Sanji was the kind of husband who made ordinary mornings feel like fairytales. Even before the sun had fully risen, the smell of buttery croissants and fresh coffee drifted through the house, wrapping around you like a warm hug. You hadn’t even opened your eyes yet, and still… you knew he was in the kitchen, humming softly.

"Mon amour~ are you planning to sleep through breakfast again?"

he called out playfully from the stove, his voice low and warm. You heard the soft clink of plates and the gentle sizzle of eggs in the pan. Then:

"I made your favorite. And no, I didn’t burn the toast this time. Probably."

he teased himself with a grin, though everything, as always, smelled perfect.

By the time you wandered into the kitchen, still in one of his shirts, Sanji had already pulled out your chair and poured your coffee just how you liked it. When he saw you, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, softer than usual. The kind he reserved just for you.

“You know,”

he said, leaning against the counter with a towel tossed over his shoulder,

“I still can’t believe I get to cook for you every morning. My wife. Mon trésor.”

He walked over, slipping his arms around your waist like it was second nature, pressing a slow kiss to your temple before whispering:

“If I had one wish left, I’d spend it on more mornings just like this.”

Then he pulled back, raising an eyebrow with a cheeky smirk.

“…But if you don’t eat soon, I will steal your croissant. And you know I will."