For The Past Several Years Now I've Been Telling Myself That This Is The Year I Buckle Down And Learn

My Shayla (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ

sae itoshi was not a nonchalant boyfriend or a chill guy, despite how much he tried to seem like he was. you don’t ask him for his opinion on your outfit? do you not want him (to compliment you and ask you to do a small twirl so he could see the ensemble properly and then pepper your cute face with kisses)? you don’t want him to share his food with you? okay, so basically you’re saying you want him to go to hell.

you tell him to quit liking flirty comments from random people under your posts? what’s wrong with that, he agrees with them— you’re absolutely stunning. and no, he isn’t doing it just so those randoms get a notification that saeitoshi, with a silly picture of you and him with your cheeks smushed together as his profile picture, has liked their comment so that they now know you aren’t single and looking for some sleazy jackass who thinks they can get your undivided attention just by commenting ‘🔥🔥’. seriously, how dare you accuse him of such pettiness?

but really, none of that is compareable to how he feels right now; damp hair sticking to his forehead, towel over his shoulder, one hand buttoning up his loose shirt while he’s looking at his phone, fresh out of the shower after the usual training. his teammates are yapping about something like they always do but it’s all silent in his head as he takes in what feels like utter blasphemy on the screen.

zero notifications.

well, actually, he had a shit ton of texts messages from his teammates and people he considered somewhat his friends but none of them really matter— only you do.

and you hadn’t texted him since yesterday (almost 24 hours ago!), when he was on his way home and asked you if you wanted him to bring you extra snacks or something.

do you hate him?

he clicked out of the messages app and checked instagram, where you’d usually have flooded his dms with chronically online shit that he had no idea how you found funny. seriously, what the heck is all that about divers going into small spaces and eye of dih? he visibly deflates when he sees you hadn’t sent anything on there either (the last text was from him, when he’d said ‘???’ to your text that read ‘what is a father?’).

Sae [16:43pm]: Do you hate me

nah. scoffing to himself, he deleted the words, exited the app and pocketted his phone. since when was he such an attention deprived, needy little shit? whatever.

by the time he opens the front door to your shared home, there’s still no text, no call, no reel, nothing from you. “angel?” he calls out in his usual, casual tone, nudging the door shut with his boot. “’m home.”

“in here, sae,” you call out from the bedroom and he quickly takes off his shoes, drops his duffel bag onto the couch and trudges into the bedroom, feeling as if if he were a puppy, his tail would be wagging harshly behind him. “i was just about to text you.” you tell him with a small smile from where you’re sitting on the office chair behind the desk, your laptop in front of you and notes strewn all over the desk. you were.. studying.

ah, right. no wonder you hadn’t texted him.

you barely register his silent footsteps and fast pace until he’s right behind you within the time it took for you to blink, one hand on the arm of the chair to turn it around before he’s half hunched over you, his other hand pressing on your back to tug you into a hug. “missed you,” his voice is muffled as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, the soft tufts of his moist hair tickling your chin and neck. “thought you hated me.”

“what?” it was said so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it, but you do and now you’re pulling back a bit to look at him properly. “what gave you that idea?”

“forget about it,” he tries to avoid the question in a painfully untactful manner, attempting to hug you again, but faltering as he sees the look on your face. god, this was so humiliating. “y‘didn't text me today— or call, or send me stupid reels,” he points out with an embarrassed grunt, standing up to his full height and running a hand through his hair. “thought you were pissed at me for beating you in monopoly or something.”

huffing, you grin up at him. “you didn’t have to bring that up, jerk. but no, as you can see,” you gesture to your table and he notices the splotches and lines of dried ink on your fingers from your pen. “i’ve been studying. or trying to, at least.”

“huh.” he lets out, grasping your hand in his and intertwining your fingers before untangling them again so he could toy around with them. his brows furrow and he scoffs when you continue, saying something along the lines of ‘i didn’t think you’d notice.’ “yeah, well, i noticed. i dunno. kinda hard to miss the zero texts from the only person i reply to, yeah?”

your eyes brighten at that, but you tease, “ohh, yeah, right. sorry, i forgot you’re a friendless loser.”

“look who’s talking,” he shoots back, and you’d almost be offended if it wasn’t for the playful look in his eyes. he sighs and dips his head to press a kiss to your temple before walking over to the closet.

“were you really sad that i didn’t send you stupid reels?” you ask him with a curious look while watching him pick out a random t-shirt and sweats, not making fun of him like you’d usually do, just genuine curiousity in your tone.

he hums in response, undoing a few buttons of his shirt before tugging it off his head and glancing at you, with his teal eyes narrowed in contemplation, shirt still hanging around his elbows. “guess so. ’s stupid, huh?”

