Post-Whole Cake Island, everything’s a mess, everything is wonderful
Hello lusan nation, I did perhaps go a little insane making this. No one let me do a comic again.
I’ve had the thought percolating in my mind of Sanji coming back to the Sunny and seeing their decimated kitchen. I know Nami probably cleaned, but Luffy’s destructive force is unrivalled. Sanji is overwhelmed, but more so enamoured than enraged. I dunno, coming home to a place you thought you’d never see again, and seeing it ruined, but its really not about the place. Its about the people. His beloved crew and captain.
I’m not even finished wci myself but Luffys desperation and determination and love for Sanji just really gets to me. Also, laugh-crying. Yeah.
From a technical standpoint this was a lot of work and a lot of fun. I did cry when trying to deal with procreates abysmal add text function, and when trying to find the right brush for shading. And then I went back in and wrote the text myself. Alas, art is pain, etc, etc. I’m actually very happy with this though, even just for getting it done. Lusan moves me to great lengths.
NOT A SHIP! I just immediately connected the hatred over eyeballs thing and luffy is full of love for outcasts and weirdos so why wouldn’t he have big wet excited eyes for this guy
being a sanji fan is an intense experience because it takes you like 200 episodes to finally understand why sanji's eyes turned lifeless for a flickering moment at those words
“So it’s either live with what happened or live without you? I can handle the first, I could not bear the latter, my light, so please don’t make me.”
Genre/Tropes: angst (with happy ending), hurt/comfort, established relationship
Word Count: 5,7k
Warnings: none
A/N: This scenario oughta have been done a hundred times, angst potential is just too good, but interrupting my Whole Cake binge with a Moulin Rouge rewatch really made me wanna write my own version, so let’s goo
“Sanji!!”
He doesn’t turn back around at the sound of your voice, no matter how much he may want to, but of course you catch up to him and grab a hold of his hand, forcing him to a halt. He knows he’ll break if he so much as looks at you, so his eyes stay downcast at your intertwined hands as you lean in close so only he can hear. “Whatever they’re threatening you with, we can take them. You know our captain, you know this crew, have some faith in us. Come home, okay? Come back to me.”
It takes every ounce of willpower he has left not to collapse into your waiting arms right here and now, to pretend all of this was nothing more than a long, horrid nightmare. But then you move your hands just slightly, jostling the golden bracelets still tightly closed around his wrists like a hangman’s noose and reality comes crashing back down on him with enough force to almost knock him to his knees. A reality in which the demons from his past that he so desperately tried to keep from reaching their depraved claws out towards his family, towards you, are a few mere feet away, ready to tear you all to pieces just for the fun of it if they decide he takes too long. The thought of you still holding onto him when the explosives are set off makes his stomach turn so violently, he almost loses last night’s dinner on the grass.
You have to leave. He has to make you leave. And just like he’s already done to his captain, he’ll have to hurt you to do it, even as he can feel every single cell in his body rebelling against it, rejecting the mere notion, turning his blood to poison in his veins.
Cold isn’t a word anyone who’s met the cook of the Strawhat Pirates would use to describe him. He’s passion and kindness and warmth; the sun reflecting off the ocean’s waves on a summer’s day in glittering patterns and the vast, bright blue sky on a clear, beautiful spring day, the smell of flowers on the breeze.
And yet his gaze in this moment can’t be described as anything but, the soft blue of his eyes replaced with sharp ice, scowling at you like you’re not worth more than the dirt beneath his shoes.
“What are you doing here?”
“I told you, we all told you, we’re bringing you home. Now drop the arrogant prince act and—”
“No, no, what are you doing here, I mean? I thought my message was quite clear.”
“I don’t— What are you talking about?”
He barks out a laugh then, harsh and cold and cruel, unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him before.
“Wow, you’re something else, you know that? I quite literally ran away from you to get married to someone else and you still don’t get it?” The wicked grin he’s regarded you with until then slips from his lips, leaving something apathetic and bored in it’s wake. “I’m done with you. Get lost.”
