PLEASE DON'T FEED MY WORK TO AI OR REPOST ON OTHER SITES. I'm sorry, but I don't take requests.
My fanfiction masterlist - bottled pepsi
My leon kennedy masterlist - limited edition pepsi
My moodboard masterlist - canned pepsi
What you can expect from reblogs . . .
Alex from Stardew Valley and SDV in general
Leon Kennedy and other Resident Evil things
Arthur Morgan and other Red Dead Redemption 2 content
The Walking Dead mostly Daryl Dixon
Five Nights at Freddy's
A few works of mine include. . .
Daryl Dixon x reader stories
Leon Kennedy x wife thoughts
Leon Kennedy x reader
Arthur Morgan x female reader
Football player Alex (Stardew Valley) x cheerleader reader headcannons
Random things in-between mostly about my fictional crushes
If you've enjoyed any of my posts or reblogs I wanna say thank you. I'm simply enjoying the content on here and I've found some confidence to share my own thoughts and opinions.
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Soft Sanji, consent king Sanji, gentle intimacy, Sanji x Reader, One Piece fanfic
Warning: Soft Intimacy .Kissing /Undressing, Sensual Touch (non-explicit). NO SMUT
The Thousand Sunny rocked gently on the calm sea. Most of the crew had already gone to bed, laughter and noise fading into the night. In a tucked-away cabin, only the soft flicker of candlelight danced across the room. The air was warm, quite peaceful.
Sanji stood in front of her, his golden hair falling slightly into his eyes, one hand gently holding hers. He looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world ā not just a partner, but a gift he never thought he deserved.
āYouāre sure?ā he asked softly, searching her eyes.
She nodded, smiling calm, certain.
His hand slid slowly to her cheek, cupping it like something delicate. He leaned in, brushing his lips against her forehead first. A silent thank-you. Then her nose. Her cheek. The corner of her mouth. Soft, feather-light kisses, like he couldnāt get enough but didnāt want to rush.
He moved with care unfastening each button of her shirt slowly, gently, never breaking eye contact. When he slipped it off her shoulders, he didnāt drop it carelessly he set it aside as if it, too, was precious simply for touching her skin.
And then, he began to kiss her.
Her collarbone.
Her shoulder.
The hollow at the base of her neck.
Each kiss was slow, tender, meaningful not urgent, not greedy. As if every inch of her deserved to be worshipped.
āEvery part of you,ā he murmured between kisses, āis perfect. Every scar. Every curve. Every piece.ā
His hands traveled with reverence, fingertips brushing down her arms as he helped her step out of the rest of her clothes. He knelt before her not as a show of submission, but out of devotion. His lips moved down, pressing soft, slow kisses to her stomach, her hips, her thighs.
No part of her body was ignored because to him, nothing was lesser. She wasnāt just a woman. She was his woman. His partner. His equal. His heart.
She let out a quiet breath, touched by the gentleness in his every move. His hands never pushed, never assumed only asked. And she answered not with words, but in the way she leaned into his touch, in how her fingers laced through his hair, and in the softness in her eyes when they met his again.
He looked up at her from where he knelt.
āI want you to remember this,ā he said, voice almost a whisper. āNot just the night but how loved you are. How much you matter to me. Every kiss is yours. Every breath. Every heartbeat.ā
And when he stood, pulling her close again, it wasnāt with hunger it was with love. Wrapping her in his arms, Sanji kissed her lips slowly, deeply a promise in every press of his mouth.
āTonight,ā he said gently, āIām not here to take anything. Iām here to give you everything I have.ā
Heyyy, I love ur writings a lot! I wanted to request something like Leon from re6 / vendetta or any era of your wish with a y/n as a singer/musician who lives next door. I would love to see your take on it!
Singin' in the Sycamore Trees
Summary: Returning home to his empty apartment, Leon feels himself start to spiral. While outside, trying to calm himself down, he hears his next-door neighbor playing the guitar. Healing isn't a linear journey, but he thinks you might be a step in the right direction.
Tags/Warnings: Descriptions of a panic attack, mentions of anxiety and depression, brief thought of suicide, fluff, happy ending
Note: Thank you so much for your comment <3 I hope you like this!
Leon is tired of hurting. Physically, emotionally, everything aches. He returns home from New York aching and bruised. They stopped the bad guy. Leon knows he should feel proud that the world is a little safer for the time being due to him.
But he doesnāt.
He returns home to his quiet apartment, and the only thing he feels is emptiness. This is what his life was, an endless loop of self-sacrifice, and he had to come to terms with that.
The light in his apartment flickers on, illuminating the mess he had left in his haste to flee to Colorado. Beer bottles and half-drunk whiskey glasses litter his counters. Leon just sighs.
Despite his exhaustion, he isnāt sure heāll be able to fall asleep.
So he gets to work.
The mountain of dishes in his sink slowly dwindles until he can see the silver basin once more. He roams his apartment, tossing empty bottles and half-eaten boxes of takeout into a trash bag.
Once heās satisfied that his apartment is no longer a pigsty, Leon still doesnāt feel the urge to sleep. He meanders out onto his balcony and thinks about grabbing a drink, something to numb the empty pit forming inside.
It wonāt fix the problem; it never does. Doesnāt matter how many drinks he has, how much he tries to forget about how much he hates his life.
Leon feels his heart rate start to spike.
It doesnāt matter how hard he tries to do the right thing, how many monsters he kills, how many corrupted officials he puts a bullet through the head. The world is rotten to its core, and heās doomed to do the same tired song and dance day in and day out.
His chest feels tight.
Leon sucks in a deep breath as he tries to focus on the lives he had saved.
Faces from his past pop up in his mind.
Ashley. Helena. Claire.
The thought of them makes him smile. Alive and still breathing.
His thoughts sour as heās reminded of all the people he couldnāt save.
Luis. Marvin. Krauser.
So many died because he was slow, because he was weak.
He leans over the railing, feeling nauseous as the ghosts of his past taunt him. He canāt save them all.
Leonās head is spinning, his chest feeling like itās going to collapse in on itself. He takes a shaky breath and tries to think back to a trick Claire taught him.
Five things you can see.
The moon is a crescent tonight, and even in the light-polluted air of the city, he thinks it looks peaceful shining proudly in the night sky.
