lingarace

[lingarace]

Hiii! Could I please request Sanji x reader where they're forced to share a bed? Pretty please with sugar and cream on top? :D Have a good day or night!! 💘💘💘

In Close Quartersˎˊ˗

Sanji x Reader

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Words: 10,369

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Warnings: emotional conflict, miscommunication, survival.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ A/N: Hello! I didn’t know exactly what to do, but I think I did decent. I hope you enjoy, anon (●’◡’●)ﾉ

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The Thousand Sunny sailed under a sky so blue it looked painted, the kind of day that usually made your heart swell with the pure joy of being a Straw Hat pirate. The laughter of your nakama echoed across the deck – Luffy was probably trying to steal Chopper's cotton candy, Usopp was undoubtedly spinning another tall tale for Franky, and Robin was sharing a quiet chuckle with Nami as Jinbe steered the ship with his usual calm competence. You loved them, every single one. They were your family, your anchors in the chaotic Grand Line, and your bond with each of them was as strong as a pirate's conviction. Well, almost every one.

Then there was Sanji.

The ship’s cook, the Black Leg, a man whose culinary genius was rivaled only by his… enthusiasm for women. You watched him now, twirling a rose he'd seemingly conjured from thin air, presenting it to Nami with a flourish. "Nami-swan," he'd croon, "your beauty outshines even the morning sun! A goddess graces my galley with her presence!" Minutes later, he was offering a freshly baked confection to Robin, his voice dripping with adoration. "My dear Robin-chan, a sweet treat for the sweetest flower on the sea." He’d even, on occasion, offer a respectful nod and a polite compliment to other female captains you encountered, a perfectly charming gentleman.

But when it came to you, it was like you were invisible.

"Sanji, could you pass the salt?" you'd ask during dinner, only for him to completely ignore you and instead offer extra servings to Nami and Robin. "More meat for my lovely ladies!" he'd declare, as your plate remained stubbornly empty. Once, you'd stumbled, nearly tripping over a loose rope, and while Usopp rushed to steady you, Sanji merely sidestepped, muttering something about clumsy oafs. Another time, you'd genuinely complimented his cooking, saying, "Sanji, this stew is incredible!" He’d simply grunted in response, already turning to fawn over another crewmate.

You'd tried everything to bridge the gap. You'd offered to help in the kitchen, only to be shooed away with a curt, "The kitchen is no place for a clumsy hands!" You'd attempted casual conversation, asking about his latest recipes or his dreams, but he'd either walk away mid-sentence or offer a dismissive, "What's it to ya, y/n?" You'd even, in a moment of desperation, brought him a small, rare spice you'd found on an island, hoping it would finally break the ice. He’d barely glanced at it, simply muttering, "Hmph. Unnecessary." It was as if he’d drawn a solid, invisible line, and you were firmly on the wrong side of it. You tried to like him, truly, to turn this strange animosity into something resembling friendship, but it never worked. He seemed to genuinely despise you, and for the life of you, you couldn't figure out why.

The tension between you and Sanji wasn't a sudden storm; it was a slow, creeping fog that settled over the Thousand Sunny, thick and suffocating only for you. You'd tried to tell yourself it was your imagination, that he was just a little particular, but the evidence mounted with each passing day.

One sweltering afternoon, you were helping Usopp patch a torn sail, your fingers fumbling with the needle. Sanji walked by, a tray of iced drinks in hand for everyone else. "Here, Nami-swan, a refreshing beverage for a hard-working angel!" he cooed, placing a glass beside her. Then, without a glance in your direction, he continued on, leaving you parched and pricking your finger. "Oh, thanks, Sanji," you mumbled sarcastically to his retreating back, a bitterness blooming in your chest. He never even turned around.

Another time, during a particularly rough storm, a rogue wave slammed against the deck, sending a crate of provisions tumbling towards you. You braced yourself, but Zoro, quick as lightning, was there, shoving you out of the way just as the crate crashed where you'd been standing. Sanji, who had been securing a mast nearby, simply watched the scene unfold, his expression as unreadable as ever. No gasp of concern, no "Are you alright, y/n?" Nothing. Later, he'd fussed over Nami's slightly damp hair, offering her a towel and warm tea. The stark contrast was a punch to the gut.

You found yourself actively avoiding him. You'd linger in the crow's nest with Zoro, or help Robin in the library, or even spend hours fishing with Jinbe, anything to escape the subtle, yet constant, sting of Sanji's dismissal. When he entered a room, you'd find a reason to leave. If he was in the kitchen, you'd decide you weren't hungry. The playful teasing you shared with the others, the easy camaraderie that flowed through the rest of the crew, dried up completely whenever he was near.