“And if I don’t?” you challenge right back, crossing your arms over your chest, utterly unimpressed with his performance so far.
Shit. You’re not buying a single word he’s saying. He needs to do worse.
“Then you’ll look even more pathetic and sad than you already do, but I suppose you must be used to that by now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, stepping closer and crowding your space. “It means I’m about to marry a beautiful, sweet woman who also happens to be the daughter of an Emperor of the Sea. So what could I possibly still want from a dirty, used little lab rat like you?”
It’s brief, barely even there and if he didn’t know you as well as he did, he probably would’ve missed it, but Sanji catches the flicker of hurt and uncertainty in your otherwise defiant stare, the slight change in posture as your shoulders grow tense. It’s the right angle, the right button - now all he has to do is push.
But he absolutely can’t bring himself to do it while holding your gaze, so he drops his eyes to his hands again, picking at a nonexistent loose thread on his sleeve.
“If I’m so beneath you, why even put up with me for so long?”
“Honestly? Because you were there and so ridiculously willing. Easy and convenient, nothing more.”
“So look me in the eyes and say that.”
“Good grief…” Sanji groans under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, helplessly trying to keep his voice from cracking and foolishly ignoring the burn of tears behind his eyes.
Fuck.
He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.
He has to.
He has made damn well sure you’d never doubt his love for you - and now it’s coming back to mock him.
Sanji curls two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up in a familiar gesture of warmth and tenderness in a pointless effort to lull himself into a false sense of security.
“You want the truth? You are a needy, clingy and exhausting little thing. Always looking for attention, needing reassurance and affection, disgustingly desperate for someone to love you. All it took was a hollow smile here, a fabricated compliment there and you were bending over backwards for me - or just bending over really, if we’re being honest.”
You physically startle at the crude comment, attempting to retreat and get away from his touch, but he doesn’t let you, even if it costs him his own sanity, the grip with which he traps your jaw is harsh and he prays to any deity willing to listen that the shock he watches take over your entire system has you mistaking the disgust he knows to be contorting his features at his own actions as something directed towards to you.
“Stop it…” you whisper hoarsely, clawing at his wrist, silently begging for him to let you go, to end this, defiant and stubborn, despite the tears he can see gathering at your lashes, his chest seizing like it’s about to cave in at the mere sight.
“Stop what? Telling the truth? Your own parents, the first people who were supposed to love you, sold you as a science experiment for a few Berry and you genuinely thought you’d find someone else in this world who’d love you unconditionally? You’ve only ever been worth what people could take from you, no more, no less.”
Every insecurity, every fear, every personal hell, entrusted to him during sleepless nights spent talking on deck with freezing fingers curled around steaming mugs, during rare lazy mornings whispered between the sheets with the first rays of the sun as the only witness. All of the pain, once calmed, hushed and made bearable, now weaponized against you with venomous intent to pull you apart at the seams by the very same person.
“It was fun while it lasted, but I’m done taking, so save yourself whatever little dignity you might have left and get. lost.”
Sanji turns then, striding towards the waiting carriage without another look back. He doesn’t need to. The image of your tear streaked face, bottom lip trembling, beautiful eyes glassy and wide in disbelief and horror and hurt, is gonna be burned into his retinas for the rest of his miserable life.
You don’t call out to him again, don’t reach for him, not when he climbs back into the carriage and not when they start moving again, pulling him further away from you.
He buries his hands in his hair, tugging on the blond strands harsh enough to sting, trying to hide his own tears and anguish from his laughing brothers and distract himself from the sheer agony of his heart coming apart in his chest, jagged, broken shards burrowing into his rib cage to make a new permanent home. His teeth come down on his bottom lip hard, struggling to keep the sobs at bay, until the tangy, warm taste of copper creeps onto his tongue.
Good. If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll choke on it.
Sanji wakes in a cold sweat, sheets tangled around his longs legs and shirt sticking to his clammy skin, the memory of the taste of his own blood still clinging to the back of his throat, sending him upright retching and gagging. No matter how many gulps of air he forces into his lungs, it isn’t enough to assuage the burning ache in his chest, so he scrambles out of his bunk, yanking a hoodie and his cigarettes from his locker as he stumbles toward the door on unsteady legs.
The low growl of thunder accompanied by the occasional streak of lightning cutting through the night off somewhere on the far horizon greet him when he steps outside, the gusts of wind reaching the Sunny still enough to snuff the flame from his lighter. Curses fall from his lips as he climbs the steps to the second floor, trembling hands cupped around the cigarette between his teeth until the end finally catches flame, a dimly glowing ember when he takes a drag. His back collides with the railing in exhaustion, head tipping back to exhale in a long heavy breath, watching the smoke curl up and disappear against the dark, starry sky. The second cigarette is already reduced to nothing by the time he realizes he’s wandered close to the sick bay without meaning to, drawn to you like moth to flame, as he always is.
He chances a glance through the bullseye on the door and finds Chopper safely tucked in and contentedly snoring on the bed, no doubt your handiwork; an attempt at a placating gesture, considering you are blatantly ignoring the doctor’s orders for bed rest yet again. As hard as the little reindeer has tried to make the space that is the sick bay as warm and inviting and comforting as possible, you could never stand to be around anything even remotely resembling a laboratory: syringes, vials, medical notes. Everything too much like the cage you’d been locked up and used in for so long, the subtle reminders always enough to leave you nauseous and anxious. Sanji knows this, of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve bolted from the infirmary to be literally anywhere else on the ship.
Most nights, you had ended up in the kitchen - supposedly because it was the closest room. Gentleman that he is, Sanji had never doubted you. Maybe, once upon a time, it had actually been the truth. Not anymore, though. It hasn’t been the truth, your real reason for seeking comfort in the kitchen of all places, for a long time. Now, with the remnants of a wreckage of his own making staring back at him, the cook has to wonder if you’ll ever look at him like that again. Between stopping the wedding and running for your lives, you two haven’t had the time to speak about anything that’s gone so wrong. But he has to set things right, try to at the very least, you have to know how he really feels, that he didn’t mean a single word of the hateful vitriol and vile lies he spat at you. Of course he won’t blame you if it doesn’t change anything; after he took the beautiful thing you’d built together and twisted it into something ugly and horrid? Yeah, you should hate him.
He makes a quick stop in the kitchen to prepare something to keep you warm tonight where he won’t be able or wanted, then proceeds to check the rest of the Sunny, ultimately finding you at the back of the ship, arms crossed on the railing, head buried between and it could be an illusion, nothing more than the moon’s rays reflecting off the waves, but he swears he sees your shoulders shake.
Are you crying?
‘And whose fault is that?’ a voice in the back of his head asks, snide and cruel.
‘Pretentious aren’t we? Why would they be wasting tears over a failure like you?’ another one answers, mocking and apathetic.
Sanji begs them both to just shut up for once in his life.
The scent of lavender and honey carried along with the sea breeze reaches you, your head snapping up instantly to find a steaming mug on the railing next to you, placed with such practiced ease and quiet care, if you weren’t so attuned to his presence, you probably wouldn’t have noticed until after he had gone again. Swiveling your head to search for the source of your comfort, you find him a few feet behind you, so busy shrugging out of his hoodie, he completely misses how your entire face lights up and the tension bleeds from your whole body at his presence. Warmth engulfing you follows, accompanied by the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and spices clinging to the fabric now draped over your shoulders, and the way he so desperately makes sure not to touch you while doing it, trying to preserve whatever fragile semblance of peace the blanket of night has provided over the current mayhem in your lives by not invading your space, has your heart twisting painfully in your chest.
