Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sanji adjusted the knot of his tie for the third time, squinting at his reflection in the cracked mirror behind the Baratie’s counter. The lighting wasn’t doing him any favors, but then again, neither was life.

Twenty-one years on this planet, and not so much as a single date that didn’t end with a hasty excuse or sudden “family emergency.”

Which was absurd, really. He wasn’t being arrogant — just realistic. Male omegas were rare enough to be considered a prize, a novelty people would cross oceans for. But for Sanji, it had never felt like something worth celebrating.

If anything, it had always felt like a liability.

As a male omega, he’d grown up with a quiet, gnawing caution in his chest — the kind that made him flinch at strangers’ lingering stares, the kind that made him tuck his hands in his pockets when walking alone at night. He’d learned early that people could want you for all the wrong reasons.

And then there was him — the spare donor of a man who called himself Sanji’s father. Loathing didn’t even cover it. The man treated his secondary gender like a personal insult, a flaw that should have been scrubbed out of existence. He’d been cold at first, then cruel, and finally outright abusive — words sharper than knives, hands that grabbed too hard, and punishments that left Sanji with the kind of scars no one could see.

He’d run, of course. There was no future worth staying for in that house. His siblings had made sure of it — showing up one night with their usual rough edges but unshakable resolve, throwing clothes into a bag and telling him not to look back. They hadn’t been the warmest bunch, not by a long shot, but that night they’d been the closest thing to a lifeline.

Even now, years later, the shadows of those days lingered. His omega status wasn’t a badge of honor to him — it was a target. Something to hide, to guard, to manage carefully, especially with the painful, unpredictable heats his father’s tampering had left him with. Every three months like clockwork, the pain would roll in — a searing, bone-deep ache that left him weak and trembling, hating the way it made him feel small.

So yeah, maybe he was cautious. Maybe he was insecure. And maybe, deep down, he was a little bit terrified that if someone got close enough, they’d see just how breakable he really was.

But still Male omegas were rare.and very Desirable. The kind of rarity people wrote stupid romance novels about, all pining and fate and someone “claiming” you under the moonlight. There were whole forums dedicated to drooling over the idea. People would kill for what he was, and yet… no one had ever even asked him out for even a cup of coffee !

Sometimes, it made him wonder if he’d been born defective - in that his father drilled into his head from a tender age - Or invisible. Or both.

He liked to think he was attractive — stylish suits, hair always perfect, a smile that could melt butter — but apparently he was the only one who thought so. Everyone else seemed immune. Or worse, politely dismissive.

Maybe I’m cursed, he thought, running a hand through his hair. Maybe I was doomed at birth to be the guy who brings people free breadsticks, not the guy they want to share them with.

“Oi, Loverboy,” Zeff barked from the kitchen. “You flirting with yourself again? Table six needs water.”

Sanji rolled his eyes, grabbing a tray. “Better company than most,” he muttered, weaving through the tables with practiced grace.

It wasn’t like he was desperate. He wasn’t the type to hop into bed with strangers or chase a one-night thrill. But there was a difference between choosing to be alone and… whatever this was.

The pretty girl from the flower shop had smiled at him last week — warm and slightly shy — and he’d spent two days building up the courage to invite her for coffee. She’d agreed she even seemed over joyed . He’d even ironed his best shirt.

Then, fifteen minutes before the date, she’d texted: Sorry, can’t make it. Something came up.

She never answered his follow-up.

He didn’t want to admit it, but it stung.

As he passed table six, a customer gave him a second, lingering glance. he was quite handsome alpha, Sanji felt his chest tighten, that small rush of maybe— before the customer’s eyes flicked up, over his shoulder.

Sanji followed their gaze just in time to see Yonji — his younger brother by five minutes really bit with that big build and alpha pheromones circling people always assumed he is the older —he was glaring like he was auditioning for a mob movie.

The customer paled, muttered something about needing the check, and bolted.

Sanji blinked. “…What the hell?”

Yonji just shrugged, pretending to polish a fork.

Sanji narrowed his eyes. There it was again — that nagging feeling that he was missing something. That there was some invisible wall between him and the rest of the world.

He shook it off, forcing a smile for the next table. After all, maybe the universe just didn’t think he was ready yet.

Or maybe, he thought darkly, I really am cursed.

Chapter Text

The long table by the front window of the Baratie restaurant and coffee house always ended up theirs. Twice a week, at least without fail, Sanji’s circle of friends claimed it as if it belonged to them — mugs, notebooks, guitars, even the occasional grease-stained blueprint cluttering the surface until Zeff stormed out of the kitchen, swearing about “free-loading hooligans.”

