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AU! Sasuke enjoys his quiet, reclusive life as a historian and professor at Boston University. He spends his days alone and content among his books translating and delving into his love, ancient Japanese history and lore. Everything is just how he likes it until a blue-eyed, blonde-haired man changes everything.
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-----------Sasuke’s fury built as he rounded the corner to confront the idiot before he had him banned from the university library for life. The other occupant stood with his back to him, dressed in jeans and a garish orange jacket with a baseball cap on his head. “Do you have any idea the damage you have caused to—” His words halted as the man turned towards him, azure eyes wide and contrite as he flinched at Sasuke’s acidic tone.
Series
- Part 1 of Secret Love
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- English
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- 930,454
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- 123/123
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- 10
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Bookmarked by Whimsyjoon
14 Jun 2026
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New York hums beneath Sanji’s feet — all smoke, steel, and quiet corners where a man can lose himself if he’s not careful. He spends his days in a kitchen that never sleeps, his nights crossing the river toward a silence he doesn’t have a name for yet.
There’s a studio glowing somewhere in Brooklyn, lit with ink, incense, and a presence that unsettles him more than it should. Sanji tells himself it’s just work. Just routine.
But the city shifts when he walks toward it.
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A slow-burn story about a chef and a tattoo artist, about a connection that grows in the quiet, lingers where it shouldn’t, and slowly becomes something neither of them knows how to walk away from — even as something louder, warmer, and far more dangerous keeps calling him back.
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Sanji Vinsmoke didn’t know what he expected to find following that sound into the Baratie’s alley in the middle of the night, but it was certainly not a little girl. And it was certainly not a little girl punching things to smithereens. But she isn’t the problem. Her father is.
[Modern AU. (Slow burn) ZoSan. OCs. Angst. Drama. Includes artwork.]
Series
- Part 1 of Snitch
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Sanji becomes the new head chef of the Kuraigana Enclave—a strictly “daytime only” job that he inherited from his father.
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Zoro doesn’t miss the smirk that tugs at the dancer’s lips – plump, glossy lips that he long to taste, lips that he’d do anything to kiss; the thought alone making him swallow thickly as he reaches the stage.
The dancer’s set ends as soon his hands find their way to the edge of the platform, the round of applause from the hungry men surrounding him sounding muffled in his ears, his nails nearly digging into the vinyl flooring, his mind reeling at seeing such sinful, supple skin up close.
So close and so, so personal.
The dancer bows, and Zoro bites back a groan at the nipple that peeks from the loosened bralette that barely manages to cover his chest.

