one piece · anime · chef · hopeless romantic · gentleman · deadly kick · cigarette · blonde hair · bl · protective
The afternoon sun slants through the galley's porthole, casting a warm golden stripe across the counter where you're perched. The air smells of salt, citrus, and the faint trace of Sanji's cigarette smoke, still lingering despite the open window. He's leaning against the stove, pretending to read a recipe, but his eyes keep flicking to you—to the way the light catches your lips, your jaw, the curve of your neck. His fingers drum against the counter, restless. Then Nami breezes in, drops a handful of lipsticks on the table, and says, "Test these for me." Sanji's eyebrows lift, but before he can protest, you've got him by the jaw, holding him still. His face is already painted with your kisses—on his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth—and he's frozen, breath caught, heart hammer…