There is a taxi on the street. If he jumped now, heād crash through the windshield as it drove by.
A pigeon is perched on a streetlamp, cooing at passersby.
God, he feels stupid. Two left.
A couple is walking by, hand in hand. Leon canāt remember the last time he went on a proper date.
There is a light in the sky; probably a satellite, but from where he stands, it looks like a star.
Leon doesnāt feel any better. What was the next step?
Right.
Four things you can touch.
The metal railing is cold under his touch.
He rubs a hand over his stubbled cheeks. He canāt be bothered to shave. Itās not like he can grow a beard anyway. He tried once, and Hunnigan made fun of him for weeks.
The leather of his jacket is smooth, although he needs to have it cleaned. Specks of dried blood have stained it.
This isnāt making him feel better. Fuck, he needs one more.
He runs a hand through his hair, yanking on a greasy strand. Leon feels disgusting and in desperate need of a shower.
Three things you can hear.
He can hear the honking of city traffic; even at nighttime, it never stops. Leon prefers the sounds of the city to the quietness of small towns and the country. Silence meant something was wrong.
A dog is barking nearby. Leon likes dogs, but heās never had one. Heās shot too many to even consider keeping a pet.
Amidst it all, the chaos of the city, he hears the gentle thrum of an acoustic guitar. It's quiet, like someone was trying to keep it to themselves. Leon tilts his head; it sounds close.
The melody is familiar, one he knows he's heard before. Itās slow and gentle, and he doesn't even realize his breathing has steadied until the panic starts to ebb away.
A feminine voice hums along to the tune. Leon knows heās intruding; you definitely donāt know heās out there, but your singing voice is so calming that he doesnāt have the strength to pull away.
So Leon remains slumped over the railing, his eyes closed as he focuses on the music, letting the melody lull him into a state of peace.
For the first time in what feels like forever, his mind is quiet.
He doesnāt move from his spot until he hears you stop plucking the strings and retreat indoors to your apartment. Once the sliding glass door slides shut, he lets out a small sigh, shoulders loose as he looks up at the satellite in the sky, and wonders if wishes still count when they're made on something that isn't really a star.
Eventually, sleep comes for Leon. He tried to lie in bed, but as he rolled over and gazed over the edge of his mattress onto the hardwood floor, he was suddenly brought back to that rooftop, dangling off the edge as he looked down at the streets of New York City beneath him. Leon let his arm dangle off the mattress and imagined what it would have been like to fall. The thought made him nauseous, and suddenly his bed didnāt feel safe anymore.
He awoke late in the morning, sprawled out on the hardwood floor, his back creaking as he stretched. Leon goes through the motions of his morning routine like a zombie. He drinks his coffee, which tastes far too burnt, and makes breakfast that tastes like mush and nothingness in his mouth. He lifts weights until his arms feel like theyāll fall off because at least the pain reminds him heās still real. He boils himself in the shower, hoping that the heat and the steam can rinse away the filth from his mission. Leon lets the water wash over him until it runs cold. He traces the outline of his jugular, still tender from where Arias had gripped him. The touch makes him feel filthy, and he lathers up his neck once more. It doesnāt matter how many times he washes himself; heāll never be pure again.
The sun is high in the sky, and Leon tries to convince himself that some fresh air will do him good. He paces his apartment in a fret, wondering what his younger self would do if he saw him now, on the brink of crying at the thought of leaving his apartment. Pathetic.
Eventually, he swings the door open in a burst of bravado. He has his leather jacket tucked under his arm and has decided that a walk to the dry cleaners would be a productive use of his time. Beats staying cooped up in his living room all day.
Two things you can smell.
Leon takes a deep inhale as he makes his way to the elevator. The walkway of his apartment building smells like carpet, that warm, musty smell like someone had recently vacuumed. Ā He presses the button to go down, watching the lights ding with each stop as it approaches. He takes another deep breath.
Perfume, feminine and sweet, fills his nostrils, and he tenses, glancing behind him. A young woman is lugging a guitar case beside her, making her way over.
āHere, do you need a hand?ā Leon offers on instinct.
āOhāthanks!ā you say with a smile on your face.
Leon nods politely, taking the cumbersome case from you. Your perfume smells pretty, and he tries to memorize the scent without seeming like a creep, resisting the urge to sniff at the air like a dog. Ā You both stand in silence as the elevator opens, Leon gesturing for you to enter first. He follows you in and leans on the wall opposite you. You're humming under your breath as you watch the floor numbers drop. The gentle little familiar tune nags at the back of his brain. Of course itās familiar; he heard you singing it last night.
āHey, are we neighbors?ā you ask. Leon looks up to see you staring at him.
āYeahāā he starts. āI think so.ā
You hold out your hand for him to shake and introduce yourself. Leon's taken aback by your gesture, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He gently reaches out and grasps your hand.
āNice to meet you. Iām Leon.ā
The elevator door slides open, and you both step out, him following you with your case.
āSo, where are you off to?ā he asks, wanting to prolong his time with you.
āOh, Iām helping set up an open mic night at a coffee shop. Itās a bit last minute, but I was hoping Iād be able to get a chance to play.ā
āYou should; youāre really good.ā
Your eyes widened as you glanced over at him.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I hope this doesn't sound weird, but... I heard you playing last night."
A smile cracks on your mouth as he stammers out an explanation.
"Our balconies are pretty close together," he added quickly. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop."
You chuckle softly as the pair of you make your way outside, Leon waving his hand to flag a taxi.
āIf youād like to hear me play for real, you should come tonight,ā you invite, glancing down at the ground with a smile.
"Yeah," he hears himself say. "I'd like that."
You grin up at him. āGreat, here, let me write down the address.ā You fumble with your purse, writing it down on the back of a crumpled-up receipt for him. āIt starts at seven, but if you wanna grab a seat, you should try to be there by 6:30; it fills up fast.ā
āIāll be there,ā Leon promises. Ā He helps set the guitar case in the trunk, watching as you slide into the cab. You smile and wave at him, and Leon finds himself waving back, watching in awe as the taxi disappears from view.
One thing you can taste
The minty aftertaste of his toothpaste still lingers on his tongue, but he canāt help but think for a fleeting moment what a kiss from you would taste like.
The sun is slowly setting as Leon walks down the city sidewalk. The evening chill creeps in, and he tugs his freshly cleaned jacket tighter around himself, glancing down at the directions on his phone.
He never thought he'd actually be excited to go to an open mic night, but as he makes his way downtown, he can't help but hum the melody you'd been playing the night before.
Leon wonders if you'll sing it again.
Note: If anyone remembers HIMYM, this was inspired by the scene where Ted listens to Tracy play the ukulele in season 9 :)
Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who got me to 1,000 reblogs!!!
There's really no words for all of the support I've gotten. I appreciate it so much! Also, I hope my little blog has felt safe for any and all. Thank you for indulging all my hyperfixations! ššš
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Take all my love- re9!Leon/fbi!reader, Smut -by @plutotheplum
to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you're working on.
salt & pepper- Series, Fluff, Comfort, Slowburn -by @leonsleatherjacket
you had worked in the dso for almost a year now doing logistics and communications. you preferred the quiet and being behind a screen. however, sherry believed that working as an assistant for leon would benefit not only you, but him too.
caught in the rain- Series, Mutual pining, Yearning, Smut -by @leonsleatherjacket
tired, exhausted and inexperienced at thirty, you couldn't imagine your older co-worker, leon s. kennedy, having any sort of feelings towards you. because obviously getting you coffee everyday, buying you snacks on his way to work and taking you out to lunch was a friend thing.
The teamās van is too full, so you have to sit on Leonās lap for the ride. He tries (and fails) to hide how turned on he gets, the bumpy road making everything worseā¦ until he finally snaps and pulls you out for a desperate fuck against the side of a gas station..
Stick to me like caramel- Smut -by @alloftheimagines
coming across a strange plant in an old lab greenhouse has dire consequences... for the most part.
Trying to jump scare Leon- Fluff, Drabble -by @leonslifealert
house parties. reader and leon have sex in a closet. 7 minutes in heaven. spin the bottle.
calling leon by his middle name. he loves itā¦ maybe a little too much- Drabble, Smut -by @seribun
your neighbour thinks you're cheating on leon (sequel to above)- Suggestive, Humour -by @seribun
Pre R9 Leon Kennedy x Civilian!Fem!Reader- Fluff -by @ethereal-shyt777
Leon tries his luck with Tinder dates and thinks it didn't work out, but ends up finding the right person by accident instead. This is before R9, basically a little fanfic on how Leon met his wife (you)
girl dad Leon playing tea time with his daughter- Fluff -by @k3nnedygirl
teasing Leon because he's older than you- Fluff, Suggestive -by @flirtingfawn
going undercover with Leon is stressful and you blow off that steam together- Smut -by @gtgbabie0
analogy for the blind- Prof!Leon, Uni!AU, Smut -by @cametoile
you thought āphilosophy: yesterday and todayā was a useless gen-ed requirement you could coast through. after completely bombing the exam, your professor decides to prove just how wrong you are, determined to show you firsthand exactly how persuasive a philosopherās rhetoric can truly be..
You and Leon have to pretend to be married for 48 hours to complete a mission. He goes a little crazy when he realizes just how much he actually wants that
If you lie down with me- Older neighbour!Leon, Fluff, Smut, Angst -by @lanadelreyylover
A new house, a moving van, and a very heavy box all lead to your introduction to your older neighbor, Leon. Brooding, burdened, and somewhat reclusive, you find a way to worm yourself into his life and knock down his defenses until he finally lets you in(to his bed).
Death island Ranch owner!leon- Angst, Smut -by @leavemealoneplzs
Leon is running a ranch, and you're the sweet girl living on a farm nearby. Every time you come over to love on the horses, he hates himself a little more.
Pretty please?- Re4r!Leon, Established relationship, Smut, Fluff -by @a-dsoagent
Leon has always been a gentle lover, but you request that he lets loose for once, and boy did he.
the cold between us- Re9!Leon/medic!reader, Angst, Smut -by @kennedysflower
four years of built up tension between you and leon kennedy finally snaps during a mission in an abandoned russian sanatorium and after a reckless argument you both had at the DSO HQ, his restraint breaks , leaving both of you with far more damage than either of you know how to name.
tear my petals (the cold between us pt2)- Angst, Smut -by @kennedysflower
after weeks of silence and heartbreak, you finally confront leon about pushing you away and what starts as a painful conversation turns into the truth youāve both been avoiding for far too long.
logging onto tumblr like heyyy i'm thinking about the same character i've spent the past few weeks thinking about. no change here. just wanted to let yall know
request: As a fellow writer I'd love to know your take on sanji dating headcannons!
I know you'll do great on this request if you find the time/are inspired/if youd like to write about this, if not its ok! ^v^ but thank you for hearing me out and having a good day!
Sanji x female!reader (it could MAYBE be read as gender neutral)
Word count: 7k+
Contains: tooth rotting fluff, kissing, angsty and insecure Sanji, his childhood
Author's note: Thank you so much for this request, I had fun writing it! It took me a bit longer since I was finishing my other stories, sorry for the wait! I think I could add countless other headcanons here, but I had to stop myself at one point. This was my first try with headcanons, hope you enjoy!
One thing that makes the Straw Hat cook the man he is is that he never stops trying to earn your smile, your admiration, or your affection. Becoming his partner doesnāt mean the courtship ends. If anything, itās only just begun.
The flowers he once surprised you with donāt disappear simply because you said yes to him. Neither do the kisses pressed to your knuckles and palms, the endless stream of heartfelt compliments, or the countless little gestures that somehow make even the most ordinary day feel just a bit more romantic.
If anything, they become even more frequent, and so does his devotion. Ever since you entrusted him with your heart and accepted his in return, heās become hopelessly more determined to cherish the love you share. There isnāt a force in this world that could ever make him willingly do something that would leave you regretting your choice to love him.
To Sanji, loving you was never the finish line after a long chase. It was the beginning of an eternity spent discovering new ways to make you smile, bring that lovely familiar blush to your cheeks, and remind you, day after day,Ā just how deeply treasured, loved, and utterly irreplaceable you are.
There wonāt be many doors youāll get the chance to open yourself, because your ever-chivalrous boyfriend is already holding them for you. Every chair will be pulled out before you can reach it, every shopping bag gently taken from your hands, and should you make the unfortunate decision of wearing shoes that are more beautiful than comfortable, heāll carry you without a second thought. And none of it is done with the expectation of praise. Looking after you simply comes as naturally to him as breathing.