The final straw came during a rare, peaceful evening under a sky ablaze with stars. The crew was gathered on deck, sharing stories and laughter. You were recounting a particularly funny anecdote from your past, and everyone was engrossed, even Luffy momentarily distracted from his meat. But then, Sanji, who had been leaning against the railing, let out a loud, exaggerated yawn. "Honestly," he drawled, pushing himself upright and walking away, "some people just love the sound of their own voice." He didn't look at you, didn't even acknowledge you. He just left, taking the warmth of the moment with him.

In that instant, something inside you snapped. The lingering hope that maybe, just maybe, he didn't mean to be so hurtful, shattered. The years of trying to bridge the gap, the endless attempts to be liked, to be seen, all coalesced into a molten ball of resentment. The bitter taste of rejection, once a faint whisper, was now a roaring current within you. You were tired of trying. Tired of being ignored. Tired of the icy wall between you. A cold, quiet anger began to simmer, and with it, a new, equally cold realization: you were beginning to hate him too.

The sting of Sanji's dismissal festered, transforming your initial hurt into a simmering, quiet rage. You replayed every slight, every averted gaze, every dismissive grunt, searching for the answer. What had you done? What flaw in your character made you so utterly repellent to him? Was it your laugh? The way you ate? Your choice of words? You racked your brain for a reason, a justification, anything that would explain his unyielding animosity, but came up empty. And with that blankness came a bitter certainty: it wasn't you, it was him. And that conviction fueled a new, subtle game.

Your passive aggression was a whisper, easily missed by the others, but aimed with pinpoint accuracy at Sanji. During meal times, a critical moment in his domain, you’d become unusually particular. "Oh, is there no more of the sea king, Sanji? Just these… smaller portions?" you'd ask, a saccharine sweetness in your voice, knowing full well he prided himself on generous servings. Or, when he presented a new dessert with a flourish, you’d take a minuscule bite and declare, "It's… interesting. Very unique." – a word that, in your tone, managed to sound like a subtle insult to his culinary prowess. Most of the crew would just shrug it off, but you'd catch the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw, the flicker in his eye, and know it had landed.

Out on deck, your tactics became equally subtle. If he was showing off a new fishing technique, you'd "accidentally" tangle your line near his, forcing him to untangle it with a frustrated sigh. If he meticulously polished a part of the ship, you'd "forget" a muddy boot print near his freshly shined work. When he meticulously sorted supplies, you'd innocently ask, "Are these really in the right place, Sanji? They look a bit… haphazard," knowing how much he valued order in the galley and storage.

The crew, used to your generally easygoing nature, didn’t seem to notice the underlying malice. "Y/n, you're so clumsy today!" Nami might chuckle, or Usopp would tease, "Looks like someone's got butterfingers!" But Sanji, oh, Sanji noticed. He never directly confronted you, never erupted in anger. Instead, his dismissiveness would sharpen, his cold shoulder becoming even icier. He'd walk away faster, his responses became even drier, and the space he carved out between you on the ship grew wider. And with each successful, albeit tiny, jab, a sliver of your hurt dissipated, replaced by a grim satisfaction. This was a war of attrition, and you were determined not to be the only one bleeding.

The Thousand Sunny was a vibrant, often chaotic, home. Its inhabitants, the Straw Hat Pirates, were as attuned to each other as the tides to the moon. For a while, your silent war with Sanji went unnoticed, dismissed as quirks or bad days. But slowly, subtly, the others began to pick up on the discordant notes in the ship's symphony.

It started with Nami. Her brow would furrow when Sanji would effortlessly charm Robin with a culinary masterpiece, then turn around and merely grunt, "Food's ready," in your direction. She'd seen the way your usual bright demeanor would dim, your laughter catching in your throat whenever he entered the common room. She’d always known Sanji's chivalry was… selective, but the outright disregard he showed you was becoming glaringly obvious.

"Hey, Sanji," she'd once said, her voice deceptively casual, "Could you get y/n a drink too? She looks parched." Sanji had paused, a tray laden with beverages in his hands, before stiffly turning. "Of course, Nami-swan. Here, y/n," he'd said, his voice flat, not a hint of his usual warmth, as he placed a glass down with a thud that was almost too loud. You’d just given him a tight, polite smile, the kind that didn't reach your eyes.

Usopp and Chopper, ever the observant duo when they weren't caught up in their own antics, also started to notice. They'd seen your playful jabs, initially brushing them off as harmless teasing. But the gleam in your eye when Sanji bristled, the way your voice sharpened ever so slightly when addressing him, began to stand out. You, who were normally so gentle, so patient, became almost… thorny around him.

"Did you hear that, Chopper?" Usopp whispered one evening after you'd pointedly commented on the "unusual" texture of Sanji's bread, making him scowl. "Y/n sounds kinda… spiky lately, especially when Sanji's around." Chopper, his little nose twitching, murmured, "Yeah, and Sanji's always so quiet when he talks to y/n, not like how he is with Nami or Robin."

Even Luffy, despite his single-minded focus on meat and adventure, registered the shift. He might not grasp the nuances of social dynamics, but he understood the feeling of a crewmate being left out. He’d noticed Sanji never offered you the first bite of a new dish, or that your plate often seemed to be the last to be refilled. He'd also seen your smile falter, your eyes lose their usual spark when Sanji was present.

The silence between you and Sanji, once just an absence, had become a palpable presence on the ship, a cold current that occasionally brushed against the other Straw Hats. It was no longer just your private battle. The crew, one by one, was beginning to see the strained cords that bound you and Sanji, or rather, the lack thereof. The question was, what, if anything, would they do about it?

The frigid air bit at your cheeks, a stark contrast to the usual warmth of the Thousand Sunny. Snow swirled around the deck, settling on the railings and dusting the already icy waters as you approached a winter island. You were making your rounds, a notepad in hand, compiling a list of necessary supplies. It was a task you often took on, enjoying the chance to contribute in your own practical way.

"Luffy," you'd asked, pulling your scarf tighter, "anything for your meat stash?" He’d grinned, a cloud of steam puffing from his mouth, "More! Always more, y/n!" Nami needed warmer fabrics for her mapping table, Usopp wanted extra gunpowder, and Chopper, ever the doctor, requested more medical herbs. You moved through the crew, a quiet hum of efficiency, until you reached Sanji, who was meticulously wiping down a snow-dusted window in the galley, his back to you.

"Sanji," you began, your voice crisp in the cold air, "Anything you need from the island? Spices? Fresh produce?"

He paused, then, without turning, grunted, "No."

The single, blunt word, devoid of any warmth, any consideration, snapped something inside you. The quiet rage, the passive-aggressive jabs, all boiled over into a furious heat that defied the icy weather.

"No?!" you exploded, your voice echoing off the frosted deck. You slammed your notepad against your leg, the sound surprisingly loud. "That's it? Just 'no'? Do you always have to be such a dismissive jerk, Sanji?! What is your problem with me?! I've been trying for years to just get along with you, to understand why you look at me like I'm a particularly annoying insect! Why do you hate me so much?!"

Your chest heaved, the words tumbling out in a torrent of pent-up frustration. For the first time, you saw him freeze, his hand still on the window. He slowly turned, and his usual suave demeanor was completely gone. His eyes, usually sharp and discerning, were wide with genuine shock. He seemed utterly taken aback by your outburst, as if you’d just spoken in an alien tongue. He opened his mouth, then closed it, a rare silence falling between you.

Before either of you could speak another word, a deafening crack rent the air. The ship lurched violently, throwing you both off balance. A colossal shudder ran through the Thousand Sunny, the sound of splintering wood groaning beneath your feet.

"ICEBERG!" Zoro's roar cut through the blizzard, followed swiftly by Franky's frantic shouts. "Cola blast! Brace yourselves, SUPER!"

The ship shot forward with a jolt, Franky using a desperate burst of cola-fueled power to ram them directly onto the ice-laden coast of the winter island. The impact was brutal, sending you sprawling. When you pushed yourself up, the blizzard had intensified to a white-out, whipping snow and ice into a blinding frenzy. The Thousand Sunny lay listing precariously, a gaping wound visible near its hull.

"Everyone! Off the ship! We need to find shelter!" Luffy's voice, though muffled by the wind, was clear and urgent.

Amidst the chaos, the crew scrambled. You, still reeling from your outburst and the sudden impact, found yourself disoriented. A hand, unexpectedly firm, grabbed your arm. It was Sanji, his face grim, eyes scanning the swirling snow. "This way! We need to stick together!" he barked, his voice devoid of its usual dryness, replaced by a raw urgency you'd never heard directed at you.

Pulled by his grip, you stumbled through the deepening snow, the blizzard roaring around you. Your argument was forgotten, overshadowed by the immediate, terrifying reality. As the rest of the crew fanned out, searching for any sign of shelter in the blinding storm, you and Sanji, by sheer, awful coincidence, were pushed together, forced to navigate the freezing, hostile landscape side-by-side.

The blizzard was a suffocating shroud, reducing visibility to mere feet. The biting wind howled, tearing at your clothes and threatening to rip you from your feet. Sanji's grip on your wrist tightened, pulling you forward. He was a solid presence, a dark silhouette against the swirling white, his broad back offering a meager shield from the relentless onslaught of snow. You stumbled behind him, your boots sinking into the drifts, the cold seeping into your bones.

"Keep up, y/n!" his voice, strained against the wind, cut through the din.

You gritted your teeth. "I'm trying, you idiot! It's a bit hard to see where I'm going when you're dragging me!"

He didn't respond, just pulled you harder, his pace relentless. You could feel the tremor in your own body, a mixture of cold and the lingering shock from the ship's impact. The hand he held, surprisingly warm despite the freezing air, was the only anchor in the disorienting chaos. You didn't miss the chivalrous tone he used with Nami or Robin, but for the first time, you appreciated the raw, unadulterated command in his voice. It was focused, desperate, and for once, not directed against you.

After what felt like an eternity, the faint glimmers of light appeared through the swirling snow – a town. The storm had ravaged it, leaving most buildings dark, but a few defiant beacons pierced the gloom.

"Over there!" Sanji yelled, pointing towards a cluster of houses, his voice hoarse. "Let's find shelter!"

You followed, your lungs burning, your legs aching with effort. The world outside the immediate vicinity of Sanji's back was a blur of white and grey. You didn't realize you'd lost the others until you were halfway down what appeared to be the town's main street, the lights of the Thousand Sunny no longer visible behind you.

"The others… we've lost them," you gasped, clutching your side.

Sanji spared a quick glance over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed against the driving snow. "They'll find their own way. We need to focus on us right now." His words were curt, but lacked the usual venom. It was just a statement of fact, born of the dire circumstances.

They approached a small, sturdy-looking house with a faint glow emanating from its windows. Sanji let go of your hand, only to immediately place a reassuring, firm hand on your back, nudging you towards the door. He raised a gloved fist and knocked, a series of urgent thuds that seemed to echo in the eerie silence of the blizzard.

The waiting was agonizing. The wind howled, mimicking a mournful cry, and the snow piled up around your boots. You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"No one's home?" you whispered, your voice thin with cold and anxiety.

Sanji’s eyes were fixed on the door, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Someone has to be," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He knocked again, harder this time. The silence stretched, broken only by the relentless storm. You both stood there, two unlikely companions, huddled together against the overwhelming might of nature, waiting for a stranger to open the door to warmth and safety.

Just as despair began to creep in, a sliver of light widened from within. The door creaked open, revealing the worried, wrinkled face of an old woman, her eyes kind even in the dim glow of the oil lamp she held. Before Sanji could utter a word, you surged forward, your usual composure shattered by the biting cold and mounting desperation.

"Please!" you gasped, your voice raw, your teeth chattering. "Please, ma'am, we're lost! Our ship... it hit something. We've lost our crew, and it's so cold, we don't know where they are! We just need shelter from the storm, please!" You were practically pleading, your hands clasped together, a stark contrast to your earlier sharp demeanor.

The woman’s soft smile deepened, etched with an ancient understanding. "Oh, you poor dears," she murmured, her voice like warm honey. She opened the door wider, a waft of heat and the comforting scent of woodsmoke washing over you. "Come in, come in! You look frozen to the bone."

You stumbled inside, Sanji following closely behind, the immediate warmth of the small, cozy house a physical relief. The woman closed the heavy door, shutting out the furious howl of the blizzard. As you both stood dripping on her worn rug, she looked between you, her gaze lingering on Sanji's hand, still instinctively near your back, and your proximity.

"My, my," she chuckled, a gentle sound. "It's a terrible night for young sweethearts to be caught out in."

Your head snapped up, and you quickly shook your head, the words tumbling out. "Oh, no, ma'am! We're not... we're not a couple. We're just shipmates! Part of the same crew."

The old woman’s eyes twinkled, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Is that so?" she hummed, picking up two thick, fluffy towels from a nearby rack. "Well, either way, you both need warming up." She handed you one, then Sanji the other. "Here, dry yourselves. You're soaked through. I might have some clothes for you, too – they belonged to my son and daughter, so they might be a bit big, but they'll be dry." She gestured towards a small, adjoining room. "Go on, there's a washbasin in there if you wish to freshen up. I'll get some hot cocoa brewing."

As you clutched the warm towel, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. The woman, with her quiet kindness, had a way of making you feel instantly safe. Sanji, for his part, remained unusually silent, his gaze fixed on the steaming mug she placed on a small table.

"You can spend the night here," the woman offered, her voice soft but firm. "It's far too dangerous to venture out in this storm. We'll ride it out together."

You nodded, tears pricking your eyes at her generosity. "Thank you," you whispered, unable to say more. The prospect of warmth, dry clothes, and a safe haven, even with Sanji, felt like an unimaginable luxury after the harrowing ordeal outside.

The warmth of the small room was a welcome comfort. You peeled off your soaked, freezing clothes, relishing the feeling of dry fabric against your skin. The old woman's "daughter's clothes" turned out to be a pair of soft, heather-gray sweatpants that pooled slightly at your ankles, and a worn, but incredibly cozy, long-sleeved t-shirt that smelled faintly of lavender. You rolled up the sleeves, feeling a strange, unfamiliar ease settling over you.

When you emerged, Sanji was already by the small, crackling fireplace, a steaming mug cradled in his hands. He'd been given a pair of dark, well-fitting trousers that seemed to mold to his lean frame, and a simple, yet undeniably stylish, dark blue sweater that brought out the startling blue of his eyes. Even rumpled and in borrowed clothes, he managed to look effortlessly put-together.

The old woman bustled in with two mugs of rich, dark hot cocoa, handing one to you. "Here you go, dears. Warm yourselves from the inside out." She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'll just go prepare your room. Make yourselves at home." With a gentle nod, she disappeared down a short hallway.

A silence fell, thick and heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant howl of the wind. You took a long, fortifying sip of your cocoa, letting the sweetness coat your tongue. Sanji was staring into the flames, his brow furrowed in a way you rarely saw – not his usual frustrated scowl, but a deep, almost pensive look.

"So," you began, breaking the quiet, "our best bet is to wait out the storm, obviously. Then, first thing in the morning, we need to head back to the Sunny. See how bad the damage is. If we can get a message to Franky and the others, that would be ideal. Maybe a flare, or some kind of signal." You outlined the plan, detailing each step, trying to fill the oppressive void between you.

Sanji simply nodded, his gaze still fixed on the dancing flames. He didn't offer a single comment, a suggestion, or even a dismissive grunt. He just listened, a distant look in his eyes, as if his mind was miles away, grappling with something far more profound than ship repairs. His uncharacteristic quietness was almost more unnerving than his usual barbs. You found yourself watching him, trying to decipher the complex emotions that seemed to be warring beneath his stoic facade.

The silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant shriek of the blizzard. You watched Sanji, waiting for him to finally break his thoughtful quiet. He shifted, opening his mouth as if to speak, a faint crease forming between his brows. You held your breath, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity bubbling inside you.

But before he could utter a word, the old woman reappeared, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Alright, dears, your room is ready." She gestured down the short hallway. "Follow me."

You both rose, following her to a small, unassuming door. She pushed it open, and you stepped inside, the warm glow of a single oil lamp illuminating the space. The room was small, cozy, and surprisingly inviting. A small, sturdy wooden table stood against one wall, a fresh vase of dried wildflowers upon it. A single window, heavily curtained, muffled the storm's fury. It felt… homely, a stark contrast to the rough-and-tumble nature of the Thousand Sunny.

There was just one problem.

In the center of the room, neatly made with thick woolen blankets, stood a single, surprisingly spacious, bed. It was clear there were no other sleeping arrangements. You glanced at Sanji, then back at the bed, a flush creeping up your neck. His eyes, though still clouded with his earlier thoughts, also registered the immediate, awkward realization. The woman, oblivious to the sudden tension, beamed. "There you go. Get some rest. You both look like you need it." She patted your arm gently. "Good night, dears." With another soft smile, she closed the door, leaving you and Sanji alone with the roaring storm outside and the very obvious sleeping arrangement inside.

The click of the door latch echoed in the small room, amplifying the sudden, overwhelming awkwardness. You stared at the single bed, then at Sanji, who had also frozen, his back still partially turned towards you. A hot flush crept up your neck, mirroring the warmth you could almost feel radiating from Sanji's ears, though he immediately spun around, presenting you with his profile. His eyes, usually so expressive, were carefully blank, but the tell-tale redness creeping up his neck betrayed his composure.

"Well," you blurted out, your voice higher than intended, "this is… unexpected." You gestured wildly at the bed, then at the limited floor space. "There's only one bed! What are we supposed to do?" Your mind raced, conjuring images of uncomfortable nights spent huddled in sleeping bags, but even those seemed preferable to this.

Sanji cleared his throat, pushing a hand through his hair, his movements stiff. "Obviously," he muttered, his voice unusually strained, "we'll figure something out. It's a temporary arrangement." He refused to meet your gaze, instead focusing intently on a knot in the wooden floorboards. The sudden shift in his demeanor, from stern navigator to flustered stranger, was almost comical, if the situation wasn't so utterly mortifying. He was trying, desperately, to project an air of calm indifference, but the faint tremor in his hands as he stuffed them into his pockets told a different story. You, too, felt your cheeks burn, realizing that despite everything, the idea of sharing a bed with him was, for both of you, a uniquely mortifying prospect.

The tension in the small room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Sanji, still with his back mostly to you, finally spoke, his voice tight. "Look, I'll just... I'll take the floor. It's fine." He gestured vaguely towards the rug near the fireplace, as if the plush blankets of the bed were an insult to his honor.

Your immediate, ingrained reaction was to argue. Not out of concern for him, not really, but because the very idea of him making a grand, self-sacrificing gesture felt like another subtle jab, another way for him to highlight the chasm between you. And besides, the floor looked painfully cold.

"Don't be an idiot," you retorted, perhaps a little too sharply. "It's freezing in here. You'll catch your death." You eyed the bed. "It's a big enough bed. We can just… not face each other. And not touch each other." The words felt ridiculous even as you said them, laying out these absurd rules for two people who usually spent their time either ignoring or subtly tormenting one another.

Sanji stiffened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before he quickly masked it. He turned to face the bed, then you, his expression carefully neutral. "Right," he muttered, "fine. Just... stick to your side." The implicit warning was clear: cross the invisible line, and the already fragile truce would shatter. You nodded curtly, the unspoken agreement hanging heavy in the air. The bed, once a symbol of comfort, now felt like a battleground.

You turned away from Sanji, the single bed looming between you like an unspoken challenge. You moved to the far side, pulling back the thick woolen blanket with a quiet rustle. The soft scent of clean linen filled the air, a stark contrast to the storm raging outside and the storm brewing inside your own chest. As you sat on the edge of the bed, about to swing your legs under the covers, Sanji's voice, low and hesitant, broke the tense silence.

"Earlier," he began, his back still partially to you as he meticulously folded his borrowed sweater, "what you said... on deck."

You froze, your hands on the blanket. The fury of your outburst had been swallowed by the chaos of the iceberg and the blizzard, but now, the memory of your words hung heavy in the air. A wave of mild embarrassment washed over you, quickly followed by the familiar sting of resentment.

"I'm sorry I yelled," you said, your voice flat, devoid of real warmth. You weren't sorry for the words themselves, only for the uncontrolled manner in which they'd erupted. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. "But I meant it. All of it." You turned to face him, your expression carefully neutral, the anger in your voice replaced by a chillingly even tone. "I don't understand it, Sanji. I really don't. From the moment I joined this crew, you've treated me like I'm dirt under your boot. You can charm any woman, flatter any lady, but with me? It's like I'm invisible, or worse, a nuisance. Every conversation is a grunt, every interaction a dismissal. What have I done to make you hate me so much?" The last words were spoken with a quiet intensity that belied the calm facade.

Sanji slowly turned to face you, his hands now resting idly at his sides. His expression, usually so readable when it came to his passionate emotions, was genuinely bewildered. His brows were drawn together, not in anger, but in what looked like genuine confusion. "Hate you?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper, the question laced with an disbelief that seemed utterly sincere. He didn't offer a quick retort, didn't deflect with a joke or a sharp comment. He just stood there, looking at you as if you'd just accused him of the most preposterous thing imaginable, his mind clearly reeling from your direct accusation. The thought, he realized, had never even crossed his mind.

Sanji stood there, the bewildered look still etched on his face, as if your words had struck him like a physical blow. He ran a hand through his blond hair, the gesture one of profound confusion rather than irritation.

"Hate you?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, still incredulous. He finally met your gaze, and for the first time, you saw something other than coldness or dismissal in his eyes. There was a raw honesty there, a vulnerability that startled you.

"I don't... I don't hate you, y/n," he began, his voice rough. "That's... that's not it at all." He paused, searching for the right words, something he rarely seemed to struggle with when addressing other women. "It's... it's complicated."

He took a step closer, then stopped himself, as if remembering the precarious truce between you. "Look, you're a Straw Hat. You're nakama. I'd die for any of you, you know that. Just like I'd die for Nami-san or Robin-chan, or even that moss-head." He gestured vaguely in the direction of where Zoro presumably was, trapped in the blizzard. "But... with you..." He trailed off, looking away again, his ears still a faint shade of red.

"It's just... I'm a chef. A love cook," he finally managed, turning back to you, his gaze earnest. "My passion is cooking for the ladies, seeing their smiles, making them feel like queens. It's... it's how I show my appreciation, my respect, my... my everything. And you..." He gestured vaguely at you, then quickly dropped his hand, his eyes flitting away. "You just... you make it hard."

