I noticed it's been a while since I've written a Sanji one shot, it's short but i enjoyed it! The inspo for this one is the image above.

You took a long drag from your cigarette, as if the nicotine would aliviate your frustrations.

The night was cold and damp, the perfect weather for wallowing in your misery while all your friends enjoyed the party.

A small shiver went down your spine, your body finally registered the unpleasant change in temperature.

The lights of the rambunctious city illuminated your moping, while colors from the neon sign behind you danced on your hands, alternating between blue and pink.

If your mind wasn't occupied with other things, this would be the perfect time to take an aesthetic photo of your hand holding the cigarette.

Lighting tapping the "stick of poison" as your grandmother called it, you took another long drag of the thing.

"Maybe I should go back to being a recluse." You thought as the aforementioned item rolled in between your fingers.

A small droplet of water fell on your foot, rolling off the side as quickly as it came.

"I think it might be too late for that." You hummed.

Small taps on the roof of the building began to interrupt your thoughts, the harder you tried to ignore them the quicker they fell.

"Fine." You muttered, another shiver traversing your body.

Suddenly, something fell on your shoulders. Quickly turning your head, you realized it was in fact a jacket. A jacket with a familiar smell and style.

"You're going to get a cold if you stay out here." He commented, solving your enigma.

"I don't feel like going inside just yet." You sighed, tugging the jacket closer.

"Is that a Winston cigarette, (Y/N)?" He asked, almost offended.

"Yeah, why?" You inquired, gripping the box a little harder.

"Why would you smoke something so vile?" He sneered.

"Sanji you know these are sticks of death, right?" You mused.

"So?" He crossed his arms, "That doesn't justify choosing the worst brand."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" You exclaimed.

"Think of cigarettes like preparing and serving a meal." He began, taking a seat beside you and pulling out his own.

"You want quality." He showed you the items shape.

"You want to make sure it has the best ingredients." He pulled out the box, covering the warning of death and explained the components.

"Most importantly." He lit the thing, taking a long drag from it. "You want to make sure it tastes good." He puffed.

"That's a long explanation for wanting expensive poison." You teased.

"Everyone enjoys quality, even if it kills them." He answered.

"For instance, men are attracted to such a beauty as yourself because of your overall quality." He smiled.

"Oh?" You raised a brow.

"You are funny, beautiful, intelligent, well versed and much more mon chouchou." He listed.

"Did you just call me a sweet bun?" You scoffed.

"It makes more sense in French." He shrugged.

"Either way," you waved off, "I wouldn't even date myself."

"Your standards must be impossibly high then." He retorted.

You blushed, speechless.

He wrapped an arm around you, kissing your cheek.

The night wasn't awful after all.

Also, writing this made me think of one of my favorite fanarts: