out, Nami barreled into him, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Nami—?!”

"Sanji-kun! You're awake!" Nami's voice cracked slightly, a mix of relief and lingering worry. She barreled into him again, squeezing tightly. “I’m so glad... We’ve been waiting for you three to wake up—it’s been four days now.”

Sanji blinked, trying to process that. Four days. He wanted to ask more, but his eyes locked onto Luffy.

His captain lay on an elevated futon, bandaged from neck to toe, breathing slowly but steadily. Chopper knelt beside him, changing bandages with clinical precision. Marco stood nearby, silent and vigilant, like a guardian watching over royalty.

Sanji’s voice dropped, quieter now. “It’s good to see you too, Nami. How’s he doing?”

He walked into the room at a controlled pace, doing his best to hide the pain. Every step sent a roar through his chest, his heart hammering like a drum. But whatever pain he felt—it was nothing compared to what Luffy must have endured.

“Stable,” Nami said gently, following close behind him. “But we’re watching him closely. He just needs rest now.”

Sanji stepped beside Chopper and rested a hand on the small doctor’s shoulder.

“You did great, Chopper. Where would we be without you?” Chopper flinched at the compliment, his ears twitching.

“D-Don’t say that, you big meanie!” He snapped, cheeks flushing pink—but his hands never stopped moving. Marco glanced back at the trio with a faint nod. “I’ll give you some space.” Then, without another word, he stepped out of the room, leaving the Straw Hats alone with their captain. Nami joined Sanji at his side. They stood together, watching Chopper work in silence.

“Where are the others?” Sanji asked, eyes still on Luffy. Almost absently, his fingers patted around his yukata. The craving hit fast and hard—nicotine withdrawal biting at him all at once. Nami noticed, of course.

“Robin and Franky are down at the Sunny—making repairs and checking on supplies,” she said. “Usopp and Jinbe are helping with the citizens. Brook’s... somewhere.” She purred that last part, deliberately skipping one name.

Her voice was sly as she reached into her kimono and pulled out a small silver case, delicate and refined. The mother-of-pearl shimmered softly, and an orchid was etched on the lid in fine detail.

She held it out to him; Chopper gave an exasperated sigh in the background. Sanji hesitated, as his gaze was pulled once more from Luffy. “We’ll be right outside, Chopper,” Nami said, already turning toward the door. Sanji followed, tugging gently at his lower lip as he walked; like a tether, she pulled his attention away from Luffy as his body screamed for his fix, needing it.

 

The garden was still—serene in a way only nature after war could be. A light breeze rustled through the leaves of carefully tended bonsai trees, each one nestled between polished wooden railings. Ornate statues stood like silent sentinels—foxes and cranes inlaid with precious metals, their jeweled eyes catching the light.

Nami and Sanji came to rest in front of a single bonsai, unusually large for its kind. Its twisted branches stretched out like an old warrior rather than a tree—stubborn, proud, and beautiful in its age. Sanji leaned carefully against a smooth railing beam, still stiff from injuries.

Nami flipped open the small cigarette case with a quiet click, spring-loaded and elegant. She plucked one out with practiced ease and slipped it between her lips.

Sanji watched the motion with a fondness he never tried very hard to hide. She always carried herself with purpose—even in the small things. If he weren’t half-broken and barely upright, maybe he’d lean in and say something charming.

Never to have, but always to flirt with the line.

She pulled his golden mermaid lighter from her sash, lit the cigarette with a familiar clink, and inhaled slowly. The scent hit him hard, his brand. Sharp, smoky comfort.

“Come on,” she said through an exhale, lips curled into a soft smirk. “Ask already.”

The silver case was still open in her hand. Sanji took one, biting down the craving that rose like a storm tide inside him. His fingers closed around the lighter, cool against his bruised palm. He lit up with a steady hand, drawing in the burn, letting the tension ebb away.

“Where’s Marimo?” he asked, leaning on the railing beside her.

“A few doors down from Luffy,” she said. “Still out cold. Chopper says he’s healing... but slowly. That last fight took a toll on him.”

Sanji didn’t answer right away. He took another drag, eyes scanning the garden—but not really seeing it.

“That dumbass always has to push past the limit,” she muttered. “Still… it would’ve been a hell of a fight to watch.”

Nami laughed softly under her breath, but it faded quickly. Her fingers absently rolled the cigarette between them, eyes fixed on the gnarled tree in front of them.

Sanji glanced sideways at her.

“And you?” he asked. “How have you been holding up?”

She blinked at the question, caught off guard. Then gave a tired, ironic smile. “Oh, you know. I woke up in a castle full of wounded people, half the country on fire, and half my crew beat up and unconscious.”

Sanji chuckled, but the warmth in his gaze didn’t fade. “You’ve been keeping everyone moving. I noticed.”

Nami looked down, quiet for a moment. “I didn’t have a choice. Someone had to.”

“Yeah,” Sanji said. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t get tired too.”

She didn’t respond, not directly. I just took another drag and leaned back slightly, eyes turned up to the sky.

After a long pause, Sanji broke the silence. “I’m going to check on the swordsman. Then I need a bath; I smell like the Dead Sea King.”

She cracked a smile, just barely. “Thanks for not dying.”

He threw her a lazy salute, cigarette balanced between two fingers. “Anytime, Nami-swan.”

As he walked away, his voice was soft but certain: “Let me know when he wakes up.”

He didn’t look back, but he raised a hand in acknowledgment before disappearing down the corridor.

 

Once again, Sanji found himself standing outside a room, the weight in his chest just as heavy as before. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette on the heel of his slipper, the ember hissing faintly, then slid the door open. The air inside was still, faintly stale, carrying the sharp edge of disinfectant and dried blood.

Zoro lay on an elevated futon, just like Luffy, but the bandages told a different story. Thick layers covered nearly every inch of him, stark white against the vibrant futon he lay on. It reminded Sanji too much of that time at Thriller Bark. His chest ached at the memory. Another time he thought he might lose him.

“Stupid. Impractical. Reckless. Tch.” The words came out half-hearted, barely more than breath. Sanji stepped up beside the futon, eyes scanning the wounds. Some were healing, but others—others looked angry, inflamed. Zoro had taken more than just a hard hit. He'd danced with death.

Maybe this time you’ll learn, Sanji thought, then a small chuckle escaped, probably not.

Zoro’s face was the only part of him left untouched. Typical, of course, that idiotic face would be fine.

Sanji reached out without thinking, fingertips grazing the curve of Zoro’s cheek. Lightly. Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the slow rise and fall of his breath. His fingers lingered. His chest tightened.

For a moment, his vision blurred. A sharp inhale, then a wrecked sob escaped before he could bite it down. He rubbed at his neck with his free hand, chasing comfort that wouldn’t come.

He'd trusted Zoro with the worst of him, entrusting him with the promise to end it all if Sanji ever lost himself. Turned into something unforgivable, the monster he might become, and here Zoro was instead, barely alive, broken, and still standing guard in his own way.

How long he stood there, he wasn’t sure. The silence was sacred. It was time to take Zoro in, truly take him in. The idiot had always been stronger than any of them gave him credit for. And maybe, for him, too. Sanji’s hand brushed Zoro’s cheek one last time. There was a tenderness in the gesture he would never admit to out loud.

Then reality cracked back in.

Footsteps. Voices. He turned.

Princess Hiyori swept into the room without hesitation, Chopper at her heels along with several assistants. She gave him a short, respectful nod as she passed. He stepped aside instinctively, silent.

Chopper blinked up at him, stopping in front of him with his usual curiosity. “Oh, there you are, Sanji! Nami said you were heading to the baths.”

The question lingered in the space between them, half innocent, half loaded. Sanji didn’t answer right away. He cast one last glance over his shoulder at the swordsman.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, his voice a little hoarse. “I’m going.”

 

The bathhouse was quiet—peaceful and surprisingly beautiful.

Sanji had scrubbed his body and hair three times before entering to rid himself of the day's battles. The shampoo had a soft, floral scent, and the scrub brushes were gentle enough not to irritate his bruised skin.

Steam hung gently in the air, swirling in the amber light that filtered in through the high wooden slats. The water was the perfect temperature, drawing the tightness from his legs, uncoiling his tendons until he could finally let himself sink into it.

Now, resting his arms along the rim of the bath, he let his eyes flutter shut.

Damn, I needed this.

His back gave a long, satisfying release, tension seeping out in quiet pulses. With a slow breath, he drew his arms back in, sinking deeper until the water reached just under his nose. His eyes were fully closed. The pain in his neck eased, his shoulders dropped, and—for once—he allowed himself to just be.

The faint pressure favoring his left side reminded him of Queen's blow. Of course Zoro had noticed, even if no one else had. Of course he had. That moss-headed bastard always saw more than he let on.

Sanji reflected on the way his body had responded during the fight—slower than usual, heavier in the soles of his feet. He had never felt that kind of strain before. Normally, he was so in tune with his movements, each kick, each pivot, each burst of speed choreographed like instinct.

But something had felt off.

It had started back when he saved Momonosuke under the guise of Soba Mask. That suit, that damned Germa tech—his father’s legacy—had left a crack in the foundation he’d always trusted.

Since then, his body had changed. Quietly. Subtly. Without his permission.

In the middle of battle, he realized just how much damage he had taken, how many times he should have collapsed. Bones that should’ve broken didn’t. Bruises that should’ve bloomed didn’t show. Pain that should’ve crippled him... didn’t register.

Tiny bubbles broke the surface as he exhaled and sank completely beneath the water. It wasn't deep enough to cover all of him; his golden hair still floated slightly dry above the water's surface. The fight with Queen played back in vivid detail—each blow, each burn, each hit absorbed without consequence. Like his body had become something other. Something he didn’t recognize.

Was that me? Or the science crawling under my skin?

The water rippled around him as he flexed his muscles beneath the surface. Still responsive. Still his. But how long would that last?

Germa tech... dammit, why now?

He remembered the moment he called Zoro, battered, shaken, and scared, and asked him to do the unthinkable:

“If I ever lose myself... if I stop being me... I want you to put me down.”

It had taken everything in him to ask that. Everything in him trusted Zoro with it. He hadn't told anyone else. He couldn't. And yet, here he was, unsure if he had already crossed that invisible line. Sanji leaned his head back against the wooden edge of the bath, sliding completely under water.

What am I becoming? His heart thudded, not from exertion, but from dread. The kind that sank deeper than bone.

But even through the fear, he reminded himself:
I’m still here. I’m still the cook of the Straw Hat pirates. I am Sanji.

And until that stopped being true, he'd keep fighting with everything he had, his way. He let his mind wander away from the topic. But beneath the fatigue, a warmth bloomed.

I can’t wait to see Luffy’s stupid grin again...

And hear that smelly Marimo grumble at me like always…

The crew, laughing together. Sharing a real meal on the Sunny. What should I make first? Everyone’s favorites? A feast? Or maybe something new…

A sudden, firm grip yanked under his arms, pulling him upward. Sanji jerked in surprise, immediately resisting. He surfaced, sputtering, as the bathhouse attendant tried to haul him out.

“Whoa—! What the hell—!?”

The attendant froze, pale once he registered Sanji’s strength pushing back.

“Sanji-sama! Are you… Are you alright?”

Sanji blinked, water dripping down his face. He was stunned, confused, and now a little embarrassed as he sat on the slick tile next to the bath.

“Okay, I’m going to need an explanation,” he said, catching his breath. “Why did you drag me out of the bath like that?”

The young man bowed low, trembling. “I-I deeply apologize! I thought—please forgive me!”

Sanji raised a brow, sitting upright now, aware of the cool air and his very exposed condition. Red tinged his cheeks as he scrambled for a towel, wrapping it tightly around himself. He stood with whatever grace he could muster, though his pride was clearly dampened.

“Just… tell me why,” Sanji repeated, more gently now.

Still bowed, the attendant said, “You were under the water so long—I feared you had passed out, sir! I didn’t mean to offend—I just acted out of concern.”

Sanji let out a long breath. His irritation fizzled into understanding. With a tired smile, he waved it off.

“It’s alright. But next time… maybe just tap me on the shoulder, yeah?”

The man straightened and bowed again, relieved. “Of course, Sanji-sama. Please enjoy the rest of your bath.” He exited quickly, red in the face.

Left standing there in a damp towel, Sanji scratched the back of his head.

“What the hell was that…?” he muttered.

He glanced back at the water. Still, despite the strange interruption, he felt better, clearer. A small moment of peace, even if it had been cut short.

Sanji rolled the odd bathhouse moment around in his mind as he gathered his things and made his way back to his room. He wore a simple dark yellow yukata, patterned with black posies trailing up the fabric like quiet shadows in moonlight.

The halls were dim and quiet. Most of the castle had surrendered to sleep by now. As he passed Luffy’s room again, he noticed a small figure stepping out into the hallway—Chopper. The two locked eyes, and the reindeer’s face lit up with relief.

“Hey, Sanji,” Chopper whispered, careful not to wake the rest of the sleeping castle.

Sanji couldn’t help himself. In one fluid motion, he scooped up the little doctor and nuzzled his cheek with affection.

“How’s my favorite doctor holding up, hm?” Chopper squirmed, his hooves pressing against Sanji’s chest in a half-hearted attempt to wriggle free.

“H-hey! Quit it, you big jerk!” he hissed—though there was no real protest behind it. These moments were common in the crew. Chopper's fake resistance, Sanji's quiet insistence. In truth, the doctor was exhausted, and Sanji could feel it in the way Chopper’s body sagged into the crook of his arm. Sanji walked calmly down the hallway, cradling him like treasure.

“Keeping those two knuckleheads alive is taking it out of me…” Chopper muttered, rubbing his tired eyes. “Yeah, Marco’s here, but he’s only one guy.”

“You’re only one guy, Chopper,” Sanji said, not meeting his eyes. His voice was soft.

“You need rest just as much as Luffy and that mosshead do. You’re not a miracle machine—though honestly, you’re damn close.”

The quiet footsteps echoed under open arches. They passed small gardens lit by starlight, the air cool and still. Above them, the stars shone brighter than Sanji could ever remember.

Chopper curled into Sanji’s side, and soon, a faint, soft snore gave him away. Sanji smiled to himself as he reached his room. He slid the door open with deft precision and closed it behind him with the same gentle care. Setting Chopper’s hat down beside the futon, he pulled back the covers and tucked him in with a tenderness. The doctor didn’t stir. His snores kept rhythm like a peaceful lullaby. Sanji lay down next to him, careful not to disturb the little doctor. For a moment, he just watched him. So brave. So strong. Taking care of everyone, without a second thought.

A yawn escaped his lips, unguarded. The bath had helped. His muscles felt looser, his thoughts quieter.

We’ll go back together, he thought, closing his eyes.

Once that idiot captain and that moss-brained swordsman are back on their feet, we’re all going to hit that bathhouse together.

As a crew.

Chapter 2: A Taste of Peace

Summary:

The Straw Hat's are finally all together and its nothing but smiles from here in this chapter.

The morning began like the one before, with soft light slipping through the open door and the world slow to wake, but something was different.

There was less pain this time.

The creak in his joints, that tight coil in his chest, the way his limbs had felt like they barely belonged to him—it was all still there, but dulled. Fading.

Sanji stared at the ceiling, letting the quiet stretch out. His thoughts drifted to the others, wondering how the crew had fared through the night, if everyone was safe, and if they were healing. A gentle, cold pressure pressed his wrist. It was steady. He looked down and found Chopper hunched over him, utterly focused, his small hooves carefully checking pulse and vitals. A lazy, fond smile crept across Sanji’s lips.

"Why the house call, Doc?" He muttered, eyes still half-lidded.

Chopper nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Ah! Sanji! You’re awake!" His ears perked up, cheeks coloring just slightly. "I—I just wanted to check in on you. I’ve been so focused on Luffy and Zoro lately… But everyone deserves equal care from their doctor!"

Sanji chuckled, sitting up slowly as Chopper set to work, placing the stethoscope against his back.
"Yes, Doctor Chopper."

Chopper listened intently, guiding him through deep breaths, murmuring something about quitting smoking—again. Then came the heart, then the bandages. His touch was gentle, efficient, and precise.

Sanji noticed, though, there were fewer bandages going back on than had come off.

"How am I doing, Doc?"

The question hung in the air longer than expected. Sanji turned his head to glance at Chopper, who now stood quietly, stethoscope in his grip, brows drawn.

"You’re healing… surprisingly fast," Chopper said slowly, his voice filled with hesitant curiosity. "Especially after what you went through with Queen. Your body was broken, Sanji. Most people wouldn’t have made it out of that fight—definitely not without months of recovery." He shook his head. "But you… you're almost back to normal. Better than normal, even."

He looked up at Sanji with wide, confused eyes. A hollow ache opened in Sanji’s chest, one he’d been trying to ignore since the battle ended. He knew what Chopper couldn’t quite articulate. Knew exactly what was clawing at the edges of this miracle recovery.

Damn my father.

The thought seared through his mind. His gaze drifted, unfocused, to some point far beyond the room. He thought of his mother, her sacrifice. The one force that had kept him from becoming a monster. The one reason he’d always believed he wasn’t like them.

But cracks were forming now. Deep ones. Splitting through the foundation of everything he believed about himself.

A single tear welled at the edge of his vision, clinging to his lashes. He blinked it away quickly, but not quickly enough—Chopper caught the motion. Without a word, the little reindeer gently patted his knee.

"You really might be the toughest one on the crew," Chopper said, soft but sincere. He didn’t mention the tear. Chopper had long learned that sometimes, the best kind of healing came in silence.

Sanji swallowed the lump in his throat and reached out, ruffling the top of Chopper’s head. The little doctor hadn’t even put his hat back on yet, clearly having rushed straight to work.

"Thanks, Chopper. That... means more than you know." Chopper’s smile widened as he reached for his hat and nestled it back where it belonged.

"Of course. Now, I should go check on the others. Want to come with me?"

Sanji stood slowly, rolling out his shoulder, testing the limits of his returning strength.
"Yeah," he said, his voice steady again. "Let’s go, Doc."

 

The days that followed passed slowly, but not without comfort. Sanji found himself drifting between quiet moments with Nami, tending wounds with Chopper, and long stretches spent simply watching over his captain and Zoro. The castle, for all its grandeur, offered pockets of peace—warm nooks in the library, sunlit balconies, and the ever-welcoming hum of the kitchen.

Though the castle staff insisted the savior of their land shouldn’t lift a finger, Sanji refused to sit idle. One night, he took over their massive kitchen, preparing a full meal for the waitstaff. Laughter and the clatter of dishes echoed off the stone walls, lifting spirits in a way only his cooking could.

He visited Robin and Franky often, checking in on the ship’s repairs and giving updates on Luffy and Zoro's conditions. The going was slow, but there was progress. Robin’s calm insight paired with Franky’s booming enthusiasm offered reassurance that things were truly healing.

Jimbei and Usopp returned on the sixth day, exhausted but proud from aiding the civilians displaced by Kaido’s reign. They brought back stories of rebuilding, hope, and homes being rekindled. Brook played soft songs as everyone continued to work throughout the waking hours.

Then, on the seventh day, Sanji heard it.

Laughter.

Genuine, loud, unmistakable.

It rang through the hall like the first rays of dawn after a long winter.

He rushed into the room just in time to see Luffy, eyes wide and filled with life, grinning as if no time had passed at all. He was already mid-sentence, talking a mile a minute, asking about food, friends, and how Zoro was still asleep.

Sanji froze in the doorway for a heartbeat, then smiled, the kind of smile that welled up from deep in his chest. He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched. Just breathed.

His captain was awake.

And the world, finally, felt right again.

 

It hadn’t been long since Zoro woke up. He’d made his way to Luffy’s room like it was nothing—bruises, stitches, and all—and the room had exploded into a whirlwind of food, noise, and bodies. Sanji watched it unfold in the warmth of the company of his crew.

Momonosuke had entered shortly after, towering now—twenty years older, a man in a boy’s place. His presence mirrored his father's: tall, composed, honorable. Luffy and Zoro marveled at him, all wide-eyed joy, right up until Momo tried to leap into Nami’s lap… and learned swiftly that his childlike youth could no longer be used to his advantage. The room roared with laughter. Music played. Yamato was already throwing together plans for the approaching festival, just waiting for Luffy to wake up to kick it all off. It was everything Sanji had wanted. Everything they’d fought for.

But as he scanned the room, his eyes locked with Zoro. That single glance lit something. Zoro stood slowly, letting his yukata fall to his waist. The move was unspoken but unmistakable. Sanji’s pulse kicked in his chest.

He moved across the room with purpose.

Zoro met him halfway, silent. In one fluid motion, he reached down and gathered his swords—drawing Enma and Kitetsu and placing Ichimonji firmly between his teeth. Sanji stopped a few paces in front of him, reaching for his newly acquired pack, and lit a cigarette, not breaking eye contact as the tip burned to life.

"Look, Zoro," he started, voice low, almost calm. "I need to talk to you. About what I said before."

He took a long drag, cheeks hollowing. He didn’t look away, not now. Not when Zoro was watching him like this. Zoro’s voice came through clenched teeth, low and gravelly behind the katana.

“I came all the way back from the depths of hell,” A pause. “Don’t disappoint me, Curly.”

Sanji chuckled—but there was tension in it.

“Zoro—”

Too late.

Even slowed by injury, the first swing came fast—Sanji barely had time to dodge, pivoting with a graceful twist. The next slash followed, Ichimonji flashing in a blur.

"Too slow," Sanji grinned, narrowly deflecting it with a twist of his leg. He dropped low into a wide stance, kicking off the floor to parry the next strike with the heel of his foot.

Blades clashed with hardened skin, sparks flying. “You still fight like a shitty cook,” Zoro growled.

“And you still fight like a drunk on stilts,” Sanji shot back. “I’ll remember that next time you’re begging for your favorite dish.”

They moved fast—too fast for anyone else in the room to notice or hear their quips. Their rhythm was practiced and dangerous, but not serious. Not really.

Between blows, Sanji leaned in close, grinning.

“Isn’t that right, Marimo?”

Zoro’s eye narrowed as Sanji’s fingers brushed under his chin, taunting and careful.

“Grilled Sea King,” Sanji murmured, breath hot, “on seasoned rice. With dried, salted seaweed. Perfect texture. Just the way you like it.”

Zoro’s shoulders twitched, the fury ebbing. His grip on his blades loosened.

“You manipulative bastard,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Sanji smirked. “You’re damn right.”

A long pause settled between them.

Then, wordlessly, Zoro removed Ichimonji from his mouth and sheathed all three blades.

“You could’ve just said that from the start,” he muttered.

Sanji took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Sanji closed the distance as Zoro adjusted his yukata, sliding his bandaged arms back into the sleeves. Sanji took a sharp drag, smoke curling past his lips as he watched the swordsman move, slower than usual, stiff from tight bandages.

The wrappings were intentional, no doubt Chopper’s work, but Zoro’s brow furrowed in frustration as he flexed against them, feeling the limits of his healing body.

Sanji stood before him, his hand resting lightly beneath his elbow, eyes tracking each subtle shift. He knew that body, every cut, every twitch of muscle, the way tension gathered and released in Zoro’s shoulders. Another breath burned hot in his throat as he watched in silence.

Zoro caught him staring, cigarette low between his teeth, clearly musing over him.

“Oi,” he said, narrowing his eye. “We got a problem, cook?”

Sanji didn’t flinch. “Me? Nah. Just noticing I’m faster than you now. Face it, Marimo—you're yesterday’s news.”

Zoro’s eye twitched. He reached for one of his swords, not all three, just one. A gesture. A warning.

“Want to test that theory?”

Sanji cracked his neck casually. “You’re the one who promised to kill me if I ever lost myself. Just checking if you’re still qualified.”

That landed harder than expected. Zoro’s smirk faltered, but only for a second. It returned with a grin that said, Fine, let's dance.

“Then let’s see what’s left in there of our cook.”

For once, Sanji didn’t bite back with a joke. His voice came low, almost uncertain.

“I don’t want to become them,” he muttered. “Not even a little.”

Zoro didn’t draw. Instead, he sheathed the blade with one clean motion.

“Then don’t.” His voice was rough but steady. “We’re pirates, not monsters. You’re stronger than that. Even if you are a pain in the ass.”

Sanji snorted, brushing ash off his sleeve. “Tch. You're the pain.”

“Keep talking. I’ll knock you out next time.”

“You can try, moss-head.”

They stood there for a moment longer, silence stretching between them—not tense, just unspoken. Something settled between their words that didn’t need saying.

Then, right on cue, Sanji’s stomach growled. Loudly.

Zoro arched an eyebrow. “Are you done throwing your tantrum, princess?”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “You’re still following me around. Must miss me or something.”

“I’m still the one carrying this crew,” Zoro muttered, his smirk returning.

“Not with that brain, you’re not.”

Sanji turned and started walking back toward the others—who, unsurprisingly, had paid no mind to their clash. To them, this was just routine. Background noise.

Zoro followed a few paces behind.

The kind of normal that meant things were healing.

Even if they’d never admit it aloud.

 

The sun sank slowly over Wano, casting the sky in streaks of amber and crimson. The castle buzzed with energy as word spread that Luffy and Zoro were back on their feet. Preparations for the festival kicked into high gear, and for the first time in weeks, the Straw Hats were all in one place—together.

Sanji found himself enjoying everything Wano had to offer. For once, he wasn’t cooking—just soaking it all in.

Brook played a soft tune in the corner, fingers drifting over his violin as he hummed along. Nami had roped a few castle residents into a card game, pretending to act innocent as she cleaned them out. Usopp cracked exaggerated stories and punchlines until Robin actually laughed out loud. Franky and Jinbe were locked in a debate about Wano’s lumber quality, half-shouting over cups of sake. Luffy, as always, was focused entirely on food—asking for seconds before finishing his first plate and thirds before the second was even halfway gone.

And Zoro... sat in the corner with one leg propped up, half-lidded gaze scanning the room. Saying little. Drinking slowly.

Sanji watched them all from a sun-warmed balcony just outside the hall, arms crossed as lantern light danced across polished floors and golden walls. For the first time in what felt like years, he didn’t feel the need to move.

It was a moment suspended in time—too rare not to take in.

Eventually, Sanji spoke up. “We should all hit the baths. The onsen I’ve been using the past few days? You guys are going to love it. And we can get cleaned up before the festival—as a crew.”

A resounding yes followed.

They left the hall together, laughter echoing through the corridors as they made their way to the private springs near the castle’s back gardens.

Sanji, already familiar with the layout, was first in, followed by Zoro and Usopp, then Brook, Jinbe, and a towering Momo—still adjusting to his adult frame. Nekomamushi showed up soon after, shouting his greetings with a grin. Luffy, Yamato, and Chopper tumbled in last—literally, launching into the water with a splash.

Sanji barely had time to register what he was witnessing soaring through the air before he was watching his vision tunnel, Chopper wailing about blood types and holding his head above the water.

When he opened his eyes, it was to the familiar chaos of his family.

Luffy floated in the middle of the bath like a noodle, grinning from ear to ear.

“Wahh, this is amazing! We should do this after every island!”

“After every victory,” Jinbe corrected with a chuckle. “Not every stop. Your skin would melt.”

Franky was practically melting already, arms spread wide as he sank chest-deep into the water. “This is... SUPER relaxing.”

Nami’s voice rang out from the other side of the bamboo divider separating the women’s bath.

“Stop listening!” Usopp shouted.

“I didn’t! You’re just loud,” she replied. “Honestly, it’s comforting. Everything’s starting to feel normal again.”

Sanji, now resting at the pool’s edge, finally let out a slow sigh as Chopper moved away to check on Luffy.

“This,” he murmured, “is what heaven feels like.”

“You say that every time,” Zoro muttered close to him, arms folded on the edge behind him, head tipped back. “Still not dead, are you?”

Sanji cracked one eye open. “Keep dreaming, moss-for-brains.”

Normal meant noise.

It meant Zoro and Sanji arguing over bath temperature and towel placement.

It meant Luffy trying to climb the divider and getting nailed by a sandal thrown with terrifying accuracy.

It meant Yamato enthusiastically challenging Usopp to a festival eating contest before they’d even left the water.

And it meant the occasional pause, moments where eyes met and held. Where Robin’s gaze softened. Where Jinbe closed his eyes and smiled. Where Zoro and Sanji sat, shoulder to shoulder, for just a moment… without needing to speak.

Steam curled lazily through the air. Outside, the first hints of lantern light flickered across the sky as the city below prepared for celebration.

But here, in the warmth of the bath, the Straw Hats rested—not as pirates.

Not as heroes.

Just as themselves.

Together.

 

As the sun vanished fully and the first stars blinked to life, the castle emptied out. Lanterns were already glowing down in the city. Fireworks would follow. The Wano Night Festival was beginning a new beginning for the life and residents of Wano, and the crew began to split off.

Some wanted drinks. Others wandered toward music, and others toward the games and food. The streets shimmered with light and laughter.

Sanji lingered.

He hadn't left the upper courtyard yet, arms resting on the low wooden railing, cigarette glowing faintly in the dark.

The warm buzz of the crowd didn’t reach him here.

Then—

“Oi.”

The voice was quiet but unmistakable.

Sanji didn’t turn around. “Let me guess. Moss-head.”

Zoro stepped up beside him. Close enough for the warmth of his shoulder to register. He didn’t lean on the railing. Just stood there, looking out over the rooftops.

Silence stretched between them, but not the awkward kind. The weight of it was the sort that only came from almost losing something important.

“I meant what I said,” Sanji said eventually. “Back in Onigashima. If I become like them, I need you to stop me.”

“I would’ve,” Zoro said without hesitation.

Sanji nodded. “I know.”

A pause.

“But I didn’t have to,” Zoro added.

That made Sanji glance at him. Zoro’s eye was steady, no mockery, no teasing. Just certainty.

“You fought your way through it. That wasn’t your old man’s strength. That was yours.”

Sanji stared for a moment. Then looked away quickly.

“Sentimental bastard,” he muttered.

Zoro smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

Another moment stretched between them; the festival lanterns were being lit below. Slowly and elegantly rising towards the night sky.

“I don't mean for you to carry it alone,” Sanji said. “That weight. That promise.”

Zoro finally leaned against the railing, exhaling slowly. “You didn’t. I just don't want to break something you trust me with.”

The two of them stood there a little longer, smoke curling into the cool night air. Below, the soft murmur of the festival carried upward laughter, music, distant fireworks, and an entire nation celebrating freedom.

Zoro turned, his gaze steady as Sanji’s remained fixed on the sea of movement below.

Then, quietly, without warning, Zoro reached out.

His hand brushed the side of Sanji’s face, fingers ghosting over the curtain of hair that partially obscured it. Sanji’s breath caught, but he didn’t pull away. The touch was calloused, strong... but uncharacteristically gentle.

Zoro tucked a strand of hair behind Sanji’s ear, revealing the subtle blush blooming beneath his cheekbones.

“We’ll figure it out,” Zoro said, voice low and certain. “And if it does come to that moment, if I have to keep that promise…”

His thumb traced the heat on Sanji’s cheek.

“I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you are still in there. Still my shitty cook at the end of the day.”

He didn’t look away. Not even for a second.

Sanji did. That kind of truth was hard to face. Zoro let his hand fall, but the warmth lingered.

Even now, with everything mostly healed, the thought of turning against his crew still haunted Sanji. The idea that one day he might hurt them not just in battle but in the trust he has built between his crewmates terrified him. But Zoro’s words, Zoro’s hands, Zoro’s presence… reminded him he wouldn’t be alone in that fight. Sanji stubbed out the forgotten cigarette in the ashtray beside the railing. Then he turned back toward Zoro fully, a crooked smile pulling at his lips.

“Let’s go enjoy the festival,” he said, his voice lighter now. “I’m sure they’ve got some halfway decent sake.”

He tugged playfully at Zoro’s sleeve, the motion casual and easy for once. Zoro didn’t reply. He just followed. No note of hesitation.

A quiet understanding passed between them as they stepped out of the castle and into the lantern-lit streets. The kind of understanding that came with promises—promises made in trust. And if push came to shove...

They’d be the first to hold each other to them.

Notes:

I am very excited to get to the next chapter so I can get the next star introduced. Then the real fun begins. Please let me know what you think, I love feedback!

Chapter 3: Where the Eyes Linger

Summary:

The Straw Hats get to party! Sanji get's a few quite moments between more intense ones. His attention being pulled in two very distinct directions.

It is a little longer chapter as I wanted to have some fun with the tobacco shop scene.

The bustling streets of Wano came alive, bright stalls lined the roads, vendors shouted over one another, and children wove between legs with prizes and sweets in hand. Sanji held the sleeve of Zoro's yukata, knowing just how well the man would have lost his way the second he stepped outside of the castle, likely not being seen for the rest of the night. Threading through the crowds with Zoro in tow, Sanji moved with his usual ease and grace in every step, legs lean and deceptively relaxed. Zoro, despite himself, watched the way Sanji moved, the flex and release of each step, strong, fluid, devastating.

"Look, Mommy, it's the swordsman! Look!" A small boy was pointing towards the duo as Zoro made a quick glance at him. Sanji caught the hesitation in his movement and slowed his pace. He turned back, offering a soft smile. One hand disappeared into the layers of his robe, fingers curling around the familiar weight of his lighter.

"I think he's talking about you, Marimo." His voice was light and playful.

He flipped open his pack of smokes and mouthed one. Lips gently nipping the edge. The sound he loved so much clanked, and the fire ignited. His practiced hands lit the smoke in one motion. Hollowed cheeks and smoky breath turned towards his companion.

"Yeah, well, the kid probably saw my wanted poster or something."

Sanji blew a stream of smoke directly at him. “Go say hi. You saved his country. Two seconds of your night could mean the world to him.” Sanji inhaled sharply on the quickly dwindling cigarette.

They both turned back toward the family. The boy was no older than five, his eyes wide with wonder. His mother knelt beside him, gently rubbing his chest to calm his excitement. The father returned just then, holding something behind his back—a prize from a nearby stall. A small wooden katana.

The mother caught his eye and nudged their son. With a bright, proud flourish, the father revealed the toy. The boy’s face lit up. Seconds later, he was hoisted into the air, laughing as he waved his new sword around like a true samurai.

Sanji's heart warmed at the sight of the loving interactions between mother and son. Father is proud and now hoisting his son above his head in celebration.

“He looks happy.”

Zoro gave the faintest nod. “Yeah.”

“You helped make that happen, you know.” Sanji took a slow drag. “I swear, sometimes I don’t think you realize the impact you have on the people around you.” Zoro didn’t answer, turning and continued toward the food stalls. Sanji followed, lazily puffing smoke as he caught up.

Then—a familiar voice cut through the noise.

Luffy.

Sanji’s head turned toward the sound, catching a glimpse of his captain standing atop a platform, holding up a cup, and shouting something that echoed through the square.

But something was off.

Sanji caught a flash of red near Luffy, hair wild, mouth tight. Kid.

The sharp corner of a newspaper, the WENP, was being shoved into Luffy’s hands. Sanji saw the shock ripple across his captain’s face. A cup slipped from Luffy’s grasp and hit the wood with a hollow thunk, forgotten.

Kid was holding a copy of WENP out towards Luffy as he looked confused at Kid's antics. Sanji saw shock spread across his captain's face as he dropped his cup and the news he was reading.

What could possibly make Luffy drop food?

Sanji stiffened. Cigarette clenched between his teeth. The sound around him dulled. His senses narrowed to one point: Luffy. His body moving before his mind finished catching up.

“What do you mean, Emperor? Me?” Luffy blinked at Kid. “This has got to be a mistake, Jaggy. C’mon—we’re supposed to be partying!”

The kid’s eyes burned with rage. “I don’t care what you think,” he growled. “I’m going to take you out before I lose my chance.”

Sanji stepped forward—but before he could make it far, Luffy’s arm shot out, wrapping around the furious redhead and pulling him into a lopsided embrace. Fireworks exploded above them, lighting the sky in bursts of color. The crowd roared in celebration.

Sanji let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, smiling around the broken cigarette in his mouth, pulling it free, and flicking it aside. He turned around, expecting Zoro to still be behind him.

Damn it, where did he go? He looked away for just a moment, and he was gone. "Ah, hell."

Sanji quickly riffled for his pack; the case was crumpled and smashed against his ribs, a clear sign of almost being out. Opening it, he found just one left. He mouthed it slowly, savoring the familiar weight of it between his lips. Spotting a small trash bin next to a festival game stall, he disposed of the crushed remnants and lit his last smoke, letting the burn calm the itch in his chest. The edge of his anxiety softened with every drag.

He headed in the direction he was meant to head with Zoro as he watched the crowd. Everyone rejoiced in the streets.

Where could Zoro have gone?

Quickly burning through his last smoke, he turned to a game stall and asked the attendant where he might acquire more cigarettes. A short exchange of directions later, Sanji was weaving through a quieter side street. Away from the food stalls and crowds, the road grew narrower and dimmer. A few paper lanterns swayed overhead, and down the path a dull glow marked a small, time-worn shop.

The scent hit him before he reached the entrance, rich and earthy, unmistakably tobacco.

The building looked older than those around it, clearly one that had endured the storms of Wano’s long struggle. He bowed his head slightly, ducking under the entrance curtain, and stepped inside. The air was warm and fragrant, thick with blended smoke and herbs. A few children ran past the shop with sparklers outside, their laughter fading into the distance.

Behind the high lacquered counter sat an elderly woman, elegant despite the lines of time etched into her face. Her hair was silver, pinned up with delicate jade combs that chimed softly when she moved. She held a newspaper in front of her, her eyes glancing toward Sanji before lowering back to the page.

Her gaze lingered on the WENP issue he recognized from earlier. Sanji’s eyes flicked to the counter beside her, where a fresh stack of wanted posters sat, one of them bearing his own face.

He took a step inside, his gaze roaming the shelves and barrels around the room. Every inch of space was filled with tins, containers, satchels, and tools, grinders, filters, bundles of dried leaves, and herbs. One copper tin sat open, and he leaned down, inhaling a deep breath of its contents. A rich, woody fragrance curled into his nose, grounding him more than the cigarette ever had.

“Do you know what kind of blend you prefer?” the woman asked, still reading behind the edge of her paper.

Sanji straightened. “Not really. I’ve always just... smoked whatever brand was on hand. Never thought to make my own.”

He offered a polite bow and walked to the counter.

“But I’m willing to give it a try.”

With a graceful snap, she folded the paper in half and set it aside. Her legs uncrossed as she stepped down from her stool, moving around the counter to face him.

“I’d be honored to help a Straw Hat,” she said. She wore a deep green kimono embroidered with a waterfall and trailing sakura petals. Her hair ornaments chimed again as she gestured to a low work table at the side of the shop.

“This way. Let’s make something just for you.”

Sanji followed, curiosity piqued. Something about this place—its peace, its age—felt like it had been waiting for him.

“Now,” Oroku said, looking Sanji over, “do you roll your own cigarettes? Unless you prefer a pipe? That would make things easier—we have all types here.”

She reached to the wall and pulled down a few examples, handing one to Sanji. “It’s a kiseru pipe. With those elegant hands of yours, you hold it well.”

Sanji let the pipe rest naturally between his ring and middle fingers—much like a cigarette—but as she noted, it did feel more refined. Balanced. He glanced at her with a small smile.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t catch your name, madam.”

“Oroku.”

“Well then, Oroku... a pleasure.”

The pipe settled against his fingers like it belonged there.

“It brings out the depth of the flavor,” she said, walking back to the counter. “The longer the pipe, the more time the smoke has to cool before it reaches you. All the taste. None of the burn.”

I like the bite, the burn.

She eyed his hands once more, then reached below the counter and pulled out a small, ornate box. Opening it, she revealed a pristine white pipe, long with a slight curve, resting on deep blue velvet. Its mouthpiece was gold—high karat, from the rich hue, not unlike his lighter.

She gently replaced the one in his hand with this masterpiece. “There. A perfect match. Elegance with elegance.”

Sanji turned it over in his fingers, admiring the weight and shape. It was lighter than he expected.

“Well, I don’t normally smoke from a pipe,” he said, cautious but intrigued. “But it’s a stunning piece.”

He moved to place it back in the velvet cradle, but Oroku waved a hand.

“That’s alright. Let’s find your blend anyway.”

They returned to the table of small containers. She opened drawers, slid out papers, and began to work. A pinch here, a sprinkle there—her movements were fluid, practiced. She paused, then reached for the copper tin Sanji had liked. From it, she plucked a few sprigs of herb, laid them on the paper, rolled it swiftly, sealing it with a quick dab of adhesive before holding the finished cigarette toward him.

 

Law threaded his way through the streets; his slightly taller frame gave him easy visibility over the bustling streets. Bepo followed in step as he knew exactly where he was going. He had scouted it out the day prior; it was busy then. Knowing people would be enjoying festival, he made the choice to come back the next day. The noise of the streets made its way to furrow his brows.

The quieter side street was more in line with Law's pace. His gaze swept down the alley as his face lit blue and then quickly yellow. Clearing the way mentally, he pushed forward.

 

Outside, the streets murmured quietly. A distant firework cracked above, then faded. A crash of voices sounding nearer the shop drew Sanji's attention.

“But—Captain, you know it’s not good for you! I mean, yeah, you don’t have to worry about things like this, but that’s not a reason to—” Bepo’s anxious voice broke the quiet.

“I understand the concern, Bepo.” A gravelly, unmistakably irritated voice followed. “But I don’t want a lecture tonight.”

Sanji’s brow lifted. That voice.

He turned just as the door curtain shifted, and Law ducked beneath it, Bepo trailing awkwardly behind. Law’s eyes adjusted quickly—then narrowed.

“Black Leg,” he said flatly.

Sanji leaned back, hands tucked into his sleeves. Law stepped inside with Kikoku at his shoulder, the familiar curve of the blade resting in its rightful place. The fabric is a deep, ink-black hue trimmed in muted silver. Draped over his shoulders was a finely tailored maroon haori, the silk catching the lantern light with a soft sheen.

Delicate embroidered flowers wound down the hem and sleeves—wisteria and peonies, stitched in gold and indigo thread, the designs flowing seamlessly from one bloom to the next. The haori’s cuffs were accented with long, thin tassels that swayed gently with his steps, adding a touch of quiet grandeur.

The colors contrasted sharply against Law’s pale skin, casting his amber eyes in an even more striking light beneath the shop's low lantern glow.

“Oh? Traffy, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a connoisseur of fine tobacco.” His smirk was casual. “You seem more the stress-induced chewer type.”

Law ignored the jab. His sharp amber gaze scanned the shop, then settled on Oroku.

“I heard this place was reputable,” he said stiffly. “Good flavor profiles. Balanced aromas.”

“Indeed it is,” Sanji said, turning back toward the shopkeeper. “Oroku was just showing me a custom blend she thinks might suit me.”

He offered her a charming smile. “May I?" She nodded, placing the rolled cigarette into his waiting hand.

Oroku watched as Sanji fished his lighter from the sleeve of his yukata. His fingers moved with practiced grace, but one wrong flick and this elegantly aged shop would become the most aromatic bonfire Wano had ever seen.

He tucked the cigarette between his lips, pulling a dry breath first. A sharp, leathery edge hit his tongue, surprising but not unpleasant. His brow rose. Carefully, both hands cupped the flame to his lips. With a clean clank, the lighter flared. Bring the tip to life.

The initial taste melted into something richer—deep, earthy tones grounded in spice, with a warm coffee finish that lingered on the back of his tongue. He held the smoke in his lungs, waiting for the harsh bite that never came. Smooth and sophisticated.

He exhaled slowly, thick smoke curling into the air like fine silk. It changed subtly in the open air—layered and rich. A satisfied smile slipped onto his lips.

Across the room, Law browsed the shelves, fingers ghosting over containers and tools like he was inspecting a surgical tray. His golden eyes flicked from blend to blend, the same quiet scrutiny he applied to everything. Nothing escaped his assessment.

"Captain, really!" Bepo fidgeted near the doorway, wringing his paws. "I’m sure Ikkaku or Shachi could make them for you! They’ve been practicing!"

Law glanced back at him with the faintest crease of his brow, a warning more than a scowl. Bepo froze. The hair on the back of his neck stood up like it always did when Law’s attention turned sharp.

“I—I’ll just wait outside,” the polar bear muttered, stepping out into the night in a flurry of nervous energy.

Law's gaze returned to the display. The smoke from Sanji’s blend now gently perfumed the air. Familiar notes teased his senses. He picked up a copper tin, took a sniff, then immediately recoiled and snapped it shut.

Across the shop, Sanji thumbed the edge of his cigarette thoughtfully, the other hand cradling his elbow in casual contemplation. “Wow, Oroku. This is... absolutely delectable.”

Oroku’s eyes gleamed at the compliment. “It’s close to what I envisioned for you,” she said. “Though not perfect yet.”

“Hmm.” Sanji took another drag, eyes narrowing slightly as the aftertaste rolled in. “There’s a smooth coffee flavor at the end. But I’m thinking... something sharper for the finish. Less mellow, more bite.”

She smiled, already pulling the ashtray toward him. “Of course. I’ll take ‘close’ as a win. Let’s fine-tune it.”

Sanji tapped out the end with care and handed the stub over. Oroku caught Law’s patient silhouette in her periphery. Her gaze found his, and she gave a courteous nod.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

Law returned the gesture with a simple dip of his head, watching smoke gather near the dark-stained ceiling. Stained wood, thick air, and centuries of stories layered in these walls.

Oroku shuffled behind the counter, lifting several containers with practiced care. Law’s sharp gaze followed her movements, curiosity simmering beneath his composed exterior. Sanji approached with his usual effortless grace, like a well-trained dancer. Even a week into recovery, he moved as though every motion had meaning. He knew the effect he had when he moved like that.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

Law’s body didn’t react, but his eyes betrayed him. The smooth saunter of the cook couldn’t be ignored.

Sanji leaned forward on the counter, intrigued, as five... ten... fifteen small containers clinked onto the wooden surface. Oroku slid a compact worktable toward her, worn tools rolling across the top, each fighting for space as they settled into familiar grooves.

Law stepped closer without a word, drawn in by the precision of her hands. It was clear why her business had lasted through Wano’s turmoil—there was craftsmanship in her process, and even more in her attention to people.

Now shoulder to shoulder, the two men watched her work. Oroku’s fingers moved faster than thought—pinches, sprinkles, and tiny sprigs added like magic. A flick of the wrist, and the blend was rolled. Without hesitation, she handed the finished cigarette to Sanji.

With what little was left of the blend, she reached into her own sleeve and pulled out a slender pipe, packed it carefully, and struck a match with practiced ease.

Sanji mirrored her. His lighter flicked open with a familiar sound, the flame licking the edge of the cigarette.

He inhaled.

The aroma bloomed—rich, earthy tones grounded in spice. Smooth, full-bodied. Then, just at the tail end, a sharp bite of clove snapped through the haze. Law watched it all unfold. The slow rise of smoke, the slight narrowing of Sanji’s eyes. The way he exhaled was controlled and deliberate.

And the smell hit Law like a gut punch.

That scent.

He knew it.

He’d caught it only twice before. Once in a distant island port and once inside the Marine HQ, the day he secured his title as Warlord. A memory that had faded... until now. That same aroma, subtle but unforgettable, now curled in the air around Sanji.

It hit him again. Stronger now.

His eyes remained fixed on the curve of smoke as it danced through the air. Just beneath the fabric of his maroon jacket, tension simmered in his chest. He’d first smelled it years ago, walking through the lower quarters of Spider Miles. He remembered it because it was warm. Safe. Something he couldn’t afford to feel back then.

It wasn’t just the tobacco. It was the way Sanji moved when he smoked, the practiced ease of it, the intimacy of the ritual. It wasn’t just about flavor; it was about control. About grounding.

Sanji made it look effortless.

He hated that he was pulled towards Sanji more than he cared to admit.

The thoughts of memories long locked away.

He hated that he could not tell if it was envy or something softer.

Sanji exhaled at the same time as Oroku, their breaths mingling like incense offerings to the gods.

“Ahhh... yeah, that’s it,” Sanji sighed, eyes fluttering. “You really outdid yourself, Oroku.” He admired the cigarette. Another long drag. "How much do I owe you?" Fireworks lit up the sky beyond the shop, a distant pop of color over rooftops.

“I never disappoint,” Oroku replied with a small smile, pipe balanced gracefully between her fingers.

Law stepped back slightly as the transaction took on a different shape—more personal now, less business. Oroku lifted a hand toward him without even glancing his way, pipe balanced easily in the other.

“For a man who did what you did for my country, your money is no good here, Straw Hat. How much would you like?”

Sanji blinked once. She was serious. The steady conviction in her gaze told him so. He leaned forward over the counter, casual and slow, letting his hands rest just so to frame his chest and shoulders. The loose fall of his yukata hinted at the lean muscle beneath, and the soft lamplight caught the edge of a smirk on his lips.

“Well now, I’ve never been treated to such a gracious offer.” His voice lowered to that familiar purr. “Surely there’s something I can do for such a fine connoisseur of taste and beauty?”

Oroku didn’t budge, only smiled back. “Let me do this one thing for a man who clearly knows how to savor what matters.” Sanji took another drag, slow and deliberate. The smoke curled from the corner of his mouth.

“I do have a habit of appreciating things properly,” he murmured, with a dangerous tilt of his smile. “Taking time. Savoring. Giving myself over completely.” Their eyes locked, heat sparking in the still air between them.

Law, off to the side, stiffened.

He couldn’t explain the tightness that bloomed in his chest. Was it the way Sanji moved, the way his back arched slightly over the counter, or the way his voice dipped and pulled his attention? The well-tailored fit of his yukata revealed the curve of his waist, the kind of detail Law’s mind cataloged without permission.

Oroku’s smile widened by the faintest fraction. She took a drag from her pipe and exhaled through her nose—composed, like someone who’d danced this dance before and knew the steps better than most.

Sanji mirrored her poise, fingers fanned along the counter, cigarette resting between two elegant fingers. Smoke framed his face like a soft veil, and his eyes—half-lidded and glowing a clear blue under the lantern light—held hers as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

“You strike me as a man who knows patience,” Oroku said, tilting her head ever so slightly. “That’s rare. Especially in someone who can command a room with nothing but his presence.”

Sanji chuckled low in his throat. “You flatter me, Oroku-san. But I only command the kitchens. Everything else… I’m just a student.”

“Mm.” She took another sip of smoke, eyes still locked on his. “Then you learn fast.”

What the hell am I watching right now?

Law could barely hear them now—their voices were low, dipped in smoke and velvet—but he could feel the weight of every word. The air between them had thickened, slow-burning like one of those incense coils meant to smolder all night.

Sanji laughed again. Not loud, soft—like he’d just been told a secret.

Oroku leaned forward this time, resting one elbow gently on the counter. “A refined palate. Graceful hands. And you smoke like someone who doesn’t rush through things just to get to the end.” Her voice lowered a hair more, as if she were threading something through the moment. “I can see why people follow you.”

Sanji tilted his head, genuinely intrigued, the line of his smile sharpening. “Funny. I was about to say the same to you.”

Law's grip on Kikoku tightened as heat crept towards his neck. The words lacquered in desire crept through his body without his behest.

“I didn’t realize you were auditioning for the fan club,” he muttered, eyes narrowed.

That subtle scowl that pulled at Law's lips when he was irritated was etched across his expression.

Eyeing Law from the corner of his vision, Sanji smirked like he’d won something.

“Oh? Jealous, Traffy?” Oroku chuckled, and the moment cracked—just a little.

Oroku seemed to sense the invisible thread strung tight between the two men. With a knowing look, she gave Sanji a gentle nod and slipped back into her work.

“I’ll get to work on these, Straw Hat,” she said, reaching for her long tray of papers and tools. “Can’t have you running out when the mood strikes.”

Sanji gave her a charming wink. “You’re an angel, Oroku-san.”

Without missing a beat, she began her practiced work—fingers deft and sure, the scrape of dried leaf against bamboo paper a soft rhythm under the low hum of lantern light. Her presence faded into the background, but her elegance remained, like a quiet thread in the fabric of the room.

Sanji turned back toward Law, still holding the half-burned cigarette between his fingers. He took a long drag, the cherry glowing briefly, then flicked the ash neatly into a small tin dish.

“Are you going to keep sulking, or do you want to talk like grown-ups?” he asked, his voice teasing.

Law didn’t take the bait, not all the way. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, regarding Sanji with that guarded intensity that never seemed to leave him.

“I’m just surprised,” Law muttered, “that you can flirt like that with half the country and still walk around like you don’t leave wreckage in your wake.”

Sanji arched an eyebrow. “Wreckage? Flirting doesn’t mean promising. I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“That’s the problem.” Law’s voice dropped low, serious now. “You mean it all. The warmth. The charm. You give it away like you’ve got an endless supply.”

Sanji’s smirk faded slightly. Not gone—just tempered. Like he’d stepped into different weather.

“I’ve learned not to hold back the good parts of myself,” he said. “Too many people in this world go cold before they get a chance to be soft. If I can give someone a reason to smile—hell, even just for a moment—why shouldn’t I?”

Law stared at him for a long moment. Eyes locked for the first time. “And what happens when someone wants more than just a moment?”

The air thickened again, smoke curling between them in slow, deliberate spirals.

Sanji took his time responding, edging the tension before the captain, “Then they’ll have to keep up.”

Oroku slid a lacquered box across the counter. An elegant, dark wood piece with brass inlays and a neat little latch. “You won’t find better outside of this room,” with the matching case of the pipe from earlier.

Sanji gave her a slow, genuine bow. “You’re too good to me.”

Law watched the exchange, lips pressed thin. Then, he was speaking before his mind caught up, asking, “Can you roll one more box?”

Sanji’s eyebrow twitched up. “Didn’t take you for the indulgent type, Trafalgar.”

“I’m not.” Law’s tone was clipped. “But it’s rare to find something worth savoring.”

Oroku, smiling to herself, was already working again.

“Are you always this tightly wound?” Sanji asked, voice like honey and gravel.

Law didn’t flinch. “Are you always this loose with your intentions?”

Sanji let out a short breath of amusement. “You say that like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s the part that gets me,” Law muttered. “You do.” The words landed heavier than either of them expected.

Oroku quietly slid the lacquered box across the counter. “A perfect box of smokes, gentlemen. Take them and go before you smother each other in tension and smoke."

Sanji offered her a sly smile. “You’ve got sharp eyes, Oroku-san.”

“Years of selling vice to desperate men,” she replied coolly, and turned to tidy the tools without another word. Law pocketed the box in his jacket pocket and followed him out into the street without a word, the two men slipping through the curtain into the warm night.

Outside, the street was quieter like before—slightly removed from the center of the festival, it felt like the whole world had taken a breath here. Paper lanterns swung gently overhead. The air was sweet with the smell of roasted sugar and incense. Fireworks burst in the distance, casting them in brief, shifting colors. The cobbled street was relatively quiet here—save for one anxious polar bear pacing in a tight circle just outside the shop.

“Bepo,” Law muttered under his breath.

Bepo was right where they left him—pacing anxiously with his arms folded. He perked up immediately at the sound of their footsteps. “Captain! You were in there for so long! I thought maybe you got cursed or... tricked into a smoke cult or something!”

Law sighed, already rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “No one's tricking me into something like that, Bepo. Calm down.”

Sanji took a long drag from his freshly lit roll, exhaling slow smoke into the air. “You should’ve stayed. The place was nice. Smelled better than your usual ship quarters too,” glancing sideways at Law.

Law, for his part, said nothing either—his jaw set, eyes narrowed, but his posture relaxed. It was the same unreadable stance he always wore, but his chest held onto the tightness of the cooing from Sanji just moments ago.

Sanji rocked slightly on his heels. “Guess it’s good you were still around, Bepo. Might’ve had to start charging rent with how long your captain was hanging around.”

Bepo chuckled awkwardly. “He doesn’t usually… linger.”

Law exhaled sharply through his nose. “I was there for the smokes. That’s all.”

Sanji turned, a slow grin curling at the corners of his lips. “Sure.”

He looked up slightly at the Heart Pirates' captain, eyes drifting over the man’s frame. Slender, composed, meticulously put together. Law’s hands, elegant but calloused, rested against his swords with a surgeon’s subtlety. His skin looked almost translucent under the soft lantern light, jaw tight, sharp features drawn tighter by tension he didn’t bother to hide.

And those amber eyes—ringed with shadows—but a precision burned through his critical gaze.

What’s crawling around in that mind of yours, Trafalgar?

The tension between them pulsed again. Sanji could feel the line and knew just where to pull to make it hum without snapping.

“Let’s go, Bepo,” Law said curtly, brushing past without so much as a glance.

His coat stirred the air, and for the briefest moment, Sanji caught the lingering scent of his own cigarette blend clinging to Law’s coat.

Bepo turned and spoke once more, “Thanks for not lighting anything on fire.”

Law hesitated. Just for a moment—
Memories flickered: burning feathers, laughter too loud, and the sharp, warm scent of tobacco that clung around the feeling of safety and love.
The smoke Sanji left behind...
It smelled almost like His.

Sanji lifted two fingers in a casual wave. “No promises next time.”

And just like that, they disappeared into the crowd—Law’s figure drawn back into the tide of color and light, with Bepo trailing just behind. Sanji stood there a moment longer, watching the crowd swell and shift. The cigarette burned low between his fingers, the warmth in his chest not entirely from the smoke.

The lantern-lit streets of Wano flickered gold as Law and Bepo wandered away from the shop, the distant music of shamisen and drums trailing behind them. Fireworks still burst overhead, scattering bright color across the stone-paved roads, but Law barely noticed. He walked in silence, hand steady on Kikoku, grounding him, the weight of something unspoken hanging on tight to his chest.

Bepo padded beside him quietly, carrying a skewer of grilled mochi balls in one paw, chewing contentedly. He was never one to let tension linger longer than necessary; he knew Law his whole life, practically. And always hated seeing him like this, when they were supposed to be enjoying themselves.

“Captain, are you ok?” Bepo said between bites, “or are you stewing silently for the rest of the night?”

Law’s mouth twitched. He didn’t answer at first, just kept walking, gaze fixed ahead. “I’m fine.” Law felt the weight of the box of handcrafted tobacco nestled against his chest.

Bepo gave a soft huff, licking a bit of sauce from his fur. “You were fine before we walked into that shop, too. Then suddenly you’re two shades quieter.”

A moment passed.

“He’s... loud,” Law said eventually, almost to himself. Law’s brows pulled together. “He makes it look easy.” His voice lowered. “And that shopkeeper. It was like watching two people dance, and only they knew the steps.”

They walked a little longer. The laughter of children echoed from a nearby alley, firelight casting long shadows over the old wooden buildings. Law naturally always wanted to go back to his crew, to the Polar Tang, claw into his quarters, under his many layers of blankets, and dissect the interaction apart. Layer by layer.

Stopping, he looked up towards the sky when a new series of fireworks exploded, spilling color over them once more. “You ever think,” Law said, voice low, “that we spend so much time surviving we forget how to... be in moments like this?” Law stared, more asking the question to himself.

Bepo didn’t answer right away. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and looked down at his captain with a soft expression.

“That’s why you noticed him,” he said. “People like Sanji… they don’t forget how to live. Even after all this. They don’t let the worst of it hollow them out.” Law didn’t reply. He just stared at the roaring explosions of the night sky, eyes slightly unfocused. Smoke from the shop still lingered faintly on his coat, clinging to the edge of his senses, brushing long-locked-away feelings.

He didn’t know what it meant.

But it had left a mark.

 

Sanji wandered the streets, rubbing his lips with the fresh blend between his fingers.

That captain… always so tense. I wonder when the last time he actually let those walls down.

He pressed his fingertips to his lips again, chasing the sensation that still hummed beneath his skin. A quiet smile tugged at his mouth as he looked out at the crowds. All these people—laughing, embracing, alive. It was hard to deny the weight of this moment.

Then he felt it—a shiver up his spine. Too strong. Haki.

His body reacted before the thought finished forming. He kicked off the cobblestone and soared into the air, stepping lightly along the sky as he angled toward the city’s edge. Other figures were already in motion. Looking out towards the vast space outside of the walls of the capital, a large pink dragon snaked in the air.

Momo?

He moved faster.

The swell of presence, the burn of Haki still lingering in the air like lightning after a storm—he landed softly, his feet brushing against the grass of the distant hilltop. There, against the outline of Wano's craggy ridges, Luffy stood. That unmistakable hat dangling from his neck.

Zoro stood beside him already. “Nice of you to catch up,” Zoro muttered with a smirk.

“Ah, shut it. What was that?” Sanji asked, settling beside Luffy. Zoro followed, standing on the other side. They watched their captain sit and followed suit.

Luffy said nothing at first, his eyes scanning the horizon. The fading tension in the air still sparked at Sanji’s nerves. He could taste it.

“I’m not sure,” Luffy finally said. “But… an old friend came to mind.”

Then he smiled. One of those smiles—the wide, pure ones. He reached up and placed the straw hat atop his head again. His hand lingered there. And in that stillness, Sanji and Zoro knew.

Just then, a voice broke through the air, light but sure.
“Hey, Luffy! You know, Ace would be real proud of you.”

Marco soared overhead, wings stretched, gliding toward the distant cliffs near the waterfall entrance to Wano. Luffy beamed wider than his face should allow. “Shi shi shi… yeah. I hope so.” A breath escaped him, warm and content.

Sanji watched the sky where Marco had disappeared, his thoughts trailing in another direction. Brothers. Family. Loss. And change.

There was still a tightness in his chest, an ever-present pressure he hadn’t named aloud yet. His body… it was still changing. Still reshaping itself in the shadow of his father’s legacy. He could feel it in the strength that shouldn’t be there, in the way wounds healed too fast.

But that’s not the reason he lived.

He looked at Luffy. That idiot captain who always trusted him.
Even when he fought back on Whole Cake Island.
Even when he turned his back on the crew in Zou.

Luffy had invited him aboard before he’d even tasted his food. And when he did—when Sanji told him about the All Blue—Luffy had believed in it. Believed in him.

He’d never let that trust falter.

But he had to make sure. He had to know he wouldn’t become the monster his father claimed he was born to be. Not when this crew—this family—needed him.

Tomorrow, he would talk to Chopper.
Tomorrow, he’d see if there was a way to stop whatever was happening.

But tonight…

Tonight, everything was okay.

He looked up as the stars shimmered over the land they’d fought to free.

“I’m starving!” Luffy suddenly shouted, standing up and slingshotting himself back toward the festival as Momo was returning in dragon form, apparently having resolved some… tree-man situation.

The Straw Hat's captain vanished in the distance, leaving his wings alone once again. Zoro and Sanji exchanged a look. They didn’t need to say anything. They rarely needed to. Years of shared battles, bruises, respect... trust unspoken and unwavering. Here, at the edge of the world, framed in starlight and the laughter of a country reborn, they sat side by side. Sanji stood, thumbing open his new cigarette case and slipping one between his lips. He glanced down at Zoro, catching his eye just as the familiar clank of his lighter echoed in the quiet. The tip sparked to life.

“Those new?” Zoro asked, rising to his feet. He took a step closer, resting a hand on his sword, his stance relaxed but deliberate. “They smell different from anything you’ve smoked before.”

Sanji arched a brow, watching the swordsman approach. “You noticed.” He drew a long inhale, cheeks hollowing under the pull. Zoro didn’t answer at first. He stood quietly beside him, gaze fixed on the distance. And then:

“I always notice.” His voice was low. “Everything about you.”

He leaned in slightly, close enough to catch the full weight of the scent curling off the cigarette. There was something softer in the way he looked at Sanji now. His eyes traced more than just the lines of his form; his attention lingered in the spaces between gestures, the subtleties most wouldn’t bother to catch. Sanji held the cigarette differently tonight. Cradling it between his middle and forefinger, balancing it with his thumb, wrist tilted up, as though the thing were delicate. Zoro watched the motion. Watched the way Sanji’s hands moved with such control—untouched by battle and fastidiously cared for.

Zoro had always hated the scented oils Sanji used to keep his hands so soft.

But the results?

Hard to argue.

Sanji knew he was being admired. He reveled in it, leaned into it. Shifted his weight slightly toward Zoro. Every move was intentional. He knew Zoro watched his hands when he smoked. When he fought. When he cooked.

Especially when he cooked.

The way he wielded a blade, not to harm, but to create, held Zoro transfixed. Precision. Control. It was like the edge of the knife was just an extension of his fingers. Not too dissimilar to his own handling of his blades.

Sometimes, when the kitchen was quiet and everyone else had drifted off to sleep, Zoro would linger just to watch him work.

His face softened, barely—but enough for Sanji to catch it.

And Sanji loved it.

The moment stretched between them like a held breath. Until Momo swept overhead, the rush of cold air tugging at their clothes, threatening to snuff the ember.

“We should get back,” Sanji said quietly, reigniting the tip between his lips with practiced ease. “They’re probably missing us.” He didn’t move right away.

Zoro reached out suddenly, catching Sanji’s free hand. Sanji froze. He didn’t look back, just let the warmth of the touch settle over his skin.

“Cook,” Zoro said. His voice was lower than usual. “I can’t do this without you.”

Sanji closed his eyes, a smile blooming across his lips. He turned slowly. He stepped into Zoro’s space, bringing the scarred, calloused hand to his face. The contrast was stark. Battle-worn knuckles against his well-manicured skin.

“I know,” Sanji whispered.

Then, with infinite care, he brushed his lips across Zoro’s knuckles, a vow without words.

He let the hand go, smiled once more, and turned away.

Without another word, Sanji kicked off into the air toward the capital, cigarette tucked between his lips. He bit down a little too hard in the rush of heat that rose in his chest, nearly snapping it. His whole body thrummed with a slow-burning flush that spread from his throat to his chest.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t dare. He knew Zoro could have stopped him. Maybe that was the thrill of it. The chase was too good to end just yet.

 

 

Zoro didn’t move.

The warmth of Sanji’s kiss still lingered on his hand like a burn. He stared after the cook’s retreating form, the gentle drift of smoke trailing behind him as he vanished into the lantern-lit distance. The flutter of his yukata. The easy grace of his movement. The way he never once looked back.

"Tch."

Show-off

Zoro stood alone on the hillside, the sounds of the festival rising in waves behind him—laughter, music, the distant thunder of fireworks. But none of it touched him. His gaze stayed fixed on that point where Sanji had disappeared.

The bastard always knew how to make an exit.

Zoro exhaled through his nose, slow and deep. His hand clenched briefly at his side before settling again on the hilts of his swords. The place where his comfort lived. His anchor. But tonight, it didn’t feel like enough. He glanced down at the hand Sanji had touched. It was stupid, maybe, to feel anything about it. They fought. They bickered. They tore into each other every chance they got. And yet—

That tenderness…

It meant something more than Zoro was ready to admit out loud, maybe even to himself. He tilted his head back, eyes drifting skyward, catching the tail end of a firework as it bloomed and fizzled out. A brief flare in the dark—beautiful, fleeting, gone before it could be grasped.

Zoro's mouth quirked, just a little.

He turned, finally, and started down the slope toward the city below. Toward the noise, the firelight, and the warm pulse of life that waited in Wano’s streets.

They still had time. And Zoro wasn’t done chasing.

 

 

Sanji landed outside the castle entrance, where a few people in shocked awe witnessed him land and head inside. Sanji moved through the halls alone, the last trails of smoke curling from the cigarette tucked loosely between his lips. The warm lantern lights guided his way as he headed back to his room to turn in. His mind raced over everything that had happened in the last week.

He reached the door, slipped in, and closed it with a memorable click. Peeling off the yukata, he draped it neatly across the back of a chair. He moved slowly, deliberately; he snuffed out the nearly spent cigarette. Every motion filled with a quiet energy that buzzed beneath his skin. His was sensitive from the night air. But even more so between the intimate and tense conversations between Zoro and Law. He dragged his hand over his now bare skin in the warm room. Sliding a hand down his chest, his body hypersensitive after a day of heated conversations.

Returning to the discarded garment, he removed the two cases gifted to him. He placed the pipe on the table next to the chair and bent down to set the cigarettes 'next to his futon with his lighter. He stood naked in the middle of the room, one hand resting between his belly button and the golden curls that trailed down between his legs, well manicured and soft. A pressure had been building there all night. The bath, the intimate meeting with Zoro, the disgruntled captain, lovely Oroku, and again that moss-head.

He slid his hand lower, cupping his balls as his cock twitched quickly, not needing a whole lot of persuasion. The state in which he found himself left him swimming in his own thoughts. Bending down, he pushed the spring to pop open the case and lifted the cigarette and lighter, one in each hand. Pressed the stark white roll between his lips. He breathed in deeply. The taste curled into his senses like a lover’s touch.

Clank lit the fire, and he tossed the lighter to the futon below him. One hand on the burning cigarette as he slowly pushed his aching cock through his hand. Sanji teased as he tilted his head back. Fingers pressed below the rim of his head, pulling the tension out of him as he began to rock his hips forward. Letting his other hand card through his hair, pulling it gently. Low pants escaped between his lips that clung to the cigarette.

Sanji's mind flashed to the warmth of the closeness of Zoro, a fire always hot to the touch.

His pace on his cock quickened.

The way he watched Zoro flex in strain under his bandages, wondering what his muscles would look like if he were here with him now.

He removed the cigarette from his mouth as his body trembled from the building pressure. He slid his index finger over the slit where precum had been building. He shivered as the slick aided in his need for release.

He closed his eyes, picturing the way Zoro walked, and his shoulders tensed in moments of closeness.

He was crashing towards his release a lot sooner than he thought. He clenched his jaw as he held his continued burning cigarette in his hand. The smell, the shop, Law.

His honey amber eyes. The way he silently watched Sanji, the captain was handsome in his own silent, brooding way. But it was undeniable he was gorgeous. Sanji curled his toes, and he remembered the closeness of Law. Had he ever been that close to him before? Smoke hitting his nerves again, he held the smoke in his lungs; the last breath quivered in him as his blend filled the room, and words played in his mind.

"What if someone wants more than a moment?" He did not notice it before, but there was want under that scowl. An almost pleading nature. Hand quick as hips quickly snapped forward, mind lingering on the amber eyes of the captain of the Heart Pirates.

As he crashed over his release, he let the smoke quivering in his lungs go, toes curled as he let his cum hit the tatami mats below. A soft moan as his body trembled with the thought of Law. He fell to his knees, all sense left him as he slowly drew out his orgasm. Biting the bottom of his lip to stifle any moans if he was indeed not alone in this moment.

He leaned back on his haunches, cock twitching from the overwhelming orgasm. Ash falling to his chin, heavy breath quickly eating away at the cigarette. He slowed his breath, recovering quickly. He looked around and noticed bath towels laid in a neat stack. Cleaning up after himself. His body and mind finally clear the fog of lust that had been stifling any real thought that night.

He wiped his brow and sank onto his futon, letting his release wash over him. The image of those intense honey-amber eyes flickered in his mind once more. He closed his eyes and settled into the covers. A good night's rest would do him well, preparing him for whatever happened next.

The next island, his captain raising up in the world once more, his crewmates safety, his body's continued flux beneath his skin.

As he slipped into unconsciousness, the familiar scent of his blend lingered, and a teasing pressure began to build once more—thoughts of the maroon jacket and that fuzzy hat walking away from him.

Notes:

I love the trauma boy dynamic between Sanji and Law so much. I am writing the next chapter now, as I can not get this brain rot to stop, someone please help.

Or keep reading and spiral with me UwU, until next chapter! Thank you for reading.

Chapter 4: The Kindness They Couldn’t Engineer

Summary:

Law gets to the bottom of what is really going on with Sanji.

The cold sweat ripped him from sleep. Sanji shot upright, breath ragged, heart hammering in his chest. The nightmare clung to him, a fog of terror pressing behind his eyes as he buried his face into his palms, knees drawn up like a shield.

His fingers fumbled across the floor until they found the familiar edge of the cigarette case. He popped the latch and slid one into his grasp with trembling precision. The lighter—cold metal brushing his thigh—clicked on with a few shaky flicks. The tiny ember flared, casting light across the haunted lines of his face.

The taste steadied him, just enough to remember where he was. But the memories hit hard behind his eyelids. The cold of the metal cage around his head. The clamps. The pain. Nights stripped of anything but silence and agony. He dragged his hand back through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes and revealing the curled mark of his lineage.

He lay back eventually, arm draped over his eyes, the smoke curling toward the wooden beams above. One cigarette. Then another. And another. Dawn came slowly, and still the wrongness buzzed beneath his skin, low and persistent.

He finally stood, dressed in a more casual outfit, a button-down shirt of a light blue hue, and long slacks he felt the most comfortable in, pausing only at the small tobacco case Oroku had given him. He tucked it against his chest; the lighter followed, nestled close like a shield.

He needed answers.

He needed answers now.

 

He checked the infirmary first. Empty.

Then Chopper’s room. Luffy’s room. Even Zoro’s. Nothing.

He was starting to spiral when Nami intercepted him on the way down to the harbor.

"Why do you need Chopper?" She asked, arms crossing as she stepped into his path, gaze sharp. One brow arched higher than the other—never a good sign.

"I just..." he hesitated. "Feeling a little sick after last night. Thought he might have a quick cure-all."

Not untrue. Just... not the whole truth.

Nami squinted. The flicker of his eyes told her everything she needed to know, and she wasn’t buying it. “Right.”

Sanji’s hand drifted toward his cigarettes. He didn’t light one—yet—but the exhaustion in his posture said enough.

“I saw him last on the Sunny,” she said at last, moving aside. “We’re gathering the last of the supplies before we shove off. Hopefully he can cure that bad attitude while he’s at it.”

Sanji gave her a tired nod. “Always a pleasure, Nami-swan.”

 

He headed down to the docks, each step quickened by the creeping tension in his chest. His eyes scanned the horizon, locking immediately on Sunny—her lion’s face proud as ever. But it wasn’t the only familiar ship docked that morning.

Then, nestled in among the more familiar vessels, was a jagged monstrosity of a ship. A mass of iron and sharp edges, its hull looked as if it had been stitched together from salvaged metal and bad intentions. Clearly, kids. The lack of refinement was signature—its asymmetry and brute aesthetic mirrored its captain’s temperament: quick to act, slow to care, and always leaning into chaos. Even anchored, it looked ready to bite.

Tucked beside the jagged iron beast that was Kid’s ship and the warmth of the Thousand Sunny, the Polar Tang rested like a ghost between two storms. Its bright yellow hull gleamed under the Wano sunlight, sleek and seamless—no wasted lines, no unnecessary flair. Built for precision and stealth, the submarine was more machine than vessel, a surgical instrument cutting cleanly through the chaos of the seas.

Black reinforced plating curved around its midsection, sectioned off with steel rivets that hinted at pressure resistance far beyond any normal ship. The Heart Pirates’ jolly roger, stark and minimalist, stood proudly on its tower, a dark contrast to the otherwise clinical design. It had no figurehead, no ornamentation—just quiet menace, sleek efficiency.

From the outside, it seemed closed-off, secretive—much like its captain. But if one looked closely, just beneath the conning tower, windows lined the control deck with reinforced glass, offering just the faintest view inside: clean control panels, dim ambient lighting, and a command center that pulsed like the heart of a living thing.

It wasn’t just a ship. It was an extension of Law himself—efficient, enigmatic, and deadly in the right hands.

He climbed the ramp to the Sunny’s deck, where Franky’s laughter exploded across the harbor. The cyborg was showing off some new Coo-de-Burst upgrade to Usopp, who looked both amazed and vaguely terrified.

Sanji kept walking, glancing toward the kitchen—but his attention was drawn to Robin, lounging in the sun.

“Robin-swan!” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets and approaching her with practiced grace. “What a treat to see you this fine morning.”

Robin looked up from her book over rose-tinted glasses, her smile as unreadable as always. She wore a black dress that fluttered just above her crossed legs, her hair tied back with a beautiful jade pin.

“It’s always a pleasure, Sanji,” she said gently, and then paused. Robin rarely pried. She was the counterweight to Nami’s directness.

Sanji’s smile faltered, just a bit. “Have you seen our lovable doctor around?"

She took him in; he was a few degrees of unkempt from his baseline. Dark rings clung to the bottom of his eyes, and his posture was slightly hunched. Clearly not trying to hide a terrible night's sleep.

"He slept here last night and got a head start on resupplying his stock." The words washed over Sanji in relief: Good, he's here. "I am sure he is in his room or wandering around the ship." She never needed to fill her words with fluff or extra detail. She was always cataloged and poignant.

"Thank you. If you need anything, Robin, let me know." He turned to head to his kitchen, but she spoke again, "Take care of yourself first, Sanji, please." It hurt; it hurt for her to say it out loud. He forced a smile towards her, and she returned to her book with a stare that lasted too long.

Sanji approached the kitchen and paused, his hand resting on the handle. He pushed the door open slowly. Everything was exactly as he’d left it—tidy, familiar—but a fine layer of dust had settled across the surfaces. He stepped inside, boots echoing faintly on the floor. Habit pulled him toward the fridge—toward routine, toward control—but he stopped just before crossing the threshold into the heart of the kitchen.

Not now. Food can wait.
Chopper first.

He turned on his heel and walked through the connected dining room that framed the galley’s edge. At the far end, he hesitated in front of the door.

Am I really ready for this?
What if it’s worse than I thought? What if he sees something I don’t want to hear?
But the not knowing gnawed at him more than the truth could.

He stood outside the door just enough to peek inside and immediately caught sight of the pink puff of fur that was Chopper’s hat. That was all the confirmation he needed. He willed himself to enter.

Chopper looked up and smiled. “Sanji! Good morning!”

Sanji offered a half-smile in return but didn’t sit. He hovered, taking a few steps inside, pacing back and forth, before finally stopping, one hand dragging through his blond hair before falling limp at his side.

“I’ve been feeling…” He paused. “Off.” Should I really even trouble Chopper with this?

A long silence stretched between them; Sanji could not look at him. He was still so raw with even the thought that he was losing himself to his father's long-standing plan. All the pain he went through in his life, the pain he went through at Whole Cake Island, the pain he put Luffy and his crew through, and all the pain his mother went through to in the end lose to his father. Bastard

He chewed the edge of his nail; it was such an odd sight. Chopper stared completely perplexed. He tilted his head slightly in the moment. "Sanji, are you alright?" His tone was still filled with warmth, edged with a formality that Sanji couldn't recall Chopper using in recent weeks.

Sanji fidgeted for his cigarettes 'and looked at Chopper, knowing the disapproving look he would receive. But the anxiety raked at the back of his throat, gnawing at his vocal cords, wringing them ragged. He looked down, pulling the now bleeding finger away, and he wrung his hands. The anxiety building was palpable; anyone who knew Sanji would understand the care he devoted to keeping his hands pristine, and then to juxtapose his current action of his most valued assets being used as nothing more than absent tools made Chopper's heart drop a little.

Sanji slowly collected himself, exhaled, and tried to calm himself. Chopper turned and rifled through some supplies. He tuned again once more, hopping down to Sanji. Trembling hands now clenched at Sanji's side as Chopper looked up to him. It only took gentle direction to let Chopper take the stripped and still bleeding finger into his own hand.

A small bandage was removed from its wrapper and gently wrapped and pressed in place. The bandage had tiny hearts on it. His hands trembled a little less as Chopper stood in front of him. Smiling, just the way Sanji always had come to know and love.

Tell him. Tell him. Tell him.

"No, Chopper," it was raw and painful to hear; he did not even register it was him speaking, his mind already trying to shield him from what might come next.

He looked at Chopper and sat on the edge of the examination table. Because he felt his knees giving. It was hitting him harder than he was ever anticipating. Something had told him a long time ago that something was always just a little too easy. Nights watching his crew and his captain heal while he sat just fine.

Arlong, Enel, Kuma, CP-9, Doflamingo, Big Mom—where did it begin? His mind raced with every clash he had been a part of. How long had this feeling slipped out of his notice?

His gaze was distant, and he felt the tug at his hand once more. Chopper, Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Robin, Brook, Franky, Ussopp, and Jimbe. They were always there for him. And still are, anchoring him to who he is.

He turned to Chopper, hand held by the small doctor. "I-I know it's Germa tec."

He hadn’t meant to let the sob slip into his voice… but it did.

“I’m scared, Chopper,” he admitted, quieter now. “I’m scared of waking up one day and not knowing who is staring back in the mirror."

The weight of it spilled out in every syllable. Chopper watched him—this crewmate who had stood unshaken through hell, shoulder to shoulder with their captain—now trembling, small and alone, a boy lost in his own skin.

Chopper held his hand through every sob, sniffle, and relapse of tears. The cook’s head hung low, tears soaking into the fabric of his pants.

“You’re still you, Sanji,” Chopper said softly.

Sanji swallowed hard, throat tight. It was everything he needed to hear in that moment. Rubbing the back of his hand to his eyes, wiping remaining tears that clung to his lashes.

“I need your help." His hands calmed, and the tremble was but a whisper now.

"You’ve saved all of us a thousand times,” Chopper said, his voice thick with the pressure of tears of his own.
“It’s okay to need saving too.” Chopper met his gaze without flinching.

Sanji nodded once, his shoulders easing—not quite letting go, but no longer locked in dread.

“Thanks, Chopper,” he said hoarsely. “That means more than you know.”

 

Chopper moved with quiet care. He perched at the edge, spine stiff, shoulders coiled like springs. He didn’t meet Chopper’s eyes as he peeled off his shirt, folding it once before laying it beside him. The air kissed his skin with a chill, but it wasn’t what made him shiver.

Chopper didn’t speak right away. He pressed his hooves gently to Sanji’s shoulders, feeling the tension in the muscle. Then firmer, checking alignment and definition. He moved with practiced precision, but there was a softness to it. Like touching a wound you couldn’t see.

“Hm.”

Sanji’s eyes flicked to him. “I know that 'hum.'”

Chopper offered a sheepish half-smile. “Sorry. It’s just—your muscle density’s changed. There’s more definition here.” He tapped lightly along Sanji’s ribs. “Tissue’s firmer, too. But no inflammation. No bruising where there should be bruising.”

Chopper moved to his abdomen, then his arms and his back—testing, observing, and listening. He flashed a light into his eyes and tapped his knees. Measured his heart rate. Then stepped back.

“You’re healthy. On the surface,” he said carefully. “In fact... .”

Sanji’s shoulders rose and fell with a breath that wasn’t quite steady.

“You’ve always been strong, but this… this is different. You’re up in weight, but you’re not carrying extra fat. Your skeletal frame feels different in the way you sit, in the way it holds you. It’s like your body’s been—"

“Changed,” Sanji said for him. Quiet. Bitter.

Chopper’s ears drooped. “I can’t see everything. Not without better equipment. But… yeah. Something’s changed."

A silence stretched between them.

Sanji didn’t speak. He just listened, eyes distant. A steady pace followed as the doctor paced in the small room. Chopper finally stopped suddenly. “There’s one person who could go deeper than I can.” Sanji looked up, almost already knowing.

Chopper’s gaze didn’t waver. “Law... he can run tests better than I can. And he won’t sugarcoat it.” Sanji exhaled through his nose.

Chopper’s ears dipped slightly. “He’s the best chance you’ve got, Sanji." He took in his friend before softly remarking, "Before it gets too far.”

Sanji slid off the bench and grabbed his shirt. He didn’t put it on, just held it loosely in one hand, eyes cast low.

“Guess I better go find him,” slipping the shirt back on once more.

He moved toward the door but hesitated. Just a second. His voice came low—rough, unguarded.

“Thanks, Chopper. Really.”

Chopper looked up at him, soft but certain. “Anytime. You’re not alone in this.”

 

He left the doctor in his room but did not make it far. He crept into his kitchen. Everything was in its rightful place, but he was the one that felt out of place now. Running fingers over the countertop, leaving a faint line in the dust carved out by his want for this to not be his reality. Traced hands over his beloved set of knives, gripping the handle of a well-worn pan, fingers indented by his grip over time and loving use. Ingredients of all varieties, everything he loved, and everything he wanted to try. Cookbooks from Alabasta quinine to the Sweets of Fish-Man Island.

His eyes landed on another, not a bound piece of text, but a piece of cardstock; the lettering on it was fine and curved elegantly. Reflecting the refined dishes of the season. The top read Baratie, and Sanji let a soft smile return to him. He knew who he really was; Zeff saw it all the way back then. The eyes of the broken boy Sanji was and still carried with him. The man who had raised Sanji like a son. Who pushed him to believe in the will of Luffy? To push him to chase his dream once more.

He returned the menu to its home on the shelf. Leaning against the stove, he steadied himself, conviction and reasoning balancing out. He knew who he was and the direction he needed to go in to continue to fight for Zeff, to continue to shield his crew, and to fight for his dream of one day reaching the All Blue.

He pushed himself off the stove, once more a lightness in his step as he had a direction. He needed answers; amber eyes flickered through his mind. He needed to find Law.

 

Sanji walked slowly across the deck of the Sunny, the grass soft under his foot. The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of sea salt and festival smoke still lingering from the night before. He tucked his hand deep into his shirt pocket, fingers brushing the smooth metal of his lighter and the curve of the new cigarette case Oroku had given him.

His ship is here. Where

He approached the railing, each step deliberate. The harbor stretched wide before him—ships bobbing in the tide, dockworkers shouting orders, and gulls circling overhead. And near the edge of the port, three silhouettes stood locked in conversation.

Luffy, Kid, and Law.

The next great headaches of the sea.

Alright… Think this through.

Chopper couldn’t tell me anything. Nothing obvious. I can feel it; it’s changing. I’m changing. He watched from atop the Sunny, mindlessly rubbing his lips, If there’s anyone who can see past what’s on the surface… it’s Trafalgar Law.

His fingers tightened as he bit into another nail.

The man’s a surgeon—and a good one at that. If there’s something inside me, something wrong... he’ll find it.

He leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the three captains below as they exchanged jabs and barbed laughter. Luffy, all carefree grin and open body language. Kid, bristling with barely leashed hostility. And Law, ever unreadable—still as ice.