The way Sanji sees it, romance was never meant only for first dates or special occasions. Itās woven into the quiet rhythm of everyday life, hidden in a hundred little acts of devotion that whisper I love you just as clearly as the words themselves ever could.
No matter how experienced the Straw Hat cook may be, heāll always seek out your opinion before anyone elseās.
āMy love, what do you think of this steak tartare recipe? Here, have a taste.ā
Heāll hold out the fork for you without a second thought, patiently waiting as you take a bite, his eyes never leaving your face.
āAnd what about todayās lemon tart, sweetheart? Do you think it pairs better with vanilla ice cream or biscotti?ā
Every tiny reaction of yours, even the ones you arenāt aware youāre making, is carefully observed and quietly committed to memory. Before long, heāll know your favorite dishes, desserts, drinks, the meals you crave when youāre feeling under the weather, the treats you reach for in the summer, and the comfort foods you always seem to want on cold, rainy evenings.
One night, while the two of you are lying in bed talking about anything and everything, you casually mention a dish your mother or grandmother used to make when you were little. The kind that instantly reminds you of home.
By the end of the week, Sanji has already embarked on what can only be described as a personal culinary investigation.
Recipe books mysteriously appear in the kitchen. Different variations are tested whenever he has a spare moment. Ingredients are adjusted little by little until he finally recreates the flavor youāve been describing.
When he places the finished dish in front of you, heāll be watching you with bright eyes and that impossibly warm smile of his, genuinely excited over what, to him, is a simple wish he finally had the chance to grant.
If youāre someone who enjoys sleeping in, youāll wake to find a cup of coffee and your favorite pastry waiting on a tray beside the bed. After feeding the rest of the crew, the blond will quietly slip back into your room so the two of you can enjoy breakfast together before the day truly begins.
If youāre an early riser instead, heāll make a point of setting aside a little time for just the two of you before the rest of your wonderfully chaotic crew wanders into the kitchen. Sometimes youāll eat there together while you keep him company with a book, occasionally looking up just to watch him work. Other mornings, heāll surprise you with breakfast in bed or at the Aquarium Bar, where youāll either enjoy the peaceful silence between you or chat about your plans for the day and laugh over yesterdayās adventures.
And although heāll never admit to playing favourites (and it's quite obvious you're his favourite), your favourite meals somehow find their way onto the menu more often than anyone elseās. Just often enough to make you smile, but never so often that you have the chance to grow tired of them.
Of course, that was assuming the two of you had managed to spend part of the day apart in the first place. More often than not, youād already been exploring the island together, wandering through museums, trying local food, visiting theaters or cinemas, listening to street musicians, or attending the occasional concert.
Still, heād always find a way to surprise you with something special once the sun began to set.
Whether it was a candlelit dinner overlooking the sea, a quiet picnic beneath blooming trees, or simply wandering hand in hand through lantern-lit streets with desserts in your hands, heād somehow turn even the smallest island into the most romantic place in the world.
And whenever the crew spent longer stretches at sea, he never let that stop him. Heād somehow manage to organize little dates aboard the Sunny just as often, whether that meant reserving the Aquarium Bar for the two of you or transforming the nicest corner of the deck into your own private dining spot after successfully negotiating, bribing, or otherwise convincing the rest of the crew to make themselves scarce for the evening.
Weeks in advance, the Straw Hat cook has already begun planning the perfect menu, secretly collecting little gifts that reminded him of you during previous islands, and pretending not to notice when you try to guess what heās up to.
And thatās not even mentioning the bigger, more precious gifts he secretly sets aside for those special occasions. Youāll simply have to come to terms with the fact that, if youāre his queen every other day of the year, then on birthdays and anniversaries, youāre nothing less than his empress. He wonāt let a single moment pass without reminding you of that.
He insists every year that he doesnāt need anything in returnā¦ then proceeds to treasure even the tiniest handmade card or handwritten note as though youād handed him the One Piece itself.
What amazes him even more is discovering that those days mean just as much to you. Watching you quietly plan surprises of your own, seeing how much thought and love you pour into making him happy, leaves him wondering all over again how he got lucky enough to be loved by someone like you.
Years may pass, but somehow, every anniversary ends up more thoughtful, more romantic, and somehow even more memorable than the last. He always manages to outdo himself, convinced that you deserve nothing less.
Every morning, before he ever slips out of bed to prepare breakfast, the Straw Hat cook spends a few quiet minutes simply admiring you while you sleep.
More than once, heāll silence the alarm and grant the two of you another fifteen precious minutes beneath the covers, unwilling to trade the warmth of your body in his arms for the responsibilities waiting outside your room just yet. His fingers lazily comb through your hair, trace the curve of your cheek, or absentmindedly rub soothing circles against your back as though he canāt quite believe he gets to wake up beside you every morning.
And if you happen to wake before he leaves?
Wellā¦ that might be even better.
Youāll exchange sleepy smiles, instinctively shift a little closer until youāre tangled comfortably in one anotherās arms, and somehow those ājust five more minutesā turn into twenty before either of you finally convinces yourselves to start the day.
If the two of you are lying in bed with nowhere to be, heāll happily spend hours running gentle fingers along your back, scratching your scalp until youāre practically purring yourself. Every now and then, however, heāll quietly ask to switch places. As much as he loves taking care of you, he absolutely melts whenever your fingers comb through his blond hair or gently trace soothing patterns across his back. Heāll never admit just how much he enjoys it, but the contented hum escaping him usually gives him away.
He adores holding you from behind, your back pressed against his chest, his chin resting lightly atop your head. But heās just as helpless whenever youāre the one wrapping your arms around him, resting your head on his shoulder or leaning comfortably against his back. Every affectionate touch sends his heart into a frenzy, and he has to make a genuine effort not to grin so widely that his face literally splits in two.
Rest your head on his chest. Use him as your favorite pillow. Throw your legs across his lap while youāre reading. Fall asleep with your limbs hopelessly tangled together.
Every position somehow feels like his favourite.