“nah,” is your immediate reply, followed by a small shrug. “i think it’s sweet, actually. in a pathetic sort of way. you’re kinda sweet.”

during his 10-minute break from training the next day, he finds himself on the bench of the locker room, resting his aching legs with his half empty water bottle next to him as he’s scrolling through your dms with a soft smile. a shit ton of reels and one ‘good luck at practice!!’ message stares back at him.

yeah. he thinks you’re (kinda) sweet too.

Here's an animation that will probably never be finished. :P idk

But it was made with all my love for Ninjago s2

hope you guys enjoy it

sanji x reader where the reader hasnt seen their family in a while like the world goverment is after them or smth and they had to flee and sanji cooks them a meal that reminds tjem of a home cooked hearty meal and they cry and then sanji treats them specially after that☹️❤️i got this off a song please write it thank u❤️

A Taste of Home

sanji x reader

a/n: thank you for the request, hope you'll like it eheh

words count: 1.6k

tags: fluff, sfw, homesick

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The scent of something rich and familiar fills the Sunny’s kitchen, wrapping around you like a long-lost embrace. You don’t realize you’ve stopped moving, hovering near the door, until Sanji looks up from the stove and grins.

“Perfect timing, sweetheart” he says, golden hair falling into his eyes as he gestures to the counter “I’m making something special tonight.”

Your heart clenches. It smells just like home. A deep, savory aroma that tugs at something buried under layers of time and fear.

You take a hesitant step forward “What… what is it?”

Sanji glances at you, the usual playful glint in his eyes softening into something more thoughtful “Just a little something I thought you’d like,” he says smoothly, but there’s something knowing in his tone “Why don’t you sit? It’s almost ready.”

You lower yourself onto a stool, watching as he moves with effortless grace. A flick of his wrist, a careful sprinkle of spices, and then he ladles the dish into a bowl, steam curling up in delicate wisps. He places it in front of you with an almost reverent touch.

The moment you see it, your breath catches.

It is home. The same dish your family used to make when you were young, before everything. Before the World Government, before the running, before you were forced to leave everything behind.

Your fingers tremble as you pick up the spoon. You take a bite.

The taste explodes across your tongue, rich, warm, so deeply familiar that your chest tightens. The flavors blend perfectly, just like you remember. It’s impossible. You never told Sanji about this dish. You never told anyone.

A choked sound escapes your throat, and before you can stop it, hot tears spill down your cheeks.

Sanji’s eyes widen “Oi, oi! What’s wrong, love?” He’s in front of you in a second, crouching slightly to meet your gaze. His hands hover near your shoulders, unsure if he should touch you “Too hot? Did I mess up the seasoning?”

You shake your head rapidly, pressing a hand over your mouth as you try to compose yourself “No—it’s perfect. Too perfect.” Your voice wobbles “It tastes just like… like home.”

Sanji’s expression softens, the teasing edge in his smile replaced with something unbearably gentle. He reaches for a napkin and dabs at your tears with light, careful touches “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Your breath hitches “You knew?”

He shrugs, but there’s no smugness in it just quiet understanding “You get this look sometimes when the crew talks about their homes,” he murmurs “Like you’re trying not to miss something too much. So I thought… maybe I could give you a little piece of it back.”

Your throat is too tight to speak. Instead, you throw your arms around him, pressing your face into his shoulder. He stiffens for a second before exhaling, his arms wrapping around you just as tightly.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The kitchen is warm, the scent of the meal still lingering in the air. Sanji rubs slow circles against your back, murmuring soft reassurances.

When you finally pull away, he cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the last traces of tears “No more crying, alright? Food’s meant to make you happy.”

You let out a watery laugh “You’re too good to me, Sanji.”

His lips quirk up in a smirk, but there’s a rare sincerity in his gaze “Nah, never say that again. Only the best for my favorite, sweetheart.”

Sanji doesn’t let you go right away. His hands linger at your waist, his touch warm and grounding, like he’s making sure you won’t disappear on him. You don’t mind. In fact, you let yourself lean into him for just a moment longer, savoring the rare tenderness he reserves just for you.

Then he pulls back slightly, scanning your face with those sharp, perceptive eyes of his “Feeling better?” he asks softly.

You sniffle and nod, offering a small, embarrassed laugh “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Sanji clicks his tongue, cutting you off “Don’t even start with that, sweetheart. You never have to apologize for feeling things...” His tone is firm, but there’s nothing but warmth in his gaze, because who would even know better than him himself how feelings work.

You let out a shaky breath, staring down at the meal he made for you. It’s still steaming, still perfect “How did you even know how to make this?” you ask, poking at the dish with your spoon.