“I know you don’t like being confined in the sick bay, my love—” He cuts himself off abruptly, unsure if he’s still allowed to call you his, then continues with a little shake of his head, voice quiet and strained. “Please do make sure you get some rest nonetheless.” He turns to leave so fast, you barely manage grab a hold of his hand, effectively and immediately stopping him in his tracks, frozen mid step, upper body angled away from you as you tug on his hand gently in a clear demand for him to stay. He does, yet he refuses to look at you and no matter how long you wait, silently begging him to acknowledge you, he doesn’t budge. Realizing you’ll have to be the one to make the first move, you circle around, coming to a halt in front of him, fingers still tightly wrapped around his wrist, terrified he’ll bolt if you let go. Stubborn to a fault, he’s still turned away from you, hair falling into his face to hide his ocean eyes from your searching gaze. Calling his name quietly, begging and oh so soft, only has him flinching away from you as if struck, so careful fingers instead trail up his arm to gently trace the bandage that peeks out from under his shirt sleeve, desperately trying to coerce him into lifting his head through touch instead of words.
When he doesn’t recoil again, your fingers drift higher, along his shoulder, over his collarbone, his neck, until finally your knuckles ghost over his cheek in a barely there caress, avoiding the fading yellow bruises, still an ugly violet in parts, matching the scabbed over cut below his visible eye and the split lip. All recent injuries, yes, but not fresh enough to have come from your struggle escaping Big Mom’s territory. You’re very well aware where they actually came from, who inflicted them on him and your heart aches for him all over again.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, my light.” you croak, the sting of unshed tears already in your eyes as you bring your other hand up as well, your touch growing firmer but no less gentle as you cup his face. “I wish I could’ve done more. I should have.” That’s what finally has his gaze snapping to yours, eyes wide in shock and horror, mouth falling slightly agape as he stares at you as if you’ve lost your mind. You don’t let it deter you though. “I was so worried about you the entire time you were gone, I… You didn’t deserve to get trapped with those monsters again.” He springs into action as if struck by distant lightning, long, slender fingers curling around your wrists in a soft, grounding touch, lips tugging upward in a joyless, rueful smile that doesn’t reach his sapphire eyes, wet with unshed tears. “You see that’s where you’re wrong, I did. I deserved that and so much worse, a just punishment for my actions and yet nothing they could inflict on me could ever pain me as horribly as what I did to you. Mon cœur, not a single word I said was true, I need you to know that.”
A small, sad smile matching his precedes your next words, heart cracking at the mere notion that he genuinely thought you’d ever truly doubt his love and devotion for you. “You really think I didn’t already know? You were trying to protect me by pushing me away, I understood that while it was happening, Sanji.”
The frown on his handsome face only seems to etch itself deeper.
“The end doesn’t justify the means. You trusted me with something as precious as your heart and I couldn’t even keep it safe and cherished, fitting for a failure like myself. Instead I humiliated you and treated you like dirt.” A bark of laughter, incredulous and self deprecating, as he releases his hold on you and steps out of your reach, digging a cigarette out of his pockets and lighting it with trembling fingers, a deep inhale to soothe his nerves before he continues speaking. “So why aren’t you furious? Why do you still care about me? After all of it, how can you even look at me with anything but disgust?! I don’t—” He interrupts himself with another long drag, then moves to throw the butt of his cigarette overboard, leaning his elbows on the railing, back to you and both hands buried in his hair, anxiously tugging at the blond strands like he always does when he’s upset or worried. Meanwhile you remain rooted to the spot, slipping your arms into the sleeves of his hoodie before wrapping them around yourself for comfort, aching to reach out and soothe him, but you know he wouldn’t allow it right now, so you give him his space, let him work through this on his own.
The lull of the waves against the hull of the ship and the song of distant thunder fills the silence between you for a while and only when you see him drop his hands from his hair, his shoulders no longer heaving with heavy breaths, followed by the familiar click of his lighter do you move towards his form with quiet, careful steps, coming to stand beside him, mindful to keep some distance between you. Your back is against the railing, stealing wistful sideways glances at his profile, trying to gauge what’s going through his mind as you watch smoke curl towards the stars.