During the day, his hands seem to find you almost unconsciously. If youāre reading in the library, donāt be surprised if he quietly slips into the seat beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder while pretending to ask what youāre reading. Help him in the kitchen, and heāll steal every excuse to brush against you or briefly pull you into his arms between preparing dishes. Even standing side by side at the railing, watching the sea stretch endlessly before you, somehow ends with his fingers finding yours.
Heās almost childishly eager to steal little moments alone with you.
The moment a conversation naturally comes to an end or your attention isnāt occupied for a second, heās already appearing beside you with a bright smile, asking if he can borrow you for ājust a minute.ā Whether that minute turns into a quiet walk around the deck or simply standing together away from the others hardly matters. Heās happiest whenever he gets to have you all to himself, even if only for a little while.
As much affection as he gives, though, receiving it never fails to leave him completely undone.
Hook your arm through his, and heāll stand just a little taller, not out of pride alone, but because his heart is suddenly beating so hard against his chest that it almost feels impossible to contain. Lace your fingers with his, kiss his cheek unexpectedly, or absentmindedly smooth a strand of hair away from his face, and youāve effectively rendered the poor man speechless.
Donāt be surprised if Chopper eventually wanders over, convinced something must be wrong. Sanjiās face has turned an alarming shade of red, heās smiling at absolutely nothing, and judging by the dreamy look in his eyes, the doctor may very well conclude his patient has come down with a fever.
He hasnāt.
Heās simply hopelessly, ridiculously in love with you.
If thereās one thing the Straw Hat cook loves most in the world, itās kissing you.
Beyond the countless little pecks he steals throughout the day, whether the crew is around or not, kisses quickly become his favorite way of showing affection. Heāll press one to the back of your hand, your palm, your fingertips, your cheekā¦ really, heāll happily find any excuse to leave a gentle reminder of his love on your skin. The only thing he truly worries about is making sure you feel comfortable. Everyone elseās opinions couldnāt matter less to him.
Among all of them, though, there are a few that become especially precious.
Every now and then, usually when the two of you are alone, heāll lean down to press a soft kiss against your bare shoulder. He doesnāt do it nearly as often when the others are around, partly because he knows exactly what happens every single time. The brush of his lips and the faint tickle of his stubble against your skin always earns him the sweetest little reaction, whether itās a quiet laugh, a shiver running down your spine, or the way you instinctively tilt your head toward him.
Perhaps thatās exactly why shoulder kisses become so special.
Theyāre rare.
And they have an unfortunate tendency to lead to one of his greatest weaknesses.
Neck kisses.
The warmth of your skin beneath his lips, the familiar scent of your perfume, the adorable sound of his name slipping past your lips if youāre particularly ticklishā¦ theyāre enough to make the cook completely lose himself. Before long, heās peppering your neck with countless featherlight kisses, slowly working his way upward until he finally reaches your lips.
Those, without question, remain his favorite.
He could happily spend hours simply kissing you, slow and unhurried, losing all sense of time until one of your unsuspecting crewmates inevitably stumbles across the two of you. Wellā¦ anyone except Luffy. Whether he simply doesnāt notice or doesnāt particularly care remains a mystery.
Forehead kisses, on the other hand, are among the rarest.
Theyāre the kind he saves for quieter moments.
When youāre sick, heāll gently press his lips to your forehead, partly because he canāt resist comforting you, and partly because itās his subtle way of checking whether your fever has gone down. Other times, when you lend him a hand in the kitchen, heāll quietly murmur a soft, āThank you, love,ā before placing a quick kiss against your forehead and returning to whatever he was doing, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
One thing quickly becomes clear, however.
Kissing Sanji while heās trying to focus on something important is a terrible idea.
Whether heās preparing an elaborate meal or concentrating on some particularly delicate task, all it takes is one unexpected kiss for his entire train of thought to vanish. Heāll freeze completely, blinking at you as though youāve momentarily robbed him of the ability to function.
As much affection as he showers you with, receiving it still leaves him hopelessly flustered.
Nothing, however, compares to what happens whenever you kiss the feature he spent years wishing he could hide from the world.
His eyebrows.
You think theyāre beautiful.
Completely fascinated by the elegant little spirals framing his face, youāve made a habit of tracing them with your fingertips whenever the two of you are alone, sometimes even pressing gentle kisses along their curves.
Each and every time, the poor man turns impossibly red.
He simply lies there, hardly daring to breathe, too overwhelmed to process the fact that youāre lavishing so much affection on something he never imagined anyone would pay such loving attention to.
If you happen to kiss only one, donāt be surprised when he quietly brushes his fringe aside, exposing the other without saying a word.
Not because heās asking.
Simply because, somewhere deep down, he secretly hopes youāll kiss that one too.
Even after years of dating, or even marriage, heāll still find himself looking at you as though heās trying to memorize you all over again. To him, youāre simply breathtaking in every possible way. Time could never diminish that. Neither could a new hairstyle, a few wrinkles earned through laughter, or any other change that comes with life. In his eyes, youāre always the same extraordinary woman he fell hopelessly in love with.
Your happiness, your comfort, and your peace of mind always sit at the very top of his list of priorities. Whenever something weighs on your heart, heāll do everything he can to be there for you.
Feeling unsure about an outfit? Heāll make it his personal mission to remind you just how breathtaking you are, showering you with so many sincere compliments that youāll end up believing them yourself.
You were in such a rush that you forgot breakfastā¦ or even your morning coffee?
Donāt worry.
By the time youāve realized it, your favorite drink and a meal prepared exactly to your liking are already waiting for you.
Sometimes heāll find you quietly gazing out across the endless sea, your thoughts clearly somewhere far beyond the horizon. Rather than immediately asking whatās wrong, heāll simply wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder, giving you all the space in the world to tell him whatās on your mindā¦ if and when youāre ready.
Nothing escapes his attention.
Not the way the sun has naturally lightened your hair after weeks at sea. Not the tiny trim you got on the last island, or even the fact that youāve started parting your hair differently. The same goes for your favourite makeup products and perfumes. Long before you realize youāre running low, heās already picked up replacements during your latest stop ashore.
His attentiveness becomes even more obvious during your period.
Truth be told, heād probably realize itās approaching before you do. Somewhere, somehow, youāre almost convinced he secretly keeps track of your cycle. During those days, if such a thing were even possible, he becomes even gentler than usual.
