Someone calls to make a reservation at the Baratie: All Blue. She makes a specific request and Sanji's all to happy to accommodate her, because not every reminder of past hardships is a bad one.

• One-shot. 3.7k words
• 40yo!Sanji
• Post-canon
• This exists because the last "Shokugeki no Sanji" chapter left me with Thoughts and Emotions (and also because I tend to get attached to minor characters)

“Oh, you probably call him something else,” the woman at the other end of the line says. “I haven't seen him in years, he must be around forty now? Blond hair, curly eyebrows… A real charmer!” Misaki returns the den den mushi's look. If anybody should get judged, it's this woman. “You mean the Chef?” Misaki says, absentmindedly patting the snail's shell. “Yes! Him! I was hoping he'd be able to cook for me?” He's the Chef, of course he will. Misaki bites her tongue and finally gets out the pen and paper. “Are you making a reservation?” That wasn’t very polite of her. Maybe she should stop answering calls. “Yes, for next week. Thursday at lunchtime? Table for two, for Eliza.”

Sanji doesn't know what's the worst part of meeting his forty year-old self: finding out that he's going to lose a finger, or realizing he won't be over Zoro after two whole decades. Oh, wait. The worst part is that both facts are connected.

• WIP. Ch. 4 of 6
• Time travel, temporarily unrequited love, angst with a happy ending
• Set right after the Rainbow Mist filler from the anime (pre-time skip), then post canon

There’s a man kneeling on the Merry’s deck, curled into himself. He’s holding his left hand away from his body, so the blood coming from where his ring finger should be can drip freely onto the wood. His wavy blonde hair reaches his shoulders, and Sanji knows who he is the moment he sees a curly eyebrow and a blue eye locks on him. The man’s left eye is hidden by his hair. All things considered, this man can be considered young, but he’s clearly much older than Sanji. He’s still running and hiding from his past. Maybe he’ll still be covering half of his face when he’s sixty, eighty, a fucking corpse. Sanji stands frozen at the door to the galley as the crew starts gathering around this other version of himself. Read on Ao3

Kojiro, a devoted husband, wanted nothing more than for his wife to get a good night's sleep. Said wife had too much running through his head.

• Kaoru calls Kojiro "My Queen" and "husband" and Kojiro calls him "My King" and "wife" because the genderfuckery's real in this series
• Oneshot. 6.5k words
• Rated E(explicit)
• Fantasy + Royalty AU
• Knight!Kojiro, King!Kaoru
• Trans Kojiro
• Sequel to “Accolade” and "Ceremonials"

One of the first things Kojiro had learned about Kaoru was that he had trouble sleeping. Growing up, he'd often seen him rubbing his eyes and yawning before putting on the princely mask he'd needed to face the court. As teenagers, he'd found him training late,  hoping to exhaust himself into a good night's sleep. As an adult, Kaoru had practically turned the palace’s library into his second bedroom, a place to spend the long hours of the night studying under candlelight and, afterwards, under bright orbs that stood suspended in the air over his head. Kojiro had lost count of the times he’d found him sitting there with a book in his lap, staring out the window. On their first night together, Kaoru had slept soundly through the night. Kojiro had fallen asleep with him in his arms and woken up the next day with his back to Kaoru’s chest, their legs tangled and Kaoru’s arm thrown over his waist. Keep reading on Ao3