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︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿ ‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

Hi, I’m L. Welcome to my page :)

︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿ ︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

INFP-T / 26 / Dog mommy / Leo

Reading ~ Drawing ~ Painting

︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿ ︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

#reading #painting #drawing #dog mom #infp personality

starkourtmall

Soft edges

navigation ☆ | request ★ + request ☆

pairing: Sanji x reader

summary: Sanji has a habit of showering people with affection. You have a habit of disappearing into the nearest shadow when he does. He doesn't understand why you flinch at compliments. You don't know how to tell him that his words feel too big for someone like you. But the galley is a small place, and avoiding someone with a heart as loud as his is harder than it looks.

a/n: I've decided to mix this two requests since i feel like they've got quite a similar topics. Hope you like it <3

The first time Sanji called you my dear, you dropped a full sack of flour.

It exploded at your feet like a powdery bomb. You stood there, frozen, a human marshmallow, as a fine white dust settled on your hair and shoulders.

"Ah," Sanji said, leaning against the counter with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He didn't look annoyed. He looked delighted. "A beautiful angel, covered in snow. How poetic."

Your face turned the color of a ripe tomato. You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You closed it. Then you grabbed a broom and began sweeping so fast you nearly created a dust tornado.

Sanji just watched, one eyebrow raised, the smallest smirk tugging at his mouth.

You were the new kitchen hand aboard the crew, still learning the rhythm of their larger-than-life personalities. But the moment he paid you that first compliment, one thought hit you like a wave: you were going to be spending almost all your time with him in the galley. Hearing this. Constantly.

Sanji, as a rule, flirted with every woman who breathed. It was as natural to him as breathing itself. But with you? It was becoming a hobby.

Because you were fascinating.

Nami would roll her eyes and call him a pervert. Vivi would smile and calmly deflect with a question about archaeology. But you? You turned into a malfunctioning device every single time.

"Good morning, mon soleil," he'd say as you shuffled into the galley for breakfast.

You'd freeze mid-step. Your eyes would dart left, then right, as if searching for an escape route. Then you'd mumble something that sounded like "mrrnf" and dive behind the nearest object—a chair, a broom, once even Luffy, who was just sitting there eating and looked very confused.

"What's wrong with her?" Luffy asked, mouth full.

"She's shy, Luffy," Nami sighed.

"She looks like she's having a seizure."

"Leave her alone," Sanji said, flicking his lighter shut. But he was smiling. That specific smile. The one that said challenge accepted.

The trouble started when you realized Sanji's flattery wasn't stopping. It was escalating. You hated it.

Not because he was creepy. He wasn't. He was warm and respectful and somehow always remembered how you took your tea. You hated it because every time he looked at you with those earnest eyes and called you "gorgeous," your brain helpfully supplied a list of reasons why that was impossible.

Your hair is flat today. Your body doesn't look like how it's supposed to. Not like others. You're wearing the same shirt you've worn three days in a row. He's just being nice. He says this to everyone.

So instead of feeling flattered, you felt like a fraud. And your body's response was to turn into a terrified raccoon.

"You're doing it again," Nami observed one afternoon. You were both on deck. Sanji was below, preparing lunch. You were curled into a ball on the floor, knees to your chest, replaying the moment he'd called you enchanting and you'd responded by walking directly into a pole.

"Doing what?"

"Being a disaster."

"Shut up."

"I'm not judging," Nami said, not unkindly. "I'm just saying. He's not going to bite you. Probably."

"That's not the problem."

"Then what is?"

You buried your face in your knees. "The problem," you mumbled, "is that I'm me. And he's… him."

Nami patted your head. "Yeah, you're doomed."

Lunch was, as always, a masterpiece.

You sat at the far end of the table, as far from Sanji as physically possible. It didn't matter. He found you anyway.

"Here," he said, sliding a plate in front of you. "For the loveliest eyes on this ship."

The plate held a perfect omelet, decorated with a tiny heart made of ketchup.

You stared at the heart. Then at him. Then back at the heart. A small, strangled noise escaped your throat.

Sanji's visible eye sparkled.

"You're doing that thing again," he said, leaning one elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand. He was watching you like you were his favorite show. "The thing where your face gets all pink and you forget how words work. I adore it."

"I—that's—the heart is—" you sputtered.

"Careful," he purred. "You might combust. And then who would I cook for?"

"Luffy," you blurted.

Sanji laughed. Actually laughed, a low, warm sound that did absolutely nothing to help your cardiovascular situation. "Luffy would eat the ashes. But I'd miss you terribly."

You grabbed your fork with shaking hands and stabbed the omelet with perhaps too much force.

He was still watching you. Smiling. Fondly.

"I'm not—" you started, then stopped. Took a breath. Tried again. "You don't have to say those things."

"What things?"

"The… the nice things. About my eyes and stuff."

Sanji tilted his head. "But they're true."

"They're not."

"They are."

"Sanji."

"Chérie."

You made a sound of pure frustration. Your face was on fire. You could feel the heat radiating off your own cheeks. "I'm not… I'm not pretty like Nami or elegant like Vivi. I'm just… I'm quiet. And I hide behind doors. And I don't know how to respond when you—when you look at me like that."

The galley went quiet.

Luffy had stopped chewing. Usopp was pretending not to listen. Zoro, was chugging his beer.

Sanji's smile softened. It didn't disappear. It just… changed. Became something less theatrical and more real.

"Who said anything about Nami or Vivi?" he asked quietly.

You blinked. "What?"

"I didn't call you pretty like Nami. I called you pretty like you. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're nervous. The way you hum when you peel potatoes. The way you blush." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You think I don't notice that you're the only person on this ship who never asks me for anything? You just sit in my kitchen, quietly existing, and somehow that's the most beautiful thing I see all day."

You forgot to breathe.

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," he continued, and there was genuine warmth there now, beneath the flirt. "But I'm also not going to stop. Because you should know. Even if you don't believe it yet. Even if you hide behind every door on this ship. I'll just keep finding you."

A long, heavy silence.

Then, from the other end of the table: "Can I eat their omelet if they're done having a moment?" Luffy asked.

"No," Sanji and you said at the same time.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

And despite the burning in your cheeks and the familiar twist of insecurity in your stomach, you didn't look away first.

You took a bite of your heart-omelet.

Sanji's smile could have lit up the entire Grand Line.

"There she is," he murmured, and went back to his plate, whistling.

You spent the rest of the meal hiding your face behind your hair, absolutely scarlet, absolutely not smiling. (You were smiling.)

And later, when he caught you putting away the dishes and called you his favorite little shadow, you only tripped over the rug once.

Progress.

delhin