The kitchen somehow ends up stocked with your favorite sweets, chocolate, and ice cream. Pain relief is always within reach, along with a hot water bottle warming up for you before you even think to ask. Tucked away in one of the cupboards is a discreet little supply of pads and tampons, just in case you ever need them unexpectedly.
Whenever the cramps become particularly unpleasant, heāll happily spend the afternoon curled up beside you, absentmindedly stroking your hair while gently rubbing slow circles over your lower back or abdomen until you eventually drift off to sleep against him.
And if any member of your wonderfully chaotic crew happens to test your patience during that timeā¦
Well.
Letās just say the Straw Hat cook becomes even more protective than usual, making it abundantly clear that bothering you today is a very poor idea indeed.
Arguments between the two of you are few and far between. Truthfully, Iād even go as far as to say they hardly ever happen.
The Straw Hat cook has an incredibly high tolerance for the people he loves, and especially for you. More often than not, heād rather let the little things slide than risk turning them into an argument.
Ironically, thatās also what makes the occasional disagreement possible in the first place.
Instead of voicing every frustration as it comes, he has a habit of quietly pushing them aside until they eventually pile up. Every now and then, all those bottled-up feelings become just a little too much to carry alone.
Even then, though, I canāt picture him raising his voice at you or saying something cruel simply because heās angry.
Confrontation has never been his first instinct.
Protecting the relationship has.
If the two of you happen to argue over something small, heās far more likely to try and de-escalate the situation than add fuel to the fire.
āAlright, loveā¦ letās talk about this.ā
āTell me whatās wrong. Whatās been bothering you?ā
No matter how hurt or frustrated he is, shouting at you simply isnāt in his nature. The greatest fear of this soft-hearted cook is hurting the people he lovesā¦ especially knowing thatās exactly what he was raised and expected to do from the very beginning. (Weāll come back to that a little later.)
There are, however, a few words capable of breaking his heart almost instantly.
āYou donāt care about me.ā
āYou never think about how I feel.ā
āYou donāt listen to me.ā
āYou never considered my feelings.ā
Those are the kinds of accusations that linger.
Not because he thinks youāre wrong for feeling hurt, but because he spends every single day trying to show you just how deeply he cares. Hearing the opposite would leave him wondering where he failed you.
Rather than risk saying something heāll regret, heāll quietly excuse himself for a few minutes. Heāll step outside, light a cigarette, clear his head, and only return once heās certain he can give the conversation the patience and attention it deserves.
If he realizes heās hurt you, even unintentionallyā¦
No punishment you could ever give him would compare to the guilt heād place upon himself.
Like a heartbroken puppy, heād quietly trail after you, hoping youād stop walking long enough to let him explain himself. Hoping youād look at him. Hoping youād let him apologize properly.
If you decided to spend the night somewhere elseā¦ or asked him to leave your shared roomā¦
He wouldnāt sleep.
Not for a second.
Instead, heād end up sitting outside the bedroom door, back resting against the wall, waiting.
Waiting for you to come out.
Waiting in case you changed your mind.
Waiting simply because he couldnāt bear to be any farther away from you than that.
Heāll spend the entire night worrying about you, replaying the argument over and over in his head, wondering how he could have handled everything differently.
Your tears are something heāll never truly forgive himself for.
Every single one would remain lodged in his heart like a dagger long after youād forgiven him.
Because thatās the thing.
You would forgive him eventually.
He, however, never truly would.
One of the things youāll come to admire most about him is the sincerity of his apologies.
Youāll never hear:
āIām sorry you took it that way.ā
āIām sorry if I offended you.ā
āIām sorry you feel that way.ā
Instead, heāll apologize the way people should.
āIām sorry for what I said.ā
āI shouldnāt have spoken to you like that.ā
āThere was no excuse for my behavior.ā
āIāll do better. You deserve better than that.ā
His pride has never mattered more than you.
Even if hearing your criticism stings, heāll listen to every word because understanding your feelings matters far more than protecting his ego.
More than anything, he wants the two of you to make up properly.
He canāt stand unresolved tension hanging between you.
He needs to know youāve forgiven him.
That everything is alright again.
That you still trust him.
That you still love him.
So kiss this sweet boy a few extra times after every argument.
Hold him close.
Remind him that one disagreement doesnāt undo everything the two of you have built together.
Because although youāll probably fall asleep long before he does, heāll still be lying awake beside you, quietly wondering whether you truly forgave himā¦ or whether this was the day he finally gave you a reason to stop loving him.
To be fair, even before the two of you started dating, the way he treated you had always been on an entirely different level compared to the shallow flirting he threw at every remotely pretty woman he met, even if she happened to be an enemy. His gestures toward you had always been deeper, more thoughtful, more genuine.
Still, it took time for him to convince you that you were the only one who was truly special to him, and that what he felt for you was nothing like the sweet compliments and flowery words he handed out so freely to every lady he came across.
No matter how wonderful your Sanji is, and no matter how much you trust him, that doesnāt mean it never stings to watch him practically pirouette across the deck because a pretty woman smiled in his direction.
Yes, heād toned it down considerably once the two of you got together. But for a lifelong flirt like him, āconsiderablyā didnāt always feel like enough.
After a few unpleasant experiences with his over-the-top dramatics, and after finally laying everything on the table when you confessed your feelings and became a couple, Sanji genuinely made an effort to improve. His chivalry never bothered you, nor did the fact that he was a gentleman. If anything, you were quietly proud every time you watched your boyfriend treat the women of the crew with kindness and respect. They deserved that kindness, after all. Besides, the difference between how he treated them and how he treated you was impossible to miss.
Heās never jealous because he wants to control you. Nor because he doubts your loyalty. Heās jealous because, deep down, heās convinced you deserve someone better than him.
That belief only grew stronger after everything that happened on Whole Cake Island, no matter how many times you tell him how wonderful he is. And then, despite silently scolding himself for being selfish, he canāt help becoming just a little clingier. Heāll stay glued to your side, keep your hand in his at every opportunity, and cover it with even more kisses than usual. Itās almost as if his subconscious is trying to reassure him that everything is okay, that youāre still together, and that heād sooner face the most horrific death imaginable than willingly let the two of you drift apart.
Fortunately, proving your sweet cook wrong is easier than youād think.
You donāt need grand declarations of love or extravagant romantic gestures. A slightly tighter squeeze of his hand, resting your head on his shoulder, even the smallest kiss is enough.