Tonight was no different.

Sanji pushed through the swinging kitchen doors with a tray balanced on one palm, weaving through crowded tables with the grace of someone born to serve. Half a dozen espressos rattled in their saucers, and a mountain of pastries teetered on the edge of a plate. He set it down just as Luffy’s hands lunged forward.

“Oi, hands off, glutton!” Sanji snapped, swatting him with the cloth slung over his shoulder.

Luffy, cheeks already stuffed with cream, mumbled through the mess, “But they’re lonely, Sanji! I’m giving them a home in my belly!”

Groans and laughter rippled around the table, mixing with the clatter of silverware and Zeff’s barked orders from the kitchen. The dinner rush had faded, but their corner of the restaurant was always chaos.

“More like an early grave,” Usopp muttered, leaning back with mock dignity“Don’t think I didn’t see that rival café Beta barista wink at you earlier, Sanji. You’ve got admirers lined up.”

Sanji rolled his eyes“Sure. Probably had dust in her eye.”

Ace sprawled lazily with his feet up on the next chair, grinning“Or maybe she’s just not your type. What about me, then? I’m free tonight.” He winked.

“Please.” Sanji flicked a napkin at him. “You couldn’t afford me, fireboy Alpha.”

Laughter rolled again, but underneath it Sanji felt the same dull sting. Not serious, he reminded himself. They never were.

They were comfortably talking as the pastries vanished thanks to Luffy ability mostly, Robin sat elegantly with Franky’s fingers laced through hers, her smile small but content. “We finished installing the new exhibit today,” she said. “Seventeenth-century manuscripts. Fragile, but worth the work.”

Franky’s hand tightened around hers, the steady presence of two betas grounding the table. Their scents mixed — parchment and oil, calm and warm.

“SUPER fragile,” Franky boomed proudly, grease still smudged across his palms. “And speaking of super — I just finished tuning a vintage bike. Purred like a lion when I was done.”

“Loud as hell,” Usopp cut in. “But I helped. Don’t let his ego fool you.” His alpha presence buzzed like it always did — eager, enthusiastic, but never sharp.

At the end of the table, Nami scrolled on her phone, sharp eyes softening. “Vivi’s skipping tonight — late meeting. She says hi, though.” A thread of crisp citrus alpha-scent pulsed across the table, softened by the memory of Vivi’s floral omega warmth that always seemed to cling to her.

Chopper sat curled by the window, textbooks spilling across his lap, a mug of hot chocolate too big for his hands. “I’ve got anatomy exams tomorrow,” he yawned. “I don’t think I’ve slept in three days.” His beta scent was gentle, almost drowned out by the alphas crowding the table, but Sanji always noticed it — ti is so soft, grounding.

““Good thing you’re studying medicine,” Brook cackled, strumming a lazy chord. “You can diagnose yourself with exhaustion! Yohohoho!” His alpha pheromones pressed faint and elegant, like wine turned into sound.

The group laughed again.

Sanji let the sound wash over him, warmth curling low in his chest. He hadn’t realized until moments like these how easily his own pheromones slipped free when he relaxed — soft, like golden threads circling the table like smoke from a candle. Once, he would have shoved them down, ashamed. A male omega was supposed to be an oddity, a defect. Judge had made sure he believed that.

But here… here, no one flinched. His friends never made him feel like a mistake. They leaned into him instead, smiling as if his scent was a comfort, not a burden. Robin’s lips curved, Franky’s broad shoulders eased, even Nami’s sharpness gentled. Chopper peeked up from his mug, ears pink but eyes bright.

They didn’t comment — they never did — but Sanji caught the way their glances met across the table, all of them with soft, and  happy, simply because he was happy.

So he let the warmth stay, let it breathe out of him, and felt the room brighten with it.

Zoro tipped his chair back on two legs, arms folded, looking like he could nap through an earthquake“Rookie at the dojo thought he could take me today,” he said“Made it ten seconds though “

His alpha weight settled over the table like static — not hostile, just there, irritatingly familiar.

Ace leaned forward, grin sparking, heat rolling off him in waves“Ten seconds? That’s nine more than me. Unless the prize was you.” His gaze slid to Sanji“Then I’d find the stamina.”

Sanji snorted, flicking a sugar packet at him.“Dream on, fire hazard.”

For just a second, Sanji caught Zoro’s eye — green and steady across the table — and looked away, pulse stuttering. His throat went dry. Espresso steam, he told himself. Not the way two alpha signatures tangled in the air around him. Not the way his body noticed, traitorous as ever.