It takes him another moment to gather the courage to speak his next words aloud. “My intentions don’t matter, there’s no excuse in this world or the next that could justify my actions, I… I hurt you.” The poor cook can barely bring himself to say it, fresh tears brimming in his pretty blue eyes when he finally brings his gaze to yours again. You open your mouth to argue, but he doesn’t let you, fully aware of what you’re going to try and do. “Please, mon étoile, don’t pretend I didn’t. I could see it in your eyes.”
Yet again you want to argue but one look at him is enough to have your shoulders slumping in defeat. “I… I won’t lie to you, my love, after all, you’d catch me in it anyways.” A weak, humorless chuckle follows, then you mirror his stance to stare out at the horizon, watching lightning split the sky as you stall for time, struggling to find the right words. Words that will be truthful but won’t cause him any more pain and guilt - a fruitless endeavor, the longer you think on it, so you start speaking even if you don’t feel ready. “There’s always been a part of me… a little, cruel and mocking voice in the back of my head, constantly telling me I’m not worthy to be part of his crew, that I don’t deserve to have someone like you loving me. Always reminding me that I’m too much, yet not enough and hearing you of all people confirm that just… well, that voice is just gonna be a little louder now, I guess…”
Said voice has also started to sound an awful lot like your lover, but you could never bring yourself to tell him that. Not when he already looks like he’d rather throw himself overboard and drown than to have ever had a hand in your suffering.
“I’d give my life to take it all back.” he confirms, grief making his voice crack halfway through.
Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you offer him a weak, but genuine smile as you push his hair away from his eyes and gently cradle his face in both of your hands.
“So it’s either live with what happened or live without you? I can handle the first, I could not bear the latter, my light, so please don’t make me.”
Tears slip down his cheeks, brushed away by a stroke of your thumb as he leans into your touch, nuzzling into your hand before turning his head to press his lips to your palm, the touch lingering and reverent, then, in a voice so low and wrecked with guilt it almost gets carried away on the sea breeze, “So what can I do…?”
‘Absolutely nothing.’ is what you want to say, that he’s long since been forgiven for any sins he thinks he has to atone for, that you’ve been waiting for him with open arms and an open heart since he left, but he’ll never accept that. Luckily you know him well enough to have anticipated this predicament.
“I’ve been thinking about that, actually…” you start, his full attention on you in an instant, sapphire eyes bright with determination, tightly clasping your hands in his like a lifeline.
“Anything. I’ll do anything.” The fact that he truly means it melts your heart as much as it terrifies you.
“Since you seem so adamant about proving that your words weren’t true, I want you to do just that. I wanna be showered in affection and compliments and fall asleep every night feeling cherished enough to not question my worth. Love me loud enough so that the little voice in my head doesn’t even get the chance to speak up.”
He blinks owlishly, processing your words, trying to make sure he heard you right. He couldn’t have.
Of course you know what you’re asking of him - or rather aren’t asking, after all, he already heeds all of these requests every single day without fail and without even trying. Your cook wears his heart on his sleeve and his love for you is no different; it’s ever present, constantly wrapped around you like a warm blanket. You’ve never felt more protected and cherished, downright worshipped, then when he’s by your side, inner demons recoiling and retreating at the light he brings into your life, yet he’s constantly insisting that he’s the lucky one to have you, readily and proudly declaring himself yours whenever given the slightest opportunity.
His arms your home, his voice your lullaby, his heartbeat your safe haven, his laugh your sun - his love loud and encompassing in the best, most beautiful way imaginable and it comes to him so naturally and effortlessly, you can’t imagine asking for more.
So you don’t, instead disguising his regular adoration and devotion as your idea for his supposed atonement, even though you know he’ll abhor the idea, yet what is he going to do, refuse you?