Sanji’s jaw tensed as Law shifted, just slightly—amber eyes glancing around, taking in the area surrounding them, cutting through the crowd like he knew he was being watched.

Luffy stood there, grinning as usual, one foot planted squarely on a crate, his red shirt flapping lazily in the breeze. Across from him, Kid looked like he’d rather chew nails than stand still, arms crossed, metal appendage twitching like it was impatient to punch someone. And next to him, unreadable, sat Law, his arms folded, cloak brushing the dock as the wind pulled faintly at the hem.

Sanji exhaled slowly, watching the three captains in the morning light.

Luffy’s voice carried, clear and careless as ever.

“So you’re going that way?”

“Tch.” Kid sneered. “What do you care? Just don’t follow me.”

“Don’t worry,” Law replied flatly, barely glancing his way. “I wouldn’t follow either of you—even if you begged.”

Luffy laughed, utterly unfazed. “You’re all so grumpy today! Fine, I’ll go east then.”

Kid scoffed, turning sharply to bark orders at his crew as he stalked off. Law lingered a beat longer, eyes scanning the ships lazily.

Then, as if pulled by a thread, his gaze shifted—up, across the harbor—and landed on the Sunny.

Sanji didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t need to.

That stare, heavy and precise, hit him square in the chest. The memory of the tobacco shop flared behind his eyes.

That tension. That stillness.

"What if someone wants more than a moment?"

Law held the look—just long enough for it to feel like something unspoken passed between them.

And then he turned away.

Exhaling through his nose. He hadn’t moved an inch, but somehow his muscles felt like they’d just come back from battle.

 

Even from this far away, Sanji could tell Law wasn’t relaxed. The man stood with his hand on Kikoku, and a blue cape lined with feathers whipped behind him, along with a yellow shirt too tight for even his lean figure. The contrast was striking as his gaze drifted now and again—always calculating, always two steps ahead. Luffy threw his arms up, laughing as he walked away with a wave—done with the conversation in his usual abrupt fashion. Kid grunted, turned on his heel, and stomped off with Killer trailing behind. That left Law alone, already turning toward the dock where the Polar Tang waited.

Now or never.

Boots kicked off the sunny and into the air, landing a few paces behind Law, the scent of salt and engine oil strong in the air. Law walked with his usual stiff posture, every step sharp and certain—until Sanji’s voice finally called out to him.

"Oi, Trafalgar."

Law’s shoulders tensed, almost imperceptibly, before he turned halfway. Amber eyes slid over his shoulder, cool and unreadable. “Black Leg.”

“Got a minute?” he asked, his tone steady but stripped of its usual charm. “Need a word.”

Sanji didn’t close the distance completely, just enough to speak without being overheard. Close enough to make the air tighten between them.

Law regarded him in silence. His gaze flicked toward the Tang’s open hatch, then back to Sanji. “Make it quick.”

Sanji stepped closer, slower now. He stopped just outside of arm’s reach. His voice was lower this time, almost reluctant. “I saw Chopper this morning.”

Law said nothing.

“He said… If anyone could figure out what’s going on with me, it’d be you.” His words tripped over themselves under Law’s unblinking stare. “And what is going on?”

Sanji glanced away, his jaw clenching as he fought the urge to deflect. “Something’s changed. There’s an ‘offness’ I can’t quite put my finger on, even though there’s nothing obvious on the surface.”

Still nothing.

Law’s gaze drilled into Sanji. The slight height difference made his stare all the more oppressive. He said nothing for a long moment. Sanji waited, his growing anxiety betraying him. He nervously wrung his hand, feeling the small bandage. Confidence striking again, he shifted his weight, but Law never broke his stare.

 

Then finally, a slow, deliberate exhale.

“You think the Germa tech is catching up to you,” he said flatly. It wasn’t a question.

“I know it is,” Sanji muttered, voice sharp. “But I need confirmation.”

Law studied him for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. He didn’t need the full story—not yet. He’d studied Germa science before. During the dismantling of the SMILE factories, he’d come across too many documents laced with their name. Cloning technology. Gene manipulation. Bioengineering is far ahead of its time.

Sanji’s name had been there too—Vinsmoke, a bloodline wrapped in cruelty and science. Germa was always chasing the bleeding edge.

Law knew what they were capable of. Knew it too well.

He gave a single nod. “Come aboard.”

Sanji’s brows rose.

Law didn’t repeat himself. He turned and, with a practiced leap, landed on the deck of the Polar Tang, hatch still open, and walked through.

For a second, Sanji stood still—watching the spot where Law had just disappeared, feeling the weight of the choice pulling at his chest.

Then he followed.

 

The moment Sanji stepped past the hatch, the air changed. It wasn’t just the scent—sterile metal—or the soft, constant hum of the submarine’s systems. It was the atmosphere in the Polar Tang, thick with discipline and precision, so different from the chaotic warmth of the Sunny.

Sanji blinked against the shift in lighting. No unnecessary flair. Everything had a purpose here. He trailed behind Law as they walked through narrow corridors lined with riveted walls and bolted cabinets. Sanji’s eyes moved across polished steel, strange dials, surgical lamps hanging from retractable arms, and drawers labeled with words he didn’t recognize. Every surface was pristine, not a fingerprint out of place. The further they went, the quieter it got.

A few heads poked around corners of the tight corridors. A few shuffled and tripped over feet. The crew sneaked around them, watching the scenes play out.

Guess they don't get many guests.

Law didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence filled the space. The ship was large from the outside, but the nature of the thing always hid most of the machinery quietly below the water surface. Not unlike its captain. A few turns and Sanji found himself walking through what looked like a simple examination room. It was brighter here. A clean metal table took up most of the space, surrounded by an array of medical instruments—some familiar, most not. The soft hum of a monitor echoed somewhere in the background.

Law closed the sliding door behind them and set the blade down. His movements were practiced; he knew where everything was. Grabbing a few gloves from a box, he looked over his shoulder again. "Sit." He pulled them on with a quick, practiced snap of his wrist.

“Take off your shirt,”

Sanji eyed him but obeyed. He shrugged off his shirt. The case from Oroku clinked softly as he set it aside, placing it gently on the corner of the table like it was something sacred.

Law glanced at it, then back to Sanji.

Sanji hopped onto the table and exhaled, letting his arms rest loosely at his sides. A familiar tone settled into his words once more. “Not even a drink first?” he teased towards Law, but the air was stiff and unmoving.

Law didn’t respond. He removed his cloak and was standing just in his shirt, signature jeans, and fluffy hat. He stepped forward, staring at the cook.

“Tell me what you’ve noticed,” he said, his voice clipped but not unkind.

Sanji tilted his head. “Faster healing. Stronger reflexes. And strength—more than I’ve ever felt. It’s in the way I move. I can’t not feel it.”

Law nodded once, then placed two fingers at Sanji’s throat, taking his pulse. The touch was firm, clinical. But still. Something in Law’s eyes shifted, just slightly, as he looked at the steady rise and fall of Sanji’s chest. Sanji felt his amber eyes already peeling back layers. It was difficult to ignore.

He ran through a full examination—reflex tests, blood pressure, and vitals. He had Sanji lie back, press against his hands, stretch and breathe, and hold positions under measured pressure. Sanji followed every instruction without sarcasm, his gaze flicking toward Law between tasks. Watching Law work with no notion of emotion. It was unreal watching the wheels turn in the silence of the examination. His hands held place on Sanji's body with intent and purpose.

When Law did speak, it was in a smooth, neutral tone Sanji had heard a hundred times, but underlined with a curious curl to it.

“Your blood pressure’s lower than expected, considering your nicotine habit,” Law muttered. He spoke as though. Speaking out loud would cement the mental notes he was now cataloging. “Muscle tenacity unusually high.”

“So I’m ripped. We knew that.” Sanji smirked faintly.

Law didn’t remark at the quip. He stepped back and removed his gloves, brow furrowed. “There’s a slight structural change, no organ displacement. Two percent body fat, some slight shift in rib placement. But internally…” He gazed over Sanji's bare chest, but not at it, through it. Piecing together what was going on silently.

Sanji’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

He paused, expression unreadable. “It’s like you’ve been optimized.”

Sanji looked down at his hands. How much of this is still me? He traced over the smooth texture of his skin. What does that even mean, optimized?

Law only stared at him as Sanji rolled answers toward his conclusion.

“… Can you stop it?” he asked, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Law didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “If we run a full scan, I might be able to trace the triggers—see the true intent of the genetic engineering beneath. Or if it’s already rewriting the genes altogether.”

Sanji stared at his hands once again, through them the cold steel of the floor where he saw Law standing. Standing in silent vigilance, Sanji looked up to the captain.

“…Then run the scan,” he said, low. “If anyone’s going to get ahead of this thing—it’s going to be me.”

Law gave a short nod and turned to exit. “Follow me.”

The scan room was colder. Not in temperature—but in presence. It was a few doors down from the single confined room from before.

The lights were a dull, surgical yellow, and the walls were a dim metallic white. In the center was a padded table. Medical screens surrounded it in a half circle, showing nothing yet—but ready to display everything. Law gestured towards the table.

“Lie flat. Hands at your sides,” Law instructed, already donning a new pair of gloves and adjusting the dials with mechanical precision. Sanji watched them come to life; a green text scrolled over them as a few screens shifted to what he assumed were vital sign readings. He tilted his head back at the unused instruments lining the table and walls. Everything is labeled and in its proper place. Not unlike his kitchen. This was Law's domain. Sanji watched his practiced ease. Law had settled into a stance that told Sanji he was comfortable. Movement is fluid and relaxed.

Law walked to the middle of the room, his eyes flicked toward Sanji once, then lowered, focused.

“Room.”

In an instant, the world shifted.

A pale dome of translucent energy snapped into place, the humming pressure of the room crackling in the air like static before a storm. Sanji had seen it a hundred times. But never used like this.

He felt his body lift off the table slightly, as if gravity itself had been rewritten. The Room adjusted him, positioning him perfectly flat, completely still.

“Vitals steady. Internal structure clear,” Law murmured, eyes narrowing.

Then, he raised his fingers and moved them with precise gestures through the air. He was picking Sanji apart, very literally. Law moved closer as Sanji lifted and hung above the table. Hands moving critically. Law made a pulling motion, and Sanji felt his skin vibrate intensely, and he looked at Law. A cross section of his upper thigh in his hand. It was cut at an angle so as to include part of his hip; he turned it in his hand like nothing odd was happening.

Sanji watched him work. One piece after another, Law pulled and poked and dug through him. When Law removed parts that made him raise an eyebrow, he pulled them apart even further. His Room made an outline of the piece in question as Law placed it back to where it belonged.

From Sanji’s body, glowing blue outlines began to appear—holographic projections suspended in space. One of his spine. A cross-section of his thigh. The full contour of his ribcage. Body parts that he could not name, his blood type, his height, BMI, BP, brain wave length, everything. Sanji was being written about and examined in detail. Law took it all, all of Sanji, without a single flicker of trepidation.

The silence stretched thin. Sanji shifted his eyes to the ceiling. “You look like you’re going to say something that's going to ruin my night.”

Law didn’t respond. Instead, he turned in his room covered in the blue haze, and the rendered image of his body was before him.

“Your skeletal structure isn’t human,” Law said flatly. “The density exceeds titanium by at least 40%." He paused, facing away from Sanji, and a calculating tone followed, "It’s been laced with a synthetic alloy—responsive under pressure. Even your jaw could take a cannonball in this state.” As Law fingered the image methodically.

Sanji’s mouth went dry.

“Your skin has reinforced microfibers beneath the surface. Flexible. Impact resistant. Burn-resistant. High tensile durability—more than anything I've seen.” He didn’t stop. “Your muscles are layered in a helix pattern—engineered for both strength and recoil. You have triple the reactive fiber of a normal human. That’s why you’re faster. That’s why you’re stronger.”

Law turned toward him, tone devoid of emotion.

“You’re not just changing, Sanji. You’ve already changed.”

Sanji tried to move, but he was locked in place, still sliced open by Law's hand, and he swallowed hard. His mind raced; the itch of needing his fix ate away at him. “How long?”

“I don’t know,” Law said. He pushed the remaining pieces back into Sanji like a horrifying puzzle. Resting his fingers on Sanji's chest, lowering him back to the table, letting the dome drop with a soft pop of released pressure. “But if I had to guess? Before you ever set foot on Wano."

“…Can it be reversed?”

Law didn’t answer immediately.

“I don’t think so,” he said eventually. “But we might be able to halt it. Keep you from losing more of your biology. Before it finishes... overwriting the rest.”

“Overwriting,” Sanji echoed bitterly.

A long silence passed.

Then Law finally added, “You’re not like Franky. This isn’t metal bolted to flesh. It’s seamless. Cellular. You were designed to evolve. Quietly. Completely.”

Sanji stared at the floor, jaw tight.

“...So what am I now?” he asked, voice low.

Law’s eyes didn’t waver. “Still you. For now.”

Sanji rose to his feet, his fingers trembled only slightly as he slipped a cigarette between his lips.

The lighter flared.

He took in the smoke like it was the only thing keeping him human.

 

The silence lingered between them, broken only by the low whir of the ship. Sanji stared at the floor, the glow of his cigarette catching in the dim reflection of the polished floor. The smoke curled in lazy patterns, too slow for how fast his thoughts raced.

Law adjusted his weight, breaking the silence. Removing his gloves and tossing them into the trash, creating distance from the Cook.

“I can help you stabilize it. Monitor the progression. There are compounds that might slow the cellular override. But I’ll need more time. More data.”

Sanji didn’t look at him. “How much time?”

Law met his eyes. “Weeks. Maybe months.” Law watched him, pacing back toward Sanji; he leaned on the table that just held Sanji.

A pause.

“I’d need you on the Polar Tang.”

Sanji’s head turned sharply, surprise flashing across his features.

His tone was sharp, guarded. “I can’t leave my crew, Trafalgar.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Law replied, voice cool. “But we’re setting sail soon, and if this condition progresses any further without analysis, you may not get another chance. You can’t fix this in a kitchen.”

That hit harder than Law meant. Sanji flinched—only a flicker—but Law caught it. The cook took another long drag, then exhaled through his nose, quietly.

“You’re saying I’d be a liability to them.”

“I’m saying,” Law countered, more gently, “that right now, you’re a question without an answer. And that’s dangerous. Not just for them—for you.”

Sanji tilted his head. “Is that what I am?”

“No,” Law said, flatly. “But weapons are dangerous.”

He didn’t mean it cruelly. But it landed that way.

Sanji turned away, fingers tapping his cigarette against the edge of the table. “What if I do change? Fully?” His voice was quieter now. “What if there’s nothing to save?”

Law didn’t respond right away.

He looked at the cook’s profile—at the tension in his hands, the set of his jaw. At the eyes that had stared down emperors and warlords alike and now looked down at the floor like a man waiting for his body to betray him.

Inside, something twisted uncomfortably.

What the hell am I doing?

Bringing Sanji aboard wasn’t just reckless—it was idiotic. Sanji was volatile. Temperamental. Too bright. He was going to throw the whole ship off balance, all smiles and that ridiculous flirtation with every warm body in reach—

This is a mistake. He watched the steady tap of Sanji's fingers on his arm, crossed in a defensive shield. Watching him take another long drag from the cigarette. A sharp exhale and smoke filled the space, and his memories of Corazon came back. He saved Law's life; he went against everything that mattered to him to make sure a sick kid was given hope. That smile, and a promise to Law, silent in that crate.

"If I can give someone a reason to smile—hell, even just for a moment—why shouldn’t I?"

Damn it.

He turned his honey-warm eyes to Sanji, a warmer tone mustered from a softer spot he did not let most see:

“I won’t let that happen. You asked for help. I’m giving it.”

Sanji finally turned back toward him, cigarette half-finished between his fingers. He was taken aback slightly by the pitch the captain was now letting slip over his words.

Sanji's voice was soft but clear. “You need to promise me something.”

Law raised an eyebrow.

“If I lose who I am—you end it. Fast. No hesitation.”

Law’s expression didn’t change. But his eyes darkened slightly. “Deal,” he said. “But I intend to make sure it never comes to that.”

Sanji gave a dry laugh. “Always so dramatic.” Law stepped in closer, his voice low and firm, letting Sanji feel the full weight of his presence. There was no teasing now—just the sharp precision of truth. He wanted Sanji to know his clear intentions.

“You just asked me to kill you, Sanji.” Law did not waver; he shifted his weight towards Sanji, a silent dominance that was not to be understated. He meant everything he said and demanded Sanji to see it.

“…Yeah. Fair.” He didn’t look away. Instead, he held Law’s stare, the tension between them taut and still. For a moment, the air itself seemed to hold its breath. No words passed—but something settled, a contract signed in blood.

Then, Law stepped back toward the exit of the scan chamber. “We’re leaving by midday. Talk to your captain. If he agrees, you’re coming with me.”

As he walked Sanji through the ship once more, he was playing out what now needed to be done. The life he held in his hands. They reached the hatch, still left open, taking in the clean, crisp air into the hull. Sanji jumped over the side towards land; Law looked back towards the spine of his ship. A few of his crew trailing in the blond's wake.

You have not even put your bags down yet, and you have already left an impression. He lingered for a moment longer. A tug—gentle, familiar, aching. Cora would’ve liked him, Law thought. Too much heart for his own good. Law watched him walk, and then he jumped off the side, following him towards the Sunny. The trail of smoke in Sanji's wake made him look up slightly at the sun now high in the sky.

The warmth of the sun and the smell so familiar, a small flutter in the stomach of the Heart Pirates captain. Sanji had found a soft spot in Law's defenses, and still, despite himself, Law let the ghost of a smirk pull at the edge of his mouth.

Damn cook.

 

 

The deck of the Sunny was alive with movement. Crew members hauled the last crates aboard. Seagulls wheeled overhead, and the muted echoes of Wano’s fading festival still drifted on the wind. Robin remained where Sanji had last seen her, nose in a book. Franky and Usopp adjusted the sails, while Jinbe stood beside the wheel, awaiting Nami’s next instruction. She held the log pose aloft, sharp-eyed and steady. Brook sipping tea on the swing.

Sanji stepped up from the dock, Law just behind him, with every deliberate step. Luffy sat perched atop the lion figurehead, chewing through what was probably the remains of a sweet bun.

“Oi, Luffy,” Sanji called.

Luffy turned with a wide grin. “Sanji! You finally showed up! Now we can get moving—everyone’s here!”

He dropped from his spot, landing squarely in front of him with a soft thud.

“We need to talk.”

At the word we, Law came up beside him. Luffy’s grin faltered, not gone but flickering, eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of the Heart Pirate captain.

“Traffy?”

Sanji didn’t waste time. “Law’s going to help me. The changes I've been experiencing, my body"—he "tried to hold it together in front of the crew—"they’re "getting worse. I can’t ignore it anymore.”

Luffy blinked. His brows furrowed, concern settling behind his usually carefree expression. “What’s going on, Sanji?” Before Sanji could reply, Law stepped forward, his voice low.

“He’s undergoing a transformation. Cellular. Genetic. It’s accelerating beyond normal human thresholds.”

Luffy looked back at Sanji, softer now not as his captain but as a friend. “Is this because of your family?”

Sanji gave a small nod, jaw clenched tight, silent. Law continued, even and composed. “I’ve offered full medical support aboard the Polar Tang. Diagnostics. Stabilization. It will take time. Weeks. Maybe more.”

Luffy scratched the back of his head, his expression mixed with confusion and worry. “Sanji…”

“I’m not asking permission,” Sanji cut in, voice steady but rough. “I'm letting you know. I’ll come back. I need to do this.”

The sound of boots striking the deck cut through the moment like a blade.

Zoro.

He came down from the upper walkway, his presence heavy like the stillness before a lightning strike. His eyes locked on Law with a predator’s calm.

“You’re taking him?”

Law didn’t flinch. “I’m treating him.”

Zoro stepped forward.

Then closer.

Then into Law’s space.

Every movement was slow. Measured not in distance, but in warning.

“If anything happens to him…” Zoro’s voice was barely above a whisper, but every syllable landed like a drawn sword. “If he doesn’t come back—”

His hand ghosted toward the hilt at his hip.

“—I won’t stop at you. I’ll burn your ship at sea. I’ll cut down every man who stands between me and our cook.”

Law’s jaw tightened—but he didn’t look away. A sizzle of respect crept up his spine.

Zoro leaned in, voice now quiet enough only Law could hear:

“And if that still doesn’t get through your skull, remember this—”

A pause.

“You won’t just be facing me.”

His tone turned icy.

“You’ll have an emperor on your trail.”

The deck went still.

For a flicker of a moment, Law said nothing. Then, slowly, he inclined his head.

“Understood.”

 

The air still hummed with Zoro’s warning, the aftershocks of his words pressing like invisible fingers to Law’s chest. He didn’t flinch when Zoro turned away. But inside, something pulled taut.

He had been threatened before. By warlords. Admirals. Yonko. But this—this was different.

This wasn’t about territory, pride, or even revenge. This was about Sanji. And the people who’d bled beside him long before Law had ever laid eyes on him. Before he’d caught that first flash of gold hair and burning pride behind tired, storm-blue eyes.

Law exhaled slowly through his nose, his gaze shifting back to the crew that stood ready, all silently backing Zoro's words.

They weren’t just crew. They were a family, and he was taking the heart from them.

You inserted yourself into the gears of something that runs on trust, not logic. On love, not tactics.

Sanji had already shifted something in him. Law knew it.

And now, as he stood on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, the only place on the sea where laughter rang louder than gunfire, he realized something else:

He wasn’t just treating Sanji.

He was involving himself with Sanji.

With all of them.

Law’s gaze drifted to where Sanji stood, the cook not even looking back. Just quietly collecting himself. Always carrying too much. Always keeping his distance until someone forced him to admit he mattered.

Sanji turned towards Law, "I'll grab my stuff."

 

The midday sun cast long, golden shadows across the deck of the Sunny. The crew still gathered—some standing still, others fidgeting or pretending to be busy—but none of them were fine. Sanji knew this feeling before; leaving the crew seemed too cruel again. A silent promise was broken once more.

Sanji crouched in front of Chopper near the railing, a hand brushing the wood that had carried them across a hundred storms. The weight in his chest pressed heavier than his pack.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Chopper asked, ears twitching, hooves fumbling with the strap of his bag. “I-I mean, I could still run more tests. Maybe Robin’s books have something new—”

Sanji reached out, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Chopper… you’re the best doctor I’ve ever known. You’ve already done everything you could.” His voice dropped, rough and low. “But whatever this thing is— It’s moving faster than I can allow any more.”

Chopper’s eyes shimmered. “You’re still you, Sanji.” A tired smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah. And I want to keep it that way.”

He ruffled Chopper’s hat. “Watch over everyone for me, okay? Especially Luffy. And Zoro—he acts tough, but he’s a disaster waiting to happen if no one’s watching.”

That got a watery giggle. “You’ll come back, right?”

Sanji straightened, his pack slung over one shoulder. “With a dessert that’ll knock your socks off.”

Chopper hugged him tight, and Sanji let him. Let the moment be what it was.

When they separated, Sanji turned—

Zoro didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just stood there with his arms crossed, eyes locked not on Law but on Sanji.

He didn’t say anything at first. And that silence hit harder than any insult could have.

Sanji tilted his head, something flickering behind the smirk he wore like armor. “You’re really going to miss me, mosshead?”

Zoro’s jaw clenched. His gaze didn’t soften, stepping toward Sanji; it was a practiced dance between them, the taunting, the pace, the weight of each stare.

“You’re not just some damn cook,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “You’re one of Luffy’s wings. A straw hat.” Sanji’s smile faltered for half a second.

Zoro stepped in a little closer, his tone still quiet—but burning now.

“I don’t trust that bastard surgeon… But I trust you.” He flicked a glance at the surgeon, then back, “But because if you’re not here, the balance is off. The warmth is gone.” Sanji’s breath hitched. Zoro kept going.

“It’s not the same without you on this deck. Without the fights. The bickering. The way you throw yourself into danger like an idiot.” He exhaled sharply. “It’s not just Luffy’s crew you’re walking away from. It’s me.”

It hit Sanji right then how much this was not only hurting him but Zoro. Sanji watched the intensity of his stance, his grip on the hilt of Enma. A small tremble, everything that Zoro wanted to say because he knew it would keep Sanji from leaving. If he asked to stay, they would figure it out together, confirming the vow he made just the night before.

Sanji would stay by his side.

Looking towards Law again, he could not deny the solution right in front of them both. Law offered hope, and who was he to take that from him?

Sanji chuckled anxiously, but his voice was low. Almost hoarse.

“You come back, cook. No excuses. No stunts. No heroics.”

The words hung between them, raw and unpolished. Zoro wasn’t good with feelings. But this—this was him trying.

Sanji swallowed hard. The usual edge softened in his expression.

“I’ll come back,” he said quietly. “I swear it.”

Luffy, grinning now despite himself, added, “Zoro’s just trying to say how much he loves you.”

Zoro whipped his glare at Luffy. “I’ll pick you up and throw you overboard!”

Zoro finally looked away, jaw working. “You better. Or I’ll find you. And yeah, I’ll probably get lost halfway there—but I’ll get there. And I’ll drag your sorry ass back.”

Sanji, biting back a laugh, murmured, “Now that’s more like it.”

Behind them, Luffy smiled faintly. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t need to.

Then he turned.

Law was already waiting at the edge of the Sunny. Law watched him walk away from his crew to join his side. "Ready?" A small nod as Sanji stared at Zoro, waiting.

“Room. Shambles.”

The air cracked. The light twisted.

And just like that, they were gone.

Zoro stood motionless.

Luffy let his hand fall back to his side.

The breeze carried the faint hiss of the Tang’s doors sealing shut.

“…Idiot,” Zoro muttered, voice almost a growl.

Beside him, Luffy exhaled—slow and quiet. He didn’t smile. Not this time.

But he looked out over the water, straight ahead.

Like he was already watching for Sanji’s return.

Notes:

I hope you enjoy the read, let me know what you think! Till next chapter. :)

Chapter 5: Weight Beneath the Waves

The faint hum of the engines vibrated through the metal floor beneath Sanji’s boots as the Polar Tang submerged. The cool, sterile air brushed against his skin with every step—a sharp contrast to the earthy vibrance of the Sunny.

Law led him through a narrow corridor, all clean chrome and matte white walls, lined with soft overhead lighting that pulsed with the rhythm of the submarine’s core. The low, constant thrum of the ship surrounded them, like a heartbeat under pressure.

They stopped at a door near the end of the hall. Law tapped the panel beside it, and with a quiet hiss, it slid open to reveal a small but tidy room: a single bed bolted to the floor, a compact desk, drawers built into the wall, and a reading lamp with a warm flicker. Everything was functional and understated—quiet.

“You’ll be staying here,” Law said, stepping aside to let Sanji in. “It’s not much, but it’s yours for as long as this takes.”

Sanji glanced around and shrugged. “Not bad. I was half-expecting a sick bay bunk and a pair of handcuffs.”

Law shot him a look—longer than Sanji expected. “You’re a guest, not a captive,” he replied coolly. “If that ever changes, you’ll be the first to know.”

That earned the faintest smirk from Sanji. He stepped inside, brushing his fingertips along the edge of the desk. The space felt even smaller with Law still in the doorway—not claustrophobic, but close. Intimate.

“Are you always this charming when you invite someone to crash with you?”

Law didn’t bite the bait, but his gaze lingered on Sanji a beat too long.

“I make exceptions for walking science projects.” His arms were folded. “Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow we’ll start with diagnostics. Bloodwork, internal scans. I want to get a better look at your spine.”

Sanji turned toward him, the teasing fading. “Right.” His voice softened. “Thanks… for doing this.”

Law nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I’ll keep you informed. Every step of the way.”

It was the kind of promise Sanji wasn’t used to hearing—not with that kind of weight. Not from someone who didn’t owe him anything. He gave a small nod back, jaw tightening as if holding in something more vulnerable.

Law turned to go but paused at the threshold.

“Oh—one more thing. Bepo might come looking for you. He’s been pestering Ikkaku about rice recipes ever since you stepped on board.”

Sanji blinked, then huffed a quiet laugh. “Tell him to bring a clean pot and an open mind.”

“I’ll pass it on.”

Law hesitated—just for a second. His amber gaze caught Sanji’s blue ones in the low light, both of them searching for something unspoken in the silence.

“I meant what I said,” Law added quietly. “We’ll fix this. However long it takes.”

Then he turned and walked down the hall. The door slid shut, sealing Sanji in with the hum of the ship and the steady glow of deep-sea light.

 

Sanji stood in the center of the small room long after the door slid shut, the sound of Law’s footsteps fading into the hum of the corridor. Silence settled around him like mist.

He turned slowly, eyes drifting over the compact space once more: the single bed, the desk, the drawers, and the soft mechanical light overhead. Everything is clean. Everything clinical. Nothing of him.

The low drone of the engines deepened beneath his boots, vibrating through the soles of his shoes and into his bones.

They’re diving.

He turned to the small porthole, pressing one palm to the cool glass. Outside, the soft blue of Wano’s coastal shallows darkened as the sea swallowed them. Sunlight fractured and faded. The deeper they sank, the more the light bent—until it felt like the ocean itself was curling in around the hull.

Enclosing him.

We’re leaving.

Wano was behind him now—the festivals, the laughter, the Straw Hats. Zoro.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cold, unrelenting wall. Through the porthole, the sunlit blue of shallow water faded into deeper hues—slate, then navy, then black. The light disappeared in slow gradients, like the warmth was being siphoned away.

The weight in his chest tightened, coiled low beneath his ribs.

He’d spent so long aboard the Sunny—every corner loud, warm, and familiar. Franky’s tools clanging in the background. Luffy’s constant shouting about meat. Robin’s quiet turning of pages. Even the moss-head’s grumbles are always nearby. All of it—gone, with the closing of a single steel door.

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back with a slow exhale.

He sat down and toed off his shoes. Then he opened his cigarette case with practiced ease. One roll slipped free between his fingers. The lighter clicked to life with a small clank. The flame flared.

He lit the smoke. Inhaled. Held. Exhaled.

The curling smoke drifted upward, only to be pulled immediately into the vent above him, disappearing without a trace.

He sat still, watching the occasional flick of fish pass outside the glass—their shapes gliding in slow tandem with the sub’s pace.

We should be out to sea by now.

He dragged hard on the cigarette, cheeks hollowing. It didn’t help the tightness. Didn’t loosen the coil in his gut.

He looked down at his hands, studying the strength in them.
The heat.
The damage they could do.

“I’m not a weapon,” he said aloud.

The room swayed gently with the current as the Polar Tang pressed deeper into the dark. Away from everything he knew. Toward answers he wasn’t sure he wanted. With a man who might be the only one who could help him find them

 

The door to Law’s quarters slid shut behind him with a soft hiss, sealing out the hum of the corridor. For a long moment, he stood still beneath the yellow-tinted lights, the Polar Tang’s quiet engine vibrations thrumming up through the soles of his boots. They were submerged now—deep, silent, invisible beneath the sea.

He exhaled slowly and bent to unlace his shoes, toes curling briefly against the cool floor. His jeans followed, tossed toward the hamper tucked in the corner. His fingers rose to his hat, lifting it from his head with practiced ease. He crossed to his desk and set it in its usual place—top shelf, center, untouched and revered.

His hand lingered there for a breath. Then rose to rake through his dark hair, mussing it free of the pressed curl left by the hat’s rim.

He leaned forward, both hands bracing against the edge of the desk. But the stack of medical scans on his bed caught his attention next, dragging him back into focus. Someone—probably Shachi—had printed the images and laid them out neatly.

Law circled the bed and dropped onto it. Scans. Nervous system overlays. Molecular maps of protein density and tissue regeneration that made more and more sense the more his eyes traced over them.

And all of it… confirmed what he’d already seen.

His knee bounced as he tapped a finger against it, studying the results over and over. Clinical focus locked in. Mind racing.

Then—

Something shifted.

The sterile air in his quarters... wasn’t.

Smoke.

Law’s eyes narrowed. He stood sharply, scans fluttering from his lap to the floor. The scent was faint but unmistakable—

Sanji.

Law let out a slow, incredulous breath.

He’s not even in the room, and he’s already leaving his mark. He stooped to gather the scattered scans with a low grunt. I’ll have to show him where to smoke. Before the crew mutinies.

He ran a hand over his mouth, then collapsed backward onto the bed. Head to the pillow. Eyes to the ceiling. The soft, dim lights flickered in his periphery.

He’s not a soldier. Not an experiment. He’s…

Law exhaled again.

...Sanji

He hadn’t expected Sanji to come with him.

Hadn’t expected to want him to.

This was supposed to be black and white. Identify the mutations. Map the gene factor. Find the line between man and machine and determine if it could be reversed.

But now—

Now Sanji was here, walking the same corridors, saturating the air with that warm, sharp blend of tobacco. This isn’t black and white anymore. He didn’t know what it was.

Only that it was getting harder to pretend he didn’t feel it.

And Law didn’t know what to do with that. Not yet.

He sat forward again, elbows braced on his knees, fingers laced tight in front of his mouth. Sanji was impulsive. Irritating. Infuriatingly bright when he wasn’t even trying. And yet…

You didn’t hesitate, Law realized. You told him yes. Stay. Let me help.

That part had come too easily.

He exhaled, sharp and tired, before falling back onto the bed with a low grunt. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he peeled it over his head in one clean motion and tossed it aside, dragging the covers up and letting the familiar weight of too many blankets settle across his chest.

But the heat under his skin didn’t come from the temperature.

Behind his eyes, the charts flickered again—Sanji’s vitals, molecular data, outlines of bone and tissue. Then, without permission, his thoughts mapped the body instead. The actual body. Broad shoulders narrowing into a lean waist. The curve of his body over the counter in the smoke shop...

Law’s jaw tensed.

His eyes snapped open.

Damn it.

Flushed, irritated, he rolled to his side and buried half his face in the pillow, as if that would stop his brain from conjuring the heat in Sanji’s eyes or the exact sound of those breathy tones spoken to him just the other night.

This was going to be a long night.

 

Morning came not with sunlight—there was none this deep beneath the sea—but with the soft chime of a well-tuned alarm clock by Law’s bedside. In the Polar Tang, time had to be measured with discipline. No sky, just the rhythm of mechanical life.

Law cracked one eye open and groaned, hand slipping out from beneath the layers of heavy blankets to silence the alarm with a practiced tap. He didn’t move right away. The warmth of the bedding cocooned him, and for a moment, it was tempting to stay buried beneath it all.

He sank deeper into the covers, blinking slowly against the dim overhead light. They were far below the surface now, pressure steady and silence thick. In the early days of the Tang, he, Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin had made the mistake of pushing through twenty-hour workdays, crashing for only four. It had nearly broken them. These days, Law enforced a stricter sleep cycle, but not for himself.

His room was the largest of the crew’s quarters but still modest. While most of the crew bunked together in pairs or quads, Law’s space was private by necessity. The chaos of paper stacks and half-open books filled the corners in organized disarray. Kikoku hung sheathed on a wall bracket. A recessed closet was built into the far wall, and in the corner was the only piece of furniture not made of steel or plastic—a large wooden desk. Its deep, rich grain stood out against the sterile palette of the sub. The legs were reinforced with metal caps, bolted to the floor for stability during dives.

Above the desk, three small shelves were mounted. The lowest was crammed with dioramas, labeled vials, and samples marked with scrawled notes. The second held thick medical texts, well used, annotated, and dog-eared. The top shelf was more personal. A few photos of his crew, taken on different islands: Shachi flexing, Bepo mid-yawn, and Penguin making a face. Law, in all of them, looked vaguely annoyed to be in the frame. And one old, frayed, slightly out-of-focus photo showed a tall man in clown makeup holding a very small, very young Law. That large, unmistakable smile from the man and a lethal scowl from the child held in his arms. A moment suspended in time. A life-defining memory.

Then he smelled it.

Butter?

Law’s eyes opened fully. Confused. Savory herbs. Garlic. Possibly thyme. It was… food. Real food. Not ration packs. Cooking.

Sanji.

The realization made something in Law’s chest twist; he pushed the blankets off and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, blinking the last haze of sleep from his eyes. He grabbed the nearest pair of black pajama pants from a hook, loose and soft, slung low on his hips. The orange tank top he pulled on after was snug. It left a strip of skin visible above his waistband, where the thin cotton refused to quite meet the cut of his hips.

The smell was stronger now—seeping through the vents like a summons. He rubbed at his eyes, combed fingers once through his hair, and stepped barefoot into the hallway.

Sanji was awake. And clearly, he was already making himself at home. He opened the door, and the scent hit him stronger than before.

Garlic. Scallions. Something caramelizing slow and rich. The mess hall light was on.

Law stepped inside and stopped cold.

Sanji stood at the stovetop, sleeves rolled, collar loose, hair half-tied in a way that barely tamed it. He moved like it was second nature, like he belonged there, flipping something in the pan just as a kettle began to whistle. Along the counter, a line of neatly plated breakfasts already waited.

The omelets were delicate, golden-edged, and folded just enough to cradle the filling like it mattered. The smell of caramelized onions filled the space—smoky, sweet. A scent that wrapped around Law’s senses with quiet insistence.

One plate for every member of the crew. Of course Sanji had made enough for everyone. Law wasn’t sure why that hit him the way it did.

Sanji turned slightly, not startled, just aware.

“You’re up early, Captain.” He smirked around the cigarette at the corner of his mouth, one eye framed in shadow. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Law leaned against the doorframe, voice rough with sleep. “No. Guess I’m not the only one with things on his mind.”

Sanji chuckled low in his chest, folding another omelet with casual grace. “Yeah, well… this is what I do when my brain won’t shut up.” He nodded toward the kettle. “Want tea?”

Law nodded, watching him move. There was something seamless about it. Like he’d already sunk into the rhythm of the Tang without trying. Sanji crossed to the pantry and opened it, rummaging through boxes with a hum. He pulled a few bags into view, holding them up to Law one by one. Sanji quickly shook his head, like he was trying to guess what tea Law liked from the selection. He did this a few times, and Law silently watched him, amusement rising in his mind.

“Hm. Black tea. This one’s got elderberry, maybe a little ginger?” He brought it to his nose, sniffed, and considered.

Law blinked. “That’s—yeah.”

Sanji’s smirk twitched again. He turned, dropped the tea bag into a mug, and poured the kettle over it. A curl of steam rose, fragrant and earthy. He walked back to Law, stopping just a little too close in the doorway.

“Are you going to come in, or just tease me with your dramatic doorway presence?” Sanji asked, that familiar flirt sliding back into his voice.

Then he turned on his heel, returning to the stove without waiting for a response. Over his shoulder, a glance.

“Sit.”

Law moved without a word, sliding into the bench across from the place Sanji set for him. The food smelled absurdly good. Like morning was supposed to. Sanji brought over two plates, one for Law and one for himself, and joined him with a matching mug of black tea. He didn’t say anything more. Just started eating.

For a while, they sat in silence. A rare kind of quiet. Sanji’s eyes drifted now and again, always returning to Law like he was checking, just… to see him eat. Law set his fork down eventually, a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t sleep much, do you?”

Sanji shrugged. “I sleep better when I know people are fed.”

Law glanced down at his plate, almost cleared now except for a few bites towards the center. Every bite was like a small clap on the back from your friend. The temperature was just right, so when Law swallowed it, it did not burn; it melted on the way down. He usually picked his food apart, segmenting it like he would during surgery, but there was no need here. Letting the fluffy texture of the egg roll over his tongue. It was sensations, feelings he had not felt in years. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something this deliberate on his ship. The rations were balanced. Functional. Fuel. But this… this was food made with care, with love.

“It’s good,” Law said, quietly.

And then he felt it—heat rising up the back of his neck. Fast. Sharp. He shifted in his seat, lifting the tea to his lips, both hands wrapped around the mug like a shield.

Sanji didn’t call him out on it. He just took another bite and watched him over the rim of his own cup. He was relaxed, then they went sharp again. He watched Law snap from stiff to comfortable throughout the meal. Watching the way Law ate his food. The subtle blush of pink filled his cheeks every time he swallowed.

“You’re not so bad when you’re not being a prick, y’know,” he muttered, pulling the tension towards him and not the constant calculation that was the doctor’s mind.

Law leaned back, eyelids low. “Careful. That almost sounded like kindness.”

Sanji glanced at him again with a lopsided smile. “And you almost sounded like someone who meant it.”

The metallic groan of the Polar Tang settling deeper into the sea reverberated faintly beneath their feet. Sanji leaned back slightly on the bench, one arm slung across the backrest as he watched Law finish the last of his breakfast.

“So,” he drawled, voice low but colored with that familiar mischief, “am I allowed to assume this means I passed the kitchen inspection, Captain?”

Law wiped his fingers with a cloth and set it neatly aside, unfazed. “I’ll withhold judgment until dinner.”

“Cold as ever.” Sanji’s smirk widened.

Law’s eyes cut to him over the rim of his teacup, unreadable but sharp. “If I start grading your meals like a surgeon, will that help you sleep at night?” He leaned back, taking in the cook.

“It’s not my sleep I’m worried about,” Sanji murmured, shifting his gaze back towards the kitchen, baring his neck to him, his voice just above a whisper, watching Law’s reaction like a slow match to a cigarette.

There was the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, as if resisting the urge to reply in kind. Sanji leaned into the bench’s backrest, and the apron tied around his waist shifted just slightly, accenting the narrow taper of his hips. The image of Sanji leaning over the counter in the smoke shop floated towards the front of his mind once more. The subtle curve of the well-toned muscles, carrying the charm and sway of someone who knows the effects he has on others around him.

Law's gaze trailed up him, his shirt open just enough to show skin that shouldn’t be this distracting—sleeves rolled, forearms taut, the easy flex of muscle beneath practiced grace.

Law’s eyes trailed upward before he could stop himself.

Sanji caught it. And smiled, "Did I lose you there, Captain?" His voice was smooth, teasing, and drenched in heat. Then he arched his back ever so slightly, shoulders tilting toward the wall. A slow exhale left him, part breath, part suggestion. It hovered, dangerously close to a moan.

Law’s pulse stuttered. His chest felt tight. Hot. He was suddenly, painfully aware of the way his shirt clung to him, the low hang of his pajama pants, and how bare his skin felt under Sanji’s gaze.

Sanji didn’t press further.

The air between them buzzed, unspoken but impossibly loud.

Before he could answer, the faint scuff of boots echoed down the hall.

The crew was waking.

Penguin’s voice carried in next. “I swear that wrench was right there last night; I didn’t touch it!”

Shachi groaned. “You probably slept with it again. Like you do every time we go to port!”

Bepo’s voice chimed in last, sleep-muffled and cheerful: “We’re not starting the day with yelling again, are we?”

Ikkaku's soft voice chimed in: "Bepo's right. Why are we yelling again?"

Sanji chuckled softly. “Sounds like we are not alone anymore." He got up and moved carefully, knowing Law's eyes were trailing his every movement. The way he bent forward to stand, the pivot of his hips. The length of his well-toned legs. He walked back to the stove to start to clean up.

Sanji knew exactly how to move his body to get a reaction, and it was working.

Law paused, offering a rare sliver of vulnerability as he stood quickly and returned the plate to the sink. And way too close to Sanji.

The cook stared at him, like he was eating him with his eyes. Lips parted, a small exhale was all that it took. Sanji leaned his weight towards the captain, closing the distance once again. Pulling the tension taut once more. Amber eyes held steady towards him, not backing down from the advance.

“Just don’t charm the crew into mutiny.” And with that, he turned and disappeared into the corridor, steps echoing down the steel hall.

Sanji lingered in the galley a little longer, quietly rinsing dishes in the small sink, listening to the ship hum and stir with morning life. He dried his hands, leaned briefly against the counter, and let the silence settle in his chest once more.

The sea was quiet out here. But something about it felt... less heavy than he was anticipating.

He looked down at the case tucked into his inner coat pocket, then to the empty table where Law had just sat.

Not as cold as I imagined.

 

The soft pads of Law’s footsteps had barely faded when another set echoed down the hallway outside the galley.

Then the door swung open.

“Hey, was that L—?” Penguin stopped short, blinking at the scene inside. Sanji, cigarette resting lazily between his fingers, leaned against the counter with all the calm of someone who owned the place. The scent of garlic and onions still hung warm in the air.

Shachi bumped into Penguin from behind. “Told you he was still in here.”

Bepo followed with a soft thump, blinking sleepily, and promptly brightened. “That’s food.” His nose twitched. “Real food.”

Ikkaku trailed in last, a hand brushing back her hair as she looked over the plates. “Wait. Did someone seriously cook breakfast?”

Sanji raised a brow, flicking ash into a nearby tray. “Nice to meet you too.”

Penguin tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “You’re Sanji, right? Straw Hat’s cook? The guy who kicked Queen through a fortress wall?”

Sanji’s smirk curled sharp at the edge. “Depends on the wall.”

“Smells amazing,” Ikkaku murmured, stepping closer to examine the perfectly folded omelets.

“Are you hungry, or just here to gawk?” Sanji asked smoothly, already sliding plates toward them.

Bepo stepped forward immediately, tail fluffing. “Very.”

As Ikkaku stepped forward to reach for a plate, Sanji was already there, sliding one toward her with a flourish and a subtle bow.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he murmured, his voice just low enough to make it feel like a secret. “Wouldn’t want to burn a hand as lovely as yours.” Ikkaku raised a brow and smirked, turning towards the benches with the rest of her crew.

The first bites landed like a revelation. Shachi made a strangled sound somewhere between a groan and a prayer. “What the hell. Is that onion? Did you age the onions?”

Sanji didn’t answer—just nodded toward the plates. “Eat while it’s hot.”

Bepo chewed carefully, then paused mid-bite. “The captain said you’d be here a while.”

“Yeah.” Sanji wiped his hands on a towel. “Not long, if I can help it. Just until we figure some things out.”

Penguin looked at him with a bit more care now. “You alright? You don’t look injured.”

Sanji’s smirk wavered, just slightly. “Looks can be deceiving.”

Bepo gave a quiet nod. “Then we’ll help however we can.”

There was a moment of silence—not awkward, just heavy with unspoken understanding. Then Shachi clapped his hands. “Alright! No one makes food like that without getting the tour.”

“Tour?” Sanji echoed, one brow raised.

“Mandatory for new crewmates. Even temporary ones,” Penguin said, already heading toward the door.

“You’ll definitely get lost without one,” Bepo added.

“And we’ll show you where we hide the good coffee,” Ikkaku said dryly. “Not the stuff Law hoards for emergencies.”

Sanji chuckled, stubbing out his cigarette. “Guess I can’t say no.”

He followed them out, the warmth of breakfast still lingering behind them. One Straw Hat and four Heart Pirates vanished down the corridor, voices rising in easy banter.

 

Back in his quarters, Law stood still for a moment, his hand resting on the edge of a drawer. No charts. No instruments. No calculations clawing at the back of his mind.

Just the lingering scent of garlic, butter, and black tea clinging faintly to the air. He grabbed a clean shirt but didn’t move to put it on right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch.

Just… stillness.

And for the first time, in longer than he could remember, the day ahead didn’t feel like a battle waiting to be won. He finally turned, heading for the showers—the scent of breakfast still following him down the halls as the warmth settled under his skin.

The tour started in a narrower corridor, the lights dimming just slightly in the halls. Bepo led the way with a steady, surprisingly graceful stride for someone his size. While the other three split off from them. The crew passed tight corridors with ease and practice. A few awkward moments passed between the crew and Sanji as Bepo navigated the corridors with him. Every movement from the crew felt intentional. With the confined space, there was no room for moseying. He watched Bepo duck beneath a reinforced archway into a low-ceilinged room.

“This part of the ship’s quieter,” he said, tail swaying gently. “I come here when I need to think.”

It wasn’t large, but it had a wide curved window that looked out into the sea, deep blue, almost black, pierced with little beams of filtered light. There were a couple of cushions on the floor, a set of stacked books in a netted hammock, and a few handmade paper lanterns hung in one corner, softly glowing with yellow light. "Or meditate."

Bepo glanced back, ears twitching slightly. “Everyone needs a quiet place."

Sanji stepped forward toward the glass, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a fresh cigarette he hadn’t lit. The silence felt deeper here, not just the ocean, but something else. A pause that had weight. He tapped the cigarette against his palm instead of lighting it. "You meditate?" Bepo turned to him, "Yeah, stress makes me shed."

A beat passed between them.

“If you want to smoke, you can come here,” Bepo said, nodding toward the tobacco in Sanji’s hand. “The vent right there leads into the engine room. Most of us avoid it.” He smiled gently and turned his gaze back out the large porthole.

It was beautiful.

Sanji sat beside him, lighting his cigarette with a familiar clank and drawing in a slow, deep inhale. The smoke curled from his lips, carried toward the vent. The scent, the heat, the calm—it grounded him.

He was here. Really here.

A large Sea King drifted past the glass, and Bepo exhaled softly beside him, pulling out a half-eaten cookie and munching on it with quiet contentment.

“You like sweets?” Sanji asked, still watching the slow arc of the creature’s body beyond the glass.

Bepo turned, smiling. “Yeah… but the captain says we shouldn’t eat too much of them.” He gave a sheepish chuckle and tucked the cookie away like it was contraband.

Sanji snorted, dragging from his cigarette and tipping the smoke toward the vent, careful to keep it away from Bepo. “He also smokes, apparently. So who is he to judge?”

There was a pause. Bepo glanced at Sanji again, expression tinged with something like concern.

“He doesn’t actually smoke them. He just likes the way they smell.” A beat. “Yours in particular.” Sanji raised a brow at that, a smirk creeping to the corner of his mouth before it settled again. He looked down at the cookie in Bepo’s paw.

“Say, what’s your favorite dessert? What about the rest of the crew? What do they like?”

Bepo perked up. “Well, I love shortbread,” he said, gesturing to the crumbling half of the cookie. “Shachi likes anything with peanuts. Penguin’s into mochi, especially with fruit. Iukkaku loves anything gummy, little crunchy gummy things.”

Sanji hummed in thought, eyes narrowing with a familiar calculating spark. “Done,” he muttered, taking the last pull from his cigarette and snubbing it out.

Bepo blinked. “You know how to make shortbread?”

Sanji gave him a look, one eyebrow raised. “Do I look like I don’t?”

Bepo grinned wide. “Okay, okay!”

The question hung in the air like something sacred. Bepo glanced around first, ears twitching, like he was about to share the ship’s greatest secret.

“And Laws' favorite is... black forest cake.”

Sanji’s smirk returned, softer this time. “Of course it is.”

Grilled fish, onigiri… and Black Forest cake. He made a mental note, ideas already whirling. If a simple omelet had made Law flush... what would his favorite dessert do to him?

They sat in companionable silence after that, watching the dark waters drift by. For a while, there was no need for conversation.

Eventually, Sanji broke it. “Hey... where are we headed, anyway?”

Bepo squinted through the glass. “Small island. We’ll reset the log pose there. Not planning to stay long.”

Sanji quirked a brow. “You’re the navigator?”

“Yup!”

“Well, Bepo,” Sanji said, rising to his feet and stretching, “if you want those shortbread cookies, you might want to convince your captain to hang around a bit longer. I need to restock. The kitchen’s missing about half of what it needs to be a kitchen.”

Bepo looked up at him, his expression soft and thoughtful. In the quiet light of the Polar Tang, he studied the Straw Hat cook: his confidence, his precision, and his warmth.

Sanji looked over his shoulder at the two other crewmencoming down the hallways, loud and shouting something about Ikkaku and her hair clogging the shower again. They met the eye of the chef over his shoulder.

"Oh, there you are! Ready to see more of the ship?" Sanji stood, and so did Bepo. "Lead the way."

The Heart Pirates’ corridors were narrow but well-kept, their walls etched with scuffs and dents, quiet scars from years spent beneath the sea. Sanji walked with Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, eyes flicking with idle curiosity from one hallway corner to the next.

They stopped in front of a sliding door, and Shachi tapped a button. With a soft hiss, it opened. Lights flickered to life, revealing a compact but lived-in room, clearly a shared space. Two bunks. Cluttered shelves. Posters. Hobbies split neatly down the center of the room but blended just enough to speak of a perfect balance between them.

“So this is where you guys live, huh?” Sanji mused, lips curled in a lazy smirk. “Was expecting more skeletons in jars. Less bikini models.”

“That’s my wall!” Shachi barked, jabbing a thumb at the collage. “Don’t judge what boosts morale.”

Sanji chuckled, a low sound that seemed to settle easily in the air. There was warmth in this part of the ship. Levity. A sharp contrast to the looming shadow of their ever-serious captain.

Penguin leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “You want to see the lounge? Captain never uses it, but the projector still works—sometimes.”

“You’ve got a projector snail?” Sanji arched a brow, amused.

“Yup! And we’ve got decent booze stashed in a wall panel.” Shachi was already leading the charge, and Sanji followed, letting himself be pulled along by the tide of their energy.

Nice to see some real life on this ship.

They reached a round hatch that opened into a spacious, dimly lit chamber lined with cushions, hand-built shelves, and a low central table. The neat rows of books were stacked on the table, and pressed herbal bundles hung from hooks on the wall. Wanted posters lined one side of the wall. One with Law and Bepo, Law's was pristine while Bepo's had been graffitied with love. Other faces he knew lined the wall. His crew, Luffy, Zoro, himself, and the rest. He noticed the small hearts next to Nami, which earned a snort of respect from Sanji. He stepped further inside, glancing around, noting how different this space felt from the Sunny—calmer, older, quieter. The ship may have been steel and wires, but there was heart in here.

Other crewmates were stocked up on cushions, laying over laps, comfortable in the space. They played cards at the table and read silently with one another. There was a warmth settling here, and Sanji sank into it.

“Captain never visits this area,” Bepo added. “We get 'too loud,' he says." Sanchi and Penguin run and jump into a large pile of cushions and blankets where a few other Heart Pirates are lounging. "Captain kind of just keeps to himself, really." Sanji scanned around the space. Luffy would like it here, Sanji thought. Hell, even Zoro would probably nap here if no one talked to him.

But the biggest thing that took Sanji's breath away was the large bay window that lined the room. He stood there and took it in. The energy in the room settled, like he belonged there. He crossed his arms as he took in the scene before him.

Shachi and Penguin had climbed onto each other’s shoulders, trying to prod the projector snail awake. Ikkaku tossed a card and let out a small cheer as it landed, victorious, in Hakugan’s lap. Jean read a book as he held it close to his face.

And for a brief moment, he let himself relax. Then —

“Sanji.”

The voice cut through the room like a scalpel.

Law stood in the doorway. His presence shifted the air instantly. His eyes found Sanji’s like magnets locking together.

“Come with me.”

The noise faded. The others stilled. The vibe changed on a dime.

Sanji turned toward the doorway, the warmth in the room ebbing like a tide pulling out to sea. The Heart Pirates fell into a hush. With wide eyes and stiff shoulders, no one moved.

Law stood just beyond the threshold, dressed in black slacks and a light blue button-down, the fit sharp and unyielding. In one hand, he held a clipboard thick with papers, at least fifty sheets, neatly clamped and annotated, judging by the colored tabs peeking from the sides.

He really doesn’t come here often, does he? Sanji mused. With theatrical ease, he offered a shallow bow and a lazy smirk. “Alright then. Captain.”

He straightened, brushing past Law without breaking eye contact, bold, unbothered. But even as he passed, he could feel the way Law’s gaze lingered on him.

Law didn’t speak.

He simply stepped aside, letting Sanji through, his amber eyes sweeping across the room as he did, landing briefly on each of his crewmembers. There was no overt reprimand in his stare, but the disapproval was there, controlled. Measured.

The crew straightened instinctively under his glance.

Then, wordlessly, Law turned and followed Sanji down the corridor. The quiet tension trailed behind them like a ripple through still water, the echo of boots on steel, the weight of a moment shifted.

The lounge, once warm and bright with laughter, dimmed under the still gaze of their captain.

 

 

They walked the length of the Polar Tang in silence; the steady hum of the engines beneath them had become something of a heartbeat. Sanji recognized the turns now. The way the halls branched. I better get used to finding this place, as they reached the scan room again.

Law stepped forward, made a practiced motion over the panel, and the doors slid open. Sanji stepped inside, the sterile lights flickering on automatically. He sat where he had the first time, at the same cushioned table.

Law stood in front of him, clipboard in hand. He flipped through a stack of papers, fingers precise, movements efficient. He stood just to the side of Sanji when he found the page he wanted; he stepped closer and held it out, leaning over just enough for Sanji to feel the faint brush of breath near his shoulder.

Sanji didn’t move. He always knew when he was being watched. Admired. Law wasn’t exactly subtle anymore, and Sanji wasn’t in the mood to let it slide without notice.

He glanced up over his shoulder with a small smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. “Something catch your eye, Surgeon of Death?” Law eyed him and replied in a sterile tone.

“This is your spine,” he said, his tone clinical but quieter than before. He pointed to the image on the sheet. “Here. The neural node, that thin black bar near the base of the skull. That’s the implant Judge built.”

Sanji’s expression shifted the moment the word judge left Law’s mouth.

Law continued anyway. “I want to extract the core segment and replace it with a clean one. Neutral. No German tech. Still functional, still structurally sound… yours.” He continued.

“We’ll stabilize the surrounding nerves after. Your system’s already started adapting to the implant a long time ago, which means the longer we wait, the harder it gets to remove.”

Sanji stared at the paper.

Lines of data. Medical diagrams. Fine print notations scrawled in a language of numbers, tissue readings, and proprietary biotech codes. The word Germa appeared over and over again in tight black font, stamped like a brand.

His hands had started to tremble again.

Law caught the motion and didn’t flinch. “You’ll be under the entire time. I’ll be monitoring your vitals through every phase. It’s invasive. There are risks. But if we don’t cut it out now…” His voice dropped, calm but firm. “The removal becomes more dangerous the longer we wait.”

Another long silence passed between them, heavy but not sharp.

Sanji finally exhaled, slow and steady. “Alright. Let’s do it. Cut the bastard out.”

Law didn’t smile, but there was something in his posture that shifted, some deeper thread of respect settling between them. He nodded once and turned toward a cabinet to begin prepping the materials.

“I’ll schedule it for tonight. You’ve got the rest of the day to prepare.”

"What about in 3 days?" Law stared at him, trying to understand the want in delay. His silence spoke for him.

"I want to be able to buy groceries." Sanji stood and said, "Look, if you want me aboard, you've got to have a decently stocked pantry. And the crap you are feeding your crew is, well, garbage food."

Law took a long look, eyeing the cook. He watched him, Sanji's cool exterior, and the way he demanded things from Law. Changing Laws plans just because he wanted to go grocery shopping at the next island.

"Look, I'll make your favorite onigiri if we can delay by a few days, Law." Sanji looked at him, determined to sway the captain to his side. Sanji walked towards him, close, too close for Law. He stepped back, but Sanji followed pace.

"Come on, doctor, can you postpone just a little?" A familiar hot bite to Sanji's words had returned to him. Law found himself retreating from the advancing Cook. Law bumped against the set of cabinets that held all his instruments. Hands gripped the countertop, knuckles white.

Sanji pressed his legs tight together with every step. The well-fitting slacks accentuated his toned legs. He walked with that familiar canter that left Law wanting. And now it was directed at him. Sanji was close; he leaned in close to the doctor. He held his arms behind him and pushed his chest forward, arching his back more towards the captain.

"Oh, come on, let me cook for you, let me get ingredients that will leave your senses—" He leaned in further, brushing the cup of Law's ear, "Raw... wanting."

Sanji pulled back a little bit and hovered in Law's space, lips inches from one another. Sanji glanced down at Law's lips.

But Sanji caught another detail, one that made his breath hitch just slightly.

In Law’s attempt to back away, his shirt had pulled loose from his slacks. The fabric shifted just enough to reveal two sets of paired dermal piercings descending along his lower pelvis, twin lines of metal perfectly framing what lay just below.

Sanji’s eyes traced the path, lips curving slowly.

“Well, Captain,” he murmured, his voice dipping low with delight. “Now that’s a surprise.”

His fingers brushed the hem of Law’s shirt, catching it in a gentle tug, just enough to remind Law that the space between them still belonged to Sanji.

“You know,” he continued, breath warm and teasing, “that’s pretty tempting. What other secrets are you hiding under here?” Another tug. Softer this time.

Law didn’t move. Couldn’t. His breath stayed shallow, trapped just beneath his ribs.

“Fine,” he said at last, sharp and exasperated. “We’ll postpone.”

Sanji grinned, triumphant but slow, like a flame taking its time to devour.

He backed up, finally giving Law room to breathe… though his fingers lingered on the hem of the shirt a second longer than necessary.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest?” he drawled, turning for the door. “See you at dinner, Doctor.”

He shot a wink over his shoulder and slipped out, the soft click of the door sealing the heat behind him.

The door shut with a final click, and Law didn’t move.

Not for several long seconds.

He remained braced against the counter, fingers still curled white around the edge, Sanji’s touch burning against the hem of his shirt. His breath came slow and tight, pulled too shallow through his nose as if anything deeper might give something away.

That man is infuriating.

Law straightened slowly, brushing a hand down the front of his shirt, futilely trying to smooth the wrinkles Sanji had left behind. But it wasn’t just the fabric. His skin felt overheated, hypersensitive where Sanji’s voice had curled around the shell of his ear.

His dermals—nothing more than an aesthetic choice—suddenly felt exposing.

He dragged a hand over his mouth, then raked it through his hair, trying to shake off the flush crawling up the sides of his neck.

Three days. He pushed it back three days for groceries. For rice and spices and God knows what else.

Law exhaled sharply and turned toward the cabinets, trying to shift back into work mode. But the papers on his clipboard blurred at the edges. The neatly marked scans, the annotated margins, the surgical timeline he’d started building in his head—all of it rattled loose under the weight of Sanji’s presence.

Law cursed under his breath in a sharp hiss and stalked across the room to drop the clipboard on his desk. The metal clatter rang louder than it needed to.

He hated how much space the man already took up. In his ship. In his schedule. In his head.

And yet…

Law’s gaze shifted toward the door again. His expression was unreadable, but the storm behind his eyes hadn’t passed.

If he’s going to cook dinner tonight

Law closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

I had better dress for the occasion.

 

Evening settled slowly into the bones of the Polar Tang; the lights dimmed to a warmer hue to simulate sunset. In the galley, the scent of miso, charred fish, and a faint whisper of ginger lingered like a promise in the air.

Sanji stood at the stove, sleeves rolled and collar open. His hands moved with practiced ease—stirring, tasting, and adjusting. Each movement was fluid and graceful. He ladled a small portion of the miso soup into a cup, sipped, and hummed low in his throat before turning the heat down and letting it rest.

The grilled fish had been salvaged from Wano—cured and chilled for the trip. Now it flaked beautifully in the broth, smoky and rich against the deep, earthy notes of the miso. Scallions and a hint of yuzu danced on top, bright against the backdrop of comfort.

Behind him, the crew gathered.

Bepo entered first, nose twitching. “It smells amazing,” he whispered, almost reverently.

“About time someone fixed the rations,” Shachi muttered, though his tone was already light with anticipation.

Sanji didn’t turn as he spoke. “Ramen is almost ready. Don’t hover unless you’re volunteering to set the table.”

“I’ll do it!” Bepo said instantly, padding toward the drawers.

Ikkaku arrived next, sleeves rolled up and an amused smile tugging at her lips. “You’re aware you’re slowly ruining our ability to go back to powdered meals, right?”

“That’s the plan,” Sanji replied smoothly, ladling soup into bowls.

One by one, the Heart Pirates filtered in, some skeptical, some intrigued. There were murmurs of appreciation, surprise, and even something close to awe as the scent of real, warm food filled the room.

Then came the quiet shift.

Footsteps, slow, deliberate.

Law entered, now dressed in a jet-black turtleneck rolled up at the elbows; he had on the same slacks he was previously wearing, hat missing, with lightly tousled hair in its natural state. His warm eyes striking against all the black he now adorned.

The conversations faltered. Chairs shifted slightly. All eyes turned.

He didn’t speak.

Instead, he stepped forward and chose a seat.

At the head of the table.

The silence thickened. With the quiet Law's presence brought, Sanji turned and locked eyes with the captain. Eyes molten and unwavering, he crossed his legs and settled in to being admired, a small hint of a smile over his expression. Sanji bit the edge of his lip, and he drank the man in. Only Law saw him now, and that was all he wanted in that moment.

Then Sanji moved, with a grin, two bowls in hand, and took the empty seat beside him.

He placed the bowl in front of Law like it was routine, effortless. Then he slid into his own seat with a soft sigh.

The bowl arrives steaming, the miso broth a golden-bronze hue with a cloudy opacity that speaks of long-simmered depth—fermented soybean paste melted into a stock that whispers of kombu, dried sardine, and roasted garlic. A delicate shimmer of oil floats on the surface, catching the light like silk, carrying with it the savory perfume of sesame and scallion.

Nestled within, the ajitsuke tamago—a soft-boiled egg, marinated in soy and mirin—rests like a jewel split in half. Its whites are just set, tender to the edge of collapse, and the yolk—oh, the yolk—glistens with a slow, molten amber glow. It's not runny, but fluid, its texture somewhere between custard and desire, rich with umami and the slightest sweet tang of its marinade.

A folded sheet of nori leans into the bowl’s edge, half-soaked, half-crisp. The exposed edge crackles with a whisper of papery crunch, while the submerged portion darkens, softens, and yields to the broth—bringing with it a whisper of ocean brine, the mineral taste of tide and wind.

Tiny flecks of toasted garlic and scallion float in lazy circles, adding bursts of earthy sharpness that balance the fermented depth of the miso. Occasionally, a bubble rises and pops, releasing a scent so savory it borders on illicit—coaxing the first bite forward with a promise that this is not just food, but comfort, memory, and pleasure stirred into one steaming bowl.

Law lifted a slice of soft-boiled egg to his mouth. The yolk gave way instantly, molten gold against his tongue, chased by the rich steam of the miso broth that clung to it. He paused.

The texture was seamless, silky, and tender, but it was the warmth that lingered.

Not just heat, but warmth.

Something steady, grounding. It bloomed low in his chest, deeper than he was prepared for. He glanced down at the bowl, eyes narrowing slightly.

The Straw Hats eat like this every day?

Law didn’t answer right away.

Fingers steady but deliberate. Sanji watched from the corner of his eye, holding his breath without realizing it, waiting for that familiar flush to creep into those pale cheeks.

This wasn’t just food. It was care, disguised in broth and seasoning. Sanji hadn’t just cooked for the crew; he was building something here. Made this space feel less like steel and systems and more like home.

A pause. Then a breath, the softest nod.

“…It’s good,” Law said, voice quiet but certain.

Bepo beamed. Shachi let out a soft, stunned “Whoa.” And just like that, the tension in the room eased, not shattered, but loosened. The spell of the captain’s distance cracked.

Conversations picked up again. Jokes, small laughter, the shuffling of bowls, and seconds being served. The ship began to feel like something alive, not just functioning, but thriving.

Sanji caught the look. Just for a moment, across the rim of his bowl, Law was watching him again.

The room around them was soaked in the calm Sanji had brought with him. A space to breathe. A moment to exist in peace. The crew let themselves have it, and Sanji didn’t miss the way their shoulders lowered, how the weariness of war eased, just a little, with each bite.

It had been a long time since the Heart Pirates had a reason to celebrate.

Law looked away, returning to his bowl, posture easing just slightly.

Sanji smirked, lifting his spoon once more.

Yeah. You’re not so cold after all.

 

The galley slowly emptied. Bowls stacked, laughter faded, and boots thudded down steel corridors as the crew peeled off in pairs or alone, some full-bellied and dazed, others still whispering about the fish or the kick of spice in the broth.

Sanji lingered at the sink, sleeves pushed up as he rinsed the last bowl clean, the water running warm over his fingers. He didn’t say much—just listened to the soft hum of the ship and the distant echoes of voices growing faint. Behind him, Law remained seated longer than anyone. Just stared quietly at the dregs and the reflections in his bowl.

Then, without a word, he stood. Sanji caught the movement from the corner of his eye. Law hesitated; he did not need words. His body language told Sanji, Follow me.

Neither spoke as they slipped from the galley. The ship’s halls were quieter now, the pulse of the engines a low heartbeat underfoot. They moved in step, neither leading nor following.

Eventually, they reached the room Bepo had shown Sanji earlier, the one with the large porthole that peered into the ocean beyond. Paper lanterns glowed dimly. A calm hush filled the space.

Sanji stepped forward first, hands in his pockets. He stood in front of the glass, eyes on the soft-blue dark of the sea beyond. Tiny fish darted past like stars. Law stopped beside him, his reflection faint in the window, more shadow than shape.

For a long moment, neither said anything.

Then Sanji broke the silence, his voice low and easy. “You know… I didn’t think I would have ever been able to see the ocean from this perspective.”

Law glanced at him. "It is a rare peace most don't get to witness." His voice was low; he folded his arms in front of him.

Sanji hummed a small note of agreement. “Yeah… I get that.”

Another pause. Sanji shifted slightly, arms crossing loosely as he leaned one shoulder to the glass.

“The crew likes you,” Law said at last.

Sanji snorted. “They like my food.”

“They like you,” Law repeated, slower. “There’s a difference.”

That surprised a quiet smile from Sanji. Not a flashy one, just the kind that tugged gently at the corner of his mouth.

“You too, huh?”

Law’s eyes flicked toward him. “What?”

Sanji’s tone was almost playful but undercut with something gentler. "You heard me."

Sanji turned his head slightly, watching the faint lines of Law’s profile reflected in the glass. He leaned just a little closer, their shoulders brushing lightly, the barest contact, enough to feel the warmth between them.

And together, they stood in the quiet glow of the ocean’s depths, staring out into a world that neither of them had chosen, but somehow, here, in this stillness, didn’t seem so cold.

Sanji reached into his shirt and pulled out the slim case. He flicked it open with a well-practiced motion, selected one, and rolled it between his fingers, slow and thoughtful. His lighter came next, a soft clank as the flame hissed to life.

The glow cast a warm flash over his face, catching in his hair, briefly softening every sharp line. He took a slow drag. Exhaled. The smoke curled around them, lazy and blue in the low light.

Law didn’t move away.

Sanji watched him from the corner of his eye. “Is this going to bother your delicate lungs, Captain?”

Law shook his head once. “No.” A beat passed. Then, softer, “I like the smell.”

That earned a glance. Sanji turned his head just slightly, eyebrow raised. “Do you now?” His hold on the cigarette was delicate. "I couldn't tell the other night. What was it about the blend, hum?" Another soft inhale as he let the smoke go with a deep sigh. Letting it fill the space between them.

Law kept his gaze fixed on the sea. “Most smoke smells like chemicals, bitter, devoid of anything but feeding habit." He dug his grip into his forearm. "Yours don't.”

Sanji took another drag. He knew there was something more Law was not telling him; he could tell from the smoke shop that he was looking for something specific, the way he jumped to claim the blend for himself as well.

Law's expression was unreadable, but his voice betrayed him—barely above a whisper.

“It reminds me of someone.”

Sanji didn’t ask who. Just let the silence stretch again, the smoke curling through it like punctuation. Eventually, he flicked the ash neatly into a small discarded cup, then leaned back against the porthole edge, watching Law more openly now.

“Do you ever actually smoke?”

Law shook his head. “No. Just…” He hesitated. Memories of the man carrying him from hospital to hospital flickered quickly in his mind. Burning down one after another when he watched how people treated Law. The way he cradled Law to keep him warm under the feathers. Large frame shielding him from whatever lay before them.

His gaze was distant and soft.

Sanji took one more slow draw, then held the cigarette between two fingers and extended it toward Law, the ember glowing faintly.

Law stared at it.

Sanji’s voice was smooth and quiet. “Want to try?”

A moment passed—one heartbeat too long—and Law’s eyes flicked down to meet his.

“No,” he said at last, and Sanji couldn’t help but take note of the way it sounded almost regretful.

Let the silence linger, the smoke curling gently around them. Then he tilted his head, watching Law’s profile in the dim blue light of the sea.

“You like the smell…” he echoed, voice low and smooth, like velvet tugged tight. “But you won’t taste it?”

Law didn’t look at him, but Sanji could see the tension in the set of his shoulders. The way his eyes blinked a half-second slower than usual.

“I didn’t say that.”

Sanji smirked. He took another drag, slow and deliberate, then exhaled upward, letting the smoke drift between them in a lazy spiral. “You’re always measuring risk. Always calculating outcomes.” He turned his body slightly, facing Law more directly. “But when’s the last time you tried something just because it felt good?”

Law’s eyes slid toward him, sharp. “Not exactly a luxury I’m used to.”

Sanji stepped a fraction closer, enough that Law could feel the warmth off his chest, the spice of tobacco weaving between the tension growing between them.

“Maybe it should be.” Sanji’s voice dipped lower, breath thicker with tease. He took one last drag from the cigarette and leaned in, close enough that Law could see the faint red glow at the end. “Here,” he murmured, voice rough with smoke and something deeper, “if you won’t take it from my fingers…”

He turned his head just slightly—offering it.

“Try it from me.”

Sanji’s grin curved, slow and lazy. “Didn’t say you had to,” he murmured, voice thick with smoke and invitation. “Just take a breath.”
His lips hovered close—too close—each word exhaled with deliberate heat. “It’s just smoke, Captain. Harmless… right?”

Law’s fingers twitched at his side, the muscles in his jaw clenched tight.

Then—cautiously, deliberately—he leaned in. Just far enough to feel the warmth radiating off Sanji’s skin, to draw in a single breath shared between them.

Smoke. Spice. Him.

Law pulled back, slower than he meant to. His lids were heavy, the scent sharp in his nose, clinging to his throat. He closed his eyes for just a second, trying to steady the sudden tilt of his balance, but it wasn’t vertigo from the sea. It was Sanji.

He rolled the flavor in his mind like an equation he couldn’t solve. He’d smelled that blend countless times, in the corridors, in the seams of Sanji’s clothes, trailing faintly in every room he left behind. But this… this was different.

He held his breath like it meant something, like letting it go would be surrendering.

And then, slowly, he exhaled.

Sanji watched him, his own expression unreadable now. The teasing glint had dulled, replaced by something more dangerous.

“Well?” he asked.

Law opened his eyes. The warmth in his chest hadn’t faded—it had bloomed. His shirt clung too tightly to his ribs. His pulse beat just a little too fast in his neck, and his clothes felt too tight.

“You play with fire like it won’t burn you,” Law said at last, voice lower than before, tight at the edges.

Sanji's brows lifted, just slightly. “I am fire resistant, remember? I can take the heat.”

There was silence. The ocean loomed behind them, a wall of soft-moving light. Sanji leaned a hip against the glass, smoke trailing from his fingers.

“…You always like this with your patients?”

“No,” Law said, gaze unblinking. “Just you.”

“You really don’t bend, huh?” He said, voice dipping low, teasing at the edge of something heavier. “Even when I’m this close. Your body is begging me to say yes.”

He stepped even closer. Their chests nearly brushed now, but he kept the space just shy of contact, like gravity itself was what held them apart. He reached up slowly, deliberately, and brushed his fingers against the collar of Law’s shirt, barely there, just enough to feel the warmth beneath the fabric.

His thumb idly smoothing a crease at Law’s collarbone. “Tell me, Captain… When’s the last time someone got this close without a scalpel in hand?”

Law’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, but Sanji caught it. He didn’t press. Not yet.

“You think this is funny?” Law muttered, but his voice lacked bite. His hands were now braced at his sides, as if he moved, he’d lose whatever restraint he had left.

“No,” Sanji said, voice soft now, sincere beneath the smoke. “I think you’ve been cold for so long, you've forgotten what it feels like to be warm.”

His hand lingered at Law’s chest, the heat of his palm barely grazing fabric before it withdrew. He took a step back, not retreating, but releasing the tension like a bowstring easing after a held shot.

He dropped the butt into a small cup beside the window and turned, footsteps soft against the floor.

Law stayed rooted for a moment, eyes still locked to the space Sanji had filled. His heartbeat was loud. Flush rushing towards his neck.

Then Sanji paused at the door and glanced back.

“Oh—and Captain?” A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “Next time you want a taste… don’t wait for me to offer.”

And with that, he disappeared into the corridor, leaving behind nothing but the faint curl of smoke… and a man standing in its burn.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Let me know how you like it so fair. I am obsessed with this chapter. *Rubs hands together*.

Here's to the spiral of brain rot that can't stop. WOOOOOOO trama boys gooooooo.

Thanks again for reading, till next chapter. :)

Chapter 6: When Restraint Becomes Ruin

Summary:

Sanji and Law have some heated moments, lots of food, and so much tension.

 

Please heed the tags, things are going to get graphic.

 Law stirred before he was ready.

His body was heavy, nerves still crackling with the heat from the way Sanji had said, "Next time you want a taste…""—the words looped through his mind like a curse. He hadn’t slept much as he had fallen into a cycle of restless half-dreams, working over the upcoming surgery and the thought of warmth, of hands that weren’t there.

Sheets twisted low around his hips, the space beside him cold. His skin felt tight, and his mouth was dry. And nothing—nothing—about the hum of the ship soothed the tension.

Everything smelled like him.

The faintest echo of spice clinging to every surface.

“Fuck.”

He needed out. Out of this room. Out of this head.

Still bare-chested, he threw on a deep blue pair of pajamas, not dissimilar to the black ones he had worn before, choosing to go shirtless. He had slept through the rest of the night and most of the next day since last seeing Sanji, or his crew for that matter, and it was now 3 a.m. No coat. No hat. Just quiet steps through the dim corridor, his thoughts louder than the sound of his own feet.

He didn’t know where he was going until he was already there.

The galley was quiet. 

Law stepped inside and went straight to the counter, swiftly grabbing a mug and running water into it, almost to the rim, his hands, usually steady, trembled. His hands fully wrapped around a chipped mug. He sipped the cold water, feeling the chill run down his body. The dark circles under his eyes reflected his exhaustion. Leaning against the counter and reminding himself that today they should be docking on the island, and then the surgery where Law would be removing the implant that was overriding Sanji's body.

He watched the tremble in his hands; it was an unfamiliar sight. I need to calm down and get some sleep before tonight.

The calm he was chasing didn’t come. Only more echoes—the press of Sanji’s voice in the dark, the glint in his eye, the feel of being watched, like Law was something Sanji already knew inside and out.

He walked over to a bench and set the mug down with more force than intended, fracturing it further. He needed a rhythm. Routine. Anything. But even in the silence, even without Sanji anywhere near him, Law couldn’t stop the taste of smoke.

Law sat at the galley table for how long—even he did not know—hunched over the mug. Fingers dug into the ceramic like it was anchoring him in place. Eyes unfocused. Breathe shallowly. His body reacting to the soft caress of the fabric barely containing his unrelenting need.

I need to focus.

The sterile hum of the ship only made the silence louder. He slowly inhaled, trying to calm himself in the moment; his tremble had eased, but the heat beneath his skin would not cool.

"Next time you want a taste… don’t wait for me to offer."

Every breath since had felt like drowning. His chest is too tight. His thoughts were too fast, raw, and maddening.

He barely heard the door open.

The scent of smoke and spice. That familiar, devastating presence.

Sanji.

The cook strolled in like he owned the space—slow, easy, jacket thrown over one shoulder, cigarette already lit between his fingers. Hesitating in the doorway the second he spotted Law.

And Law…

Looked wrecked.

Not physically. Not to the untrained eye. But Sanji? Sanji saw everything—the flushed skin, the tight grip on the mug, the sharp edge in his eyes that wasn’t anger or pain but a man undone by something he hadn’t meant to need so badly.

Sanji’s lips curved with the faintest pull of understanding.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth as the smoke curling from his cigarette. “Didn’t think you'd beat me here.”

Law didn’t answer. His gaze stayed fixed as he listened to the words flow so easily from the source of frustration. Sanji stepped closer, dragging the chair out opposite him. Demanding Laws attention. Rested one arm on the table, watching Law with steady eyes.

“You look like hell,” he said. “Didn’t sleep?”

A pause. Then Law’s voice, low and hoarse.

“I didn’t.” Law swallowed hard. His fingers never letting go of the mug. Trying to press the spiral of desire from his mind as the smell of Sanji's blend dragged every ounce of patience from him.

Sanji watched him. The cracks were everywhere. Gorgeous, Sanji thought. Watching a man who built walls out of ice start to sweat from the inside.

"I was a little worried there for a moment." a long drag, hollowed cheeks. "You were gone for a while; the crew said it was a normal thing for you to isolate for days at a time." Sanji's voice drifted into the background in the haze of exhaustion and lust.

Law watched him now, examining every inch with a surgical precision. The color of his lips, the pressure of the inhale, how it altered the curve of his cheekbones. The hair draped over one side, hiding the perfect symmetry Sanji withheld from the world. And his hands, so fine, cared for, and delicate, the bone structure, the parts where the segments connected, just enough cushion to gently caress his—

“Are you going to tell me why?” Law's focus was snapped back to the cook as Sanji asked, tapping ash into the small tray beside them, voice velvet-lined but edged. He saw the unrelenting daze of the captain; he didn't just radiate lust and desire, he was drenched in it. Sanji wanted a taste, to pull him in close, to pull that tension so tight, he had the captain begging.

Law’s stare burned. “I think you know why.” He pressed the mug, and the crack splintered. His grip threatened to shatter it, along with the final strands of will Law had left.

“Mm,” he hummed. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Captain. I’m good at a lot of things.” Just a taste.

The air between them went razor-sharp. Sanji leaned in, chin resting in one palm, cigarette still balanced between two fingers. That stormy blue gaze didn’t waver.

Law’s chest rose and fell. Every logical thought he’d started with had been stripped down to one thing:

Sanji.

“Tell me what you want, Trafalgar,” he murmured. Law didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. But Sanji saw it—the tension in his jaw, the slight shift under the table. How every inch of him screamed with restraint.

Just a little more.

Law didn’t speak; his gaze was scanning over the way the collar brushed against the cook’s neck. He watched his pulse and counted the heart rate. He pressed his teeth together, running his tongue along the back, finding any way of relief under the watch of Sanji.

The strength this man held—hell, he took down emperors, after all. But the restraint to withhold and keep himself teetering was impressive. The cook watched how his waist had adjusted in his seat and how his breathing had barely steadied since he’d walked in. A man unmoored by proximity alone.

Sanji leaned back in his chair, one leg crossing over the other, cigarette balanced between his fingers like an afterthought. He studied the surgeon slowly, eyes dragging over his form. The man was well defined; it was hard to miss the definition in every inch. Sweat rolled down his chest and out of sight. Eyes molten gold, he had never seen such a color other than in a perfectly ripe persimmon. Then he exhaled, smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling.

“You really won’t make a move, will you?” he said, voice low and deliberate. He was almost entranced by the fluid nature of the irises of the captain.

Law’s eyes snapped.

“Is that what it is?” Sanji continued, soft and cutting. “You could’ve had me last night. Hell, anytime since I walked in this room. But you didn't. Not unless I tell you to.” He leaned in again, smoke wrapped around Law’s shoulders like a leash.

“And the worst part is…” His foot brushed lightly along Law’s ankle, dragging up to his calf. Law’s thighs clenched together.

“I like it.” Sanji reveled in the heat.

Law's hands tightened, furthering the crack; the tattooed knuckles went bloodless. That small touch, a drag of Sanji’s polished shoe against his shin, felt like being set on fire.

“You need me to tell you what you can take,” Sanji whispered. “That’s why you’re shaking right now.”

He tapped ash into the tray again, fingers loose and languid. Sanji held the tension like a leash, yanking again, “It’s sweet, really, the Surgeon of Death, paralyzed by a little smoke and a well-fitted suit.”

Law made a noise in the back of his throat, almost a growl. Sanji leaned in, lips parted around the edge of his cigarette.

“Say it,” Sanji breathed.

“Tell me what you want.” Sanji was dragging the truth out from Law, the want, and watching him crumbling in his hands.

Sanji kept the leash tight. Not giving in because that would be too easy.

Law didn’t answer. His vision blurred at the edge as his legs were fighting to stay together, holding the searing hot cock throbbing between them. He ran his eyes over the well-toned muscles running through the segments of muscles that made them up. Rolling his well-practiced hands between the fibers as he gripped him from behind—

Then Sanji’s voice dropped low, smooth, a velvet blade. “Mm-mm…” He stood slowly, lingering between the table and his chair. 

Law’s eyes followed every movement like a starving man. He had let the leash go… and watched Law squirm.

The mug in Law’s hand had cracked all the way through. A jagged split ran from lip to base, water now dripping from his palm onto the table in slow, uneven taps. His amber eyes were hungry.

Sanji bit his lower lip, savoring the moment. Every fraying edge of composure. Every ragged breath. Then he moved, slowly. His fingertips ghosted along the table’s edge as he stood and circled behind Law, never touching, but never out of reach.

Law didn’t move, but his eyes never left him. Sanji leaned in, lips brushing the air just beside Law’s ear, heat pouring from his skin like incense.

“You like this,” he murmured. “Feeling it build until you can’t breathe without me.”

The mug shattered in Law’s hand. He didn't move as the water and blood mixed on the table before him.

Only a whisper escaped—low and sharp:

“Room—Shambles.”

Gone.

Sanji blinked. It took a beat for him to register what happened.

Then, he chuckled to himself, satisfied. He turned back toward the kitchen, rolling his shoulders with a lazy grace.

His half-hard cock strained against the front of his slacks; he pressed the flat of his hand over it, exhaling through his nose. Later.

He had breakfast to make.

With what little remained in the pantry, he was going to craft a damn miracle.

But he took it as a silent victory in breaking down the surgeon’s walls. Sanji still had one more meal left to make him surrender completely.

The galley was alive with noise again.