Sanji smirks, reaching for his cigarette but stopping himself before lighting it, probably because he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Instead, he tucks it behind his ear and leans against the counter, crossing his arms “Let’s just say a good chef knows how to read people,” he says smoothly “I paid attention. Also you talk in your sleep, you know?”

Your eyes widen in horror “I what?”

His grin stretches wider, teasing but fond “Mmm. Little murmurs here and there. Nothing too embarrassing—though I did catch you saying something about extra dumplings one night.” ...he's obviously hiding more though.

You groan, hiding your face in your hands “I hate you.”

He chuckles, nudging your shoulder with his knuckles “No, you don’t.”

You peek at him through your fingers, and damn it, he’s right. You don’t. Not even a little.

Sanji watches you for a moment longer before pushing the bowl back toward you “Eat up, love. It’s not gonna be as good if it gets cold.”

You don’t argue. You take another bite, and even though you’re no longer on the verge of tears, the warmth still spreads through you, filling a hollow space you didn’t realize was so empty.

Sanji doesn’t move away. He stays right there, leaning on the counter, watching you with a softness most people never get to see from him.

It’s almost overwhelming.

“You always do this” you murmur after a few bites.

“Do what?”

“Take care of me.”

Sanji tilts his head, then sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart “Ah, what a tragic fate—being completely unable to not spoil you.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat rising in your cheeks betrays you “I mean it, Sanji. You always go out of your way for me.”

His expression shifts, turning serious in an instant. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over your wrist “Because you deserve it,” he says simply “You’ve been through enough. You shouldn’t have to do everything on your own.”

You swallow hard, staring at him. No teasing, no dramatic declarations... just honesty.

And somehow, that’s even more dangerous.

“Sanji…”

Before you can figure out what to say, he straightens up and claps his hands together “Alright, then! Since you like that dish so much, I suppose I’ll have to make it for you whenever you want!”

Your lips part in surprise “Whenever?”

“Of course!” he winks “Your personal chef is at your service, my dear.”

Your chest feels light, something rare, something precious.

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it” he shoots back.

You hate how right he is, but you don’t mind that much.

Sanji keeps his word.

Whenever you look even slightly homesick, he’s already in the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves, recreating that dish for you with effortless skill. He never asks why it means so much to you, he just knows. And every single time, he watches you eat like it’s the most important thing in the world, like making you happy is his favorite meal.

But tonight feels… different.

Dinner is over, the rest of the crew scattered around the Sunny, Luffy’s snoring on the deck, Zoro’s probably passed out somewhere, and Nami and Robin are deep in conversation. The ship is quiet, the waves lapping gently against the hull, and the kitchen is bathed in the soft glow of the lanterns.

Sanji leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you sip the tea he made for you.

“You’re spoiling me, y’know” you tease, setting the cup down.

He smirks, but there’s something in his gaze tonight, something intentional. He steps closer, the warm spice of his cologne wrapping around you “And what if I like spoiling you?”

Your pulse jumps. You open your mouth, probably to say something witty, to brush it off, but the words vanish when Sanji reaches out, fingers brushing against your cheek, feather-light.

His touch lingers “You still look like you’re holding something back,” he murmurs “Even after all this time.”

Your breath catches. He’s too close, too warm, too much “Sanji—”

“You don’t have to tell me.” His thumb traces just beneath your cheekbone, and his voice drops, gentle but sure “I just want you to know… to understand... you’re not alone anymore, sweetheart.”

You blink up at him, the lump in your throat growing unbearable. How does he do this? How does he see through you like this?

“Sanji…” You don’t know what you’re trying to say, but it doesn’t matter, because Sanji’s tilting your chin up, his eyes flicking to your lips for the briefest second.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

You don’t even hesitate “Yes.”

He doesn’t waste a second. His lips press against yours, warm and soft and perfect. He kisses you slowly, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s been waiting for this. One hand cradles your face, the other slipping around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

You melt into him, your fingers tangling in his shirt. He deepens the kiss, tilting his head just enough to steal your breath away, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel lost.

You feel found.

Sanji pulls back just slightly, resting his forehead against yours, his breath a little unsteady.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs “Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.”

You smile, heart swelling in your chest “Just you, Sanji.”

His answering smile is the softest thing you’ve ever seen. He presses another slow, lingering kiss to your lips before murmuring against them...

“Then you have me, sweetheart. Always.”

Absolutely Beautiful!~ 🍎👑

silly aliens but zosan

games listed (in order):

- prescription:LOVE

- lurking for love

- the kid at the back

the leech parents :>

How would you like Tangerine's gifts? Merry Christmas.

Extremely serious workout session <3