“Freelance, actually,” Ace added smoothly“Shot a rooftop sunset today. City looked like it was on fire. Thought of you blondie “

“Tch. Gross,” Zoro muttered, clipped with irritation.

Luffy perked up mid–custard puff“Speaking of fire — we had a warehouse blaze this morning! Huge! No injuries and we saved a cat!”

Usopp leaned in, eyes wide “Was the cat on the third floor, wreathed in smoke, and you had to swing in on a hose line while the building exploded behind you?”

Luffy blinked. “No. It was under a couch.”

Robin’s smile curved. “Still heroic.”

Luffy grinned wider, licking sugar from his fingers. “I named it Meatball. I’m gonna keep it.”

Usopp groaned “You can’t just adopt every animal you rescue!”

“Yes I can!” Luffy shot back, puffing up proudly. “Meatball’s family now!”

The table erupted into laughter again, Sanji shaking his head as if he didn’t already know he’d be the one sneaking scraps of salmon to the cat later.

He knows Luffy will forget to feed it or worse… feed it something uneatable for even a rat .

As Sanji was planning the menu for meatball

a nearby table, two tourists kept sneaking glances at him a beta and an alpha with obvious signs of interest, One scribbled something on a napkin, folded it, and started to rise—

Niji swept between tables, his alpha scent sharp as steel masking any other comes from the nearby table, cleaning rag snapping too loud. He plucked the napkin into his bus tub with the speed of a magician“Table nine needs water,” he told Sanji loudly, then smiled at the tourists without teeth. They blanched, courage withering instantly.

Sanji missed the whole thing. Zeff’s voice thundered from the kitchen“Eggplant! If those espressos sit any longer they’ll die of old age!”

“Coming, old man!” Sanji called, sweeping up saucers. When he returned, there was a bottle of water at his elbow. Zoro looked away like he hadn’t put it there.

“Drink,” Zoro muttered “You’ve been on your feet since the lunch rush”

Sanji rolled the bottle in his palm, a dull ache tightening behind his ribs. Not pain. Just… thinness, like his edges had been sanded down. He uncapped it. “Tch. Stop mother-henning me.”

“Don’t worry,” Ace said with a silly grin. “He only does that for people he likes.”

Zoro’s face went scarlet, heat flashing across his cheekbones before he yanked his gaze away. The sudden crack in his calm made Sanji’s chest flutter, his pulse betraying him. For just a second, hope flickered — maybe Ace was right, maybe—

Then Zoro scowled and muttered, “Don’t flatter yourself. I’d do the same for anyone.”

The words hit sharper than they should have. Sanji’s heart dipped, the warmth twisting into doubt. Of course, he thought bitterly. Too good to be true.

Zoro kicked Ace’s chair leg. The chair didn’t budge. Ace only grinned wider.

Sanji’s pheromones soured faintly, bitterness curling off him before he could shove it back down. Zoro’s head turned to him , frown cutting across his face as his gaze locked on him. But Sanji spun on his heel, tray in hand, and disappeared into the kitchen before anything could be said.

Brook plucked a soft arpeggio, turning a few heads from nearby tables. “I could play something gentle for the future doctor,” he offered. “Yohoho — a lullaby for Chopper before his exam?”

Chopper sat up, horrified. “No! If I sleep now I’ll dream of bones labeling themselves wrong!”

Robin chuckled. “I’ll quiz you on cranial nerves instead.”

Franky flexed. “And I’ll build you a SUPER skull out of scrap so you can study in 3D.”

Usopp blinked. “That… actually sounds useful.”

Nami slid her phone away, her gaze softening. “Vivi says good luck, Chopper. And Sanji—” her eyes flicked up as she spotted him coming over with fresh plates— “she also says the dessert photos undersell your actual desserts.”

Sanji’s mouth tugged into a half-smile. “Tell her to come taste-test them herself instead of working late with sharks.”

“Those sharks are our clients,” Nami said, smirking. “But she’ll swoon if you ask nicely.”

“I’d swoon if he asked nicely,” Ace murmured with a grin.

“Down, boy,” Zoro said flatly, like he was scolding a dog.

Niji appeared again with a stack of unnecessary plates and a glare that absolutely wasn’t friendly. “If anyone’s planning to swoon, do it outside. Health code.” He set the plates down with deliberate precision, blocking Ace’s elbow space before pivoting away like a soldier.

“Friendly guy,” Ace muttered.