The longer he continues to gawk at you in utter disbelief, the harder it becomes for you to keep the self satisfied grin off your face, eventually trapping your bottom lip between your teeth in a futile attempt. Realization finally settles over his features and for a moment, you think he’ll argue, insist it’s not enough, but he only ends up heaving a sigh while running a hand through his hair before he leans in close to leave a kiss on your temple.
“Well, you sure set this trap up quite brilliantly.”
“Why thank you, I thought so, too.”
Sanji watches another lightning bolt branch across the horizon over your shoulder, bright against the dark backdrop of the night, the distant clap of thunder close behind. A storm just like this one had accompanied your first meeting and he almost wants to slap himself for how obvious it all was from the very start.
Coup de foudre.
A lightning strike. Or… love at first sight.
The universe itself going out of it’s way to show him just how important you’d be to him the second he first laid eyes on you and even so it had still taken him longer than he’d ever care to admit to finally understand why everything felt brighter and easier and more beautiful when you were by his side.
“There was a thunderstorm the night we met, too, do you remember?”
You pull back from his embrace to look at him quizzically, clearly confused by the sudden change of topic, but you go along with it, nodding in confirmation. “Yes, I remember that mess…”
A miracle really, considering most of your early time with the crew is a bit hazy. That night though… a horrible storm that had threatened to tear the ship apart, a frightened, feral little thing, freshly awoken in an unfamiliar place full of strangers after years of imprisonment and torture, and a poor cook with the misfortune to run into said terrified creature, who still carries the faint scar from that encounter on his jaw today. You’ll end up placing a kiss on that exact scar more often than not, a never ending apology, your memories of that night not something you recall fondly.
Judging by the look he’s fixed you with, though, he clearly feels differently and you understand the workings of his mind well enough to know what’s coming, so you immediately put a damper on what you’re sure he’s gonna say next.
“Sanji, if you now try to tell me something about love at first sight, I’m officially declaring you insane.”
He simply shrugs and grins at you, the bastard. “Would you prefer I phrase it differently, ma chérie? Becoming aware of the certainty that my life would change because now you were in it? The whole world shifting on its axis to bathe everything in a new light?”
“Considering the storm, you think that might’ve just been the ship tilting?” you ask, tone bone dry, earning yourself a slight pinch to your sides and an indignant huff, all mock annoyance and very real fondness.
“Not quite love at first sight maybe, but… intrigue. Curiosity. The need to learn everything. Looking back on it now, that stormy night was when I lost the first piece of my heart to you and the more I got to know you, the more pieces I willingly gave without even realizing until one day I just looked up and my heart wasn’t beating in my own chest anymore, safely cradled in your gentle hands instead and what a wonderful, magnificent, perfect place for it to be.”
Any and all teasing has slipped from your face, replaced by awe and reverence for the man in front of you, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes when he gently gathers your hands to press your palms against his chest, the fabric of his shirt soft under your fingertips, the beat of his heart strong and steady.
“As long as it’s beating, it’s yours. Come what may, it’ll belong to you until I take my last breath. No matter the distance between us, no matter the time we have to spend apart, if nothing else please know it to be true that I will love you until my dying day.”
Sight blurring, you blink away the tears until his handsome, kind face swims back into focus, wetness now clinging to your cheeks instantly brushed away by warm, soft thumbs as he cradles your face, your own hands still on his chest, desperately clinging to the song the rhythm of his heart provides.
“Did you mean for that to sound like wedding vows?” Sniffling, you try for a teasing tone and a confident grin - you miserably fail both, if the way his blue eyes cloud over with shame and the hold on your face growing firmer, more reassuring is anything to go by.
“Not necessarily, no. But considering you’re the only person I’m ever truly going to marry, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be allowed to hear something akin to vows now.”