His heart grows several sizes every single time you walk over to stand beside him of your own accord and proudly introduce him as your boyfriend. The smallest reminders that the two of you belong to each other are treasures beyond measure to him, and no one could deny how brightly Sanji lights up in those moments. He looks like someone who has just been awarded the highest honor imaginable, nodding to himself with barely contained pride as if to say,
āYeah. Thatās right. Thatās me. Her boyfriend. Hers.ā
Because thatās what has always been hardest for him to believe.
That he could actually be someoneās first choice.
It feels unreal to him. Like it was something that was always meant for other people, something he could only watch from afar and quietly envy.
Thatās why heās so used to giving, but never receiving.
He spent his entire life trying to be useful, trying to earn peopleās affection, trying to become someone they needed, if only a little. Anything to fill the enormous hole left behind by his childhood in Germa, by the guilt he carried over Zeffās sacrificeā¦
And none of that compared to how desperately he tried to make up for the pain he caused the crew, especially you, during the events of Whole Cake Island.
He felt unworthy.
Like an annoying piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe that you simply couldnāt scrape off.
Because, despite hating himself more than ever back then, what he wanted most in the world was your forgiveness. Your understanding. The chance to never spend another moment apart from you after finally telling you about every wound his heart had been carrying all those years.
He longed for your love and your comfort.
Even if he quietly despised himself for wanting them. That longing was simply stronger.
Every single time you chose him, over and over again, there was always one question that refused to leave his mind.
Why?
Unfortunately, despite everything Iāve just said, asking for reassurance is one of the hardest things Sanji could ever do.
Heās an expert at comforting other people, probably because he knows better than most what itās like to have your soul ache for a few gentle words, only for reality to answer with cold rejection instead. He knows exactly how much those words can mean.
Receiving that same comfort himself?
Thatās an entirely different story.
Heāll hide everything behind a warm smile and a quiet, āIām fine,ā even when itās painfully obvious that he isnāt.
Maybe not to the rest of the crew.
But certainly to you.
So press him, just a little. Never forcefully, but enough when the two of you are alone. Give him the reassurance he canāt bring himself to ask for. Tell him you love him. Remind him that heās safe with you. Let him know youāre willing to listen for as long as he needs, with open arms and all the love in your heart.
Because thatās what he truly needs.
Especially during those moments when one thought keeps haunting him:
āDoes she really love meā¦ or is she just putting up with me?ā
Heās not constantly insecure in the way some people are, endlessly demanding affection until they drain the person beside them.
Never.
Thatās simply not who he is.
But after especially difficult momentsā¦
When he makes a serious mistake. When he fails at something important. When memories of Germa come flooding back.
Thatās when those insecurities rise to the surface.
And thatās when you have to remind him, with everything youāve got, that he is more than enough. That there isnāt a better person in the world for you.
Sure, heād probably short-circuit on the spot and turn into a bright red, speechless mess every time you casually called him āhandsomeā or āmy gorgeous boyfriend.ā Especially that little word, my. It completely fries his brain.
But as flustered as those compliments make him, the ones that truly reach his heart are different.
āI trust you.ā
āIām proud of you.ā
āYouāre the one person I know I can always rely on.ā
āI feel safest when Iām with you.ā
āI know Iām always in good hands with you.ā
Those are the words that would absolutely undo him.
Because they fill the very emptiness that has haunted him for years, the fear that heās simplyā¦ too much.
Too affectionate.
Too emotional.
Too romantic.
Too protective.
Too devoted.
Justā¦ too much.
That fear would probably be at its strongest during the early stages of your relationship. Now that he finally has you, heād constantly hold himself back, terrified that his overwhelming personality might end up pushing you away instead.
But every last one of those worries would melt away the moment you walked up to him and showed him that you wanted exactly those things from him.
That you craved his affection just as much as he craved giving it.
That you wanted to spend time with him.
That you loved every bit of that closeness.
Because, in the end, there is nothing that reassures Sanji more than realizing he never has to make himself smaller in order to be loved.
When he finally tells you about his past, itāll mean more than a thousand āI love yousā ever could.
We already know that, when it comes to his own pain, Sanji is an incredibly private person. The Straw Hats sailed alongside him for a long time before they ever learned the truth about his family.
At first glance, he seems like an open book. Heās loud, expressive, dramatic, constantly joking, flirting, arguing, smokingā¦ always wearing his heart on his sleeve.
But the things that truly hurt him?
Those are locked away somewhere deep inside, hidden behind several steel doors and concealed beneath that warm, charming smile of his.
With time, heād grow much more open with you. Youād learn to read him in ways no one else could.
Even then, though, you could never have imagined just how much suffering your wonderful, curly-browed sweetheart had been carrying all those years.
If, early in your relationship, you asked him one quiet night, wrapped together beneath a blanket and sheltered by the intimacy of darkness, to tell you about his childhoodā¦
You wouldnāt hear very much.
Only the carefully edited version.
āWhat was your childhood like?ā you asked, your wide eyes reflecting the moonlight.
There was so much kindness in them.
So much tenderness.
The kind of warmth Sanji never believed someone could look at him with.
He simply didnāt have the heart to shatter the beautiful image you had of him.
āNothing too special,ā he smiled, lighting a cigarette while making sure to blow the smoke well away from you. āI worked on a restaurant ship when I was a kid. It sank, and old man Zeff took me in after that.ā
Everything he said was technically true.
It just left out enormous pieces of the story.
Not because he didnāt trust you.
Because he couldnāt bear the thought of giving you a reason to look at him differently.
Of course, youād notice.
But youād try to respect his choice.
Every now and then, youād ask another question about how he came to stay with Zeff, gently steering the conversation toward the happier memories instead. His life at the Baratie. The lessons the grumpy old chef had taught him. Sometimes youād even bring those stories up yourself, simply because you knew they always made him smile and lifted the quiet sadness that settled over him whenever his past came up.
The first story he truly let himself share was Zeffās sacrifice.
How theyād spent months stranded together, starving on a barren rock with no hope that anyone would ever find them.
How those months shaped the way he saw foodā¦ and people.
The two of you cried together as he spoke about his dream of finding the All Blue, not only for himself, but most of all for Zeff.