Bepo sat cross-legged on one of the benches, tail twitching as he stuffed another rice ball into his mouth. Penguin and Shachi argued over the best way to scale a cliff without a rope. Ikkaku rolled her eyes, sipping from a metal thermos, and gave Sanji an approving nod as he set down another tray of food.

Bepo, between stuffed cheeks, spoke, "You really have to teach me how to make these taste so good!"

“Seriously,” Shachi mumbled around a bite, “how do you keep making this taste better every time?”

“Magic,” Sanji replied smoothly, flicking his cigarette toward the small vent. “Or maybe you’re just underfed.”

Ikkaku smirked. “He’s not wrong.”

Penguin glanced toward the hallway. “Captain not eating with us again?”

Most of the crew showed up for each meal now. It was a well-trained dance Sanji choreographed each day now. If they were not there right when food was served, they actively showed worry about arriving late so as not to miss any food that was being made by Sanji.

Sanji didn’t answer. He gave a little shrug. I wonder how he's holding up.

Bepo tilted his head. “We’re docking soon. Should someone tell him?”

“He knows,” Ikkaku said, tapping her thermos. “He set the coordinates himself.”

“That island’s uncharted,” Shachi added, wiping his hands on his pants. “We’ll need to reset the Log Pose while we’re there. We should all go—no telling what’s on it.”

“We’re within the hour,” Ikkaku confirmed, glancing at the control panel on the wall. “So if anyone needs to gear up, now’s the time.”

Sanji leaned back against the counter, arms folded, watching the small, tightly knit crew move with easy rhythm. There was something familial about them. Messy. Loud. Loyal.

It reminded him of home. Of being on the Sunny. His time on this ship with the Heart Pirates had been short. They welcomed him with warmth and trust that did not go misplaced.

“Hey, Sanji,” Penguin said, “are you coming with us?”

Sanji blew out a stream of smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling. “Look, if there’s a market on the island. And if you want me to keep feeding you like you’ve got functioning taste buds, I need real ingredients. Not whatever sad shelf-stable stuff you’ve got locked in that pantry.”

Shachi groaned, hand over his stomach. “Please tell me you’re not bluffing.”

Sanji smirked. “What do you want? Crusted lamb with rosemary? Hand-cut tagliatelle in porcini cream? Proper pain au chocolat in the morning?” He tilted his head. “I could do Italian one night, French the next. Or sweets—tarts, soufflés, something with burnt sugar you’ll taste for days.”

Bepo visibly lit up. “You can do soufflé?”

Sanji chuckled and reached for his coat. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you from this nightmare.”

He didn’t say it, but the real reason he wanted off the sub was pacing at the back of his mind—the kind of anticipation that only builds when you've lit a fire in someone and walked away. Especially the golden eyes of the captain that could cut a marine ship in half with just the faintest narrowing of his gaze.

Penguin whistled low. “Shit. I’ll carry the bags.”

Ikkaku laughed. “Careful, chef, that kind of talk gets you roped into permanent duty.”

Sanji shrugged, slipping his cigarette between his lips as he walked forward to exit the galley, whipping the apron off in one go. “Wouldn’t be the worst sentence I’ve served.”

The crew glanced at each other. Then, without much debate, they followed.

 

The island’s town bloomed like a watercolor pressed into the hills—all sun-warmed stone and crooked alleys, tangled with ivy and bright awnings that fluttered in the breeze. The buildings were snug and low to the ground, some sunken into the slope, others stacked like uneven cakes with rooftop gardens spilling over their edges. Sea salt hung in the air, sweetened faintly by the citrus trees that dotted the main square.

Sanji walked at the head of the group, cigarette tucked behind his ear and a confident sway in his step. His maroon coat collar was up, his sleeves pushed high, and the moment they hit the market street, something in him lit up.

Vendors lined both sides of the stone path, barrels overflowing with dried spices and fruit, baskets of sea-salted vegetables, and cuts of meat strung up beneath wind chimes made from shells. Children darted through the crowd, and a lazy dog snored under a cart piled with wild garlic.

Sanji whistled low under his breath. “Now this is more like it.”

He stopped at the first stall, a stout woman selling cured fish and preserved lemons, and within seconds, he had her laughing behind her scarf. “Ma chérie,” he purred, weighing a jar in his hand, “you’ve got the best-stocked shop I’ve seen this side of the Grand Line.” She blushed, waving him off, but still gave him an extra sample wrapped in paper “for your friends.”

Bepo’s arms were already filling with bundles. Shachi and Penguin trailed behind like wide-eyed assistants, pointing out ingredients and asking if he could turn them into something edible. “What about that?” “Is this poisonous?” “Would that go with the caramelized onions?”

Sanji rolled his eyes but answered each question with sharp precision and a lopsided grin, never missing a beat. He knelt to inspect herbs, flicked his fingers across melons for ripeness, and bargained for spices in a dialect that even the merchant hadn’t expected him to know.

“You’re a menace,” Ikkaku muttered, arms crossed but faintly amused as she watched a group of local women trying to get Sanji’s attention.

“Flattery,” he said with a wink, “is just seasoning. You’ve got to layer it in just right.”

By the time they reached the far edge of the market, the crew was weighed down with enough produce to feed a fleet, and Sanji, hair slightly tousled and cheeks a little windburned, looked like a man who had just raided a treasure chest.

Penguin sighed. “Are you sure you’re not staying forever?”

Sanji exhaled a long, satisfied drag from his cigarette. “I go where I’m needed, boys. But tonight? You’re eating like royalty.”

Law stood alone on the upper deck of the Polar Tang, arms resting on the railing, the breeze tugging lightly at the hem of his coat. Wearing his familiar leopard print jeans, soft hat, and a black tank top. His blue cloak lined with feathers fluttered in the bay's salt-laden air. Below, the island unfolded in soft, sunlit textures, cobbled roads winding toward uneven rooftops, lazy sea air curling through quiet streets.

His gaze followed the familiar figures of his crew as they scattered across the small port town. They looked alive out there. No tension in their shoulders. No clipped words or tired compliance. Just breathing, living.

Law didn’t give them a return time. For he hadn’t even considered it. Not wanting to pull them back too early.

Law’s hands gripped the railing tighter. Something had changed aboard the Tang. Something that couldn’t be measured in efficiency or discipline. The crew had started to breathe differently. It was subtle but undeniable.

Freedom.

It wasn’t Law who had given it to them. It was Sanji. With his food, the laughter. His relentless kindness, the ability to draw warmth into cold corners without asking permission.

Law exhaled slowly.

His instinct was always control. Structure. Precise plans. That’s how to keep people safe. That’s how he survived. But now, watching his crew from afar, free in ways he rarely allowed himself and, by extension, his crew, Law felt something loosen inside him.

Something he hadn’t realized had been clenched this whole time. The sun warmed the steel beneath his palms.

In a brief, unguarded moment, he let himself feel it:

What it was like… to just trust.

The interior lights of the Tang flicked on automatically as he entered, illuminating the corridors as he walked. He headed back to the scan room to prepare for the night when Sanji's real journey was going to begin.

Law paused in the center of the scan room. His reflection stared back at him from the polished steel of the operating table. The mask of the man he knew—surgeon, strategist, survivor.

His skin still prickled where Sanji’s breath had ghosted his neck. His lips still ached from holding back the things he hadn’t said. His body still responded to the memory of tension built and denied.

He let out a breath. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

Focus

He reached for a chart. Anything to remind himself who he was. What he wasn't letting happen again.

But the taste was still in his mouth. The scent is still on his clothes.

"Next time don't wait..."

Law set the chart down and sat at the edge of the medical table, unraveling in the silence. The Tang swayed gently, docked at sea, holding secrets tight within its hull.

 

 

The ship had quieted by the time Sanji returned. Wandering out again for a few more things before they set out again. Bepo had let him know that the log pose was set for the next island, and Law did not like to wait around so people did not start to recognize them.

The buzz of crew voices lit the ship. The few that joined Sanji quickly spread the word on the dinner arrangements he had set for the evening. The groceries were tucked away with the loose, lazy rhythm of contentment. The Tang felt full in a way it hadn’t before, like the day had softened something in its bones.

Sanji moved through the corridor slowly, the soft thud of his boots muffled against the steel floor. His arms were full with two sacks balanced easily, packed with fresh produce. Eyes half-lidded as he had already memorized the layout as he cruised towards the kitchen.

A door hissed open ahead.

Law.

They froze at opposite ends of the narrow hallway.

Law looked composed, freshly washed, shirt ironed and pressed flush to his chest, clipboard in hand, like the morning’s chaos hadn’t cracked his armor. But there was a subtle stiffness in his shoulders, a clench in his jaw. He hadn't patched all the cracks.

Sanji tilted his head and exhaled slowly through his nose. “Afternoon, Doc. Had to grab a few last things. The crew damn near tied me down to stop me from going, but I told them I could handle myself.”

Law’s voice came low, clipped. “You’re back late.”

Sanji raised a brow. “Yeah. You missed me?”

Law stepped forward. One step. Two. And then—

Sanji was against the wall, shoulders pinned by the hard press of Law’s arm. The Polar Tang shifted slightly in soft protest. The sacks rustled in Sanji’s grip, but he didn’t drop them. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make him feel it.

“Didn’t think you missed me that much.”

“You’ve been circling me for days. Turning the heat up bit by bit. Watching how long I’ll let you hold the reins.”

Sanji’s grin returned, lazy and unbothered. “You do wear tension well.”

Sanji opened his mouth, a clever reply ready, but Law leaned in further, his breath sharp against Sanji’s throat.

“…So this is you making your move,” Sanji murmured, tilting his gaze slightly towards Law.

Law’s eyes were molten. “This is me taking you at your word.”

Then Sanji’s lips curved, “You sure you can keep up, Captain?”

Law didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The press of his body, the command in his stance, spoke for him.

His voice dropped, a whisper against Law’s jaw. “But be careful, Doctor. If you slip—” Sanji’s breath feathered against Law’s mouth, “—I’ll take the reins right back again.”

Law didn’t answer, stepping back, deliberate and slow, the pull of authority still lingering in the air between them. Sanji adjusted his jacket, smoothing it down like nothing had happened, but his smile had changed. A little softer at the edges, almost impressed.

“All right,” he said, his voice huskier than before. “You want it your way? Then I’ll make the best dinner of your life. Just try not to moan too loud.”

Law didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He turned on his heel. Sanji stood there, breath caught low in his chest, the weight of Law’s touch still stamped into his skin. His shirt clung to him faintly, heat trapped where fingers had pressed—a slow burn that pulsed through fabric, down to the bone.

He reached up, fingertips ghosting over the place Law had grabbed him. The cotton was wrinkled, and beneath it, his skin still buzzed from the way Law had pulled him.

He swallowed, lips parted, slow, sharp breath as his thoughts realigned—not like cards shuffled, but like something snapping into place.

I’ve been leading this dance like it’s mine to choreograph. Forcing the steps. Waiting for him to follow. But you’re not going to follow me, are you, Trafalgar?

He walked again, each step dragging heat through his core. The ache between his legs flared with each step. By the time he pushed through the galley doors, the burn had taken root. Setting the bags down on the center island with a heavy exhale. Palms braced on the surface. Hips rolled forward slightly, just enough to catch the edge—barely any friction, but it made him hiss through his teeth. A thrill of contact against his throbbing cock.

I get it now. And God, do I love it.

 

The galley was alive with motion like a ship's on a stormy night, but with more purpose. 

Sanji moved like a conductor, sleeves rolled high on his forearms, the scent of roasted garlic blooming into the room. The stock simmered. A tray of freshly chopped green onions sat beside handcrafted pasta. Steam curled through the air like quiet applause. Beside him—apron barely tied, tongue poking out in concentration—was Bepo.

“Like this?” the mink asked, mimicking Sanji’s knife work with comically oversized paws and intense focus.

“Almost,” Sanji said, adjusting Bepo’s grip with a gentle nudge. “You’re choking up too high on the blade. Let it glide. You don’t fight the vegetables; you dance with them.”

Bepo blinked. “That sounds very poetic.”

“It is,” Sanji replied, smirking around his cigarette. “Cooking’s like making love. You ease into it. Tease the flavor out.”

Bepo nodded solemnly like he was absorbing divine knowledge, then promptly cut the scallion too thick.

Sanji chuckled and swept the piece aside. “You’ll get there. You’ve got a good instinct.”

The Polar Tang's soft engine hum filled the background, joined now by the chop of knives and the occasional rattle of pans. It wasn’t just food being made; it was an invitation to feel, to sense, to give yourself over too.

“I wanted to help because…” Bepo hesitated, ears flattening slightly. “Because you’re cooking for the captain.”

Sanji glanced at him, eyebrow raised.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this… tense? And quiet? And weird, after a meal before,” Bepo went on. “But I think it’s a good weird?”

Sanji turned back to the cutting board, his smile slow and fond. “He’s just not used to being fed properly. Let alone… everything else.”

Bepo tilted his head. “Everything else?”

“Nothing,” Sanji said quickly, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

The silence lingered for a beat before Bepo’s nose twitched again. “It smells incredible. Are those shiitake mushrooms from this morning?”

“Dried and revived, for the sauce,” Sanji replied, fishing a delicate piece of fish from the marinade and laying it on the skillet. “This is going to be a meal to remember.”

Bepo watched, his awe-filled eyes wide and gleaming. Sanji just smiled again, playing out the night in his mind. Each dish, each well-paced placement. In the quiet sanctuary of the galley, two cooks prepared the meal that would tip something delicate—and inevitable—over the edge.

The crew assembled right on time, as Sanji had beckoned each of them to this grand feast. Most showed up on time, and a few lingered as Sanji started to plate the dishes. The island countertop where he was preparing most of the dishes had two stools next to one another.

One setting had a finely crafted piece of wood he had picked up in Wano. It was a rich, dark brown with a living edge, beautifully crafted to host any food Sanji placed on it. It was where he would be serving the captain of the Heart Pirates. The crew was all getting a 3-course meal, but he had a special lineupfor Law. The other seat was for him; no dishes, but his ashtray lingered within arm's reach as he began to serve the crew. All of them lined up on the bench that lined the room, with metal chairs lining the other side. The island made a clear defining line between the two spaces. Sanji waited just a few minutes waiting for the star to show, as the rest of the crew was all here.

Biting his lip as a slight anxiety crept over him. His arms rest at his sides, clenching his soft yellow shirt. The sleeves were rolled up so he did not dirty them.

How long are you going to make me wait, Trafalgar?

Not wanting the food to lose its luster, he served the appetizer:

The salad arrives like an invitation to summer—light, radiant, and perfumed with sea breeze and citrus. Thin slices of mango and papaya fan out across the chilled plate, their sunlit colors gleaming beneath a delicate drizzle of lime vinaigrette. Nestled among them, slivers of cucumber and shaved fennel add a crisp, cooling bite, their pale green edges curling like sea foam at the edge of a tide.

Scattered delicately atop the bed of tropical fruit and greens, the seafood glistens—tender curls of citrus-cured shrimp, thin slices of conch marinated in coconut milk, and a few silken threads of crab meat, sweet and saline. Each piece tastes like it was caught hours ago and kissed with just enough acid to awaken its natural flavor.

A few fronds of frisée and watercress add peppery lift, while crumbled plantain chips offer an airy crunch, their golden edges tasting faintly of fried sun and spice. There’s a whisper of heat from a Scotch bonnet–infused oil—barely enough to sting, just enough to linger.

At the edge of the plate, a small folded square of grilled pineapple-dusted seaweed rests like a signature, smoky-sweet and salt-kissed, tying sea to fruit and land to ocean.

Sanji finished setting the last plate for the crew as his eyes lingered on the door.

Is he really going to stand me up like this?

As if he heard Sanji's thoughts, Law appeared. With the quiet certainty of someone who already knows how many people are watching.

Tonight he wasn’t in his usual hoodie or battle-worn coat. Tonight, he was dressed like temptation sharpened to a point. A slate gray shirt fit far too perfectly to be a passing purchase, collar left open, not sloppy, intentional. The first two buttons were undone, revealing a shadow of the ink curled low on his collarbones. His signature tattoos peeked out like secrets, as if daring someone to look longer than they should. No tie. Of course not. Law never played obedient.

Jet-black dress pants, not too dissimilar to the ones he wore before, hugged his long legs in all the right places. Pinned and tucked to make sure every movement was seen beneath.

His earrings caught the light in small, deliberate flashes, swaying just barely when he turned his head, and the soft gleam of a few rings hinted he was only partially disarmed. There was no sword at his side; his gaze was sharp enough.

Hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run a hand through it on purpose before walking in. And though his expression stayed unreadable. Sanji shifted at the island counter, cigarette hanging from his lip with every bit of moisture that was left.

Sanji didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared.

Sanji’s tongue pressed against the edge of his teeth, cigarette forgotten, resting limp at the corner of his mouth. There was heat creeping up the back of his neck, pooling somewhere low in his spine.

Law hadn’t even looked at him yet.

Stepping through like he hadn’t been debating whether or not to come at all. Like he hadn’t left Sanji simmering in uncertainty for the past hour, wondering if this whole dinner had been too much. Then the bastard shows up looking like this, with his hair tousled enough to look effortless, silver rings catching the low light, that cool, unreadable stare leveled somewhere across the room—

Then it landed on Sanji.

A flick of golden eyes. A pause. A tilt of the head—measured, assessing, and wholly unhurried.

Sanji felt it like the slide of a blade just under the ribs.

Exhaling slowly through his nose, he turned back to the sink just behind him, a hand smoothing over his collar like that might somehow bring his heartbeat back down to a survivable rhythm.

Of course he came. Of course he looks like he walked out of someone's very expensive mistake. Of course he’s going to walk in like I didn’t plan this entire meal thinking about how to impress him.

He turned back toward the man that was lighting his sense on fire. “Bout time,” Sanji muttered under his breath, half to himself. “You trying to kill a guy before the main course?”

Law didn’t rush to sit. Letting the silence stretch as he approached the table, slow and methodical, fingers brushing underneath the stool before pulling it out and lowering himself with all the ceremony of someone utterly unimpressed.

He didn’t even look around. No compliments. No flattery. He just leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, and let his gaze sweep lazily toward Sanji, then down to the table, then back again.

“…This is it?”

The words landed like ice water, flat and unimpressed. No bite. Just that usual, clinical detachment, like he was diagnosing a mild case of try harder. Then he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve with a flick of his wrist, as if that had taken more effort than speaking.

Sanji froze.

He could feel the heat crawl up his chest, not in anger, but in something messier. Law had dressed like that, walked in like that, sat down like a goddamn challenge—and now was giving Sanji nothing. Nothing but that maddening stare and that one careless remark.

Sanji loved it.

His pulse spiked. There was something so infuriatingly addictive about it. The way Law held himself, every movement pared down with intent, like he wasn’t there to be impressed but evaluated—as if the food, the setting, even Sanji himself, might or might not be worth his time. 

“Oh? You haven’t even tasted it yet, Doc.” His voice dropped into something smoother, slower, and more deliberate. “Maybe you should save your diagnosis for after the first course.”

He let his words sink in, crossing the room with the quiet weight of knowing exactly how good his food was. Law's eyes flicked up, watching. Waiting. Sanji swallowed down the burn in his throat and let it settle deep in his chest instead.

You’re going to remember every bite tonight.

 

Sanji started with the first three nigiri for Law as he sat watching the revelry of his crew, who could not be bothered by the ever-growing tension between the two men. The omakase unfolded like a slow confession, one bite at a time—twelve meticulously crafted nigiri, each its own revelation, each plated and served by Sanji with the reverence of a ritual and the timing of a lover drawing out a pause before the next touch.

First:

Shiro Maguro: A soft beginning. Pale pink and delicate, brushed lightly with ponzu and finished with a whisper of grated daikon and yuzu zest. Clean. Gentle. The kind of bite that asked permission.

Kinmedai: Lightly torched to bring out the fat, the skin blistered just enough to offer texture. A few coarse flakes of sea salt crackled against the warm flesh. A transition toward warmth and intent.

Aji: Silver-skinned and glossy, topped with minced ginger and scallion. Bright, oily, assertive. A bite that lingered, complex on the tongue. Law’s brow rose slightly after this one. Not approval. Interest.

 

Sanji watched him eat, entranced. An emperor could’ve been ready to strike, and he wouldn’t have flinched; he’d risk it all just to watch the pleasure roll over the captain’s face.

A familiar flush crept into his cheeks again. The way Law licked the tips of his fingers, savoring the last trace of salt and citrus. The low, soft sounds made between bite, half breath, and half groan cut through Sanji. Law was letting him seduce him. The way each bite lit up his senses, the way the flavors coaxed him open in small, private gestures—a tilt of the head, a slight narrowing of those amber eyes, the trail of a finger over his lips. He was allowing Sanji to watch. Seen caring in the moment.

Second dish for the crew members:

The plate arrived still steaming, its heat blooming upward in soft curls scented with garlic, basil, and sun-sweetened tomatoes. The pasta—fresh, golden strands of tagliatelle, soft but resilient, folding into itself in tender coils that clung to the sauce like memory.

And the sauce—oh, the sauce—was the color of late summer. Slow-cooked crushed tomatoes had broken down into velvet, their sweetness deepened with time, stirred patiently with slivers of roasted garlic, a splash of red wine, and just enough chili to leave warmth lingering at the back of the throat. A handful of torn basil leaves crowned it, their edges bruised just enough to release that green, peppery perfume.

Olive oil shimmered across the top in a thin, golden sheen—fruity, rich, the kind that bites softly when it touches the tongue. A grating of Parmigiano-Reggiano melted on contact, forming a lacy veil over the surface, while a few blistered cherry tomatoes burst with every touch, adding little fireworks of acid and sweetness in each bite.

There was no need for flourishes—no foam, no garnish that didn’t serve the dish. Just honest, precise decadence. The kind of pasta that demanded silence after the first bite, not from shock, but reverence.

Penguin and Shachi nearly wept. “Okay, okay,” Shachi murmured, mouth full. “We’re keeping him. I don’t care what Law says.”

“He feeds us,” Penguin said, borderline reverent. “This is what love tastes like.”

Jean Bart gave a small grunt of approval around a mouthful. Even Ikkaku, ever composed, leaned back in her chair with a rare, satisfied hum.

Sanji didn’t linger at the benches where the crew thanked him and pleaded with him to never leave, moving back towards the island to get ready to serve the second round.

Second plating:

Hotate, plump and creamy, almost dessert-like in sweetness, finished with a drop of black truffle oil and a single shiso blossom. Served closer than the others—Sanji’s fingers brushing Law’s briefly as he placed it. Law loved the depth of flavor it left on his senses.

Kohada: The show of skill. Silver scales patterned like lacquered armor, cured in vinegar, the flavor sharp and demanding. Sanji’s gaze dared Law to challenge the complexity. Law didn’t blink.

Amaebi: Served raw, nestled in warm rice, the tail firm and sweet. The head, flash-fried and plated beside it, was a contrast—crackling, rich, umami-laced. A delicate balance of decadence and play.

Uni: Bright orange, luscious, served in a crisp nori cradle with a few grains of pink salt and fresh wasabi. Ocean cream and brine in one impossible bite. Sanji watched Law’s mouth close around it, heart racing.

Sanji pressed his palms against the counter, knuckles white against the edge; grounding himself in this spot might keep him from launching over it entirely. His hips dug into the wood; the force of his hipbones left scarring in the wood as it bent beneath his reinforced body. It was better than giving in. Law sat across from him, perfectly composed, the last traces of oil clinging to his lips—his goddamn lips—as he chased the remnants of sauce with the pad of his thumb and brought it to his mouth.

You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, do you? Or better—you do.

Sanji gritted his teeth, exhaled, and tried to focus on the next dish, on anything other than the way those amber eyes never left him, dragging over his body; they were mapping it out for something far more invasive than dinner.

Law made a small gesture, curling a finger towards Sanji, and he stepped forward—slow, measured, leaning in, posture dipping, hips tilted forward ever so slightly—like he was about to receive something forbidden, whispered only in the dark. If he got just a little closer, he might finally be told everything he wanted to hear.

He’s going to kill me without even touching me. He gripped the edge of the counter hard. God help me, I want him to.

Then Law’s hand rose, unhurried, and traced the edge of Sanji’s jaw with the backs of his fingers. It was clinical, but the meaning behind it was anything but.

Sanji’s breath caught. His body tilted further, drawn down by that single, devastating motion. His pulse thudded against the base of his throat as he dipped closer.

“You’re shaking.”

Sanji didn’t respond. He swallowed hard, eyes darting down the line of Law’s exposed collarbone, open shirt still taunting him. His fingers flexed against the counter again, imprinting small crescents dented into the wood, the only outlet for the restraint shivering down his spine.

Fuck. Not yet. Not here.

The heat in his chest was unbearable, but he pulled himself back, jaw locked. Law didn’t reach for him; the look in his eyes said he didn’t need to. He already had him right where he wanted him.

The kitchen was alive with the low hum of satisfied bellies and clinking glassware, laughter echoing off all the walls. Bepo’s laugh rose above the rest. Sanji caught it as he pressed the final piece of shortbread dough into the center of the table: extra buttery, kissed with lavender honey.

“Did you add the fancy stuff?” Bepo called from the hall, hopeful.

Sanji didn’t look up. “Would I ever serve you something half-assed?”

That got a murmur of teasing approval from Penguin and Shachi, lounging at the far end of the galley as they waited for dessert. Their voices drifted in and out—comfortable, easy.

“Oi, don’t let Bepo hog it all!”

Sanji set the desserts across the table and watched the wide eyes of the temporary crewmates before him.

At its center sat a peanut praline disk, golden and lacquered with caramel, just thick enough to give a satisfying snap when broken with a spoon. Embedded within were crushed roasted peanuts, their salt and warmth cutting through the sweetness, offering that deep, nostalgic earthiness only peanuts can bring.

Balanced delicately atop the crunch was a trio of fruit-stuffed mochi balls, soft and pillowy, their rice flour skin dusted with kinako and just barely sticky to the touch. Each mochi held something different: a sliver of mango in one, tart raspberry in another, and soft lychee in the last—cool and bursting on the tongue, juicy against the gentle chew of the mochi shell.

Scattered around the plate were jewel-toned gummy candies, but these weren’t ordinary—each one encased in a fragile sugar shell, crackling with the first bite to reveal a burst of chewy sweetness within. Some hid citrus, others a concentrated berry syrup—pops of bright flavor surrounded by crisp texture, a sensory game of discovery.

Thin threads of caramel were pulled into nests between the components, catching the light like spun gold, while a drizzle of lightly salted peanut cream tied it all together—nutty, silky, and just rich enough to make the sweetness feel deliberate.

It wasn’t just dessert. It was play, wrapped in luxury and layered textures—a dishmeant to be eaten slowly, joyfully, and with fingers just as much as spoons.

Each dessert was more than a recipe. They were quiet acknowledgements.

I see you. I noticed.

He turned back to that look in Law’s eyes, half-blown and sharp at the edges; it said everything. One finger curled into his mouth, and Law’s eyes dropped to his hands.

Otoro: The Indulgent Peak. Velvet-soft, marbled with fat, seared ever so briefly to bloom its perfume. Barely needed chewing. Melted on the tongue. Sanji placed this one by hand. “Don’t chew too fast, now.”

Anago: Grilled until caramelized, brushed with a lacquer of sweet soy. Smoky. Warm. Sticky against the rice. Comfort layered over elegance. Law held this one between his fingers longer than the others. Thinking.

Ikura: Glossy pearls spilling over the top of rice, cured in sake and soy, topped with a paper-thin slice of cucumber for crunch. Bursting with salt and richness. Playful. Teasing.

Tamago: The Closer. Soft, layered like a sponge cake, with sweetness that lingered longer than expected. More dessert than sushi—subtle, strange, and deeply personal. A chef’s signature.

Sanji didn’t speak much through the course. Every piece was a story, each brush of sauce or pinch of wasabi a wordless sentence meant just for Law. And Law, for all his stillness, was listening.

The galley had softened around them, the sharpness of mealtime dulled into the hum of satisfaction. The crew’s laughter had tapered into quieter conversation, chairs scraping lightly as they pushed back from the table, bellies full, the high energy of earlier now mellowed by good food and heavy drink.

Bepo let out a full-body sigh and stretched. “That mochi…” he mumbled dreamily, already halfway to a nap.

“I’m going to explode,” Shachi groaned, clutching his stomach. “Why the hell’d you make four desserts?”

“You didn’t have to eat all four, idiot,” Ikkaku fired back, elbowing him.

Penguin laughed softly and murmured something about setting a record before disappearing with his plate.

One by one, they filtered out; Sanji was still there. Still braced against the counter. Now, with no one else left to witness it, Sanji moved.

He reached for the final plate—the Black Forest cake—and his fingers touched the cool porcelain. The slice looked almost too decadent now, heavy with cream, ganache glistening in the light of the sub. The kirsch cherries bled slowly down its side, lazy and lush.

He slid the plate toward Law with both hands, slow and deliberate. A gesture of offering—humble, but intimate. The flicker of heat behind his eyes said everything he wasn’t saying.

Law didn’t reach for it right away. He just looked at Sanji. Watched the way his shoulders sat high, taut with unspoken pressure. The way his breath stilled like he’d offered more than dessert. Then, quietly, Law moved. One hand extended, curling around the porcelain edge, pulling it that final inch closer.

His gaze didn’t waver.

“You made me wait.”

Sanji’s throat worked around the dryness that came with those words. His voice came low. “You said you wanted it on your terms.”

Law took the fork in hand, effortless, like he was holding a scalpel. The tines sank into the cake with a soft, wet give—the mousse parting, the cherry-soaked center glistening where it bled into the sponge.

He brought the bite to his mouth. Closed his lips over it. And Sanji watched shamelessly. Law’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, long enough to let the taste register. He swallowed. And looked straight at him.

“It’s clean,” he said first. “Refined. Every layer placed with purpose.” Sanji gripped the counter a little tighter. Law took another bite. Slower.

“But it’s not the balance you’re proud of, is it?” Sanji’s jaw tensed.

Law set the fork down, almost noiselessly. “You didn’t make this to impress me.”

Sanji’s voice came out quiet. “No.”

“You made it to stay with me. To haunt me.” A breath passed. Sanji’s lips parted, but no words came.

Law leaned forward, elbows to the table, eyes locked. “You wanted me to walk away still tasting you.”

Sanji nodded. A tremble behind his breath.

“And now,” Law murmured, “you want to know if it worked.”

Sanji exhaled, the tension flooding into his fingertips, where they pressed white. “…Yeah.”

Law set the fork down with quiet finality. He dipped a finger into the cream, dragging it through the layers like time didn’t apply to him. He brought it to his lips, parting them slowly. Licked clean. A low, pleased hum broke free from his throat.

Sanji stepped closer, drawn forward like gravity had shifted around this man. This man who read him too well, too easily, who didn't need to say a word to bend Sanji toward him.

Law reached out deliberately and took Sanji’s hand in his own. The touch was precise, the tips of his fingers dragging along Sanji’s wrist. His fingers ghosted up the chef’s wrist, thumb circling his pulse. Then Law turned his hand slowly. Knuckles grazing across the sharp line of his cheekbone, down the jaw. Sanji locked in place. It was more than obsession. Law was memorizing.

Mouth dragging along Sanji’s open palm, heat slick and reverent—Sanji almost let slip a heated breath. Law’s eyes half-lidded, lashes casting shadows as he turned Sanji’s wrist, dragging his mouth along the curve of his palm.

“These hands,” Law murmured, lips brushing skin, “need to be preserved. They’re beautiful.”

Sanji trembled, knees locking, sweating from Law’s pace. Guiding the soft fingertips of the chef over the warmth of his lips. Over and over he felt the soft touch, basking in it. Law held a finger between his lips, the hot breath sending spine-chilling lust over Sanji. He wanted to rip into Law right there, but the way he was being admired made him pause; no one had handled him like this. Pleasure in the small things, the slow steps, and this is where Law thrived. Shallow breath and nothing but Sanji's hands to flush his cheeks further. 

Sanji slowly slipped his finger gently between Law's lips, dragging it back and forth slowly and teasingly as he learned quickly. Law let his hand drop as Sanji slipped a finger in, slow—testing, teasing—drawing it across Law’s tongue. The first knuckle disappeared past those lips, slick heat greeting him. Sanji’s mouth parted in a stifled gasp.

Then another finger.

Law let it slide in beside the first, slow and unhurried. His tongue traced between them, pressing with firm guidance. Sanji’s breath hitched, and his chest rose too fast, verging on hyperventilation.

And then—he heard it. A low, feral moan from deep in Law’s chest, vibrating straight through his skin. Sanji shivered, his knees unsteady.

He let Sanji’s hand push deeper, urged him without force, and Sanji felt something foreign. A glint of metal. Another set of piercings—far back, deep on Law’s tongue, imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t already this deep in his throat. He pulled his fingers back over his tongue in a slow but firm rhythm. 

Sanji’s cock throbbed hard against the press of his slacks. The idea of it—the feel of Law’s mouth wrapped around anything with that kind of steel buried beneath the surface—wrecked him. He pressed gently around the piercings with shaking fingertips, and Law shuddered—moaned again, deeper.

Law uncrossed his legs in one smooth motion. He reached for Sanji’s waist and slowly, purposefully, pulled him between his thighs. Sanji stumbled forward, bracing one hand on the counter next to them, until his hips slotted between Law’s legs—and there it was.

The outline—thick, running long down Law’s thigh. His slacks barely masked it, and Sanji’s mind tripped over itself trying to compute the length.

Law’s hands smoothed up his back, deliberate and slow, following the curve of Sanji’s spine like he was committing it to memory. Each vertebra was counted. Each muscle was noted. He tried to pull back, just an inch. But as Sanji shifted—barely, just enough to break the contact—

Teeth.

The graze of Law’s teeth at the base of his fingers sent a shock through his spine—a warning.

'You don’t pull back unless I let you.'

Sanji froze, breath caught halfway between a gasp and a moan. The message was clear: he wasn’t the one leading this. Fingers pressed further as Law's tongue relaxed into the sensation of the soft strength pushing and pulling over and over, lulling his tongue out further, glancing at the palm of the perfect hands.

Sanji was beside himself with the motion; he was serving Law while also walking the line of a balance of control. His finger switched from index to middle and ring finger with a suggestion he was not running away as Law's gaze narrowed in the moment.

Running the two fingers over the slick surface further now, and the amber eyes rolled slightly back. The pace was methodical, running them through the piecing over and over. Sanji's other hand was gripping the counter intensely; he knew he did not have the permission to touch anything else but the recesses of Law's throat.

Law, on the other hand, had guided Sanji's leg into his cock. It was hot, so hot. Guiding him back and forth with the movement of the fingers as they dove deeper, letting the pleasure roll over his expression.

Laws tongue relaxing further into the sensation, the chef’s own fingers now turned to instruments of pleasure. Tracing the inside of Sanji's palm—a silent offering.

Law’s eyes fluttered. Pleasure rolling through him, head tipping back slightly, mouth parting wider in permission.

Sanji’s free hand dug into the table, white-knuckled. He wanted—God, he wanted—to touch, to move, to press against Law’s chest or drag his hands along the outline of that body. Law guided Sanji’s thigh into place over and over again, right over the head of his cock.

Law's grip tightened forcefully enough to make Sanji feel every inch. Matching the deeper push of Sanji’s fingers, guiding the movement like a symphony, each thrust slow and perfectly timed. Small circles pressed into the surgeon’s esophagus, and Law’s eyes rolled back, lips parting in something dangerously close to surrender.

Sanji’s grip on the counter wavered. It gave way—a splintering snap, an awful sound, as his hand slipped away from the now-dented edge. Trembling, Sanji reached for him. Fingers brushed beneath Law’s lip, grazing over flushed cheeks, and swept gently through dark strands of hair.

It was the right move.

Law surged forward without hesitation, taking Sanji’s fingers all the way down to the last knuckle. Sanji braced, expecting a reflex, but it never came.

Sanji’s hands were soft. Unscarred by battle. Hands that only unsheathed to deliver divine decadence, eyes opened, golden and gleaming, locking onto Sanji’s.

He wrapped his mouth fully around them. A pleased and resounding sound of pleasure thrummed in his chest, vibrating the fingers nestled inside. Lips sealing as he pulled Sanji’s waist even harder, hips twitching forward. Sanji felt every pulse, every silent plea from the cock pressed against his thigh.

Law’s mouth released slowly, dragging a slow exhale of heat as he pulled the fingers from his throat. Every nerve lit up in Sanji’s hand from the sensation of withdrawal, looking up at Sanji the whole time.

Law watched him, standing up and away from the stool.

The height difference left Sanji reeling as he saw the man in all his glory, cock primed and ready. He took Sanji’s hands, lifting them to his mouth. Smoke. Sugar. Salt. Skin. The smell of a lit cigarette pressed into flour. The faint scent of cherry liqueur clinging to his fingers. Underneath it all—Sanji. Soft and low, his lips brushing Sanji’s skin as he exhaled again, heat fogging over his skin, leaving a sheen of breath in its wake.

Sanji swayed, hips tipped forward, seeking any amount of friction. Watching Law take his hand and use it like that—like it belonged to him—was intoxicating. Then he let go, turning slightly, Law's breath came fast, sharp through his nose, and moving away, his steps were steady.

Sanji ghosted after him, knees buckling. He stumbled, catching himself on the counter—the one he’d already broken. Law didn’t look back as he spoke, but his voice was hoarser this time.

Law didn't look at Sanji. “Dinner was divine. See you in the scan room at ten,” and then disappeared down the hallway, the soft sound of his boots echoing against metal.

Sanji's fingers twitched at his sides, still damp with the heat of Law’s mouth. Still marked. The feeling of those lips, that tongue, the unmistakable feel of steel buried deep—it echoed through him like an aftershock. He could feel it in the pulse at his wrist, the throb in his dick, and the tremor behind his ribs.

He just walked away. After all of that, after letting me in like that, he still gets the last word?

Sanji had teased, poked, and lured him into this slow-burn hell. Set the rhythm, turned every touch into a promise, but they were dancing to Law's rhythm now.

What did you expect? That he’d fall apart first? Now he’s dancing circles around you.

He swallowed hard, but it didn’t help.

“You got me dancing in place,” he murmured to the empty room. “Let’s see how long you can hold it.”

He rounded the corner and into the silence of his quarters, the door sliding shut behind him. The air inside was cooler. But it didn’t help.

Law exhaled, rolling his shoulders back, trying to shake off the tension in his spine. The room smelled like antiseptic and order, everything in its proper place—but he could still feel Sanji’s body between his thighs. Could still see the unguarded flush in his cheeks, the tremble in his breath, and the silent surrender in the way he stayed exactly where Law wanted him.

His hands shook. Just faintly. He flexed them, slowly curling his fingers closed.

Get it together.

Law’s brow furrowed. He paced once, twice. Then sat. Then stood again. Law brought his hand to his mouth. Brushed his thumb against his lips. His breath hitched. He could still feel Sanji’s fingers, could still remember the curve of his thigh pressed between his legs.

He shut his eyes. Sanji was in his system now. Like a fever that wouldn’t break. A drug measured in teasing glances and restrained moans. And Law… he’d dosed himself willingly.

He dropped into the chair behind his desk with a tired breath, long fingers pressed to his temples.

Why did I walk away?

To control the pacing? To make him wait? To keep the upper hand?

Liar. You left because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have stopped.

And he needed to. He had to. There was too much riding on what came next—too many variables already veering off course. The surgery. The condition. Sanji’s very biology shifting under his skin, an unstable cocktail of science and genes that still demanded answers.

He stared at the closed door. Rolling his tongue over the roof of his mouth, pushing the metal over to relive the moment. He’d gotten them years ago, back when pain had been a sharper friend than desire. The metal on his tongue, embedded at precise points, was a secret he rarely let anyone see, let alone feel. They were sensitive, wired into nerve clusters Law had trained himself to control. The moment those fingers touched the steel, they understood. As if Sanji could read between the lines of restraint. As if the piercings weren’t armor or aesthetic, but a signal.

Here is where I feel the most. Here is where I lose myself.

And Sanji had gone right for it.

The pressure grounded him. They had surgery tonight. Sanji would be waiting. He ran a thumb along the underside of his jaw, slowly. He wondered if Sanji realized what he’d unlocked with just two fingers and a question pressed into silence.

They hadn’t seen each other since the encounter in the galley. At exactly 10 PM, Sanji stood outside the scanning room, unsure what he’d expected—but it wasn’t this. He wore just a loose t-shirt and shorts, the cotton clinging faintly to his skin from the humidity in the halls. His fingers fidgeted at the hem as he watched the controlled chaos beyond the glass. Inside, the room buzzed with quiet urgency. Members of the Heart Pirates moved with crisp efficiency, all in scrubs, their voices low and clipped as they prepared equipment, adjusted lights, and checked readings.

Sanji hovered in the doorway until a flash of white caught in his periphery.

Bepo approached from the side, catching his gaze first. He elbowed the door open gently, and in the momentary shift, Sanji caught sight of Law.

Law stood near the center of the room, poring over a thick stack of papers. All the sharp edges of vanity and decadence were gone. He looked precise. All surgeons now.

“Hey, Sanji,” Bepo said quietly.

But Sanji couldn’t look away from the back of Law’s head. Couldn’t pull his eyes from the image of that straight spine, that tension in the shoulders, that deliberate, unreadable posture. “I’m going to need you to change into a gown,” Bepo continued, voice gentle—but even that usual care in his tone had dulled. There was no room for playfulness now.

Only the unspoken weight that this… whatever it was… mattered.

Bepo turned, not waiting for Sanji to answer, already walking ahead. Sanji followed.

Sanji stepped into the first examination room, the click of the door closing behind him far too final. The room was cold. Not just from the sterile chill clinging to the metal surfaces and tile floor, but from the shift in energy—like everything warm from an hour ago had been drained, sealed behind glass, and filed away under unnecessary distractions.

Bepo opened a cabinet and rummaged for a gown. “Here,” he said, handing it over. It was pale blue. Speckled with little hearts.

Sanji blinked.

Bepo blinked back, then flushed beneath his fur. “Ah—sorry.” He ducked out quickly, leaving Sanji alone with the thin fabric in hand. For a moment Sanji just stood there, staring at it. The reality of it settled into his lungs like cold smoke. This wasn’t just a detour. Not some whimsical escape from the Sunny or the world above.

This was real.

I left my crew for this.

He turned slowly, the weight of that truth settling across his shoulders like a second gown.

Am I ready for this?

Minutes stretched like syrup, warping time into something unbearable. He was still holding the gown when a quiet knock rapped at the door.

“Sanji? You changed?” His head snapped toward the sound, pulse spiking. “Uh—yeah. One sec.” He moved quickly now, shrugging out of his shirt, folding it without thinking, and then his pants. The gown went on backwards like an apron, ties trembling in his fingers.

“Okay,” he called, voice tight. The trembling had started. Bepo reentered, his expression a touch softer now—but still focused. “Let’s get you into the scan room.”

Sanji followed. Each step felt louder than it should have. Like he was walking into something he couldn’t name, only feel. Like he was being led toward a threshold, and crossing it meant he couldn’t come back the same.

They entered the scan room in silence. The bed was already reclined. Bepo guided him toward it gently, helping him settle in. He scanned the room. Familiar faces—crew he’d fed, joked with, and shared laughter and stories with. But tonight, not one of them met his eyes. Not out of indifference, but focus. The sterile gravity of the moment had taken them too.

He felt alone.

All he wanted—more than answers, more than control—was for someone to touch his hand. To look him in the eye. To whisper it’s going to be okay.

Sanchi leaned in close. His cap was off now, brow furrowed with something between focus and apology. “We’re going to place the I.V. for the procedure,” he said, his voice low and measured. “Then we’ll review the final prep with Law.”

Law.

Even the name stung. Sanji’s chest tightened. The harsh overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting everything in sterile white. The gleam off the surgical trays. The hum of monitors. Everything was clean. Like it was designed to scrub out feeling.

The cool press of gloved fingers against his arm made him flinch.

“Alright, Sanji,” Sanchi said gently, “deep breath in.”

He obeyed.

The needle pierced clean through. A soft sigh came from the far end of the room. Sanji couldn’t place who it was, but he saw Sanchi visibly relax.

“We’re in. Clean puncture.” And it hit him then; this wasn’t just his tension. The entire room had been holding its breath. Not for him. Not out of concern for his nerves or his comfort. But for the procedure. For what it represented. For not only the safety of Sanji, but themselves as well. Pulse thudded in his throat.

Then Law approached. He moved to the side of the table with mechanical grace, sterile gloves already on, eyes sharp and distant.

He didn’t look at Sanji. Not once as he guided Sanji to turn on his side.

Not when he picked up the marker. Not as he began to measure and mark down along Sanji’s ribs with chilling precision. There was no tremor in his hands. No hesitation. Quiet calculation. The mask on Law’s face might as well have been armor. Even his eyes—those molten, knowing eyes—had gone cold. Sanji didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until the pressure of the marker paused at the edge of his midback. A silent request to inhale.

He did. He hated himself for hoping that touch might soften. Because these hands—these same goddamn hands—had held him like it mattered. Had drawn him in, worshipped him with a reverence that left Sanji shaking.

Now?

Now they were tools. Silence in place of the man Sanji had almost let himself fall for.

Law’s voice was steady, every word clipped into place like a scalpel blade. His expression, hidden behind the surgical mask, revealed nothing. His posture was razor-straight, well-fitted clothes shed in favor of a dark base layer beneath his scrub apron, The Surgeon of Death.

"Room." His eyes didn’t flicker. The familiar crackle of his Devil Fruit power snapped through the air, warping the edges of the operating room with eerie calm.

Law placed a hand under him and slowly raised him; with a swift tilt up of his hand, the bed was gone. "Tact." It was moved just to the side of the room, empty and waiting for it. A ventilation unit clicked into place, Bepo stepping forward to adjust the oxygen mask with a gentleness he didn’t often show in the operating room. Meanwhile, Law had already moved on.

“Begin with standard spinal prep,” he ordered without looking back. “Posterior exposure. Midline incision.”

“Ikkaku—stabilize his heart rate.”
“Shachi—nerve line monitor. If you see a single microspasm, you speak.”

“Aye,” came the murmured reply from both.

The crew moved fluidly around him. This law—the captain, the surgeon—was familiar ground. They trusted it. They respected it. In this space, with this clarity, he was untouchable. But above them all, Sanji’s breath was shallow. Suspended in that glowing sphere, limbs at rest but heart pounding in the monitor, he flinched. A tremor more felt than seen.

Law turned.

He moved back without a word. No pause in his stride. A quiet step beside Sanji, his head lowering until his mouth was just beside the cook’s ear. His voice changed. For one sentence, it dropped the armor.

Soft and low. Meant only for him. “I’ve got you, Cook. You’re safe.”

The words weren’t soft.

But they were real.

Sanji couldn't move, but his breathing steadied. A flicker of something between trust and exhaustion passed across his face. Law stepped back into place. The mask slid into position, over Sanji’s nose and mouth. Bepo leaned in, his gentle voice muffled behind his mask but now full of warmth.

“Okay, Sanji. We’re going to put you to sleep now. You’ll be back with us in no time.”

Sanji caught the creases of a smile under Bepo’s eyes.

“Alright. Count backward from ten.”

Sanji exhaled, his voice slurring around the oxygen.

“Ten... nine...”

His pupils dilated, the lights above blooming into indistinct halos.

“Okay, Bepo,” Law said calmly, glancing at the monitor. “Let me know when he’s out.”

“Eight... seven... six...”

Sanji’s vision tunneled. Limbs heavy. Chest warm.

Then—a hand.

Pressing lightly over his wrist in silent reassurance.

Let go, it said. I’ve got you.

“Five...”

And then Sanji slipped under.

 

The operation was already underway.

Law stood in absolute focus, his mind locked on the task with brutal clarity. “Keep the monitor close—we’re working too close to the cord. I want real-time updates on every signal.” His voice was flat and clinical, his grip was iron.

Sanji floated in the center of the room, suspended upright, slumped slightly forward like a puppet held aloft by invisible strings. Law had positioned him this way for optimal access—head bowed, spine exposed from nape to sacrum, each vertebra mapped and fixed in stasis by Room.

Layer by layer, he cut.

Skin first, then subcutaneous fat, then tendon. Each incision was made with absolute precision, each slice lifted and suspended in space, frozen exactly as it had been peeled away. When he reached muscle, Law paused. The fibers around the spinal column were tense and thrumming with residual energy. They pulsed in sync with Sanji’s heart, each twitch a silent protest beneath the scalpel.

He inhaled, then carefully separated the tissue. The muscle peeled back like streamers torn from the base of Sanji’s neck, curling midair. What lay beneath made Law’s breath catch for the first time. The spine wasn’t altered. It was completely encased. Dark alloy sheathed the vertebrae, running from the cervical base down into the lumbar column. The surface was seamless and smooth, like it had grown there, not been grafted. Worse, it was warm. Thrumming with some inner resonance.

Law leaned in, brushing his gloved fingers along it.

The metal hummed against his touch.

Shit. Did we wait too long?

Glancing at his team. “Ikkaku—dab here. Keep the visual field clean.”

The blood had already started to pool beneath the blackened ridge of Sanji’s spine. It wasn’t a mutation. An engineered convergence of flesh and science, nerve and machine—responding, reacting. Law watched as the base of the column contracted on its own, almost defensively.

Now he understood. No wonder you felt wrong. This thing isn’t just embedded—it’s alive.

He reached for his tools.

Law’s breath caught for only a second—but it was enough. The room’s stillness shattered as the sound ripped through the air.

Wet. Tearing. Wrong.

Sanji’s spine erupted.

The artificial vertebrae convulsed and split at the seams. The first section tore free of the anchoring fascia, strands of sinew snapping like pulled taffy. Blood sprayed upward in a fine mist, catching the cold light like shattered rubies. Law’s blade clattered to the floor as he stepped back—hands still suspended mid air—frozen in the act of cutting open a man who was now being ripped apart by his own body.

The spinal cord twisted violently, not downward but upward, peeling away from the surrounding muscle like it had its own intent. Wires embedded deep in the tissue curled, the burned smell of synthetic insulation and blood mixing into a pungent stink that hit the back of the throat like acid.

“Shit—” Shachi’s voice cracked as he dove to grab a falling tray of instruments. “The nervous system’s rejecting everything!”

“No—” Law’s voice was a low snarl, his voice cut through chaos. “It’s not rejection. This isn’t a malfunction.”

The spinal tendrils lashed out from the suspended body thin, veined things twitching violently, glinting beneath the operating lights like eel hide slicked with oil. They weren’t flailing. They were searching.

It’s protecting him.

It was hardwired into his nervous system. A failsafe. Or a weapon.

“Hold position!” Law barked, already summoning another layer of his Room, forcing it wider. The air thrummed with static. “Don’t engage unless it lashes!”

It hovered.

The spine arched away from Sanji’s body, vertebrae splitting down the center and folding back like petals, gleaming under the surgical lamps. Nerve fibers dangled like a web from the inside of his torso, waiting for some invisible signal.

The sound that came from Sanji’s throat then—half-choked, half-feral—was unlike anything they’d heard in surgery before. A distorted groan scraped through clenched teeth, his chest heaving though he was still unconscious. Beneath spasming and rippling in waves under the skin.

“Get the sedative drip back online!” Law shouted. “Ikkaku, clamp the upper thoracic branch, now!”

“He’s overriding it!”

Bepo’s voice was faint through the chaos. “Law—his pulse is spiking through the roof!”

Law narrowed his eyes. Control it.

He reached into the field again. The alloy spine pulsed once more beneath his gloved fingers.

He’s been fused with it too long. It’s not a foreign object anymore…

It was him.

A scalpel wouldn’t fix this.

Not unless Law was willing to cut into the core of Sanji’s nervous system, through his brain stem, and risk severing what was left of his autonomy.

Germa didn’t give him enhancements. They gave him a cage he made peace with.

Law’s teeth clenched behind the mask. Hovering his fingers above the final junction. The vertebra twitched.

Sanji’s body wasn’t rejecting the procedure.

It was fighting for control.

“Scalpel!”

Law’s voice cracked like a gunshot. Lunging for the neural junction—the anchor point threading Sanji’s nervous system to the reinforced alloy—but the metal moved first.

Too fast.

Tendrils lashed out in a blur, no longer mere wires, but defensive tendrils. One snapped toward his face with vicious precision.

“Get out of here! Shambles!” In an instant, his crew vanished, displaced to safety mid-motion. The air they’d occupied whistled with a missed strike—one that would have taken off a head.

The neural link was defending Sanji. Not the body, not the spine. Him. By any means necessary.

Law dropped into a low stance. Surgical gloves slicked with blood curled into fists. His posture changed—he wasn’t a surgeon anymore. He was fighting, and the thing in front of him was both patient and opponent.

“Tact,” he murmured. “Scalpel.”

A blade rose, hovering steady between them. The air in the room shimmered with strain—Law’s power clashing with something buried in Sanji’s bones. The alloy vibrated with a frequency not its own. Law’s eyes narrowed.

“Come on…” He moved. In a blink, he closed the distance—body folding, pivoting, cutting with intent. One hand hovered in the space where the tendrils had lashed. It landed right where he expected it to.

Then in his grip: the neural link. It spasmed once in his palm, still warm from the body it had hijacked. Faint pulses flickered along the embedded tech, like the last twitches of a dying animal.

Law didn’t blink. He crushed it. Metal groaned in his palm—delicate circuitry folding in on itself with a sharp snap. A dying hiss of electricity crackled into silence.

He turned. The room shimmered, holding everything in brutal stasis. The carnage was unspeakable.

Sanji’s body was half-suspended, the frame of him opened like an autopsy gone wrong. Blood hung in midair, caught in the field. Strands of nerve and sinew dangled like marionette strings, limp now. The alloy spine lay exposed. But Sanji was still breathing.

Law exhaled, long and low. His boots echoed across the sterile floor as he approached the suspended body. The web of nerves no longer writhed. The ghost of their violence hovered. Law reached up, fingers brushing through the strands with reverence. The chip had overridden everything. Every shred of autonomy.

Now, he was free.

But broken.

“It’s going to be a long night,” Law muttered.

No one else remained in the room. Just blood. And the surgeon who swore to finish what he’d started. Blood already soaking through the cuffs. The hum of the equipment whined low in the background, lifeless in comparison to the man before him.

Law placed one hand over Sanji’s sternum, grounding him in the room, and picked up the scalpel once more.

Law didn’t get the chance to breathe. Sanji’s body convulsed under his touch. The remaining alloy—those cruel coils running through his vertebrae—reared back with unnatural autonomy. Muscles snapped tight along Sanji’s frame, joints cracking loud enough to echo through the operating room.

And then—his eyes opened.

Vacant.

Law froze.

Sanji’s irises burned a sharp, inhuman white. Not the warm sea blue that flirted and laughed and set kitchens on fire—this was sterile, a program reactivated. Something was watching Law through Sanji's face that had no right to wear it.

“Shit.”

Sanji’s head jerked unnaturally to the side, metal grinding under skin. A tremor rolled through his limbs and then he snapped free from the support system Law had suspended him in.

“ROOM—”

Too late.

A violent crack burst through the air as Sanji’s foot tore through the operating table, metal bending like foil.

He lunged at Law.

Law ducked in time—one of Sanji’s legs cleaved past his skull with enough force to split steel. The fine edge of alloy along his heel had honed itself.

Sanji blinked, and for a fraction of a second—Law saw him. The real him.

Trapped. Terrified. Then the body surged again, one leg flying, speared for Law’s throat.

“Tact—!” Law slammed Sanji back, the body colliding against the far wall with a boom, leaving a dent in the steel. Sanji didn’t cry out. He didn’t even flinch. His head twitched to the side once. Then again. Like a machine recalibrating.

The voice was low, metallic, and not his own.

“Do not touch the asset.”

Law’s blood chilled. He stepped forward, breathing hard. “Sanji. Listen to me. You’re in there. I know you are.” The alloy creaked inside Sanji’s limbs, sharp jolts pulsing along his spine. He twitched again, hands writhed towards him, bones shifting under skin. 

Law looked at the hands he admired so much start to twist and change. "No!-"

Sanji’s face contorted. Jaw tight. Eyes wide. A breath caught in his throat—his own breath.

“Law—” he choked.

Then his back arched, and a scream ripped from him—half voice, half static, a sound of raw rejection. The nerve net was unraveling in real time. Law stepped in, despite the risk. One wrong move, and a reinforced leg would shatter his ribs. But he moved anyway. His hands came to Sanji’s face—not to subdue. To comfort.

Law said lowly, forehead touching his. “I’m here. Come back to me.”

Sanji trembled, caught in an internal war, every reinforced tendon screaming to obey something else. Blood wept from the seams at his back.

Another scream tore free—this one his. The tendrils fell limp. Metal shuddered, then the collapse. Sanji slumped, breath ragged, body ruined. No longer hostile. Just broken.

Law caught him and held on tight. Law sat there for a moment, forehead pressed to Sanji’s, the blood cooling on his gloves. The moment hung, suspended in sterile silence. The operating lights still burned overhead, casting harsh, clinical light across the wreckage of what had once been flesh.

The man in his arms was breathing again, barely. Pushing aside a few strands of hair. Law was shaking.

This wasn’t about the procedure anymore. This wasn’t about the Germa technology, or the mystery of the mutations, or the reputation of Trafalgar D. Water Law.

This was for him. For the man in his arms.

For Sanji.

Notes:

Please let me know what you think as we dive into a darker side of this fic. Always love feedback!

The last little bit there was inspired by the scene in Spider Man 2 where Doc Ock mechanical arms fight the doctors trying to remove them. Always have loved that scene and its fit so perfectly here.

Until next chapter! Thanks for reading, :)

Chapter 7: In the Shape of His Hands

Summary:

The after math of the surgery. A disgruntled doctor and a patient that just wont let up.

Its a shorter chapter but I did not want to leave it on the surgery cliffhanger for too long.

Its smut all the way down from here.

Sanji

Sanji

SANJI! Luffy was yelling across the counter, voice bright and bouncing. “When’s dinner going to be ready?” He was sitting on the counter again, legs kicking freely over the edge. Sunlight poured in through the galley windows, and the warm hum of the ship.

“You’re not getting anything if you keep sitting on my counters,” Sanji muttered, not even glancing up. The blade moved smoothly through the vegetables.

"No more vegetables! More meat! More meat!" Luffy’s arms stretched for the marinating ribs laid neatly beside the prep station. Sanji quickly reacted; Sanji didn’t even blink. “Now, now, wouldn’t want the future Pirate King to get a tummy ache, would we?” he said, knife flicking once.

Luffy pouted dramatically. “But I’m so hungry!” He leaned further, eyes darting from the sizzling grill to the pile of raw greens. “Can I have a snack?”

Sanji sighed, fond and already reaching for the freezer. “Of course you can. Just sit properly.” He turned with a bowl of frozen green grapes, and Luffy, grinning, hopped down to the bench that ran along the counter, knowing he’d won.

Sanji placed the bowl beside him. “Catch,” he said, tossing one into the air. Luffy’s neck stretched just slightly—too far, even for him—but he snapped it up mid-flight. “OOOH! Yum!”

It was the perfect distraction: food and a game. Exactly what Sanji needed to get the rest of the dish finished without Luffy trying to eat it raw.

Laughter filled the galley, Luffy’s wild, unrestrained joy bouncing off the walls. Sanji caught himself smiling, the scents of spices and char mixing in the air. A familiar hum he whistled, a rhythm he'd always known. The last of the sauce glazed the ribs. Steam curled up around his face.

"Sanji"

Sanji turned, expecting to see Luffy grinning and ready with another ridiculous demand. But the bench was empty. The bowl was gone. The stove was cold. Sanji blinked. The knife in his hand was gone too.

"...Luffy?" Silence, a breath not his own. He turned again. Too fast. The walls flickered, edges bending like paper soaked in water. The sunlight was gone, replaced by dim flickering light. Not the Thousand Sunny. Not anywhere he'd ever been before. A scraping sound echoed down the hall. Looking to his side, his vision shifted, too fast to catch.

He was holding a tray of water, with the bright, warm sun overhead. It was a hot day, and he was handing out refreshments to the crew. Zoro stared down at Luffy, who was complaining about the heat, sprawled out on the grass on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro rolled his eyes.

“Uuugh, it’s so hot,” Luffy groaned, kicking his heels lazily.

"Here you two, best to stay hydrated." He bent over to hand one to Luffy, and he took it happily. Luffy grinned wide. “Thanks, Sanji!” He leaned toward Zoro and shifted the tray in his direction. "Come on, Marimo, don't make me wait all day." Zoro took the glass, one hand rested on the hilt of his swords, and one cradled the cold drink.

Sanji opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Luffy’s lips were moving, laughing even, but there was no sound. Zoro was smiling too. Sanji tried to speak again, reaching for his throat. The warmth on the deck started to dim, and the sky warped. Luffy stood up too fast. Too tall. Taller than he should be. Zoro, Nami, and Chopper—all of them now stood taller than him. Their shadows lengthened unnaturally, swallowing the grass, stretching toward him.

Laughing.

Their faces blurred, shifting like oil on water, Luffy’s smile grotesque, mouth far too wide. Zoro’s eyes were slitted and gleaming, unblinking. Sanji fell to his knees. Hands still clawed at his throat.

Then Luffy, now taller than a giant, towering over the ship, lifted one massive foot. Sanji could only stare up. The foot came down, crushing him.

The last thing he heard was laughter.

 

"Weak."

Pulling his hands away from his face, the field of view was restricted, and his shoulders were sore. He looked around, and the tall figure was standing behind iron bars. The cold of the helmet that caged him rested heavy on his head.

Judge.

"You will never amount to anything. Don't ever acknowledge me as your father ever again." The words weren’t shouted. They were a sentence. A life sentence.

Judge turned, cape flaring behind him, and walked away, each step deliberate, every bootfall louder than the last, pounding like a drum inside Sanji’s skull. The metal burned cold against his skin. His hands are too small... too weak. The cage clamped down tighter. The air thinned, and he reached, desperate, as the slot began to close, slowly narrowing his world down to a sliver of light. Breathing hard, chest heaving, Sanji clawed at the helmet as he tumbled backward into blackness. His voice never left his throat.

 

Opening his eyes again, he looked out. He sat on top of black water, expansive, and the only thing he saw was his reflection. Blue eyes, soft blond hair, and curled eyebrows. He stared back at himself for what felt like eternity. Slumped forward as if his body had forgotten how to hold weight. He looked up, and his reflection did not follow. It held its gaze towards Sanji, erupting from the water was an exact copy of Sanji, but his eyes burned a sterile white.

The reflection grabbed his throat and was now dragging him up off the floor. Sanji’s legs kicked instinctively, hands clawing at the grip. His nails scraped over skin that didn’t give. The reflection lifted him effortlessly, as if he weighed nothing, and held him suspended, his toes barely brushing the oily black surface.

A second figure slid in next to the reflection. Judge hung beside him and watched him thrash at the unwavering grip. The image of his father leaning in, whispering, "Now kill him." The grip tightened as he fought harder, legs swinging, body writhing. But it was like fighting stone. His cruel father image stared down at him. Fire ignited, first red and hot, then blue, much hotter. He tried to scream, but nothing came. His vision narrowed. The edges of the world blurred. His throat ached from the pressure. The fingers around his neck were unrelenting. Sanji’s legs kicked once… twice… slower… Just before everything faded, he caught his reflection’s face one last time. It looked disappointed.

Then darkness rushed back in.

 

He was suddenly startled from his sideways position. Straightening, Law was sitting in a chair next to Sanji's recovery bed. It was dim in the room as he moved to sit in the chair properly. Hands rubbing his face roughly, his sleep-deprived features exaggerated to an extreme.

He watched as the ventilation hummed, and the pulses of his heart rate were steady. Law stood and walked to Sanji. It had been a few weeks now after the surgery. Law dares not leave his side. Not after what he witnessed, what he saw. His crew insisted he get more sleep and take care of himself; all levels of compassion fell on deaf ears. He wanted to be there when Sanji woke up. Law did not know how much Sanji would remember, hopefully nothing at all, as his tattooed hand, the hand that had arduously put the man back together, squeezed his hand.

Law watched the steady way his chest rose and fell with the help of the machines. His mind was tired, trying to walk through every conversation he would have to have with Sanji. It was draining, not knowing how much Sanji had suffered because of something he had no idea was this bad.

You don’t get to run from this, he told himself. You’re going to be right here. No matter what, he remembers.

The 'what ifs' and 'I could have dones' drowned out any reason in the last few weeks. Looking down at the man who had walked so easily into his life years ago and had helped him achieve his goals. Not together but with the Straw Hats alliance, Law had always been trailing behind them towards the goal of taking down Kaido, reclaiming Dressrosa for the proper royalty, even clashing with the man he hates above all, Donflamingo.

He was there the whole time as his body adapted to each hit. Each fall. Every blow. He somehow felt partly responsible for the suffering that Sanji was now enduring. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his tired eyes without caution. Vision a little fuzzy as he stood in the room next to the man that had everything taken from him. He looked over Sanji. He's going to need to learn everything all over again.

The catastrophic events of the surgery were nowhere to be seen. With the neural link removed, he seemed to still hold onto his regenerative factor. There must be something reprogramming in his DNA or bone marrow. The skin had pulled itself closed and forced the sutures out all on its own. A body still optimized but no longer controlled. Bringing his hand to the pale skin of the chef. Still his hands, he exhaled slowly and gripped them gently.

"Uh, hey captain?" Bepo had made a habit of checking in on Law on a schedule. Law rejected the regimented schedule at first but slowly gave way to the gentle guidance.

Law withdrew his hand from Sanji slowly. "Yes, what is it, Bepo?" He turned to his navigator with a stiff reluctance.

"Well, we are low on oxygen and need to surface in the next twelve hours." Bepo clung to the edge of the door, only his head peeking around one hand on the door grounding him.

"Understood." He turned back to Sanji. They had been submerged since the surgery. Once Sanji was stabilized, they took to a deep part of the ocean and laid low. If they ran into another crew or marines, Law was afraid, not for himself or even Sanji for that matter. But of what might happen if someone stood in his way.

A captain from the Worst Generation. Former Warlord. Ally of Wano’s liberation. With nothing but blood in his mouth and madness in his eyes from sleep deprivation. Law wouldn’t hesitate to level an island if a gaze lasted one second too long in his direction.

Protect Sanji.

“Okay, Bepo,” Law said quietly. “Let’s surface.” He returned to the chair, one hand coming up to rub over his lips in contemplation. Bepo hesitated at the door; tired amber eyes flicked towards him. "Was there something else, Bepo?"

Bepo tensed just for a second and slipped away, only to come back a few minutes later. He slid the door all the way open, and on a small plate was a set of rough-looking onigiri. "Sanji was teaching me some stuff. I figured I'd give it a try. And you have not eaten today." He held the slightly lumpy onigiri in his paw out to Law. Law looked at the plate and then back at Bepo, and then again.

“Thank you, Bepo,” he said after a moment, “but I’m not hungry.” His leg bounced once, a subtle sign. Bepo pulled the plate back he stared down at the rice. Walked to the table adjacent to Sanji and set it down. Bepo lingered for half a second watching his captain. The fidget in Law's leg intensified, and Bepo got the message. He walked towards the door and paused once more.

“Want me to switch out when we surface?” Bepo offered gently. “Some fresh air might not be so bad?” He did not look at his mink friend this time, going completely still.

“…Yeah,” he said at last. “Maybe some fresh air would help.” Bepo smiled slightly and closed the door. Law heard the door click shut and stood to stand next to Sanji once more. He wanted to be close to Sanji, silent apologies traced into his skin.

Even if you keep braking. I'll keep bringing you back. I'll fix this. I just want to see you smile again.

He hesitated at the thought. Warmth that tugged at feelings Law had not allowed himself to feel in what felt like a lifetime. He, for the first time, let the weight settle under his skin. Did not lock it away, cut it out, or suppress it. He trusted what this feeling was. Trust alone for Law was enough.

He lowered himself back into the chair, his gaze sweeping back to the small plate Bepo had left behind. The imperfect shape of the onigiri greeted him. Lopsided. Thick. Lacking the artistry he’d seen in Sanji’s hands a hundred times before. But there was care in them. Something that reached for comfort in its own way. He stood again and crossed to the side table, picked up the plate, and brought it back to his post beside Sanji’s bed. The smell hit him gently—plain rice, a hint of fish, the warmth almost startling in the sterile room. Law lifted one. The shape sagged slightly in his hand.

It smells… good

The first bite was slow and tentative, his stomach hollow and acidic from days of neglect. The second bite came quicker. A whisper of charred fish tucked into the middle. Bepo had tried. He had remembered what Sanji taught him. And in this small, awkward meal, Law could taste the effort to make something right. Another bite. Then another. And suddenly, the first onigiri was gone.

He reached for the second.

Then setting the plate down behind him on a table now empty. He cards his hands through his hair, sighing. The faint creaks and groans of pressure shifting against the hull as they moved toward the surface. They went slow to avoid the bends, but the idea of the sun on his skin was a pleasant way to pass the time as the sub started its ascent. Sitting again, he crossed his hands in front of his mouth and waited. Come back to me. I’m here. Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be right here.

 

The Polar Tang was bobbing in the sunlight, hatches and windows all open. The crew spilled out across the deck in various states of undress and relief, basking in the warmth like sun-starved animals. After so long in the dark, humid depths of the ocean, even the squint of the sun was welcome. A sharp contrast from that oppressive safety. Everyone but Law was lying out on the deck, towels laid down to fit almost all of them if they wanted to. Shachi and Penguin were already overboard, swimming like children, their laughter bouncing off the surface of the waves. Jean Bart’s booming laugh followed a sudden splash as he cannonballed into the water, sending a wave crashing over the pair. Ikkaku lounged nearby in a bright bikini, limbs stretched over a towel like a sun-drunk cat. Hakugan sprawled above the hatch door, arms behind his head, blinking slowly in the sunlight. 

Law emerged from the hatch slowly, one hand lifting to shield his eyes from the harsh transition. Sunlight struck like a blow after weeks of artificial light. His muscles tensed, blinking against it. Hakugan looked down, glad his captain did not turn because his jaw hit the sub. Law was wearing a white tank top and the familiar spotted jeans. The crew silenced around them. His vision was restricted, but he felt the shift. "Please, enjoy yourselves." He waved a hand in dismissal, and the crew slowly turned, some reluctantly. Murmurs started back up, and the splashing resumed off the side of the ship. He snaked through the lounging crew and made it to the railing as he saw water splash off the side of the sub as Shachi let out a shout of laughter, Jean Bart chasing after him. He leaned into the railing, resting his elbows, just taking in the warmth of the midday sun. He had let Bepo take the weight of it all, long enough to reset his head.

The crisp sea air scrubbed at his mind like salt against raw skin. He was still exhausted, every muscle running on willpower alone, but the sun, the sea, and the faint chill in the breeze brought a clarity he hadn’t realized he needed. He stood tall and stretched, arms pulling high above his head, a low groan slipping from his chest as tendons pulled taut. The deck was hot beneath his bare feet, the heat clashing pleasantly with the sea’s breeze. Around him, his crew laughed. The sound was light. Cards were slapped down with mock fury, groans of defeat followed by the splash of someone being shoved playfully into the water. Giggles, teasing, a few shouted insults—all harmless, all human. Law took in the crew with soft reflection.

Then, quietly, he turned. He walked back toward the hatch, glancing one last time at the warmth of his crew spread across the deck.

 

He stepped quietly back into the recovery room, the low hum of machinery greeting him. Without a word, Law gave Bepo a gentle pat on the shoulder as he passed. It was rare—Law didn’t reach for his crew often—but Bepo stilled under the weight of it, understanding the significance.

“It’s nice out there,” Law murmured. “Just don’t get a sunburn.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Bepo grinned, a little bounce in his step as he exited, tail swishing with the ease of someone who’d earned a moment of peace.

Law’s own skin tingled faintly, the too-familiar sting of a forming sunburn spreading across his shoulders and nose. Pale as he was, the sun had marked him quickly, proof he’d lingered in the light just a little too long. He sank into the chair beside Sanji, his body a few degrees lighter than before. The room welcomed him with its steady chill, but it no longer felt so sterile. The ocean air had followed him in, carried by the open vents, a hint of salt threading through the space. For the first time in days, the Polar Tang felt like it was breathing again.

Law slowly closed his eyes, letting his shoulders slack into the chair. He exhaled, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His heart settled for a breath. Then—another began to race.

His eyes snapped open.

He stood quickly, reaching instinctively for Sanji’s wrist, fingers pressed firm to feel the pulse. It was stronger—fighting now. A struggle echoed in the rhythm of Sanji’s breath. Law heard it—gagging, a choking tension in his throat. He moved fast, one hand bracing Sanji’s chest as the other held the mask secure over the ventilation tube. Tugging the tube free in one smooth, practiced motion. Sanji heaved. His breath rasped raggedly through his throat, raw and wet as his body remembered how to breathe on its own. Law removed the mask entirely, his hand returning to Sanji’s chest.

I’ve got you. You’re safe.

He hovered, eyes locked on Sanji’s face, waiting—needing—to see that storm blue again. Anything but the last image burned into his memory of the color that was void of the man he knew.

 

He balanced his breathing as the obstruction in his throat was finally removed. Air moved freely again, if jagged, his chest lifting with effort. There was weight beneath him—real weight. A bed. Not the weightless drift of nightmares he had been trapped in. Stillness wrapped around him, and for a moment he stayed there. He remembered Bepo’s smile, soft and lopsided, right before he’d fallen asleep. Then nothing but the endless string of nightmares. One bleeding into the next.

His tongue ran over his dry, cracked lips. The taste in his mouth was stale and sour. His body felt foreign, stiff and heavy, aching with disuse. Not unlike after Wano… but this was worse. He had definitely been out for a while. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Blurred shapes met him first, edges swimming in and out of clarity. Someone stood beside him. He tried to lift his arm. A sharp pain lanced up from the crook of his elbow, and he hissed through his teeth. His body flinched from the motion. Then a hand gently moved to guide his arm back down, adjusting the tape and tubing of the IV with practiced care, relieving the pressure from the site. He blinked slowly, and the low light of the sub was making it difficult to determine where he was.

"Uhhhhgh." His voice was hoarse and dry from disuse. Turning his head, waiting for his eyes to shift over the slender figure, slowly he saw him. Law Sanji waited for his vision to fully return to him, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Warm amber eyes stared back at him as he fully came to.

Groggy but cognizant. "Law?"

"Welcome back, Sanji." Law still had one hand resting lightly over Sanji’s chest, then let it fall slowly to the side, settling over Sanji’s hand instead. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t press. The quiet weight of presence—I’m here.

"How long? What happened?" "It's ok, I'll tell you everything." A reassuring pressure over Sanji's hand was held there. Sanji looked over Law; he knew disheveled, but this was far beyond that. The last images of the dinner together snapped into his mind, a sharp contrast to the baggy, unkempt nature of the man before him. We’re so different, but somehow… still the same. Sanji laughed softly to him, and he welcomed the touch from Law as he watched him with his dark blue eyes.

Law stayed with Sanji, his voice steady as he guided him back into the waking world. Sanji tried to move, but Law protested, "You have been out for a while." Law tried to keep him lying. He looked over him and silently asked for permission. Sanji nodded and watched Law uncover his body.

He was in a gown. Law ran his hands over Sanji with intent. He removed the IV with deft hands. He flexed Sanji's joints and moved him to check for bedsores. Law made his way to his chest, again asking for permission. Sanji pulled a smirk, then nodded. He ran over his ribs; they still reflexed at his touch, shielding from the pressure he left on them. Shoulders rotated, flexed smoothly, and Sanji watched him move from one question to the next, answering them all as his body moved, stiff and sore, but no pain.

"Well, you are moving with ease. Are you in pain? Do you have any loss in sensation?" He stood beside the bed looking over Sanji, one hand crossed over his chest and another cradling his chin.

"No pain, just feel like a whale has been lying on me." He waited, watching the wheels turn in the doctor's mind.

"Ok, let's see if you can stand." Law moved his legs and guided them off the bed. Sanji was taking in every movement that Law was making, something changed in the way Law was going about this. Before, he did not ask when it came to the medical side of their interactions. Law took it without asking. But now, every touch was a silent 'Can I?'. He had softened, not drastically, a few degrees softer in the way he was interacting with him.

Sanji's feet hit the cold floor, and he flexed his toes away from it, hissing through his teeth. Law noted the easy flex in his form and turned and dropped pink slippers at the bed beside him. Sanji looked back up at the man.

"You shouldn't have." Sanji slipped into them, and Law braced him under his arms, and Sanji pushed off the bed. His feet planted on the floor, his legs were fine, as strong as ever. It was his back and hips that gave out first; he stumbled forward into Law as he tried to catch him. They both hit the floor, and Sanji landed heavily onto the lean body. A sharp sting bloomed at the back of Law's head. "Ngh," his eyes had closed in the collision with the floor. Opening them again, eyes locking onto deep blue ones. Faces close as the warmth of Sanji laying on him settled into his exhausted body.

"Fancy meeting you here." Sanji propped a hand up and leaned his face into it. Even hours into being awake, that familiar smooth flirtation soaked into his words. Law looked at him from this perspective he could see all of his face. The way he was smirking over him was so soft. The smile he had replayed in his mind over and over again to keep his sanity, to keep hope within arm's reach. They did not move for a long moment, taking in the moment of closeness.

"I-I...mhn." He sighed reluctantly, needing to make sure Sanji was ok from the fall. He shifted under the cook, "Oh ok, no time for any fun." Sanji made a move to roll off of him, as Law sighed in the shifting weight, but he lifted himself onto Law's lap instead. "Now that's better." Law's eyes went wide, and then wider as his body betrayed him.

Sanji grabbed Law's protesting hands and placed them on his exposed thighs. "How am I looking from down there, Doctor?" Sanji pressed into Law's lap, settling into the bones of his hips. Law tried to remain in control, tried to pull back his hands to stand. But Sanji pinned them right where they were, then slowly pulled them up towards his waist, the gown came with them. His heart started to race, "Ah, there he is." As Sanji ground into Law's now fully hard dick.

"Sanji—" His voice was strained, Sanji had taken the reins in the softness of Law's exhaustion.

"Yes, Doctor?" Sanji was at full attention, letting the gown bounce just barely over his cock. The sight made Law forget to blink. Hands dug into the soft skin of the beautifully toned legs of the man who almost killed him over two weeks ago. Law regained himself quickly, focus snapping back. The grip on Sanji turned to his advantage as, in one swift movement, he picked himself up off the floor with Sanji still straddling his lap to the bed. A small yelp as Sanji was lifted at the sudden movement. Law held himself close to Sanji, pushing into his space as he set him down.

"Not now, or I might just break you, and you wouldn't want all my hard work to go to waste, would you?" Law rimmed the cuff of Sanji's ear, he grazed it with his lips. Licking the bottom ever so slightly.

He pulled back and saw the flush over Sanji's cheeks. He shrugged slightly, clearly playing up his words, "Yes, Dr. Trafalgar." He leaned back and let his cock do all the talking for him as it twitched under the gown.

Law took a deep breath. "Ok, let's try again later. You must be hungry." Law peeled his eyes away from the cook and left the room.

Sanji sat there he was taking in the area around him when, in the motion of him kicking his legs off the side of the bed, it—it was gone. Sanji stilled and looked around him. The loud hum he thought was the Polar Tang was gone. He straightened and listened; he could tell exactly how far away Law was. His hearing was immaculate, and Law was now rummaging through what sounded like cloths. His eyes sharpened again, focusing on the dust in the air. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. His vision was so good he was seeing the particles float through the room. Above it all, the hum that seemed to dull his senses had vanished. He breathed in and took in every smell that was around them. Salt from the ocean, the aseptic cold of the room, his body hot and excited, and the smell of what was rice and badly charred fish. His senses carried him to the laughter on the outside of the ship.

His senses were hyper sharp. Never like anything he had before. The most notable thing was the hum of what he was feeling was gone. Must have been the link. He raised his hands to his face, looking them over. He snapped his head as his senses let him know Law was returning. Law his smell, his warmth, his touch. Sanji let out a hot breath and tried to calm himself. Law was right, even though he wanted nothing more than to ride that doctor into ruin, he was right. They had no idea what the recovery was going to look like, and they needed to be careful.

Law returned with a set of Sanji's own clothes.

"Here, let's get some food for you." Sanji held the cloths in silence as he watched Law.

"What?"

"Gonna give a guy some privacy?" Law's eyebrows arched higher than Sanji had ever seen them climb his face.

"You are something else, you know that?" With a soft huff, Law exited the room. A smile stretched across Sanji's face as he slipped out of his gown. His body was thin, but the muscles remained, almost shrink-wrapped around. Every movement is visible. He looked for scars, for something that might have indicated the surgery even took place. There were none. "Hum," he dressed in a light pink shirt with a sun in the center of it.

It oddly matched the slippers. Did he do that on purpose? another small chuckle. Slipped on tan shorts, struggling to get them on in his seated position. He tousled his hair through his hands; it was greasy and unkempt. "Ugh," he said as he smoothed over his shirt.

"Hey Law I'm ready," he called to the other side of the door. There was no hesitation as he walked back through the door.

"Most of the crew is outside on the deck. We should have a few hours before the sun starts to set, and then we can keep moving." Law is standing beside him, even though his eyes were overly inundated with bags under them. That warm gold had returned to them. Sanji looked up at him in wonder once again; they never cease to entrance him. "Ready?" Law held out his hand as an invitation. "Yeah."

Law let out his room and quickly moved them to the kitchen. Sanji found himself sitting on the familiar benches as Law let his hand go, moving over to the fridge.

"Bepo has been making use of the ingredients you bought the other day." He lifted a small glass container out. Quickly returning to Sanji with a fork. Popping the top off and setting it down in front of Sanji. It was a cold soba that had a thin sauce over the top; sesame seeds and shallots danced around the edges, Law clearly disrupting the plating in bringing it to him. Sanji took the fork and twirled the noodles, smelling them, then biting down quickly. He slurped them as he assessed the flavor profile. It's subtle, but the spices were just a little off, a little too much buckwheat-to-flour ratio. He pushed the thoughts aside quickly as he ate with earnest.

Law watched him in silence as he sat across from him. He came back to me. A small tug at his mouth let slip a smile. Sanji hummed at the dish. It was not much, but enough to have his strength start to return to him.

"I told Bepo he had good instinct; this is great."

"Well, he is a bear; instinct is in his nature." Sanji huffed again between bites.

"So... how long was I out for?"

Law hesitated, "Sixteen days." He did not look at Sanji.

"Is that normal for something like this?" Sanji ate with a quite relaxed nature, savoring the food.

Law thought nothing about you is normal. "No." Sanji finished his food and set the bowl aside.

"Sanji, do you remember anything?"

Sanji cocked his head to the side. "No. Why?" Law's eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"There were complications." Sanji with his head tilted to the side, confused. "Odd, I feel fine, and that humming in my body is gone too. Must have been the link you removed, right?"

Law just stared; he had worried so much about the negative outcomes he did not stop to think about the positive ones.

Sanji continued. "Yeah, I thought the sub was just really loud when I got here, but whatever you removed, it's gone; this tin can is not so much a grade on my nerves as I thought." Law let the facts drop from his lips, Sanji took a deep breath in, and out of habit he tried to go for his cigarettes. "Oh," Sanji let slip. He rests his hands on the table once more.

"Room, Shambles"

Sanji's lighter and smokes were on the table.

"Are you in a good mood or are you falling for me, Doc?" He softly takes the familiar cold metal of the lighter into his hands and lights up. The smoke hits harder than Sanji was expecting. "Nnnnh," rolling the end over his lips.

"That never gets old." Cheeks hallowed as he fought back the clawing feeling of nicotine withdrawal once again. Law leaned back and took in Sanji; he crossed his arms over his torso, not in a defensive manner, but more disarmed by the sounds that Sanji was making.

"You really have no idea what you are missing." The smoke filled the space between them. Law reached for Sanji's hand that still held the lighter. Sanji thought he was making a move, but his target was not Sanji. He palmed the lighter from him and reached for a cigarette case that lay exposed in front of them. Sanji watched in shocked disbelief as he watched the man hold the cigarette between his lips, strike his lighter, and hollow his cheeks like he'd done it a million times.

"You can pick your jaw up now." Law pulled hard, embers lighting between his lips. He watched the cook as the warm smoke of Sanji's blend filled his senses.

Damn "Now that is a lovely sight." Sanji pushed forward and leaned his chin into the palm of his hand. “That’s a hell of a thing to pick up from me.” Sanji bit his lip at the sight of the man smoking his blend that he had handcrafted. He knew Law chased the smell, craved it; now he was taking it for himself. Sanji murmured. “It suits you.”

Sanji tried to stand, and his legs supported him, but his back flexed in the strain. His body reacting to the pure desire sitting in front of him. "Be careful, Sanji; wouldn't want you to fall again."

He reached towards Sanji's hand again and traced over the top of it. Lips pressed tight on inhale as he felt the soft pads in his hands. He was taking in Sanji all at once. Sanji watched as Law admired him once more. Right in this room he had these very hands down his throat, teasing him with the hands he obsessed over. "Hummmmm." Law let a slow exhale out as he pulled the smoke from his lips. "Want to go outside while the sun is still up?" Law held his hand and made small circles on the underside of his palm.

"The crew will be elated to know you are awake."

"Yeah, why not? A good swim would be nice." Law looked at him with worry.

"No swimming, you can't even stand, let alone swim. And I can't save you."

"Shame." Sanji exhaled slowly.

Law thought for a second, "Well, we could put you in a little floatie and tie you to the ship. Bepo could keep an eye on you."

"You would not catch me dead in a floatie."

"Alright then, no swimming, ok?" Law stamped out the smoke on the ashtray that lived in the galley now and looked at Sanji, waiting for any confirmation.

"Yeah, fine, no swimming."