“Is that what you really want, though?” you question, voice quiet and strained with the effort to keep the sobs trapped in your throat, tears only falling harder, trembling hands fisting in his shirt and your head dropping low, unable to still meet his gaze, causing his hands to fall from your cheeks and find purchase softly wrapped around your tense wrists instead. You’re trying to keep it together as best you can, but the joy and relief of having him back is ebbing away, the grief and terror of almost losing him in so may different ways in such a short amount of time finally catching up to you, your own suffering and fears rearing their ugly heads. “Sanji, if you think the only way you can rejoin the crew is to come back to me as well even though it’s not what you want, then I… I don’t— You shouldn’t—”
I don’t want you to.
You shouldn’t have to.
But your battered, selfish, aching heart doesn’t let you say it. Doesn’t want to hear what his answer might be. And with all the damage he managed to do by trying to protect you now staring him straight in the face, Sanji can feel his own heart bleeding alongside yours.
“Oh, mon étoile, no, you have it the wrong way around. I longed to return to you above all else. Not even an hour went by when I wasn’t thinking of you and ways to make amends for what I did.” A stuttering, heaving breath from you, the terrible word ‘But’ barely out of your mouth when he’s already speaking again, voice soft and warm, utterly unwilling to let you continue this horrendous train of thought, closing the small distance between you to press a kiss to your hair. “Why do you think I always call you that, hm? My star?”
The question is enough to cut through the cruel voices in your mind, the beautiful man in front of you already delivering exactly what you asked of him, and has you lifting your head to look at him because it’s true - as fond as he is of pet names for just about anyone, you’ve never heard him use that for anyone but you.
You give him a tiny, uncertain shrug, releasing the death grip on his shirt in favor of wiping a sleeve over your eyes. A steadying hand finds your waist, the other cradling the back of your head while his lips brush against your forehead in a quick, soft caress before his ocean eyes find yours again. “It’s because you’re my North Star, the beautiful constant that will always be there to guide me home, the light that remains when the rest of my world goes dark, the invisible pull I will always blindly, happily follow.”
Heat crawls up your neck and has you burying your face in your hands, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth breathing for, coupled with his words too much for the current fragile state of your heart, hammering against your rib cage so viciously you’re certain he has to feel it in his own bones. Dragging oxygen back into your lungs with heavy, shuddering breaths, you try to calm and compose yourself, while long, slender fingers draw soothing patterns into your skin, not pushing or demanding, simply a constant, reassuring presence, as he always is. You scrub your hands over your face a final time before you instead go to hide in the crook of his neck, arms coming around his waist in a hug tight enough to steal the air from his lungs, not that he would ever mind.
“You’re really mine, then…?” It’s barely a whisper, yet oh so hopeful.
Sanji just barely bites back a laugh, he’d never mean to belittle or make light of your insecurities and fears, he’d have the moss head run him through with all three swords before he’d even think of it, but the notion of him being anyone else’s is so utterly ludicrous, he can’t help it.
He returns your hug just as fiercely, lips leaving a whisper of a kiss just below your ear, then, “Je suis avant tout à toi. Never doubt that.”
A little laugh, soft and helpless. “I don’t… I don’t think I can promise that.”
Another kiss, chaste and gentle, to your jaw this time, then your cheek. “That’s okay. I’ll be here to remind you whenever you need.”
Your press yourself impossibly closer, arms tightening further, nails undoubtedly leaving marks on his back, meanwhile the kiss you leave on the pulse point of his neck is as tender and vulnerable as your voice. “Gods, I love you.”
His heart stutters like it’s about to stop, jumping in joy and devotion, desperately trying to find a way out of the prison of his ribs back to it’s real home. “I love you, too. More than I could ever hope to put into words. And I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”
That has you pulling back slowly, carefully, not letting him go, never again, but far enough so that you can see his face, look into his beautiful ocean eyes when you speak. “Forever?” you suggest, peeking up at him through your lashes, lovely lips tugged upward in that crooked smile he adores so much. A low chuckle, his warm breath fanning over your face as he leans forward to seal his next words into your heart, body and soul with his lips finally finding yours again after so long.