“He’s worse when he smiles,” Usopp added.

After an hour Zeff shouldered out of the kitchen, towel snapping over his shoulder. “If you pests are going to colonize my front window, order another round or leave a kidney. Preferably his.” He jabbed a thumb at Luffy.

“We’ll take both,” Nami said sweetly. “Another round and Luffy’s kidney.”

“My kidney’s busy!” Luffy yelped, hugging himself.

Sanji chuckled, scribbling orders in the shorthand only he and Zeff understood. He moved the way he always did — efficient, precise, the current of the restaurant bending around him like it knew he belonged. A table chuckled at some quick joke he tossed over his shoulder; another thanked him for the extra slice of lemon he’d slipped onto their plate.

At the window, the two tourists whispered, their shoulders pressed close. They’d already tried earlier — with shy glances, a few bold smiles toward the cute Omega — only to lose their nerve when the blue head Alpha  hovered too close and kill their move earlier.

Now, gathering what courage they had left, one scribbled something on a napkin and nudged it toward the edge of their table. Their effort was fragile, like a flame fighting wind. Trying to hide it from the Alpha .

Niji’s shadow fell over them before the note could land. His bus tub clattered as he bent, snatching the napkin in one smooth motion. “Persistent leeches,” he muttered under his breath, the sharp bite of his alpha scent pressing down like steel. As if that weren’t enough, he gave the nearest chair a pointed kick with his heel.

The tourists startled, faces flushing, courage shattering for good. They shrank back into their seats, the table suddenly gleaming clean and empty, their attempt swallowed whole.

Sanji returned to their section a moment later, balancing three saucers. Out of habit, his eyes skimmed the window seats — but the tourists were gone. Vanished without so much as a goodbye.

The table gleamed, wiped clean, actually it was too clean, like no one had ever been sitting there at all. Sanji frowned faintly, then shrugged it off as one of Niji’s rare bursts of thoroughness before moving on.

“You’re frowning,” Robin observed gently when he came back to their own table. “Bad tips?”

“Just thinking,” Sanji said lightly, brushing it off.

“Dangerous habit,” Zoro muttered, voice low.

Sanji shot him a dry look. “Try it sometime.”

The table laughed, but that tiny crease stayed between his brows — the sense that he was missing something, always just out of reach.

The noise warmed him; so did the mess of them. Robin and Franky’s hands finding each other without looking. Nami’s little smile when she texted Vivi. Brook humming under the clatter of cutlery. Luffy pestering Chopper about whether a person could survive on pastry cream alone. Usopp sketching a heroic cat on a napkin. Ace leaning in, eyes bright, a sun that didn’t know how not to burn.

And Zoro — setting quiet, like a solid rock the kind of gravity you didn’t notice until you were already orbiting.

Sanji capped the bottle again and told his body to stop feeling strange. Maybe he was just tired. Or adrenaline always crashed like this. Maybe he needed food that wasn’t espresso and sarcasm.

He slid a plate in front of Chopper — two profiteroles and a strawberry, bribery disguised as dessert - his favorite-“For the future doctor. Sugar for synapses.”

Chopper’s eyes lit up. “Sanji! You’re the best!”

“Tell that to my tip jar,” Sanji said, ruffling his hair.

“Oi, love-cook!” Zeff barked. “Your friends are draining my inventory and your face is scaring customers. Clear the table or I’ll start charging rent!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sanji gathered empty cups until his tray sang porcelain notes. As he turned, he caught his reflection in the window: tie loose, hair mussed, smile automatic and almost convincing.

They had each other. They had love and bonds and rituals that meant home. He had that too, he supposed. Just… not the part his chest ached for when he wasn’t looking.

Maybe he was asking too much.

Maybe he was too much.

Behind him, Ace cracked another joke that made the table roar. Zoro’s chuckle threaded through it, low and steady, familiar as Sanji’s own heartbeat.

Sanji smiled at his reflection like he could fool himself, then carried the tray back into the kitchen.

Later, when the laughter died and everyone spilled into the cool night — Robin tucked under Franky’s arm, Nami typing to Vivi, Chopper weighed down with books, Ace and Zoro walking side by side — Sanji lingered at the glass door.

His reflection stared back, pale under the fluorescent lights. Behind it he felt the quiet pull deep in his body, the cycle Judge had left him with — painful, relentless, the thing that made him feel fragile, breakable.

His pheromones were steady now, masked and subtle. But he knew what was coming.

He pressed a hand to the glass. Everyone else had someone. A scent that anchored them, a bond that steadied them.

So why not me?