"Shambles."

When they popped onto the deck, Sanji was not standing; he was being carried by Law, and the sudden arrival of them caused a few sudden shrieks as Law carried him to the railing. "Here." He set Sanji down gently, and the crew drew breath. Law spoke once more,

"Sanji's awake." The deck erupted with cheers and laughter. They all stood and sat next to him. As Law stood leaning against the railing. Sanchi, Penguin, and Bepo, still playing in the water, hurried to see Sanji.

“He’s up!”
“No way—Sanji!”
“He actually survived Law’s knife hands!”

Sanji laughed at all of the warmth from the people he had only truly known for a short time. Law never wavered in his distance from him; it was nice to see him want to be around him in front of everyone. They all shared stories and lightly poked fun at Law in the heightened sense of merriment. Law threw a few of them out to sea with a chuckle and a few sneaky Shambles. The crew erupted every time. Law had found a seat next to Sanji as the excitement died down slightly. They both faced the endless expanse of the sea.

Bepo walked up behind Sanji and sat with a soft thud. "Bepo! I hear you have been honing your skills." Sanji smiled widely, and Bepo looked at him, lip quivering.

"Thank you, Sanji! I really tried to remember everything you taught me!"

"Just like I said, you have the instinct for it." Sanji placed a hand on the mink's arm with a gentle squeeze. Bepo let roll a few tears, and Law turned back to see them roll down his cheeks. Law smiled lightly with an eye roll.

They sat there and exchanged cooking tips as Law watched the sun slowly set on the horizon. With the warmth in his chest letting him live in the moment. A warm smile rested on his face as he listened to his crew laugh and play. All of it besides a man who was quickly running away with his heart.

The sun was cresting over the edge of the horizon in beautiful reds and oranges as the sky shifted into night, the almost full moon climbing high, as Bepo offered to help Sanji up.

"I think I want to try on my own."

Law squatted down to him, "You sure?"

"Yeah, Doc." Bepo stood back, and Law stood close to catch him just in case. Once again his legs were unwavering. As he held the side of the railing.

"Yeah! Great, Sanji!" Bepo held his hands over his head in his joy.

"Heh, yeah, not too bad. Just got to find my sea legs again." He tried to take a step, and he faltered. Bepo and Law caught both sides of him.

"Well, maybe not just yet." Sanji leaned toward Law's supportive brace.

"I got him, Bepo."

"Aye aye, captain!"

They then vanished just as quickly as they arrived.

The crew had filed back into the sub with their captain. Log pose still tied to the next island, they closed the hatch and sank under the waves again. They landed in the recovery room once more.

"Careful." Law leaned him back into the bed and rested his legs back into it. Covering him once more. He took the seat he had lived in for the duration Sanji was out once more.

Sanji watched him sit. "Have you been here the whole time?"

Law did not respond at first, but he let himself have this. "Yes."

Sanji smiled, that warm smile that Law was finding himself admiring. "I do say I have the best doctor around."

He leaned forward, "Say, do you think I could get a bath?" Law stared at him long enough for Sanji to answer, "I've been sitting in this bed for too long, and I am far beyond unkempt. Come on, Doc, give me a chance to feel a little more human."

Crossing his tattooed fingers in front of him, he took a moment to think about it, more like picture it. "Yes, that's a fair request." Law stood, "But I don't leave. You can't stand, remember? Deal?" pulling the covers off his legs "Deal."

 

The showers were small and purposeful. They had three shower heads, and the whole area was tiled white, not too dissimilar from the rest of the interior of the sub. They landed inside the shower room, no one was there, with one bath in the corner behind a large tile wall for privacy for the standing shower area. A small wooden area with a few racks of towels and hangers sat next to the door with a small wooden bench. They found themselves on the bench. Law steadied him on it and then made his way to the bath to start it for him. He picked up a small bathing stool and a few towels on the way. Sanji had become quite accustomed to the shower situation on the ship; with a ship of mostly men, it was not too unfamiliar to the situation on the Sunny. He watched Law run the bath and run his hand under the water to test its warmth. He padded back over to Sanji, picking him back up in a full princess carry, and set him down on the stool. "Need me to leave again?" Law squatted down again to be eye level with him. Sanji was already trying to take his shirt off as he swiveled around, fingers dipped into the warm bath.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary."

He eyed Law at the last part of removing his shorts. "Do you mind grabbing my soap?"

"Shambles, here." "What about my shampoo?"

"Shambles, yup." "Man, it must be nice to just will anything to your hands."

Law hummed, "Not everything" He stared at Sanji again. Standing, he paced behind the shower wall and stooped out of sight. "I'll just be right here." Even though Sanji had practically shaken his cock in his face, Law still respected the want to have privacy around bathing. Sanji washed his body and hair several times over before sinking into the bath. It was the perfect temperature.

"Yup, this is what I needed." Law listened to his relaxed state as he imagined Sanji slipping naked into the bath.

"Law, come here." Law's eyebrows shot up. Leaning around the corner, he saw Sanji relaxing at the edge of the tub. Arms slung over the side, head resting on the edge. His eyes were closed as Law stood and walked over to him. The small stool Sanji had cleaned himself on was placed beside the tub. Law lowered himself into it. "How are you feeling?"

"Mmmmhum, good." Sanji lay in the bath and exhaled softly. Eventually looking over to Law, his eyes were dark blue, filled with intent. The door had slid open, and a few crew members entered and at first did not notice the pair in the bath, as it was tucked along the back wall. But Law's stature, for once, was a disadvantage. The crew caught the crown of his head over the wall and made brief eye contact, then Law looked away.

"Maybe I should leave." Law protested.

Sanji reached for him, "No, please stay. You could join if you wanted to." He smirked at him. The bath was elevated above the tile and really only meant for one person. It could fit two, but there would be elbows and knees all over the place unless one was perfectly parallel with the other. Law stood and went to lean on the wall that provided a barrier between the two areas, facing away from the few crew members. It sat high enough so Law could rest his arm on it comfortably, meeting his mid-back.

Law leaned towards Sanji and spoke, "I don't think the crew would appreciate what you might get up to if I did." Sanji looked up at him from the comfort of the bath, a large smile wearing itself comfortably across his face.

"Or..." Sanji moved to face Law, he slowly reached for his waist. Law watched it happen, stunned, as just a few feet away some of his crew were freshening up after a day in the sun. Running his damp hand down Law's body, reaching his jeans, and running a finger over the top of them. Quickly snapping the button open with practiced hands.

Law froze, gaze now drilling into Sanji, a silent plea to stop. Hands slowly pulled the zipper down, and found what he was looking for. Law never disappointed, as Sanji looked at him with a burning mischief that had Law quickly fighting for self-restraint. The slight touch to the still clothed shaft was all it took for him to stiffen against his hand. Law exhaled a deep and trembling breath, trying to control his reactions. Watching as Sanji's hand worked his cock. Law glanced over to the other crew members laughing and enjoying the evening with warm and happy tones. Law looked back at the pull at his pants. Sanji had worked the tips of his fingers through the slit in his underwear. Law's chest started to heave, and the soft fingers ran slowly over his shaft. Sanji looked up all the while watching Law burn slowly.

"Sanji—" he said through gritted teeth, as his hips tilted forward at the touch. Rocking his head back, letting go, then quickly snapping out of it as the others in the room boomed in laughter at the antics of Penguin and Shachi pulling a prank on Ikkuku. Fingers still traced over his cock as he rested on the edge of the tub, toying with the doctor. Law gripped the top of the wall, hoping the cool tile would neutralize the slow burn.

"I am starting to get lightheaded." A pause, and he removed his hand from Law's pants. "Help me out?" He did not move at first, as his clinical side took the wheel again. "Y-Yeah, let me just." He fixed his pants and shifted his cock to one side. Sanji leaned up, and Law gripped him under his arms once more, helping out. It was apparent how Sanji was feeling.

Sanji stood, helped by Law, every inch of him laid bare. His body was flushed from the bath, and his legs were supporting him thankfully as Law had his focus on something else entirely. His frame narrowed elegantly, like the sea pulling towards the shore—broad chest settling into the gentle, unmistakable slope of strong hips, the shape of him drew the eye naturally downward. The golden tuft of hair crowned the shaft. Law felt his stare linger a little too long over the head of his cock. There was grace in the curve, just enough to hit all the right spots. Law dragged his eyes away and reached for the towel he had brought over with him, wrapping it tightly.

"Snaji, please, not in front of the crew."

"Oh? That's not what I felt a second ago." Law had shifted Sanji to have him be supported with his arm thrown over his shoulder. But Sanji was already in motion. He fell back into Law against the privacy wall. Cupping his cock through his pants,

"Your body is more honest with me than your words, Trafalgar." His delicate touch with his perfect hands was enough to make Law grit his teeth. He thrust into the cook's hand. "Good boy." Laws lip quivered, and he heard the movement exit the room as the door closed, the crew was gone. Sanji quietly lowered himself onto the tiled floor in front of him. Law's slightly shaking hands lowered him.

One smooth flick of his wrist again and his pants were undone. Sanji lowered his pants just a little bit to see the 2 sets of piercings and the root. Sanji leaned in, kissing the piercings, slow and deliberate.

Law bit back a moan, leaning over the wall slightly. Sanji was in control, he knew Law liked the smaller things, the breath between intent and action. Lips brushed lower, running over the base. Sanji went to remove more of his pants when footsteps paced towards the door.

"Wait—" Law looked towards the door as Sanji ignored his request. Slowly pulled down his pants to let the beast free at last. Law was hung, Sanji knew from the times he witnessed it struggle against his pants. But it was another thing to finally get to see it.

Law was thick, long, and built like he was engineered to destroy composure. His cock bobbed slightly in the heavy air, already glistening. The dermal piercings along the shaft caught the low light. Two on either side, near the crown—mirroring the others. Sanji took in the sight, marveling at it. Throbbing in the heat of the showers, and with Sanji so close. Law was watching the door when his vision snapped back to the sensations of wet on him, footsteps completely forgotten about. Looking down, Sanji was running the tip of his tongue over the slit, tasting.

"And you have been keeping this masterpiece from me?" Sanji kissed the space between the piercings.

He praised with mouth, voice, and hands, the way he knew Law would feel it most. “You’re gorgeous,” Sanji said. “In ways no one has the right to be.” Running hands slowly over his hips, tracing the well-defined muscles, leaving them trembling in his wake.

Law stilled at the kindness directed at him. "You don't have to say all that," Law said, his voice rougher than he'd meant. Fingers traced along Sanji’s jaw, then behind his ear. His thumb rested just beneath his cheekbone, grounding them both.

“I know what I am,” he murmured, quieter now. “But… hearing it from you…” His voice faltered—not lost, just unpracticed. Law didn’t do tenderness, not out loud.

Sanji’s expression didn’t waver. Pressing the tip past his lips, as if to say, I know.

Law let out a slow breath. “But with you—” He let slip a moan in his tenderness as Sanji worked him over.

“It doesn’t feel like surrender.” Sanji stilled, swirling his tongue between the piercings. He had never seen Law like this, not when they were fighting, not when they were flirting. Not even in the haze of earlier moments, when control and chemistry had tangled between them. The sharp angles of Law’s face weren’t guarded. His mouth, usually drawn into something tight or scathing, had softened. Sanji couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion dragging the edges of him down or if Law was letting himself feel something.

For him.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, barely audible above a breath. “Not just this—” his mouth traced the shaft, slow, savoring “—but how you’re letting me have you, like this.”

Law exhaled sharply through his nose, trembling under the praise. Sanji looked up and caught it again, that flicker of feeling in Law’s eyes.

Sanji moaned low, savoring the heat, the weight, and the sheer act of giving pleasure to someone who never let himself be taken apart. Law’s fingers threaded into his hair, and for once, it wasn’t a command.

It was trust.

“Sanji,” he breathed, another thrust into the warmth of his mouth, another slow pull, and Law’s head dropped back. This was letting go. 

Sanji pushed further over his shaft, it hit the back of his throat quickly. Sanji had not fully taken his length yet as his cock teased into his throat. Law ran his fingers through Sanji's hair as he watched him take it inch by inch. He was dazed from the sensation. He was not going to last long as Sanji savored every second Law was exposed like this. Sanji repositioned himself to invite him in further. Small thrusts rocked his dick further into his throat, the tight squeeze, as he guided Sanji's face closer to the base. Sanji moaned deeply as he pushed deeper, letting the towel fall away to quickly stroke himself. Law held his face close as he thrust slowly, feeling every bit of Sanji's anatomy. Law was so close, his body fought off the exhaustion as it tensed, sucking in a sharp breath. Feeling Law tense, Sanji's free hand teased his balls, massaging them, coaxing out the orgasm. As Sanji shuddered under him, cum hit the tiled wall. Dazed his gaze drifted up, he wanted to see it all, every quiver, every involuntary twitch, the helpless beauty writ across Law’s face.

Law chooses to fall. When he did, Sanji stayed right there until the last shiver worked through him. Eyes closed, grinding into his mouth, he let the release take him over, his skin prickled, and Sanji placed a hand on his thighs, grounding him. His climax lasted a while as each twitch, each restrained moan, filled Sanji's throat and mouth, swallowing over and over again. Sanji did not move right away; he let Law stay in his mouth until Law made the choice to move. 

Fingers in his hair finally loosened, and Law sagged back against the tile with something that sounded like relief. Law looked down and slowly dragged his member from the cook's mouth, breathing heavily his eyes were blown, barely any gold left. Not a drop spilled.

“You okay?” Sanji asked, his voice soft but rough. Law didn’t answer right away. His breath was heavy, then slowly steadied. When he finally looked down, his eyes had changed. There was a weight to them now.

“I will be,” he murmured. Sanji tried to pull himself up, and Law went to help, pulling Sanji into him.

Sanji reached up and gently tucked a strand of damp hair behind Law’s ear. “You were incredible,” he whispered. “Every part of you.”

Law huffed, barely a breath of a laugh. “You say that like I didn’t just fall apart on a shower wall.”

“You say that like it’s not the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Sanji murmured, leaning in enough that his breath warmed the curve of Law’s jaw. Law turned his head towards Sanji, leaning into the angle, hesitating right before his lips. Asking for silent permission. Sanji smiled and pressed his lips to Law gently, it was a soft, silent acknowledgment of what they had just bared to one another.

Law pulled away with a soft sigh, "Let's get dressed." Law set Sanji down on the bench in the room and gathered their things. Sanji watched him. "Aftercare cigarette?"

Law looked over him and rolled his eyes out of habit, his words were playful: "Just saying… it could’ve made the moment.”

Law smirked faintly, then turned his back to the blond as he toweled off. “What we just did was a moment.”

Sanji slowed as he pulled the shirt over his head. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “Yeah, it was.”

There was silence for a beat.

Then, without turning around, Law said, “I don’t do that with people, Sanji.”

“I know,” Sanji said, his voice steady now. “You didn’t have to say it. But I’m glad you did.” Sanji smirked. “You think I didn’t notice? You’ve been barricading yourself tighter than a damn walk-in freezer.”

Law gave a quiet huff. But he didn’t argue. Helping Sanji stand and clothe himself, he watched the cook and held a hand out in practiced permission. Sanji took it, and they were gone again.

They were back in the recovery room when Law was setting him into the bed. Sanji looked over the space with a solemn look.

"What?"

"It's just so bare in here; can't I go back to my room?" Sanji tousled his damp hair.

"I have everything here if something happens to you." He moved from his side. "Until you are walking again, I would like you to remain here so I can monitor you." He took his seat again and laced his fingers together.

"Humm, well if it's a matter of monitoring me, why not together in my room?" Sanji slid a smooth smile towards him.

"How about I do you one better? My room." Law stood and held out his hand again. Sanji cracked a wide smile, taking it quickly. And they were gone again.

They landed in his room, and Law caught Sanji again. Sanji had not been in the captain's room yet, and he always wondered what it looked like since he boarded.

"Yeah, you are right, your bed is bigger." Law led him to the side and laid him down. Sanji pulled him towards him, and Law fell on top of him with a soft thud. The growing demand stiffened between Sanji's legs again.

"No, Sanji. Remember. You. Can't. Stand." He pinned the cook down, but he felt the tightening of thighs around him; it was fast. Sanji flipped Law onto his back.

"I think you have forgotten I fight with my legs, Captain." Grabbing Law's hands as they reached up in protest, he pinned them over his head. "hah-" Law exhaled at the position. His now overly tired body was winning the war over his unrelenting lust. Lying in his bed, which he had neglected for weeks, pulled all energy from him. His eyes fluttered, "Sanj-" and he was out. Law had spent so little time sleeping and worrying about Sanji that in the roller coaster of emotions of the day, once he hit the bed, he was out.

Sanji let out a slow, quiet huff as he shifted away enough to untangle the blankets piled on the bed. With practiced care, he tucked them in, the fabric settling around them. Law didn’t stir—solid as ever. He slipped in behind him, pressing close, fitting the curve of his body to Law’s spine like it was the only place he’d ever belonged. The warmth of him was steady, and Sanji let his nose brush lightly against the back of his neck, letting himself just breathe.

He really is something else.

He watched the slow rise and fall of Law’s chest, the quiet rhythm of sleep. The man who could slice through cities with a word, who carried entire kingdoms in the crease of his brow, now lay here soft, his breath slow and even.

And for him to give me everything in that moment…

He’d seen Law’s walls, all sharp and unyielding. But tonight, he’d seen the man beneath it. It was the quiet kind of trust that words couldn’t ever do justice. A small smile curved at Sanji’s lips as he nestled closer, tucking his forehead between Law’s shoulder blades.

He didn’t have to. He didn’t owe me anything—not trust, not closeness, not this. But he gave it anyway. In his own way. That cold, impossible man let me hold him like someone worth being held.

Sanji settled into the moment and let himself feel everything that happened. A smile lingered on his features as sleep took him.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you think.

Until next chapter, thanks again, ;p

Chapter 8: Smoke Runs in the Veins

Summary:

Sanji and Law pull at each others threads slowly undoing one another to the truth of their real intentions.

Small, quick exhales stir Sanji awake. The quick rise and fall of Law's chest was an unfamiliar sight. Arms still wound around him, he pulls tight to his chest. Hands placed over his chest like a shield from whatever racing images his sleep-deprived mind is pulling him through. Law pulls in towards the feeling, subconsciously trying to ground himself. Pressing his chest to the Law, nestling himself into the tight ball Law has pulled himself into. He stares at the back of the Jolly Roger that is inked across the skin of the captain.

Sanji breathes with him, trying to calm him in his exhausted, sleep-deprived state. Nightmares trying to claim any sense of peace Law might have found. Gentle, soothing passes of his hands run down the well-toned chest, soothing the small tremble. The clench in Law's jaw breaks first, his breath slowly balancing out. A small tremble that was starting to cling subsided. Sanji breathed a little more relaxed, he was all too familiar with his own demon he faced every night.

A small kiss to the back of his neck as the man sprawls out once more, Sanji adjusts to him as he gets comfortable again. In the night the men, in half sleep and half delirious with the fury of being too hot and too clothed, had stripped. The one downside to the silent stealth of the sub. It got hot. Sanji was also not accustomed to the amount of blankets the captain had on his bed.

Law did not snore, just long, heavy breaths with a slightly agape mouth. Feeling his body shift again, Sanji moved away slightly, waiting for him to settle so he could get in close again. Law turned to take the position behind Sanji and pressed his chest to Sanji's back, grabbing a little too hard, a little painful.

Fucking hell, what are you dreaming about now, Doc? Sanji moved away. He turned over to try and sit up.

Law grabbed at him., quickly to Sanji's hips, "What the—" Law wrenched him back towards his fully erect cock.

Sanji looked over his shoulder as Law's cock throbbed between his legs. Law was still asleep. What the hell?

Sanji heard a stilted breath as his grip tightened, pain surged through Sanji, and the tattooed fingers continued to dig in. The cock between his legs was pulsing with a stiffness that left Sanji wanting, the heat and the small pool of cum between his legs. Another tightening of Law's grip made Sanji shudder, "Fuck." He bit into his first, stifling the whimpering.

How much have you been holding back? - "Nugh!" Arching away from the pain, the heat that was curved besides his own cock was sublime, his own cock rising to the blistering heat between his legs. He spit, reaching down and taking both cocks in his hand, the spirt of cum mingled together as his soft hand ran over both in his snare. The vice on his hips did not let up, and the pace of his hand quickened. A tremble from the man behind him as he began to pant. Then start to rock his hips.

Hot breath spilled from Sanji, sweat rolling off him now not helped by the cramped living quarters. Tightening his thighs to feel the small drag and pull of the iron rod between them. "Holy—" Sanj bit down once more on his fist, almost breaking skin. "F—fuck!" he let slip into the room. Back to chest now, Law nestled his face next to his neck. 

Small, pleasant noises escaped Law as Sanji worked over both of them quickly, his hands working fast as he felt the tremble and flex, not too dissimilar to the one he felt back in the showers. Sanji breathed hard into the man's hold, there was no need for a performance here. A raw need to chase that high, Law tightened his grip again and pressed into the cook a few times before shuddering into Sanji's hand. Sanji watched him cum into, on, and over his hand, adding a smoother friction that had Sanji moaning slightly. Arching into Law's unrelenting grip, enjoying the power in the possessive hold he was in. 

A small nuzzle to his ear and a soft sigh felt a little too intentionally from the quiet, coiled force he had been enduring. Sanji was close as he settled into the pain, moaning every time his hand pushed past the head of his cock. Soft humming ran over his neck in Sanji's frantic state chasing his release. The cock between his legs still seared as it did not soften. But the grip on his hips did. They threaded over his chest, tattooed fingers with a familiar, gentle touch rubbed small circles over his nipples. The sensation rippled over him, causing goosebumps all over Sanji's skin. "Hah—" One last push, a tight squeeze threw his hand, and he was cumming. Sanji straightening out and flexed in his pleasure. Law's cock was pinched between them, riding Sanji's orgasm with him through the trembling flex and release of his thighs.

Sanji relaxed as he opened his eyes again as another was staring down at the mess he made. Sanji flinched away from the smoldering gold catching in the dim light. They smoothly slid into place, locking onto the blown deep blue ones. 

"I am not usually woken up in such a good mood." Chasing Sanji, he nudged into the crook of his neck again. Inhaling the smoky sweet scent hanging on Sanji's skin. Sanji’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away. Lips brushing the curve of Sanji’s throat with no intent beyond presence. Fingers ghosted up his chest, grabbing with a tenderness in sharp contrast to the vice he was in moments ago. Sitting up slightly enough for Sanji to see his face. His hair was a mess, the familiar weight of his eyes returned as he traced the features of the man below him now. Law was cataloging every feature of Sanji in that moment. 

“I’ve helped countless amounts of people,” thumb brushing the side of Sanji’s jawline now. "People ask for help in convoluted and blunt ways. Soft, emotional, painful, and sincere." He paused, looking away in the unspoken warmth of his tone, “But I’ve never seen someone hold themselves together like you do.” 

Sanji swallowed thickly, his throat tight.

“Not just strong,” Law continued, gaze steady. “Not just stubborn. Beautiful. In the way you survive. In the way you give. It's a warmth—” Law bit back in the moment, words escaping him. He knew Sanji had a presence about him, it was hard to place how to word it exactly in the moment. Sanji let out a slow breath through his nose, eyes darting away like he was trying to find the nearest exit from the weight of Law’s words. His cheeks flushed, but his mouth twisted into a smirk anyway.

“Damn,” he said, his voice velvety with sarcasm now. “Say that kind of thing too often, and I might start thinking you actually mean it.” He didn’t look at him, but his voice had its edge. Sanji was starting to feel the truth in the things Law was saying to him.

This is just fun. That’s all this is. A good lay with a little flair, a sharp tongue, and a nice body to lean into.

Out loud, he said with a smirk, “Don’t go getting soft on me now. I’m not one of your wounded little patients.” Law didn’t say anything at first. Letting Sanji pull away enough to put a fraction of air between their skin, enough to pretend none of it mattered. One arm loosely draped over Sanji’s waist, thumb brushing against the dip of his lower back.

He watched the line of Sanji’s jaw flex. Watched the soft blond strands fall over his cheek, hiding part of him. Always hiding something. Shifting enough to speak low against Sanji’s ear.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Law’s thumb moved again, a slow drag over warm skin. A gesture that said, I see you more than I want you. “You’re not just ‘fun,’” he said after a beat. “I’m not just saying things to see what you'll do.”

Sanji’s breathing shifted. A quiet war was working through his body. Law watched the side of his expression. Sanji shifted away, trying to support himself with his still strained body. He rolled onto his back, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes. The space he created wasn’t just physical. A subtle shift away from the tenderness Law had offered. Sanji reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, tapping one out with an almost bored precision. Lit it with a click of the lighter and inhaled, letting the smoke curl between them like a veil.

“Well,” he said around the cigarette, eyes now fixed on the ceiling, “you’re not my type anyway.” A faint, strained giggle floated stiffly in the room around them. Like he hadn’t spent the last few weeks sleeping under Law’s roof, in his bed, bleeding on his table, baring his weakest moments, his tortured self that was his past. A life forced to live by that Law was helping liberate. His hand trembled slightly when he brought the cigarette back to his mouth. He took another drag, slow, holding it in his lungs a beat too long.

“Thanks for the compliments, though. Real sweet of you.”

And like that, the wall was back up. Law had seen it before back in Wano, in the smoke shop. He was all smoke and mirrors then, he used his words to disarm and fluster him back then. When Law did not know the dance yet, it did not take Law long to learn. All smirks and uncaring remarks. Watching the way Sanji’s mouth curled around the cigarette, he watched the smoke drift between them like a barrier. Watched the way Sanji leaned into performance, into distance, like it was muscle memory. The moment where vulnerability slammed shut like a trapdoor, replaced by something practiced. He could have pressed his hand back to Sanji’s chest and asked why he was pulling away, what it was he was really afraid of. Don’t tell me this is just for fun.

Law knew sometimes restraint was the only language that didn’t bruise. “Right,” he murmured. Then he stood, rolling his shoulders like he was shrugging something off. Shifting slowly, drawing the blankets onto the floor. The warmth between them cooled. Walking to his closet, a set of sheets was removed, and Sanji rolled towards the nightstand, throwing his legs over and bracing himself on the side table. Law watched closely, he was still his patient after all. Sheets were quickly ripped off and replaced. Law gestured for Sanji to sit as he saw his back spasm in supporting his weight. Sanji sat on the edge, back to Law. Blankets placed back onto the bed like a rat's nest. 

“I’ll give you some space.” He stepped outside; the Polar Tang was quiet. The sea is steady. Law stood in the corridor for a long moment, palm pressed briefly to the cool metal wall. 

You’re not my type, Sanji's words replayed in his mind. But Law didn’t fall for types, he fell for truth, honesty, the core of someone, the intent behind action.

Take your time, Law thought. But don’t lie to yourself forever.

 

Sanji turned over in the bed and threw half of the blankets off. He burned hot, and the stack of blankets did not help. Taking the container again and lit another cigarette. Still naked, still warm from where Law had been only minutes ago, the quiet click of the latch echoing. Dragging a hand through his hair, raking it back roughly, like it might scratch the confusion out of his skull. The room did not help, he was in Law's room. His smell was everywhere. Everything Law cared about was in this room, and now him. 

Shit.

Fingers flexed against the mattress. That look in Law’s eyes, and for one moment, Sanji believed it too. Long enough for the panic to hit. That kind of trust was dangerous. The kind of belief he couldn’t keep pretending was not building between every interaction between the two. Hell, Sanji had asked him for help in the first place. Law did not have to take any of this on. He could have told Sanji to fuck off and been done with it. But he didn't, he believed he could help and trusted he could fix him. 

Biting the edge of the nearly spent stark white roll with furrowed brows, "But why does he look at me like I’m the one saving him?" His throat tightened. Lighting another cigarette to have something to do with his hands. The lighter shook on the first flick. Cursing under his breath, he tried again.

Keep it casual. Keep it light. Keep it under control. That was the rule. Has always been the rule. Flirt, tease, distract, always to flirt with the line, but never to have. Something learned long ago, to many sleepless nights, to many feelings left abandoned. Sanji exhaled sharply, elbows digging into his knees as he hunched over, dragging a hand down his face. Sanji didn’t know what to do with this kind of softness, or the truth of it all. He stubbed out the cigarette halfway through, the absence rang louder than anything else. Sanji shoved a hand through his hair again. “Fuck.” Because Law was giving him space. Room to breathe. Sanji didn’t know if that made him feel grateful or furious. For the first time in a long time, someone had looked at the bruised, broken, bleeding parts of him and called it beautiful. Sanji didn’t know how to hold that kind of truth without flinching.

The Polar Tang drifted in a steady current, its engines quieted to a low, familiar hum that seemed to breathe with the ship itself. In the soft cobalt blue of morning light filtering through the portholes, the crew had settled into their rhythms, footsteps light, voices low, and laughter occasional and easy. For the first time in weeks, Law wasn’t pacing outside a recovery room or buried in surgical files. He was at the mess table, the steam of hot tea curling around his face as he sat among them. Bepo slid him a plate like it was any other day. Shachi cracked a joke about the next port. Ikkaku leaned over the table, animatedly describing the vendor market they might hit first, while Penguin chimed in with a theory about the island’s rumored tech exports.

Law listened, not needing to speak unless spoken to. The crew never seemed to mind, they got him back, and that is what mattered. The quiet glances they sent him reminded him how long he’d been gone, even if he’d never technically left. Just not with them. Not while Sanji needed him. Law’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling, toward the room above, where he knew Sanji had woken, restless and not quite ready to speak the truth of what was happening between them.

“Captain?” Bepo’s voice pulled him back gently.

Law blinked and refocused. “Mm?”

“You want to go over landing prep later?”

Law nodded once. “Yes. After rounds.”

The crew accepted that. A quiet ease settled around him as the ship moved steadily on course toward the island. But Law? He knew the real storm hadn’t passed. It was still upstairs. Still in his room, Law took a moment for himself, relaxed back into the comfort of his crew around him. They had always been a source of warmth for him, another thing he cared all too much about, and it was always returned tenfold. 

Law stood quietly, returning his mug. He stretched, "Alright, Bepo, let me know when we are close to port." "Aye aye!" Law stepped out of the galley, warm tones and the trust of a crew he had built over the years. A smile tugged at his face as he made his way to the brewing storm ahead.

The door slid open with a gentle hiss.

Law stepped inside, slow and steady. Gaze fixed on the man splayed over the bed, face down and half smothered by a pillow on the side he had left him on. The side table was stacked high with a plate of half-smoked and discarded cigarettes. The air was stifling with the smoke and the heat trapped inside. Law walked over and flipped open the vent above, as the lingering smoke overhead escaped quickly. Blankets were kicked everywhere, only one remained, barely hung around his waist. Law moved to clean the mess around the room; as he did, a hand reached up for another cigarette. The fumbling of hands over the side table made Law look over his shoulder. He ran out. Watching the practiced hand still, then return to his chest, curling in tight. 

"Morning, Sanji." His tone danced between his clinical cold tone and something not quite comfortable, like he held with his crew. At the call of his name, Sanji flinched, as though wishing anyone else in the world would have walked through that door. A soft exhale into the pillow as the sleepless night, and running out of his fix halfway into the night, had not made things better. A small series of grumbles came next, it was not like Sanji to miss breakfast, let alone meal prep or staging for any refreshment the crew needed. Amber eyes did not linger as he straightened the room. 

"We are going to start your recovery today to get you back on your feet. As well as landing at the next island by mid-afternoon." He spoke like he was reading off a list, he was going to keep Sanji informed like he had told him on day one. Regardless of the way either of them was feeling in this moment or moving forward. Law had been asked to break the shackles that Sanji was carrying with him. He wholly meant to keep that promise.

Once the room was back to some level of order besides the disgruntled man in his bed, he walked over to face him. Squatting down, he could only see the tail end of his curled eyebrow in the buried face.

"Sanji." Looking over the table, the empty container of smokes from Wano and his lighter toppled over into the mess that was the discarded plate from the other day. Clearly he had run out. Standing, he walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. Sanji peeked through his hair to watch him go. As always, steady hands knew exactly where everything was and lifted a case not too dissimilar to the one Sanji had been carrying. Sanji raised his head off the pillow. Law turned back to him and squatted down. He did not meet the swollen eyes and dark rings that where not too dissimilar to the captain's. We are so similar, yet so different, Law thought.

Slender fingers picked up Sanji's lighter and blew off the ash it had been buried in. With a smooth push of a button, the untouched batch of addiction shined in front of them. Law palmed one, set it down, pressed it between his lips, and with a swift clank breathed life into the ember at the end. Their eyes snapped together once more. "Here." Law handed the cigarette over, and Sanji stared at him, he had completely forgotten Law had the exact thing he had craved all night. A trembling hand reached for it, a small brush of skin in the exchange. Sanji rolled onto his back and inhaled it as the pull ate away half of it in one go. Eyes closed, holding his breath for a long moment, letting the feeling settle over him. Law counted the moments between them.

He knew Sanji's lungs were encased by a plating that moved and flexed in his breath. Law wondered if because of his addiction, his lungs changed first. The plating that had formed was structured in a way that most of the rest of his body had not. Law rolled the idea around in his mind, or he had been smoking so long his lungs had to over-adapt. Watching him reach over and tap the ash into the graveyard of other half-broken smokes. He lifted himself, and Law tried to move to help, but the move was effortless. Has he already started to recover his mobility? They sat quietly as Sanji tried to regain his warm, flirty demeanor. Letting the smoke go. 

"Four hundred and eighty-three seconds." Law stood looking down at the crumpled man in his bed. 

"What?" Sanji's voice was ragged, clearly abused by the chain smoking the night before. 

"That's how long you held your breath for." Law turned, and he was wearing his signature jeans and a long-sleeved black sweater with shifting saturation of pink bars running horizontally across it. The sleeves were rolled as he placed his hands on his hips. 

"I wonder how long you can truly hold your breath for?" The wheels turned as Sanji watched the man ponder clinically about his state of being. Their eyes did not meet, but Sanji watched him work. The precision, the poise, the way he commanded the room without raising his voice. Sanji hated how much he noticed. And yet, part of him... part of him burned to be seen by those golden, clever eyes. 

Law continued, "Maybe a swim would not be too bad after all. So I can gather more data." His gaze shifted, searching for acknowledgment. Sanji froze and quickly looked away. Dragging the last remnants of the cigarette to its limit. Skin prickled under the presence of the Heart Pirates captain. His body betrayed him under the watch. Shifting his hips away, the thought of swimming was a pleasant one. Again, Law was extending trust once more, as he knew Sanji had suggested it the day before. He keeps giving. It was a silent truce between them, as Sanji met his molten gaze once more.

"I would like that." Bringing his knees up to his chest, a blanket draped over him to hide the growing flustered feeling over the clinical acknowledgement.

Law moved toward him, Sanji's cheeks flushed a small tint of pink. Sanji did not look at him, breath a little too labored. He does not even need to touch me, and he's got me wrapped around his finger.

Law hovered, and he knew—how could he not?—the shield Sanji actively tried to hide behind, Law was learning how to coax it aside to glimpse behind it. He squatted down next to the chef once more. "Ready? Or do you need more time?" 

Damn it, you caring fuck.

Sanji's cock pulsed between his legs. His jaw clenched, Law passed a hand over his knees to take the blanket away. Eyes darted from hand to face quickly. Law slowly grabbed the blanket, and Sanji let him expose his true feelings. Not breaking eye contact, a small smirk pulled at Law's lips. The head of Sanji's cock was peeking out between his legs, precum shining as it ran down between his legs. Law stood and pushed into his space, one hand gently took the small of his back, guiding him to lay on the bed. Sanji breathed into the gentle touch, letting Law handle him, trust returned in the moment. His chest was already flush as Law laid him exposed over the bed. Sanji did not speak; he did not need to. All composer clashing with the brooding storm. Leaning down, hand still held the side of the cook as he kissed right over his heart. Sanji moaned into the touch, wanting it more than he was willing to admit, back arching with the feeling. Law strung kisses down his body, placing a few over top of one another as lips memorized every curve, the push and pull of breath and tension in his body. Law slid down to his hips, one hand still cradling the narrow waist, wanting to feel every arch, every plea to please keep going. 

Sanji looked down as he touched him, the beauty of Law when he was taking him in was captivating. The enrapturing nature of restraint and care was far beyond anything Sanji had experienced, moaning as the sight seared into his memory. Law licked a line down to the base of his cock. He wanted to know what every part of him felt like over his tongue, catalog it, committing it to memory.

"You are perfect." A heated breath with a low, the sultry tone hit Sanji as more precum leaked out. The comment made goosebumps roll over his skin, a sharp exhale as Law took him past his lips. Sanji quickly felt the metal brushing under the shaft, as tongue pressed into his dick. He ran his hands through his hair and pulled, he was heaving and trying to regain any amount of restraint. A thread Law had found, pulling to undo him.

Skin prickled again as Law pushed his cock in all the way to the base. Feeling the extra pressure under his dick from the piercings. Breath was labored as he was writhing under the doctor's touch and control. Law pulled his legs towards the edge of the bed with him, his cock never left his throat. The pressure of Sanji's cock over his tongue was enough to make him want to ruin Sanji for the rest of the day. Slowly letting the cock slide from his mouth, he pushed Sanji's legs apart, pressing his cock into him. He did not need to confirm Sanji felt his need in that moment as curled eyebrows shot up. He pressed hard into Sanji's ass, pinning his legs up to his chest. Ass now tilted up to meet the thick outline. Law leaned back down and kissed a line down between his legs. Sanji could feel the hot breath on his trembling hole. All at once a wet pressure hit him, a wrecked moan broke from him as he remained pinned. A quick breath was leaving him lightheaded as Law licked over his hole. Law took his time letting himself take in everything, the sensation of the piercing rolling over the subtle skin was enough to make his eyes roll back. Rimming the tight pink hole, Law took Sanji's cock in his hand and quickly stroked him. Sanji moaned loudly, uncaring of who would heard them. 

Law pushed past the tight hole with a well practiced tongue, and he felt the pulse of quick release crash over Sanji. "Fuck, Law, hah-" His hand moved slower as ribbons of cum hit Sanji's heaving chest. Law felt the pulse of cum run over his hand, releasing his grip on his leg and easing away from the position he held Sanji in. Slow pulls over Sanji as his oversensitive cock kept cumming for him.

"Fuck, please, I need you. Please—" Sanji gripped the sheets. Law lowered himself over Sanji, took the hand covered in his cum, and licked it slowly in front of him. Eyes never breaking as he watched Sanji crumble, humming in satisfaction over the taste and the break of the man below him. Exiting the space, he stood once more as Sanji watched him go.

"Wha- what, please, Law?" He begged sitting up to watch him cross the room. Grabbing a discarded towel, he strode back over to clean Sanji. Watching with frantic eyes as the calm demeanor of the captain made him shake. Standing once more, he ended at the edge of the room, tucked his hands into his pockets, cock on full display running down his leg.

Sanji's eyes traced over it. Then met the golden eyes once more.

"You walk over here to me, and I'll fuck you for as long as you can take it."

Sanji felt his cock responding to the challenge. Law stood with his weight to one side, casual if not for the raging boner in his pants. Sanji pushed himself towards the edge of the bed. Quickly glancing at the man standing at the corner of the room. It's not more than a few paces. His feet braced him as he slowly pushed off the bed. Wobbling slightly in his balance, his back strained and hips locked. Looking over to Law, watching him reach down to palm himself. Sanji tried to balance his breath as he attempted to take a step. It was weak and incredibly wobbly, but he did it. Another step, and as he was so focused on his balance, he almost missed the snap of a button. Law had undone his pants. Sanji's features were flushing again as his cock continued to fight to rise so soon after cumming. Sanji looked at the captain as he was running his hand over his chest, playing with his nipple as he continued to stroke himself over his jeans, lip bitten a little too hard in the restraint, a few heated breaths passed his lips, urging Sanji on. 

Another step and Sanji heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper giving way. A sharp exhale followed, when he glanced up, the flush already rising across Law, the gleam of metal catching the low light where the piercings adorned him. A slow tremble of anticipation rippled through Sanji’s limbs a few paces away from a day full of ecstasy. A sharp jolt twisted through his spine. His step faltered. The muscles in his back seized, a spasm too strong to hide. He barely managed a curse before his knees buckled. But he didn’t hit the floor. Tattooed hands caught him, swift and precise. Law cradled him, arms already bracing around Sanji’s waist, lifting him without a word. The burn in Sanji’s back bit deep—but the pain softened under the calm, practiced pressure of Law’s touch. Law eased him onto the bed again as he helped him settle.

"Close," he murmured, his voice still thick with desire, smiling over him, Sanji tugging too hard at the edge of his sweater.

“I practically made it,” he added, cocking a grin, his breath fanning hot across Law’s lips as he pulled him into a kiss. Law took him and sighed into the feeling. Sanji tried to quicken the pace as he pushed his tongue between Law's lips. Law smiled and pulled away.

Sanji frowned. “What?”

“You did,” he said lowly, thumbing gently at Sanji’s jaw. “But I won’t call it a success until you can make it all the way to me.”

Sanji scoffed, cheeks flushed, arousal shifting into challenge. Law bent forward, forehead brushing his. “I play the long game, Sanji. You should know that by now.”

Pulling away from him, he brought Sanji into a seated position on the edge of the bed, fixing his pants in the wake of the disgruntled chef. Quickly pushing his room out, Law popped Sanji's bag into existence in front of them both. "Here, did you bring swim shorts?"

Sanji snatched the bag, and Law huffed softly at him. "Did I bring swim shorts..." Fingers slid into his bag and pulled a yellow pair of shorts from the bag. He stood, and Law held him by his arms, keeping his body steady as he stepped into them. As he was pulling them up, he saw the stain in Law's pants barley holding on through the spotted jeans. When looking back, a hand glided towards the bulge. Law pulled his hand back while supporting him. 

"You really can't take no for an answer, can you?" The hand hovered in the air between them. Law was looking down at the flush on his skin again, a soft rose color just under his eyes; it made the tired expression soften. Sanji knew he was being admired again and looked away, dropping his hand. Law pulled him close so Sanji could lean his body in support against him. He held his hand up and brushed the soft blond hair away from his face. Sanji took in a sharp inhale, shrinking slightly in his arms. 

"Sanji," his tone was warm and inviting, a whisper of something too intimate to name. His thumb lingered at Sanji’s temple, brushing aside a few stubborn strands of hair. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Sanji blinked up at him, caught somewhere between breathless and bristling. “See what?” he muttered, voice rough. “That I’m making your life way more complicated?” Law pulled him in closer. 

Law let out a soft laugh, almost soundless. His other hand moved to the small of Sanji’s back, steadying him with practiced care. “No. That you're—”

He hesitated, and that alone made Sanji flinch a little.

Law tried again. “That you don’t have to try so hard. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Sanji’s mouth twisted, and his eyes flicked away. “I don’t know what the hell you think I’m doing, but I’m not—” He swallowed thickly. “This isn’t about proving anything.”

“It is,” Law said quietly. “To yourself.”

Sanji sucked in a breath through his teeth, jaw tightening. “Don’t—”

“I’m not judging you.” Law interrupted gently, his thumb now trailing the edge of his cheekbone. “I’m watching you stand back up after being torn apart. I’m watching you live with your whole heart like it’s not bleeding half the time.”

Sanji’s voice cracked despite him. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of tragic fucking poem.”

Law smiled faintly but didn’t pull away. “No. You’re just... breathtaking. And you have no idea.” Law turned his face to him and leaned in, taking Sanji's lips to his. There was no rush, slow and intentional. Law was leading the dance between them, and Sanji stepped into it with grace. Law hummed a soft breath as they kissed, nipping at the edge of Snaji's lip and pushing his tongue into the blonde's mouth. The grip around Sanji's waist tightened, stronger, the teasing power not dissimilar from what he experienced last night.

Both men took the moment to feel each other as tongues and bodies pressed to one another. Law pressed harder into Sanji with a need that made him tense. Their kiss broke, and Sanji arched away into his hold, like a delicate petal opening up to the morning sun. Law chased him as Sanji moaned at the firm grip of the captain. Law licked up his chest, then kissed his neck, he nuzzled the exposed skin. Lips gently rubbing over hot flush skin. Law glanced his teeth over tender skin and quickly bit down. Pushing them both onto the bed. A deep, feral moan thrummed at Sanji's neck, quickly bringing him to full arousal. Hands had moved to his hips, and Law ground into him with unguarded strength. This was past a need for release, Law was taking everything for himself, tenderness gone in a rush to claim every part of the man before him. Sanji wrapped his legs around him and pulled him in with force. Law released the bite and bit again lower. He reached lower and started to unbuckle his pants. 

Knock, knock, knock.

"Uh, C-Captain?" Law gritted his teeth and did not answer at first, licking over the two prominent bruises starting to bloom. A few more wraps on the door. Law looked almost unrecognizable as he looked down at Sanji. The face of a man torn between the absolute will to destroy this man for the rest of the day and being the well-doting captain. He slid back off Sanji, and a heavy, full-body sigh left him. 

"Yes, what is it, Bepo?" He walked to the door and took a moment to compose himself. Sanji sat back up, tousled his hair back into his face, fished out a shirt, and quickly threw it on. Sanji sat on the bed as Law looked back over his shoulder at him. A soft word broke over his lips: "Fuck."

Opening the door and saw the navigator standing there with Ikkuku, both flushed. It took but a second for him to realize what was going on. "The landing prep?" Bepo could not look at his captain, but Ikkaku bore holes into him with a smirk that was undeniably not so sneaky. Now are you, Captain?

Law cleared his throat and spoke, "Yes, let me just—" He turned with the door half cracked and returned to Sanji. Ikkaku tried to push past Bepo to peek inside as he held steadfast, his large frame not giving in the slightest.

He walked over to Sanji and scooped him up. "Ready for that swim?" Sanji threw his arm over him.

"Yeah." The door opened once more with the tip of Law's shoe, and the look on Bepo's and especially Ikkaku's face was pure joy. Law dared not look at them as he paced down the hall with Sanji in his arms. Sanji leaned over his shoulder with the biggest grin, and he winked at both of them as they rounded the corner.

The Polar Tang was not too far beneath the surface as they had hit a cruising speed towards the next island. Breaking the surface, Law and Sanji emerged with the crew in tow. Law gruffed at the snickers and hushed tones around him; Sanji just laughed as he watched Law squirm under the crew's pointed happiness for him. 

"Well, Captain, I think the cat's out of the bag." Law rolled his eyes, but a smile pulled at the edge of his mouth. Penguin and Shachi were already setting up a small table with plans, maps, and books to go over. They held thumbs up to Sanji as Law placed him near the edge. Law sighed; the crew was snickering around them and playing it up when Law was not looking. Sanji thought it was all too funny. 

"Bepo, come here." Law stood watching Sanji as he removed his shirt and quickly tossed it aside, the bruises fully taken hold on his neck. Law shifted his weight at the sight and swallowed hard. Bepo approached as a few other crew members watched from afar. 

"I want to monitor Sanji and see what his limits are in the water. I need you to watch him." Law looked up at Bepo, and a sharp salute was initiated to Law.

"Aye, aye, captain!" Sanji was already standing, and he kicked off the ship towards the water; the Polar Tang sighed in protest from the power. Shachi and Penguin held the table still as Law watched him climb. The skywalk was easy enough, it was all in his legs. No problem there as he pushed over the Tang and over the ocean. He climbed a little higher, and Law's grip tightened as he watched him, ready to Shambles him to safety. Sanji dropped and fell towards the water with a large splash as he cannonballed into it. The crew outside laughed at the scene before them. Law looked over to Bepo and nodded in his direction. Bepo jumped at the gesture and took his uniform off and jumped in after the cook. He turned to take the seat next to his other crew members to make plans for docking at the next island. 

Sanji broke through the waves with ease. He always loved to swim, and in his free time around the sunny Usopp and Nami often joined him. But Zoro was there the most while Sanji traversed the deep waters of the Grand Line. He only noticed it now, but he could always stay underway longer than Zoro. It all made sense now. He wondered how the crew was doing, how Zoro was holding it down without him there. His vision shifted as he saw Bepo quickly making his way to him. Bepo watched him sink slowly, he cocked his head to the side. Not like the ocean was claiming a devil fruit user, but he was not buoyant either. Sanji looked up at him and smiled, a gentle wave like nothing was wrong.

Bepo blinked at the casual wave, bubbles rising from his snout as he floated a few feet above. Sanji exhaled through his nose, his body suspended in the soft sway of the current, golden hair trailing like seaweed. He rolled his shoulder with a shrug that said, I'm fine, then kicked downwards. The water cooled as he descended. His movement was easy, practiced—almost meditative. Coral in every shade bloomed in impossible patterns, like someone had spilled a painter’s palette across the ocean floor. Small flashes of silver and turquoise darted between the folds of reef fish, unbothered by the cook weaving through their home. Sanji reached out. A lavender fan of coral shivered at the proximity of his hand. A school of yellowtail scattered in front of him, catching the light. Sanji let himself drift forward, arms at his sides, lungs still full, calm. No gasping. No panic. His body had changed, yes, but this? This he could live with. He was no longer counting the seconds he could stay under; he was just there. A flicker of movement on the edge of the reef caught his eye—a sea turtle, aged and mossy, slowly navigating a rise in the coral. Its shell was scarred, just like him. Sanji floated closer, careful not to disturb it, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Above him, he heard the muffled splash of Bepo. Sanji watched the bubbles rise from his companion’s fur and smiled, lips parting in a silent chuckle that was lost to the deep. The reef sang around him—distant clicks, the echo of parrotfish biting coral, the faint thrum of water through hollow rock.

And then, for the first time in weeks… he didn’t think about Germa. He didn’t think about pain or surgery or control or escape.

Sanji had drifted deeper now, following a crevice along the reef that dipped into a slow canyon of glowing blue. The water thickened with shadow, but not menace. It wrapped around him like a second skin. Every so often, he would stretch a hand outward, running fingers along anemone fronds or brushing a shell half-buried in sand. He wasn't thinking. Not in the way that hurt. Just… feeling.

Minutes passed.

Bepo hovered just above, watching. He floated like something that belonged there, like a spirit without gravity. But time had weight. Another minute passed. Then another. Bepo’s ears twitched. He took one more look—Sanji was watching a pair of fish spiral around a coral spire, expression soft, utterly absorbed. The mink turned and propelled himself upward in long, practiced strokes. His body cut through the surface, and a rush of crisp air filled his lungs as he blinked against the sunlight. From the deck of the Polar Tang, Law had been leaning against the railing near the table, listening to the plans the crew had made for restock and supply runs. Occasionally scanning the water below. He stood straighter when he spotted the splash. Bepo climbed back onto the deck, his fur plastered flat, droplets clinging to his lashes. He didn’t dry off, just padded over to where Law stood.

“He’s still down there,” Bepo said quietly. “It’s been a while… but he’s calm.”

“How long?”

“Almost twenty minutes,” Bepo replied. “He’s not panicking. Not even close. Honestly… I think it’s helping.”

Law exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes narrowing—not in irritation, but calculation. Then, more softly than expected:

“Let him be.”

Bepo nodded, stepping back toward the hatch. “I’ll go dry off. If he’s not up in five more, I’ll go back down.” He turned his attention to the plans Penguin and Shanchi were arguing about. Law gave the barest nod of approval, but his hand gripped the railing tighter. Not from worry. From restraint. He trusted Sanji. But that didn’t make the waiting easier. Below the surface, still caught in the hush of the reef, Sanji moved with the tide like he had all the time in the world.

 

 

The laughter of the crew on deck held as the crew teased each other over what they wanted to do on the island. Law didn’t move from the railing. He engaged when he needed to around the plans, as the next island was a metropolis city with a heavy industrial park; he did not seem to think there would need to be any extra precautions needed. His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, on the place where the sea lapped calm and undisturbed—until, finally, a ripple broke the pattern.

A head of wet blond hair surfaced; Sanji emerged with a long inhale, slick strands plastered across his brow. His eyes were closed at first, then fluttered open slowly as the sun met them. A slow, deep breath that filled his lungs like he’d been reborn from the deep. Law straightened imperceptibly and paced over towards the ladder that was attached to the side of the Polar Tang.

Sanji floated on his back for a moment, blinking at the sky, letting the salt cling to his lashes and the quiet sink into his bones. Then he rolled to tread water. He was not far off from the ship now, swimming toward it at an easy pace, not looking hurried. Law watched him draw nearer, the water slipping off his shoulders in rivulets. Sanji reached the ladder and gripped the metal rungs, pausing just before climbing. He rested his forehead against the cool steel. Sanji finally pulled himself up, step by deliberate step. There was a wavering strength as he exited the water. Water streamed down his legs, catching the sun. Law reached down, and Sanji met the warm, molten gaze with a warm, sun-kissed smile.

"Thanks." Law helped him the rest of the way. His balance was unsteady as the Tang moved in the waves. He took his waist and pulled him towards him. It was a gentle presence as he watched Sanji's body flex, studying the returning gate in his step.

"Of course, can't have my patient falling now." They met the others on the deck as Law brought a chair to Sanji. He pushed off the deck with his legs fully extended, stretching in the chair.

"That was amazing." His arms pulled outward as the other three Heart Pirates and their captain watched him. Opening his eyes after the stretch, was met with four sets of eyes.

"What?" The crew looked over him, Bepo wrung his hands. Law never looked away.

"Forty-seven minutes is a long time to hold your breath." His tone was clinical as he leaned in. Pushing his room out he held a hand towards Sanji's chest. Sanji looked down at the steady, tattooed hands in practiced permission. He sighed and nodded.

"Go ahead, doctor." Lacing his fingers behind his head as Law pressed his fingers into his chest. It was all fuzzy pressure Sanji had felt the first time he dug through his body. Law looked through him like he was carefully grasping at things. Then a small tug, and a blue cube came out with the hand. It was Sanji's lungs; they were all sheen and plated like Law had seen before. The crew was accustomed to seeing body parts floating about when Law was helping people, but this was different. Something none of them have seen before.

The lungs expanded with a hiss, the soft sound of pressurized air releasing through narrow seams in the plating. Smooth sheets of reinforced alloy curved like ribs over each lobe, overlapping slightly—articulated not unlike armor. When they flexed, you could see the movement beneath, mechanical struts and tension cables mimicking the give of alveoli, each inhale lifting the polished metal like a bellows stirred to life. Law pulled the lungs apart with a swift movement of his hands. They didn’t pulse like flesh but shifted with precision. Inhale. Exhale. A low clink of tension resetting at the end of each breath. Beneath the plating, fine mesh shimmered faintly, catching light with each expansion, almost like breath catching on frost. And yet, they breathed. Each motion was deliberate, heavy with weight and function. A marvel. A prison. A heartless imitation of something once soft. If you stood close, you could hear the faint echo of wind in them.

Law noticed the quickening breath of the mechanizations he was taking in, and his gaze glanced down at Sanji, he was pale. Law went to him, his anatomy still suspended in the air.

"Sanji, it's ok, I can fix it." He did not look at the surgeon, just the machinery that silently hummed at the increasing level of panic in his mind. Sanji knew his body had changed, and reviled in it just moments before, but once faced with the harsh truth again it was a sight he wish he'd never had to witness. Law turned and collapsed the lungs back together and shifted to place them back. Sanji flinched away from him. His face turned worried; Sanji tried to stand and move away as the other crew members rose in concern.

"Sanji I am sorry I should not have done that. Please trust me, we can fix this." He let the mechanical biology go in the air, and he reached for his hands. Law clasped over them, and they now gripped the chair he sat in. Eyes sliding into place, locking onto one another once more. The stormy blue eyes raged in contrast to the golden ones trying to calm them. He settled into the feeling of steady hands clapping his. Taking them and inhaled, and the lungs responded.

"Ok." Law reached behind him, breaking his eye contact, and pressed them back into place, his hand sinking below his chest. Sanji closed his eyes, not able to watch. Law looked down as he watched his finger retreating once more.

"All done, Sanji. I'm sorry. I should have considered—" "No, it's fine, that's why we came up here to begin with." He shook a hand in passive dismissal. Law stood again; he did not believe his words. They both sighed. Law stepped aside from Sanji for a moment. He watched the composure of the man return to him. Law had misplaced his curiosity and reminded Sanji with the harsh truth. The unique freedom he had was actually a perfectly engineered prison. Law tried to break the tension in the air. 

"We are ready to go to the island, Sanji. Would you like to join?" Law held out a hand to him, helping him up. The crew members around him visibly relaxed with their captain.

"Yeah, that would be nice. I am sure the kitchen needs restocking again." The Bepo had a few tears roll down his cheeks. "Yes! Can I help Sanji?" Sanji glanced at him, "of course."

"Yes, Sanji's food is the best!" The other two said in tandem, and a softer smile took over Sanji.

'Let's gather up and head in then, the crew will be excited to get to stretch their legs." The men headed back into the sub, sealing them inside once more. As the Polar Tang crept under the waves towards the island port.

The city rose like a fortress of steel and smoke, crammed tight into the jagged crescent of a rust-stained coastline. Ironhold. A name barked more than spoken—half myth, half menace. The skyline was a broken crown of smokestacks and cranes, belching out soot that stained the clouds a permanent bruise-gray. Massive gearworks ticked and churned like the heartbeat of the city itself, each rotation echoing through the streets like distant thunder.

High above, rail lines crisscrossed on trembling scaffolding, carrying cargo boxes and weaponized goods—everything from Seastone to black-market tech—dangling like bait over the alleys below. Trams groaned overhead while down in the guts of the city, steam vents hissed from between cobbled iron walkways. The air was thick with salt, oil, and the chemical tang of machinery pushed past its limit.

Soot-streaked buildings leaned close together like conspirators, each stacked five stories tall and forged from reclaimed warships, scrap metal, and patched sheets of plating.  Vendors barked out prices for smuggled Den Den Mushi, replacement limbs, or under-the-table Devil Fruit experiments. Marines didn’t patrol here. Or if they did, they were paid to look the other way. This was a city built on ambition and ash. Where pirates came to upgrade, to vanish, or to rise. And it never stopped breathing.

Law and Sanji stepped out onto the docks, eyes already on them. Sanji cautiously trailed him. The plan was to scout out the island and recon, then come back with info on necessities. Law knew of the island, as he had intercepted and traded here before when trying to get into Punk Hazard. He gripped Kikoku resting on his shoulder, and Sanji was adorned in his maroon suit, gloved hands bracing a cigarette. Law wore his signature hat, jeans, and a skin-tight black button-down shirt, blue cape from before rested on his shoulders feathers fluttering in the wind.

They hesitated on the dock, eyes all on them as Sanji lit a fresh roll. Once Sanji stepped onto land, he felt his body lock into place. The uneasy spasms and strain in his hips and back pulled and clicked into place. "Hah—" Sanji gripped hard. It was one large adjustment as his body was able to stabilize, it was painful but only for a few moments. Law looked back at the noise Sanji was making and noticed the strong stance he now held. He was sturdy, and if you did not have a sharp eye, you'd say he was standing perfectly still. Law turned and faced him.

"Sanji, tell me what you are feeling." Sanji took the slightly crushed cigarette in his hand and placed it back to his lips as he talked. 

"Guess I needed firm land to get my bearings again." Sanji stood a little taller, his confidence rising again. He paced a few times around Law as the clinical gaze stared down at him. Sanji continued, "It feels good." His saunter returned to him, smoother now and Law could not help but watch the way his hips moved. 

"I would like to take a closer look at the adjustments once we return to the Tang." Law spoke with a cold tone, clearly shifting his persona to the one that he wore for the common person. Sanji pushed into his space, all flirt and sexual tension laid on thick. Law had seen that body now, how it moved under his touch, the drag of his tongue over the tight skin- He stopped his mind from wandering; he needed to focus on the task ahead. But a faint pink kissed his cheeks, that's all Sanji wanted.

"Lead the way, Captain." Law knew how dangerous this place could be, and he was a well-known face, especially with Black Leg Sanji, a prince of the Vinsmoke family, and a member of Emperor Straw Hat Luffy's crew standing next to him. They took a few steps into the harbor and made their way to densely packed streets. Law stood steady in front of him. The market street tunneled, providing shelter from the smog that loomed in the air. Merchants yelled and peddled wares. Sanji was on high alert. He could tell most of these thugs would not mess with them, but some stared a little too long. They zigged and zagged through the streets to find the bustling street market where there was a bountiful amount of food and general wares for any weary traveler. 

The square had a large iron statue that looked cobbled together of discarded metal and claimed marine battleships. It resembled Emperor Buggy. The graffitied markings at the base drew Sanji's attention, the vague resemblance made Sanji pause as Law looked over his shoulder at the stop in movement. 

"Sanji, we should keep moving." Sanji stared at the statue. Does Buggy rule over this island?

"Trafalgar Law."

Sanji whipped his sight toward the words; the bustling of the street calmed. An imposing figure was looking sideways at the pair. Slicked-back hair and draped in the finest clothes you could imagine. A hand adorned with rings, each finger held at least one, if not two. And the well-polished golden hook that hung from his arm as he shifted his gaze towards them. 

Crocodile stood making eye contact with Law, shifting into a defensive stance, ready to move. As another figure walked around him. Unmistakable in their features, all angels and no emotion writ across his face. The striking golden ringed eyes watched Law, a blade framed his figure. Mihawk folded his arms and stood next to Crocodile. 

Crocodile laughed and pulled the cigar from his mouth. Sanji watched unblinking, waiting for any movement as the crowd parted for the set of pairs. Law locked his jaw and watched, ready for anything. 

"Now what would a member of the worst generation be doing on my island?"

Notes:

Well with the site being down yesterday I was able to tare my self away from reading to write this one pretty quickly. I am obsessed with Sanji trying to not let this man get to him, letting Law pick him apart quite literally emotionally and physically. WHAAAAAA

Getting big Crocky boy and Mihawk and the real reason BUGGY into the story has me all giddy. I am a big clown supporter. ;p

Any who, let me know what you think. I always appreciate feedback. Until next chapter.

Chapter 9: Dance Partners

Summary:

Sanji and Law piss a lot of people off quickly. Falling is scary? And the pair take a moment to breath together.

The square is quiet. As a deep, steady laugh breaks towards them. He placed the cigar back in his mouth and studies the more relaxed man standing beside Law. The smoke drifts above him as he studies the features of Sanji, taking him in. Crocodile recognizes his wanted poster and puts the pieces together quickly shifting back to Law. Mihawk shifted his weight forward slightly, now staring at Sanji. As their eyes meet, Mihawk scans him, then a slight tilt to his head.

Sanji's legs itched to get some energy out. The control he had in his body now was incredible. Every sensation working perfectly in tune with him, the smoke from the cigar from Crocodile, the low shallow breath from Mihawk. Laws shift in his stance, ready and bracing. A shift of a stumbled, frightened bystander. 

“I’m not here for you,” Law continued, “but if you’d like to be a problem, I can pencil you in.”

Sanji’s hands slid into his pockets as if this was all mildly entertaining—eyes following Mihawk and Crocodile, reading the way their stances shifted, the subtle flex of Mihawk’s jaw, and the slight tilt of Crocodile’s chin. As he held the cigarette between his lips. 

Sanji smirked; he was used to this from his own captain. All arrogance and unwilling to bend to anyone who crossed them. A small huff as the smile of Luffy crossed his mind. 

“Unless you’ve got business,” he said, eyes narrowing just enough to cut, “get out of my way.”

Crocodile took a step forward.

Then another.

The sound of his polished shoes echoed against the street’s silence—each one landing with the weight of someone who knew he was feared. His coat stirred in the wind, the heavy golden hook gleaming as he walked toward Law with a slow, calculated gait.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Trafalgar.” His voice was smoke and gravel, curling with amusement and threat. “More than your reputation gives you credit for.”

Sanji shifted slightly, only so his weight favored his back foot—ready. Crocodile stopped just short of Law’s reach. Close enough to speak without raising his voice. Close enough that the edge of the golden hook glinted just beneath Law’s eyeline.

“You’re out of your depth, Surgeon.” He stepped even closer, hook gleaming under the sun. “And with your little alliance still backing you up.”

Law’s fingers ghosted near the hilt of Kikoku, still sheathed. “I don’t need an alliance to end you.”

A cackle broke over the imposing figure that is Crocodile. His head rolled back in amusement, then rolled towards Sanji, "Oh really?" He hung his gaze sharply toward Law once again. "We'll see about that."

The body of Crocodile started to shift and fall away, crashing through him. Mihawk exploded, sand crashing in all directions. Before Law could withdraw his blade, he saw the golden tufts of hair swinging in front of his face, leg raised in a block against the black blade. His heel dug in, and he held his ground against the swordsman. 

Mihawk met his eyes as Sanji smirked, "Not your fight, Bird Eyes.” They both pulled back quickly. Law was keeping up only as they clashed. The crowd around them screamed and scattered, stampeding away from the eardrum shattering clashes that rang out. 

Law looked around him, waiting and trying to focus on Sanji, but sand swirled around his feet. "Room!" Pushing his room out as far as he could. He heard a few huffs of laughter from the two now holding and straining against one another. Sanji was on the ground, one leg held up to block the overhead swing. Chin resting in his palm another soft chuckle, "That all you got? I take harder hits from Moss for brains when he's sleeping." 

"Interesting." Mihawk shifted, and Sanji followed. Clashes ringing out, only perceptible now when Sanji taunted him. Quakes from the fallout of strikes dented and cracked the walls and ground around the pair. 

A deep, unmistakable laugh whistled on the wind. Law glanced around; most civilians were gone as one deflected cleave sheared off the top of a building.

"Shambles!" As he dodged out of the way of a falling building. 

A shift in the air around them, and Law felt a warmth settle over him. His limbs held as the pressure around Law's body tightened. He looked down and saw the faintest layer of sand over his whole body, encasing him. He couldn't move; it felt like he was being buried alive. "Played right into my hand like I knew you would." 

The dark face reformed close to Law's looming over him. Crocodile grabbed the stiff body of Law by the neck. It was an odd sight, like he was lifting a statue. Law was still glancing at the pair clashing, then met the coal-black eyes of Crocodile. His figure took full form again as he raised Law high, and Crocodile thumbed over his chin in mocking fashion.

 "That hat will look nice on my mantel." His hand shifted as his thumb pulled back Law's lip, opening his mouth. It distorted and shifted, and sand crept over Law's chin and into his mouth. Law's eyes went wide as his lungs felt the abrasive, suffocating nature of truly being buried alive. 

A flash of maroon cut clean through the swirling sand. Crocodile’s arm cracked sideways as Sanji’s heel smashed against the joint, forcing the hook to veer wide with a metallic shriek. Sand burst from the impact, scattering like smoke in a backdraft.

“Shambles!” Law’s voice barked through the chaos. In a blink, he was gone, rematerializing a few meters back, doubled over and coughing, one hand gripped tight against his ribs as he pulled the coarse sand from his lungs. “Motherfu—” He choked again, eyes wide. Sanji was no longer beside him. He was standing directly in front of Crocodile. A heartbeat later, Mihawk surged forward, blade drawn with a hiss like thunder held in steel. Sanji didn’t flinch. He vanished—then reappeared in the air, a perfect handstand, legs split in a blur of balance and precision. One foot knocked the hook wide, the other rang like a bell off Mihawk’s descending sword. The impact sent shockwaves through the ground, cracking around the impact. Sparks bloomed against steel. Mihawk’s blade hummed from the parried strike, and Crocodile’s stance shifted, thrown off by the unwavering stance.

“Two on one?” Sanji’s voice floated down like a cherry on top of madness. “Tch. At least buy me dinner first.”

He twisted midair, landed with a flourish and a flick of his heel that kicked up Crocodile’s coat. Sanji grinned, all white teeth and dare-me eyes. “Not that I don’t love attention, but don’t you think this is coming on a bit strong?”

Mihawk stared him down, Crocodile’s lip curled, and the hook spun once before halting. “Cocky little shit.”

Behind him, Law was upright again, lips parted, a stunned tension locked across his face. He’d seen Sanji fight before—but this? Power and flirtation all sharpened to a single edge.

Mihawk paused, blades half-raised. Law used the moment to launch himself forward, Kikoku gleaming. “Don’t get distracted!” he warned, his voice taut with urgency.

“Oh, I’m very focused,” Sanji purred, sweeping back a lock of hair. “I just like a little foreplay with my brawls"

Law’s sword flexed in his hand; it was all the signal Sanji needed. In the same instant, Law blurred to his side, shoulder brushing Sanji’s, spine to spine before both rockets of motion with a single purpose: survival. No orders passed between them their bond had become instinct.

Sanji dropped into a low arc, red flames flickering along his thigh as he rocketed toward Crocodile. Each step sparked embers against cracked stone like shooting stars. Law followed at an angle, Kikoku carving a path toward Mihawk, the air around him warping with the familiar electric pulse of his Devil Fruit, the space folding to his will. Crocodile surged up, hook whirling in a cyclone of sand, but Sanji threaded through the gale, heel smashing into the pirate’s abdomen with seismic force that rattled the stones underfoot and sent sand spraying like mist crashing over a storm battered dock. At the same moment, Mihawk’s blade cut a silver arc toward Law’s chest too fast for most eyes to track, but Law shattered the moment. With a breathless “Shambles,” he vanished, rematerializing behind Mihawk’s guard.

“Don’t blink,” Law murmured, voice low and steely.

Their attacks struck in perfect crescendo: Kikoku’s edge met Mihawk’s sword in a thunderous ring, sparks flaring like distant fireworks; Sanji’s heel collided with Crocodile’s ribs, bone jarring in its impact. For a heartbeat, the four men locked in a tableau of flying sand, humming metal, and roaring flame each a symphony of violence and precision. Then Law and Sanji twisted away, solidarity forged in the clash of blades and boots, ready to strike again.

“Tact.”

Law’s command was but a whisper, deadly and exact. Mihawk’s downward slash twisted madly off course, his blade slicing the air where Law had been mere heartbeat before.

Sanji was already gone. In that instant he reappeared behind Crocodile, his leg a blazing lance of heat. Flames roared up his calf as he leapt “Diable Jambe—Premier Hachis!”

The blast of fire fractured Crocodile’s sand-skinned form, the heat was turning him to glass on the edges of his form, unmoving and fragile. He staggered, the grains cascading off him, frantically reforming wounds that Sanji’s kick had carved wide open. But before the pirate could regain composure, Law stepped forward green sparking energy gleaming in his steady hand. With a single, fluid motion he launched, impaling the core of Crocodile.

“Gamma Knife.”

A strangled cough of blood burst from Crocodile’s lips as his knees buckled. Mihawk swept his blade forward in vengeance, but Law dissolved into nothingness—Shambles—only to re-emerge behind a shattered pillar. The sword bit into stone, splitting the column in half with a thunderous crack that rattled the courtyard.

“Stay with me, Chef!” Law’s voice cut through, urgent steel beneath the panic.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Sanji rocketed upward once more, trousers aflame, every movement a comet’s arc. Law wove an unseen path through space—edges of reality bending around him—while Sanji streaked through the gaps dancing between Law's movements in the smoldering ruin. Together, surgeon and cook danced on the edge of destruction, blades and boots united in a furious, unbreakable rhythm.

A building in the distance cracked clean in two and tilted outward like a broken hinge. It collapsed diagonally—rooftop to foundation—in one devastating stroke. Silence followed. Dust plumed in waves from the striking point, swallowing the courtyard below.

High above the chaos, through a half open window in a sleek glass tower, Buggy the Clown folded down the edge of his newspaper, only to have his espresso tremble violently on its saucer. He blinked, then leaned forward until his nose nearly pressed against the pane. His pupils shrank at the sight: the entire structure across the street splitting apart, ruin raining down in ash and shattered marble.

“…What the actual hell—?” he muttered, gripping the windowsill as a second explosion rocked the plaza. The paper slipped from his grasp—and suddenly the very tower he occupied groaned, its adjacent neighbor beginning to tilt in toward him. The floor buckled. Walls cracked. A high-pitched EEEEEEEE filled the room as support beams snapped.

“No, no, no—OH COME ON!!” he screamed, flailing like a ragdoll. His espresso went airborne, followed by the table, the chair—and then Buggy himself, hurdling through the gaping wall in a rainbow of panic.

“I JUST WANTED TO FINISH MY COFFEEEE—!!” he howled, tumbling through the spring air. Limbs detached mid-flight—one arm spiraling one way, a leg flailing the other, his torso pirouetting as the street below erupted into a war zone of dust and flame.

Time slowed. Buggy’s head whipped upward just as Law and Sanji darted across the wreckage, their duel with Crocodile and Mihawk unfolding in a blur of shifting space and blazing fire. He saw Sanji’s heel slam Mihawk’s black blade off-course by mere centimeters.

Then—WHAM!

Buggy’s face met a toppled fruit stand with a satisfying splat. His nose emerged from a half exploded watermelon. His body followed with graceless thumps, the scattered pieces of his limbs forming a pathetic tableau amid the oozing crates.

A lone boot kicked itself into place. His left arm thudded onto his right shoulder. The right leg inched forward. He groaned. From the soggy wreckage, watermelon juice dripping down his cheeks, Buggy sat up, squinted and suddenly straightened.

“…Wait…”

He pushed himself to his full, gaudily costumed height. Around him, Crocodile and Mihawk paused in their own chase, dust swirling at their feet. Buggy’s eyes darted from one fearsome face to the next, then back toward the vanishing forms of Law and Sanji.

“…That was Trafalgar Law, wasn’t it?”

His voice boomed across the cratered plaza as he struck a dramatic pose, arms aloft.

Buggy’s grand entrance was, as always, completely unplanned—but unmistakably unforgettable.

“STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU BASTARDS!!” Buggy’s voice cut through the cacophony as he barreled into the courtyard, arms flailing like a human windmill. He pointed an accusatory finger at the swirling battle Law’s blade flashing, Sanji’s fiery heels, Mihawk holding Yoru and Crocodile’s half-formed sand fist lifting into the air to strike down.

Before he could finish his proclamation, the massive fist of sand redirected, clamping around Buggy’s face and dragging him off his feet.

“Enough,” Crocodile snarled, voice low and ragged. He hauled Buggy close, hook glinting ominously in the fractured sunlight.

Buggy pulled the sandy blockade from his mouth. “Hey—hey! What the hell, Croco?! I was making my ENTRANCE!” Buggy sputtered, half buried in sand, one boot spinning in the air.

“No one asked for your entrance,” Crocodile ground out. “You’re getting in my way.”

At that moment, Sanji pirouetted down from midair, landing in a smoldering half twist beside Law. His boot kicked away remnants of shifting sand. The pair exchanged a glance, battle weary, contemptuous, and ready for the next move. Law was scraped up and bleeding a little, breath heavy, unable to fully take in breath from the attempt at suffocation. Sanji was barely touched besides a few dark scuffs over his suit where his fire had burned a little too long. 

Law muttered under his breath, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Sanji blinked. “Is that…?”

Buggy puffed up his chest, still gripped in Crocodile's vice, adrenaline and indignation fueling him. “That’s right—tremble in fear! It is I, Captain Buggy, Emperor of the Sea—”

Crocodile scoffed and, with a lazy flick, sent Buggy tumbling across the cracked stone as another gust of sand carried him to the courtyard’s edge.

Mihawk, perched atop a fractured column with Yoru half drawn, turned his head just slightly. One eyebrow rose in mock curiosity.

“The emperor of what, exactly?” Mihawk asked, his voice as dry as dust.

From his sandy heap, Buggy scrambled upright, “I—I." Buggy slipped and fell face first back into the heap of sand. 

“Right,” Mihawk drawled, returning his attention to the true threat at hand.

Law, bloodied but unbowed, stepped back into formation beside Sanji, sword in hand, energy crackling around him. Together, the two stood ready, undistracted by Buggy’s humiliation, each geared up for the next deadly exchange.

Crocodile surged forward, his cloak snapping like a thunderclap as sand coiled around his boots in a gathering tempest. Mihawk fell in beside him, Yoru’s edge humming with lethal promise. Sanji’s breath came in quick, controlled bursts he was unmarked, but every muscle pulsed with anticipation. He slid in front of Law, forming an unbreakable wall.

From the sand, Buggy dove in, arms flailing, his oversized outfit billowing like a crimson sail—and for a moment, he broke the line of sight of both Crocodile and Mihawk.

Seizing the distraction, Sanji and Law exchanged a single nod, vanishing in a twin flash of “Shambles.” They reappeared at the edge of the room’s warped boundary. Crocodile looked up overhead, following the shifting forms.

A gout of sand exploded between them, narrowly missing Law’s shoulder as Sanji rocketed upward towards the sea and away from the three below. 

“It’s over for you,” Crocodile rasped, voice like sand scraping steel. He watched them disappear into the distance, the curl of Sanji’s smirk dragging up dusted memories—Baroque Works, betrayal, shadows of the past. He exhaled a low hum, then added, almost fondly, “Mr. Prince.”

Mihawk exhaled, sheathing Yoru with a deliberate clink. “We’re done here,” he said, cold and calm. “The clown’s already settled the score.”

Crocodile swept Buggy up by the neck and hauled him off into the twisting back alleys—Buggy’s flailing, indignant shrieks fading under the city’s roar.

Mihawk glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as the two figures receded into the distance. The flick of blond hair, the confident gait. A quiet huff escaped him. So… that’s the one, hmm? Zoro’s face came to mind.

I see why you like him.

Mihawk exhaled through his nose as he turned back toward the others. Whatever thoughts lingered, he kept them buried beneath the usual mask of indifference.

Sanji’s boots cracked the air in soft bursts with his well trained skywalk, the wind whipping past them as he soared over the city with Law cradled bridal-style in his arms.

“Not exactly how I pictured our first date,” Sanji drawled, blond hair dancing in the breeze. “But hey, you falling into my arms? Not complaining.”

Law’s brow twitched, unimpressed. “I was perfectly capable of teleporting.”

“Sure,” Sanji teased, kicking off another sky step and tilting them. “From where I was standing, you were five seconds from being sashimi.”

Crossing his arms, Law refused to flinch. “And you were one slice away from losing those pristine eyebrows.”

“Pfft. As if that grumpy swordsman could land a hit on me.” Sanji scoffed, but the edge of his voice softened. His gaze drifted ahead, something gentler creeping in.

“Zoro told me about him… more than he probably meant to. Honestly, he could barely shut up about the guy.”

Sanji let the memory settle between them, a faint crease forming at his brow.

“No wonder he lost his smile when we came back. Spending two years with that ray of sunshine?” He gave a quiet snort, but there was no bite in it. “Would’ve broken anyone, even someone like Zoro.”

For a beat, only the whistle of wind filled the space.

Law’s jaw tightened. The mention of Zoro tugged at something deeper—something that still burned beneath the promise he’d made aboard the Sunny. One he hadn’t forgotten.

“You saw me back there? I was poetry in motion.” He made a mock explosion with one hand, still soaring. “Saved your ass and looked good doing it.”

Law gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re literally sweating through your shirt.”

“I’m carrying a full grown man through the sky while dodging death; that works up a sweat you know?”

"Still think you’re too handsome for that?"

Sanji chuckled low in his throat. “So you were checking me out.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Right here in my arms, flattery is the least of your problems.”

Law shifted, not because he was uncomfortable, but because he liked every second of it—being held, protected, and teased.

“Just drop me.”

“Alright.” Instead, Sanji kicked off again, vaulting higher. In one fluid move he hooked Law’s legs around his waist and caught him snugly against his hips. Law’s katana clinked against his lap, Sanji gripped him tighter for balance.

Law exhaled, letting his head fall back. Sanji pressed Law’s body to his own, the hard press of Law’s cock against him pulsing with each kick. Heights suddenly couldn’t compete with the dizzying tension between them.

Sanji dipped in close, breath hot at Law’s ear. His lips feathered a line of kisses down Law’s jaw, tugging softly at his earring before trailing over the nape of his neck. Law’s fingers tightened in Sanji’s jacket, adrenaline and need making him reckless.

“Sixty seconds to ground,” Sanji whispered. “Think you can finish for me before we hit?” His legs propelled them upward, skin grazing skin in a caravan of smoke and sweat of the vanishing city below. Sanji continued to kick up as he kissed over Law's skin a necklace of kisses. All the adrenaline and pent-up sexual tension had him quickly undoing his pants as he pushed into Sanji's space and bit down at his chest. Sanji moaned out in the open air. As Law tore into him, buttons flicking off into the skyline, Law pulled himself towards Sanji. The now torn shirt exposed the skin Law craved. He licked up Sanji's neck, biting the opposite side as the other side was almost healed from that morning's heated exchange. This time Law bit down, and Sanji flinched faintly. Fingers ripping into the back of Sanji's suit, it hurt, but the skin did not break. With one hand, Law freed himself and began stroking, biting down into the cook again, panting, clinging to the cook. His hand and forearm braced his sword, and he pulled Sanji's neck towards him.

They reached a height that would make any person paralyzed with fear, as Sanji pulled his face away from Law's searing bites. He could see the dazed and frantic lust in the golden, blown eyes. Gentle kicks to maintain height had Law's cock throbbing with every bounce. Sanji braced Law's hand, stopping him from finding his own release. 

"Remember what I said? Sixty seconds." He cupped his face and took Law's lips. Law pushed his tongue into his mouth and nipped at Sanji hard. Sanji pulled back slightly, trying to control the rising demand of the captain. Law pulled back and pushed the head of Sanji down towards his cock. A moment of being suspended in air, and Sanji smiled up at him and took his cock in all at once. 

They began to fall. 

This Law was unseen by Sanji; this was all feral, no restraints, pure selfishness. Ramming his cock into Sanji's throat repeatedly as Law cursed over the howling winds that swept past them. Sanji let him use him, this was a true trust that Sanji was giving him. Sanji watched the blade fall with them as tattooed hands wrapped tightly around his throat and jaw. As Law forced his cock in without a care, focusing on one thing, cumming deep inside Sanji. 

"Yes, fuck yes. YES." Law took the back of Sanji's head and quickly pulled it back and forth over the full length of his cock, Sanji feeling his gag reflex fail him, the hurried thrusts abused the back of his throat, eyes quickly tearing in the relentless barrage and wind whistling past them, as he did not want to miss the pure ecstasy that was Law's face. Sanji watched the rushing skyline lower quickly. Law brought his face all the way to his crotch, holding it there, feeling the full length down his throat, brushing the epiglottis.

“I’m going to—Tch…—”

Law’s curse broke from his throat, "F—fuck!" low and hoarse, as he fisted Sanji’s hair, tight enough to make the cook flinch. His hips bucked once more, piercings fogging with his breath, the pleasure consuming him completely as he came deep into Sanji’s mouth.

“You’re… perfect,” Law rasped, voice cracking, eyes wild as he looked down at the man falling with him in midair.

Sanji pulled off him with a wet sound, a thread of saliva catching the head of Law’s cock before snapping in the wind. Without skipping a beat, he hooked an arm under Law’s knees, snatching the blade, and lifted him again into that seamless princess carry, just before they rose above the jagged skyline. His boots cracked the air with renewed grace, a burst of speed to pull them higher, out of sight from the city below. Didn’t need anyone down there seeing Law like this, flushed, panting, boneless in his arms.

Sanji dipped his head as they climbed, lips brushing over Law’s length again, tongue dragging slow and deliberate along the underside. A hum vibrated in his throat as he cleaned him, gently—almost reverently. Law’s eyes locked on him, glazed and blown wide, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch enough air.

“I want to watch you surrender for hours. Cracking open in places I didn’t know were soft,” Sanji murmured as he pulled away, his voice low and thick with something between affection and hunger.

Law barely responded, pulling himself into Sanji’s shoulder, teeth sinking into the soft skin of his shoulder, need too electric to put into words. Tattooed fingers drifted downward, wrapping around himself again—stroking lazily, fingertips brushing over the piercings that still shimmered in the sunlight. He pressed into the metal hard, drawing a soft curse from Sanji.

“Damn,” Sanji muttered, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he held Law tighter. “What the hell is your libido made of?”

Law didn’t answer. Arching into Sanji’s arms, muscles taut, lips dragging over his throat. His hips rocked subtly as the wind carried them, shameless and high off the afterglow. Sanji watched him—the image of wrecked elegance—stretched out, glowing in the sun, stroking himself with wicked intent. Sanji just grinned, heart hammering. He adjusted his grip and kicked harder toward the Polar Tang.

Sanji’s boot paused mid-kick.

He hovered in the air, high above the last row of buildings, the wind tugging at their hair and clothes, Law half limp and flushed in his arms. Sanji looked down at him chest heaving, skin still flushed and damp, tattooed fingers stroking, ridding out the last thrum of his orgasm, sighing through his teeth.

“…Shit.”

The crew didn’t need to see this.

He glanced toward the open ocean, then back toward the Tang, already a golden dot bobbing between sea and skyline. No way in hell Law could walk onto that sub looking like he’d been thoroughly defiled mid flight. Sanji slowed, hovering midair, weight shifting in thought. Law took his face in his hand and brought his lips to match his. Law let his cock go and ran his hands through Sanji's hair as he steadily kicked in the air. 

“Sanji…?” Law murmured, dazed, chest heaving, fully flushed, cock still primed and ready for anything Sanji could handle or give him. We definitely can't go back like this. 

Adjusting his hold on Law as he floated them back toward a jagged cliff face just outside the view of the ship. There was a rocky outcrop tucked in the shadow of a mossy ledge just enough cover, just remote enough. He landed lightly, boots kissing the stone. His arms tightened around Law instinctively as the man stirred, still breathless, eyes half lidded and hazy.

“You’re a goddamn mess. Not to say I am not absolutely enthralled with the sight.” He set him down gently on a patch of sun warmed rock, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. “We are not showing up like this. You’d never hear the end of it.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at Law’s lips. “And whose fault is that?”

Sanji clicked his tongue, crouching beside him with a look that was equal parts exasperation and fondness. “You’re lucky I’m not petty.”