He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost a confession. "Every time I tried to do it, to be... me... around you, it felt different. Not right. I'd try to give you a compliment, and the words would just... get stuck. Or they'd come out wrong. And then I'd see you look at me, and I'd just... I'd just clam up. So I just... stopped trying." He finally looked at you fully, his blue eyes holding a desperate plea for understanding. "It was easier to just... keep my distance. To be dry. Because if I tried to be the Sanji I am for every other woman, for you, I was afraid I'd just make a fool of myself. Or worse... I was afraid I'd mess it up completely."

He wasn't finished. "The more I tried to push you away, the more I... the more I realized how much I didn't want to. And that just made it worse. I was frustrated with myself, not with you. So I acted like an idiot. I'm sorry." He finished, his voice barely audible, the last word a quiet admission, a stark contrast to the flamboyant declarations he usually made. The confession hung in the air, a fragile, unexpected bridge between the two of you.

Sanji's confession hung in the air, a fragile, unexpected bridge between the two of you. The blizzard howled outside, a stark contrast to the sudden, almost unnerving quiet that had settled in the room. You stared at him, your mind racing to process his words. "You… you were afraid you'd mess it up?" you finally repeated, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. The idea that the confident, woman-adoring Black Leg Sanji could be afraid around you, that his dismissiveness stemmed from some twisted form of self-preservation, was utterly baffling.

He nodded, a faint blush returning to his cheeks. "Yeah," he muttered, looking away. "Every time I tried to... to just be normal, or to flirt, or to show you the same attention I give Nami-san or Robin-chan, it felt... wrong. Like I was performing a bad act. And then I'd see your face, and I'd think I'd just made you uncomfortable, or that you thought I was even more of an idiot." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of exasperation. "It was easier to just be quiet, to keep you at arm's length. It was stupid, I know. It was cowardly."

You sat there, absorbing his explanation. The years of perceived hatred, the gnawing question of what you’d done wrong, began to unravel. It wasn't hate. It was… fear. Fear of not being able to be his usual charming self, fear of not being able to express whatever it was he felt for you in a way that felt authentic to him. The realization was disorienting.

"So," you said slowly, testing the words, "all this time... you weren't brushing me off because you hated me. You were... avoiding me because you didn't know how to treat me like you treat other women?"

He finally met your gaze, a hesitant, almost hopeful look in his blue eyes. "Something like that," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I just... couldn't figure you out. And when I tried, it felt like I was failing. So I gave up. Which was the biggest mistake of all."

The tension in your shoulders, a constant companion for years, began to ease. The cold, quiet anger that had simmered within you started to dissipate, replaced by a bewildering mix of relief, confusion, and a strange, nascent warmth. The picture you had painted of Sanji in your mind, the one of the cruel, dismissive cook, was crumbling, replaced by a much more complex, and surprisingly vulnerable, man. The blizzard outside continued its furious dance, but in the small, cozy room, a different kind of storm was finally beginning to clear.

A strange, bubbling sensation began in your chest. It started as a faint tremor, then grew, until a soft, disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. It wasn't a malicious laugh, nor one of triumph, but a sound of sheer, bewildered amusement. "You... you were afraid?" The absurdity of it, after all the years of hurt and resentment, was almost overwhelming.

Sanji, for his part, actually let out a quiet chuckle, a short, almost embarrassed sound. The sound was so foreign, so unexpected from him in your presence, that it startled you. The stiffness in his shoulders seemed to loosen, and some of the defensive tension in the room began to dissipate.

The anger you'd carried for so long, the bitter taste of perceived hatred, now felt ridiculous, a heavy cloak shed in the face of this bizarre, almost comical revelation. You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw not the cold, dismissive cook you'd painted in your mind, but a man who was clearly flustered, genuinely sorry, and shockingly, a little vulnerable.

"I mean, I get it," you started, a faint smile playing on your lips. "Your whole thing is… chivalry. Ladies first, all that. And with me, it just… short-circuited?" You paused, collecting your thoughts, the earlier intensity in your voice replaced by a lighter, more reflective tone. "From my side, it felt like I was doing something wrong. Every time I tried to be friendly, or to help, or even just to exist in the same room as you, you'd just… shut down. Or walk away. Or grunt. It felt personal, Sanji. Like you genuinely couldn't stand the sight of me."

You gestured vaguely, encompassing the years of strained interactions. "I thought you found me annoying, or ugly, or just completely unlikable. And it hurt. It really did. So, eventually, I just stopped trying. And then I got angry. Because why should I keep trying if you clearly hated me for no reason?"

Sanji listened, his gaze steady on yours. This time, there was no sign of defensiveness, only a profound understanding dawning in his eyes. When you finished, he nodded slowly, running a hand over the back of his neck.