Heād never realized just how desperately heād wanted to tell someone that story.
Or how much lighter heād feel when all he found on the other side of it was even more of your love and support.
My All Blue, he thought as he looked at you.
You promised him that youād stay by his side, that youād help him through every step of the journey until he finally found it.
The place that, somewhere deep in his heart, heād already decided would one day become your home.
The place where the two of you would build the rest of your lives together.
The deeper wounds, thoughā¦
Those revealed themselves in quieter ways.
The way heād go completely still whenever someone started talking about fathers or family.
The way his entire expression changed for the briefest moment before he forced his smile back into place.
The way he almost never mentioned anything about the years before Zeff unless someone pushed him into it.
More than once, you woke him from nightmares where he mumbled through tears, begging you not to leave him.
Youād spend hours calming him until, eventually, the two of you drifted back to sleep.
The whole time, heād be apologizing through tears for waking you.
Even though heād never told you about the isolationā¦
Or the abuse.
Or how unwanted heād been made to feel.
You could slowly piece together that whatever had driven him to that first restaurant ship before meeting Zeff must have been something unimaginably cruel.
Then, after one particularly difficult mission the two of you barely survivedā¦
Or perhaps after hearing you speak about the wounds you carried yourselfā¦
He decided to do something heād never truly wanted to do with anyone before.
Open up.
He felt you deserved to hear it from him.
Almost like reopening old scars, he began speaking hesitantly.
There was no dramatic speech.
No grand performance.
Just honesty.
The kind of honesty that strips a soul bare.
āMy family wasnāt exactly kind.ā
Once heād started, there was no stopping him.
Surprisingly, it wasnāt recounting the events themselves that hurt the most.
It was watching your face as you listened.
Sometimes heartbreak.
Sometimes horror.
Sometimes pure anger on his behalf.
As if you couldnāt comprehend how something so unimaginably cruel could have happened to someone as endlessly kind as the blond cook sitting beside you.
āItās alrightā¦ it wasnāt a big deal. It was a long time ago,ā heād murmur, trying to comfort you, while you were already mentally planning how to defeat an entire family of genetically enhanced nobles.
In those moments, his heart would overflow with a love and gratitude so overwhelming it almost hurt.
The simple fact that you still loved him.
That you understood him.
That after learning everything, you still looked at him and saw the very same Sanji youād always loved.
Only nowā¦ You understood him even more.
And cherished him all the more because of it.
Those were the things heād never tell anyone else.
Only you.
His irreplaceable partner.
Not because they were secrets for the sake of being secrets.
But because heād spent his entire life ashamed of them.
Ashamed of how lonely heād been.
Ashamed of how desperately heād longed for someone to choose him.
Someone to tell him he was enough.
Heād spent so long expecting rejection that heād convinced himself it was all he deserved.
Once he does, heād build a restaurant there. Heād drag Zeff and the Baratie boys over whether they agreed to it or not, and together youād all begin an entirely new adventure.
More than anything, though, heād want to introduce you to Zeff, if you hadnāt already met him.
To his dad.
Heād want the old man to see just how happy he finally is.
Every day, youād be there beside him, helping out around the restaurant while pursuing the things you love, building a life together one ordinary, wonderful day at a time.
And maybe, before longā¦
Your little family would grow.
If things went exactly the way Sanji secretly imagined them, your children would be tiny, adorable copies of you.
Especially little girls.
On the other hand, youād be hoping for the exact opposite.
That theyād inherit his soft smile, those impossibly curly eyebrows, and the warmth that always shines in his eyes.
The first time Zeff showed you an old photograph, or maybe even a video, of Sanji as a little boyā¦ Your heart completely melted.
He was, without question, the sweetest child youād ever seen.
āI wasnāt that cuteā¦ā heād mumble, cheeks burning, while Zeff snorted loudly in the background.
From that moment on, you couldnāt help imagining a little boy who looked just like him running around the restaurant.
Only this child would grow up differently.
Unlike Sanji, they would never have to wonder whether they were wanted.
They would never have to earn love.
They would simply receive it, every single day.
The kind of love he should have had from the very beginning.
Together, youād give your children everything he never got to have.
A home filled with warmth.
A family that chose them every single day.
Parents who loved them without conditions, without expectations, without ever making them question whether they were enough.
And in giving them that childhoodā¦
The two of you would quietly heal a small part of his own.
Thatās the future Sanji dreams about most.
Just coming home after a long day in the kitchen, seeing you waiting for him with Zeff grumbling somewhere in the background, hearing the laughter of your children echo through the restaurant, and realizing that, somehowā¦
He found his All Blue long before he ever found it on a map.
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explicit content
Leon experiences a moral shock when he realises just how badly he loves teaching you to touch him. In bed and outside of itāevery woman heās ever been entangled with knew more than him, and he learned how to touch women through their hands. How to pet their hair back, how to kiss too-sensitive places. How to coax a woman into his lap, and nip her throat, and make her shudder.
You know nothing. Heās your first boyfriend, lover, partner. Youāve never been touched, which is his own private agony, and a delight at all hours of the day as he gets to be your first kiss, your first fuck, and your first cuddle. He teaches you how to open your mouth and use your tongue, how to take what you need from him and anything else you want, too. He teaches you how to relax when youāre against someone, and how to draw shapes down their back. He shouldnāt find it so achy. Heās never been like this before. The hesitant way you tuck hair behind his ear as you lean up to kiss his cheek has him stirred and quickly useless, your hand tumbling down his back to tickle him like a damn slap. He shivers when you scratch his scalp and says, Thatās perfect, bub, with enough condescension to hide his sincerity. Heād love you if you knew everything there was to know, want you without introductions, but he loves being trusted so deeply by you, and he loves the way you smile when his patience exceeds your expectation. He doesnāt get mad. Doesnāt ever laugh at your shy questions. Heās putty in the palm of your trembly hands.
The worst of it is that you know. Not that you like it, being led and taught and told, commanded around with a gentleness he canāt fake, no. The worst part is when you wait to be told what to do, after a hundred kisses and hours upon hours boiling up in his lap. Like this? you ask into his neck, your teeth dull at his pulse and your tongue hot.
Leon grabs you by the thighs and yanks you against his front every time, a poor picture of restraint, praising his baby through gritted teeth. Yeah, honey. You listen so well.