He peeled off his jacket, then removed what remained of the shirt below, and offered it to Law. “Here. Wipe that pretty face. Compose yourself, Surgeon of Death. You’ve got an image to keep.”

Law blinked slowly at the shirt, then back at Sanji. “You're enjoying this,” quickly fixing his exposed state.

Sanji lit a cigarette with a flick of his wrist, inhaled, and blew a slow curl of smoke into the sea breeze. “Maybe. Little bit. Not every day I get to see you all…” he glanced down at Law’s expression and transparent desire, cock barely tucked between the fabric of his jeans, “…ruined.”

Law leaned back on his elbows and closed his eyes for a beat. “Give me five minutes.” 

Sanji raised a brow. “Take ten.” Letting the sunlight warm their body's, the wind drying what was left of heat between them. Not quite ready to return. Not quite willing to move on just yet.

Just… taking a breath. Together.

 

Sanji flicked his cigarette stub into the rocks around them and fit his still ruined shirt back on and coat over his shoulder. “Alright, Surgeon—time’s up. Now that you have had time to bask, let's get back. Where that pretty face can get cleaned up." He looked over Law; in the moment, Sanji had failed to see the damage Law had taken in the fight. 

Law’s eyes darkened. “Was that a compliment?”

Sanji grinned, letting his hand drift back to Law’s side. “Ready to go? Or do you need another ten minutes to marvel at my handiwork?”

“Trust me,” Law said, voice soft, “I’m more than ready.” He caught Sanji’s wrist, guiding it to his lips. He pressed a slow, steady kiss there—gentle enough that it made Sanji’s heart skip. When he drew back, his amber eyes were bright in the residing light of the sun. “But I plan to marvel at you… all the way back.”

Sanji’s breath hitched. He leaned forward, closing the small gap between them, and brushed his lips against Law’s in a feather light promise. “Then hold on tight, Doc,” he whispered.

Sanji kicked into the air once again, cradling the captain, and crested over to the Polar Tang and saw the crew pacing. They had moved the Tang out to sea a little ways to make sure they were not ambushed from the harbor. The saturated colors of the nearing sunset were a stunning backdrop as Sanji propelled them through the air. Soft lantern light bobbed in the sea as the striking yellow color of the ship was hard to miss. 

They spotted Bepo first, pacing anxiously along the deck, fur ruffled and steps uneven.

“Oi! Look—there!” Shachi shouted, pointing toward the horizon.

The crew rushed to the edge, nearly crowding the railing, eyes scanning the battered dock as the two figures grew clearer. Sanji and Law descended slowly, the moment their boots touched down, cheers erupted. Sanji handed his blade back to the captain.

“Captain!”

The shout rose from every throat at once. In a flash, the crew swarmed them.

Sanji was swept up in the middle of it clapped on the back, tugged into arms, ruffled hair, and loud laughter and half-choked sobs all colliding at once. A few of the younger medics were openly crying, relief written across their grime streaked faces.

“What the hell happened out there?!”

“We saw the explosions—what was that?!”

Bepo had latched onto Law with both arms, lifting him clear off the dock in a crushing hug. “Captain we thought you were dead!”

“Bepo,” Law grunted, face half buried in fur, “we’re fine. Put me down.”

“Oh—right! Sorry, Captain.” Bepo gently lowered him.

The crowd backed up, giving them space just enough to breathe. Sanji’s coat was torn, boots scuffed, and a smear of ash on his jaw. Law’s shirt clung to him, streaked with dust and blood, but his posture had snapped back into its usual precision.

Shachi elbowed Penguin. “Told you they’d come back in each other’s arms.”

Penguin crossed his arms. “Yeah, yeah… I owe you fifty beri.”

“Well, it seems we’ve made a habit of pissing off emperors,” Law muttered, starting forward with Sanji close behind.

The crew watched as Sanji’s stride regained its steady rhythm—each step less burdened than the last. Whatever had happened out there, he was walking like himself again.

“We need to leave. Prep the ship for immediate submersion,” Law ordered, pausing beside the hatch.

The moment he stepped aside, the crew sprang into motion. Boots thudded against the deck as they rushed toward the entry, a flurry of motion and quiet tension.

“Which emperor?” someone whispered.

“Did they even get a chance to get info?”

“Think we are being followed?”

Law said nothing, only watched them move disciplined, efficient… but tight with unease. The tension hadn’t left their shoulders. The air still heavy with the memory of what they’d just survived.

He waited until the last crew member disappeared inside before turning to Sanji, his voice low and clipped. “Come on. We need to talk next steps. We’ll regroup with the others in a bit.”

Sanji pouted a little, "I only get you for a little bit?" He backed up along the deck. A smooth turn on his heel. 

“Because the last thing you promised me—”

Sanji’s voice was velvet wrapped heat as he moved, full bodied strut in every step. The kind of walk he knew Law liked. Hips swayed with precision, long legs gliding forward like he owned the damn deck. Like he was daring Law to stop him.

“—was that you’d fuck me for as long as I could take it.”

Law’s jaw slackened slightly, brain short circuiting for a breath. Sanji’s movements were too smooth, too intentional. Every step radiated practiced seduction.

A few more strides and Sanji was close enough for Law to feel the heat radiating from him. And this time, Law didn’t even bother pretending not to react. A few more sultry paces forward and he didn't even fight his now stiff cock in his pants. Pure seduction ran off of Sanji, as light step and practiced movement breathed into his space. 

Sanji pressed two fingertips to Law’s chest, guiding him back until his spine met the hatch frame with a quiet thud. The metal was cool. Sanji’s breath came hot, his mouth grazing past Law’s cheek until it hovered by his ear.

“Or do you want me to keep basking in those golden eyes… while you surrender to me completely?”

He pulled back enough to be seen, biting down on the middle finger of his glove, peeling it off with a practiced flick. Those hands—those hands—the ones Law had traced in his mind more times than he’d ever admit. His blade pressed into his shoulder trying to not shatter the scabbard.

Sanji let his fingers ghost over Law’s collarbone, down the line of his throat. Law’s palm braced the frame beside him, white-knuckled. The metal creaked under the force, his entire body taut as if the ship itself might give way before he did. Their gazes locked. Golden into storm-blue. For a man so accustomed to command, he had never felt so adrift at sea.

 

“Oi! What the hell’s takin’ so long?” Shachi’s voice cracked through the moment like a snapped line.

“Seriously, you two fall in or what?” Penguin added, his boots clanging up the corridor. “We’re waitin’ on the hatch—what’s the hold-up?”

Law snapped his head toward the sound, jaw tight, hand still braced against the frame. Sanji didn’t move right away. He just exhaled almost a chuckle as he slid his glove back on, one finger at a time.

“Duty calls.” He stepped back with that same damn smirk, like he hadn’t just knocked the breath out of Law’s lungs.

Law straightened, adjusting his collar, voice cold. “We’re coming.”

Penguin muttered something under his breath, and Shachi groaned, “Geez, you guys are the worst at subtlety.”

The hatch groaned shut behind them, sealing the heat of the moment inside.

The hatch sealed shut with a final clang, leaving behind only the low hum of the Polar Tang’s inner workings. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as Law and Sanji descended into the main briefing room, the nerve center of the ship, nestled just behind the helm on the lower deck.

It was the second largest room aboard the sub, only outmatched by the lounge, but it felt more like the heart of a machine than a living space. At the center stood a large circular table, matte black metal with reinforced edges where Law now stood tapping the scabbard to his shoulder, one hand resting near the anchored log pose that spun faintly in its mount. The surface was cluttered with map scrolls, weather pattern charts, and deep sea current overlays.

The walls were lined with glowing monitors, flickering through surveillance feeds, data readouts, and magnetic field analyses. Scattered across one section of wall were hand drawn maps, Bepo’s personal contributions. Each island they’d visited was marked lovingly in colored ink, labeled in neat script, and tagged with either a small smiling or frowning face depending on how pleasant or traumatic the visit had been.

Along one reinforced wall, several eternal log poses were safely secured within impact resistant glass cases, each one labeled and meticulously cataloged. Beside them, a row of jars contained curled, paper thin sheets—viver cards suspended like preserved flame, dancing slightly with the ship’s motion. It wasn’t just where they planned their voyages it was where they survived them.

Bepo sat cross legged beside the wall panel, paw tapping rhythmically on a portable supply readout. Ikkaku stood nearby, arms crossed, rattling off numbers with practiced precision.

“We’re down to three days of fresh greens, one day of potable surface water, and about five days of ration grade stock. The good stuff’s going fast.”

“And the log pose?” Law asked, stepping into the center of the room with a sharpness that snapped everyone’s attention to him.

Penguin checked the compass strapped to his wrist. “Still spinning. Two more days ‘til it resets.”

Shachi groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “So we’re stuck here… unless we feel like jumping blind.”

Sanji gave a low whistle, raking a hand through his tousled hair. “Guess I’d better make those greens count before they wilt.” His voice had the casual lilt of charm returning but the heat behind it hadn’t completely cooled.

Bepo looked up from the tablet, concern softening his brow. “Are you okay, Sanji? Your coat looks like a shark chewed on it.”

Sanji glanced down, tugging at the torn lapel. The rip down the back still gaped where Law had torn it open to reach his skin. “More like a leopard got its claws in me,” he said with a crooked grin. “But I can change, if that’s alright with you, captain.”

He tossed the title at Law like a challenge wrapped in silk.

Law didn’t rise to it. His focus remained on the spinning log pose in the center of the table. “Yes. That’s fine. I’ll brief you later.”

“Hopefully not too brief,” Sanji replied, already turning. He gave a lazy wave over his shoulder as he sauntered out, that familiar swagger back in his step.

The room was quiet for a beat—until Shachi muttered, “I swear, I need bleach for my ears.”

Penguin elbowed him. “Shut up. You’re the one who bet they’d hook up before the next island.”

Bepo’s ears twitched. “Wait, there was a bet?”

Sanji made his way back to Law’s quarters, his now, too, at least for the time being. His steps echoed softly down the quiet corridor, tension trailing behind him like smoke.

He pressed the button beside the door. It hissed open with a familiar breath of pressure. Stepping inside, he exhaled through his nose, slow and steady, letting the door seal shut behind him.

One glove came off with a tug of his teeth; the other was flicked away with his fingers. He tossed them onto the bed without looking.

The ruined suit followed—jacket shrugged off and dropped to the floor, shirt unfastened with impatient fingers and slung aside. His shoes thudded near the wall, and socks were peeled off and tossed without care.

He stretched, spine arching, arms rising high above his head. Muscles pulled taut, then eased as he lifted onto his toes and let out a soft sigh. It felt good to finally breathe. To get to fight, the pressure, and the teasing burn in his chest begin to dissolve.

Turning toward his pack, he slid his thumbs beneath the waistband of his snug, sweat damp underwear. With one fluid motion, he stepped out of them, letting the fabric fall silently to the floor.

Sanji grabbed his pack and crouched beside it, fingers digging through neatly folded layers in search of something clean. He found a fresh shirt and slacks, paused, then glanced down at himself.

His skin was streaked with sweat and ash, bruises blooming faintly along his ribs, and flecks of blood dried into the fine hair along his forearms. He straightened slowly, cloth in hand.

Maybe I should shower first.

He turned toward the small hamper in the corner, then stopped mid step—hesitating.

The hesitation wasn’t about the clothes. It was the sudden, grounding realization: he’d already started making himself at home here. He looked around. Everything was perfectly arranged, books aligned by subject and size, instruments neatly stowed, and datapads stacked just so. Exactly as Law liked it.

Sanji’s gaze lingered.

He tossed the clothes back onto the bed instead and walked over to the desk, his eyes catching on the shelves above.

The lower rows were all sharp professionalism: medical texts with titles he didn’t recognize and labeled containers of surgical components and tools, each name colder than the last.

But the top shelf that pulled him in.

Tucked between labeled boxes and journals were photographs, each one worn at the corners from being handled. Snapshots of the Heart Pirates on various islands, clearly taken over time—Bepo buried in snow up to his ears, Penguin and Shachi grinning on a blistering tropical beach, and Ikkaku flipping someone off in the middle of a downpour.

And Law in every one of them.

Not smiling—of course not—but present. Stiff in some, exasperated in others, arms crossed, hat tipped low, drenched, windblown, sunburned. A man perpetually unwilling to pose, yet always there.

Sanji’s gaze softened. He could hear Zoro’s voice in his head—“Tch. He’s got worse resting bitch face than Robin.” a small laugh.

But then, one photo stood apart from the rest. Older. Torn along the edge but carefully placed in a small frame, as if it were too precious to leave loose. In it, a much younger Law, barely more than a teen was being crushed in a one armed hug by a man in bold makeup, grinning wide. The sheer force of that smile was unforgettable. Joyfully and infectious.

Sanji stared. He didn’t know the man, but he knew what he was looking at. A memory Law hadn’t let go of. A piece of the past he'd chosen to keep close. Sanji swallowed, the warmth in his chest a strange mix of ache and admiration. Sanji let out a soft hum as he gently set the framed photo back on the shelf. Curiosity still tugging at him, he drifted toward the closet, fingertips brushing along the cool handle before he pulled it open. Inside hung several outfits, most of them unmistakably Law’s. Sanji tilted his head, amused.

He really doesn’t throw anything out, does he?

He huffed a quiet laugh into the stillness of the room. Neatly arranged hangers carried an eclectic wardrobe. Tailored coats with sharp lapels, buttoned vests, and high collared jackets that screamed, “Don’t touch me.” But tucked between them were soft, worn in hoodies and faded shirts, things Sanji could easily imagine Law wearing off duty, hunched over medical texts or maps, sleeves pushed to the elbows.

Then something unexpected brushed against his arm. A massive jacket hung near the back, weighed down by its own extravagance. Deep cobalt blue, lined with thick plumes of black feathers that spilled over the collar and cuffs like a tidal wave of midnight. Sanji ran a hand down the sleeve, feathers whispering across his skin.

What the hell is this?

And completely at odds with everything else in the closet. The coat looked like it had been painstakingly hand dipped, the colors blending from black so rich it swallowed light into deep cobalt. Sanji lifted it from the closet, and the sheer weight of it startled him.

“What the...”

He held it up with both hands. It had to weigh fifty pounds easy. The hem barely cleared the ground even when he stood tall meant for someone with broader shoulders and longer legs. Law’s build.

The mirror on the inside of the closet door caught his eye, and he turned to it, holding the jacket up against himself with a curious hum. Then, without another thought, he slipped it off the hanger and shrugged into it completely bare beneath. The fabric slid over his skin like water, cool at first, then warm as it settled around him. The lining was unbelievably soft, thick with a fur he hadn’t felt in years. Not since his childhood in the North Blue.

He let the weight settle on his shoulders, it grounding him. It felt… strange. But good. Sanji looked at himself in the mirror again. The coat dwarfed him, but there was something almost elegant in how it draped, how it engulfed him. He let his hands slip into the deep pockets and let the collar brush his jaw.

Law must look ridiculous and perfect in this thing, he thought, lips quirking. For a long moment, he stood there, wrapped in the weight of it.

Sanji moved to slide the coat off the moment he heard the door click. Law was already speaking as the door hissed open. “Yes, Bepo, we will restock—” His voice halted mid sentence as his eyes locked onto Sanji, standing in the middle of the room, swallowed by his coat. Bare legs, tousled hair, slightly flushed from being caught. The shift in Law’s expression was immediate.

He stepped inside without a word and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Bepo’s concerned voice muffled on the other side. Sanji took a half step back, lips parting as if to explain but Law was already striding toward him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low, clipped, more strained than angry.

He tossed his sword onto the bed with a controlled thud, and with a swift motion, his hands were on the coat, removing it from Sanji’s shoulders. The touch wasn’t rough if anything, it was careful, almost gentle, but not for Sanji, but for the garment. Sanji stood still, watching the fur lined garment slide down his arms like falling snow.

Law’s brow was furrowed as he grabbed the empty hanger, expression unreadable. He returned the coat to its rightful place in the closet, as if restoring order to something that had been violated. The silence that followed crackled with something more than embarrassment.

"I said change, not riffle though my stuff." Law stood back and looked away from Sanji naked like we was looking at the latest news. He hung the sword in its usual place on the wall with a sharp click of metal on metal, then sat heavily on the edge of the bed. His eyes landed on the pile of shredded clothing discarded nearby. He sighed and kicked off his shoes, one at a time, the exhaustion starting to bleed through the edges of his posture.

Sanji didn’t say anything and moved with practiced ease, heading to his pack. He pulled out a pair of baggy gray sweatpants and a plain black tank top, slipping them on quickly, the fabric clinging to his still warm skin.

The dirty clothes were scooped up in one arm. He tossed the wearable pieces into the hamper, while the beyond-saving ones he left by the door to dispose of later.

The silence between them stretched—not uncomfortable exactly, but charged with things left unsaid.

“Room.”

The command was quiet, but it shifted the air around them. Law unbuttoned his shirt with slow, precise fingers. Each movement was methodical, deliberate, as though undressing were part of a surgery, nothing wasted, nothing rushed.

Sanji’s eyes tracked every motion. What just happened?

Law peeled the shirt off, the fabric catching briefly against the dried blood at his side. He didn’t flinch. Then, with the same calm detachment, he unfastened his pants, stepping out of them without a word.

He walked over to the desk and set his hat down carefully in its designated place. He turned back to Sanji, his bare skin was mottled with bruises, cuts, ash. Whatever armor he wore in front of others was gone now.

Law scanned his injuries with clinical detachment, then glanced at Sanji.

“If you don’t mind,” he said flatly, “I’m going to fix myself up.”

Sanji gave a slow shake of his head, more awe than refusal. “Be my guest.”

Without hesitation, Law reached into his chest—his fingers passing through skin and bone with practiced ease. Sanji instinctively shifted back, eyes wide.

Law’s hands emerged holding a faint blue cube holding his lungs. Sanji stared, stunned into silence. The organs glistened in the cool air, flushed pink and red, still subtly expanding and contracting with each breath like twin flowers blooming underwater.

Law glanced at him, expression unreadable. He leaned in slightly despite himself, eyes fixed on the intricate architecture of living tissue, the fragile steam of breath still rippling through it.

Law brought the lungs closer to him, turning them gently in his hands. He split open a section with his thumb, the motion disturbingly smooth—like peeling an orange.

“Fucking Crocodile,” he muttered under his breath.

Inside, grains of sand glimmered. They clung to the inner lining like glitter, embedded deep within the bronchi. Law reached for the side table, opening a drawer and lifting a sealed instrument. A set of fine tweezers.

Sanji watched in silence as Law methodically picked the sand out, steady, efficient, detached. His body didn’t move, not even to flinch. Only his hands worked, meticulous and practiced. Tiny specks of sand pinged softly against the steel floor blow. Sanji reached out, hand moving slowly toward Law. Law glanced at him, sharp, still deep in his work mindset. The look he gave bit just a little too hard, and Sanji’s hand faltered, pulling back slightly.

“I’m not trying to interrupt,” Sanji murmured. “I just… want to feel your warmth. Nothing more.”

Law froze, not in fear or rejection, but in that way he did when he was calculating something far more delicate. His gaze dropped to Sanji’s hand, lingering there a beat too long. Then his eyes rose again, meeting the deep blue waiting for him.

“Okay,” Law said softly. “Just… be careful. I’ve never had someone in my room while I’m healing.”

Sanji held his gaze for a moment, then moved closer. He rested one hand gently on Law’s thigh, not demanding, just present. His thumb brushed a slow, calming arc across the fabric as Law resumed his work.

The doctor remained quiet, focused, but the tension in his shoulders had eased. He replaced the last cleaned section of his lung, and as it settled back into place, he exhaled—a long, heavy sigh of relief that rippled visibly through his body. 

Law glanced down at the hand on his leg. He looked at the now restored organ cradled in his hands… and then up at Sanji.

“Want to know what it feels like?” Law asked quietly.

Sanji’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing in cautious surprise. His lips pressed into a tight line.

“Is that even possible?”

Law nodded, slowly. “It’ll be like we’re breathing together. I can attach them and we can try." He hesitated, then reached out, resting his hand gently on Sanji’s leg. 

“I know you don’t like thinking about what your family did to you,” Law said, voice low, careful. “I know what they forced into your body… what they took from you.” 

He met Sanji’s eyes, unwavering.

“But this—this could be something different. Something to look forward to.”

Sanji held his gaze for a long, quiet moment.

Then, wordlessly, he leaned in. His head came to rest lightly on Law’s shoulder, eyes fixed on the lungs in Law’s hands—watching them rise and fall in slow, deliberate rhythm. So steady. He breathed in with them, just once, and then looked up at Law.

“I’d like to try,” he murmured. He pulled back slightly, sitting upright. “Go ahead.” Law gave a small nod. His slender fingers reached toward Sanji’s chest. The soft, seamless shift of motion as Law’s hand passed through skin and gently drew Sanji’s lungs free.

“Sanji… are you okay?” Law’s voice was low, almost hesitant. His fingers brushed gently against Sanji’s cheek, tucking back a strand of golden hair that had fallen across it.

Sanji exhaled, slow and steady. “Yeah… I am.”

With a sigh, he opened his eyes, taking in the sight once more. He hated it, everything about how his body had become a constant reminder that Judge had won, even though Sanji was shunned from his family. Here it was screaming at him, confirming everything he fought to deny for a lifetime. 

A small tear ran over Law's thumb that caressed his cheek. A quiet confirmation that no matter how far he ran, Judge’s work still lived in his body, proof that he had lost, even when he’d walked away.

But even in that pain… he didn’t feel alone.

His gaze flicked up to Law.

“Law… thank you.” Law’s thumb still rested against his cheek, and a single tear trailing across his skin. He whipped it away and took his face in both hands. Taking Sanji in in the moment. Watching Sanji feel the weight of his situation, the weight of truth between them. The trust that was forming. Not just with the flirting and fucking or fighting. But the trust to be let in, to be part of one another's life, and to know the secrets one holds closest to their very soul. 

Sanji’s breath shook faintly as he nodded. “I’m ready.” Law shifted. One hand reached back toward the still breathing lungs, while the other, the one that had wiped Sanji’s tear, slid to his waist to brace him.

Then, slowly, deliberately, Law guided the lungs forward, placing them inside Sanji’s chest. They both gasped. Law’s hands steadied him, gripping lightly at Sanji’s sides.

“Breathe with me. Calm… slow,” Law murmured, pressing his forehead gently against Sanji’s.

The sensation hit Sanji like a tide—foreign and heavy. His breath hitched. The lungs inside him labored, like an engine resisting a new ignition. His body instinctively fought to take back control, systems firing in protest against the unfamiliar organic tissue. But Law was there—steady, unwavering—quietly overriding every signal that resisted. His presence wrapped around the struggle like a shield. Sanji clenched his jaw, his chest rising too fast.

“Stay with me,” Law whispered, grounding him. “Let me guide it.”

Law’s voice was low but urgent, steady even as he felt the tension mounting beneath his palms. Sanji’s body was fighting the lungs almost instinctively—rejecting the sensation, panicking at the loss of control.

Law adjusted his own breathing, trying to stabilize the rhythm between them. But Sanji’s breath was erratic—too long held, too shallow when released. His body trembled, muscles twitching under the strain.

Their foreheads stayed pressed together. Sanji rubbed his brow against Law’s, jaw clenched, breath hitching as every instinct screamed to take control—to force the lungs to obey.

But Law didn’t let go.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice like a tether. “You can do this.”

His hand remained firm on Sanji’s chest, grounding him, a steady pulse against chaos. Sanji could feel it—Law’s breath guiding his own, trying to pull him into rhythm. It was maddening. It was intimate. It was terrifying.

And then—he gave in.

He stopped resisting. Let Law lead. One shaky inhale. Then another. And finally, a long, smooth exhale. They sighed at the same time—shoulders sinking, tension easing like a storm breaking.

“Now that... is something else,” Sanji murmured.

They breathed together slowly. As Sanji spoke, he felt the restriction, the strange balance of shared rhythm. Every word tugged against a breath that no longer belonged to him alone. Law huffed softly at the comment, and Sanji felt it deep in his chest. 

Then Law rested his head against Sanji’s shoulder, something quieter. A moment only they could share. Two men, perfectly in sync, feeling everything the other felt, holding each other through the weight of it. Sanji spoke softly, his voice slightly unsteady, still finding that delicate balance between breath and speech.

“You were right.”

Law watched him closely, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. They both let out a quiet huff of shared breath before Law finally murmured, “Is it my birthday? I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a lovely string of words.”

Sanji chuckled, pressing their foreheads together again, the contact warm and grounding.

“Don’t talk so much,” he whispered, running a thumb over Law’s lips.

Sanji angled up, hand lightly cradling his jaw.

“Ah… sorry,” Law muttered, breath catching.

Sanji smiled, his voice low and teasing. “You really do lose your breath every time I touch you?”

Law’s breathing is slightly more labored now, uneven despite his efforts to control it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Sanji murmured, watching the flush rise on Law’s cheeks as he tried to steady their rhythm. Sanji leaned in closer, pressure slow but unmistakable. Law’s hand stayed firm against his chest, holding him back.

“Sanji, we should be cautious,” Law said, voice low and edged with tension. “I’ve never done this before. Not like this.” Sanji didn’t stop. If anything, he leaned in further, the persistence in his touch deliberate.

“Just one kiss, Law,” Sanji whispered. “While I breathe your breath. Let me feel you supporting me. Give me your warmth, your care... your trust.”

That was all it took.

Law reached up, cupping Sanji’s face with steady hands. He tilted his head, carefully angling their lips until they met in a soft, unhurried kiss. They lingered there, a shared breath between them. Law pulled back just slightly, only to press in again, slower this time, as Sanji leaned closer. One of Sanji’s hands slid up along Law’s thigh. A trail of playful kisses followed, light over Sanji’s lips that made both of them chuckle quietly, breath mingling.

Sanji didn’t pull away. He kept his hand on Law. Then he shifted towards the center of the bed, gaze soft but unwavering.

“Come here,” he said.

Sanji guided him gently onto the bed, and Law followed, allowing his legs to fall loosely around Sanji’s. As the cook settled between them. Arms wrapped around his back, pulling him close into a warm embrace.

They both sighed deeply. Law pressed his face to Sanji’s chest, skin damp with lingering sweat, and breathed him in.

That smoky-sweet scent that clung to Sanji like a second skin, intoxicating in a way Law craved it. They stayed like that, wrapped around each other in the quiet hum of the Polar Tang, bodies pressed close, lungs moving in sync. Every rise and fall was shared. Sanji’s fingers traced slow circles along Law’s spine, the motion soothing. Sanji rested his chin lightly on Law’s head, eyes half lidded, breath falling into the same rhythm. The weight of the world, the scars of their pasts, the chaos they carried none of it reached them here. 

It was safe.

Gradually, Law stirred.

He didn’t pull away all at once. His fingers gave Sanji’s side a gentle squeeze before he eased back, lifting his head from the warmth of the cook’s body. His expression was calm, but there was a flicker of regret in his eyes—as if leaving that space, even for a moment, felt heavier than it should.

"Sanji, we should go over the restock plans. If you want to go grocery shopping, we need to prep." He sat up and broke the contact. As Sanji's heavy lidded eyes warmed to his. "Yeah, you are right. We started this mess; we have to finish it."

Law's hand braced over his chest, Sanji had almost forgotten that they were not existing off the same breath for a moment. His vision slid back to the still-hanging mechanical lungs in the air that held perfectly still. 

"It's ok, Sanji; it's not forever." "I know." And Law's hand pressed into his chest, a gentle tug as the organ resurfaced. Mechanical ones did not intake. Sanji was holding his breath. 

Law placed the lungs into their rightful place, and he held Sanji's hand, rubbing it slowly. "Are you ok?" His hand reached for the steel, and the cold mechanics of his biology turned weapon. 

Sanji stared at Law, not speaking. Law knew, "I know you can hold your breath for a long time. But not forever." He shifted the lungs into place once more, and Sanji looked away. They settled in as Law's hand rested. Like The cage locked again in his body. He slumped a little. He let the cold intake go. It was something that Sanji now realized he had no feeling in. It reacted and flexed in calculated motion. He stilled for a few moments.

"Alright, let's go." Sanji slid off the bed and went to grab something a little more presentable. Law watched him. He knew Sanji was sad, but he resolved to break this feeling for Sanji. Giving him a glimpse of what it could feel like. 

Following Sanji off the bed, he stood next to the closet, opening it. He fingered over his choices quickly as the feathered coat caught his eye again. He stilled as Sanji hopped into a jet-black pair of slacks. One hand brushed over the coat.

The coat had been made deliberately as a fusion—not an homage to Doflamingo, but a way to reclaim what was stolen from Corazon’s image. The flamboyant feathers evoke Doffy, yes—but in Law’s version, the weight, the color, and the craftsmanship make it something different. It's not loud pink. It’s deep cobalt and black, a silent mourning.

The world will always associate feathers with Doflamingo’s madness. But Law? Law chooses to make them a symbol of protection, of weight, of warmth. By donning the coat, he doesn't become Doffy. He becomes what Doffy stole from him—

He keeps it tucked in the back of the closet not because he's ashamed—but because it’s too precious.

“I’m sorry,” Law said quietly, his voice almost lost beneath the hum of the room. Sanji turned toward him, surprised to hear an apology.

Law stood still, one hand running over a single feather between his fingers, slowly brushing down the spine of it. As Sanji held a neatly tailored black jacket draped over a familiar yellow pinstriped shirt. His hands paused at the untied tie resting around his neck.

“Hmm?” Sanji teased gently, raising a brow. “Was that… kindness?” But as soon as the words left his mouth, he saw it—this wasn’t the moment for jokes.

“Oh. Sorry. I just… why are you apologizing?”

Law didn’t look up. As Sanji folded the tie carefully, tucking the end into the waist of his vest with practiced movements.

“The coat means a lot to me,” he said finally. “I’ve never even put it on. And when I saw you wearing it, I just…”

He stopped.

Warm smiles and deep laughter filled his mind—echoes of a time long past. The memory of Corazon’s towering frame, ten feet tall and wrapped in that massive coat, came flooding in. It had engulfed Law back then, swallowed him whole in its ridiculous softness. It had made him feel safe. And seeing Sanji—Sanji—wearing something so close to the embodiment of that safety, that love, that sacrifice… it had overwhelmed him.

“It’s…” Law began again. But the words didn’t come. Not because he didn’t know them—but because they were too heavy to carry out loud. Sanji had already dropped what he was doing. He stepped forward quietly and took Law’s free hand in both of his.

“I understand,” he said softly. Sanji lifted Law’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. The same hand that had held Sanji through the pain. Through breath. Through change.

He felt safe in these hands.

Sanji kept Law’s hand in his for a moment longer, letting the quiet stretch between them. Then, with a small smile, he looked toward the feathered coat still hanging in the closet.

“You don’t have to wear it now,” he said softly. “When the time is right... you will.”

Law looked at him—really looked—and for once didn’t challenge the sentiment. He simply gave a small nod.

Law quickly picked up another pair of identical spotted jeans throwing them on and picking a deep blue button down. With a black cape that hung heavy with its fabrics weight. Sanji looked over his shoulder as he was nestling the hat back on his head. A small flicker or admiration for the man as Sanji watched him. Stepping behind him sword in hand once more. 

"Let's go. We’ll need to coordinate with Bepo and Ikkaku for the supply run. If the Cross Guild is still sniffing around, we’ll have to move fast.”

Sanji walked beside him, nodding as his eyes sharpened with purpose.

“Lead the way, Captain.”

And together, they moved forward, toward the mission, the crew, and whatever came next.

It had almost been close to a month since the Straw Hats had seen Sanji. The weight of not only his warm smiles and food was the unrelenting need to find, prepare, and keep the crew fed. He always made it look easy. He memorized everything they liked to eat, down to the spice level, drink of choice, and temperature of their food. The weight of his absence was felt in every meal.

Now, that ease was gone.

Nami and Jinbe had taken over cooking duties, though mostly Nami—until they’d kicked Brook out for setting off a minor disaster during his “experimental breakfast medley.”

“LUFFY, NO! YOU CAN’T EAT THE WHOLE ROAST!”

A heavy thunk echoed through the galley as Nami brought her fist down on Luffy’s skull, launching him backward into the side of the Sunny with a cartoonish crash.

“I don’t think that was necessary…” Jinbe said in his calm, even tone, slicing vegetables with thick, uneven strokes. 

Luffy whimpered as he dragged himself back to his usual spot, slumping on the stool along the counter. “Sanji always gave me snacks... I want a snack,” he muttered, rubbing the growing welt on his head.

“You can wait, Luffy. It’s almost done.” Nami shot him a look as she shifted the roast from the cooking pan to a serving tray. Steam rose in curling waves, and Luffy’s nostrils flared instinctively.

Jinbe chuckled and dropped the unevenly cut potatoes into a boiling pot. The timing was off, the steps out of order, and the whole process lacked rhythm—but they were getting by.

Outside, Zoro napped with his arms crossed, slouched against the mast. Robin lounged nearby in a reclined deck chair, book in hand. Her eyes lifted as the soft flutter of wings caught her attention.

A News Coo coasted gently toward the ship.

She folded her book, swung her legs over the side of the chair, and stood to greet it. After exchanging a few berries and offering a gentle scratch under its tired eyes, the bird gave a pleased coo and soared back into the sky.

Robin sat back down, unfolding the paper. The headlines lately had been a steady stream of chaos—new power shifts, Wano’s slow return to peace, and now—

Her eyes narrowed.

Breaking News: Trafalgar Law and Vinsmoke Sanji Take on the Cross Guild.

Robin’s eyes skimmed over the image, but her gaze caught—still, focused.

A soft, nearly imperceptible gasp escaped her lips as she recognized one of the figures.

Crocodile.

Pop.

Zoro’s eye cracked open. Sitting up slowly, noticing Robin holding a different paper than when he’d dozed off. Her expression was unreadable—but alert. Pushing off the mast and walked toward her, leaning over her shoulder.

“Another issue?” he asked, his voice still rough from sleep. “What’s the world up to now?”

Then he saw it.

His breath stopped.

Sanji—smirking, reckless, alive—leaning in close to Law amid the chaos of battle. They were locked in a moment of motion, of heat, facing off against none other than Mihawk and Crocodile. Emperor Buggy loomed in the background like some absurd god of misrule.

Zoro’s throat tightened. His eye darted between Sanji and Mihawk, the frame frozen, tension wound like a spring.

Robin began reading aloud, her voice calm and measured.

“Trafalgar Law, captain of the Heart Pirates, member of the Worst Generation, and former Warlord of the Sea, was seen with Vinsmoke Sanji on Ironhold. The duo initiated conflict with high-ranking Cross Guild members—Sir Crocodile and Dracule Mihawk—while standing against Emperor Buggy the Clown himself. Their intentions remain unclear, and the outcome of the clash is still unfolding…”

She kept reading, though she could tell Zoro had stopped listening. He was staring at the photo, no longer seeing just the image but reading it. The angle of Sanji’s body. The way he fought beside Law. The grace in movement. The familiarity in how they moved together.

It said more than the article ever could.

Zoro knew that stance. Knew Sanji’s body better than anyone when it came to battle—how he balanced his weight, when he held back, and when he let go. His thoughts slowed.

I thought I knew him better than anyone.

Without a word, Zoro straightened and turned, walking back to where he’d been resting.

Robin didn't watch him go. She knew what the others already felt—maybe even before they did. It wasn’t just the meals, the compliments, or even the bickering they missed. It was something quieter. The tether Sanji had formed with each of them. His absence had left a low, persistent ache they hadn’t quite named.

But Zoro felt it more than the rest.

The weight of the void, the missing piece of his rhythm, his sparring partner, his friend, his wing, maybe something more...

He was working harder now. Protecting the crew with quiet desperation. Jinbe helped. But he wasn’t Sanji.

They had their own way, a dance of delicate carnage only the two of them knew how to preform. Zoro huffed and lay back down, trying to will himself into sleep to keep his mind from twisting itself into knots.

He hadn’t seen Sanji in nearly a month. That touch, that look in the photo—who knew what it really meant?

Who knew if…Zoro stopped himself mid-thought.

No. He’ll come back. He promised.

That helped. A little. But the image still played on a loop behind his closed eyelid, and his jaw clenched at the thought of Sanji finding someone else to dance with.

“Damn it. Tch.”

He was just slipping back into uneasy rest when— “Dinner’s READY!” Nami’s voice rang out through the kitchen window. Zoro’s eye snapped open.

Robin was already moving, and the thundering of footsteps signaled Usopp and Chopper bolting toward the galley. He didn’t budge at first—just lay there, staring at the mast above him.

Robin passed by and bent down, fingers brushing his shoulder in a soft, knowing gesture. A faint bite of jealousy twisted in Zoro’s gut. Robin said nothing. The look in her eyes told him she understood. Zoro exhaled and sat up. The sea was still—but something moved on the horizon. His gaze narrowed.

A ship. Closing in on the Sunny. He stood, flexing his shoulder as he reached up to untie the bandana from his arm, already looping it around his head with practiced ease.

“Oh good,” he muttered. “A way to let off some steam.”

With a sharp shing, Ichimonji unsheathed.

“We’ve got company!” A sharp, distressed whine sounded as Luffy came skidding out of the galley, half the roast clutched in his hand.

“What is it—”

Zoro was already in motion.

Before anyone could speak, before Luffy could finish his bite, the swordsman had launched himself toward the approaching ship, feet thudding across the deck with practiced power, his jaw tight, eye sharp.

Ichimonji clenched in his hand, he drew back—shoulders coiled, muscles loaded, every step carrying the weight of a month's worth of tension, confusion, and a kind of jealousy he refused to name.

All of it was going into this one strike.

One devastating blow.

The pirates aboard the approaching vessel—clearly unprepared, still shouting over who’d man the anchor—looked up just in time to see a blur of green and steel hurtling toward them.

They had no idea what they’d just stumbled into.

 

Notes:

HEYO, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, gave the Heart crew some well needed life back to them, and we got back to the Straw Hats, oh Zoro....

Work has suddenly become quite difficult and I wont be able to post as frequently, but Ill update when I can!
**edit: just kidding I fixed it. Rubs hands together**

Please let me know what you think! I really appriciate the feedback! Until next chapter ;p

Chapter 10: One More Chance to Smile

Summary:

A storm of battle, way to many emotions, and a brake in the storm, with gentle guidance.

Notes:

Please heed the updated tags. There are a lot of heavy topics in this one. If you do not like heavier subjects or medical processes or body horror, I suggest you skip this one.

We will get back to lighter subjects in the next chapter. If you are ok with the tags, please read on!

The moon rose steadily into the night sky, casting a cold silver light over the rusted rooftops and shadowed alleys of Ironhold. The air smelled of oil, ash, and brine—the unmistakable scent of a city built on labor, metal, and barely contained tension. Ironhold never slept. Its furnaces and processing towers continued to belch smoke into the dark, lights flickering in upper floors like nervous winks. Cranes groaned in the distance, the clatter of nightshift machinery echoing through the labyrinth of concrete and steel.

They’d chosen Ironhold for their restock operation out of necessity. The other islands marked on their Eternal Log Poses were weeks away, and their food stores wouldn’t last nearly that long. Supplies were running thin, and morale had dipped low enough that even Bepo had started skipping meals to stretch the rations.

It had to be here.

Most of the crew had swapped their uniforms for street clothes, blending in with the constant flow of workers, traders, and mercenaries who filled the city’s underbelly. The Polar Tang remained submerged offshore—silent, hidden, waiting. They all knew who was on this island. The Cross Guild. An emperor. The kind of names you didn't tempt unless you had no other choice.

Inside the briefing room, Law stood at the head of the table, his voice firm, eyes sharp with command.

“Does everyone understand their roles?” he asked, his gaze sweeping the room.

He didn’t repeat himself. He never needed to.

The table in front of him was covered in notes and supplies. A hastily drawn map—scribbled from Law’s memory and inked by Bepo—sat at the center. It wasn’t elegant, but it was accurate. Bepo held it up as Law continued.

“Groups A through D will move together through the designated zones. Each team has a list—stick to it. Sanji and I will draw the most attention while you work.”

Sanji stood beside him, a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips, one hand in his coat pocket. He listened intently, eyes flicking to the map, then back to Law. This kind of planning was precise and methodical. So unlike Luffy, who made plans on instinct.

Law pointed to marked areas on the map. “Once restocking is complete and everyone returns to the extraction point, Bepo will fire two flares into the sky. That’s our signal to regroup.”

He nodded to the flare gun resting on the table, then looked to Hakugan. “Keep the ship submerged until Sanji and I return. Set distance and depth as needed to avoid detection. If anything goes wrong, surface at the fallback coordinates and wait.”

Bepo lowered the map and handed out individual sheets—small, rough layouts of the local districts with quick markers for shops, exits, and known surveillance choke points.

Sanji glanced over his sheet, but his eyes kept returning to Law. There was something in the way he took control of the room—cool, measured, and exacting. Not a single wasted word.

He’d never say it aloud, but he admired it.

It was the exact opposite of Luffy’s chaos-first, questions-later approach. And yet somehow, both ways worked.

The number of times Sanji had been thrown into a fight thanks to his captain’s impulsive whims was beyond counting. At this point, it didn’t surprise him.

No wonder Law always bit Luffy’s head off when he didn’t listen.

Law was the opposite—structured, meticulous. He didn’t just have a plan. He had two, sometimes three, contingency plans. And his crew? They listened. Not out of fear, but because they trusted him.

Sanji watched as Bepo animatedly pointed at the map, giving visual support to Law’s brief. The crew nodded along, quiet and focused. There was a kind of rhythm here, a calm unity in their preparation.

A warmth settled in Sanji’s chest—familiar. It was the same feeling he got during dinner on the Sunny, surrounded by the noise of his family. Luffy’s infectious laughter, the chaos, and the unwavering loyalty that tied them all together. It was buried under layers of strategy and over-cautious precision, but it was there, woven into every motion, every inflection. Law cared. Deeply. Sanji could feel it in the way he handled his crew, with sharp discipline, yes, but also devotion.

“We leave in twenty minutes. Prepare for docking,” Law said.

The room stirred to life. The crew filed out, mismatched streetwear marked with scattered logos and bright colors. Sanji remained still, eyes lingering on the map. He’d already memorized it. His gaze shifted up to Bepo.

“I’m impressed.” He held the map up with a flick of his fingers, feeling the subtle shift beneath his feet as the sub adjusted course.

“Thanks, Sanji!” Bepo beamed. “It’s not my best work, but… given the time crunch, I think it came out okay.”

There was something so earnest in the way Bepo smiled that Sanji couldn’t help but return it.

“You’re staying with the ship?” Sanji asked.

Bepo’s smile faltered just slightly.

Law turned toward him and gave his arm a gentle pat, reassurance without words.

“Yeah,” Bepo nodded. “Honestly, it couldn’t be better timing. If there’s a fight, I’m at my strongest right now.”

He rubbed the back of his head, sheepish but proud. “Captain trusts me with the Tang and the crew’s safety. I won’t let him down.”

Law’s hand tightened briefly in quiet affirmation, a gesture born of years of conflict. Sanji felt that trust between them settle into the room. He knew what that kind of bond felt like. The low groan of the submarine’s drag against the current was unmistakable now. They were getting close. Law turned to leave. Bepo followed. But Law paused just at the threshold, looking back. Sanji smiled; he stepped forward, falling into step beside him without a word.

The Polar Tang surfaced without a sound, its matte hull barely disturbing the dark waves as it docked against the far edge of Ironhold. Crew members moved quickly, splitting off toward their assigned sectors with quiet urgency. Bepo remained on the deck, staring out into the distance but avoiding the harsh circle of moonlight stretching over the water like a spotlight. He watched his captain disappear into the city again—Sanji at his side—his heart heavy with unspoken worry.

Law and Sanji stepped onto the same streets they had only recently escaped. This time, they did not run. They moved forward with a steady, deliberate pace. Ironhold pulsed with life even at night. The city’s day-to-night shift was stark. Where sunlit markets buzzed with trade, the nighttime streets were soaked in shadow. Neon signs flickered above closed shops. The sounds of distant machinery and echoing footsteps filled the air. Eyes lingered longer. Whispers curled through alleys like smoke.

They veered away from the markets where the rest of the crew had spread out, cutting deeper into the city’s industrial heart. The further they moved, the fewer people they passed. The buildings grew taller and meaner—brick turned to steel, windows darkened, and the air thickened with soot.

The sky, once clear, had begun to churn. A low overcast crept in. The wind shifted—sharper, electric. Sanji caught it first. No scent of rain, not yet, but the pressure in the air built like the breath before a scream.

A perfect storm was brewing. Thunder rolled in the distance, low and lingering. Above them, smokestacks loomed like dead trees, coughing out black plumes that tangled with the clouds. Lights buzzed and flickered weakly, casting sickly halos on oil-stained pavement.

Sanji breathed through it; his senses were sharp, stretched thin across the world around him. He filtered every detail, every scurry, every creak, every flutter of feathers or flick of wind.

A rat darted beneath rusted scaffolding.

A loose shutter slapped against the side of a cooling plant.

The burn of diesel mixed with scorched metal and old sweat.

And then—something else.

A slithering sound across concrete, low and dry. Thirty feet to their left, where the alley forked behind a pressure valve tower. He kept walking and casually tapped Law’s elbow. There was no need for words. A flick of his fingers toward the sound said everything.

Law gave the faintest glance in acknowledgment, no more than a shift in his gaze. His body didn’t change pace, but Sanji could feel the readiness in him. Sanji adjusted his posture, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. He angled his chin just slightly, scanning without turning his head. The slithering grew louder—less like a creature, more like something unnatural crawling through the cracks of the street itself. The sound branched outward, seeping into the walls and the ground around them like tendrils of oil across water.

It felt like a pulse—not sound, but pressure—searching, hunting. They kept pace, closing the distance toward a looming building marked MAG 8 STOREHOUSE, its steel face rusted with time. The alley leading to it narrowed, walls pressing in on either side as their bodies coiled, tense and ready. The air had grown heavier. Every footstep echoed like a warning.

Lightning split the sky.

In that white-hot flash, the world cracked open.

Sanji felt it, the slithering sound resolved into form—sand, hissing like snakes as it surged across the pavement and burst around them in a tidal rush. Sanji lunged, but it was too late.

How do you run from something that is everywhere?

The wave struck. Law shouted his name as the current lifted him clean off the ground. He disappeared into the storm of grit and grinding stone.

"Sanji!"

Law's voice barely carried before a gloved hand shot up from the sand and clamped down over his mouth. His amber eyes widened in horror. Sanji turned just in time to see the red nose break the surface.

Buggy emerged laughter spilling from his mouth in wild, unhinged echoes as he rose to full height, dragging Law up by the collar like a prize caught mid-show. Law kicked, struggling, his blade slipping from his hand and vanishing beneath the shifting sand. Buggy grinned, nose to nose with Law, who clenched his jaw in revulsion as cobalt hair clung to his drenched face.

“Front row seats cost extra,” Buggy whispered against Law’s temple as he shifted to stand behind Law, his voice dripping like blood into wine. “But you? You get the royal box.”

He twisted Law’s head forward, forcing him to watch.

Because just ahead—Crocodile had Sanji by the neck. His hand, coarse and unyielding, gripped like a vice. The storm around them raged, sand trailing in lazy eddies like snakes awaiting command.

Sanji’s boots scraped against the wall behind him. Crocodile didn’t even look strained. A dry, satisfied laugh curled from Crocodile’s lips as he studied his prey.

“So,” he drawled, “Vinsmoke Sanji. That’s why you sounded familiar.”

His gaze sharpened. "You wore a different name back then, didn't you? Mr. Prince.” He tightened his grip, enough to make it hurt.

“Funny, I never forget a thorn in my side.”

Memories bled through—Alabasta, the humiliating downfall, the Straw Hats who had pulled his empire out from under him like a cheap rug. Rage, dormant for years, now surged into focus. Here he was. One of them. All the vengeance he’d stored, funneled into this one moment, this one man.

He leaned in, voice a rasp of sand and hate. “I should’ve buried you in the desert with the rest of your crew.”

Sanji coughed, then he laughed. Low and rough—cruel, even—as blood beaded at the corner of his mouth and his grin cut through the storm.

Crocodile read the expression with practiced cruelty. That grin—all confidence, all pity. Sanji didn’t see him as a threat. And worse? That smirk said everything Crocodile couldn’t stand to hear spoken aloud:

You’re not scary anymore. Not since Alabasta. Not since Buggy the Clown put a leash around your neck.

Rage boiled over. Crocodile’s teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he tightened his grip. Sanji’s windpipe compressed beneath the force. Still, he grinned, then a swift kick.

FWUMP.

His flaming heel passed through nothing but grit. Sand exploded and reformed just as fast, solidifying again around his neck, tightening. Sanji's eyes focused and with a grin he tried to kick at him, it was futile as the kicks broke into sand, quickly reforming. Tighter. Sanji was reliving a nightmare he had so many nights. A past that had come to claim him. His smile faltered as Crocodiles bloomed. Fire now engulfed him as Sanji used his hands to pray at the fingers digging in his neck, bruising and crushing. Crocodile's grin widened as Sanji's defiance hit an old, familiar wall.

It was a nightmare one Sanji had fought in his sleep a thousand times. And here it was, real. Hands at his throat. His flames flared hotter, desperate—but the fire couldn’t find purchase,

The burn of his fingers carved deep. Sanji’s hands scrambled to pry him off, but there was no give. Only the dull, creeping weight of suffocation—and memory.

Judge. The Raid Suit. The silence of failure. Rejection. The weight of being made into something he swore he’d never be. Another laugh as he watched the light from Sanji's eyes fade. The tunneling was washing over Sanji's the words in his mind danced in a rhythm of mocking.

Disappointment, Failure, Disappointment Failure.

And then—SNAP.

Sanji went limp.

His flames died out. Law watched with wide eyes. His body stilled as he watched the body go limp in the grasp. A loud booming cackle as lighting stuck once more. Buggy held firm over Law's mouth and body a few story's in the air. Law looked for any signs of life as the weight swayed in the rhythm of the death cackle. 

Crocodile dropped him like refuse.

The thud echoed against the alley walls.

Law's world fractured in an instant.

Buggy’s gloved hand still covered his mouth, but Law’s eyes screamed. His breath hitched, chest barely rising as he watched Sanji crumple, limp and still in the sand.

But Law wasn't looking at him. His gaze scanned wildly—please, move, just twitch—then snapped to the rooftops.

His eyes scanned over the area, he heard the roll of thunder as on a roof Mihawk was crouching blade drawn. Buggy leaned close, nose nearly brushing Law’s cheek, voice a breathy mockery.

“Looks like this little alliance is over.”

And then—crunch. Law bit through the glove.

“Y’OUCH—YOU LITTLE SHIT—!”

Buggy recoiled, shaking his hand, already stained red. It was all Law needed.

“Room.”

With a flash of blue light, Law disappeared—swapped places with his own sword as he landed low and hard on the concrete, his coat flaring behind him. Dust and sand erupted around him. His fingers found his sword hilt, knuckles bone-white with fury.

Everything slowed. Crocodile turned, eyes sharp. Buggy lunged, hand outstretched. Law’s breathing came in shudders. His mind raced. Sanji. On the ground. Unmoving.

The pressure in his chest spiked.

“Shambles!”

He vanished again in a flash of blue light—gone from view.

Buggy spun wildly, eyes darting. Crocodile sneered, flexing his fingers, sand twisting at his feet.

From above, Mihawk stood silently atop a nearby roof, scanning the shadows with lethal precision.

A low, rolling laugh from Crocodile that echoed down the alleyways like thunder.

Law had barely moved a block when he pressed himself against a cold, graffiti, scarred wall, his heart pounding in his ears. His mind raced, replaying the last, haunting image of Sanji—limp and broken on the ground. Clutching his chest, Law fought to push the searing pain away, even as danger still raged around him. His eyes swept the area, each shadow and distant movement a warning. He knew the swordsman was in hot pursuit; he sensed that Crocodile and Buggy still stood next to Sanji in the street.

With a few swift, measured movements, ducking from the looming threat of Mihawk’s relentless chase—Law moved silently. He would not abandon Sanji here. His jaw clenched; he bit down on the burning ache. The warmth and trust that Sanji had offered, the safety he’d felt wrapped in that care, had been ripped away in an instant. It hurt too much, being so open with someone, only to have that vulnerability stolen from him again.

Struggling to pull himself together amid the chaos, Law pressed forward toward the devastated reality of what he had just lost something infinitely important to him, once more.

“Stop with the games, Law!” Crocodile’s voice bellowed off the walls of the industrial district. “Make it easy on everyone and come out!”

Those words echoed through the narrow alleyways as Law inched closer to Sanji’s still form. Another crack of lightning split the sky as Law reached the street, now several blocks down. There, lying face-down in the sand, was the devastating proof of his worst nightmare.

Unable to bear the sight, Law retreated around a corner. His fist pounded desperately against the rough side of a building, a futile attempt to silence the storm raging inside him. He bit back a rising sob, feeling the sting of salt and shame as tears welled without permission. His cheeks burned with sorrow, the wet tracks carving silent paths of grief.

He knew, with every fiber of his being, that Crocodile was circling Sanji—taunting him, toying with his pain. Crocodile also knew one thing: he would come back for Sanji. No matter the cost, no matter the danger.

Lightning struck close—too close—sending a violent jolt of pressure through the ground. Law flinched, the shock vibrating through his bones as he pressed himself tighter against the cold concrete wall. The thunder roared above, echoing through the narrow industrial alley. 

Everything he’d built with Sanji, the fragile trust, the warmth, the possibility of something more—was crumbling beneath the weight of the moment. Not unlike the shadows of his past.

Then—

“REAAWWWWWWWW!”

A guttural shriek cut through the air. Law dared a glance around the corner, breath hitched. Buggy was flailing, trying to pat out flames devouring his oversized outfit. The fire licked at his clothes, turning the clown’s flamboyance into smoldering chaos. Crocodile stood stiff, clearly in a defensive stance, his eyes narrowed, locked on the unfolding madness.

“WHAAAAAAA!!”

Buggy’s limbs escaped the clothing and reattached, then he was quickly turned upside down and thrown. A blue streak, shot through the air like a rocket. In a flurry of panicked movement, one bloody hand still gripping a scrap of Buggy’s coat. Then, in a sickening crunch, crushed under an invisible pressure so forceful it cracked the ground beneath it.

Law’s mind reeled. What the hell just happened?

Then he saw it. A flash of white from eyes. Reflective like polished metal, flickering unnaturally in the darkness. Another rumble of thunder rolled overhead, drowning Law’s ragged breath as Crocodile lunged forward, only to strike nothing. Sand scattered into the air as his hook slashed at an empty space.

Then a sound began to rise—a hum. A deep, droning hum that reverberated through the walls and made Law’s skull ache. He staggered back, hand gripping his temple. Crocodile clutched one side of his head, staggering, confusion and raw fear etched into his face as he dropped to one knee.

Law buckled to the ground behind cover. What the fuck is this?

A ripple like glass shattering and reforming in a slow wave. Sanji stepped into view. But it wasn’t him. Not the man, not the cook who laughed too easily and loved too hard. This was something else. Something that should not exist.

Mirrors shimmered off his form as if he were sliding between realities. And those white eyes—empty, mechanical, terrifying—locked onto Crocodile. Sanji tilted his head slightly, like a predator observing a wounded animal. Crocodile tried to move.

Sanji reached up with slow, deliberate hands—crack—snapping his own neck back into place with unnatural precision. A predator with purpose. And Crocodile, the man who once ruled Alabasta with fear and cruelty, the man who had crushed kingdoms—

Felt dread.

Because the thing staring him down wasn’t a man anymore. It was the monster Judge Vinsmoke had built. Crocodile couldn't move. For a man so attuned to slipping through fingers like smoke, the sensation was alien—terrifying. His body felt pinned by an unseen force, solid and unyielding, like he was being crushed under the weight of seastone.

Those white-burning eyes looked down on him unblinking. Crocodile locked eyes with them and felt the breath catch in his throat.

“What… who are you?” he rasped, his voice cracking under the hum that still thrummed from Sanji’s form like a pulse in the air.

No answer. Just the haunting silence of something not entirely human.

Then—

A flash of black steel. Gold ringed eyes met cold white ones. The hum wavered, faltered for a split second. And Crocodile crumpled, gasping as if suddenly released from a drowning grip. Law, too, felt the weight lift from his chest and forced himself to move. He tore around the corner, heart pounding, sword drawn. In the periphery of his vision—red. A flare streaked across the sky. Then a second.

The crew's safe. The Polar Tang was ready to leave. But Law couldn’t pull his gaze away from the chaos in front of him. The alley was silent. Until lightning split the sky.

CRACK—

In that moment, lit in stark white, he saw them. Sanji and Mihawk. Suspended mid-air. Steel and fire. White hot eyes locked on gold. One second—just one heartbeat—frozen in light.

Then the island shook.

Half the smokestacks split in two—buildings sheared clean through, sent collapsing in slow-motion devastation. A deafening boom followed. Another building—gone. Flattened. The street beneath Law split apart as if reality itself was trying to tear open.

Crocodile scrambled on the ground, still winded, trying to disappear again. Law looked to the sky—both flares had been burning for far too long. Time was running out. The sky was being cleaved open from the clashes.

Law stepped back—once, twice—then turned sharply.

“Shambles!”

A blink, and he was clear of the collapsing debris, reappearing just outside the shock radius. He didn’t stop moving. Eyes darting. Senses flaring. Crocodile had vanished, but Mihawk and Sanji were still clashing—each impact like a seismic event. Then a white blur. A snarl echoed through the night, deep and primal.

Towering in his Sulong form, eyes glowing, fur bristling like a thundercloud made flesh. His presence lit up the rooftop like moonlight itself had come alive. He didn’t wait. One powerful bound and he had Law scooped into his arms before the captain could argue.

“Bepo, wait—!” Law’s voice broke. Too late. Another leap, and they were sailing across rooftops.

Law looked up at him—his most loyal friend. His breath caught. Bepo’s usually gentle features were twisted into a fierce snarl, his voice a gravelly growl as he looked down.

“Where is Sanji.” And Law felt the guilt rise sharp in his throat.

“He—” Another building exploded in the distance. Lightning arced overhead. The sky itself trembled. Bepo paused on a rooftop, breathing heavy, waiting for Law to speak. The silence between them was thick with dread. And in that pause, Law’s hands gripped tighter into Bepo’s fur.

“He’s still in there.”

Bepo’s eyes locked on Law’s face.  Then, with the next flash of lightning, Bepo turned his gaze back to the battlefield. Two figures moved like titans across the storm-lit skyline. Mihawk swung his black blade with a ferocity he hadn’t unleashed since his sparring days with Shanks. His eyes gleamed with sharp delight, a rare smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. The sheer speed of his strikes cracked the air with a high-pitched whistle, breaking the sound barrier.

Sanji met them all. Every slash was answered, blazing limbs, crackling blue with flames, deflecting steel with bone crushing force. Mihawk twisted mid air, one powerful stroke aimed to split him clean through. But Sanji caught it with his hand. Eyes never leaving Mihawk’s, fingers gripped the black blade’s flat with impossible control.

Mihawk’s laugh echoed between the buildings. “I wonder what your sparring matches are like with Zoro. He must go all out if you can keep up with me like this. Zoro will truly become the strongest if he has you to fight on a daily biases”

Sanji’s answer was wordless—a sweeping kick igniting the night. Blue fire slammed into Mihawk’s side, launching the swordsman backward through the air.

Then the sky split with rain, sudden and hard, drumming across the metal and concrete. Sanji hovered, the white-hot glow of his eyes reflected in each falling drop. Mihawk spun mid-fall, landing cleanly on a lower rooftop, blade already braced for the next strike. Sanji descended slowly, landing opposite him atop a half collapsed smokestack. Yoru gleamed in the rain.

Mihawk smiled, voice low and amused. “Zoro never shut up about you. In the two years I trained him, you came up more often than any technique. But this...” He gestured with the tip of his sword. “This weapon, this power, I never imagined this was hiding on the Straw Hat crew.”

Sanji’s body jerked like it had been struck by lightning. He screamed as his hands flew to his face, clawing beneath his eyes, digging into his skin. It was as if he were trying to rip something out from beneath the surface, rain hissed off the searing heat of his form. He hunched over and Sanji screamed as the fight for control broke over his body at the menton of his crew, of Zoro.  On the rooftop, Sanji collapsed to his knees, denting the steel beneath him.

Mihawk tilted his head, intrigued. As the monster fought the man inside. Watching as the man attempted to pull his on skin off. 

From a few blocks away, Law and Bepo both heard the scream. It was a sound Law knew all too well. The one that had haunted him since the surgery.

“Captain, we need to go!” Bepo’s voice boomed from above, fierce in Sulong.

“NO!” Law clawed his way from Bepo’s grasp. “We need to go back! NOW!”

Bepo saw the terror in Law’s face and didn’t question it.

“Okay, Law.” He bounded off the rooftop, sprinting back toward the scream with seismic force. 

Sanji knelt in the storm, his chest heaving, the weight of something angry surging beneath his skin. His arms crossed tight over himself, like he could smother it. Contain it. Control it.

But even Mihawk could see—he was losing. Mihawk had seen a lot of things but this was new. He stood motionless for a breath, watching as Sanji’s form writhed, tore, warped. His eyes glinted—curiosity flickering in that cold amber stare. Then a soft hum escaped his lips, an acknowledgment.

Without a word, Mihawk stepped back into the storm and vanished—his silhouette swallowed by the rain and smoke.

The rooftop trembled as Bepo landed hard, Law following right behind him. Sanji was on his knees, screaming into the sky, trying to tearing at his arms like he could rip the control from his bones. His hands clawed at his joints, twisting unnaturally. His body pulsed, muscles shifting, straining to contain something violent.

Law rushed toward him as a limb shot out. A flame lit kick snapped toward Law’s head with deadly speed. Bepo moved with a snarl, the mink caught the blow mid air, absorbing the full brunt. He twisted, slamming Sanji into the rooftop with thunderous force. The metal buckled beneath the impact. Sanji tried to rise, but Bepo’s Sulong strength was too much. He hoisted him up by the leg and slammed him down again. Flames licked along his fur, but Bepo didn’t let go. He wasn’t thinking about pain. Only about protecting his captain.

“Bepo, STOP!” Law’s voice cracked through the downpour. Bepo froze, panting, still gripping Sanji by the scorched leg. The flames sputtered, dimmed, then finally faded. The fight drained from Sanji’s limbs, though his body still trembled under the weight of chaos.

Bepo looked down at the broken man. Law stepped forward and placed a hand on Bepo’s arm.

“I’ve got him,” he said gently. “It’s okay now.” Bepo released him.

Law knelt beside Sanji, brushing rain soaked hair from his eyes. Those eyes still burned white hot, but behind them, Law saw the flicker of recognition. Of pain. Of Sanji.

“Sanji,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Fight it. Please. This isn’t you. Don’t let it win.” No answer.

Law cupped his face, his thumb brushing over the skin along his jaw.

"You have to come back," Law whispered. "This isn’t who you are. Your crew needs you. Luffy needs you. Zoro needs you. I—" His voice cracked, sharp and vulnerable. "I need you."

His fingers trembled as he cupped Sanji’s face, brushing against damp cheeks. Rain streaked over the golden strands that clung to Sanji’s brow. Law leaned down and pressed a kiss, desperate against lips that didn’t move. Eyes stared skyward. Unblinking.

Bepo stood close, breath held, heart pounding so hard it thundered in his ears. He’d only seen Law break like this twice—once, standing at the ruins of Flevance… and, every year on the anniversary of the day the Ope Ope no Mi carved his future into stone. Moments when Law’s edges, usually so sharp and unflinching, began to crumble.

Sanji’s chest rose sharply, like he was gasping for something unreachable—then went still again. The eyes shifted.

Gone was the burning white, the mechanical void. In their place soft, stormy blue. Tired, unfocused, but alive. Glassy with exhaustion. Sanji’s body went limp like a puppet with its strings cut.

Law didn’t hesitate he folded Sanji against him, clutching him tightly, protectively, like something precious returned from the dead. Bepo stepped forward, his posture rigid but waiting for a cue. Law gave a small nod. That was all he needed.

In one swift motion, Bepo scooped them both up and launched into the night. Rain slicked down his white fur, rooftops flashing by beneath massive leaps. He moved with purpose toward the dock, toward the Polar Tang cradling his captain and the man his captain could not bear to lose.

The submarine’s internal lights flickered on with a low hum, casting sterile white beams through the hatch as it slid open with a hiss. Rain pounded against the hull above, still furious, muted by the steel shell of safety. Bepo landed on the deck with a wet thud, his fur soaked and heavy. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving from the sprint. Law slid from his grip, still clutching Sanji tightly in his arms.

Ikkaku was already rushing forward from the corridor. Shachi and Penguin stood frozen mid step in the hallway, eyes widening at the sight of Sanji’s limp body drenched, pale, unmoving. One look at Law’s face was all it took. Law moved fast, footsteps echoing down the hall as the recovery room doors opened with a pneumatic shff. He laid Sanji down on the bed. The surgeon’s touch fought a losing battle against the storm inside him. Opening the door again, he found his crew already waiting just beyond it. Silent. Ready.

“Dive. Now.” His voice was sharp, unwavering.

Without pause, the crew snapped into motion. Alarms chirped low and steady as the Polar Tang shifted and groaned, diving back beneath the waves.

Shachi and Penguin didn’t leave. They stepped into the room with Law, flanking him like the walls he didn’t know he needed. All three stared at the unconscious man on the bed, and for a long moment, Law couldn’t move. Couldn’t even look. He bit down on the inside of his lip, hard enough to split the skin. Blood welled quickly, sharp, grounding. He licked it away, jaw clenched, and forced himself forward.

Focus. Focus on what I can do.

He moved to Sanji’s side, already unfastening soaked fabric. He didn’t ask for help, but his friends were already there. Clothes were peeled away with practiced care, Penguin working silently at Sanji’s boots, Shachi unfastening the top. His skin was cold. They slipped him into a dry medical gown, tucking warmed blankets over his limbs.

Law’s hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. But then two warm hands pressed onto his shoulders. Firm. Steady.

“He came back once,” Shachi said quietly. “He’ll come back again,” Penguin added. “Sanji’s strong.” A gentle squeeze. The two men left the room.

Bepo was already waiting just outside. He stepped in slowly, no longer towering and monstrous back to his gentle, soft form. Tears clung to his fur, and more spilled down his cheeks as he crossed the threshold. He said nothing, only moved to Sanji’s side, ears low and trembling as he settled in. Law stood over the cook, his mind still burning, teeth clenched against everything that had just happened.

But Sanji was here. Breathing. For now—that was enough.

Law looked over at Bepo and before he could say anything, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the mink. Bepo stiffened for a second, then slowly returned the hug, burying his damp, rain-soaked fur into Law’s shoulder. Law didn’t care. The dampness. The cold. None of it mattered.

He just needed the warmth. The steady pressure of someone real. Someone who knew the weight of this moment. After a long breath, Law pulled back, hands still lingering a moment on Bepo’s shoulders before letting go. Bepo stayed close, gaze dropping to Sanji’s still body, eyes watching the slow, even rise and fall of the cook’s chest.

“…What happened?” he asked softly, voice thick with worry. “It—it felt like when he was on the table. During the surgery. That same… hum, I felt it from a few blocks away.” His words were careful, but his fur bristled slightly, ears twitching with tension. “Was it like that again?”

Law didn’t answer right away. His throat felt like it had closed in on itself. The memory was still fresh— it slashed through him like a hot blade. He opened his mouth once. Nothing.

Then again, this time the words came, low and hard. “He died.”

Bepo’s whole body tensed. His eyes flicked to Law, then back to Sanji in the bed. “He… what?”

Law pressed a hand to his temple. “It was like the first time. Something inside him… took over. Protected him. I don’t know how, I don’t know what it is yet, but he flatlined. I felt it. I saw it.” His voice cracked near the end. “Then… he came back. Just like before.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The kind of silence that settles between people when life and death brushing too close together.

Bepo looked over Sanji again, scanning the unconscious man’s form like he was trying to read the mystery in his bones. “…But he’s breathing now.”

“Yeah.” Law ran a hand through his hair, still damp and clinging to his forehead. “Yeah. He’s back. But whatever that was out there… it’s getting stronger.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, finally letting some of the exhaustion show in his posture. Bepo stayed standing, arms wrapped around himself.

“I thought we lost him,” Law whispered.

Bepo nodded, voice small. “Me too.”

The pressure shift as the sub descended deeper into the ocean pressed against his skin like a second heartbeat. His senses prickled—hypersensitive and raw, something inside him refused to settle.

"How could that even be possible?" Bepo’s voice was low but tense. “When he lashed out the first time, it made sense. But this time, he wasn’t… well. You know.”

Law said nothing, jaw flexing as he stared ahead. He was trying to piece it together too, mentally replaying each second of the encounter, each anomaly in Sanji’s body. The neural link he removed stabilized the Germa tech, to halt the transformation. He had studied the Punk Hazard files obsessively. He knew every modification Judge ever made, every horrifying blueprint cataloged under the Vinsmoke name.

He stood suddenly.

“Room.”

The familiar sound of energy expanding crackled through the medical bay. Law moved to Sanji’s bedside and, with a surgeon’s delicacy, lifted the unconscious man into the air. His body floated, unmoving, in the center of the sterile blue sphere.

“Scan.”

He hovered close, eyes narrowed. Bepo stepped aside silently, keeping out of the way as Law worked. His expression was unreadable—but his tail was still, and his ears alert. Watching everything.

Law’s gaze swept over Sanji’s form. No visible anomalies, no signs of trauma beyond what he already knew. Then he moved to the spine, placing both hands at its base. With one precise motion, he removed it vertebrae by vertebrae, sliding it out in one intact piece. The black alloy glinted under the soft light of the Room, unnervingly still. It didn’t fight him this time.

He traced its shape, his fingers brushing over the familiar curvature. The enhancements were intact. Nothing had changed on the outside. It looked… normal. Or at least, what passed for normal in Sanji’s case. Still suspended midair, Sanji’s body floated like a ghost in the tight medical room. Then Law moved higher.

He peeled back the flesh at the base of Sanji’s neck with steady hands, revealing the subtle, faintly glowing threads that laced through the base of the skull, translucent neural cables, humming ever so slightly. Law cupped the back of Sanji’s head, fingers weaving carefully between blond strands, and removed the skullcap with clinical ease.

The exposed brain shimmered, slick and alive under the light. The glowing cables ran straight into it. Law stared at them, breath held. His hand hovered in midair as his mind tried to reconcile what he was seeing.

“His brain looks normal…” he said quietly. The cords that fed into the folds of Sanji’s mind pulsed. Bepo said nothing. He had seen Law perform hundreds of surgeries. He had seen him cut enemies and allies open with the same steady hands.

But this? This was different. This was Law tearing open the man he couldn’t afford to lose.

Law brought the brain forward with reverent care, cradling it in his hands. Then, slowly he applied pressure with his thumbs. With a soft, wet crack, the organ parted, delicate folds peeling open like the segments of a ripe fruit. It wasn’t unlike the way he had handled his own lungs not long ago. 

Inside, nestled seamlessly within the grey matter, was a delicate lattice of glowing networks. Millions of them, threads finer than nerves that spun through synapses like spider silk woven into the folds of thought. Faint light pulsed across the embedded tech, not in harsh flickers. It was unlike anything he had seen. The integration was perfect. 

Law’s breath caught. He leaned in, eyes scanning across the neural pathways. It was mesmerizing, his fingers trembled slightly as he traced the glowing arcs, each pulse lighting up a different cluster of neurons.

A slow, steady flicker in a region of the brain Law recognized. Sanji was dreaming. The pattern repeated, blooming like an echo in the tissue. A laugh, a memory, a smell, each translated into data flowing across the Germa networks. He could only stare, heart thudding, as he watched the impossible unfold in his hands. This wasn’t just enhancement. This was evolution. And it terrified him.

Law stared, trying to rationalize what he was seeing. The complex neural network continued to pulse softly in front of him, a symphony of signals threading through Sanji’s brain. It should have made sense. It almost did. But the longer he looked, the more unsettled he felt.

His brow furrowed as he turned toward Bepo. The bear was already watching him with wide, wary eyes, sensing something was wrong—or about to be. Law looked back at the floating fragments of Sanji’s skull and that’s when he saw it. Just along the lining of the bone, nestled so perfectly in the curvature of the cranial plate that it could’ve been mistaken for marrow. A sliver of black alloy.

Law stepped forward, letting the suspended brain go still in the air as he reached toward the bone fragment. He exhaled, expanding the pieces gently with his fingers and Room. Thin cracks spread until the alloy shimmered in full, no longer hidden, no longer part of the illusion of natural bone, a nearly invisible mesh, threaded with tiny prongs running along its underside, hugging the curvature of the skull.

Bepo stepped forward quickly, grabbing his captain’s wrist. “Wait, Captain—what if he lashes out again? Last time, he almost killed you.” Law didn’t move. He just stared at the thing. So did Bepo. The two leaned in, almost nose to nose, squinting.

“What do you think it is?” Bepo whispered, voice tight.

Law exhaled slowly. “I honestly have no idea. It didn’t show up on the initial scan or any of the deeper layers before. It’s... too seamless. Built into the bone like it was meant to be invisible.”

They stepped back, one after the other.

Sanji hung suspended behind them like a disassembled specter, floating in the ghostly blue light of the Room. Brain open. Spine gleaming. Skull fragmented and turned inside out like an autopsy gone silent. Bepo hovered near the pieces again, glancing between the alloy mesh and the soft glow of the neural net embedded in the brain tissue.

Law paced. His boots scuffed against the floor with each tight circle.

“If the neural link was designed to override his biology,” he muttered, “and if the system is still activating under stress even after we stabilized it…”

He paused. “There’s still a trigger.” Law turned sharply, gaze locked on the fine mesh hovering in the air like a spiderweb.

“A hidden protocol.” He stepped closer to it, his breath fogging faintly as he approached, surgical focus overtaking the frantic thoughts. He reached out again.

“The activation of his Germa tech is directly linked into his brain stem,” Law muttered, voice low and reverent, as if afraid speaking too loudly would set it off again. “It sends the signal to keep Sanji alive... at any cost.”

He worked  peeling back more of the bone fragments with steady hands, tracing the threadlike metal filaments deeper into Sanji’s skull. Every movement brought him closer to the core, closer to something that felt like it wasn’t supposed to be found. Following the alloy down to the base of the skull, he paused at the tightly bound ligaments, the same ones he had so painstakingly reconstructed during the surgery.

“There.” His voice was sharper this time. Bepo stepped in quietly, eyes scanning where Law pointed. A glimmer of unnatural green pulsed at the edge of sight.

Buried just beneath a web of nerve endings and anchored against the curve of the brain stem was a small, flat green plate barely larger than a fingernail. It shimmered with a soft light, nestled so deep and so well-hidden it would’ve been impossible to detect without a full deconstruction.

It was… perfectly placed. Tucked just far enough that any attempt to remove it directly would mean cutting through the brain stem. It was surgical suicide. A kill switch buried in the most essential part of the body.

“You’d have to destroy his brain to reach it,” he said coldly. “That’s why it works. The machine only fully wakes up when death is certain.”

The humming of the sub deepened as if in agreement, pressure shifting as they dropped further beneath the sea. He looked at Bepo, eyes tired and raw but still burning with intensity. “I could take it out now,” Law whispered. “It would be the only chance to stop this from ever happening again. The healing—real healing—could begin.”

Bepo didn’t answer. He just stared down at the pulsing green plate, the way it nestled like a cancer in the center of Sanji’s most vulnerable place. He raised a claw to his mouth, chewing at it with a nervous edge. The weight of it hung between them like pressure before a storm. Law didn’t speak yet. He just stared, jaw clenching, the question echoing louder in his head than anything else.

"How do we know he won't lash out again? We are already really deep, and if he hits the wrong spot in the sub, it will be lights out for all of us." 

"I don't, but I need to do this while his body is resetting. He has not lashed out so far. His system must be overworked. Now or never, Bepo." Eyes met as Law lifted his hand towards the spinal cord. 

"I trust you, captain." Bepo stood right there as Law reached in, nimble fingers gripping the almost imperceptible chip that clung to the spinal cord of Sanji. 

He pulled slowly, like a bandage, waiting for any reaction from the unmoving body. A light humming started to echo from the body, and Law felt his room shift and vibrate as he pulled the chip slowly free. Bepo felt the waver in the devil fruit power. Just a little more, he tugged, and like a tablecloth being dragged from the table, the alloy came free, and the increasing level of the hum went silent in the hum of the nose of the ship. But also Sanji's breathing stopped. Law's eyes went wild as he saw the pulling of the neurons frantic without command. He quickly placed all the pieces back together and watched Sanji start to convulse. He laid Sanji back down, and he was seizing. Law climbed on top of him. 

"BEPO, GET EVERYONE TO THE SCAN ROOM!! SHAMBLES." Law moved them to the scan room, still straddling Sanji as he started chest compression. He saw the rush of his crew around him as they whirled in a flurry, bringing machines and getting a pulse and IV in all while Law did chest compressions. He was still not breathing. 

"Breathe, damn it!" Law felt the flex of ribs flexing, no longer moving to shield him in all his prodding over the last month. He pressed hard as the metal of his rib cage was unyielding. Law pushed his room out again. He reached his hand into Sanji's chest and gripped around his heart. He started to massage his heart as his vision went blurry. He knew his heart was still his. All the love and warmth had not been taken from him. His heart was still Sanji's.

He messaged and cradled the organ in his hand. The crew held still, all holding their breath as they watched Law over Sanji. 

"COME BACK, SANJI, PLEASE!! His hand held his heart, and a flutter brushed over his palm. Faint as his nimble fingers guided the pump into a smooth rhythm, blood returned to the cheeks of Sanji as Law held his hand there in his chest, waiting to make sure it could beat on its own. Tears hit the pale chest as he felt the steady beat of his heart in his hand. His diaphragm moved smoothly as he began to breathe on his own.

The crew sighed, slowly pulling his hand from his chest he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Stepping down he watched the steady color return to him. He watched his breath as his crew moved to get him set up with machines to monitor every movement. He moved with them to ensure Sanji's survival.

Law lay on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sleep, like most things these days, was elusive. The steady hum of the Polar Tang’s systems thrummed around him a constant, low reminder that the world moved on even when he couldn’t.

He turned his head toward the bedside table.

2:04 AM.

The hands on the alarm clock ticked at him like an accusation. Law sighed and rolled onto his side. His gaze landed on the cigarette case sitting beside the clock—Sanji’s. The one Law had given him. The lighter rested beside it, untouched, its familiar clink haunting him even in silence. Law stared at them for a long moment. Then longer still.

It had been three months.

Three months since the Cross Guild clash. Three months since Sanji collapsed, his body going limp in Law’s arms after the removal of that chip. Three months of stillness. Of beeping monitors and slow, labored breaths that weren’t quite natural. Of waiting for blue eyes to open again.

Sanji had been in a coma ever since.

Law didn’t know what unraveled faster: the chaos of that day—the near double death that cracked his crew’s morale—or the slow, irreversible decline of Sanji’s body in the days that followed. A body that was supposed to be near indestructible. A man whose fire had never once gone out before.

That chip. That impossibly thin alloy laced into the base of Sanji’s brain stem, it hadn’t just been a failsafe. It had been a support system. One Law had removed without a second thought, thinking only of freedom. Of returning something stolen. And maybe he had... but at what cost?

His hand clenched the edge of the mattress.

Sanji’s neural network—designed by Germa to override biological limitations—had been supported by that chip. And when Law tore it out, he severed the connection keeping Sanji’s system from collapsing. Now, even surrounded by machines meant to heal, Sanji’s body was losing ground. Withering. Law sat up slowly, elbows on his knees, and reached for the case. He popped it open. A single cigarette slid out, and he lit it with the lighter, letting the end glow orange in the dark. The inhale burned.

It didn’t smell right. Not the way it did when Sanji smoked. That scent always hung in the air like memory—warm, faintly sweet. But this was sharp. Bitter. Still, he didn’t care. He needed something. Anything to wash just a fraction of the dread out of his lungs. Smoke curled around his fingers as he exhaled, staring at nothing. The vents carried it away slowly, almost reluctantly, as if even they knew what was slipping through his hands.

And across the ship, Sanji still didn’t move.

He had almost cleared the stash he’d given Sanji so long ago.

The cigarettes, tucked away in that silver case, were one of the last things left untouched since Sanji fell. Law could clear the toxins from his body easily—too easily—but something told him not to. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was punishment. Or maybe it was just something to feel in a world that had been drained of feeling for too long.

His own wellbeing had fallen to the wayside. Again.

His crew had tried, in the quiet way they always did. They reminded him—gently, insistently—that he couldn’t fall apart. Not when Sanji still hadn’t woken up. They took turns now, watching over the blond, keeping his vitals steady, logging even the smallest of changes. Tonight, it was Law’s turn to sleep.

Not that sleep ever came easy.

Outside the sub, a modern metropolis glimmered just a few miles from the coast. Close enough that the crew could slip into town and get whatever supplies they needed. Medicines. Fresh linens. Nutrients to keep Sanji stable. That, at least, was one burden taken off Law’s shoulders. One small relief in a storm of guilt.

He pulled the cigarette from his lips, tapping the ash into the ceramic tray he’d picked up earlier that week. His body felt heavy—exhausted—down to the bone. He rubbed his eyes, fingers dragging at the tension in his temples.

Then he inhaled again, deep, one long drag to finish it off. He held the smoke in his lungs until it stung, until it pushed something out of him he couldn’t name. Then, quickly, he stubbed it out and slid beneath the covers. Blankets cocooned him. They were soft against his skin, still faintly carrying the scent of Sanji—something warm, spiced, and impossible to replicate. It clung to him more than the smoke ever could.

Law closed his eyes.

For the first time that night, the ache in his chest quieted enough to let the exhaustion drag him under.

His eyes opened to the soft tickle in his nose. He was warm. Aching, but warm.

Instinctively, Law curled into himself, pulling the heavy fabric around him tighter. A deep, slow exhale brushed over his hair—steady, familiar. Cora always slept like a rock, and tonight was no different. Law tucked his face deeper into the thick, heart-patterned shirt, insulating himself from the cold that crept into the cover of the coat. It wasn’t snowing, but the chill on the island bit deep.

He was a small thing again, ragged, brittle, balled up like a feral kitten in Cora’s lap. The weight of exhaustion and disease pressed down on his frail frame, but Cora’s presence dulled the ache. Here, under that ridiculous coat, nothing could hurt him. A trembling hand gripped the fabric over Cora’s chest. He felt the heavy warmth of a palm resting against his back, holding him there. Steadying him. 

Law’s skin, pale and bruised with the white lead disease, pulsed with pain, but he didn’t care. Not here. Not in this moment. He pressed his forehead tighter against Cora’s chest, as if he could stay frozen in that sliver of time forever—the only true comfort he had known in his young life.

Eventually, his eyes opened again. His face was still buried in that same shirt. But as he pulled back, he saw something different. Law wasn’t young anymore.

He looked the way Law remembered him in his mind’s quietest moments: older, worn, but smiling. His red eyes gleamed gently in the soft light that pooled in around them, moonlight, maybe, or something dream-spun.

And then—Cora spoke.

“You saved yourself, kid,” he said, voice low and rough, but so real. “You already know what to do.”

He reached down, cupping Law’s face in both hands. That smile, the one Law had tried so hard not to forget, broke across his features, pure and kind.

“Give him one more chance to smile.”

Law’s breath hitched. His eyes closed as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Cora’s chest. He gasped, holding onto the edges of the dream, onto the ghost of warmth and voice and memory, even as it began to drift as his mind drifted into a heavier dreamless sleep.

Law woke up to Bepo shaking him awake. "Captain, Captain, LAW, WAKE UP." The heavy weight of well-rested sleep was replaced by the frantic voice of his navigator. 

"Bepo—" Then Law was awake, eyes sharp, and he did not hesitate. A quick teleport and both Bepo and Law were in the scan room. Where Shanchi and Penguin were watching the monitors, one on each side of the table. The shift in the room as Law stood barely clothed. Bepo rested a hand on his shoulder with a gentle push. 

"Hey, Law." His voice was raspy and worn from disuse. But it was warm, a small, fragile smile was on his face. 

Sanji was awake.

Notes:

Well that happened. We had to tare the band aid off sooner rather then later.

Brighter chapters to come I promise!

I love feedback, please let me know how you liked it, until next chapter ;p

Chapter 11: Tell me the truth

Summary:

The StrawHat crew gets cleaned up. Sanji and Law brake open to each other.

The crew was stretched out across the sun-warmed deck, sprawled on the grass in quiet contentment. It was haircut day—something of a ritual now—and Brook stood over them with his golden scissors gleaming in the light, moving from head to head with practiced grace.

“Luffy, please hold still,” Brook said gently, guiding the captain’s chin between his skeletal fingers.

Luffy blinked up at him, eyes following the shine of the blades as they snipped carefully across his line of sight. Tufts of black hair drifted down to the deck in soft waves, and soon Brook spun him around with a flourish, brushing loose clippings from the cape tied around his neck.

“There you go. Nice and clean, my captain!” he said with cheer.

“Woohoo!” Luffy jumped up and immediately bolted toward Jinbe, who was sunbathing nearby with a wide-brimmed hat tipped over his eyes. He landed on him with an oof, sprawling across the larger man like a sleepy cat.

“Nami, you’re next?” Brook asked, turning.

She stood and approached, her long orange hair fluttering in the sea breeze. “Yeah. Just trim the ends, please. That last island really fried it.”

She sat with her legs crossed, arms folded under the cape as Brook started brushing through her layers. But the more he combed, the more damage he saw. What started as a light trim turned into several inches falling away.

Nami’s eyes narrowed at the long strands hitting the deck. “Brook. Just the damaged ends, okay?”

Brook bent slightly, his hollow sockets meeting her gaze with unspoken concern. “I am, Miss Nami. I promise. But there’s more than usual. I can stop if you'd like—but I’m only cutting what’s already frayed.”

She huffed, resigned. “Fine.”

He continued in silence. It struck him—Nami never let her hair get like this. She was meticulous. Always careful, always precise. He didn’t say anything, just finished up and gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder as she stood and walked away, her steps just a little heavier than usual.

Brook gathered the fallen hair and examined it. Brittle. Split. Dry. He looked back across the deck. The usual rotation for haircuts had a rhythm, an unspoken order. And habitually, Sanji’s turn came after Nami’s.

Brook paused. His scissors stilled in his hand. He glanced at the others, scanning them more closely.

Luffy’s cheeks were paler than normal, his laugh not quite as loud.
Usopp had faint shadows beneath his eyes.
Franky’s hands were raw and cracking more than usual.
Robin sat with her book open, eyes drifting unfocused, somewhere far away.
Chopper’s fur, once gleaming, had dulled around the edges.
Jinbe’s skin, normally vibrant with sea salt and strength, seemed faded in saturation.
And Nami… Nami’s hair had never looked like that before.

Brook stood in the center of them all, holding strands of orange silk in one hand and scissors in the other, and realized Sanji’s absence wasn’t just in their hearts or at their dinner table. It was showing up in their bodies.

And Zoro looked the worst of them all.

He bore a fresh scar now—one that ran down his left jaw, carving a sharp line just inches from the corner of his mouth. But more than that, he was smaller. Anyone who truly knew Zoro would notice it: the muscle he carried like armor, the bulk that had always been part of his relentless training… it had thinned. His form, once brimming with stamina and brute strength, looked carved down by time and strain. Brook guessed he’d dropped at least fifteen pounds since Sanji had left. The skeleton let the last strands of hair fall from his fingers. He stood quietly for a moment, gaze sweeping over the crew again. They were eating. They were surviving. But they weren’t thriving. Not like before.

Sanji’s food hadn’t just nourished them, it had built them. Shaped them. Loved them. Every meal had been tailored with care: to strengthen Luffy, to enhance Zoro’s training, to keep Chopper’s fur glossy and Nami’s hair luminous. Every dish had flavor, purpose, and warmth poured into it like medicine. Brook hadn’t realized just how deeply that love had woven into them until now—now that it was gone, and their bodies had started to show the absence. His eyes returned to Zoro. The cape still hung from Brook’s fingers, the chair empty. Waiting.

“Zoro?” he asked softly. “Did you want a haircut this time around?”

The swordsman’s hair was longer now, The once aggressive cut that matched his sharp temper. It had grown shaggy, drifting past his ears. Lately, he’d started pushing it back with a hand before tying on his bandana, the way men do when they stop caring for their own reflection.

“I’m good,” Zoro muttered. He had his hands laced behind his head, eyes closed, leaned against the mast in his usual place. Brook didn’t push. He simply exhaled, a slow breath escaping through a mouthless smile as he let the last of the hair blow off the deck. But his eyes lingered a little longer on Zoro. He had taken the distance the hardest. Everyone knew it, even if no one said it aloud. It was in the way he snapped more often now, the way his eye rolled sharper at every mention of Sanji’s name. The scoffs, the silence. The unspoken ache. He was dealing with it the only way Zoro knew how—by bearing it in silence. And with the news spreading that Sanji had been with Law this whole time, more pirate crews had begun circling. Pressuring Luffy. Challenging his title as a new Emperor. Zoro didn’t have time to mourn. His job was to protect. To fight. And he had.

Zoro always fought hard—but lately, it was different. Reckless in a way that wasn’t calculated. Driven, but dulled. His movements had sharpness, but his mind lagged—he’d taken more hits to the blind spots, more wounds that Chopper had to stitch together under strained silence.

Brook let his gaze drift back toward the horizon. The ocean was quiet today, but it was a silence that felt heavy, not peaceful.

He gripped the edge of the railing with his bony fingers.

I wonder how Sanji is doing.

The thought was soft, but it echoed through the hollow of his chest like a song without words. That golden light Sanji carried, always fussing, always smiling, always cooking something, it had left a void that food alone couldn’t fill. Not just in the galley, but in all of them. Especially Zoro. Brook glanced over just as the swordsman cracked one eye open. Zoro let out a slow exhale, the kind that came from a place deep in the chest. He wasn’t asleep, hadn’t been for a while. Just... quiet. Letting the sun soak into his bones and the ache settle deeper.

Zoro lay there, eyes open now, staring up at the sky that stretched endlessly overhead. It wasn’t blue anymore. It had faded to that strange, washed-out color the world takes when something’s missing. His hand moved to the scar along his jaw. Fresh. Still a little tender.

He’d earned it during a fight. A dirty hit, unexpected—because Zoro hadn’t cared enough to dodge. The fight had ended in victory, but it hadn’t felt like one. It hadn’t felt like much of anything. Zoro’s fingers curled into the fabric of the shirt at his chest. It still smelled faintly of spices. Of tobacco. Of something warm and alive that hadn’t been on this ship in months. He closed his eyes again.

There was no sleep waiting for him.

The warm golden eyes met the stormy blue ones. There was a faint ring that outlined his eyes, deepening the intensity of his irises. The crew moved to give them a moment but Bepo did not budge. The last image of Sanji while he was moving was in an attempt to harm Law. Law looked back at Bepo and gave a silent nod. Moving towards Sanji, Bepo did not move from the spot. Sanji watched Bepo's hesitation and looked at Law a few times back and forth, trying to piece the story together. Law stood next to Sanji's bedside. 

Bepo took a step and reluctantly and left the room. Law stared into his eyes for a long time. Sanji held the long look with a soft smile. Law leaned in a little closer. He scanned over him with a critical lens. Every movement, no matter how faint, was noted. His hair had grown and was now resting gently on his shoulders, brushing over them in his movements. His cheeks were slightly hollow and his skin a sickly pale color. His muscle that had already been converted held its form. 

Legs, back, hips, shoulders, neck, abs, and chest, but his hands were shaking as he lifted his hand to touch Law. 

Law pulled away as their eyes snapped together once more. He could not ignore the faint halo that rimmed his irises. When Law pulled away, the slight downturn in his mouth shifted the colors of his eyes slightly. The light was reflecting a deep sea blue now. Sanji looked for anything across the doctor's face. Law sat on the edge of the bed with a practiced balance of space, crossing his legs. 

"Sanji." Slowly turning towards the captain, eyes shifting to a crystal blue, like a sea just off the shore of a tropical island. 

"Yes, Law?" His voice was raw and cracked with each word. 

"You have been out for a long time. I need to tell you what is going on." He reached for Sanji's hand, and Sanji leaned into the touch.

"I am all ears, Doc." Sanji squeezed his hands with trembling strength.

Law looked down at the hands he chased, memorized, and obsessed over. His coarse fingertips drew small circles into the soft knuckles.

"A lot happened, and I am not sure—" He stumbled, he only lost his voice around this man, who he had watched relentlessly for days. Whose voice circled in his mind. Blue Eyes touched him in his sleep. "You have been out for three months." Small passes over Sanji's fingers in a small attempt to soften the blow.

"Huh," it was casual. As Law stopped tracing over his hand.

"Sanji I am not joking. This is serious. We- I-" Law pulled his hand back and pinched the bridge of his nose. He realized right then that Law had lived a relationship in this strange dynamic they shared for quadruple the time Sanji had. Sanji might as well spend an extended weekend with Law.

In comparison, it was a countless number of sleepless nights, unyielding tears, and pain tearing from his chest. Chain smoking to find any escape ate away at him more. All have lived in it for months at this point. Where Sanji had only experienced what Law had pieced together was a week at most? Sanji, even in this moment, was still pulling him, still holding the reins as he twisted Law seamlessly around his words.

Sanji cocked his head. "Law I think I know you well enough, you are not the joking type." Sanji reached back to find contact between them. Their hands touched. Law wanted to reach out and hold him, take his hands to his face, and brush his lips over Sanji's over and over again. He had missed him so much.

"What was the last thing you remember?" Law chewed the inside of his lip.

Sanji looked up in hazy memory. "Well... we went back to the city to resupply." He hesitated as the next events played out in his mind. His eyes shifted again, darker, and the slight glow brightened. It was a stark contrast between the emotions rolling through him and the Germa tech humming closer to the surface than ever.

"I-I." Sanji looked at Law with a want that asked for help.

"You flatlined,” Law said. No preamble. “More than once." It was like ripping a cat from a scratching post. It ripped and tore away at Law to say it.

Sanji blinked, head tipping slightly. “Guess I gave you a scare?”

“You died, Sanji.” Law’s voice didn’t rise, but it dropped sharply.

Sanji exhaled a weak chuckle, like Law had just told him he lost a bet.

“I mean, that tracks,” he said. “I’m a little tough on my equipment.” Law stood suddenly. Pushed away from the bed with a forced bottling down metal gowned in protest. He paced a slow, rigid circle like he was trying to physically hold back the next words.

“I need you to stop deflecting,” he said, turning on his heel to face him. “I need you to listen.”

Sanji’s smile faded—not entirely, but it dimmed into something quieter. His voice gentled. “I am listening, Law.”

“No, you're not.” Law came back to the edge of the bed. Every ounce of restraint in him was strained. “You keep treating this like a bruise. A bump you’ll walk off. You can’t walk this off Sanji."

A flicker of discomfort crossed Sanji’s eyes at that, but he stayed silent. The glow in his eyes shifted brighter against the nearly black irises. He felt his skin heat under the building tension in the room.

“Who knows how close you were to total conversion.” Law said. “The chip in your brain stem was the only thing that was pacing it, restraining it, so your body did not rip itself apart. I tore it out, and doing that almost killed you.”

Sanji looked down at his hands. “...But I’m not dead.”

“No,” Law said. “You’re not.”

The silence between them pulsed.

“But you’re also not alive in the same way anymore. You’re held together by my powers and your biology trying to remember how to be human without Germa telling it how.”

Sanji stared at him, eyes wide, still bright, still full of life, but slowly absorbing the gravity of what Law was saying. He let the words settle. His memory flashed through the last thing before the darkness. The pull and strain and blinding heat he endured as he was being pulled and puppeted through strained movement.

Then he tilted his head, his smile lazy and dry again.

“Well, Doc. You’ve always been good with your hands.”

Law stood so fast The bed Sanji laid on tilted slightly in its bolted frame. “Goddamn it, Sanji!” The air in the room shifted pressure built. It wasn’t just frustration. It was panic. Fear. The kind Law never showed. Sanji froze, the sound still echoing in his ears.

“I need you to take this seriously,” Law said. “I’ve been carrying your fucking heart in my hands for months. Every time I sleep, I see you—gray, convulsing, not breathing. If it happens again, I don’t know if I can bring you back.”

Sanji blinked slowly, that smile cracking at the corners now. The room felt heavier, somehow smaller. The silence after Law’s words. Sanji's eyes glowed a fraction brighter and nearly black. Law didn’t move. Three months of holding cold skin, of wondering if the warmth would ever return, if the man beneath the monitors would ever so much as blink again, and now here he was, flirting, almost spitting at the time Law had given him. The care ripped away as if it was a passing thought.

“I’m not joking,” Law said, voice low and splintering. “You almost died, and you keep acting like it was nothing.”

“I’m acting like I’m here.” Sanji reached out and took Law’s hand. “You want me to cry about it? I can cry. I’m very pretty when I cry.”

Law closed his eyes and took a breath. The kind he used in surgery, just before making the first cut.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what?” Sanji’s voice dropped into velvet, Sanji's way of distracting from the current reality they both found themselves in. He leaned in closer, pushing his chest forward, taking the tattooed hand once more, bringing Law's hand towards him, resting it between his collarbones. “Don’t you feel something after all this time? Don’t make it worse by being exactly who I am?”

Law ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, exhaling hard. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, you did.” Sanji’s voice turned quieter. Not angry. Just... resigned. “You mean I’m something else now. Something's fucked. That’s fine. I’ve been there before.”

“You’re not—” Law started, then stopped himself. He stepped forward again, grasping Sanji’s jaw, gently turning his face up to him, thumb against his cheekbone, putting both hands to his face. “You are you. I fought for you. I lost sleep and sanity and blood for you, and I’m watching it slip through my fingers before my eyes.”

Sanji blinked, lashes brushing Law’s fingers. “So take what you want, Doctor.”

Law froze.

Sanji’s smile was lazy and a little too sharp around the edges. “Isn’t that what you do? Cut into things, see what makes them tick?”

His fingers found the front of Law’s shirt, tugging gently, pulling the man down to eye level once more. His eyes shifted again to the sky blue and warm. “You’ve already taken me apart once; might as well get the full picture.”

“You’re impossible,” Law said, hoarse.

“And yet, here I am.” Sanji spoke with an edge that left a bitter taste in Law's mouth. “Alive. Awake. Offering myself up like a lamb for your dark little altar.”

Law’s breath hitched. His hands dropped. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Sanji’s grin didn’t falter, the shield was beginning to crack. “Pretend this doesn’t terrify me? Pretend I’m not wondering if I’ll wake up tomorrow with a fuse lit in my spine. If I go off like a goddamn time bomb with you in the blast radius?”

Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Law stepped back, hands shaking.

“That’s exactly why you have to stop playing. This isn’t a game. You don’t get to seduce your way out of this.”

Sanji swallowed and looked away. For once, the smile didn’t return right away.

"Well, if we are going to get me back to my normal self, I need food." Sanji swung his feet to meet the ground. Not the cold of Law's room as before. As the Polar Tand had been bobbing in the sun for weeks, warming the ship naturally.

"Sanji, I need you to understand the tech in your body is nothing like I have seen before. It is far beyond what Germa has done or at least written down." He held firm at the shifting cook. He tilted his hat to hide his eyes from him. Sanji pushed off the bed trying to escape. Law held him down with a hand to his shoulder.

"Law, let me up."

"No."

Sanji exhaled, his hands still trembling, his legs coiled. Law felt the building strength, he held Sanji there as Sanji's body readied itself. The tension in the room was sharp. Both men sat still for a moment. Sanji moved first; it was a swift as Sanji attempted to move to his side, Law turned and grabbed him by the gown. Sanji was supporting his weight. Even though it was much slower than he wanted it to be.

"Don't do this." Law said with eyes still hidden. It was the tone Law took when he was out in public, detached.

"Let me go Law."

"No." 

Sanji dropped to sweep the man off his feet. But Law was already gone. Sanji looked over the room. He slowly stood up. His breath bloomed in the steady cold of the scan room. His eyes burned a few shades off from the inhuman white. Sanji was still, he knew Law would not leave him in this moment, he was close but where? He felt the fuzzy nature of Law's room still present in the room. 

The shock of cold wind hit his face as the scan room vanished.

For a split second, all Sanji saw was moonlight and stars—and then the roaring sea below, the city glittering like broken glass across the horizon. His descent had been fast. Law had moved him. Sent him away.

Fucking bastard.

Sanji twisted mid-air, gown billowing, feet barely skimming across the air as he arrested his fall. His limbs trembled under their own weight. The crisp wind cut through the fabric like knives, and still, he hovered there suspended over the vast void, chest heaving, eyes blazing. 

For one breath, he considered it. How easy it would be to let go. A silent fuzziness still dulled the edges of Sanji’s awareness. He was still inside Law’s Room.

Zzzzt—shing—shing—shing—

Strikes. Too many. The air cracked with flashes of slicing precision—Law’s scalpel like swings carving into Sanji in pinprick strikes too fast to counter. And in the same breath—

Gone.

Sanji was back on the Polar Tang, flat on the deck, stunned and wide-eyed.

Law stood over him, a blur of motion. Sanji tried to move, but something was wrong. His arms… legs… ribs… they weren’t together. He collapsed into a heap of parted limbs and chest pieces, dismantled and disarmed like a doll pulled apart at the seams.

Floating just above Law’s palm— his heart. Beating, slow, steady.

"You really forced my hand, Sanji," Law said, voice taut as a piano wire. "Why won’t you listen to me?" He didn’t meet Sanji’s eyes. Sanji stared from the deck, chest heaving in pieces. Mouth slack with disbelief.

"Even now, you’re hiding behind it," Law whispered. "Flirting, charming, running. Even when you're scared. Bleeding or not, you never stop. Even now. Why do you refuse to let yourself feel it?"

Sanji’s voice came, gritted between teeth, from where his head lay tipped sideways. "Give it back."

Law was quiet for a long moment. The stillness between the men stretched as he found his voice one more

"I kept pulling you back—over and over—because I refuse to lose you!"

Sanji didn’t respond. He just stared at the heart. His last real thing.

"Over and over and OVER AGAIN," Law’s breath trembled in the cold. "So stop pretending like this doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter. I’m not letting you kill yourself over trying to be enough."

Sanji didn’t move.

He stared at his heart. At Law. At the hand that had so often wielded scalpel and blade without hesitation, now cradling the last piece of him that was still his. And Law… was looking at him with that same careful, desperate precision he’d used when cutting him open, when stitching him back together, when trying to save what no one else could see was breaking.

Sanji's throat clicked as he swallowed, dry and thin. “Law…” His voice cracked.

“I didn’t ask you to save me,” he whispered, but it came out more like please than protest. His eyes burned. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Law dropped to his knees beside the scattered parts of him, the heart still held delicately in one hand. “I know,” he said. “But I still did. I chose to.”

And then—click.

Law pressed a piece of Sanji’s shoulder back into place with a careful, magnetic touch of his Room. Then his left arm. Then his hip. One piece at a time.

“I’ve been doing this for months,” Law murmured. “Every day. Putting you back together. Piece by piece. Not because I had to—because I wanted to.”

Sanji watched, unable to stop the way his breath trembled with every soft click and hum of his own body returning to itself under Law’s hands. It was unbearable.

The hot pressure behind his eyes spilled over. His face twisted, trying to hold it in—lips curled back in defiance, in panic, in anything but what it really was.

“I didn’t want to be a fucking burden!” he shouted suddenly, hoarse, shattered. “I didn’t want to make you care! I just did not want to be—”

“You didn’t make me.” Law said simply. He slid the last rib into place.

Sanji covered his face with shaking hands, shoulders buckling forward now that his body was whole enough to break. The sob that tore from his throat was raw and ugly and so human it hurt.

Law finally reached for the last piece—his heart—and leaned in close.

“I’m not saving you because you’re broken, Sanji,” he said, eyes unwavering. “I’m saving you because I care about you.”

He pressed the heart gently back into Sanji’s chest, and Sanji broke, all at once. Arms around Law, forehead in his collar, sobbing. The pain. The loneliness. The lies he told himself just to keep going—all of it spilled out into the only place he had left to fall.

Into Law.

Sanji didn’t let go for a long time.

Fingers pressed into Law’s back like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. His sobs had quieted to a rasp in his throat, but his body still trembled with aftershocks. Law said nothing. He didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t move to pull away or dress the moment in logic. He simply held Sanji close, chest to chest, bare skin pressed between tattered pieces of gown.

Sanji’s voice croaked out into the silence. “I’m sorry.”

Law didn’t respond. Just tightened his grip a fraction, enough for Sanji to feel it in his spine.

“I wanted to protect you,” Sanji muttered, eyes glassy. “I didn’t want you to see it—that I was... I am... scared.”

Law pulled back enough to look at him, fingers still curled around the back of his neck. “So am I.” Sanji looked like he might cry again—but this time, something in the tension of his shoulders shifted. Loosened. His breathing was still ragged, but no longer fractured. They took one another in. Law pulled him into a gentle embrace, fingers splayed along his lower back. as Sanji's arms wound around Law's shoulders. A fresh start with something more tangible and honest between one another. Law stood in the moonlight helping Sanji up. He held him in that moment, cupping his face. Turning his head to perfectly angle down to Sanji.

"Can I kiss you?" He waited with bated breath. The stormy blue eyes that Law dreamt of returned to him in that moment. He watched the color shift beautifully. Like a liquid, shifted according to his thoughts, laid bare for one who watched close enough.

Sanji leaned in slightly, pressing his arms over Law's shoulders, slightly standing on his toes.

"Yes." Law was slow and careful. Like it was the first time they truly kissed one another.

They pulled back at the same time, and a smile was there on Law's face. He opened his eyes to the man he had been saving for months, dreaming of, chasing. That raw truth he knew Sanji held, and Law was drowning in the feeling. He rests his forehead to Sani's once more, holding him in the crisp night air. A shiver rushed over Sanji as wind raced past them. Pulling into Law's chest, he pulled his back to his chest, seeking warmth.

"Let's get back inside. You said you are hungry?" Law was already leading Sanji back to the hatch that hung open, waiting for them.

"I think I can wait." He rested his head on Law's shoulder, and his head dipped as sleep tried to take him all at once again. Law quickly scooped him up in practiced motion and walked him back into the sub. Sanji was lulling in and out of sleep as the lights brushed over his heavy lids. It was all too much too fast. His body was still exhausted and fighting to keep his body functioning. Law paced back to the scan room while the crew rubbernecked at the site. It was becoming oddly familiar, the sight of Sanji in Law's arms like this. Sanji reached up to Law's jawline, lining it with his finger.

"Your room?" Sanji's eyelids were heavy; sleep was quickly taking him. Law looked at him as he fought to resist his tired body. The look Law was giving him was so soft, filled with so much care, Sanji did not want to miss any of it.

"Ok, Sanji." He lost the battle with sleep as he slipped under. Soft heavy breathing took him as Law made his way to his room. He elbowed the button, and the door slid open, and the duo stepped inside. Gently laying him down and removing the gown with practiced ease. He was not unfamiliar with the sight of Sanji, but in this moment Law drank him in. He slipped out of his own clothes and slid in next to Sanji. There was only the want to be close to the man he had fallen for. As the steady rise and lower of breath from Sanji guided him into his own sleep.

Notes:

Let me know what you think, I love feedback, until next time ;p

Chapter 12: A Well Tailored Relationship

Summary:

Law and Sanji go shopping! While getting very distracted with one another.

Notes:

Sorry its a bit longer then the normal ones. I really do love writing in small spaces with shop scenes. I cant stop, so you get two this time around. Enjoy!

A soft breath rolled over his neck, followed by the tickle of scruffy hair as Sanji slowly opened his eyes. His body felt heavy, unfamiliar, but warm. He stirred gently, turning his head just enough to see him—Law, still asleep.

That unruly patch of dark hair brushed his neck with each exhale. Law’s breath was steady, warm. The shadows under his eyes were deep from too many sleepless nights. His hair was a mess in all the right ways.

Sanji glanced toward the bedside table. The cigarette case Law had given him months ago was still there, exactly where it had always been. He thought to reach for it—but stopped.

Law was fully pressed against him, arms wrapped around him, legs tangled with his in that lazy, grounding way. Sanji could feel every point of contact.

The warmth was overwhelming—gentle and real, all the jagged edges worn down. For once, Law wasn't running calculations or barking orders. He was just... here. Sanji let himself feel it.

He smiled to himself and set the old shield aside—the instinct to keep space, to retreat behind wit or flirtation—and allowed himself to be held. To be wanted. To be protected. It was something he never expected to feel like this. Not in this way. Not from someone who had cut through so many of his walls.

He thought of Luffy, who had wanted him on his crew. Of Zeff, who had saved the life of an angry, starving boy. And now—Law. Who fought for the last fragile pieces of him that Sanji hadn’t known were still worth saving.

A soft chuckle escaped him, more breath than sound.

“Mmhmm… what’s so funny?” Law murmured against his neck, his voice rough with sleep. He burrowed in closer, nudging Sanji’s skin with his nose like he was trying to memorize the warmth.

Sanji let out a soft sigh. “Just… letting myself feel us. Right now. Here.” He found Law’s tattooed hands and laced their fingers together, drawing them to his chest. Law didn’t answer. But the breath that ghosted across Sanji’s cheek said enough.

Peace lingered between them like warm sunlight through glass—undisturbed, unhurried. They lay tangled in the hush between heartbeats, stretched as long as it needed. For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, there was no pressure to move. No ticking clock. No breath caught in the throat.

A low rumble rose from Sanji’s stomach, just beneath the hand Law had resting against him. The faintest vibration. Law smiled against the place where their fingers were laced together, snug and steady between them.

Sanji chuckled, sheepish.

“Mmhmm… you’re hungry,” Law murmured, not moving yet—just letting the moment linger on his tongue like sweetness.

“Yeah,” Sanji said, voice rough but light. Law shifted, only slightly, pressing his face deeper into the crook of Sanji’s neck—that hollow where his scent lived strongest. Smoke. Salt. Warmth.

He could stay here forever, just listening to the steady rhythm of a heart. Sanji tilted his chin, wordlessly offering more of his neck.

His breath caught as Law’s lips brushed along the pulse point. A quiet hum escaped Law’s throat, vibrating faintly against Sanji’s skin. Shivering Law gathered him closer in response.

He blew gently, brushing a loose strand of blond hair from Sanji’s face, to see him more clearly. The elegant slope of his jaw. The pulse of his throat. The subtle bob of his adam’s apple when he swallowed. His hair had grown, curling slightly at the ends.

There was a softness to him, unguarded in a way that felt new. Law let his gaze drift, slowly taking him in. The curl of his brows. The faint scruff ghosting his cheek. The tiny twitch at the corner of his lips when he smiled without meaning to.

"We've kept the fridge stocked," Law murmured, still holding Sanji close. "And Bepo's gotten quite good at making pancakes."

"That sounds nice," Sanji said softly, almost dreamily. He didn’t want to move. Skin to skin like this, wrapped in warmth, a kind of touch was rare for him. Not the fevered kind, not desperate or passing. It was the kind of intimacy that didn’t ask for anything but trust.

But Law pulled away first, and Sanji let him go. He watched the other man rise, shoulders strong, back muscles taut, sideburns precisely groomed. That same golden gaze Sanji had lost himself in more times than he could count now caught him again.

Law moved with that clinical grace of his, like every movement had a purpose. He crossed the room, opened the small closet, and picked out a well-loved hoodie and a familiar pair of pajama pants. They slid over his long, lean legs and hung just low enough on his hips to draw Sanji’s eye to where his piercings were barely hidden.

God, Sanji thought, cheeks warming, I'm so far gone. It was difficult to think with him around, with their new found warmth between them. Law picked up Sanji’s travel bag from the corner and brought it to him.

"What do you feel like wearing today?" he asked, kneeling beside the bed and unzipping it for him. The question was casual, but his tone was fond.

He propped himself up on one elbow and tapped his finger against his lip in mock thought. "Well... that really depends on what’s on the docket today," he teased gently. He didn’t look directly at Law, not when warmth pooled in his chest just from hearing that soft chuckle in response. It was a beautiful sound.

Law let the smile reach his eyes. “Well, there’s a bakery in town. Small, tucked between two alleys. But their pastries reminded me of the ones in the North Blue. I think you’d appreciate it.”

He danced seamlessly with Law now.

Sanji looked at him, expression unreadable for a beat. He remembers everything.

"Breakfast, then a trip to the island?" he offered casually, voice soft. “I think there’s still a clean pair of slacks in there… and that deep blue button-down.”

Law nodded once, already reaching into the bag with practiced familiarity. He pulled the slacks free and placed them neatly beside Sanji on the bed. Then, shifting a few things aside, he located the shirt and laid it out too. Sanji reached in after, pulling out a jockstrap in a matching saturated blue and tossed it onto the pile.

Law raised an eyebrow.

“Anything else?” he asked, amused.

“Maybe a shower?” Sanji replied, already stretching.

“Done.”

Without hesitation, Sanji gathered the clothes, flicked the blankets aside, and stood. Law extended a hand on practiced permission. Sanji met his gaze, pushed his Room outward with a flick of his fingers, and placed his hand in Law’s.

“Ready?”

“Always.” He took his hand without a second thought.

They appeared in the shower room, steam already clinging to the tile from residual heat. Sanji was already bare, walking without shame or hesitation. The place was empty, save for the low hiss of water running somewhere deep in the pipes. Law moved with the same quiet confidence, taking the bundle of clothes from Sanji’s arms and setting them aside without a word.

He reached for the supplies Sanji preferred—his shampoo, his comb, the scrub Sanji always muttered about being “good for combat grease”—and set them within reach. Then, methodically, Law stripped out of his own clothes.

Sanji tried not to stare. 

Even at rest, Law’s body was something that caught his breath, long lines of lean muscle, marked with tattoos and old scars. His cock hung heavy between his thighs, swaying slightly as he moved. Sanji felt his face warm but didn’t look away.

Law caught the glance. He didn’t say anything, but there was a faint tilt of his mouth as he turned the shower on, steam curling around his frame. As always, he cranked the heat until the water was just shy of boiling. Exactly how Law liked it.

Sanji, ever the opposite, twisted the dial to cooler settings. Tepid at best. He liked the cold to wake him up beneath the spray—clear his mind, start his rhythm for the day.

Side by side, they fell into quiet motions. The intimacy wasn’t in words but in the ease of routine. Sanji tilted his head back, hands working through his soaked hair, dragging fingers from root to tip. It was longer now, longer than he preferred. Wet strands clung to his neck and cheekbones. He held one out and glanced to the side.

“Hey, Law… anyone on board cut hair?”

“Shachi does,” Law replied, briefly peeking over. He clocked the golden strands spilling down Sanji’s neck. “Thinking of trimming it?”

Sanji shrugged, then let the strand fall back. “Yeah. Might need to pick up some more ties in town if he doesn’t get to it soon.”

Law turned his face into the stream and ran a hand over his face. “Hnh. Shame. I was getting used to it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then a soft chuckle from Sanji. “Well, hair ties it is then.”

They had finished bathing and were toweling off in the humid warmth of the room. Law dressed quickly, slipping into his casual wear with ease. Sanji, on the other hand, took his time.

Painfully so.

He dragged the waistband of his underwear up in one long, fluid motion. The fabric slid over the firm curve of his ass with all the deliberate elegance of a man who knew exactly who watched. Law’s mouth twitched, the corner of his lip betraying him. A hot breath slipped past his teeth. He tried not to look—but Sanji bent forward just a little too far, lingered a little too long, the bulge perfectly cradled. Sanji was studying him now, silently testing every edge of Law’s restraint with casual perfection.

And it was working.

Law twitched with want. A steady thrum beneath the skin. His eyes stayed locked on the way Sanji’s back muscles moved beneath the surface of damp skin, steam still curling like fingers over his shoulder blades. Sanji slipped his shirt on slowly, the fabric dragging across his chest and down his sides. He fastened each button without hurry, smoothed the hem down with the heel of his palm, and folded the collar just right. Then came the cuffs—neat rolls to the elbow, the familiar ritual of someone who had repeated these motions a thousand times.

It wasn’t overt. Nothing was exaggerated or played up. It was real tactile rhythm. A man putting himself back together piece by piece and allowing Law to witness it. It riled him more than anything Sanji could have said aloud. A hunger that lived in stillness. In routine. In the trust of simply being seen.

Law exhaled sharply and pressed his back to the wall beside the bathhouse door, jaw tight. His breath came shallower now, and the soft cotton of his pajama pants began to betray the tension low in his gut. He couldn’t pull his gaze away.

Sanji pulled his pants up slowly, letting the fabric drag purposefully over his thighs. Law’s eyes followed the motion. Every stretch of pale skin beneath that deliberate slide of cloth pulled his restraint tighter, twisted it deeper inside him.

When Sanji fastened the waistband, he left it resting just above the line of his underware enough to show, never enough to flaunt.

Law swallowed hard.

He pressed the heel of his palm over the ache blooming in his pants, trying to quiet the steady pulse beneath his skin. His cock throbbed against his hand. A flush crept across his cheeks. He bit the inside of his lip. A sharp inhale. 

Breakfast first.

Across from him, Sanji adjusted his cuffs with casual elegance. He smoothed each one, folded them just right on his forearms like it was any other morning. Like Law wasn’t burning alive in the corner. He never acknowledged the flush on Law’s face, or the way tension coiled visibly beneath his clothes. If anything, he doubled down on normalcy utterly unbothered, perfectly composed.

And that composure was driving Law insane.

“Ready?” Sanji asked, glancing over with a grin that didn’t press too hard. A glint in his eye storm blue and knowing. Law caught a flicker of his own red cheeks reflected there and turned quickly away, jaw tight, trying to breathe through the haze.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

Sanji offered his hand in a playful half-bow, all elegance and unspoken tease. “After you, Captain.”

Law hesitated for a fraction of a second, then took his hand. The moment their fingers met, the static curled between them. Law didn’t grip too tightly. The warmth that passed between their palms said enough. They stepped into the hallway, side by side. The scent of sweet spices and fruit drifted through the corridor from the galley, warm and inviting.

Perfect.

It gave Law a moment to center himself long enough to settle the heat still simmering beneath his skin.

The galley was already alive with motion and scent by the time they stepped through the door.

Warmth met them first curling off the stovetop in gentle waves. The smell of vanilla and sizzling butter wrapped around them like a hug. Bepo stood at the stove, wearing a too-small apron tied awkwardly over his fur, one ear twitching as he flipped an enormous pancake with surprising grace.

Stacks of the golden rounds towered high on a wide serving plate at the center of the table, each one bigger than a dinner plate, steam still rising from the tops. Cut fruit was arranged in bowls and scattered across the counter: slices of pineapple, glossy blueberries, and halved strawberries fanned out like petals. A mountain of whipped cream stood at attention next to a smaller bowl of powdered sugar.

Penguin and Shachi were already seated, squabbling over which fruit belonged with which topping.

“I’m telling you, peach, whipped cream, cinnamon. That’s the combo,” Shachi said, waving a fork dramatically.

“No, strawberry and chocolate. You’re just making soup with your sugar obsession.” Penguin flicked a berry at him.

Law passed by them without a word, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the chaos, and settled into a seat at the end of the table.

Sanji stood in the doorway a beat longer, taking it in. The comfort. The laughter. The food.

Bepo turned, beaming. “Sanji! I made extra! You’re going to need your strength if you’re back on your feet.”

Sanji gave a soft chuckle and stepped forward, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “I can see that,” he said, eyeing the stack of pancakes as Bepo slid another giant round onto the top. “That one looks like it might fight back.”

“You should’ve seen the batter,” Bepo said, dead serious. “I wrestled it twice.”

That earned a laugh from Sanji, an easy one. It felt good in his chest. Lighter. He moved to sit beside Law, who watched him quietly, a mug of hot black coffee already in hand. Sanji glanced sideways, smiling. Bepo delivered a plate to each of them with care, tail swishing as he offered Sanji a generous stack with a flourish of sliced mango, kiwi, and a swirl of whipped cream on top.

Sanji blinked down at it.

“Oh... damn, Bepo. You’ve been practicing.”

“I wanted to get it right,” Bepo said, sheepish. “You always make it look so easy.”

Sanji placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have to up my game.”

Law leaned in, voice low beside him. “You’ll have to keep up with him now.”

Sanji glanced over, grinning as he picked up a fork. “Sounds like a challenge, Captain.”

They dug in, warmth spreading through the table, the tension of the last few months slowly, lovingly beginning to melt into something new.

After Sanji attempted to clear his second pancake, he leaned back and exhaled. Law watched him with a new warmth. He also barely was able to get through his first pancake. The sweetness of the honey and fruit was all a little too much with the sweetness of the cake like breakfast.

"We are going to the island; we will be back before nightfall." Law stood in his baggy hoodie hanging off his lithe form, Sanji thought. Hiding all the good parts of himself as he watched the way his hips cantered in shifting from the table to clear his plate.

Knowing damn well what lies beneath the thin fabric of the PJs. He followed him to the sink and cleaned his plate as Bepo took them and stacked them into a sticky stack with the others.

"Ok, Captain, do you want company, or?" There was a beat of caution behind his words. Bepo had every right to be cautious, as his captain, his friend, and his family were attacked without reason by the smiling man next to him. Sanji caught the air of caution but did not comment.

"I think we will be quite alright, Bepo." He turned to take his leave, but Sanji held just a moment longer. Bepo did not meet his eyes and turned to start cleaning the dishes. Sanji did not linger, but he could tell something had shifted between them.

Sanji followed him back to his room. They quickly slipped in, and in the same pace, Law slipped out of his clothes without a second of hesitation. Walking to his closet. Sanji watched him shed the article of clothing and cocked his head slightly. Something that he did not think Law would be so practiced at, a small smile stretched across his face.

Walking to the bed, he sat down and lay down, stretching himself out long like a cat bathing in the sun, and let a long exhale go. He reached over and picked up his cigarettes' and lighter pocketing them. He was so relaxed and full he closed his eyes and listened to Law slide hangers over the rod in the closet, humming and grumbling to himself.

"Not finding what you were looking for there, Captain?" He did not open his eyes as he folded his hands behind his head.

He said nothing as the soft scrapes in the closet stopped. He heard shuffling once more, a few light thuds on the steel floor, and a zipper. Then the quick snap of a hanger hitting the top of the closet. A few quiet moments passed as Law was quite light on his feet, even with Sanji's enhanced hearing, he barely picked up his movement.

A few more shuffles and Sanji felt a warm press to his legs as they were hanging off the bed. Making his way between them, he felt a hand on his chest. The point of pressure floated up his chest. Sanji still held his eyes closed and bit his lip in the tease. Tattooed hands grazed over the collarbone and then the neck. Running the length of his jawline like a master at his craft, taking in every detail.

Sanji peeked at him and took in the outfit. It was dark, how Law liked it. Skin-tight jeans, his hip bones were being bitten into from the restraint. They had subtle tears over their thighs and a black tank top that couldn't quite make it to the edge of their jeans; a black crop top leather jacket hung over their shoulders, also extremely form-fitting.

Law straightened but did not leave the space between the blond's thighs. Sanji took him in. He did not don his trademark hat, a harsh contrast to all the black. It was a good look on him. A damn good look. Sanji pushed up and rested his chest on Law's legs. Leaned into him a little, supporting himself with his hands placed deliberately on the bed.

Their eyes met, and the molten hot golden swirls of something heavier caught warm blue with a hint of white striking through it.

It mesmerized Sanji how such a man with so many edges and quiet death stares could have softened to such an extreme. It was maddening to be basking in the sight of someone who laid it all bare for a fair few. And rarer to bask in the care of some who loved so intensely.

"Tell me, Law." He paused, bringing one hand to trace over the tear in the jeans. "Are you bad at keeping promises, or do I need to show you how well you have pieced me back together?" His legs parted as he pushed into his space more, fingers dipping into the tear in his jeans to touch the skin underneath.

A single hand came up to cradle his chin, tattooed fingers ran over the patch of scruff that lay not too dissimilar to his own. Slowly bringing hands to card through Sanji's hair. Law liked the longer length of it, the way it framed the sharp features even more was hard to ignore.

A hand landed on the side of Sanji's face as he spoke, "I always keep my word. Just the same as believing you will love this bakery I am about to take you to." Sanji held there in that moment. God, did he feel the warmth radiating off his black cat's exterior. He rested his forehead on Law's stomach. A laugh escaped him as he took in the gesture. Law took his head and held him. With soft presses of fingers combing through the soft golden locks.

"Ok, you win this round. But it better be a damn good bakery." Law stood back and let Sanji up. Still standing close, guiding Sanji into a kiss, angling down to meet him perfectly. Sanji's quick exhale as he started to care for the small ways Law moved and touched him. Everything percolated in the best way. It made his head dizzy from the rush of what he so rarely felt. A true emotion of compassion for the man.

Letting him go, Sanji reveled in the moment. It was a warm and tender fuzz that lingered in his touch and in his chest that Sanji could not get enough of. Law turned and broke eye contact at the last second to reach for his blade.

"Do you really think we need it, Law?" Sanji pouted, Law did not say anything but hesitated.

"I want to be able to enjoy you without everyone thinking of the pirate Trafalgar Law, surgeon of death, as we walk around." Law looked back at Sanji. It went against every judgment in his body. But Sanji was right, bringing a weapon always read, 'I am here and ready for a fight.'

"Alright, Sanji. Are you ready?" Law turned away from the blade and headed for the door. Sanji quickly stood, adjusting the ever-growing strain of his own, and filed behind Law seamlessly.

Tucked between two leaning steel buildings sat a narrow, sun-worn storefront almost swallowed by the city around it. The sign above the door was a crooked scrap of driftwood, hand-carved with curling letters: “Dolce & Fire.” The paint was flaking, but the scent—gods, the scent—could stop foot traffic mid-step.

It wasn’t much. Just a single lantern hung over the threshold, its glass fogged by flour dust and time. A crooked awning tried and failed to shade the cracked windows, behind which golden loaves and sugar glazed pastries shimmered under sheets of glass like treasure.

The moment they stepped inside, the city disappeared.

Worn wooden shelves bowed under the weight of sourdoughs, rice milk buns, and chocolate rum croissants shaped like miniature sea kings. The walls were crowded with jars of preserved citrus and candied ginger.

A fan creaked lazily overhead. And the air was thick with butter and brown sugar, toasted sesame, and something else, a note of smoke, of heat, of stories. The kind only an old oven could tell.

Sanji walked the shelves and took in all the fresh baked goods. Law watched him as his eyes glinted and glittered at all the fine patterns on the loaves that had been so delicately placed and carved out. A few other patrons were laughing with the shop keeper as Sanji scanned the fresh, handcrafted jams and jellies.

"More sweets, Captain?" Sanji chose not to speak his name, as he was well known just about anywhere now, a 3 billion beri bounty does not go unnoticed no matter the island.

A small huff, "No, I brought you here for this." He guided us over to a smaller section that was less eye catching and more intentional. The shopkeeper finished the last interaction with the guest and called out to the pair.

"Let me know if you need help finding anything, Sonny." She was well into her years as Sanji turned and gave a warm smile and a slight bow. She turned to continue replacing the just sold pastries.

"Here." A slender finger pointed to the dark loaf. It was so dark it looked burnt. Sanji turned his eyes to Law.

"You don't like bread, what gives?" Law picked it up and handed it to Sanji. It was like Law dropped a brick in his hand. His eyebrow rocketed up. As a soft crackle of a well lived in voice spoke out.

"Must be from the North. Most people don't gravitate towards it if they've never seen it before."

Sanji quickly replied, "Yes, truly so there, my dear." Sanji felt the sheer weight of the loaf. Law did say he did not care for bread, but it must just be the type typically associated with bread. It was a dark rye with a subtle rosemary and finely chopped almonds and walnuts. It was all the type of food to get you through a tough winter's night in the frigid cold of the North. It would warm your belly and soothe the bite of cold.

"The only thing I was ever able to scrape out of the bins when I was young." Law pulled a smile, a small pin of pain laced in it, but gentle nonetheless.

"I always like it with a light dash of apricot jelly. This is the only place beside the North that has made it properly." Law took it back and gently placed it in a bag, intending to buy it. Sanji knew the very memories Law was dredging back. He did not like to linger on his homeland, all the pain his father had put him through. But he remembers in his youth the bread Law now held in his hand.

It was an old recipe, as it scratched the back of Sanji's mind. He had tried it countless times over the years. But it always hurt a little too much, a little too close to home.

"Looloo, come on, I told you to take a break thirty minutes ago. You need to rest." A fiery haired woman stepped out of the back with a tray balanced on one hand filled to the brim with tiny cookies in the shapes of cute fish. She wore jeans short enough where the pockets were hanging past the jeans. Sweat was on her brow, and flour and sugar coated her very loose hanging white shirt. Her nipples perked through the shirt as she shifted her weight while holding the tray.

"Go, go, go! I made you your favorite spiced apple cider and apple turnovers. Just the way you like it." Sanji's ears turned to the conversations as his eyes landed on the women. Her skin tone was a beautiful olive color in contrast to her fire red hair. Eyes matched her hair with the same passion and burn. It was all frizz and bounce as she moved to guide her grandmother to take a rest. Setting the tray down behind the counter.

Sanji’s eyes lingered.

The woman had a silhouette like an illusion, waist impossibly narrow, hips sweeping out like an artist’s curve. Her walk had rhythm, a gentle sway, the kind that caught even Sanji’s subconscious attention. A faint hum left him thoughtless.

Law turned. Saw the direction of Sanji’s gaze. His jaw ticked, but he didn’t speak. Instead, with deliberate calm, Law stepped into Sanji’s line of sight, closing the distance between them until all Sanji could see was him. His hand moved sharp, unapologetic. He palmed Sanji’s cock through the soft fabric of his slacks, fingers curling possessively.

Sanji gasped—sharp and broken—his knees nearly buckling at the sudden contact. His eyes flew wide, breath caught in his throat as he looked up into Law’s face. Without lifting his hand, Law leaned in, his voice barely a whisper.

His grip tightened just enough to draw a breathy whimper from Sanji, leaning into the touch, eyes never leaving Law. The rest of the world blurred, drowned out by the thrum of his pulse in his ears and the overwhelming pull of the man before him.

Sanji’s lips parted—no clever words, no charm. Just breathe.

A low whisper against the shell of Sanji’s ear. “I keep my promises.”

The words sent a tremor through Sanji, a visible shiver that curled his lip and pulled a shaky breath from his chest. He could feel the heat behind them, the quiet dominance that always lived just beneath Law’s surface.

‘I’m the only one you get to think about.’

The unspoken command coiled around Sanji like a tether. His breath stuttered. He gave in willingly.

Law walked a razor thin line between gentleness and control, and he walked it well. He never needed to raise his voice or bare his teeth. His touch alone—measured, precise—was enough to make Sanji’s thoughts scatter. Every brush of his fingers was a reminder: You’re mine. And every pause, every withheld kiss, was its own kind of restraint.

He dominated not with brute force, but with balance, softness when it mattered, command when it counted. The warmth of his gaze could undo Sanji as easily as the bite in his tone could ground him. And Sanji, always burning, always thirsting, found himself reined in, not extinguished, but focused. All of him pulled toward one point: those molten gold eyes.

Eyes that saw him, wanted him, and claimed him. In that moment, with Law’s breath at his ear and the weight of that promise settling into his spine, Sanji felt it. Control and comfort, craving met.

Sanji turned from Law, pulse still fluttering in his throat.

The bakery was warm with golden light, every shelf stacked high with delicate pastries and carefully glazed tarts, their sugary perfumes hanging thick in the air. Butter clung to the edges of warmth, mixing with hints of fruit and toasted flour. It should’ve calmed him.

It didn’t.

Not when his slacks still felt tight, and Law’s handprint still lingered, phantom pressure across his skin like a claim. He cleared his throat and forced his focus down to the display. A little placard caught his eye, a croissant with a glossy red pepper glaze, marked by a hand drawn character with flames curling from its mouth. Sanji smirked softly.

Spice. Perfect.

He picked it up, weighing its still warm flakiness in his palm. The pastry was delicate, buttery layers crumbling just at the edges. But he could feel the heat inside, the slow burn of something bold tucked into something deceptively soft. He appreciated that kind of honesty in food.

Bagging the croissant with one hand, Sanji moved to meet Law at the counter, letting the scent of roasted chili and baked dough carry him forward. He didn’t look at Law, not yet. Not with his cheeks still warm and his skin still prickling with awareness. As they reached the counter, the woman quickly returned, perking up, her eyes locking instantly on Law.

“Oh,” she breathed, her voice light and syrupy as a macaron glaze. "Will that be all for you?"

Law didn’t respond, just placed the goods on the counter with the calm efficiency he always carried. But that didn’t stop her from leaning in a little, elbows resting on the glass case like she was offering more than just pastries.

“That jacket is incredible. And the tattoos—” her gaze slid over the ink that peeked from his collar, hungry, “—are they real?”

Sanji stood to the side, barely a step away, bag in hand. He might as well have been invisible.

She continued, clearly entranced. “And your eyes, gods, are those lenses or…?”

“They’re mine,” Law said, voice dry but polite.

“Mmh—figured,” she said with a flirty tilt of her head, brushing hair behind her ear in a way that said, I’ve rehearsed this. “You don’t look like you’re from around here. I’m guessing North Blue? Most people don't pick these up unless they crave them.”

Law didn’t answer that either, just handed over the payment, fingers brushing the change like they’d rather be doing anything else. Sanji raised a brow and watched the whole exchange in silence. Law was being hit on, and Sanji could barely wrap his mind around the casual interaction. There was a flicker of irritation in his jaw, but it didn’t reach his mouth. He just folded the bag a little tighter.

She barely spared Sanji a glance. And when she finally looked his way, it was with a dismissive blink as if only realizing just then that he was standing next to Law at all.

“You two… traveling together?” she asked, though her tone suggested she hoped the answer was no.

Law glanced toward Sanji, who was already watching him with that half-lidded, go on, say something kind of look.

“Yes,” Law said, voice cool. “He’s with me.”

“Pleasure’s mine, sweetheart,” he said smoothly, but his eyes never left Law’s. He let the words hang innocent on the surface but burn between the lines.

Law dropped the change into his pocket with the condensed loaf and turned away with a quiet, “Let’s go,” never once looking back. They stepped out into the bright city air together, the doorbell chiming once behind them. Sanji chuckled under his breath as they stepped into the sun.

“She’s not wrong,” he murmured low, just for Law. “You do look good in that jacket.”

Sanji pulled the pastry from the thin paper bag, crinkling it as he folded it neatly and dropped it into a nearby trash receptacle. With the same practiced grace he used to plate his meals, he took a bite his teeth sinking into the flaky layers of golden pastry. It crackled softly, dozens of delicate shards falling away to expose a creamy filling nestled within. A soft hum of approval escaped him. The custard inside was sweet and rich, with notes of strawberry and rhubarb that danced across his tongue. But there was something else, something that crept in slowly from the back of his throat. A warmth, faint at first, that began to rise with startling intensity.

Law walked beside him, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, half watching the road and half watching Sanji with a quiet, amused glance.

“It’s really quite good,” Sanji said around a mouthful, his voice smooth but laced with curiosity. “I’ve got to say, that was surprising—"

He stopped mid sentence as the heat bloomed sharp and fast. His eyes widened slightly as sweat pricked his brow, a flush rising on his cheeks. He held the pastry away from his mouth like it had personally betrayed him.

Law turned fully toward him, arching a brow. “That bad?”

Sanji swallowed, slow and deliberate, his throat working through the sting. “Hoo,” he exhaled, fanning his collar. “Alright, I’ve got a very high tolerance for spice, but that little bastard just tried to kill me.”

Law’s lips twitched. “There was a fire-breathing cartoon mascot on the tag.”

Sanji glared playfully, biting back a laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe they should add a warning next time. Not for the faint of tongue.”

They had wandered into a busier part of the city now—narrow streets framed by tall, slatted buildings stacked with colorful shop signs. The air buzzed with the sound of chatter and clinking glasses from open-air cafés. Banners flapped lazily overhead in shades of red and gold, and the smell of grilled fish and candied nuts drifted from food stalls lining the cobblestone walk.

Sanji paused near one of the flower carts, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, still trying to play it cool. Law didn’t say a word—just reached out, his fingers brushing gently over Sanji’s forearm in a wordless gesture of comfort.

Sanji blinked down at the touch, surprised by how grounding it felt. A moment later, he chuckled and licked a bit of custard from his thumb.

"I'm good, I'm good—it'll pass soon enough," Sanji muttered, waving a hand as if that alone could dispel the fire still curling in his throat.

They walked side by side, the sounds of the city folding in around them. Their path opened into a wide street lined with shops—floral boutiques, bookstores, small food stalls, and stylish boutiques all nestled into one vibrant row. Banners danced above them in a soft breeze. The smell of fried batter and candied fruit wafted through the air.

Then—hic!

Sanji jolted, "Fuck—hic—hey, Cap—hic—think you could help a guy—hic—out?" Sanji groaned, holding his hand to his chest as he blinked up at Law with wide, pleading eyes.

Law turned slowly, taking in the sight with a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He stopped walking, facing him fully as Sanji hiccupped again, body jolting lightly with the movement.

"You just can’t resist an excuse to get my hands on you, can you?" Law said, his voice low and even, his eyes bright with amusement. Sanji hiccuped again, giving him a helpless look that was more endearing than it had any right to be.

With a barely audible sigh, Law stepped in. The crowd flowed around them, most too busy with their own errands to notice—but a few lingering gazes swept their way. Law ignored them.

He brought one hand to Sanji’s face, brushing a stray lock of hair back behind his ear with surprising tenderness. “Hold still,” he murmured, his voice meant only for him.

His other hand came up and pressed flat against Sanji’s chest as a faint blue encased his hand and stopped right over his sternum, fingers splayed. Sanji went quiet. Law could feel the slight stutter in his breathing, the rapid flutter of hiccup-wracked muscles. Carefully, he shifted his hand lower, just beneath Sanji’s ribs, guiding his palm in a slow, practiced press. Sanji’s breath caught, not from the hiccups this time, but from the closeness.

“Breathe with me.” Sanji obeyed. Deep, slow inhale. Hold. Exhale. Another. The hiccups faded. Just the warmth of Law’s palm left, pressed gently to his diaphragm. Then, Law leaned in close enough that his breath ghosted across Sanji’s cheek and placed the softest kiss against the corner of his mouth.

Law pulled back, just far enough to meet his gaze. “Better?”

Sanji chuckled, his voice low and touched with fondness. “Yeah… yeah, better.”

Law let his hand fall back to his side but didn’t move away just yet. "Try not to almost combust next time."

“No promises,” Sanji grinned, the flush on his cheeks finally easing.

They walked in easy rhythm now, the heat of earlier moments still buzzing beneath their skin but mellowed by the pull of the city.

Sanji’s eyes caught something across the street. A storefront window glinting in the midday light. Behind the glass, mannequins stood proudly dressed in crisp jackets, tailored shirts with satin cuffs, and slacks that shimmered faintly in soft hues of navy, wine, and charcoal. A tasteful display of cufflinks and pocket squares lay beneath them, like gems in a treasure trove.

He slowed, just slightly, and tilted his head toward the shop. “Huh.”

Law glanced at him. “What?”

Sanji nodded toward the window, a sly smile already creeping in. “That place looks fun.”

Law followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Fun?” he echoed, skeptical.

Sanji hummed, slipping his hands into his pockets as he looked Law up and down. “Well, since someone ruined my last suit…” He shot Law a teasing glare. “I figured you’d want to replace it. It’s only fair.”

Law gave him a dry look. "I am not the one at fault here." He crossed his arms, remembering the overwhelming orgasm he felt as he fell with his cock in Sanji's mouth.

“Well, you got me there, but...” Sanji shot back smoothly. “I liked that suit.”

“You liked that suit because it was tailored within an inch of its life,” Law said, exhaling.

Sanji stepped toward the shop, already reaching for the handle. “Exactly. So let’s go see what might push you over the edge next time you fall into my arms.”

Law hesitated for just a second before following, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth as the bell above the shop door chimed.

Inside, the lighting was soft and warm, a rich scent of pressed linen and cedarwood in the air. Racks of fine fabrics, deep jewel tones, and carefully stitched collars lined the space in clean rows. A few other shoppers milled quietly about, their chatter hushed against the refined atmosphere.

Sanji ran his fingers down a navy velvet blazer, eyes glinting. “Mmm. This place has taste.”

He turned slightly, tossing Law a playful glance over his shoulder. “What do you think, Doc? You want to help pick something out? Or should I let the next slip in restraint ruin whatever I wear on my own berry?”

Law leaned against a display table, arms crossed as his gaze moved lazily down Sanji’s form. “If I’m paying for it, I get to approve how well it fits.”

Sanji grinned, lips curling. “Then you better stay close.”

Sanji moved around the shop as Law watched him touch and look over the textiles. Sanji stopped at a deep blue colored fabric. It had a stitch pattern that, when moved, shined in the light. His eyes traced over the millions of threads that held it together.

Law watched him as his attention stopped on the fabric, a color not too dissimilar to the color of the man's eyes. The merchant of the shop strolled around in a well-tailored vest and a white silk-cotton blend as he approached Sanji. He was a man early in his years, but chipper, and his cheeks blushed at the sight of a new customer.

"Welcome, welcome, sirs. Thank you for stopping in to my lovely little shop. What are we in the mood for today?" He was a huskier youth, it suited him well. The warmth of his presence was not too dissimilar to Bepo Law thought. But there was a confidence here in his own establishment that Sanji welcomed.

"Why, thank you, sir...?"

"Oh, Thomas, this is my business! You can't find any other tailored suits in the city that match my skill." He looked at Sanji with big puppy dog eyes. Law chuckled. Yeah, Bepo.

"Well, Thomas, I was looking over this beautiful blue stitch work here. Is it possible to get a three-piece suit tailored to my specific dimensions?" Sanji leaned into the young man with a light tone of warmth. Sanji dared not flirt with him, as Law was about to realize how expensive Sanji's tastes were.

Thomas clapped his hands together, and his eyes went starry. "Why, of course! I would just need to take in your measurements and get you fitted!" Sanji glanced over his shoulder at Law, a go-ahead nod of approval. They walked to the back of the shop as the shopkeeper pulled rolls of fabric towards them. Law walked to the back to watch the fitting. Because if he was going to be dropping a pretty berry on this suit, he wanted it to fit exactly how he wanted to gaze at Sanji.

"Ok, let's just start with the measurements." A thin measuring tool rolled out, and he looked at Sanji as there was a large pedestal in the center of the room surrounded by lights and mirrors. Sanji stepped onto the platform, and the man got to work. Taking in every measurement quickly in well-practiced motions. He was humming a light tune that Sanji knew; it was Binks Brew. Brook Sanji smiled warmly as his thoughts floated back to his crew, and he smiled warmly.

"Ok, got the measurements. Do you have a preference of color on the undershirt or vest?"

Sanji answered without hesitation, "Black," as he looked over his shoulder at Law.

"Easy!" The fabric rippled through the air and stilled as Sanji's eyes went wide. He threw scissors into the air as his hands made a motion in replication to the scissors, as the other waved in the similar motion as the cloth. Clearly the use of a devil fruit power.

The men stepped back as he worked, and it quickly took shape. Not a single piece of fabric was wasted. The white cotton strip he held overhead formed a shirt with a snap of his hands. Law watched, he was in awe at the wide breadth of devil fruit users. It never ceased to amaze him.

Handing off his lighter and cigarettes to Law, trousers fell into a neat pattern next to the shirt on a table for them. 

"Here, try these on while I finish the jacket and vest." Sanji took the garments. "The dressing room is around the corner." Sanji walked towards the rooms down a small hallway with Law in tow. He found the first room and slipped in, setting the cloths down.

Before the door could close, Sanji reached out and caught Law’s wrist. His fingers curled around it. He pulled him towards the growing need building between his legs.

“Come on, just a little fun?” Sanji said with a playful smile, his voice dipping low and velvet-rich. “You’re not even curious how good this is going to look on me?”

Law’s gaze dropped, slow and deliberate. Never cease to be amazed at how hungry Sanji was at all times.

“Sanji,” Law warned, though his voice was more amused than angry. “We are in public.”

“Exactly.” Sanji tugged just slightly on Law’s wrist, coaxing him closer. “So behave. Or don’t. Your call.”

But instead of stepping forward, Law let out a quiet breath and rolled his eyes. A flicker of blue light pulsed at his wrist—ROOM—and Sanji stumbled half a step back at the sudden lightness. He looked down.

Law’s hand was still there, perfectly detached, still laced with his fingers.

“There,” He gripped the door firmly. “Try not to take too long.” then closed the door on him.

Sanji blinked once, then grinned slow and wicked. He unbuckled his pants with one snap and jostled them off his hips, his underwear was nursing a wet spot of precum that had been pooling before they even left the Polar Tang.

Sanji brought the tattooed hand to his lips, slowly, reverently. His breath hitched as he brushed his mouth over each knuckle, soft kisses pressing against the letters carved into Law’s skin. D-E-A-T-H. He mouthed each one like a prayer, letting the weight of those letters sink into his tongue.

The thumb came last. Sanji lingered there, lips parted just enough for warmth to soak into the skin before he pulled away. He pulled his shirt off his shoulders. The fabric slid free and puddled at his feet.

The tattooed fingers loosened their grip as Sanji ran the back of Law's hand over his chest. Knuckles grazed the sharp line of a rib, then circled the hardened peak of his nipple, barely making contact. Law’s grip shifted, just slightly. A twitch. A pulse through the hand that wasn’t entirely reflex. Sanji exhaled with a quiet, breathless laugh. Law was feeling every motion, every moment of this.

Out on the floor, Law had rejoined the illusion of normalcy. He had placed his hands into his pockets in a natural position. Thomas chattered nearby, fixing the jacket as he was lining the inside with a fine layer of black silk. Law stood behind him, still as stone. But his eyes had gone distant. Because he could feel it. The warmth of Sanji’s bare chest, the pulse beneath the skin, the tease of motion over tender places. His fingers curled faintly, just enough to remind Sanji he wasn’t the only one affected. Law’s jaw flexed, barely perceptible. A flick of blue light pulsed briefly at the edge of his sleeve before it faded again, hidden from the world.

Sanji exhaled slowly, the air thick with heat. He ran Law’s hand along the low edge of his waistband, tracing the elastic that barely clung to his hips. The jockstrap hugged him, every breath sharpening the contrast between skin and fabric.

The moment Law’s fingers hooked just beneath the band—teasing, suggestive—Sanji’s spine arched ever so slightly. His thighs tensed, and he had to bite down on a groan.

He let Law's hand settle lower, guiding it with slow movement. The heat between his legs pulsed, aching, and Sanji could feel how carefully Law reacted through the hand alone. Cupping his cock that was straining to be set free. He felt the steady hands tremble at the heat of Sanji's member pulsing. A few more passes as Law skillfully cupped his balls and massaged them. A soft moan from Sanji let free in the small room.

Law was pacing around the room now, he had leaned against a rack of coats, perfectly still in appearance, almost disinterested to the casual eye. But internally? He was tracking every motion.

He could feel Sanji’s skin through the hand he'd left behind, every breath, every shift of heat like a live wire threaded straight into his spine. The sensation of taut muscle, of barely contained tension, of Sanji offering himself up. It pulsed through Law’s bones.

He inhaled slowly, jaw tight, as a trio of customers entered the shop and began browsing nearby. Posture unreadable, but his mind…

His mind was behind that door, mapping Sanji with undeniable hunger.

Sanji leaned against the wall, his breath shallow, his thoughts spinning. The disembodied hand still rested in his own, warm and twitching with Law’s subtle control. Fingers tracing Sanji’s jaw before brushing over his lips. And then, with the kind of boldness he knew would haunt Law later, Sanji parted his lips.

The tips of Law’s fingers hovered there, testing the edge of Sanji’s restraint. He took them in with a soft sound, tongue sliding against the pads of each digit as they pressed into his mouth. Sanji closed his eyes, savoring it. Each motion was a quiet echo of earlier memories. He let his tongue swirl gently between the fingers, slick and hot, a silent response to the way Law had once broken him open with nothing but his well practiced tongue. The fingers pushed in just a little deeper. The heat between his legs throbbed in rhythm with every press of touch inside his mouth.

When he finally pulled them free, they slipped out with a soft, wet sound that lingered in the quiet.

Law was standing in front of a table as he leaned into it, catching any friction as the feeling of being inside Sanji's mouth was slowly drowning out everything around him. His cock caught as he slowly 'accidentally brushed into it in a mock attempt to see something too far set on a table. He breathed heavily as his eyebrows shot up.

Sanji stared down at the glistening trail left behind on his lips. The hand in Sanji’s grip was slick with warmth from his mouth, from the memory of Law’s lips, from the way it still pulsed faintly with responsiveness. Sanji’s breath hitched as he brought it lower, trailing the wet fingers down the small of his back, across the dip of his spine, until he was bent just enough to feel every nerve fire at the anticipation alone. Sanji was bent over, leaning to get a better angle. Then the fingers were held just over the tight rim. Law carefully put pressure on it, two fingers pressed and rubbed over his hole slowly, and then, with the faintest grip from Sanji, he pushed his fingers inside him.

"F-fuck-" The worst escaped him before his mind could catch up. The group of shoppers looked at him with an odd tilt to their gaze. Law just had to furrow his brows slightly to make them wish they never had looked in his direction.

The long finger pushed past the rim of his hole slowly. As Sanji breathed heavily. He pulled his cock out and rested his head on the wall as he began to stroke himself. He drove the fingers in further as he felt the tremble from the dismembered hand. Sanji was close, and the fingers quickly found his prostate, rubbing slow circles into it. Arching into the pleasure, his chest hit the wall.

Law heard the thud from the changing room, but the others seemed to not take notice. He bit his lip as he gently rubbed the inside of Sanji. He stared at the familiar blue of the fabric that Sanji had picked out. He was regretting his choice in outfit as his cock was lining his thigh, a few wrong moves and the tears might reveal more than he would ever intend.

Sanji rolled onto his shoulder as he leaned against the wall. He quickly pressed Law's fingers down to the last knuckle. And quickened his pace as fingers curled inside him. His breath was heavy as he thought about Law's cock inside of him instead of just his digits. He was panting as the ache in his cock was unrelenting. He wanted nothing more than for Law to break down the door and take him in that moment. To shove his cock all the way inside him, touching him in places he did not know he needed him.

"Hah-" As Sanji fell to his knees, he came onto his old shirt. Ribbons danced through the air as he clenched around the tattooed fingers. He stroked quickly, chasing the high of the thought of Law ruining him, for him to keep his promise.

Law was sweating, his chest was heaving as he felt the pulse of release strain around his fingers. His cock hurt, it was taking everything for Law to not flip every table in here, rip down the door, and fuck the blonde he craved so much.

"Uh, sir?" 

Law's gaze was sharp as his brow was slightly damp. His amber eyes were pinpricks and angry from restraint. He answered between clenched teeth.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Oh, does it not look amazing?" Sanji had emerged from the dressing room in the well-tailored shirt and slacks. His old clothes draped over one arm. The garment was being held on a torso in the mirrored room. Thomas changed his attention to Sanji, who was positively glowing. Law walked slowly, trying to adjust the strain in his pants. He met the shopkeeper and Sanji by the fitting station. Sanji leaned in, and under the rumpled garments he silently slipped the disconnected hand back into Law's pocket. Eyes glittering from the high.

Law leaned in and held there, asking for a kiss. Sanji met it and tasted the heat on his tongue. It did not help Law's demanding cock.

"Uh, well, here it is!" Sanji noticed a bin of discarded scrap fabric and tossed his old clothing into it.

"Well, let's try it on!" Sanji stood in front of it, and Thomas helped him into it. Once the last button was fastened, Sanji had no need to flatten or press any part of the suit. It, in its very definition, fits perfectly.

Law bit his lip at the way it tapered in around his knees, accenting the powerful legs beneath. The vest hung just so right that it might have been a corset, it moved and shifted with Sanji perfectly. The jacket was once again tapered at his waist and only showed off his well toned shoulders.

"I think you have outdone yourself, Thomas!" Sanji turned a few times, feeling the movement of it. He looked at Law in his still disgruntled, blushing features.

"Well?" Sanji placed his hands on his hips. Law let a soft chuckle go.

"It's quite the perfect fit."

Sanji hopped down, landing lightly before leaning into him without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Law let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and allowed himself a moment—just a moment—to look at him.

Law let his gaze linger, on the golden strands dancing over his eye, on the curve of his lips still flushed from their kiss, on the soft crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he looked at Law like that.

God, that look.

When Sanji was near, the weight of his past didn’t press so hard. The ache of loneliness quieted.

He felt safe.

It was dizzying, the way Sanji had stepped into his life effortless as if he'd been meant to fill a space Law hadn't realized was empty. And now, with the cook pressed to his side, bright and breathing and real, Law let himself bask in him. He was everything Law had never dared to want in a lover. Everything he’d thought he wouldn’t be allowed to have.

Law sighed into the man, letting his body relax into the lean that Sanji offered so easily—so naturally—like it was his right to be close. His eyes softened as they locked with Sanji’s, drawn once again into that impossible blue. Stormy, flecked with white, like seawater crashing under moonlight.

Law had never been one for favorites. He didn’t believe in sentiment for sentiment’s sake. Preferences, sure. Controlled familiarity. Predictable outcomes. But this—this specific shade of blue, in his eyes—was rapidly becoming the one thing Law couldn’t stop choosing.

Because those eyes saw him. Not the Surgeon of Death. Not the captain. Not the man stitched together by trauma and control. But Law. Just Law.

And Sanji had never once flinched.

“I’m so glad it fits,” Law murmured, his voice low and rough, but full of something warmer. His gaze dipped for a moment, drinking in the way the suit hugged Sanji’s frame, how it lit him up from the inside out. “You look positively radiant in it.”

The shopkeeper watched from the fitting room looked like they were about to melt. Sanji turned, beaming at him, and clapped his hands together in cheerful celebration. “We’ll take it!”

Law huffed a quiet breath of amusement, rolling his eyes, but there was no real exasperation behind it. Just affection. Just love—the kind that had crept up on him in the quiet moments, the unguarded laughter, the way Sanji would cook without being asked, or how he always handed Law the first cup of tea without even looking. How he gave so much of himself without ever demanding anything in return.

It was maddening. Addictive. Healing.

Sanji wasn’t easy to love, but he made it so easy to fall.

Because even in the chaos, the vanity, the fire and flirtation, there was a deep, unwavering loyalty in him. A kindness that refused to be hardened. Sanji made people feel worth loving—not just Law, but everyone he cared for.

And somehow, that warmth had reached Law. Had cracked through walls even death couldn’t breach. So yeah, maybe Law had never been one for favorites.

But he had one now.

And he was currently twirling in front of a mirror, showing off a new jacket and grinning like the sun rose just to catch his reflection.

Law let himself smile, small, private, helpless.

God help him, he was so far gone.

Law and Sanji stepped back into the street just as the sun began its slow descent, casting everything in gold.

“I think I might have to take a loan out on myself with how much that suit cost,” Law muttered, hands stuffed in his pockets. But he couldn’t deny the way the suit shaped Sanji like it had been sewn onto his skin by divine hands. It clung and draped in all the right places, catching movement like silk over flame.

He strutted a few steps ahead, hips shifting with deliberate flair, the sway of his coat bouncing with each step like punctuation. Head high, chest out, one hand casually adjusting his cuffs. Law watched, unable to look anywhere else. And he wasn’t the only one. Heads turned—subtly, not-so-subtly—as Sanji passed. Shopkeepers paused mid-gesture. A couple nearly walked into a fruit stand. Someone actually let their cigarette burn down to the filter without noticing.

“Are you trying to cause a scene?” Law asked dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

Sanji glanced over his shoulder, a wicked spark in his eye. “Can’t help it, Captain. You dressed me too well. If you didn’t want a walking distraction, you should’ve picked something duller.”

“Nothing about you is dull,” Law said before he could stop himself.

A breath between them, as Sanji continued.

“Now what, Doc?” Sanji asked, glancing over his shoulder with a glint in his eye.

Law slowed to a stop behind him, gaze drifting lazily over the cook’s back. “It’s getting late,” he said, voice low, almost casual. “Food?”

Sanji turned on his heel to face him fully, a lazy grin curling at his lips. He stepped in close, close enough that their shadows tangled together in the golden spill of streetlight and pressed one finger to the center of Law’s chest.

He dragged it slowly down, until it slipped into the fold of Law’s coat and tapped against his inner pocket.

Law didn’t flinch. He just reached into the space between them, produced Sanji’s cigarette case, and held it out like a ritual. Sanji took one, placed it between his lips, and paused—waiting. The lighter flicked open with a metallic clank, flame dancing between them as Law lit the cigarette, his gaze never leaving Sanji’s face.

“There’s definitely something I wouldn’t mind gobbling up right now,” Sanji drawled, pulling at the ember with a smirk.

Law exhaled a quiet laugh slow, dark, almost predatory. That scent of tobacco, smoke, spice—it was him. All of it. And Law drank it in like a man starved.

“If you keep being good…” Law stepped in, and Sanji didn’t budge. He stood his ground, waiting—daring. “I’ll cater to you all night.”

Sanji’s eyes shifted before him, color softening from bold ocean to pale, glassy blue. Surrender crept in, dilating his pupils, breath warming with each second that passed between them. Whatever flirtatious line he’d been walking moments ago, it was gone now. He dropped the still lit smoked onto the ground forgotten.

Law tilted his head, thumb brushing the corner of Sanji’s lip. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Show me what you look like when you’re about to beg.”

This man. The way he burned bright and shameless in public,  this was what Law lived for. The quiet crumble. The way Sanji gave in, was leaving Law on the edge of ripping into another suit. 

"How much have you thought about it?" he murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth. "The promise I made… back then. Tell me." His hands were warm in Sanji’s. Sanji had felt it—God, he was still feeling it, heart thudding hard enough to pulse in his throat. His fingers curled slightly tighter around Law’s hands, grounding himself in their weight.

Sanji pulled back, just enough for air, though the flush blooming across his cheeks betrayed him. His lips parted on a shallow breath, then—

"Every damn hour you're not touching me with these hands," he said, voice roughened by want. "I think about them. About you. About everything you haven’t done to me."

“Say it,” he breathed. “Say you want it. Say you want me. Right here. Right now.”

Sanji’s breath hitched. He swallowed hard, lashes fluttering as he stared up at him, completely wrecked by how little Law had to do to unravel him. Those tattooed fingers, the weight in that voice—he was already losing.

“I want you,” he said, low and wrecked and breathless. “I want you so bad it hurts.”

But Law’s eyes narrowed, not satisfied.

“Louder,” he said, firmer now, letting his fingers press into Sanji’s throat—not choking, just steady. “Say it like you mean it. Say it like you need it.”

Sanji exhaled like the air had been punched out of him. His hands clutched at Law’s wrists, eyes hazy, chest rising with every uneven breath.

“I want it,” he said again—clear this time, aching. “I want you. Fuck, Law—I want everything.”

And just like that, he melted under Law’s touch, boneless, willing and completely his.

Law’s gaze didn’t soften, but there was a flicker of approval, dangerous and magnetic. Sanji had said it. Given him the truth. And Law, true to his word, never let that kind of vulnerability go unanswered.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice like warm smoke. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

His thumb slid from Sanji’s lip to his chin, tipping his face up with slow control. Then, without warning, Law closed the space between them fully mouth crashing over Sanji’s in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was claiming, deep, his hand tightening ever so slightly on Sanji’s throat to keep him still as his tongue swept in and stole every breath he had left. Sanji moaned into it, weak at the knees, clinging to Law’s coat. His body arched into the kiss, chasing more, drunk on the taste of him.

When Law finally pulled away, his mouth hovered a breath from Sanji’s lips, smug and breathless all at once.

“You’ve been starving.” he rasped, his thumb now stroking the flushed skin of Sanji’s cheek. “My hands. My mouth. The way I hold you.”

Sanji barely nodded, eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-bruised. “Yes…”

“You’ll get more,” he whispered against his skin, voice rough with promise. “But only if you keep being honest with me. No games. No running.”

Sanji’s breath came shallow, his head tipping back just slightly as Law’s teeth scraped his neck. His hands curled into the lapels of Law’s coat, trying to ground himself—but all it did was pull Law closer.

“Shit,” he whispered, voice husky.

Law didn’t move away, lips still brushing the heat of Sanji’s skin.

“I always keep my promises, ” Law said simply. “Now say it again.”

Sanji exhaled, ragged, dazed, caught somewhere between a moan and a grin. “I want you,” he whispered, shameless now. “I want your mouth, your hands... everything—”

Law finally drew back, just slightly, enough to see him fully. His eyes glittered with dark satisfaction as he reached up and adjusted the collar of Sanji’s shirt.

“I love watching you give into me.” Law said, voice low and rough. He smoothed the lapel, fingers brushing Sanji’s throat with purpose. Sanji’s lips parted, breath hitching.

Law leaned in again, the pressure of his presence unmistakable, and brought his mouth close to Sanji’s ear.

“So be good,” Law whispered, “and I’ll give you everything you’re begging for. Be difficult…” He smirked, a flash of teeth. “And I’ll make you earn it.”

He let the words settle, his hand sliding from collar to jaw, thumb dragging slowly across Sanji’s lower lip.

Sanji didn’t answer—he couldn’t, not with his breath lodged somewhere deep in his chest. But his gaze was blown wide and willing, throat flexing as he swallowed down the moan threatening to break loose.

Law’s smile deepened. “That’s what I thought.” he said softly. 

It was then that Sanji realized where they were. Still standing in the middle of the market street. Still being watched.

A pair of elderly women whispered behind a produce stall, wide-eyed and scandalized. Across the street, someone had paused with a half-eaten dumpling hanging forgotten from their chopsticks, staring openly until they caught Sanji’s gaze and pretended to become very interested in a nearby basket of apples.

Sanji cleared his throat, stepping back just enough to reclaim an inch of composure. He ran a hand through his mussed hair, trying—failing—to smooth the heat out of his cheeks.

“Well,” he said, flashing a grin he didn’t even try to hide, “you planning to fuck me against a fruit stand, or should we head back to the sub before someone actually faints?”

Law arched a brow, entirely unbothered. “You say that like I haven’t considered it.”

Sanji choked on half a laugh, half a groan. “Law—”

But the man had already turned smoothly on his heel and started walking, coat flaring behind him like the smug bastard he absolutely was.

Sanji fell into step beside him, his hand brushing against Law’s just once. He didn’t grab it. Didn’t need to. The touch lingered, crackling with everything unspoken between them.

And despite the slight tremble still in his knees and the fact that half the street had just watched him melt into Law’s hand like butter over flame, Sanji walked with a bounce in his step.

The kind of bounce you only get when the man who just kissed you like that was taking you home.

Back to the Polar Tang.

Where no one would be watching.

Except maybe listening.

Notes:

Let me know what you think, I love the feedback, until next chapter ;p

Chapter 13: Your Name Between My Teeth

Summary:

A dance between release, fear, overwhelming need, and a uncomfortable brunch.

The streets were starting to clear as the sun cast the sky into shades of pink and orange, the shift was subtle and beautifully met the coming night. They were not but a few blocks now from the harbor as Sanji had taken the lead in pacing back to the Polar Tang. The pep in his step hadn't faded as he could feel Law tracing him with his eyes. Law reached out for the cook's hand. The smallest touch and Sanji was being dragged into the nearest alley.

"Law, the sub is right there." He pushed Sanji into a wall with force, grabbing his face, crashing his lips over Sanji's, and pushing his tongue into his mouth, the other hand digging into his hip, and Sanji bent to what Law was asking for. Moaning into the kiss. Sanji felt himself lift as he was being held up so Law could smash his pelvis into him. He broke this kiss and immediately went to working over his neck. It was all delirious want. He bit down, and Sanji thought he felt the wall shift behind him. He's going to fucking take down this building if I don't stop him.

"Law, are you really going to fuck me in an alley when—" Law pulled a scowl, so disappointed that Sanji quickly regretted it.

"What did I tell you?" He pulled back and let Sanji's feet touch down. Sanji felt the fuzz of Law's room push out. Law reached for Sanji's chin; it was gentle, then gone.

They were falling over the Polar Tang. Sanji looked at Law and rolled his eyes. Law pulled him in close, grabbing at his cock briefly, "I am going to have to train that brat right out of you."

They touched down as the Tang sank at the touchdown, and it was already on. Law was quick to catch Sanji and thrust him onto the bulkhead in the blink of an eye. Sanji was the one to initiate the kiss this time, as it was deep and wanting. Law grabbed his thigh and hoisted it high; Sanji wrapped it around him, cocks meeting between them. Law reached over and opened the hatch door and pulled Sanji inside.

The hatch to the Polar Tang hissed shut behind them, cutting off the outside world. The moment the lock clicked into place, the air between them shifted—denser, electric. Sanji stepped backward down the corridor, his shoes whispering across the metal floor. The smirk on his lips hadn’t faded, but there was a new sharpness in it—like he knew exactly how far he could tease before it all caught fire.

“You going to keep staring at me like that,” he murmured, “or do something about it, Captain?”

A blink of movement. Sanji’s eyes widened just as Law closed the distance in a breath, and the world tilted. A loud clang rang out as Sanji’s back slammed into the bulkhead, Law’s body flush against his, pinning him down. Sanji’s back hit the wall hard, but his grin didn’t falter—in fact, it widened. Even with Law’s mouth on his, even with that heat pressed flush against him, Sanji had the nerve to laugh. The metal dented behind him with the force of it, groaning under the sudden impact. Law didn’t speak at first. His eyes were wild, blown dark, but a flicker of gold in them, and locked on Sanji. One hand braced beside Sanji’s head, the other cupping the sharp line of his jaw with a kind of hunger that belied the violence of the pin. Law’s fingers tightened on his jaw, just enough to make Sanji shiver.

“I didn’t know you were so impatient.” Law kissed him, hard, like he’d waited too long and wasn’t willing to wait another second. Sanji moaned into it, surrendering so fast it made Law’s knees threaten to kick a hole into the next room. The sound of metal creaking behind him only added to the chaos of it. Whatever self-control they’d walked in with? It had been left on the dock.

Law pulled back just enough to catch that smirk. Dangerous. Bratty.

Then Sanji moved fast. He twisted out of Law’s grip with fluid grace, slipping beneath his arm and down the hall in one smooth motion. His coat flared behind him, boots tapping against the metal floor as he put distance between them.

“C’mon,” Sanji called over his shoulder, breathless, teasing. “You going to let me walk off after all that noise, Captain?”

Law hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, slowly, his head tilted. His mouth curled into a sharp smile. And then he moved. Sanji had just enough time to blink before Law was on him again. This time, Law didn’t just catch him; he grabbed him. One arm snaked around his waist and wrenched him backward, hard enough to make Sanji’s back collide with the opposite wall in a heavy thud, both wrists pinned above his head in one tattooed hand. Law pressed in close, his thigh sliding between Sanji’s legs, his mouth just at the edge of Sanji’s jaw.

“You really think you can outrun me in my corridors?” Law’s voice was low, dangerous, and darkly amused.

Sanji’s pulse kicked hard under his skin. “Couldn’t help it,” he panted. Law’s grip tightened, just enough to make Sanji’s wrists ache.

“If you’re going to be difficult,” he murmured, mouth brushing Sanji’s ear, “if you want to act like a brat, then you’re going to have to earn it.” His free hand moved to Sanji’s hip, fingers dragging up slowly until he reached the first button of his suit jacket, unfastening it with maddening precision. Sanji’s smirk faltered into a shaky exhale, his head thudding softly against the wall.

“Fuck…” Law leaned in, tongue flicking against the edge of his jaw.

“That’s the plan.”

The groan of dented metal echoed down the corridor, followed by the low thud of bodies colliding and a distinctly hungry noise from somewhere deep in Sanji’s throat. It wasn’t subtle. Not even a little. Around the corner, three heads peeked out—one over the other like a stack of trouble. Shachi blinked. Penguin’s mouth hung open slightly. Ikkaku was the only one with the sense to look vaguely horrified, or maybe impressed. Probably both.

“Did… did he dent the wall?” Penguin whispered.

“Two,” Shachi whispered back. “There’s two.” The ship gave a low creak again—barely noticeable, but not to the crew who lived in this sub. A shift in balance, like the weight of the Tang, was re-centering itself around the chaos blooming in that hallway.

“Are they going to fuck right there?” Shachi muttered.

“I think they already are.” Penguin added, squinting.

Ikkaku swore under her breath and smacked them both upside the head. “They’re going to kill each other or collapse the damn corridor.”

Back in the hallway, Sanji was panting, wrists pinned, flushed all the way to his collar. His cocky grin had slipped into something more breathless, the suit half undone and clinging to him like a second skin.

Law’s mouth was at his ear again, whispering dark promises. He felt the ship watching.

Shambles.

In an instant, the air snapped with power. Sanji barely had time to gasp before the metal wall vanished, before the echo of the corridor and the whisper of nearby crew faded into silence. The familiar, sterile scent settled in around him. Law’s quarters. Dimly lit by the low burn of a desk lamp—warm gold casting long shadows across the room. Polished surgical tools gleamed in quiet rows along the desk, and books—meticulously aligned, no title out of place—lined the shelves in a silent testament to a mind built on control.

Sanji stumbled as his shoes hit the smooth flooring, breath caught in his throat. “Fuck—warn a guy next time, would you?” But Law didn’t answer.

He stepped into Sanji’s space again. One hand gripped the lapel of the suit, tight enough to not crease the fabric, enough to make Sanji feel how much he wanted to be the one to peel it away. Law’s jaw flexed as he stared at the man in front of him. Any words died in his throat when Law began to work. He didn’t tear at anything. Didn’t rush. He started with the jacket, his fingers sliding down the seams, slipping the fabric from Sanji’s shoulders with precision. Sanji’s breath stilled at the contrast; those same hands that could level islands were now unfastening a jacket like it was spun gold.

It was mesmerizing.

The vest came next, buttons undone one by one, each flick of Law’s fingers intentional. Sanji’s eyes followed every movement, a flush already blooming beneath his collarbone, rising with each careful layer stripped away. “I could wrap both hands around you,” Law murmured, voice rough at Sanji’s back. “They almost touch. How easy it would be to hold you down like that.” Sanji swallowed. He stepped back around and began undoing the mother-of-pearl buttons with maddening slowness. Sanji stood perfectly still, his body strung tight, chest rising with each click of a button through silk. When Law peeled the shirt away and caught the way Sanji’s skin flushed down his chest, he let out a sound. Law stepped behind him to help with the shirt; Sanji nearly forgot how to stand. The brush of knuckles against his spine, the warmth of breath at his neck—it was maddening.

Then came the belt. A sharp flick of the wrist, and it slipped free with a snap. Sanji bit his lip. Law’s hand moved next over the strained line of his zipper, fingers dragging lightly over him, teasing. The pants hit the floor, and Law folded them neatly beside the rest.

Sanji now stood in nothing but the jockstrap on, swaying faintly from the restraint it took not to reach for Law, not to pull him close and devour the man who had turned undressing into a ceremony. Sanji had learned this tempo. This rhythm. This slow, spiraling that Law demanded. This was his dance. And Sanji? Sanji had never felt more like a willing partner.

Law returned at last. He gripped Sanji by the chest, hard and sudden, dragging him forward and down. Sanji barely had time to react before he was on his knees, palms braced to keep from toppling, heart in his throat. His eyes rose to meet Law’s from below. Law stared down at him with that same cold, burning intensity he reserved for the most delicate of operations.

Brushing Sanji’s hair back from his face with a gentleness that didn’t match the raw want in his voice. “On your knees… not because I told you to.”

Sanji swallowed. “Because I want to be.” Then, softly, Law reached down and lifted Sanji’s chin.

Sanji leaned forward without hesitation, pulled by the gravity of the man before him. Law’s hand found his jaw again, thumb dragging slowly across his bottom lip, smudging the heat already building there.

“You’re being good so far,” Law murmured, eyes half-lidded, voice deep and smooth. “Now… let me see those teeth.” The pad of his thumb pressed gently, parting Sanji’s lips. He peered in like a man examining. A silent quake as Law’s cock twitched inches from his face—still hidden by the black jeans stretched tight around his hips. Law released him with slow care, and Sanji, raised a hand to help him undress. But before he could reach the waistband, Law’s fingers clamped around his wrist.

The faint knit of Law’s brow, that subtle downward angle of his gaze—and Sanji knew.

“…With your teeth,” Law finally said. A soft, needy sound escaped Sanji before he could stop it, shoulders sank, surrender folding over him. He leaned into the warmth radiating off of Law’s body, his scent crisp and clean, edged with the deeper heat of sweat and arousal. It made Sanji’s lungs ache. He dipped down again, breath brushing the button, and bit down enough to get purchase; the button slipped free. Then he caught the zipper in his teeth and pulled. The rasp of metal teeth parting filled the quiet room.

Law stared down at him with an intensity that pinned Sanji in place more thoroughly than any command could. Once the zipper was undone, Sanji raised his hands—palms up, a gesture of caution—and slowly tugged the pants down. No underwear. Even before his gaze dropped, he felt it, the thrumming like an unsheathed weapon. Looking down, the sight of Law fully bared made his stomach flip. Thick, veined, and flushed dark from base to tip, perfect in a way that was almost terrifying. Every inch screamed of intent, and it was for him.

A warm trickle slid from his nose. Sanji blinked, startled, and raised a hand just in time to catch the trail of blood slipping over his upper lip. “Shit—sorry, I—” Law was already reaching for him, pulling him up. Sanji expected a cloth, maybe a muttered curse. Instead, Law caught his bloody wrist, eyes flicking down to the crimson smear over his knuckles. With a slow, deliberate movement, he licked it clean.

Sanji froze.

“Law—what are you—?” He tried to pull away, but Law wrapped an arm firmly around his waist, holding him there as his tongue dragged up the line of red.

“Such a rare blood type,” Law murmured against his skin. “Shouldn’t go to waste.” Sanji shivered—something between shock and lust flaring in his chest. Law’s expression didn’t soften, but it did change—somewhere between reverent and possessive, like Sanji was something holy and dangerous all at once.

Law’s hand brushed against Sanji’s wrist, coaxing it gently away from his lips. Sanji let it fall, and the last trickle of blood painted a line over his mouth—sharp and red against flushed skin. Law leaned in again.

The kiss was all teeth. The softness from earlier had been stripped away, replaced by something raw and unfiltered. Their mouths crashed together, and Sanji opened for him, helpless under the weight of Law’s tongue, the iron tang of his own blood swirling between them. Law’s hips pressed forward, and Sanji felt him, the blunt weight of Law’s cock resting between them like a promise. Even through the haze, Sanji reeled from the sheer presence of it. He knew it, had tasted it, but now, pinned between Law’s full weight, the scale of it hit him with fresh clarity.

Law broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “Don’t drift,” against the corner of his mouth. Then shoved him—firm, purposeful—backward onto the bed. Sanji fell back onto the cool sheets, chest heaving, lips damp with blood and spit. Swiftly removing his remaining jacket and top, Law hovered over him, gaze devouring every inch of bare skin below. The trickle from Sanji’s nose had slowed to a faint stain at his philtrum, Law reached to wipe it away with his tongue. He licked a slow line up Sanji’s cheek, catching the copper trail without blinking, hands already sliding under Sanji’s thighs to spread him. One thigh lifted—pushed aside—Law’s knee slotting between them. Law shifted his hips letting his cock press along Sanji’s belly. The head was broad, the length veined and impossibly hard, and flushed deep at the tip. Sanji had known, but not like this. The sight of it made his mouth dry. Law paused, cock brushing across the ridges of Sanji’s abs with a low, satisfied hum.

Law’s hand drifted lower, skimming over the swell of Sanji’s thigh. The weight of his cock pressed between them, teasing lines across sensitive skin. Sanji moaned, hands fisting the sheets. He dipped low, pressing a kiss just beneath Sanji’s jaw, then opened his mouth and bit down. Sanji gasped, his whole body twitching, thighs flexing around Law’s hips as the teeth sank just enough to leave marks. The pain snapped him back from the edge, and he locked eyes with the man above him. Licking over the mark he'd left.

His hand didn’t move from Sanji’s chin. Fingers splayed along the line of his jaw, holding him there, keeping him still. The sting at his neck sent sparks down his spine, and it didn’t matter how sharp it was. It didn’t matter that Law’s teeth had sunk in deep enough to leave instant bruises, the wet patch forming between his legs only grew.

He couldn’t breathe. Not when it felt like this. Law shifted his grip, palms dragging down Sanji’s sides to seize his hips. His fingers dug in hard, thumbs pressing into the muscle with bruising precision. Then—another bite. This one lower, just under his collarbone. Sanji arched into it, helpless against the pain-pleasure burn, his breath breaking out in a shaky moan as heat crackled at his nerves. He watched the bruises bloom, spreading, kissed with teeth. Law’s mouth moved lower, tongue dragging across the firm swell of Sanji’s chest until he found a nipple already stiff. He licked over it once closing his mouth around it, sucking hard enough to make Sanji’s body jerk. Sanji gasped, hips thrusting up of their own accord, grinding into the solid press of Law’s abdomen.

“Ah—fuck, Law—” His mouth was busy biting around the sensitive nub, letting his tongue roll over the spot before kissing it better, only to drag his teeth across again. His hand returned to the other side, thumb brushing slow, taunting circles over the neglected peak. Then, finally, he spoke, cruel in their curiosity.

“Do you think…” he murmured, lips brushing the side of Sanji’s chest, “you could cum just from your nipples?” Sanji choked on his next breath, the sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “Wh-what—” But the way his chest heaved under Law’s touch said everything. Tracing slow, precise circles over the aching peaks, thumb pressing just enough to make them throb. Sanji’s breath was starting to break, small desperate pants threading between bitten-off moans. Every part of his body twitched under Law’s mouth. Law moved like he had all the time in the world. He thrust once, slow and shallow, his body pressed against Sanji’s core with deliberate weight. Sanji’s moan cracked in his throat. 

Law lifted his head, breath warm over flushed skin, pulling the under ware aside lifting the cock free with a heavy slap. “You’re dripping,” he murmured. “I haven’t even started.”

Sanji’s chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven waves, each breath coming faster than the last. He was spiraling, caught between the relentless ache in his core and the unshakable presence above him. Law watched him, the edge of amusement glinting in his dark eyes as he brought a hand to Sanji’s flushed cheek.

“If you keep breathing like that,” Law murmured, voice cool and measured, “you’re going to pass out.” Sanji’s lips parted to protest, but then Law pressed their foreheads together.

“Then we’ll both be disappointed in the morning,” Law added, something almost fond laced in the warning.

He bent down and kissed him softly. A moment of gravity in the middle of Sanji’s unraveling. Their mouths fit together in a slow press of lips and breath, and under Law’s weight, Sanji breathed. Deep. Controlled.

Law sighed into him as he pulled back. “That’s better,” he said, low and smooth. “I do love it when you listen.”

Law brushed fingers over Sanji’s lips—first soft, then pressing inward until they breached the heat of his mouth. Sanji moaned. Opening himself up, eyes fluttering shut, whole body pulsing with the steady ache that had started to cross into desperation. Law’s cock throbbed against his stomach, and Sanji felt it—felt the need behind the restraint, the weight of every unspent thrust hovering just beneath Law’s carefully composed surface.

Law’s fingers slipped free from Sanji’s mouth with a wet pop, glistening with spit as they trailed downward. Those same fingers ghosted down Sanji’s chest, over his stomach, pausing just long enough to make him twitch, before sliding between his trembling thighs finding his mark. He pressed in slow, controlled circles against him—right over the swollen entrance still tender from earlier. The sensation made Sanji gasp, his body pulsing in response, every nerve lit and waiting.

Law hummed low in his throat, clearly pleased. “Still soft and open for me…” he murmured, more to himself than to Sanji.

Law’s mouth crashed against his, it was the kind of kiss that promised everything and gave nothing. Sanji whimpered into it, hips jerking forward, a desperate noise escaping him as he clawed at Law’s back. His nails bit into skin, dragging red across muscle. Law liked the sting. He fed on it. With a single fluid push, his fingers sank inside. The stretch was sharp. Sanji’s head dropped back against the sheets, a broken moan escaping him as Law pushed in to the last knuckle.

“Haaaaaaah—La—” he gasped. The bed strained beneath them. The room around them—normally sterile and dim—had turned into a pressure cooker of heat. The low desk lamp threw long shadows up the walls, golden light catching the glint of polished steel off the head of Law's cock. He scissored his fingers inside, feeling the stretch. Then he sat up, that clinical calm returning, and reached for Sanji’s cock.

“You’re already close,” he murmured, dragging the fingers up the inside of Sanji’s thigh, slow and devastating. Sanji whimpered at that, hips lifting, searching for any amount of friction. Law pinned him with one firm hand pressed flat to his abdomen, locking him to the mattress. His fingers never stopped moving, still thrusting slow and deep, coaxing him open.

“You don’t get to cum,” Law said low, “until I say so.” Without warning his hand wrapped around Sanji’s cock. He stroked once.

"Gaaahhh-F-ahhhh." The noise that escaped his throat was half-whimper, half-broken curse. Law watched, enjoying the view of a man unraveling right in his hands.

Law’s hand never stopped moving, dragging slow, deliberate circles over the slick head of Sanji’s cock. His hand hovered there, applying enough pressure to drive him mad. He adjusted his weight, settling between Sanji’s legs. Those legs—long, lean, and honed from years of battle—parted for him so easily. Sanji let out a fractured moan, the sound half-bitten by his own teeth as Law angled his fingers inside him and pressed. Right there. Right where he knew to hit.

“Law, please,” he choked, voice high with need. “I want you—I need to feel you in me—I want to—I can't—”

Goosebumps raced across his skin, the kind that gripped bone and refused to let go. Law added a third finger. Sanji arched off the bed with a hoarse cry.

“Are you going to disappoint me, Sanji?” Law asked. The words splintered something in him. Law buried the fingers to the last knuckle, a punishing stretch that scraped at the edge of too much. Sanji’s cock twitched helplessly in the open air—and with a choked sob, a heavy bead of slick spilled from the tip, rolling down the flushed shaft.

“Hah-Hah-mmmmhhph'—” Sanji clung to the sheets like they were the last thing tethering him to the earth. Tongue sliding slow and wet up the curve. The obscene slick of it sent another shudder crashing through him. He lapped up the slick with an audible hum, tongue curling to savor it.

Then Law lowered further, resting his cheek against the inside of Sanji’s thigh. His hand still worked between his legs, stretching him, but now his mouth was focused on the skin. Teeth sank into the pale flesh, pulling a startled cry from Sanji’s throat as Law gnawed down, leaving marks. Law pushed his face into the leg, almost smothering himself in the skin, lips brushing over the trembling muscle. He bit again at the skin, hungry to taste the warmth of his flesh between his teeth, breathing in the heat of Sanji’s body like it was oxygen.

Sanji tensed hard as Law watched his cock flex in the moment. He quickly rose, clamping down over his throat.

"Don't you dare."

Then—bite. Another sharp clamp of teeth sank into the meat of Sanji’s thigh, branding him with the sensation. His grip stayed firm, keeping him locked in the moment, the anticipation that bordered on agony. Imprints of teeth marks ran all over his thighs as Law removed his hand. Sanji’s hips were raised, adjusting him. He closed the distance, dragging his pierced tongue along the sensitive skin, heat vibrating through every nerve as he hummed into it. It was puffy and twitching wildly, clearly Sanji was on the brink of his release. Law lulled his tongue out over it. Holding it there as Sanji whimpered at the continued tease of it all.

“You begged for my cock…” he murmured. “How could I deny you any longer?” Law’s hands slid over the backs of his thighs, coaxing his legs wider. Sanji’s eyes were glassy, his mouth slack, and broken words spilled from his lips. Law held his hips as the tip kissed his entrance. Law looked down and committed the sight to memory. The soft tremble of Sanji’s thighs, the slick trail down his shaft, the faint marks still blooming on his skin.

Then—he pushed.

The tip slipped inside, and Law groaned under his breath, jaw clenching at the sheer tightness. Even after all that preparation, Sanji’s body fought to hold him. He flexed his fingers over Sanji’s thighs, trying not to lose control too quickly. For months, they'd orbited each other like stars refusing to crash. And Law, for all his restraint, felt the gravity of it pull him under.

Glassy blue eyes stared up at him, pupils blown to the edge. He wanted to see this. Law's teeth sank into his own lower lip hard enough to split the skin. The tang of copper grounded him. A trade for restraint. Because Sanji was still so tight, so impossibly hot, and Law could feel every inch of himself being taken in. He wanted to bury himself to the hilt, to lose himself. But not until Sanji could take it all. His body accepted him with a trembling kind of grace, inch by inch, slick and impossibly snug. Sanji moaned low, the sound caught between pain and pleasure. Then came a sharp inhale—a twitch. A subtle tightening. Law stopped.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough but laced with rare gentleness. Sanji’s lashes fluttered. A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, catching on the crest of his cheekbone as he nodded. It wasn’t a sign of pain, it was everything else the overstimulation, relief, surrender. The enormity of the moment crashing down. Law leaned forward, cupping Sanji’s face in one inked hand. His thumb brushed the tear away without a word. He moved again, sliding in until their hips finally met.

Sanji gasped, and Law bottomed out with a low groan, body shaking as he finally, finally settled inside him fully. He stayed there for a beat—buried in him, surrounded by heat and so much emotion it made his head spin. He collapsed forward, chest to chest. Their hearts beat between them, the rhythm wild and shared. Law could feel the pulse of Sanji’s cock against his stomach, wanting more. He nuzzled into the curve of Sanji’s neck, arching and offering. Law slid a hand around the back of his neck, cradling the base of his skull like something precious. The other stayed locked on his waist, holding him steady, owning the connection between them.

“You feel…” Law couldn’t even finish the thought. It was too much.

Too good.

Too perfect.

Sanji swallowed hard. He couldn’t speak—his throat was thick with the weight of the moment—his fingers curled into Law’s back, holding him close, nails dragging over skin. Law had him. And Sanji wanted to be had. Law shifted slightly, deep inside him leaning in to brush his mouth along the cuff of Sanji’s ear. The slow drag of his tongue there made Sanji shiver. Even the smallest movements now were a symphony of sensation.

Their eyes met, glassy blue meeting molten gold in the low light.

“Please,” he gasped. Just one word. Gutted open in the softest way, the restraint he’d kept for Law.

“Come for me, Sanji.” He whispered it like a vow before claiming his mouth, and their tongues met with an almost frantic crash. Sanji sobbed into the kiss as he crested, body locking tight, every line in him going rigid as pleasure surged through. Law felt it hit him first—the way Sanji’s walls clenched around him, hard and pulsing, pulling him deeper like a heartbeat trying to swallow him whole. Then the warmth spilled between them, streaking across their stomachs as Sanji came with a cry into Law’s mouth. The flex and pull of his body around Law’s cock was so intense, Law groaned into the kiss, hips jerking once on instinct. Slowly rocking into Sanji's orgasm. Law broke the kiss only to watch him, head tossed back, lashes wet, lips parted around a breath that never came. Sanji’s whole body trembled with aftershocks, and Law was there to catch every single one of them. Gently, he shifted, pulling Sanji upright, guiding him into his lap as he sat back on his heels. His cock never left him. Sanji slid down slowly, taking him in again, and the sound he made—God. It was nothing short of broken devotion.

He folded into Law’s arms, spent. Blond strands clung to flushed skin, tickling Law’s shoulder. Sanji’s head rested there, too tired to hold himself upright, fingers dragging faintly along the tattoos on Law’s back with the last of his strength. Law held him close, one hand resting flat on his spine, the other steady on his hip. He could feel the tiny quivers in Sanji’s breath.

And in the quiet—between the soft pants and the warmth of skin—Law saw it. The truth of him. Not the flirt. Not the showman. Not the cook. But the man who gave too much. Who burned bright and pretended he didn’t. Who let himself break only when he knew he was safe. And Law realized—this was why he’d fallen. Not for the way Sanji moved or spoke or teased—but for this. For the tenderness he hid so fiercely. For the way he trusted Law enough to fall apart in his arms. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Sanji’s temple.

The room had stilled. The low amber light from Law’s desk lamp painted their tangled bodies in soft golds and deep shadows, casting gentle arcs across Sanji’s spine where his skin still glowed from exertion. The only sound now was their breathing. Law stayed perfectly still, still buried inside him, holding Sanji in his lap. The press of skin against skin, the heartbeat he could feel thudding softly where their chests met—it was all real.

Sanji stirred faintly, his weight shifting as he looked up, and then—he smiled. Soft. Sleepy. Disarmed, a little dazed. But it was a real smile, like he was happy here.

Something broke in Law’s chest. The ache was sudden; he’s beautiful, Law thought, stunned. I’ve fallen so hard for him, it hurts. He brought a hand up, brushing his knuckles along Sanji’s jaw. His thumb ghosted over the damp lashes beneath one blue eye, then followed the path of that smile like he couldn’t believe it was real. Sanji blinked up at him, still breathless, still flushed. Slowly, Law adjusted his knees, one hand against the bed as he shifted his hips. A cautious press forward.

Sanji’s breath hitched. Law paused. Testing. Asking. He didn’t want to break the spell, not if Sanji was too sensitive or too overwhelmed, and not if the moment had already reached its peak. Then Sanji moved with him. Flowed with him. He rolled his hips with that same fluid grace, pressing back down to meet the motion, it was seamless. Like they’d done this a thousand times. Like his body already knew Law’s. Their eyes met again.

Only the quiet invitation: Yes.

Law exhaled, something clicked inside him, and he kissed him again, soft this time, just a whisper of mouths. Then he moved again. Sanji rocked with him, hands curling again around Law’s shoulders, head tipping forward to press their foreheads together as they moved—like they had been doing this for years. Every motion was already written into them, like their bodies had just been waiting to find one another. Law couldn’t look away. Two people finally meeting at the point where longing became belonging. It would never stop astonishing him—how Sanji, in all his ferocity, in all his passion, still had this kind of softness tucked away. Law pressed deeper, fully into the trust. Into him. Sanji took it all like he was made for it.

He rocked in Law’s lap, guiding him deeper, coaxing the tension from his body with every grind of his hips, every whisper of friction between them. The warmth of Law inside him hadn’t dulled—it pulsed now, pressing into every raw nerve. Law exhaled through his nose, jaw tight, brows furrowed—not in pain, but in restraint. His hands gripped Sanji’s waist like he didn’t want to let go, like every part of him was focused on not breaking the moment too soon. Sanji could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his cock throbbed deep inside him. Law was holding back. Sanji realized it; there was a hesitation in his touch, like he feared this was the kind of happiness the world only allowed once. A fleeting moment, a fluke in the chaos of their lives. Sanji softened, breath catching in his throat as he watched the flicker of emotion cross Law’s face. The weight of it struck him so deeply he nearly stopped moving.

He thinks this is going to disappear. Sanji watched the threaded brows fix themselves over his expression. He needed to reassure him, like Law had just done to him. They were so similar, he thought.

Sanji didn’t speak—he leaned in, cupped Law’s face, and pressed a kiss to the space between his brows. Then another to his cheek. His jaw. His lips. All slow, all patient. All promises. His hands clung to Sanji’s waist like if he moved too fast, it would all slip away. But Sanji just smiled. He started to move with a drive to show Law he was there with him. Not to take. But to give. That whatever this was—whatever it would become—it wasn’t fleeting. He worked his hips with a rhythm, rolling into Law’s lap with smooth, deliberate grace.

“You don’t have to hold back with me,” Sanji whispered, barely audible over the thump of their hearts. “I won’t disappear when this ends. Not unless you want me to.” His eyes fluttered closed. Sanji’s hips met each roll with a restrained thrust, a slow grind that had them both gasping through their teeth, desperately trying to prolong the moment.

“Let me have you.” Law shuddered. It tore through him, his hips jerked, his groan raw and helpless against Sanji’s throat. But still, he fought it. Still, he held on.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” Sanji said, voice thick with emotion. “Not with me.”

And that did it.

Sanji rolled his hips again, slow and smooth, the drag of Law’s cock now hitting deep enough to punch a sigh from both their lungs. And then again. And again. Each thrust building—building—as Law let himself settle into the moment. Hands gripped deeper, biting at the edge of pain, and started to move Sanji with purpose. Law groaned, and the grip on Sanji’s hips tightened even further. His head tilted back, throat bared to the dim light as his breath turned ragged. His arms flexed, pulling Sanji onto him with force.

They moved faster, chasing the sound of Law’s breath each time their bodies met. Sanji leaned back, giving Law even just a little more room to drive into him. Running a hand down his chest, feeling the muscles twitch. He felt Law twitch inside him, harder now, more erratic. Grabbing his thighs, he dug into Sanji; a moan breathed out of Sanji as he leaned back further, one hand on Law's neck and one on the bed to stabilize him. His jaw clenched, and his brows furrowed intensely, his thighs still all of a sudden, his eyes rolled back, and he exhaled with a trembling breath.

"Ahhhhhhh-Sahhh-" Law shuddered, his release hitting like a thunderclap, every muscle locking as he gasped, coming deep inside him. He moaned low, something guttural and shaking loose from a place Sanji wasn’t sure anyone else had ever touched. Sanji could feel it: the heat, the throb, the flood. Law held him so tight that Sanji couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began. All Sanji could do was watch. Watch as the man who held himself together in every other situation finally let himself go.

And god, he was beautiful like this. I’m in so much trouble, Sanji thought, lips parting in a quiet, stunned smile as he held Law through the aftershocks. I’ve fallen so hard for this man it hurts. Until there was nothing left but the warmth of two bodies joined.

Sanji pulled off him and fell into the bed, Law resting on his chest. Law quickly encircled his arms. Gently combing his fingers through Law’s hair, the strands damp with sweat, clinging faintly to his brow. His other arm curled around Law’s back, drawing him in closer, safer, until their chests rose and fell in sync. Law’s weight had shifted; he slumped slightly into him now, no longer holding himself but finally allowing rest to claim him. The surgeon who never slept, never let his guard fall, and never let anyone see how deeply he cared—now lay heavy in Sanji’s arms. He tilted his head enough to press a kiss to Law’s head, lips lingering in the strands of raven hair before he let his own eyes slip closed.

Law’s breath evened out, and Sanji held him. Sleep took them quietly, wrapped in limbs and silence and a night that asked nothing more of them.

Law was walking down the corridors of the Polar Tang, feet bare and thudding down the hall, when a chill rolled over him. Law stopped; it was an overwhelming sense of fear. Shadows lengthening across steel floors. The sterile scent of the Polar Tang, distorted into something off. Too quiet. Law stood barefoot in the hallway, fog curling at the edges of the corridor. His heart pounded, fast and heavy, but he didn’t know why.

Then—

A laugh. Coiled with something obscene, it was unmistakable.

"Fu Fu Fu Fu"

The voice that echoed from behind him was too close. He spun, and the light overhead flickered violently, revealing Doflamingo at the far end of the corridor. His smile was wide. Blood soaked the feathers of his coat, dripping with every step.

“Cora-san is dead, little Law.”

In his arms, Corazon’s body hung limp, his black coat burned, bullet holes bleeding dark, staring at Law with a glassy, unmoving expression. Blood dripped from both men as Doflamingo made his approach. Law turned to run; the corridor stretched with every step. No matter how fast he moved, he stayed just out of reach. Doflamingo was walking lazily, dragging his prize along in full view if Law dared look over his shoulder.

“You were just a pest,” Doffy said, Law turning slightly, those hateful glasses gleaming. "A means to an end." The fog thickened. When it cleared, Law wasn’t in the sub anymore—he was back in Flevance. A boy again. Knees scraped. Chest heaving. Buildings burned around him, screams echoing in the distance. Blood coated his hands, his family's blood. He backed away, falling over what he thought was rubble, but it was his crew, every single one of them soaked in blood. His eyes caught a flash of pink feathers in the smoke.

“You couldn’t save them.”

Doflamingo loomed over him. “You couldn’t save anyone.” Suddenly, a gloved hand reached down and pulled him up. It was Sanji. Wearing that same blue tailored suit. Blonde hair ruffled. Smile warmly. He cupped Law’s face.

“Hey. I’ve got you,” Sanji whispered. Law gasped, and the nightmare paused, just for a breath. But the world cracked open again behind them. Strings lashed forward like vipers, catching Sanji by the throat, the wrist, and the chest, yanking him back.

“No—NO!” Law lunged. But he missed. The fog twisted again, and Sanji was now bound, held in midair, blood running from his mouth and streaking over his blue suit. Doflamingo leaned in beside him, a grotesque parody of affection, and licked up the side of his face. Twisting his long spindly fingers around his neck.

“What’s one more thing for me to take from you?” Law screamed—Shambles igniting, hands flaring blue. But his powers slipped through his fingers like smoke.

Sanji’s lips moved:

“Law.”

Then a sickly snap to his neck. The strings retracted, letting the body of Sanji fall, meeting with his crew, his family, and Corazon.

"Fu Fu Fu Fu Fu."

Law was left on his knees in the ash of his childhood, hands shaking. Empty.

Again.

Always.

Alone.

The warmth of their tangled bodies had lulled Sanji into a deep, rare kind of sleep. One where breath came easy and the ache in his body had softened into a slow, pleasant thrum. In the haze of that early morning dark, something shifted. Law, normally so grounded and steady even in sleep, had started to twitch, fingers flexing against Sanji’s skin, breath coming in short bursts. A muffled sound slipped from his throat, almost like a whimper. Sanji blinked, disoriented, as Law suddenly jerked away, dragging the sheets with him and twisting in the bed.

“Law?” Sanji reached out gently, hand brushing against his arm. “Hey—hey, it’s okay—” But the moment his fingers made contact, Law turned violently, grabbing him, and in a blink, Sanji found himself half-pinned beneath Law’s weight, a forearm pressing dangerously against his throat. Sanji gasped. Law's eyes weren't open, but his expression was haunted.

“Law—!” Sanji croaked out, but it only made Law’s grip tighten. Without thinking, Sanji brought his legs up, hooked them around Law’s waist, and, with a sharp twist of his hips, flipped them, slamming Law back down onto the mattress. He straddled him, using the strength in his thighs to pin Law beneath him.

“Wake the fuck up, Law!” He barked, his voice cracked and hoarse. Law’s breathing was erratic. His muscles twitched, trying to throw Sanji off. But Sanji didn’t budge.

“It’s me,” he said, quieter now. “It’s Sanji. You're safe.”

Seconds passed. Then—

Law's eyes opened. Blinking once. Twice. His pupils refocused, and his whole body suddenly stilled under Sanji. As if waking up all at once to the terrible truth of what had just happened. Sanji felt the tremble before he heard the breath stutter.

Law rasped, voice broken, “I—I didn’t mean—” He reached up, trembling fingers brushing Sanji’s face like he couldn’t believe he was real.

“I’m so sorry,” Law breathed. “I was dreaming—I saw Doflamingo—he—he took everything. I thought—I thought you were—” Sanji didn’t let him finish. He leaned down and kissed Law’s forehead, their skin sticking faintly from panic.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he whispered. “You scared me, yeah, but I’m here.” Law’s jaw clenched. His hands fisted into the sheets, shame washing over his face in real time. “I would never…” He shook his head, voice rough with guilt. “I’d never hurt you. I need you to believe that.”

Sanji cupped his face and brought their foreheads together.

“I believe you,” he said gently. “But next time, maybe try and wake up before your nightmares start throwing hands?” A soft huff of broken laughter escaped Law’s throat, but it melted into a choked breath as Sanji leaned in and held him.

Eventually, Law turned his head just slightly. His voice came out low and cracked.

“I saw him again. Doflamingo. He had Corazon, bleeding. He wouldn’t stop laughing.” Sanji didn’t interrupt. Keeping his hand in Law’s hair, with slow, deliberate strokes.

“He kept taking things from me. My home. My family. Cora-san.” Law swallowed. “And this time… it was you,” he continued.

“He pulled you away from me. I couldn’t stop him. I tried—fuck, I tried—but I couldn’t move. My powers—my body—it was like I was ten again. Small. Useless.” Sanji pressed his forehead to Law’s gently, letting his hand trail down to cup his jaw.

Sanji said softly. “You’re not useless. You’re here. You pulled yourself out of all that hell and kept moving.” Law’s eyes flicked to his. Tired. Red around the edges.

“I’ve never been afraid to die,” Law murmured. “But I was terrified in that dream. Not for me. For you.” Sanji gave him a faint smile, thumbing at his cheekbone.

Law exhaled, long and quiet. “He was the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t a monster in those years,” Law whispered. He leaned in slowly and kissed the corner of Law’s mouth enough to say, I hear you, without demanding anything back.

They lay there like that, tangled in the sheets, hearts thrumming slower and steadier with every breath. Law’s voice came softer now.

“He used to hum to me. When I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t move. He’d sit beside me and hum like it would fix everything.” His fingers found Sanji’s wrist, clutching it gently.

Resting there in the silence, sleep was going to be difficult to find again after that dream. Not after the way it gripped him like a vice and pulled him back into the worst moments of his life. But now, Sanji was lying across his chest again. The subtle rise and fall of his breath brushed against Law’s collarbone; legs remained tangled beneath the blanket, anchoring Law in place. Law let his hand drift slowly up Sanji’s spine, tracing the dip between his shoulder blades with the lightest pressure. He needed to feel him. The quiet way his body curved around Law’s like he belonged there. As if he had always belonged there.

The echo of the nightmare still lingered in the corners of the room, but it couldn’t compete with this. Sanji shifted slightly, and the arm he’d slung across Law’s waist settled higher, draped across his chest like a shield.

He’s still here.

He didn’t deserve this. Not after all the years of violence, blood, and death. Not after the way he’d shut people out. But Sanji was still here anyway. Still wrapped around him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like Law hadn’t just nearly hurt him in his sleep. Sanji chose this. Chose him. Law exhaled shakily and tightened his hold on Sanji, fingers splaying over his back. One leg hitched over Law’s thigh, pressing closer. Law closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of smoke and sweat and that familiar spice that always clung to Sanji’s skin. He reached up, brushing Sanji’s hair out of his eyes, and kissed the crown of his head. Sanji shifted slightly, enough to lift his head. The movement earned him a small, reluctant noise from Law—a faint grunt of protest as if the loss of pressure would unmoor him again.

He leaned in and brushed his lips just beneath Law’s jaw. Law stared at him for a long moment, like he was measuring more than the space they shared. He reached up and cradled the side of Sanji’s face. The tension in Law’s chest finally released. He leaned up, catching Sanji’s lips in a kiss that tasted like gratitude and hunger and something close to worship.

Sanji smiled into it and then placed his head back onto his chest. "Come on, let's try and get some more sleep, I want to make you breakfast in the morning." His chest stopped, holding his breath at the gesture as small as making him breakfast. A slow exhale with a few untethered twitches against Sanji's thigh. Sanji chuckled low in his throat.

“But if you’re hungry now…” He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling up as he shifted. “You could’ve just said so.”

Law watched him in the dim room, moving to press hip to hip. Law was already at half mast when long arms lifted and leaned into him, stealing a quick kiss. Law saw the aftermath of their last encounter. Sanji was bruised all over the place from neck to knee. It turned Law on quickly, stiffening between the press of their bodies.

Sanji moved with easy confidence, guiding their bodies closer until he was once again straddling Law’s hips. The press of their skin, the heat between them. He sat up slowly, spine pressing into the cool metal of the headboard, letting Sanji draw them together. Sanji lifted and found the head of an already slick cock. He sank slowly, still open, and Law watched him take it in. He fought the roll of his eyes as he was pushed deep inside. It was still slick from his release just hours before. Sanji gripped the steel behind Law, testing the hold, and started to move. The slide of movement had Law moaning softly as he pushed his cum deeper inside.

But that smirk—

That infuriating, beautiful smirk—

Law’s hands clenched tighter, and he yanked Sanji down hard against him.

The smug expression cracked into a gasp as Law seized control of the rhythm. Hands guided Sanji up and down with sudden force, meeting his lap, pressing him in deep before lifting him again and dropping him into a new wave of motion. The bed groaned beneath them, the metal frame straining with every lift and thrust. Sanji was dizzy from the overwhelming sensation of being fucked like this. Sanji’s fingers dug into Law’s shoulders, movements growing ragged, all confidence undone under the pressure. Law pushed up into him with such urgency that Sanji nearly folded forward, catching himself with one hand as his back arched and breath trembled. Then Law flipped him—pressed him down into the mattress, eyes blazing, mouth parted in sheer hunger. Every movement from there was fast and deep.

The room blurred. The bed crumpled under the rocking motion. Sanji’s head tilted back as his hands searched blindly for anything to hold. His legs wrapped tight around Law’s hips, trying to pull him closer when there was no space left.

“Don’t stop,” he panted, voice hoarse and pleading.

Law’s arms curled under Sanji’s shoulders, anchoring him as he drove forward with renewed force. Their bodies collided with a desperate rhythm—skin to skin, breath to breath. Sanji’s voice broke into fractured pleas, his legs locking tight around Law’s hips, heels digging in as though he could pull the man even deeper. Law pressed his forehead to Sanji’s chest, breath ragged against the bruised skin. He didn’t hold back anymore. Not from the aching, consuming need to be inside this man. Let go of the distance he always kept. Let go of the fear of giving too much.

Because Sanji didn’t run. He clung tighter.

Tattooed hands slipped from Sanji’s back only to grip his hips, lifting him just enough to change the angle, to get deeper. Law’s breath strained when he felt the change, and Sanji’s body answered with a choked cry. Their eyes locked for only a second before Law leaned in and bit down, muffling his groan against the cook’s chest. The rhythm grew unrestrained. Law moved, he wasn’t about to waste a single second. The press, the pace, the crash of their hips echoing through the room. Law’s teeth sank deeper into skin before he gasped into it.

Sanji could feel the change. The way Law stiffened, hands clutching him with an intensity that bordered on pain. Then the stillness hit, before Law shuddered against him with a strained, breathless curse. But the release didn’t bring softness. Law kept going. He moved with reckless abandon, as if chasing every last spark he hadn’t yet claimed. The thrusts were harder, messier, and more desperate. The pressure inside him grew unbearable as Law slammed into him, sending jolts up his spine and sparks behind his eyes. He couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. The headboard rattled. The mattress shifted. Law was driving into him like he needed to mark every part of him from the inside out. Sanji’s fingers scrabbled for something to hold as the pleasure mounted fast and hard. Pushing him down on the bed, pressing into him again and again.

Sanji let his legs fall to the side, and before Law could grab the back of his thighs, Sanji kicked away. Laws eyes were sharp as a thick POP filled the room as Laws still hard cock slipped free. Sanji, slightly dazed, felt the cum leak out of him with the stretch. Law looked down and saw the cum leaking out and licked his lips. He slowly crawled towards him, eyes were so sharp and predatory Sanji forgot to breathe for a second. He pushed himself over the end of the bed with a sly smirk. Law caught him before his feet hit the floor, spinning him onto his stomach. Pulling hips to meet the impossibly hot cock. Law pushed back in bottoming out. His head fell back with a rasped groan. Sanji split his legs willingly for him, and it only made Law throb harder. Sanji on all fours stretched over his cock, and Law quickly felt himself cresting over his next orgasm. He reached around, and a small yelp slipped out of Sanji as his cock was dribbling with slick.

Law continued the brutal pace. Leaning chest to back, hand running over Sanji's cock as he fucked into him. The flex of his back, the impossibly perfect sloped waist, and the muscles of his lower back dimpled as Law buried himself again and again. He felt a hand swat him away at the cock in his hand. He saw the glassy blue look back over his shoulder.

"Give me all you got, Surgeon of Death." Law stilled for a moment, he did not even notice his room push out as he reached back out over Sanji, not grabbing his shoulder but lacing his fingers between the muscle structure. He pulled back, and the blond arched back onto his cock. His head went dizzy as the new handles that had been secured in the tattooed grip.

"You are so damn perfect." He pulled Sanji's quickly slacking body in his pleasure down onto his cock. Sanji saw the fingers gripping between the muscles of his shoulders and rode the cock into his own release.

His arched body being pulled over and over as his cum rained down in front of him. The tight squeeze of his orgasm had Law pulling his laced fingers back down once more with a wrecked groan quickly restrained with a hiss as he came again in the already abused hole. He gripped the beautiful muscles as he jerked into the twitching, overstimulated hole a few more times. Not wanting to pull out the warmth that was too fucking intoxicating.

Fingers slowly retracted, and Sanji slumped heavily on the edge of the bed, sliding off the still hard length. Law put his hands on the curve of his well-toned and perfect ass. Spread them to admire the stretch. He pulled Sanji back towards him. Sanji stared down, eyes blown to the edge, as Law settled behind him. Law snuggled up close into the crook of his neck. As Sanji's body trembled. He was hot, sticky, and full of cum. The pressure he felt in his abdomen was not like the growing want he normally felt but the pressure of being filled to the brim with one load after another. Sleep pulled at the edges of his consciousness as goose bumps rolled over his body in the breath over his neck, just the place Law loved to be.

The room was unbearably hot as the dark of the porthole of his room held steady. He was sprawled out, blurry eyes tracing the rivets on the ceiling of his room. He moved his arm back and forth. Nothing. He turned his head and looked up. Sanji was missing.

Law raised his head and looked over to his alarm clock; it was 2pm. "Uhhhhgh." He ran his hands over his face and scrubbed his scalp. He started to sit up, but his pelvis hurt. As restrained as Law was, Sanji let him have it last night. He looked around, a neatly folded suit on his desk, clothes strewn about without a care. Sanji's travel pack tucked by Law's closet. He huffed and looked over the bed. definitely need more clean sheets

Then a hiss signaled the sealing of the door that led to his room. A warm smile greeted him with hair tied back and a cigarette in his mouth, almost spent. "Good, you are awake. Break-brunch is ready." He placed his hands in his pockets and walked over to the side Law rested on. Law was still naked, but Sanji was wearing a white shirt with sleeves rolled neatly and black slacks he seemed to live in. He was fresh and washed.

"Come on, you are probably dehydrated and hungry." Sanji squatted down, hands still in his pockets. He gave Law a warm smile again. Law huffed and threw the blankets over the side. Law stood, and he was sore. But it was a mark that meant something, like his mind just did not make up that they finally had one another last night. Law stood next to Sanji; he leaned in and caught the bruises almost healed over his neck. Law bit the bottom of his lip, which was scabbed over. His cock throbbed, and Sanji chuckled fondly.

"Come on, Captain, there will be plenty of time for that. Shower, you stink, and come meet me in the galley."

"What's on the menu today?" Law walked with a slight offset to his normal cadence from the late night activities.

Sanji, even still bruised from the relentless give-and-take from the late night fucking, could not help him self from staring over the cut of him. He was addicted to the sight, craved the tastes, and chased the feeling even now. He raised his arm and closed his eyes, fixing his cuff. Remembering Law felt behind him still hard, still ready to fuck him silly.

I wonder if there is a limit? He went silent a little too long for Law to catch it. Molten gold looked back at him, Law turned, and his mouth curved into a dare. He left the blood rush at the composer Sanji now held. He remembered the dimples in his back, the sweat trailing down the slope of his spine.

Sanji watched, eyes now locked on gold, trying not to give into the clear want being presented to him. Hands clenched in his pockets, jaw tightened, and he let the smoke burn all the way to the edge of his lips. It was a game of restraints now in the heat of that room.

Sanji broke first, "Guess I’m not the only one with a strong appetite." He pulled the spent butt away from his lips as Law blocked the door in a passive message. Sanji deposited the blunt into the ashtray by the bed.

He turned—and for a moment, his gaze faltered. His eyes betrayed him, drawn to the way a bead of slick clung, glistening at the tip.

Sanji cleared his throat, voice even. “Come on. I made you something nice.”

“Wouldn’t want it going cold now, would you?” Sanji paced toward him, close but not quite touching, letting the length of his body maintain a deliberate distance. He stopped just short, leaned in, and with an effortless flick of his fingers, tipped Law’s cock out of his path.

A kiss landed on his cheek.

“Thirty minutes.”

His voice was calm.

“Shower. Dress. Eat.”

A pause. Then the warning, smooth as silk:

“Any longer, and you’re not getting dessert for a week.”

He slipped past without another glance.

Law showed up exactly thirty minutes later. Clean, dressed, damp strands of hair swept back and still clinging to his temples. He didn’t say anything as he stepped into the galley surveying the room like it might’ve changed in his absence. The table was already set. Warm light, faint steam rising off bowls. The crew was scattered across the benches, conversation subdued. Penguin fiddled with his chopsticks. Shachi gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Bepo offered a polite nod before going right back to quietly finishing his plate. Not one of them looked Law directly in the eye. Law’s brow twitched. The space was tight—as always in the sub—but the air this afternoon felt denser. Sanji had angled himself at the far end of the galley, hands calmly placing a final side dish down as if nothing at all was out of place. Law reached for a chair. Movement in the room barely resumed. He sat still watching. Sanji finally glanced up, something unreadable flickering in his gaze before it slid into a slight smirk.

“Told you it’d be better hot.” Law didn’t answer. Not yet. His fingers tapped once against the side of the bowl. A question simmered under his skin.

Why wouldn’t they look at him?
But he was certain of one thing:
Sanji already knew.

Sanji served him, sliding the bowl in front of Law with a quiet clink. Whatever it was smelled phenomenal—deep, savory heat layered with honey, like your mom made it on a rainy day. Law hadn’t even asked what it was. He just picked up his chopsticks and started eating. The clatter of utensils was the only real sound in the room at first. A few murmured comments between the others, awkward laughter that didn’t last long. No one was making eye contact. Especially not with Law.

Sanji took his seat across from him like nothing was wrong.

“So,” Sanji began lightly, dragging a bite of oats around into his bowl, “I was thinking about doing a crab broth tomorrow. Ikkaku pulled some good shells out of the cold storage, and I’ve got a few tricks that might even impress your stuck-up palate.”

Law glanced at him from over his bowl, chewing slowly. Sanji kept talking like he was discussing the weather.

“Or maybe something spicy again. You handled the heat better than I thought you would.” He glanced up briefly, and there was that faint pull at the corner of his mouth—somewhere between amusement and provocation.

Law went to respond, but movement around the table caught his attention. Bepo had gone quiet again, ears twitching. Penguin coughed into his sleeve like he needed an excuse not to meet Law’s gaze. Shachi suddenly found the grain of the table really interesting. Even Ikkaku, bold as ever, looked like she was suppressing a smirk, her cheeks slightly flushed. Law’s brow furrowed, chopsticks pausing mid-air. Sanji tilted his head slightly, reading the look with ease. Then without a hint of shame, he said it.

“They heard us.” Law’s hand froze.

Sanji sipped his tea. Unbothered. Almost smug.

“The walls are thin, or it was the ventilation,” he added, like he was discussing the latest news report, “and you’re not exactly quiet when you lose control.” The silence around the table thickened. A few heads ducked. A muffled laugh died in someone’s throat. Law set his chopsticks down slowly, spine straightening. His eyes locked with stormy blue. Sanji smiled warm, maybe even a little fond, but absolutely unapologetic.

“Eat up,” he said lightly.

They heard us. The words still echoed. His eyes focused on the warmth of the food in front of him and the casual one-sided conversation Sanji was having. The word us inparticular was what looped around in his mind over and over. The warmth of him last night was a side unseen as the cook lazily flicked his wrist back and forth with his words. His steady confidence pulled Law back from his spiraling mind. But he could feel the weight of their glances—not direct, never direct—dipping just shy of meeting his eyes before veering off into their plates or the wall or anywhere else that wasn’t him. This was Laws sanctuary, his home, and he protected it with everything he was capable of. He would never allow some random person inside for a quick bit of fun. But Sanji was not some random person. He was the cook of the Straw Hat pirates crew. A prince of the Germa kingdom, and a patient, and now...

His mind drifted to the features so calmly laid across his face. He recalled the strangled moans spilling from smirking lips as he drove into him. Law shook his head. If he wanted to not make it more of a scene than it already was, he needed to not let his composure slip.

They’d heard.

Not just the sounds.

The content.

He knew what Sanji sounded like when he was teasing. When he was commanding. When he was wrecked. They knew that now, too. His crew knew everything about Law, and now even these intimate details. Law took a slow breath through his nose. It didn’t help. His pulse was still too high, his skin still humming with the phantom memory of Sanji’s hands and voice and the way he’d—

Sanji chuckled softly across from him, the sound warm, damn near domestic.

“Could do miso-braised short ribs if we do a bit of shopping. I know it’s not your style, but the crew’s earned something rich.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “Though, considering last night, maybe you have too.” Law’s jaw twitched. It was infuriating. The ease. The way Sanji took this—all of it—in stride. No shame. No hesitation. No regret.

And Law…? He’d folded. Just like that. Thirty minutes, Sanji had said. And he’d obeyed. Without question. They flowed so effortlessly it baffled Law slightly, a subconscious tilt to his head as he continued eating.

"What's not to your liking?" Sanji poked him with the end of his chopsticks. Law met the stormy blue he always chased. The color he had decided on was his favorite.

"What? Oh no. Shopping right. Yeah, we can, whatever you want." Law was so caught off guard as he caught the edge of that warm smile, Sanji nestled his cheek into his palm. It was not completely unguarded, just a tease of the softness Law had seen the night prior. It was the way they acted now—like something in the power structure had shifted, and they were all quietly adjusting to it. Law wasn’t used to feeling… watched like this. Known. But with his crew? A part of him didn’t mind it.

Notes:

Damn, I am exhausted. This took too long, and I almost just did not want to finish it, bleh. I feel like Luffy after Gear 5. But it is done. Because, man, I wanted it to be just right. I might tweak some things in the coming days as I let it settle.

Please let me know if you like it, I love feedback. Until the next chapter. ;p

Chapter 14: Little white Lies

Summary:

Sanji and Law have a conversation that will leave more then hurt feeling between them. Germa sucks, but its the only solution ahead.

The day stretched long as the two went their separate ways after breaking from the brunch Law had been subjected to. Sanji recruited a few of the ship members and Ikkaku to do some shopping on the island while the shops remained open. Promising a batch of fresh-made tiramisu for the crew as a handful of them left with him. Sanji did not know how much longer he was going to be on the sub, but he was going to make damn sure the crew was eating well while he was.

The shops were all warm and inviting, as were the rest of the sites he had seen; he sported the same blue suit Law had gotten for him the day before. The conversations were light between vendors, and Shachi and Ikkaku always chatted with one another in hushed tones. Not one to miss a beat, Sanji held a fresh orange the size of a softball in his hand and looked towards them.

"See something you like?" Sanji tossed the orange towards Ikakku, she fumbled it a few times, and eventually it settled in her hands.

"Oh, uh, no, Sanji." She looked away and held her gaze towards Shachi. The others were moseying around the stalls, arms full of all varieties of produce and spices. Sanji, unconvinced, walked towards her with a slight flair to his walk. Not like how he walked towards Law, he reserved that strut for only a few.

He reached for the orange she held and leaned in to her, cheeks a faint shade of pink. Sanji rested his soft hands over hers and took the orange. He smirked playfully towards her.

"Go ahead, ask." He pulled back and stood firm. But Shachi blurted out first.

"How the hell did you get through to him? I have never seen anyone do that, and I've known Law my whole damn near life!" Sanji tilted his head.

Not what I was expecting

Sanji laughed, and it startled both of the Heart Pirates. He wiped a tear away from his lashes and steadied himself.

"He's not as cold as he puts on." Sanji shrugged and moved to the stall where he had thrown the orange, the vendor was steadily tapping his forearm, waiting for the group to potentially walk off with his goods.

"Well, we know that. But he has never EVER let someone just come aboard and do... that." Shachi had been with Law for most of his life, most of it on the Sub, where they grew into adults, and Law always preferred the solitude of his corridor. He would come and join them for trips to new islands naturally, or to stock up. He was their captain and took pride in protecting them. But he never lingered, he was always pushing his goals to stop Kaido and to get his revenge for Corazon.

There was little time for Law to just exist in his short life. And the crew knew that. They loved their captain fiercely, and he returned it tenfold in his actions and protection. So it was astounding when Sanji so casually walked onto the ship into their home and then stayed. It left the crew baffled, and now this. They actively wondered what the shift was. Was Sanji going to stay permanently? Was he going to join the Heart Pirates? To be with Law?

All of these questions floated through the air around the pair and into the day-to-day whispering of the sub. Sanji had become part of the daily routine, and the crew saw the effect it had on Law.

They were honestly happy for him.

Sanji watched the pair and chuckled again, his eyes where that stormy familiar blue. As he spoke he set the orange down and then pulled out and lit up quickly. 

"Well he dose like to call me his little walking experiment." He tilted his head to the side. Again huffing under his breath as he pulled at the ember. 

"And how do you feel about that Sanji?" Ikkaku cut in quickly leaning in towards the man. 

"I don't feel one way or another about it, he is helping me because I asked so nicely." It was a layer of flair that danced over every syllable.

"But you have to feel some way about what’s happened to your body. You nearly—" She broke off, as Sanji’s eyes went wide. His mind filled in the missing words, the unintended cruelty of it. A familiar glowing halo reappeared in his irises, like moonlight shimmering on still water. The market’s bustle faded around him as he stared past Shachi and Ikkaku, lost in something only he could see. His mind pulled him into a cacophony of imagies and emotions all at once, again his body pulling him without his bidding.

Ikkaku reached out, concern flashing on her face, but Shachi gently caught her wrist and shook his head.

Sanji’s gaze darted, unmoored, between the faces of the crewmates of the Heart pirates and the vivid splashes of memory that cut through his thoughts. Killed him? His heart hammered the question as flashes of the other night flickered behind his eyes—limbs pulled by an unseen force, his own hands forced to obey a violence that wasn’t his.

He pinched the cigarette between his lips, a trembling attempt at control. He could almost feel the phantom scars—where Mihawk's blade had struck, where metal had sliced through muscle. No marks. Couldn’t have been real. He’d never used his hands that way, cooking, nurturing, yes; fighting, never.

Another memory stabbed through: a black blade pressed against his palm… the hum of steel… the weight of inevitability.

Words drifted back to him, disembodied and broken

“Sparring—Zoro—the strongest…”

Mihawk's voice, clipped and distant, echoing.

“Zoro never shut up about you. In the two years I trained him, you came up more often than any technique. But this weapon—this power—I never imagined it was hiding on the Straw Hat crew.”

Sanji’s jaw flexed. He bit down on the cigarette’s tip, crushing tobacco between his teeth as his vision spun. 

Weapon. Weapon. Weapon…

The world narrowing until only he remained—suspended in a stillness that felt cursed. The chatter of the market faded, the color drained from fresh produce, all that mattered was the pounding of his blood.

You let her down.

The words weren’t spoken aloud, but they reverberated in the hollow of his chest. He had stood by, letting something inside him take over—something Law had never explained, something dangerous that had almost killed them both.

He looked up, meeting Shachi’s concerned stare. Around them, the smell of spices and the clamor of silk merchants rushed back. Sanji straightened, shoulders squared.

He realized, in that taut moment, that Law hadn’t told him the truth. Not the full truth: about the neural trigger, about how his body had tried to protect him by any means necessary—by force, by violence, by taking over entirely.

Sanji ground out the cigarette against the stone stall and exhaled a breath that tasted of ash and regret.

Sanji’s breath hitched as the next flash seized him, icy tendrils crawling up his spine, the world shifting to that cold, sterile room. He was no longer Sanji by choice; his limbs moved on their own, coiled like dark steel springs ready to strike.

 

He flew through the air, propelled by something that wasn’t him, and landed with a sickening crunch under his heel. He heard metal bend His vison landed on Law, golden eyes wide with shock and fear. Then his uncontrolled strength slammed him into a cold, steel wall. The impact rattled him—no pain, only that hollow, spinning disorientation. The world tilted, sounds echoing in slow motion. Looking up at the man he now spent his nights with sweating hand extended and waiting calculating.

Sanji’s vision fractured, the world tilting on a pinprick of panic. He felt a snap inside his head—sharp, jarring—and then Law’s voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline:

“Sanji. Listen to me. You’re in there. I know you are.”

In that moment, Sanji felt the tech beneath his skin shift. His limbs flexed as memories were reclaimed, hands twisting, bones realigning with a cold, metallic jolts. He held firm as the memory replayed: raw panic, the uncontrollable surge, and Law’s eyes wide with fear.

Then—blackness. The world snapped away, a reel of memory cut short.

When the darkness lifted, the market’s bright colors and warm aromas flooded back, disorienting in their normalcy. Sanji blinked, the embers of his cigarette tugging at his fingers. He realized he’d been standing motionless, unseeing, as Shachi and Ikkaku exchanged worried glances beside him.

He cleared his throat, his voice sounding small in the busy street. Then, gathering himself, he let that infamous Sanji grin cross his face, warm, a little haunted, but genuine.

“Well,” he said, voice steadying, “I think I’m in the best hands capable of fixing me.” It was the first thing that his mind could come up with between the flashes of violence and confusion. Sanji was quickly returning to the absent nature of shopping, with the two swiftly realizing that they had stepped somewhere that had not yet been tred upon. They slowly looked at one another and then to the cook, who happily engaged with an apology to the gruff man and bought a whole sack of oranges and a few grapefruits, dropping a few extra berries for the inconvenience.

He walked towards the next stall and looked over his shoulder with a hauntingly warm smile, eyes laced with a halo of light they had both seen before, and hesitated to move to follow as he strode towards the next array of produce.

They strolled side by side down a quiet brick-lined street, the midday warmth wrapping around them. Bepo padded along behind Law, tail swishing with every step. The mink hadn’t had a moment of calm since Sanji woke—every spare second filled with questions—but today Law was determined to indulge his curiosity.

“Where are we going, Captian?” Bepo asked, his voice soft with wonder.

Law’s tone was casual, almost breezy. “Picking something up; it will be quick.” He led the way around a corner to a small storefront inset into the masonry, a dark stained wood façade, wind chimes tinkling overhead. Inside, the shop felt snug enough to make Bepo feel like a giant, the scent of oiled metal and leather thick in the air.

They crossed the floorboards to a polished red brown countertop where a lean man sat, quietly filing his nails with a slender blade. He didn’t look up as they approached.

“Order or pick up?” he asked, voice gravelly as if seasoned by years of smoke.

“Pick up,” Law replied, cool and concise. Bepo’s ears tilted forward in confusion as the shopkeeper rose from his stool and padded to the back of the shop.

Law peered over his shoulder at row upon row of drawers lining the wall, drawers of all shapes and sizes. Law looked over the wall behind where the man just sat. Drawers and drawers line the wall from top to bottom.

Bepo leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “What is this place, Captain?”

A small smile curved Law’s lips as he turned to Bepo. “A knife shop.” Bepo made the connection instantly. He watched Law’s calm, determined expression and realized that this—this thoughtful act—was as much for Sanji’s heart as it was for his kitchen.

"It was long overdue anyway." As if he could hear Bepo's question, when he always had opted for powdered rations.

Since Sanji’s return, Law had tuned in to every muttered complaint about the galley’s failing gear, the creak of old pots, the dull thud of blades that refused to bite. He’d watched Sanji’s nimble fingers coax sumptuous meals from decrepit cookware and seen him attempt to sharpen nicked edges only to grimace at the uneven steel. Today, he was determined to change all that.

The shopkeeper reappeared, slightly winded, bearing a leather roll of the palest tan. With a practiced twist, he unfurled it on the counter. Beneath the supple flap lay four knives that caught the overhead light like polished glass.

There was a chef’s knife—broad and balanced. A gyuto, its blade slender and agile. A boning knife is curved to slip between flesh and bone. And a flat-edged nakiri, the perfect tool for delicate vegetable work. Each handle was capped in deep blue wood, the grain echoing the stormy hue of Sanji’s eyes, with gleaming silver bolsters sealing the steel’s promise.

The blade of each knife bore the faint ripples of Damascus steel, every wave folded into the metal with an artisan’s precision. Law’s breath caught. He could almost see Sanji’s hands—steady, exact—dancing across those edges.

The merchant lifted the gyuto, rolling it in his palm like a cherished secret. “Truth be told,” he said with a grin, “I almost kept these. Some of my finest work yet.”

He laid it back gently and pushed the roll toward Law.

Law didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take them,” he said, voice firm. He dropped the agreed berri into the open palm of the merchant, rolled the knives back into their leather sheath, and slung the bundle under his arm as though it weighed nothing.

Without another word, he strode from the shop, the soft jingle of chimes marking their exit.

Outside, Bepo fell into step beside him, tail swishing. He watched Law’s steady gait—no hesitance, no second thought—only the quiet satisfaction of a captain, ready to rebuild the kitchen one perfect cut at a time.

Bepo fell into step beside Law, the new knife roll tucked under one arm and the afternoon sun warm on his back. He’d been silent for most of the stroll, watching the subtle lift at the corner of Law’s mouth as he thought of Sanji. But now the words threatened to burst out of him.

“So…” Bepo began, voice careful.

Law glanced at him, an easy smile settling across his features. “So what, Bepo?”

Bepo paused, choosing his next words. “All these knives… is this going to be more permanent? With Sanji?”

Law’s smile softened. “We needed proper tools for the kitchen, Bepo.”

Bepo’s tail twitched. “You never cared about the state of the galley before..”

“People change.”

Bepo swallowed. “You don’t.”

Law halted mid-step. He didn’t turn, but his voice dropped an octave. “What are you trying to get at, Bepo?”

Bepo squared his shoulders. “I’m worried he’ll hurt you again. You’ve said it yourself, ‘It’s temporary— we’re here to help him and that’s it.’ But this doesn’t feel temporary.”

Law finally turned, eyes catching the late-afternoon light—sharp, questioning, but warmed by something gentler. “Are you afraid of Sanji, Bepo?”

“Not afraid of him,” Bepo said, head dipping. “Afraid for you. He nearly—” He broke off, teeth clicking as he fought for calm. “He nearly killed you. Several times. I—I can’t pretend that didn't happen.”

Law studied him, silence stretching between them until Bepo thought he might retreat. Then Law reached out, placing a hand on Bepo’s shoulder.

“He lost control because he wasn’t ready—his body betrayed him. But he’s come back. Every time.”

Bepo looked down into those steady golden eyes, the same eyes that had healed him more times than he could count.

Law continued, “I know the danger, Bepo. But Sanji deserves a chance.” 

And so do I

Bepo exhaled, tail swishing once. “Then I’ll trust your judgment, Captain.”

They fell into step side by side. The afternoon breeze tousled Bepo’s fur, and for the first time in weeks, his shoulders felt lighter. Voicing his worries had lifted a weight off both of them.

Bepo glanced over at Law. The captain’s stride was sure and unwavering—yet something gentler played behind those golden eyes. He realized, with relief, that whatever was unfolding between Law and Sanji, it would be guided by Law’s steady hand.

If Law trusts him, Bepo thought, I trust him too

Law’s mind drifted to the gleaming knife set under his coat and the way Sanji’s eyes might light up when they’d been revealed. He’d watched Sanji wield them as though they were extensions of his own hands, thoughts hands.

The memory of Sanji’s panicked, unbidden strength still stabbed at him, but it was tempered by every moment Sanji had chosen to return, to trust Law to catch him.

He turned to Bepo, curiosity and gratitude mingling in his gaze. “Thanks for speaking up,” he said quietly.

Bepo gave a small nod, tail flicking once. “I just needed to know you were sure.”

Law glanced forward, pacing towards the submarine’s silhouette that lay sharp against the sky. I trust him with my life—and he trusts me with his. The thought eased the last flickers of doubt. He would ask Sanji about his favorite cookware next—a subtle way to show he was listening, that Sanji mattered. Behind them, the market’s bustle faded, but ahead, a new chapter awaited, guided by trust, care, and the knowledge that some bonds, once forged, only grow stronger.

Sanji leaned against a weathered bollard, cigarette smoke curling up into the dying light. The Polar Tang bobbed gently at the end of the pier, its hull glowing in the sunset. He’d gone through half his stash by now, each drag punctuated by memories that refused to stay buried, the flashes of metallic sounds, the helpless weight of his own body turning against him, and Law’s wild and fear-filled eyes.

How far gone am I? Sanji wondered, throat tight. Why would he keep something like that from me?

He ground out the butt against the bollard, sparks flying, and watched them drift away into the dark. We agreed, He would tell me everything. Then what changed?

His chest burned with every unanswered question, anger, fear, betrayal, and something deeper, like grief. He flicked ash into the water and closed his eyes, bracing himself.

Footsteps on weathered wood made him look up. Law cut the distance in long strides, expression unreadable in the half-light.

They stopped behind Sanji, and he did not move from his lean.

"Hey Sanji." The tone was light and welcoming as the pair stood just an arm's distance away.

"Hey." It was broken and smoke-choked.

Law stopped behind him, his shadow stretching long in the gold-drenched light. He didn’t speak right away, just stood there—close enough to touch, far enough to avoid.

Sanji didn’t turn. He took another drag, the ember flaring like the burn in his chest.

"Bepo, do you mind giving us a moment?" Another hard pull from the cigarette.

"Yeah, of course, Sanji! See you back on the sub!" His tone was too light, it grated on Sanji's nerves. Clearly Law had said something to calm the uneasiness between his navigator and himself. The grip on the roll tightened. Sanji waited for Bepo's form to disappear below the sub's hull. The blues of his shimmer suit fading with the setting sun into dull blacks ageist his skin. 

"When were you going to tell me?" Sanji did not turn to him as he spoke. It was all bite.

"What are you referring to, Sanji?" Law stepped closer to Sanji to touch to feel that connection. Sanji glanced back at him with a disgust that he had not seen on his face in months. Not directed at him, the cookware, or the state of the bathrooms, but never at Law.

"You fucking know damn well what the fuck I am talking about." Sanji turned and put out the cigarette on the steel for the final time. He stepped back from Law, placing his hands in his pockets, staring with a halo of white burning into the background of the night that was creeping in around them.

Law took the man in, he did not know what was triggering this strong reaction, but that striking glow, even the sun seemed to run away from the tension building between them.

"Sanji." Law stepped closer to him hands reaching out to feel him to ground them both in the moment, and Sanji pulled his head back in another flagrant display of 'fuck off.'

"Did you think lying to me was going to help?" Sanji stood within arm's reach of Law, but the distance felt like they were oceans apart.

"I didn't lie." Law watched the haloed eyes tremble over every moment Law was making. Looking, searching for everything that might give Law away.

“You didn’t tell me,” Sanji snapped, whipping around to face him now. “same damn thing.”

Law's mind locked into place in that moment, he did not make a move. He looked at the eyes almost white with rage in front of him. It should have been a clear tell tale sign, but Law was too focused on the gift he was going to give Sanji to sense anything. He had lowered his guard so much he was acting without a care or reason, even to the detriment of Sanji.

He stayed silent as he looked for any word that might salvage this conversation.

Law’s mouth pressed into a hard line, but he didn’t look away. “You weren’t ready to know.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.” Sanji stepped in now, chest to chest, eyes blazing. “You said no secrets. That was the deal. So when did you decide I wasn’t worth the truth?”

Sanji’s hands trembled slightly in his pockets. “You let me walk around like I was fine—like there wasn’t something inside me that could just take over?” His voice cracked, frustration laced with something too soft to be anger. “You were scared of me. I saw it. And you said nothing.”

“I was scared for you,” Law said.

Sanji stared at him, the words hitting harder than he wanted them to. But it didn’t stop the ache behind his ribs.

“Then tell me now,” he demanded, breath shallow. “Tell me everything you’ve been hiding. Every fucked-up thing you saw while I wasn’t myself. Don’t protect me from it—I want to know. I deserve to know.”

He did not hesitate in the moment his mind was scrambling to grab at the rope that was running through his fingers. “You tried to kill me,” he said softly. “Twice.” Sanji’s breath left him in one sharp exhale, the wind cutting across the dock like a blade. He looked away. A tide of nausea rolled up his throat.

Silence lapped around them, broken only by the creak of the ships.

Sanji ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking. “So why didn’t you end it? That was the agreement, wasn’t it?”

Law stepped forward, carefully. “Because you came back to me.” Sanji blinked, jaw tight. “You reached for me,” Law continued. “Even when you didn’t know what was happening, even when your body wasn’t yours—you reached for me. That’s when I knew I couldn’t let go.”

Sanji pulled back from the closeness like it burned. “Don’t say shit like that,” he muttered, voice brittle. “You don’t get to play the savior now.”

Law’s jaw tensed. “I’m not trying to—”

“No?” Sanji cut him off. “Then what the hell are you doing? Hm? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you’re keeping me on a fucking leash while pretending you’re doing me a favor.”

Law’s brows drew together, he was watching Sanji slip from him in real time hands unwilling to stop the undeniable truth spilling from him. “That’s not—”

“You say I reached for you?!” Sanji barked out a bitter laugh. “Maybe I did. Maybe something in me knew I was drowning. But you didn’t throw a damn rope, did you? You just watched. Waited. Patched me up without a word and left me to think I was fine!”

“I was trying to buy you time,” Law snapped, losing the even tone he’d clung to.

Sanji pointed at his chest. “You don’t get to make that call, Law! That’s my time. My body. My life! You said you’d help—so why the fuck did you help me lie to myself?”

“I was trying to protect you—”

“I don’t need protection! I needed the truth!” Sanji shouted, his voice echoing down the dock. “What else are you hiding? What else haven’t you told me?”

Law’s lips parted, but nothing came out. He watched the emotion and still furry of the cook in front of him. He had keept the very thing Sanji had asked to be truthful about. A promise that if he ever lost control to stop him, put him down and kill him. It was a promise Law could not longer uphold.

Sanji took a step back, chest heaving. The air between them bristled with static. “You say I’m still me. That I’m in there somewhere. But how the hell would you know, when you won’t even tell me what I’ve done?”

Law’s eyes dropped to the pier again. His hands clenched at his sides.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he said finally, voice quieter than it had been all night. “I thought if I could fix it fast enough… maybe you wouldn’t have to remember.”

“That’s not your choice!” Sanji yelled, stepping forward again, nearly chest to chest once more. “You don’t get to erase the damage just because you’re the one who created it.”

Law stared at him.

“I trusted you,” Sanji said, voice rough now, trembling. “I trusted you. And I don’t think I even know what that means anymore.”

Law watched him in silence, his own thoughts spiraling. Words caught behind clenched teeth. Regret curling through his ribs. For the first time in days, months, they stood like strangers again. The silence stretched too long.

Sanji turned, and this time his eyes held the white halo, furious. “Fix me, Trafalgar. Like you promised. Burn whatever’s left, rip out every screw and wire you had to touch. Just—fix me!”

His voice cracked on the last word, louder than he meant it to be. A seagull startled overhead and flapped away. The dock was otherwise dead quiet.

“I’m a patient. I’m not your experiment. I’m not your—whatever the hell this is.” He gestured between them, his chest heaving.

Sanji’s hands curled into fists. “I want to go home. I want to see Luffy’s stupid smile. I want Zoro’s dumbass smug look when he’s right for once. I want Nami to call me useless, and Chopper to ask if the soup’s too salty. I want the Thousand Sunny. I want my family.”

His voice broke completely now, falling into something between a plea and a growl.

“I’m done playing house here with a doctor who can’t even tell me what the hell is happening to me.”

Law swallowed, hard. The air felt heavy—dense with everything he hadn’t said. But Sanji didn’t give him the chance to speak little loan think.

“You said you’d help,” Sanji whispered. “So do it. Just do it. Then let me go.”

The last three words hung there like a death sentence.

Law didn’t say anything. He stood there, the sunlight dimming behind him, shadows lengthening as the wind rolled in off the sea. The dock creaked beneath their feet, but Law was silent—still in that deliberate way that always meant something was happening behind his eyes.

The leather roll of knives under his arm suddenly felt unbearably heavy. It bit into his ribs He thought about the grain in the blue handles, the way Sanji's fingers might have fit against the weight of the new steel. He’d picked them to match the color of his eyes.

Eyes that were cold and white. Red-rimmed, brimming with betrayal.

Sanji laughed, bitter and breathless. “Nothing to say, huh? What—cat got your tongue, Doc?”

Law didn’t look at him.

And that silence? It enraged Sanji more than any excuse could have.

“Of course,” Sanji snapped, voice rising. “Of course you’re gonna fucking shut down like you always do. God forbid the great Trafalgar Law actually feel something, right? Just hide behind your quiet and your neat little rules. Like always.”

He stepped forward, chest to chest again. “You used me. You needed a project, right? Something to fix with your clever little hands? Well, congratulations, you got your fun.”

Still—no reaction.

Law’s jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt.

“I trusted you!” Sanji shouted, grabbing the front of Law’s shirt with both hands—those hands, the ones Law always watched like they were holy. “I let you in, and you lied to me. You stood there and watched me lose control of my own body—again and again—and you said nothing. You knew, and you just watched.”

Law’s throat bobbed once. The only tell.

Sanji’s grip tightened. “Whatever this was—whatever the hell you thought this was between us—it’s over. You don’t get to play protector when you’re the one keeping the knife behind your back.”

He shoved him once—hard.

“Fix me, and then I want to leave. You owe me that.”

The words cut deeper than any blade could. He didn’t stop Sanji as he turned on his heel. Didn’t say a word as the cook stormed down the dock, shoulders rigid, rage shaking beneath every step. Only once Sanji had disappeared into the dim light—only then—did Law let himself move. He looked down at the roll of knives under his arm. For the first time, it felt like a gift meant for someone who might never come back.

The breeze shifted off the water, cooler now. The scent of salt and smoke and pastry still clung faintly to the air, a cruel echo of the sweetness from earlier that day.

Sanji didn’t look back. Law felt it—the moment the weight of him slipped away from the horizon and into the Polar Tang. It was like watching the tide recede, knowing it might never return.

The knife set under his arm felt like it was cutting through him now. Heavy. Pointless. A symbol of something tender he'd tried—and failed—to give. They weren’t practical. They were beautiful.

Just like everything else Sanji touched.

Just like everything Law had ruined.

He moved slowly toward the edge of the dock, where the wood met the metal cleats and frayed ropes. The water lapped quietly below, uncaring, undisturbed. He stood there, staring at the almost vanishing sun as it bled red across the waves, his expression unreadable.

But inside?

Inside, he was spiraling.

You used me. You needed a project.

The words kept ringing. Over and over. Louder than the creak of the dock. Louder than the sudden ache behind his ribs. Law had expected anger. He’d braced for fallout—prepared to argue, to defend, to explain.

He hadn’t expected this. To have it all ripped away in one breath.

He squeezed the knife set tighter against his side. It didn’t ground him like it should have. It only reminded him of how carefully he’d chosen every detail. Of how much he’d wanted Sanji to feel wanted. Not just for what he could do—but for who he was.

And now?

Now he just felt stupid.

He lowered himself slowly to a crouch, elbows resting on his knees, one hand braced against his mouth. The sun sank lower. The orange peeled back into blue. The day dying as quietly as their moment had. Letting the hollow ache of what he'd lost settle in his bones.

The scent of citrus and sugar still lingered in the air from breakfast, clinging to the narrow halls of the galley. Sanji could hear every sound of the sub, wheezing in the background, sputtering against the tide.

He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, whisk in hand. Sugar, mascarpone, and egg yolks. The motions came easy. Automatic. His body knew how to make tiramisu. Even if his mind was currently in turmoil. He poured the coffee over the ladyfingers with precision. No flair. Not even a cigarette between his teeth. Just silence.

The door creaked behind him.

“Sanji?” came Bepo’s voice—light, hopeful. Too hopeful.

Sanji didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

The mink shuffled inside, paws twitching slightly in the low lighting. “I was wondering… if maybe you’d show me how to make it? The tiramisu? You said you would, and it smelled so good last time, and—well—Shachi said I’d probably mess it up, but—”

“Grab a bowl,” Sanji cut in. Evenly. No bite in it.

Bepo blinked. “Really?”

Sanji finally glanced his way, offering a crooked smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Sure. You want to learn? Let’s learn.”

He moved aside just enough for Bepo to slide in. The mink’s tail twitched happily.

“Okay, okay—what first?”

Sanji kept the façade up like armor he was so accustomed to wearing. “Separate the yolks. Four of them. I’ll do the mascarpone.”

Bepo nodded and got to work, fur rustling as he moved. The galley felt tight. Tighter than usual. Sanji’s lungs were working overtime, but his voice remained smooth as he whipped the cream.

Behind his eyes, though?

The dock.

The sound of his own voice yelling.

Law’s face—blank.

The fucking silence.

“Fix me.”

He wanted to slam the bowl against the counter. He wanted to scream. Instead, he folded the cream into the yolks like it was the only thing tethering him to the room.

“Are you okay?” Bepo asked quietly after a few moments.

Sanji didn’t pause. “Peachy.”

Another beat.

“Did something happen with Law?”

There it was.

Sanji’s jaw tensed—but the smile didn’t falter. “Nah,” he said, airily. “We just finally saw eye to eye on something.”

He pressed the mixture into a glass dish with a little more force than necessary. The ladyfingers squelched.

Bepo didn’t say anything after that. Sanji’s shoulders were drawn tight beneath his shirt. His hands moved fast, deliberate. But every now and then, they shook. He layered the dessert, dusted it with cocoa, and set it in the chill drawer without a word.

“Thanks for the help,” he said lightly, wiping his hands on a towel. “You’re not half bad in the kitchen, furball.”

Bepo smiled faintly. “You’re welcome, Sanji.”

But as Sanji turned to leave. He was simmering—contained only by the barest edge of control. He passed through the corridor like a storm behind glass.

Smiling, charming, and ready to break something.

Sanji moved through the submarine, his boots hitting the floor with more weight than usual, heel dragging a little as he turned each corner. The warm hum of the ship did little to soften the pressure building behind his chest.

The first dent came into view, low, to the left, on a stretch of yellow hallway just before the barracks turn. He stopped. Long enough to stare. An indent of his shoulders. The very spot where Law had pinned him a few nights back, their mouths hot and locked, laughter tangled with smoke and need. He could still feel the echo of Law’s hands on his waist.

Sanji scoffed and moved on. Another step. Another memory. A second dent. Higher up this time. Elbow mark. Law’s, if he remembered correctly. He’d been too rough. They both had. He exhaled hard through his nose and kept walking.

The porthole room came next. That quiet alcove just off the midsection. The one with the wide glass that curved like a bowl, opening to the black and blue of the sea.

They’d share smoke there together. Where Sanji had teased him to take what he wanted. He did not need to ask for permission with him. He paused at the door. The faint smell of ash still clinging to the corner of the vent above.

His teeth ground together.

Fuck you.

He kept walking. The scan room. His gaze landed on the wall, the one he’d been thrown into like a rag doll, bones rattling, the world going red and then nothing. There was still a dent. Still a fucking dent.

Sanji’s chest rose and fell faster now, each breath shallow. The burn in his throat as even the sub held secrets from him in the months he had spent abroad. The sound of approaching footsteps pulled his attention sharp—and there, just coming down the hall, was Law. Their eyes locked across the corridor like magnets that had once drawn but were now repelling with violent force.

Law froze.

Sanji didn’t, he stepped forward. Once. Twice. Three times. Shoulders squared. Fists clenched. Law didn’t move. He didn’t speak. His expression was unreadable. Except for the smallest flicker—regret? Hurt? He was impossible to crack.

Sanji reached him. Close enough to brush past. Close enough to kick. Close enough to kiss, his mind reeled—and he hated it.

“You lied,” Sanji hissed, voice low and hard as steel. “You lied to me, and then you let me fall into your fucking arms like none of it mattered.” The clear relationship they both had experienced was writ across the whole sub. In its crew and its very walls.

Law’s jaw ticked, but he stayed quiet.

Sanji stepped in closer. “Say something. Go on. Give me another clinical excuse, Doc. Tell me why I’m some walking science project again. Tell me why you thought that was enough.”

Silence.

Sanji shoved him. Hard.

“Fight me.” The words dropped like lead in the space between them. Law didn’t raise a hand. Didn’t step back, he stared at Sanji like he was watching a star implode. Sanji shoved him again, heat radiating from his body.

“Or is this all you can do now? Run diagnostics and hide behind silence?”

Still nothing.

Sanji’s voice cracked, not from weakness, but from the sheer volume of rage. “DAMN IT! Get the hell out of my way!” Law’s breath finally hitched, but he held his ground. Neither moved. The submarine itself seemed to hush. The two of them, nose to nose, with a whole ship of memories twisting in the water around them.

Sanji’s shove landed like a crack of thunder. Law staggered back a step—not from the force, but the emotion packed behind it. Rage. Grief. Betrayal.

Before he could speak, Sanji lunged. A kick—fast and clean—sliced inches from Law’s ribs, enough to make his coat snap against the pressure. Law blocked with one forearm, stepping sideways to catch the momentum.

“Stop—”

He pivoted, dropping low, sweeping his leg with precision only honed through years of merciless training. Law barely jumped it, breath catching in his throat. The gleam in Sanji’s eye was no longer just fury, a hate that only one could wear when something so cared for had been ripped away.

A rim of white light held steady at the edge of his pupils, staring back at him. Everything Law tried to hide from Sanji was staring back at him in that moment.

“Sanji—” Law said, quieter now. “You need to calm down—”

“Fuck calm!” Sanji snapped, throwing another kick, faster, tighter. “You hid this! You let me smile at you, sleep next to you, and touch you—all while knowing I had turned into something that wasn't me!”

Law took the hit this time, the leg cracked him against the steel wall. Another dent for the sub in the turmoil of their relationship. He felt a few ribs crack. Slumping onto the wall, flames kicked around Sanji's leg that had landed the blow. Held ready to strike again.

Down the corridor, voices rose. Footsteps pounded. Shachi’s shout. Ikkaku cursing.

“Captain—!”

Law’s hand flew up.

“Don’t interfere!” he barked, his voice like a crack of ice across steel. His gaze never left Sanji. “Stay back. I’ve got him.”

“But—!”

“NOW!”

Silence behind him.

But in front of him—Sanji, ready and poised to beat his feelings into Law for the last time. Law’s breath came shallow.

Sanji was slipping. Not fully—but enough. Enough for the system in his body to start deciding for him. And we’re too close to the others, to his crew, to his family. He could not do this in the safety of his sub.

His hand snapped up—Room. Sanji moved so fast Law did not catch it, but his room carried them. The air warped, and the strike landed lower on one of Law's thighs, he knew it bruised instantly, and it tested the limits of his bones, the metal around them bending for half a second before the space shifted violently.

They were gone.

The dockyard exploded into view around them the moon now flaring across the water’s surface, their feet hitting concrete just outside the shipyard, empty but for rusted equipment and scattered crates. Still inside Law's room, he leaned away from the now swelling leg.

"Shambles!" He moved them again and again, another strike came down heavy across the top of his shoulder. On the same side, Sanji was crippling him so he could not move when they did land. Law had teleported them out. Far from the crew, far from the city. They landed on an abandoned beachside where the moon hung above like a distant judge hiding behind the clouds as the low hum Law had felt before weakened his knees. Sanji was done being pulled around by Law. The hum that had brought him to head-splitting pain before ran over his body weakening his movements, vision doubling. Sanji's eyes glowed against the pitch black of the ocean behind him.

Sanji stared in disbelief for a breath and charged again.

“You think this fixes it?!” he yelled, heel flying straight for Law’s head. Law ducked—barely.

“It protects them!”

“From me?!” Sanji whirled, foot catching Law’s thigh in a solid, punishing strike. “You think I’d hurt them?!”

Sanji froze. That hesitation was all Law needed. He stepped forward, hand out—not to attack, but to reach, to grab hold of the man he had fallen so hard for.

But Sanji flinched back like he’d been spit on.

“I trusted you,” Sanji said low. “I let you in. I let you in!” His voice trembled with rage.

“And you just watched me fall apart. Lied to me while I smiled at you. While we fucked—” He stopped himself.

Law didn’t move. The words choked him. Sanji’s fists trembled. That glow behind his eyes throbbed with the beat of his heart.

“End this, Trafalgar,” he said finally, voice breaking. “End it now. Before I can’t come back.”

He’d never felt his heart crack like this. Not sense Corazon. 

Sanji’s leg came again, searing through the air. Law dodged. Another kick followed, and this time it caught his side. The impact thudded deep into his ribs, sending him stumbling across the sand of the beach. 

He coughed—sharp, tasted iron. The glow of Sanji’s eyes pierced the dark like twin stars.

Law took a single step back.

Sanji lunged.

He didn’t speak, his movements spoke for him, wild, fast, uncaring. A blur of limbs and punishing precision, honed on instinct, no longer held back by hesitation or restraint.

Law blocked the first strike, parried the second—but the third clipped his jaw hard, jerking his head to the side. Movements slowed by the oppressive hum radiating off Sanji. 

He stumbled, sand beneath his boots, and caught himself on a driftwood log.

“You’re not hearing me—” Law growled, low. It was wrong the moment it left his lips. 

“I heard everything,” Sanji snapped, the light from his eyes brighter then ever. “And all I heard where lies.”

Another blow. This time, Law didn’t dodge. Sanji’s foot impacted with his chest, sending him sprawling back against the sand, breath crushed out of him.

“Isn’t that what you’re good at?! Cutting people open?! Looking at all their broken parts?!”

Law sat up, blood dripping from his lip. He stared—really stared—at the man in front of him. The silhouette of a fighter, the cook, the man he’d fallen in love with.

But this wasn’t the Sanji he’d woken up beside. This wasn’t the man who smiled with the warmth of the sun, who fussed over coffee beans and the waste of food and the right kind of salt.

“You think I wanted this?” Law shouted back finally, his voice ragged. “You think I wanted to lie to you? To watch you forget your own body? I didn’t fix you because I couldn’t.”

Sanji froze—just a beat. His teeth bared, fists trembling.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?!”

Law’s breath caught.

Because I wanted more time.

Because you held me like I was worth something.

Because when you smiled at me, it felt like I still had something human left inside.

But none of that would land here. Not in this storm of emotion and the taint of biomechanical nature humming over his body threatening him. 

He rose slowly from the sand. The waves rolled in behind him.

And Sanji—

Sanji lunged again, lit like a burning star.

Law stood still.

Sanji struck again. A kick to the chest—sharp, personal. Law grunted but didn’t retaliate. Didn’t even block it.

Another hit.

Sanji’s kick slammed across his cheek, snapping his head sideways. The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot.

Still—nothing.

“Fight me!” Sanji roared, voice breaking at the edges.

Law’s eyes stayed locked on his, steady. “No.”

“FIGHT BACK LAW!”

He surged forward and shoved Law back. The doctor staggered a step, boots dragging across damp sand.

“You think I’m too broken?” Sanji’s chest heaved. His eyes burned white in the dark, his voice seething with betrayal. “That it’s not worth fighting me because I’m already lost?”

Law didn’t answer.

“Or you don’t want to ruin your little pet project, is that it?” The venom laced into his words now. “You spent all this time patching me up—feeding me lies, holding me, pretending to care—so now you can’t bear to wreck all that effort?”

He landed another blow, low, across the stomach this time, hard enough that Law staggered again, wind knocked clean from him.

And still... Law just looked at him.

Bloody. Bruised. Hurt. Eyes wet at the corners in a way Sanji refused to see.

“Goddammit, Law! Hit me back! Show me that at least some of this meant something to you!”

He grabbed the front of Law’s coat, fists bunched in the fabric, and shoved him back again—closer to the tide.

“You don't get to play god with my body and then just walk away! You don’t get to choose silence now.”

Law's voice, when it came, was low and raw and aching.

“I’m not fighting you because I don't want to hurt you Sanji.”

“You already did!” Sanji screamed.

Law closed his eyes.

Because whatever this was—whatever love, pain, confusion had lived between them—was crashing down around him and Law couldn't control the fall.

The next kick came swift and brutal, ignited in a red-hot flame that bordered on blue. Law didn’t brace for it. The heel of Sanji’s foot collided with his sternum and sent him flying backward into the surf with a sickening splash.

The sea swallowed him instantly. His body hit the shallows like a stone, limbs spasming as the salt dragged his strength from him. Saltwater filled his mouth and his throat. His powers short-circuited. The world reeled, and all he could focus on were the white glowing eyes of the man before him. The hum subsided as they stood apart from one another. 

Sanji didn’t move to help. He stood at the edge of the dark shore, eyes shining like a pair of twin moons, hair slick from sweat, and chest heaving.

Water cascading down his back, his breath a wet, choking sound. He sat folded in the seawater, staring at the murkiness of the man who he cared so damn much about.

And Sanji stared down at him. Cold. Raging.

“You’re pathetic,” he spat.

Law blinked up at him, gasping.

“I meant nothing to you, didn’t I?”

Silence. Only the sea and their breaths. And that awful, knowing silence.

“You used me,” Sanji hissed. “You used me. Fixed my body, fucked with my head—kept me close, fed me scraps of affection, and played house in your little metal coffin while I spiraled, and you knew.”

Law didn’t answer.

Sanji didn’t want him to.

“You just wanted something pretty to warm your bed, right? A toy to keep you company while you twisted a scalpel into my spine.”

Each word cut deeper. Sanji didn’t stop.

“You think just because you touched me like you cared, that it meant something? You think I didn’t see how you looked at me? Like I was a goddamn puzzle to solve. A broken fucking weapon you could disarm.”

Law’s fingers dug into the sand.

“I was never yours, Law.”

His voice dropped to a snarl. “And I would never give two fucks about someone as cold and dead inside as you.”

That did it.

That shattered whatever piece of Law was still holding himself together. Whatever little shred of hope he had to salvage the situation. His body slumped, chest folding in, head bowed, hands limp in the tide. Sanji didn’t wait to see what came next. He turned on his heel, footsteps crunching over wet sand, leaving Law to drown in the weight of it, alone.

Not in water.

But in every word, Sanji had just left behind.

The wind howled past his ears as he shot into the sky, legs a blur of air shattering kicks, propelling him upward, higher, faster. Sanji didn’t look back. The white foam of the beach, the silhouette of Law still half sunken in the surf it all vanished beneath him. Swallowed by clouds and altitude and fury.

He broke through the last layers of sea air and soared toward the city skyline, eyes burning against the wind, throat tight with the scream he wouldn’t let loose. Sanji landed hard atop a tall, glass-paneled skyscraper with a shuddering crack of his boots. The whole rooftop seemed to echo with the impact metal groaning beneath him, like the weight of the world had finally found its anchor.

The city stretched beneath him soft golden lights glowing like fireflies in the night. Too far for Law to see. Too far for him to follow.

Only then did Sanji crumble. He dropped to his knees. His breath caught, chest tightening like it had nowhere left to expand. He curled in on himself, fists pressed to his eyes, shoulders shaking.

Ugly, shuddering sobs tore out of his throat, his whole body curling tighter with each one—tears falling hot and fast onto the rooftop, lost in the wind. Not like someone who was angry. But like someone who had loved.

“Fuck…fuck, Law…” He rasped through his teeth, voice breaking. “I would’ve… I did. I fucking—”

But the words failed him.

Because no matter how much he’d tried to harden himself… to protect what little was left untouched inside him… Sanji had let Law in.

And now, there was no way to rip him out without bleeding.

The city carried on below, oblivious to the man breaking into pieces high above it.

Sanji let himself fall apart until there was nothing left to wring from his lungs but quiet intake and exhale from the mechanical body, the ever-present reminder that he lost. He lost his body, his mother, any semblance of control and understanding, and now his heart that he extended with a fragile trust to a man he thought he could trust.

But it was all veiled in lies and a means to an end.

The tide was turning, and still he stayed. The saltwater crept higher with every wave, numbing his fingers and burning the scrapes on his skin. His jaw ached where he'd clenched it to keep from reacting. His body hurt from Sanji's savage rage fueled attack. But it was nothing compared to what was breaking inside him.

Sanji had left him there.

And every second he sat in that silence, Law heard the echo of his own voice saying, “I keep my promises.”

But he hadn’t. Not the ones that mattered. Not the promise to tell him everything.  Not the one Sanji never asked for out loud but had given him anyway—trust.

Now that trust was ash in Law’s mouth.

He stared out at the horizon with dull eyes, watching the moon slowly make its way over the night sky.

He’d try to wall himself off again, he had to. It was the only way to stop the ache that started in his throat and reached down into his spine. Because if he let it out—just once—he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull himself back together.

So he waited.

The tide rose, then ebbed again, and Law let it wash over him—like penance. A bed of his own making. Thrown into it deliberately, Law could not think of anything else besides the stormy blue eyes he had chosen as his favorite. The sleepy smile when he was just waking up. The way he fussed over the perfect way to cut a strawberry. And in it all that Sanji was his favorite, that he loved Sanji. It all washed over him as the tide pulled and pushed back out. Every wave a reminder of the mistake he made, the small amount of happyniess Sanji had brought him. When the tide finally started to reseed freeing him from his detention, the feelings cut deeper with every breath, every blink a reminder of how much he had lost. 

It was late when Law finally returned.

His steps were uneven on the dock, soaked boots sloshing quietly with every move. The once-pristine coat was stiff with dried saltwater, hanging limp off his shoulders, heavy with a weight that had nothing to do with fabric. His hair clung damp to his forehead, and his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—were dull now, sunken with something that hadn’t eased with the long walk back to the sub.

The deck lights buzzed faintly in the warm night air. And waiting near the conning tower were three familiar silhouettes.

Bepo saw him first, ears flicking back before he stepped forward, concerned and cautious.

“You’re soaked,” Bepo said quietly. As Law jumped the gap, stumbling a little bit from his injuries. Law didn’t answer. He slowed his pace just enough to acknowledge the words—barely a nod. Shachi and Penguin stood at either side of the mink, arms crossed, expressions unreadable. They exchanged a glance as Law finally stopped in front of them.

“Captain…” Penguin began, hesitating. “Where’s Sanji?” Law blinked. Slowly. As if the question didn’t register right away.

Then something in his chest twisted. He looked past them, toward the upper deck where Sanji sometimes smoked.

No, Sanji.

“He’s not here?” Law asked, voice rough—hoarse from salt and silence.

“No,” Bepo said gently. Law’s mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. Just the dull pulse of pain behind his eyes.

Penguin stepped forward, tone quieter than usual. “Did something happen out there?”

Law didn’t respond. The slumped set of his shoulders. The dried blood at his collar. The haunted silence where his usual sharp retorts should be—it told them everything.

“I’ll be in the scan room,” he said softly, barely audible.

And without another word, he turned and disappeared inside, dripping silence in his wake.

The scan room door was unlocked, but Bepo knocked anyway.

No answer.

He pushed it open gently, careful not to startle Law—not that there was much left in the man that could be startled now. The room was dark, lit only by a soft green-blue hue from the monitors and equipment that blinked steadily in the background. Law sat on the edge of the examination table, still soaked, arms resting limp on his thighs.

Bepo stepped inside and shut the door behind him, soft paws padding over the tile.

“Captain…” he said quietly.

No answer.

Law didn’t look up. His gaze was fixed somewhere far off, behind bloodshot eyes that hadn’t blinked in minutes. His soaked hair clung to his temples, and his hands… they trembled.

“Let me help you get cleaned up,” Bepo offered, voice low, full of concern. “You’ll get sick if you stay like this.”

Nothing.

“I’ll grab a dry towel,” Bepo tried again, rummaging gently in the cabinet, careful not to make too much noise. He came back and placed the towel on the table next to Law, but the man didn’t move. Didn’t reach for it. Didn’t even twitch.

Only when Bepo moved to gently rest a paw on his shoulder did Law flinch—barely—but it was there. A fracture in the composure.

“I shouldn’t have let him leave like that,” Law murmured, voice hollow.

Bepo froze. His heart twisted in his chest.

“I had him,” Law said, lower now, as if admitting it might break him further. “He trusted me.”

“You still have time to—”

“No,” Law cut in, shaking his head slowly, bitterly. “I broke it. I broke him. I had the chance to be honest, to be different—for once. And instead, I chose control. I chose silence.” He looked down at his hands, soaked sleeves still clinging to his wrists. “He gave me everything.”

Bepo swallowed. He stepped back and gave Law space, tail low, ears drawn.

“You didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“But I did.”

The words were sharp and final. A bitter truth he wasn’t going to let himself walk back from.

“I made him feel disposable,” Law went on, jaw clenched. “Like he was only good for fucking and fighting and fixing. And he still… still let himself care.”

His voice cracked.

“And I knew that. I saw how much it cost him to trust me. And I said nothing.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The monitors beeped faintly. The hum of the ship beneath them carried on, steady and uncaring. And Law just sat there—wet, surrounded by the tools of healing, with nothing left to mend but himself.

Bepo watched for a moment longer, eyes full of worry, and quietly placed a folded blanket beside Law.

“If you need anything,” Bepo said gently, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He turned to leave, then paused.

“You’re not alone, Captain. Even if you feel like it.”

The door clicked softly behind him. Law didn’t move. Not for a long time.

And let the guilt hollow him out, piece by piece.

Hours passed.

The hum of the Polar Tang’s systems grew louder the quieter the Scan room got—like the ship was trying to remind him that life moved on whether he did or not.

“He gave me everything.”

Law’s fingers flexed where they hung between his knees. They ached. He hadn’t noticed how tightly he’d been clenching them until blood started pooling sluggish in his palms. The tattoos on his fingers half-faded in the glow of cold light.

He could still feel Sanji’s hands.

Those goddamn hands. Gripping his face. Cooking for him. Holding him like Law was something worth protecting.

And then, moments later, pushing him away.

He'd replayed every second of that fight—Sanji’s glowing eyes, the crack of boots into bone, the venom in his voice. But none of it hit harder than the truth that came with the last thing he said:

“And I would never give two fucks about someone as cold and dead inside as you.”

He’d walled off the parts of himself that used to feel too deeply. Too sharply. But Sanji had gotten in. That infuriating, stubborn, golden-blazed man had found his way through every wall. Through silence, through discipline, through Law's control.

And Law had fucking ruined it.

He let out a breath that felt like it scraped his ribs on the way up. He pressed the heel of his palm to his eye and curled forward, shoulders tight. He felt sick. Like the tide Sanji had left him to drown in never receded. It was still in his lungs. Still crashing against his ribs.

He had no idea how long he sat like that.

Long enough for his damp clothes to dry stiff on his skin. Long enough for Bepo to check once, silently, and leave again. The Polar Tang drifted in quiet rhythm beneath him. But Law couldn’t feel anything steady anymore.

Now he was alone.

And for once, that silence didn’t feel like peace. It was punishment.

He didn’t even realize his lips had parted until the whisper bled out of him into the empty room:

“…I’m sorry.”

Law eventually dragged himself to his room.

His steps were slow and unsteady, each footfall feeling like it echoed too loudly in the silent corridor. He passed no one on the way—not because no one was around, but because they all knew better. The look on his face must’ve warned them off. That, or Bepo had already spoken on his behalf.

When he entered, he closed the door softly behind him. Not with anger. Just… quiet. Like he didn’t want to wake the memory Sanji might’ve left behind.

The lights remained off.

He peeled out of his clothes with mechanical care, each movement stiffer than the last. The ocean salt still clung faintly to his skin, crusted around his ankles, and dried into his hair. But he didn’t care.

The room smelled like Sanji. Spiced tobacco, salt, warmth. Even now. Even with the bed made, even with everything tidy and untouched since the moment he’d stormed off to meet him.

Law slipped beneath the covers, face turned to the far wall, eyes locked on the dim glint of a framed photo just above the desk.

It was an old one. Faded at the edges. A younger version of himself, too thin and too serious, tucked into the arms of a man whose smile still lit the memory even from this distance.

Corazon. Laughing like there was nothing else in the world to be afraid of.

Law blinked, remembering the warmth of the coat that protected him all those years ago and the man who gave his life for him to live this one. He could hear that voice again, as clear as if it had whispered into his skull:

"Give him another chance to smile."

It was from a dream. A stupid, half-forgotten dream. Something that had surfaced days ago and passed like smoke. But now—

Now it was a weight dropped squarely into his chest.

It broke him. Law curled inwards, pressing his face into the pillow that still held Sanji’s scent. The ache cracked open wider with every breath.

He bawled—raw, muffled, shameful cries ripped from a place so buried it almost felt inhuman. It burst out of him like only a few other times in his life had managed to break him. His shoulders convulsed with it, shaking the mattress. He bit into the edge of the pillow to quiet himself, but the grief didn’t care. It tore through him with the force of every word left unsaid. Every touch denied. Every truth he hadn’t had the courage to give.

He had Sanji.

He had him.

And he let fear steal it all away.

His voice was broken when it finally made it past his throat, barely more than a whisper choked into cloth:

"I'm sorry... Sanji... I—"

But the darkness didn’t answer. Only the sound of his breath catching over and over. Only the ghost of a man who’d once smiled at him in a dream and asked for one simple thing.

Let him smile again.

And Law had destroyed it.

It had been days since Sanji had left the sub. Everything was quiet and hollow. The galley remained spotless as the cook had left it. Everything was in its rightful place, but nothing about the atmosphere of the ship was right.

Law ghosted through the hallways with curt nods of acknowledgment to his crew as they passed. Not much for stopping to say hello or to ask for next orders. He filled his mug from the bathroom, so he was unwilling to venture to the galley in case he might just stumble upon Sanji.

He walked back to his room where he kept instant coffee, and once inside, sat down at his desk. Opening the canister with a smooth movement and carelessly dumping in the contents. He swirled the mug, and the lukewarm slurry tasted bitter and clung to his tongue. He rubbed his already swollen and tired eyes. He did not get any sleep since Sanji had left. He knew Sanji could handle himself. But it did not stop him from wondering if she was ok.

Wondering if he would ever see Sanji again. The previous night's events rolled through his mind; his dreams and every waking and sleeping moment were laced with the undeniable weight of regret of the situation. He sipped the concoction and rested his chin on his knee as his gaze went distant. He turned toward the picture of Corazon again, and it was like someone stabbed him in the heart again and again.

Even in some twist of fate, even his Savior had blessed the feelings Law was experiencing. He fell into the stupid behaviors and selfish reasoning for his own small amount of happiness he had experienced. It was so stupid and so unlike him to go back on his word, especially with something he cared about so much.

He did not know how to fix this. But the eyes of the angry boy back then, so filled with fear and dread at the thought of never knowing if the next day was going to be his last, fell over him. He stared over the image of him with the white lead disease riddling his body.

“You saved yourself, kid,” he said, voice low and rough, but so real. “You already know what to do.”

Law's eyes opened wide. Right, how could he be so stupid? He had cured his own genetic diseases; he could do the same thing with Sanji. To slowly and precisely restructure his DNA to remove Germa once and for all.

Law stood lighter than he had felt in days. He held the photo in his hands, looking over the man who was still saving him even now.

"Thanks, Cora-san." He placed the frame back down and strode out of the room with a new determination. He was going to find Sanji and make this right. He was going to fix him, even if it was not going to repair their relationship. He would still uphold the ask on his end at the very least. If Sanji would take him back again, there would be no holding back. He was going to give Sanji everything he asked for, even if it continued to push him further from him. It was the very least Law could do now. He had a way to fix his body, it was up to him to try and repair whatever relationship, if any, they still had.

"You have progressed spectacularly." The sounds of bubbling and a low hum hung in the large room. Human-size test tubes lined the room, all numbered, and machines hummed and lit, ready for use.

"I believe you are honestly more developed than even your brothers." The pink-haired woman moved with grace around the table towards Sanji. He was hooked up to machines that monitored him, every vital and every movement being tracked on a monitor labeled in large letters in the corner GERMA TECH.

"Yeah, well, I already knew that, Reiju. The shit-ass doctor told me that at least." She stood next to Sanji and held his hand.

"Your body adapted just like ours, but you have advancements none of us could imagine. Your tech must have been on overdrive since the day you left home." She smiled sweetly.

"Yeah, a real cakewalk." He crossed his arms, pulling away from her. "Can you fix this or not?" Sanji did not look at her.

"Oh, Sanji, there is no fixing this. You are a Vinsmoke through and through. End of story. As much as you hate it and run from it, you can't run from your blood."

Sanji stared at her; he knew it deep down. He fought for it to not be the future he would have to live with. But lying in one of the most advanced facilities in his own family's facilities, it was undeniable. He was a weapon created by his father to conquer and kill.

This was the life he was running from. One he had asked Law to help him carve out of him. But all he got was regret and a sting that refused to fade.

"Now what?" Sanji pulled the equipment from himself and strode to one of the human-sized tubes.

"Come home, Sanji."

The words hung in the air as he reached for his cigarettes. He pulled them out and opened them, crushed. He stared at the spent tobacco in the case as his sister walked to stand beside him. She took the case and replaced it with a pack of fresh smokes. The brand she knew Sanji liked. He stared at it and quickly broke the seal and watched the remnants of the cigarettes given to him be trashed.

A clank ran out in the open room, ember lighting and he pulled hard, it bit in the way Sanji liked, each inhale sharp like a punch to the back of his throat. His sister returned to his side in silence as they stared over the technology with her brother.

Notes:

Well wasn't that fun! We are having fun right? No, ok I'm going to go crawl into my bed and cry now.

Let me know what you think, I love feedback, until next chapter ;p

Chapter 15: Disagreeing Not Arguing

Summary:

Sanji and Law are confused? Daddy issues. And they are defiantly not in love.

Footfalls were light but deliberate against the concrete, echoing faintly beneath the towering shadows of the metropolis. The crowds parted instinctively around him—not just for the blade resting on his shoulder, but for the sharp, commanding presence he wore like armor. His long coat caught the wind, dark against the color and chaos of the city.

Law moved through the industrial sprawl with unerring familiarity. He had already memorized the layout. Every alley, every storefront, every elevated tram line that cut through the skyline. Three days had passed since Sanji had left him behind on the beach—disappearing into the world with only a look and a silence Law hadn’t known how to answer.

And now? Now he was walking circuits through this city with mechanical precision, retracing steps as if stubborn repetition could bring Sanji back. The crew watched the harbors, desperate for a glimpse of blond hair in the crowd. A few patrolled the markets, slipping through back alleys and tea shops, asking subtle questions with growing urgency.

Law had started losing patience.

People waved him off. Laughed at the idea of a man walking on air. One more dismissal and he might level half the district just to get a straight answer. The exhaustion had settled deep, beneath skin and bone—something heavier than tired muscles. His mind pulsed with only one thought:

Find him.

Sanji could’ve skywalked off the island. Or he might be watching, hiding, choosing not to return. Worse, someone could’ve noticed him—taken him.

Law clenched his jaw. No. If someone had taken Sanji, it would’ve made headlines. World Government reports. A body count. No one took Vinsmoke Sanji quietly.

Not the son of the Germa Kingdom.

Not the cook of the Straw Hat Pirates.

Not the man who had... Law hesitated, the thought snagging like a loose thread on the edges of his mind.

The man I care about.

Even thinking it cost him effort. He rolled his eyes at himself, cursing his own emotional illiteracy as he passed another street vendor, scanning rooftops with a paranoia he couldn’t shake.

Why is it so damn hard to admit it?

He tried again, walking faster.

I care for him, I—I...

Even in his own mind, the words caught like a blade dragged across rusted iron.

If he was going to make it through the day without the crew practically begging him to kiss Sanji’s feet and finally make things right—while continuing to uphold his promise to fix what Germa had done to him—he needed to first be honest with himself.

I love Sanji.

The thought hit him with an uncomfortable weight. He bit the inside of his cheek, jaw tense in the admission. It twisted in his chest like something he wasn’t supposed to feel. Like something he had no right to claim.

Because what right did he have?

He was a surgeon. A man built on vengeance, not affection. And yet… that feeling remained. Persistent. Unshakable. Real.

He loved Sanji.

Not in some weak, abstract way. No—he loved the confidence Sanji walked in, the way he held his head high even after everything he'd been through. He loved the stubbornness, the sharp tongue, and the ridiculous, impossible tenderness beneath it. How he claimed Law’s “picky ass palate” as a challenge, and then rose to meet it with flaming, infuriating brilliance. He loved how Sanji cared deeply for people, whether they deserved it or not.

Every small act of kindness, every scolding he gave Bepo for licking plates, every little aside checking on Ikkaku when she looked tired—it all chipped away at Law. Slowly. Methodically. The walls came down no matter how hard he braced against them.

Sanji found a way in.

And Law found himself… admiring him. Needing him. Loving him.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he walked. He looked down at his coat—sleek, long, and clearly designed to draw attention. Just the one he’d worn on Punk Hazard. A clear attempt to stand apart, to say look at me without ever speaking a word. And in this industrial metropolis, in a world not built for softness, he stood out like a blade drawn in a room full of laughter.

And yet the only eyes he wanted on him weren’t here.

He shoved his hand in his pocket, walking with just enough force to keep from spiraling again.

I care for him. I love him. And I let him leave.

He exhaled sharply, like he could purge the thought just by breathing harder.

Sanji’s absence wasn’t just silence—it was disruption. The rhythm of the ship, the crew, even his own morning coffee—it all felt slightly off, like the beat had shifted and no one was willing to say it out loud.

And Law, for all his skill and certainty, didn’t know how to bring him back.

Not just physically. Emotionally.

Because if Sanji returned—if he stood in front of him again with that stormy tenderness in his eyes—Law knew one thing with absolute certainty.

He wouldn’t be able to lie to himself anymore.

The tightness in his chest that had nested there for months was beginning to ease, loosened by something more solid than fleeting lust or quiet tension. It wasn’t about the teasing anymore. Not just the weight of bodies pressed close or the tremble of Sanji’s breath against his skin.

It was something real now.

Something Law was choosing to feel.

His eyes lifted as Bepo rounded the corner ahead, just as scheduled. The patrol routes Law had devised ensured their paths would cross, and it was a relief to see the mink emerge from the crowd. The curious stares from passersby bounced off him like harmless hail.

“Captain,” Bepo called, slowing as he reached him. “Nothing to report. I checked the southern dock market and asked around the vendor spots you flagged. No one’s seen Sanji.”

Law nodded, the faintest curve of gratitude at the corners of his mouth. “Good work, Bepo. Thank you.”

The words came out warmer than usual, and Bepo perked up at once, amber eyes shining. It was the first time in days his captain’s voice hadn’t sounded like ice cracking over stone.

“Well, I’ll keep my ears open and let you know if anything comes up!” Bepo added, practically bouncing in place. He lingered a second longer, eyes scanning Law’s expression. Something in him seemed to spark.

“You look… a little happier.” Bepo tilted his head.

Law blinked at him, deadpan, unreadable, but it only made Bepo grin wider. The next moment, the mink scooped him up into an enormous hug, rubbing his cheek enthusiastically against Law’s in a full-body nuzzle.

“Bepo—please.” Law sighed, face mashed against thick fur.

“You’re not scowling!” Bepo announced, lifting him clean off the ground before reluctantly setting him back down. “Sorry, Captain, but… you’ve been like a thundercloud lately. I just—” His voice softened. “I missed seeing you like this.”

Law adjusted his coat and tugged the brim of his hat lower to hide the smile threatening to take over his face.

“I let myself… live in the moment,” he murmured.

Bepo’s paws flew to his mouth, and he practically squeaked, “Did you just say something nice ?!”

“I said let’s keep moving,” Law deflected, already turning down the next alley. “Shachi and Penguin will get anxious if we’re late.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Bepo chirped, practically skipping as he continued on his scheduled path.

And Law kept walking, one hand in his pocket, the other clenched around his blade like it missed the warmth of another’s. But his chest? His chest felt light.

Law stood at the corner, gaze tilted toward the sun hanging high above the skyline. The warmth hit him like a revelation. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, he felt it. Not just the temperature, but the absence of weight, like a breath held too long finally released.

The strain around his temples eased. The knot in his shoulders slackened. God, even the air seemed less oppressive. His eyes drifted downward. A snail. A damn transponder snail.

It blinked slowly, staring straight at him from its perch along the upper edge of a building’s corner, its gelatinous eyes tracking him with an eerie focus. Law’s hand twitched at his side, gripping Kikoku’s hilt with a faint click. The moment passed quickly, but not without a flicker of suspicion tightening his jaw.

He resumed his stride without looking back, the coat at his ankles catching a faint breeze as he walked. He stayed within the confines of his assigned path—his carefully designed circuit around the heart of the city—but the impulse to veer off gnawed at him.

Not yet. The others would notice. And if Sanji was nearby, Law couldn’t afford to create chaos without cause.

Still… the building stayed in his thoughts.

It was tall. Far taller than anything nearby—topped with gleaming glass panels that reflected the sunlight in staggered bursts. A wide courtyard spilled out in front, lined with sleek, modern fountains that didn’t belong to the older bones of the city’s architecture.

He’d passed it more than once on these rounds.

It was supposed to be a manufacturing satellite office—at least, that’s what the records claimed after some light prodding through city registries and a few questioned dockworkers. All clean. All dull.

But Law had learned long ago: clean rarely meant innocent.

No obvious guards. No workers entering or exiting. No posted schedules or signage indicating activity. Just the snail. Watching.

He filed it away. And kept walking.

Law’s boots clicked softly over the pavement as he moved along the edge of the busy street. His sharp gaze caught on a pair of children—no older than ten—locked in some spirited argument across the way. He slowed his pace, pretending to study the storefronts, but his ears tuned sharply to their voices.

The two boys shoved at each other, tumbling off the main walkway and into the courtyard of the tall, gleaming building Law had just marked.

"Three more steps!" the smaller one insisted, jabbing a finger forward.

"No you! You’re just scared!" the taller boy shot back, puffing out his chest.

"Am not!" the shorter boy snapped, arms crossing tight. Then, without looking, he took two dramatic steps backward toward the building. His nose scrunched defiantly, eyes squeezed shut.

"See?" he declared, spinning around with exaggerated bravado. But the moment he returned to the safety of the sidewalk, he bumped into the taller one again, who was already winding up for the next dare.

"Bet you can’t make it to the fountain before someone sees you!" he challenged, voice dripping with smug confidence.

Law’s attention sharpened.

The older boy hesitated, then started walking—slowly—toward the center of the courtyard. His exaggerated strut lost momentum with every step. The moment he hit the halfway mark, he stopped, stared, and bolted back toward the sidewalk.

"Ha! Told you!" the younger one cackled, sticking out his tongue and pulling down his eyelid in triumph. “Scaredy cat!”

"Shut up!" the older one barked, shoving him aside in mock offense, though both burst out laughing.

Law watched them a moment longer. Their voices faded beneath the ambient noise of the city, but the silence of the courtyard itself still lingered oddly in his ears.

He crossed the street, slowly, stepping out of the sunlit sidewalk and into the shade just as the boys turned to look up at him.

He watched the boys push each other, still half-laughing, as he approached in stride. The younger one halted first, freezing the moment he noticed Law’s shadow cast across the sidewalk. The older boy bumped into him with a surprised grunt, not expecting him to stop so suddenly.

Both stared up at the man in the dark trench coat, a blade slung across his shoulder, the glint of metal along his body unmistakable. Law crouched before them with slow, deliberate calm. The shift in his coat revealed the dark ink curling down his fingers as he rested an elbow against his knee.

“You two seem sharp,” Law said, voice low and cool. His gaze flicked between them, measured but not unkind. 

The younger boy shrank further behind his friend’s shoulder, wide-eyed. But the older one squared his stance, jaw twitching as he tried to look braver than he felt.

“We didn’t do anything,” the older one said quickly, hands twitching at his sides.

Law raised a single hand—not as a warning, but as a gesture of calm. “I’m not here for trouble,” he said. “I’m looking for someone. Blond hair. Smokes like a chimney. Walks like he owns the world. You’d remember him.”

The older boy’s brows knit slightly. 

He leaned in a fraction closer, just enough to soften his voice. “You tell me what you know... and I’ll owe you. A favor from a pirate captain. That’s not nothing.”

He let the offer settle.

The younger one peered over his friend’s arm now, curiosity breaking past fear. “You’re really a captain?”

“I am,” Law said simply. “But I don’t like being lied to. If you’ve seen him, this is your chance to help.”

The smaller boy slipped out from behind the taller one, eyeing Law with a spark of something bold. “What’s your bounty worth?”

Law scoffed lightly, both amused and impressed. “Three billion Berri.” he said, voice flat, matter-of-fact.

The older boy recoiled slightly, eyes widening. “Wha—?”

Law didn’t break eye contact with the younger one, who seemed increasingly interested, clearly weighing the odds.

Law continued to hold his hand up. "I am not here for trouble you two, just a little information, now. Have you seen the man I discribed? Or better you can tell me why you do not want to tred near the building?"

The smaller one was holding his ground. And looking over Law trying to determine if he was telling the truth or not. 

"That's as much as Luffy!" A small smile cracked over his face. As Law huffed, of course he would know Luffy. 

"Yup, and now you have Trafalgar Law asking you some questions." His amber gaze did not waver from the bold nature of the small child. 

"Well, I guess I believe you." He crossed his arms as the older one seemed to relax and come to stand next to him. He held his chin in a mock gesture of contemplation.

"Well the thing is when people go in-" The older one butted it "No one ever comes out!"

The smaller one elbowed the dark haired friend. Law stood and stared towards the building. 

"And have you seen the man I was referring too?" 

"Mmmmm nope." He crossed his arms squinting hard as the older one rolled his eyes at the action. 

"Alright thank you, you two." Law started to walk to trace in fount of the court yard along the side walk. He looked a little closer as the two boys fallowed him. He saw Din din muchi all over the entrance, he kept walking. 

Something if definitely going on in there. He watched out of the side of his eye as he paced. 

"Hey! What about us?" Law did not look down at them as he walked. Law was not in the mood to be seen with two small children little lone at all in a place he did not know what held inside. He quickly pushed his room out and a few stifled gasps fell around them and they blinked.

They landed in a quiet alleyway just a few blocks from the harbor, the hum of city life still pulsing in the distance. Law stepped forward first, the two boys flanking him, eyes wide with curiosity and nerves. Ahead of them stood Bepo, arms crossed, posture alert. His ears twitched the moment they arrived.

“Ever seen a Mink before?” Law asked as he bent slightly toward the boys.

They didn’t answer with words—just gasped as their eyes went wide, practically glowing with wonder.

“WHOA! It’s a real bear!” one shouted.

The other followed suit, running forward and launching into Bepo’s arms without hesitation. Bepo blinked in surprise, catching the second one mid-leap.

“Ah—uh, hi there!” he stammered, holding both boys like they weighed nothing at all. “My name’s Bepo. Nice to meet you.”

Bepo shot Law a confused look over the top of the kids’ heads. “Law, what is this about?”

“I think I found something,” Law said simply, eyes already scanning the skyline behind them.

Bepo’s expression sharpened. He gently set the boys down, letting them swarm around his legs like overexcited puppies.

“Sanji?” Bepo asked, quieter.

Law nodded. “A building. One we’ve walked past too many times.” He motioned behind him. “Courtyard full of surveillance. Nothing ever comes out."

Bepo’s posture shifted subtly—more alert, more grounded. “You think it’s a front for something?”

"Its defiantly worth checking out."

Sanji paced the polished floor of the high-rise suite, the soles of his shoes barely making a sound against the smooth wood. The room was large—luxurious, even. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a skyline glittering in the late morning light, towers of steel and glass layered like blades in a forge. From this high above, the city’s noise was reduced to a hum.

Still, it didn’t soothe him.

He lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. The first inhale was deep—too deep—but it grounded him. Smoke curled upward into the still air as the quiet whirr of a Den Den Mushi’s eye followed his movements from its perch on the wall. Watching. Always watching.

The door clicked open.

He didn’t turn at first. He knew who it was by the lightness of the footsteps.

“Sanji,” Reiju said gently, stepping into the sunlit room, closing the door with a soft click. “The ship will be here soon.”

He stood stiffly, motionless but for the faint exhale of smoke escaping his lungs. His back was to her. His shoulders were tense.

“I have to tell him I’m leaving,” Sanji said finally. The words were quiet, dragged out between drags of smoke. “It’s the least I can do.”

Reiju stepped closer, her voice sharpening. “Why? So he can lie to you again? Say whatever you want to hear just to keep you near? So he can keep... poking around inside you?”

He flinched at the phrasing, but didn’t meet her gaze.

“He saved my life,” Sanji said, as if that explained it all.

“And I’m grateful,” she replied, reaching for his hand. “But he’s not like us, Sanji. He’s not family.”

He looked down at her hand in his. It was soft, warm, familiar—and somehow distant. His voice dropped to a mutter.

“You’ll be the only one.”

Reiju smiled—thin, bittersweet. “I know Father will be delighted to see you. To see how far you’ve come.”

“Tch.” Sanji turned away, dragging hard on his cigarette. “I didn’t do it for Germa. I couldn’t let everyone die. That’s all.”

“Still,” she said softly. “Family means something to us. It always has. And it’ll mean even more when we’re whole again. When we’re all together, truly... together.”

Sanji didn’t answer.

Smoke gathered around him like a shield, curling from his lips in silence.

Reiju approached quietly and slipped her arms around him from behind. Her cheek pressed lightly to his shoulder, but Sanji didn’t move. He didn’t soften into her touch. He kept his stance rigid, eyes fixed on the horizon outside the towering windows, drawing slow, deliberate pulls from the cigarette gripped between his fingers.

Eventually, she released him, stepping back with a silent sigh.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” she said gently. “Want me to bring it to the room?”

“That’s fine,” he replied, voice flat. He still didn’t turn to face her.

She lingered at the door for a moment longer, as if waiting for something. But Sanji didn’t speak again. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and he resumed pacing. A slow circle, again and again, the faint scent of tobacco lingering in the room with each pass. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed out smoke, working through the mess in his head.

He wanted to go back to Luffy. To the Sunny. To his home. But the memories—the things he’d seen in that sterile white hell—stopped him cold. The thought of becoming a burden to his captain, to his nakama, clawed at his pride like glass shards under his skin.

He had to figure this out alone.

He could go back to Law. But trust? That had cracked. And while a part of him still ached for that man's hands, his voice, the sanctuary of his presence—another part recoiled at the thought of being handled again, studied like some ticking bomb.

He could vanish. Go adrift on the Grand Line. Find answers in the wild unknown. Maybe someone like Vegapunk could help him—but Vegapunk was a ghost, a shadow in the government. If Sanji was lucky, he’d die before he ever found him.

Or...

He could follow Reiju.

Back into the place he’d spent his whole life trying to escape. Germa. The very name soured on his tongue. And yet, she said they were different now. Their father, she claimed, would be proud of what he’d become. Sanji scoffed. Pride from that man was worth less than ash. He dropped the dying cigarette butt into a crystal glass from the minibar—his makeshift ashtray—and watched the embers sizzle out.

And still, the question circled.

Go back? Trust again? Run?

Or finally face what he swore he never would?

Sanji rubbed his palms hard into his eyes, as if pressure alone could shake something loose—an answer, a direction, anything that would quiet the noise in his head. But nothing came. Just the familiar ache behind his brow, and the dull weight in his chest.

He stood and paced, soundlessly over the cold floor, drawn toward the wide windows that framed the skyline. The city stretched out in shades of steel and soft haze, its distant edges kissing the pale horizon of the sea. He braced his hands in his pockets and stared out, longing for something he couldn't name—clarity, maybe. Or a sign.

He needed to talk to Law.

Even if it was just to say goodbye.

The thought twisted something low in his gut. Not because of anger, not anymore. But because walking away without a word felt wrong. Too wrong for the man who’d held him with such care, even when neither of them knew what the hell they were doing.

Law. That frustrating, calculating, brilliant bastard.

Sanji exhaled hard through his nose, jaw tightening.

The man drove him insane—with that cold intellect, that infuriating way of knowing everything and still refusing to say a damn thing until it was too late. But somewhere between the stubborn silences and sharp words, there were moments. Real ones. Where Law let himself be soft. Where he let Sanji in.

He ran a hand through his hair, knuckles dragging slow as memories surged up. The way Law touched him like he was something fragile. The way he didn't flinch when Sanji showed him the ugliest parts of himself.

The way they fit—after all the missteps. Like a rhythm they didn’t need to count. 

A small smile tugged at Sanji’s lips. God, I missed him.

He reached for another cigarette and lit it fast, needing something to do with his hands. The flavor was sharp, too bitter, not the smoother blend Law had come to like. 

He sighed and tilted his head back, smoke curling up toward the ceiling. Even now, when he didn’t know what the hell his future looked like—Law was still part of the question. And maybe… part of the answer.

A soft knock broke the silence.

The attendant didn’t speak as they slipped inside, head lowered, placing the silver tray gently on the small table near the lounge. It clinked softly—fine china, steaming plates, the kind of meal that should’ve felt comforting. The door clicked shut behind them without a word. Sanji turned only slightly, eyes flicking over the food. His nose wrinkled in distaste.

He stepped closer, crouching briefly to peer beneath the covered dish. The aroma was rich, but sterile—no soul. And more importantly, no trust.

“Poisoned, probably,” he muttered under his breath.

Whether it was or not didn’t matter. He didn’t need to eat anymore, not like he used to. He’d learned to suppress hunger, to starve the machine within when it suited him. It was the one advantage Germa had given him that he could actually control.

With a scoff, he turned his back on the tray and walked to the window again, dragging one last, thoughtful pull from the cigarette as he watched the sun glint off the harbor far below. The city sprawled out beneath him, metal and glass buzzing with life—but none of it meant a damn thing. Not without him.

Sanji exhaled slowly, smoke curling over the glass as he tapped the filter against the sill. He needed to see Law. 

I’m leaving.

The words weighed heavily in his chest, but he knew he couldn’t go without saying them. He crushed the cigarette in a glass ashtray he’d claimed from the bar earlier in the week and shrugged into his coat. The lining still smelled faintly like the Polar Tang, like him. Without looking back at the untouched meal, Sanji opened the door and slipped into the quiet hallway. His steps were silent. He was going to the harbor.

To see Law.

Law had been perched on the rooftop for hours, cloaked in the shadow of an adjacent high-rise as the sun began to fall behind the harbor skyline. He was alone—he’d ordered the crew back to the sub, just in case things went wrong. He’d traced enough clues to feel sure. Something about it gnawed at him, and so he waited. But even then, it took him a few seconds to recognize what he was seeing. A flicker of movement. A familiar kick. A figure launching from the upper floors—fluid, golden hair whipping behind like a flame. The sound of that step through the air snapped him back into focus. His chest clamped tight.

“Sanji.”

Without thinking, Law popped from the rooftop in a blur of blue light.

He appeared right in front of him mid-air just as Sanji reflexively grabbed him by the wrist, boots skimming through the air to maintain altitude. The wind buffeted around them, a thousand feet above the city.

“What the—” Sanji’s eyes narrowed. The grip on Law’s arm was firm. 

“Hello, Sanji.” Law’s voice was quiet. A hint of a smile touched his lips, awkward and strange on him.

Sanji stared, eyes narrowing further, his brows furrowed deep with unspoken emotion.

Law broke the silence first. “I want to talk.”

Sanji scoffed, his teeth flashing behind a sneer. “All I have to say to you is—first of all, fuck you. And second—” his voice dropped, cool and clipped, “—I’m leaving.”

The words were all cut. Law took them silently.

“Can we at least talk on the ground?” he asked, nodding to the streets far below.

Sanji rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. “Fine.” He didn’t let go.

They descended slowly, the moment drawn taut between them. Sanji didn’t bother to cushion the landing for Law—he simply let him drop the last few feet, boots touching down sharply before Sanji’s followed.

They landed on the sidewalk just skirting the building. The sky was stained orange with sunset. Wind curled between them. They stood at the edge of the courtyard, just outside the long shadow of the tower Sanji had left behind. The sun dipped low, casting the sky in hues of ash and flame. Wind caught in the folds of their coats, but neither moved. Sanji’s hands slipped into his pockets. His posture was guarded, jaw locked. He was giving Law this one chance.

Finally, Sanji broke the silence with a low voice and clenched jaw. “Start talking. Before I change my mind.”

Law met his eyes and didn’t look away.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

His voice didn’t shake—but his eyes did. Anchoring himself to the feelings he wanted to express. 

Sanji didn’t flinch. Didn’t offer sign of acknowledgement. 

“I was stupid,” Law continued. “And selfish.”

Still, Sanji said nothing.

“It was never my intention to hurt you. But I did. And I see that now.” Law’s words spilled out low and fast, like the pressure behind them had finally given way. “I meant it—every part of that promise we made. I still do. I want to fix this.”

Sanji’s eyes narrowed. His shoulder twitched, like he might turn away. And he did.

But Law chased him.

“Sanji, please—” Law’s voice broke, cracking sharp like bone. “I’ll be better. For you. For us.”

His throat locked on the next breath. Then:

“I care about you.”

Sanji stood with his back turned, fists clenched in his pockets. He swallowed hard. That ache in his chest twisted. He was ready to speak, ready to bite back with something cutting or maybe something vulnerable—he hadn’t decided.

But then—

“Sanji.”

The voice that called from behind him froze him where he stood. Familiar. Too familiar. A chill spidered up Sanji’s spine.

He didn’t turn to look. Sanji already knew.

The courtyard fell silent.

Two sets of eyes turned toward the sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing off the marble walk way. A figure stepped out of the tall shadow of the corporate building, tall, broad, cloak that billowed like a war banner behind him. Golden hair caught the last flare of the sun. Flanked by Reiju, he walked with the same militaristic precision Sanji remembered all too well. 

Sanji froze, mid-turn. His jaw clenched. The man he had sworn never to acknowledge again... was here. 

Reiju said nothing, her expression unreadable.

Judge stopped. Not a word yet. He simply looked at Sanji—measured him. Assessed him. Like a piece of tech he had once scrapped and suddenly found valuable once more.

“Sanji,” Judge finally said, “You’ve grown into what I designed you to be.”

Sanji didn’t respond. Not right away. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. It wasn’t fear in his gut. It was rage. 

“I told you,” Sanji said, his voice low, sharp, “to never show yourself to me again.”

Judge’s eyes narrowed—not with shame, but calculation.

“And yet,” he replied, “you came back.”

Sanji took a single step forward, positioning himself slightly in front of Law, whether he meant to or not.

“You came because the world is finally too heavy to carry on your own,” Judge continued, his words like a vice grip. “And now the only place left for you is home. Where you belong. With your family.”

“You are not my family.”

Reiju flinched slightly behind Judge—but said nothing.

Judge tilted his head just so. “You’ve run long enough. Hid behind pirates. Behind cooks and captains and dreams of kindness. But that blood in your veins? It was always mine.”

Law stepped forward then, quiet but seething, his gaze lethal. “He’s not yours.” Judge barely glanced at him.

“He’s not yours either.” The tension cracked like ice underfoot.

The silence was brutal and suffocating. The air between father and son felt stretched thin, about to snap. This was the first time they’d locked eyes since the disaster at the wedding. But it still felt like a lifetime’s worth of rage collapsed into a single moment.

Sanji’s fists curled tight at his sides.

“Sanji, my boy.”

Judge’s voice was heavy with false affection, arms extended like a man expecting a warm reunion. Sanji immediately took a step back.

Law’s gaze sharpened. His pupils were thinning, that telltale glow beginning to rim the blue of his irises. He stepped forward on instinct, moving protectively in front of Sanji.

“A perfect weapon,” Judge muttered, ignoring the gesture entirely. He barely even looked at Law—his gaze was locked on the son he’d once discarded. “Come home. Where a Germa prince belongs.”

He took a step closer.

Law’s hand flew to his sword, half-drawn in warning. But Sanji lifted a palm, steady and calm. Then, without breaking eye contact, he stepped around Law and toward his father.

“No,” Sanji said, voice sharp and resolute. “I’m the cook of the Straw Hat Pirates. I’m not your soldier, your experiment, your puppet—and I sure as hell am not your son.”

Judge’s expression didn’t change—but something in the air shifted. Reiju tensed at his side.

“If you won’t come willingly…” Judge’s tone hardened. “Then I’ll make you.”

Sanji’s brows drew together—but it wasn’t fear on his face. It was fury. Loathing. Behind him, Law was already repositioning, standing firm with him ready for the insuring battle.

Judge didn’t move. But Reiju did.

Her eyes began to glow—an unnatural, brilliant white. That same white Law had seen mirrored in Sanji’s transformation. Only now, he understood, this was programming, control.

He inhaled sharply. “Sanji—”

But nothing happened. Reiju stepped forward, light humming behind her eyes.

But Sanji hadn’t moved.

Judge stared with anticipation. Law stood tense, heart hammering behind his ribs.

Judges confidence cracks just a fraction. He looked at his dughter closing the distence but Sanji remained fixed at Law side. Law huffed. 

"Is something wrong?" He looked at the imposing figure. He straightened and smiled again, lowering the brim of his hat to cover his eyes. He held out his hand, "Room, Shambles" in the filter of his room Law held aloft a small chip. Sanji turned toward Law and looked at the small pieced of metal the caught the final receding light. 

“Sanji chooses his own path,” Law said, steady and unyielding. “No more Germa interference. No more control.”

Sanji stared at Law, he had already given him his freedom and Sanji had not even known. Taking everything Law was doing for granted. Raising the bill of his hat towards Sanji he made eye contact with the man he loved. The white halo receded and the stormy blue returned. He held out a hand to Sanji. In that well practiced ask of permission. He took it as his Sister had quickly lunged for them.

They where gone. Gone from the city scape and back over the few blocks from the harbor. The both noticed the large fortress of Din Din muchi's that made up the ever moving Germa kingdom. Law moved them again to the open hatched and the both moved inside quickly sealing the hatch with one flick of his wrist. He called out quickly.

"DIVE!" Law called out and he knew the crew heard him. They moved together through the tight corridors as Law watched Sanji from behind. They made their way to the command room just outside the steering room where he knew his crew was. The crew saw Sanji come down first and all cheered as they rushed to celeabrate his return. 

“Sanji! You're really back! I tried cooking… but it kept turning out like food cubes. I missed your seasoning and your stories!”

“About time! I was starting to think Law scared you off permanently! Don’t do that to us again, man—we nearly resorted to instant ramen.”

“I ate one of Bepo’s experimental protein loaves. I barely survived. You saved my life by showing up, Chef.”

“You’re not allowed to disappear like that without leaving snacks behind. Or at least instructions for how to caramelize onions properly.”

“The sub’s been too quiet without the sound of your chopping. Welcome back.”

“We’re all glad you made it back. This ship feels more alive with you aboard.”

“Finally! My taste buds have been in mourning.”

“I swear the kitchen was haunted without you—stuff kept catching fire.”

The crew enveloped Sanji in laughter and arms, a whirlwind of sound and joy around him—Bepo tugging him into a bone-crushing hug, Shachi shouting something about dinner, Penguin pretending he hadn’t cried, and Ikkaku swatting them all away to make space.

Law pushed toward the steering wheel and watched them descend towards the ocean floor as Hakugan steady guided them deeper as the Polar Tang continued its descent beneath the waves. The final glimmers of sunlight above flickered like the last embers of a fire being snuffed out, casting long golden streaks through the water.

Law allowed himself a breath. The log pose had been set for weeks now. Law was silently agreeing with everything the crew as saying. Every last word. They knew where they were going. But this moment—this rare, gentle stillness—was for him. A second to collect himself with Sanji safely aboard once more. A second to come to terms with the weight he had been carrying and the truth he had finally spoken.

Second chances aren't given easily. Law knew that better than anyone.

He turned, Sanji was already watching him. Waiting. He always had been. Blue eyes, storm-soft and steady, held Law's with a warmth. Law, who had weathered years of silence and solitude—felt something inside him ease.

Law moved quietly through the narrow hall, brushing past Sanji and the gathered crew with his usual measured stride. The corridor echoed faintly with footsteps and soft chatter—until a hand caught him by the wrist.

Soft and immeasurably gentle. He paused, and his breath caught just slightly as he looked down at the fingers wrapped around him. Then up—to meet those unmistakable blue eyes. He pulled Law forward by that wrist, drawing him close. The hush that followed wasn’t silence—it was reverence. A collective breath held.

In the soft glow of the sub’s lighting, Sanji leaned in. The kiss was light. Barely more than a press of lips. It undid him with its quiet restraint. Color bloomed across Law’s cheeks. Still, he didn’t pull back. He stayed in the closeness.

“Thank you,” Sanji said, voice low and husky against Law’s lips. “But that’s all you get. I’m still pissed at you.”

Laughter bubbled up from the crew around them—snickering, sighs, the teasing clatter of found family. But it all blurred in the periphery. Because Law leaned in again.

This time, his kiss said I know.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, the vow brushing across Sanji’s mouth like a promise he was going to keep.

“I’d expect nothing less.” Sanji’s smirk was warm, but his eyes... they were devastating. Full of that same fondness that had unraveled Law piece by piece.

Sanji let him go, finally—sensing the weight of the eyes on Law, the discomfort just starting to settle in his shoulders. He released his wrist, but not without brushing his fingers down the inside of Law’s palm.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

The smile he gave Law then, that smile, was only for him.

And just like that, Law fell for him all over again.

Law was in his room, changed out of his clothes, palming a small container in his hand. It had only been but a mere few minutes since they departed, and Law found himself pacing his room, fiddling with the black steel that was inlaid with blue flowers. Forget-me-nots. He was in a black tank top and his signature jeans. His hat had been placed back on the shelf.

When would be the right time?

He flipped the case one more time. He could smell the chemical burn over his mouth from the brief kiss, clearly having run out of the blend from Wano. Just as he was working on his next thought, the door slid open with a hiss.

He quickly turned around and saw Sanji smirking at him.

"Didn't want to get my suit dirty from prep for dinner. A very lovely man gifted it to me, you see."

He bent over and grabbed his pack right where he had left it. He fished out his well-worn slacks and a button-down and started to undress like it was nothing. Law turned and tried to hide the case in his hand.

"Law, you have seen every inch of me; it's fine. You can watch." Sanji pulled the honey-smooth tone over the last words, knowing exactly how it would land with Law.

He turned, and Sanji was already half undressed out of the incredibly form-fitting suit. Law waited for their eyes to meet once more. Sanji looked up as he pulled the pants over his hips once more.

He stood and watched him finish. Sanji cocked an eyebrow at him. The final button, and Law stepped closer.

"Can I have your hand?" Law held his own out in permission. Sanji stared at him, wondering where this was going.

"Yeah, but remember I'm still pissed at you. Don't send us somewhere you will regret." He turned his head in a stubborn refusal to acknowledge Law's gesture.

He set the case into his hand and waited for Sanji to look. He turned his head and flipped the case over in his hand. He saw the small spring on the side. Popping it open, he saw a bundle of cigarettes neatly arranged in the case.

Sanji's lip trembled. Did he have more smokes from Wano?

His eyes locked with Law’s, golden meeting blue. “I figured you were out,” Law said, tone quiet. “So I got you more.”

Sanji twirled the cigarette between his fingers. The paper was hand-rolled, finer than most. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled gently. The scent was nuanced, he placed it between his lips, fished the lighter from his coat—still resting where he left it on the bed—and sparked the flame.

Clank.

He pulled in the smoke slowly. It bloomed across his tongue.

The front end was sharp—not biting, but clean, like the first sip of an old single malt whisky. Dry, slightly smoky, with a burn that mellowed as it hit the back of his throat. Then came the heart of it, deep, full bodied tobacco, sun-cured and sweet, like oak-aged leaf and warm spice, something honest and unapologetic. No need to mask its intent.

And the finish… that caught him.

A soft, surprising note of over-steeped black tea, the kind that lingers bitter on the sides of the tongue, grounding and familiar. Like a memory trying to stay sharp in the haze. It was everything Sanji never asked for—but it told him everything he needed to know.

It was a silent confession from Law.

Sanji exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward.

Sanji took another drag, slower this time. The smoke sat smoother now in his lungs. He rolled it between his fingers, letting the rich scent bloom again under his nose. That deep, warm tobacco—sharp whisky and black tea—it was a damn good blend. Too good. The kind of thing someone would have to put some real thought into.

He looked over at Law, who still hadn’t said a word. Just watching him in the small room, hands steady at his sides like he wasn’t waiting for Sanji’s reaction, even though he clearly was.

Sanji exhaled, smoke curling past his lips.

“Tch... you bastard,” he muttered under his breath, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with the hint of a smile. “You really went and found a blend you thought I’d like, huh?”

Law’s golden eyes didn’t move.

“I do like it,” Sanji said, flicking ash into the the ashtray at the side table. “It’s sharp. Honest.” He turned slightly, giving Law a sidelong glance. “Kinda like you, when you’re not being a complete asshole.”

Law raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

Sanji didn’t answer. He finished his drag and stubbed the cigarette out slowly. Then he let the case drop in his font breast pocket with the lighter.

“But don’t get the wrong idea. We’re still fighting.”

“Noted.” Law said, dry.

Sanji stepped past him, close enough for his sleeve to brush Law’s arm. “But... thanks. For the smokes.”

He paused at the door, hand on the frame. He didn’t turn back once.

Law didn’t follow Sanji immediately.

He’d tested the blend meticulously, of course. Measured ratios, burn times, steep strength, cured leaves aged just the right way. But he’d made it for Sanji. And Sanji had known, picked it up instantly without a word.

He stood there, alone in his quarters, the scent of burnt tobacco still drifting lightly in the air. But it had changed. The way the blend smelled on Sanji’s breath—on his skin—was different from when Law tested it himself. It lingered richer, warmer. Not just the sharp edge of whisky or the steeped black tea. There was something gentler in it now. It made Law even more grateful as he inhaled deeply. It settled in his sense and it made his heart race.

Law stared at the ashtray where Sanji had tapped the ash. His thumb ran over the rim. His stomach was tight—not with nerves, but something quieter. Something closer to peace.

 

The galley was lit warm and low, the hum of gentle conversation echoing between walls. The crew had gathered on schedule as always, already halfway through piling up onigiri on mismatched platters—triangle rice balls stuffed with everything from grilled salmon to umeboshi, seared pickled daikon, and even a few with Sanji’s signature soft-boiled quail eggs tucked inside.

Sanji was at the counter, sleeves rolled, rice stuck to his forearms as he reached for more shiso leaves. He didn’t look up when Law stepped in. But Bepo waved at him cheerfully and Shachi scooted over with a mouthful of seaweed-wrapped tuna.

“Oi, Captain,” Penguin called around a bite, “get in here before Bepo eats all the good stuff.”

“I heard that,” Bepo muttered, licking miso from his fingers.

Law took a seat slowly at the head of the table. And when Sanji finally glanced at him from over his shoulder, he walked over and a fresh plate was sat down in front of him—made perfectly to his tastes. No pickled fillings. Warm rice, just off the stove. Wasabi precisely dosed.

Even now... still catering to him. Law didn’t say a word. He picked one up, took a bite. Sanji said nothing either. But when their eyes met again across the room, the softness was unmistakable. Still fighting, maybe. But they were home.

The others filtered out slowly, laughter echoing down the corridor as the galley dimmed with the low whir of the sub descending deeper into the sea. Sanji was still at the counter, methodically wiping down the counter and bowls. He didn’t look up when Law stood and stepped beside him.

But he didn’t move away either.

Law picked up a cloth without asking, stacking empty bowls with deliberate care. Just a rhythm they settled into—like they’d done this dozens of times before. A small moment. A quiet pact.

He scrubbed rice from plates. Sanji rinsed them in warm water. The occasional brush of fingers was the only thing that passed between them. 

Law didn’t want to leave. And Sanj didn’t want him to.

When the last light was switched off and the galley door slid shut behind them, Law followed Sanji down the corridor, hands in his pockets, his pace deliberately unhurried. They passed by the familiar turn to his own quarters. For a moment, Law hesitated.

We’re fighting, he reminded himself. He said he was still mad.

He turned to the guest room—pausing just long enough for the door to swish open—but Sanji never stopped walking. Never said a word. Just opened the door to Law’s quarters like it was still his. Like it had always been his. Law stood frozen for a second, watching the way Sanji walked inside without hesitation. No look back. The door slid shut behind him. And Law followed.

The room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the soft ambient lights tucked behind the steel trim of the celling. Law entered with a quiet shuffle of boots, pausing just inside the doorway.

He’d stripped down to nothing fully bare to Law. With one side of the sheet casually kicked down as he settled into bed on his side—his bare back rising and falling with every slow breath. One arm draped beneath his head. The soft fringe of blond hair clung to his neck like spun gold.

He didn’t look over. Just said, voice low and unmistakably aware:

“Door’s not going to close itself.” Law let the metal whisper shut behind him.

He toed off his boots, peeled off his tank top and the rest as bare as Sanji, and slid beneath the sheets on the opposite side, leaving a respectful space between them. A line drawn in dim light.

Seconds passed.

A minute.

Then—

“…Get over here.” Law blinked, turning his head on the pillow toward the shape beside him.

“I thought we were fighting.” Sanji huffed through his nose, irritation and affection tangled up in a single exhale. 

“Shut up.”

Law smirked. He didn’t need to be told twice. He shifted closer, the sheets rustling, the warmth of Sanji immediately pulling him in. Their bodies fit together like they always had, perfect in every way.

“Whatever you say.” Law murmured at his ear, the tease curled with heat.

Sanji groaned, face buried in the pillow. “You're lucky I’m too tired to kick you.”

“And you’re lucky I know that’s a lie,” Law replied, hand brushing the small of his back beneath the covers.

Soft breaths rolled over Sanji's shoulder as Law nestled into his favorite spot berried deep into the crook of his neck. Sleep took them both quickly as the two settled in to the new understand and feeling tying them together.

Notes:

Woooooo Buddy. Here I am again. Uh yeah this was a fun chapter. I mean, I couldn't let them be mad at each other for too long right?

Any who, Lighter times to come. I know I have said that in the past but I am being honest this time around...

I love feed back, I hope you enjoyed it, until next chapter ;p

Chapter 16: Well Mesured Encounters

Summary:

Law explains what is truly going on with Sanji, as he try's to fallow along. Sex and Food?

Notes:

Shout out's to Acory for bonking me on the head to write these two, they are always such a huge help in my motivation as I struggle with how long this thing is sometimes. I write long and I guess I am excepting this.

Thank you to Bloody_psycho for beta reader for me as I fall carelessly head over heel with my over explanations about how these two interact.

Also there is a lot of medical/science discussion in here, I have no claim to know what the hell these things actually could contribute to in DNA or genes but it sounded right. (The main reason this thing took to long to put out.) So here we are.

Enjoy!

The days since Sanji’s return had been a minefield of sharp remarks and quiet tension. Every exchange carried weight, every silence stretched too long. And yet, beneath the friction, Law worked—deliberately, stubbornly—to show the man he had fallen so hard for that he was sorry.

It wasn’t in grand gestures. It was in the details. The meals shared, the hours of sleep finally reclaimed, the laughter of the crew spilling across the galley. All of it is brighter with Sanji aboard again.

Law, usually a man of silence, found himself speaking more. Asking questions he never would’ve asked before. Are you hungry? What do you feel like doing today? How are you holding up? Each word was careful but undeniably his. 

And Sanji—grudgingly, skeptically—began to bend. He could see Law was trying, in his own sharp-edged way.

One night, Law asked if Sanji wanted him to recount everything, the blind spots in his memory. The surgeries, the setbacks, the things Sanji had missed.

Sanji had agreed.

So Law spoke. Every detail, every painstaking moment, laid bare in that steady, clinical tone of his. It was like stitching bandages across a wound still gaping wide. Not enough to heal, not yet. But Sanji could see the effort. The care. And no matter how much he tried to fight it, he could feel something in himself start to loosen.

Sanji took Law’s retelling in waves. Some of it was hard to hear. But it wasn’t the knives, the sutures, or even the blood that cut deepest. It was hearing how much Law had struggled in the months Sanji had been gone, tethered to life by machines and sheer stubborn will. How many times had Law dragged him back from the brink, fighting against the very technology woven into his body just to keep him breathing.

“The third time,” Law began, voice steady, “was when a clot slipped past my clamp. It tore loose between my fingers as I worked the catheter through your artery—”

“Stop.” Sanji’s voice was rough, sharper than he meant it to be. He set his spoon of cold cereal down, the half raised bite forgotten. “Okay. That’s enough for today.”

Law stared at him over the rim of his teacup. His golden eyes lingered before he swallowed the words that hung on his tongue.

It wasn’t unfamiliar territory. Law defaulted to precision, to explaining every incision, every risk, every small disaster caught and repaired. It was how he showed care, by making sure Sanji knew exactly what had been done to him and why.

But Sanji wasn’t a patient on a table anymore. He was willingly tangled in the madness of this man, and right now the details were too much.

“Will you still be up for the scan today?” Law’s tone was stripped of ornament, pared down to a softer edge. He would not risk unraveling what little reconciliation they’d managed.

Sanji shrugged, spoon twirling between his fingers as he bit into another mouthful of chocolate hazelnut cereal. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. You want to get back to fixing me, I get it.” His words were flippant, but the bitterness in them was harder to disguise.

“Yes,” Law replied without hesitation. “I want to catalog every alteration since the chip’s removal.”

Sanji hummed distractedly, his gaze skimming the far wall of the galley, his attention deliberately elsewhere.

They were civil. Cordial, but miles from the warmth Law ached to reclaim—the teasing remarks, the swaggering saunter, and the infuriating charm that once bent whole rooms around Sanji’s orbit. All of it absent, leaving only this brittle distance that pressed heavy on Law.

It was a privilege Law hadn’t re-earned, and Sanji knew it. He understood the leverage he held, and though he was slowly—painfully—allowing Law back in, the cook remained guarded, his affections measured. The cost of their fracture wasn’t easily forgotten. Trust, once broken, was not a currency Sanji gave freely. He cared for Law deeply, but he’d been wounded just as deeply. Now they walked the uneasy line of rebuilding.

“Are you done?” Law rose, reaching for Sanji’s bowl with the unhurried grace of habit.

“Yeah. We are doing this now?” Sanji followed him to the sink, rinsing the dish before setting it to dry. He tossed back the last of his tea in one practiced motion, wiping his hands on a towel as though erasing the conversation along with the moisture.

“Only if you want to,” Law said. His gaze lingered downward.

“Better to get it over with.” Sanji’s hands slipped into his pockets, his stride long and dismissive as he left the galley. Law trailed behind.

The scan room was cold, as always, the sterile light pooling across steel and glass. Both men knew what needed to happen; nothing was hidden anymore.

“Please, Sanji. Lie on the table.”

Law’s hand indicated the familiar surface—the same table where months ago the first layers of Sanji’s altered body had been exposed, where their fractured trust had begun.

Sanji said nothing, only stripped down with brisk efficiency and pulled a gown across his shoulders. There was no need for pleasantries. No need for masks between them—except the one Law fixed carefully over his face.

At the counter, Law donned gloves, the rustle of latex against skin. Yet there was something else in it too. A kindness. An acknowledgment that this, too, was a bond being rebuilt.

Sanji lowered himself onto the table, the chill seeping into his skin as he adjusted his body into position. His storm-blue eyes flicked once to Law.

“Okay, Law,”

The leather creaked as Sanji settled onto the table. Law turned, glove snapping into place as he extended a hand.

“Room. Scan.”

Sanji felt the familiar hum ripple through him as the world bent to Law’s will. His body lifted, suspended, but this time he was awake, watching, listening.

“Alright,” Law said, voice even, clinical. “I’m starting with your spine. Then I’ll move outward.”

“Yup.”

The buzz thrummed in Sanji’s nerves as his body opened under Law’s command. The surgeon traced along the vertebrae, cataloging calibration points where flesh ended and Germa steel began. The junction of man and machine.

“Your system has stabilized with the chip and core removed,” Law narrated. “But I want to re-examine your legs. They’ve adapted as extensively as your lungs.”

“Yeah.”

Law’s hand swept through the suspended space, and Sanji’s leg came apart in a single smooth pull, marrow gleaming in the ghost light of the scan.

Sanji’s eyes tracked every movement. He had grown accustomed to this sight: his body in pieces, rendered strange, inhuman—exactly as Law had once named him.

“You could break through anything with these reinforcements,” Law observed. His hand expanded, as though widening the field, gaze narrowing into the marrow itself.

“And…?” Sanji asked, voice low. He would have tilted his head if Law’s Room hadn’t fixed him still. He hung there, entirely in the surgeon’s grasp, the Surgeon of Death studying him with that impossible focus.

"I want to look at your DNA. I can clip the parts of you that are Germa. Remove them completely." He made a motion with his fingers like scissors. 

"Ok..." 

“I’ve done it before.”

Law didn’t say, “Trust me,” though the words pressed against his teeth. It was too soon for that.

Sanji rolled his eyes, the one part of him still in his control in the tense quiet of the room.

“Yeah, okay…”

Law said nothing. He turned instead, his hand explaining he was coaxing the very fabric of what made Sanji, Sanji. In the air between them, a strand of DNA began to uncoil.

Not just a strand—but a visual representation of Sanji’s complete chromosomal sequence, rendered in slow, impossible elegance.

It was like pulling magnetic tape from an old cassette, long and delicate, running and running with a rhythm. Law had begun to memorize. The double helix spiraled outward in rotating bands, data streaming in pale threads of light. The molecular ladder slowly twisted apart, nucleotide by nucleotide.

“I did it to myself,” Law said finally, voice distant as he guided the strands. “Used my devil fruit power to excise the sequences I inherited. Trauma, illness. I rewrote myself.”

Sanji watched in stunned silence. Law’s hands moved with grace—indexing nucleotides, isolating loci where anomalies sat like cancers in a code.

Law frowned. “You’ve got several active suppressors grafted across your genome. Some look like synthetic methylation sites—deliberately obscuring expression patterns.”

He pointed. “Here, on chromosome 8—your telomeres. They’re unnaturally long, with no degradation. That’s why you’re not aging normally.”

Sanji blinked. “Is that… bad?”

“Bad for anyone who wasn’t built like you. But for you? It’s part of what makes you…” Law hesitated, knowing Sanji wanted the truth even if it hurt. “What they designed. Germa tech didn’t just enhance. They built fail-safes.”

He shifted the strands towards him. “Some of your chromosomes are fused. Artificially. Folded back on themselves to shield critical genes. Here—chromosome 15. That’s not a normal segment. That’s a cap. Military-grade genetic locking. Probably where they bound your obedience.”

Sanji squinted. The air buzzed with quiet static. He could see it now too—the highlighted portions, glowing faintly in gold. They pulsed faintly with potential. A cruel promise.

“But I’ve already started cutting the bindings,” Law murmured. “Unwinding the knots. It’s just... slow. Every move has to be exact, or the system triggers a cascade. Genetic failover.”

“And you can really fix it?”

Law’s golden eyes didn’t leave the double helix. “I’m going to try. But it means rewriting you without undoing you. I’m not just erasing Germa—I’m making sure you stay intact.”

They stayed in that charged quiet, Sanji’s eyes fixed on the glowing strands of his own genome unraveling in the air. Every rotation of the helix was another reminder of how little control he’d ever had.

“And then I’ll be free,” Sanji murmured, voice rough, “once and for all?”

Law exhaled through his mask, the warm breath hitting his focus. He pulled it down slowly.

“Yes. I believe so. But if I misstep… if I unravel too far… I risk tearing apart the very body that makes you, you.”

He turned to face Sanji fully, just himself. The man who had taken him apart more times than he cared to count. And the man he was beginning to trust with putting him back together once again. 

“I’ll do everything in my power to make this right, Sanji.” His voice was low and steady, carrying a certainty born of blood and failure. “You deserve that.”

Sanji swallowed hard, watching those steady amber eyes. He didn’t look away, didn’t blink.

“When I was thirteen,” Law continued, “it took me nearly three years to purge the white lead disease from my own body. To scrub it clean.” His lips tightened. “And I did it with hands barely strong enough to hold a scalpel.”

“Three years?” Sanji’s voice cracked upward, incredulous. His brows arched high, just as Law expected they would.

“Yes.” Law’s tone was even, though the corner of his mouth tugged despite himself. “But I’m not that boy anymore. My methods are sharper. My hands are steadier. This won’t take years.” He paused, calculating. “From the scope of the interference… three to six months. No more.”

He let the number sit between them.

Sanji was silent. His shoulders rose and fell in a slow, careful breath. 

Law leaned in slightly, voice quiet, pulling his gaze back up. “Sanji… do you still want this? Knowing the risks? Knowing the time?”

Steady blue eyes held him. Eyes Law had memorized a hundred times over, and still they struck him with awe.

“Ok, Law,” Sanji said, his voice steady but soft. “I trust you. Let’s do this.”

Something eased in Law’s chest, a tightness he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He gave a small nod—his only outward reaction, but inside, it was a warmth he gripped like a lifeline. Sanji trusted him. And he would not break that. Not now, not ever again.

Law sat close, chair angled forward, his hands steady and sure as they danced across threads of code no one else could see.

They didn’t speak much. Words would only clutter the concentration required here. Sanji watched instead, watched the impossible precision of Law’s movements.

To anyone else, Law seemed perfectly still, hands raised as if frozen in the air. But Sanji saw it. The near-invisible strand, the slight shift of fingertips guiding strands of DNA apart. 

Hours passed. The hum of machinery blurred into silence. Sanji remained calm, though his body ached from stillness. His eyes never left Law.

Then he heard it, the low growl of a stomach.

Sanji’s brows furrowed. “Law… Are you hungry?”

“N-no… shhh.”

Law didn’t even look up. At some point he had stripped off his gloves, and now his tattooed hands worked bare skin against invisible threads, feeling the minute resistance as he coaxed one sequence free from another. The frown cut deeper into his face. His eyes were rimmed red from strain; he never blinked, never faltered.

Sanji’s chest tightened at the sight. This wasn’t just a surgeon working. This was Law, pouring himself out for him, burning himself down to keep a promise.

“Oi, fucker—” Sanji’s brows knit tight, his voice sharp and familiar. “If you ruin me because your hands are shaking from hunger, who’s really going to be the fuck up then?”

Law’s hands stilled, suspended in the air. A long, tired exhale slipped from his chest as he slowly released the fragile sequence he’d been holding. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing them hard enough to sting.

The silence returned, heavy, until Law’s stomach growled loud enough to echo through the room.

Sanji smirked faintly despite himself.

Law’s shoulders slumped. “…Yeah. Once again, you’re right.”

He stood, methodical even in his fatigue, and began slotting Sanji’s body back together piece by piece with quiet precision. Threads of DNA folded back into place, suspended tissues knitting seamlessly, the man restored from within.

The room was still. Just the hum of the equipment, the pulse of the room, and the sound of Law’s breathing uneven under the exhaustion. With the last piece—his leg—held in his hand, he went to slide it into place. Brushing a surprisingly half-hard cock against his hand.

Law looked up sharply, caught somewhere between exhaustion and confusion.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sanji muttered, color rising to his cheeks. If he could have turned his head away, he would have. “You weren’t saying anything, so I had to… figure out something to distract myself.”

Law blinked. His curiosity crept in. He let the suspended leg stay disconnected, hovering in the blue light. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

“Are we still fighting?” His voice was low, searching, but his gaze was steady, asking without demanding.

Sanji scoffed. “What the hell do you think?” The furrow of his brow was sharp as ever—but the blood filling his cock was counter to his words. Law reached, and Sanji did not stop him. As the tips of his fingers reached past the gown.

Sanji watched the skeleton like fingers press towards him. He bit his lip softly. He had been imagining what it would be like to fuck into Law. If he had ever done it before? What faces he would make?

But the fingers did not stop as his cock that was fully at mast now. The trail passed his pelvis inside him. Law’s fingers moved, his gaze distant, searching the invisible map of Sanji’s body. Then he paused. His eyes narrowed.

“Law—what the hell are you doing?” Sanji’s voice broke with tension, sharp with suspicion.

“Just let me try something,” Law murmured, curiosity threading through the calm. Sanji felt it before Law said another word. A sharp, electric ache ran through him, his chest tried to arching despite himself. Heat pooled in his core, his breath torn from his lungs in uneven bursts.

“Ah—dammit—” Sanji’s brow furrowed, face flushing crimson. “What are you… hah—doing?” His body ached as cold fingers ran over his prostate.

Law gently caressed the organ. And then pulled. Sanji felt the light pressure that surged through him. An overwhelming urge to cum right then and there flooded him. Law tilted his head, watching the way Sanji’s body strained against the room’s stillness. His fingers lingered delicately, as though brushing an unexpected key on a piano, gauging the resonance it produced.

His hand pulled free of Sanji and held a small cube shape in his hand. Law eyed it with curiosity.

"What are you doing, Law!!" It was only a small amount of pressure, and he just barely squeezed it with the tips of his fingers.

His body reacted, droplets of precum hitting the floor as Sanji's mind went fuzzy. He was panting, and Law had barely touched him.

“…Interesting.” His voice was clinical and detached, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of fascination. “The structure is more reactive than I anticipated.”

He raised it to his mouth and, almost casually, let it vanish between his lips. The small cube rested there as he turned back to his work, reassembling Sanji’s leg before lowering him carefully onto the table once more.

The hum of the room collapsed with a soft pop, leaving silence in its wake. Sanji blinked at the sudden stillness, sweat rolling down his temple as he fixed his gaze on Law.

What the hell is this man doing to me?

Law extended a hand, Sanji took it, letting himself be guided over to where his clothes had been set aside. There was a strange warmth radiating through his core curling low in his body. When he glanced back, Law’s mouth was tight. Something Sanji knew belonged to him.

By the time they left the scan room, both fully clothed again, the warmth had evened out enough for Sanji to almost forget. Almost.

Until his knees buckled.

He caught himself on the steel wall of the Tang, the thrum of the engine echoing faintly through the metal. His chest heaved, and he looked sharply at Law.

“What the fuck, Law.” His voice was ragged, teeth gritted as he braced a shoulder against the wall. The press in his slacks betrayed him, a spreading wetness marking just how raw his body’s betrayal had become.

Law’s expression didn’t shift. His face was its usual mask of calm, but his hands slipped casually into his pockets.

Law was slowly rolling over the piercing nestled far back on his tongue. A pressure point not only for himself but with such a sensitive organ in his mouth, he knew it was like torture to Sanji. Even the faintest shift in his jaw would have sent Sanji spiraling further.

Law held the moment. Every flicker of control was deliberate as he watched Sanji slump, trembling under the pleasure. He bridged the gap between them, one hand lifting to cradle Sanji’s face. His thumb brushed along his jawline, and a faint, knowing smile tugged at his lips as he pressed the smallest increment of pressure.

Sanji’s breath shattered. “Oh, fuck—” His body quivered. Law’s expression softened back into its neutral state, but Sanji leaned in, hips colliding with his in a desperate press. He knew damn well Law was enjoying this too much.

He surged forward, intent on kissing him, but the movement triggered another shift—Law’s subtle press down on the cube again. Both of them bent forward, shoulders hunched as pleasure pulsed through them.

Sanji laughed breathlessly, voice ragged. “Gods, I’ve never wanted so bad to hear one of your stupid retorts.”

When his knees finally steadied, he grabbed Law’s wrist and pulled him firmly toward his quarters. They passed a few crew members along the way—none batted an eye at Law’s silence, his stoicism so routine it blended into the air. But Sanji’s flushed cheeks, the storm of red blooming across his face, did not go unnoticed.

Law crossed his arms in the center of the room, face unreadable. Sanji planted his hands on his hips, scowling.

“Give it back,” he snapped, like he was scolding a dog to drop a ball. But Law didn’t move.

They locked eyes. Sanji took a step forward, but a subtle press of the unseen point inside him sent him buckling to his knees with a ragged moan.

“Law, you sick bastard—”

Law arched a brow, eyes molten but calm, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You like this. Don’t bother denying it.

Sanji staggered back to his feet, trembling but determined, forcing his way into Law’s space. He wanted to kiss him—wanted to break the silence—but every step risked another wave that might undo him completely.

“You just gonna stand there and not say anything the whole time?”

Sanji was cupping Law budge though his jeans. And Law let the sensation roll over him. He felt the snap and pull of his pants. He kicked his boots off for him and stepped out of his jeans. Fully flush Sanji always admired Laws body, the raw angels, the cut of it. 

As he dropped to his knees he watched Law raised his tattooed hand, finally removing the small cube from his mouth. He dangled it, brushing it near his lips.

“Tell me,” Law said, “What were you thinking about while I was working?”

Sanji froze. “What? Absolutely not.” His voice cracked with defiance, even as his face flushed red Sanji pressed his lips along the shaft. 

Law’s smirk deepened, and he dragged the cube slowly along his lower lip. The gesture alone sent Sanji stumbling back, chest heaving, hair spilling wild as he collapsed against the cold steel floor. He ran his hands over his perked nipples and he orgasamed without the spill of cum. He writhed and then flattened onto the floor. 

He panted though his words. Heavy and labored as he had never felt that before. 

"I, was thinking, about fucking you." 

"We have sex all the time Sanji, is it that easy to get you off? Have you been fighting me this whole time when such simple ideas turn you on?"

Law shifted to cress the organ again when Sanji pulled himself from the floor in a sprawled out seated position.

"No, I wanted to be the one who does the fucking." 

Law’s eyes flickered, the weight of Sanji’s words landing harder than he expected. For a second, something raw—shock, maybe even amusement—ghosted across his face before he schooled it back into neutrality.

“I don’t bottom, Sanji.”

Sanji smirked faintly, though his cheeks still burned. “I figured.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy as lead. The hum of the Tang’s engines in the walls filled the gap.

Sanji finally pushed himself off the floor, brushing his hair back, trying to find steadiness in his legs. He stood there, stormy eyes moving between Law and the small cube still balanced in his tattooed hand.

“Now you know,” he said quietly, his voice stripped down to something honest. “Can I have that back, please?”

Law weighed his options. He could keep tormenting the blond into continued orgasms over and over again with out even lifting a finger. Or…

Law stood close to him, breath mingling together once more. His cock pressing into this abdomen demanding attention.

"You win, Room." The tint of blue pushed out, and Sani watched his hand drag through him down to place the cube in its proper space. As he held it just outside its slot in his body. Law kissed him quickly as Sanji froze, waiting for the sensation, and he knew Law still had a hold on his prostate.

His free hand came up and dragged his neck forward, forcing Sanji to kiss him. Law claimed his mouth in a rough, insistent kiss, his tongue pressing deep as though determined to leave no space between them. Sanji answered with fire of his own, hands gripping Law’s hips, dragging him closer until their bodies ground together.

When Sanji broke the kiss, he did it with a bite at Law’s lower lip. He shoved him back toward the bed, and Law went with it. The small cube shimmered faintly, caught between his fingers.

Law sank onto the bed as Sanji’s eyes followed every motion and watched when Law slipped the tiny cube back into his mouth, rolling it across his tongue with the faintest smirk. Sanji climbed over him, straddling his narrow hips with practiced ease.

“Hold still, you freak,” he muttered as Sanji lined him up and pushed in and down in one fluid motion. Law stared as his cock disappeared into the cook. His tongue rolled the small organ in his mouth as Sanji found a rhythm. He was gentle as it rolled over his piercing deep in his throat. Tattooed hands ran over thighs that could kill, gripping as the pace picked up.

Law shifted suddenly, hands clamping down on Sanji’s thighs as he drove upward with a strong thrust, trying to roll him beneath. But it was all in vain. Sanji planted himself with unshakable force, legs like iron bands locking him in place. When it came to raw power, especially in his legs, Sanji was immovable.

“I said stay still.” Sanji’s voice cut low, rough with urgency. His pace grew wild, reckless in its demand, his hands braced firmly on Law’s shoulders, leaving no doubt who was fucking whom in this moment.

Muffled moans slipped free as the cube was pushed to the top of his pallet, a steady, constant pressure in contrast against burning chaos. Sanji was chasing that release when he looked down at Law's smirk; when their eyes met, he bit the blue cube softly.

Sanji cried out, "Fuck, fuck, fuck you, Law! Ahhhhhhh—" His hands, the same ones that usually measured spices and shaped dough with care, now clamped hard around the captain’s neck. One held firm, while the other braced against him, bracing the intensity of the moment.

Law felt the pressure, every ounce of strength Sanji poured into it, and met his gaze with molten gold. His eyes said everything—harder.

Sanji’s jaw clenched, and with a ragged breath he folded, giving Law exactly what he demanded without a single word.

Even the pressure of Sanji’s fingertips was uncertain, soft on their own, but together rough, unpolished, and unpracticed for how skilled his hands were in a normal setting. It was a grip born of instinct rather than finesse, and it held them both on the edge of their limits.

Law tipped his head back, surrendering to the clash of sensation. The pace between them was relentless, the chokehold not cruel but steady, an uneven balance of gentleness and force.

A sound broke from Law, low and involuntary, as his throat flexed beneath Sanji’s hand. Sanji felt it, the tight swallow under his palm. The sight alone sent a rush through him, proof of just how deep they had gone.

Law’s eyes, dark and blown wide, met his. Breathless tones spilled into the air, tangled with the rhythm of their bodies, a symphony of flesh meeting flesh that left no room for doubt: they were both in dangerous, exquisite territory.

Sanji’s grip shifted, a fraction tighter, higher, pressing the bulge, and enough to remind Law of the raw, untampered strength he was holding back. If he wanted, he could break his neck if he wanted too. Sanji knew that excited Law even more.

They came together in the sensation. Law choked; nothing escaped, but his hands dug into pale flesh at his hips as he thrust up into him, trying to become one right then and there. Snaji came in ribbons that hit the captain's face, only adding to the climax as he arched, pushing them off the bed with a few more thrusts.

They collapsed back onto the bed, the weight of exhaustion and intensity pressing them both into the sheets. Sanji’s breath came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving as he finally pulled his hand away. He stared down at the faint bruises already blooming along the pale skin of Law’s throat, his own eyes wide with something between guilt and awe.

Law exhaled, his chest rising slowly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He swallowed once, the faint motion marking the cube’s descent, and then he lifted his gaze back to Sanji. Still joined, he pulled himself closer—wrapping his arms around Sanji’s trembling frame.

“Maybe,” Law murmured, voice low and hoarse, “I should let you fuck me.”

Sanji froze, blinking down at him, stunned. “…Really?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Law replied, almost dryly, though his amber eyes gave him away. With practiced care, he shifted his hand, fingers brushing through the lingering glow of the room. He reached through Sanji and then himself with deliberate, steady hands, and when he pulled back, the small cube shimmered faintly in his palm. He placed it where it belonged, sealing the moment.

Law Roomed a towel to them both wiping his face clean.

“Come on—the crew’s expecting us. Bepo won’t be happy if we miss game night again,” Law murmured, voice deceptively calm.

Sanji huffed, smirking even through his ragged breathing. “I’ll just bake him another cake.”

“You already do that, Cook.” Law’s gaze sharpened, amber eyes glinting. “If we’re absent again, it’ll have to be something more extravagant.” Law rocked his hips into him, finding a hard nub, running his tongue over it, and sucking the sensitive area.

Sanji sat up to allow more room for his pace. “Fine—three-course tart menu. Lemon, chocolate, and—” His voice cracked, the words stumbling into a strained sound.

Law tilted his head. “What was that?” He moved, pressing Sanji to the headboard. In one swift motion, Sanji found himself flipped onto his stomach.

“Oi—Law, wait—”

“Tell me,” Law said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “What are you going to make for my crew? How will you cook for them?” Each word was precise; the last few words were matched with his thrusts. He hooked his leg over and drove in deep.

Sanji clenched his jaw, forcing the words out between ragged breaths. “Buffet… of confections… every kind they want—”

“Better,” Law pushed, his voice cutting through Sanji’s faltering rhythm. “But you can do better than that.”

"A crème brûlée, the crust is thin, caramelized cream to perfecti-mmnh-right there." Sanji arched into the thrust.

"Keep going."

He squinted eyes shut as he was being fucked while his most secret recipes were being pulled from him. He recalled the cards he had made tucked away back at the Sunny for the crème brûlée, reading over them in his mind, but with each thrust Law replaced his thoughts with him. His grip, his breathing, the way his body flexed into him.

"Law, I can't—" He arched his back as he was quickly coming around the bend to another release. His cock was stiffening as the recipe cards in his mind were slowly being replaced by all the positions Law had fucked him in.

Law laid chest to back and breathed into the cup of his ear.

"Try."

Sanji turned his head just enough to catch the gleam of molten gold. His lips pressed into a thin line as Law spoke.

"If you want to fuck me later, you are going to have to focus." His teeth grazed the lobe of Sanji's ear, biting down hard enough to draw a hiss.

“I’m a handful,” Law replied, low and steady, pushing Sanji deeper into the mattress. His pace picked back up as Sanji recited his recipe.

Sanji forced his voice into something coherent, even as the rhythm threatened to pull everything apart.

“Brittle crown of silken creaminess… hot caramel folding into sweet custard… harmony that lingers with every taste.” Each phrase came out broken, panting, but they carried his devotion, his passion, and his cooking laid bare in the most vulnerable of places.

By the time he reached the last words, his voice cracked; the thought of his craft tangled with the very real fucking he was receiving was mind-numbing.

"I can taste it now." Law pushed his head into the pillows as he stuck home a few more times as Law came again.

For Sanji, being commanded to recite his most beloved recipes in the middle of being fucked was something new, something untouched. It was a high unlike anything else, one that left him trembling, clutching at the sheets as the world blurred into flavor, heat, and the man who demanded it all from him as he broke again with his ass tilted high as Law pushed another load into him.

Law pulled away from Sanji and pressed into him, wrapping his arms and legs around him. Finding his favorite spot in the crook of his neck.

Sanji looked over and lifted the case he was gifted by the very man in his arms. The ember ignited, and the heat under his skin eased with the slow, steady pulls of nicotine and the feeling of Law sinking further into his very being.

He looked down at him, his face almost peaceful.

He really does want all of me.

The thought hit harder than he wanted to admit. His cooking, his body, and his heart were all tangled up now. And though it was unfamiliar, Sanji couldn’t deny the warmth that settled in his chest with Law pressed this close.

He let out a shaky laugh into the quiet. “Don’t think I’m cooking for you after this.”

A silent smile as he took to the small drags, savoring the flavor profile that once again Law had given him.

Law didn’t answer, just gave the faintest huff against his skin, like he agreed. Sanji sighed, carding his fingers through Law’s hair, and let himself rest. For once, there was no need to fight the silence.

Notes:

Hi, hello, here is the most recent little chapter of what will be full of fluff and sex and fun stuff between these two as Law slowly fixes Sanji. I think we are coming up on the end of this fic. I have already written the end and am really excited to share it with you all.

Even tho it will make me cry into my tea as I post it. But here we are now enjoying these two goofballs spiraling into a twisted heap of love and warped pleasure's.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I really do love feedback as it keep this brain rot I have so lovely called Seth rolling around in my head. Until next chapter ;p