"I see it now," he said, his voice soft, entirely devoid of its usual brashness. "From your side... yeah, I can see how it looked that way. I truly am sorry, y/n. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just... an idiot. A complete, selfish idiot who let his own stupid hang-ups turn me into a jerk." He looked at the floor, then back at you, a genuine regret etched on his face. "There was no excuse for how I acted. And you didn't deserve it. Not from me, not from anyone."

The unspoken weight that had burdened your relationship for so long began to lift, a tangible shift in the atmosphere between you. The years of misunderstanding, of unspoken grievances, were finally laid bare, allowing a fragile new beginning to emerge from the wreckage of the past.A fragile silence settled between you, no longer tense or awkward, but laden with the weight of years of unspoken words finally released. The blizzard outside seemed a distant hum compared to the quiet revolution that had just taken place within the cozy room.

"Well," you said, a soft, almost shaky breath escaping your lips. "It was quite a way to clear things up, wasn't it? Yelling on deck in a blizzard, then crashing a ship." A small, genuine smile touched your lips, and Sanji, to your surprise, offered one back, a rare, unguarded expression that softened his features.

"Yeah," he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Not exactly my usual approach to… communication." He rubbed the back of his neck again, then finally, tentatively, walked towards the bed, sitting down on the edge, a comfortable distance from you.

"So," you began, a new kind of curiosity sparking within you, "what now? Do we… just pretend none of that happened for the last few years?" You weren't asking to forget the hurt, but rather how to move forward from this unexpected confession.

Sanji looked at the fire, then at his hands, before meeting your gaze. "No," he said, his voice firm, "we don't pretend it didn't happen. I was a complete ass, and I need to make up for it. I... I want to try. To be better. To actually be your nakama, properly. If you'll let me." His blue eyes held a sincerity that you'd never seen directed at you before, a quiet plea that was more impactful than any grand declaration.

You considered his words, the genuine regret in his tone. The thought of letting go of the anger, of allowing this unexpected vulnerability to reshape your understanding of him, felt both daunting and incredibly liberating. The idea of a future where you didn't have to brace yourself for his dismissals, where a true camaraderie might actually exist between you, was almost too good to imagine.

"Okay, Sanji," you said softly, a genuine warmth spreading through you, finally melting the last vestiges of your resentment. "Okay. Let's try."

A visible wave of relief washed over his face, and a faint, shy smile played on his lips. "Thank you, y/n," he murmured. "Truly."

The air in the room, once thick with unspoken animosity, now felt lighter, cleared by the honest words finally shared. The storm outside raged on, but inside, a fragile peace, a new beginning, had finally dawned. You both settled deeper into your respective sides of the single bed, the unspoken agreement of no touching, no facing, still in place, but somehow, the space between you no longer felt like a chasm, but merely a respectful distance. The long night ahead, once a source of dread, now held the quiet promise of something entirely new.

The unspoken truce hung in the air, a silent agreement to navigate the shared space with newfound respect. You lay on your side of the bed, facing away from Sanji, listening to the rhythmic howl of the wind against the windowpanes. Every rustle of the blankets, every shifting of weight, felt amplified in the quiet room. You could sense Sanji on his side, equally still, perhaps grappling with the same awkward awareness.

Sleep felt like an impossible feat. Your mind replayed the evening's events: the explosive argument, the ship's violent crash, and then, most surprisingly, Sanji's raw confession. It was a lot to process, a complete re-framing of a relationship you’d long resigned yourself to being perpetually fractured.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an hour. You adjusted your pillow, trying to find a comfortable position, keenly aware of the warmth emanating from the other side of the bed. Just as you were about to give up and stare at the ceiling, a soft, even breathing began to register from behind you. Sanji, it seemed, had managed to drift off.

A wave of unexpected peace washed over you. The anger was truly gone, replaced by a strange lightness. The knowledge that he didn't hate you, that his distance had been a clumsy, misguided attempt to protect... something, allowed you to finally relax. With a quiet sigh, you let your eyelids drift shut, the gentle crackle of the fire and the distant lullaby of the storm finally lulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep. For the first time in a very long time, you slept soundly, free from the weight of resentment, and surprisingly, not alone.

You awoke slowly, not to the blare of a ship's bell or the familiar creak of the Thousand Sunny, but to an unfamiliar warmth. For a moment, you lay still, confused by the unexpected comfort, the gentle pressure against your back. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the soft light filtering through the heavy curtains. The storm had quieted, replaced by the hushed stillness of a snowy morning.

Then, you became acutely aware of the weight around your waist, the steady rhythm of breath against your hair. A jolt went through you as the realization hit. Sanji.

His arm was draped securely over your middle, drawing you back against his chest. His other hand was tucked beneath your head, his fingers lightly brushing your hair. You could feel the soft material of his borrowed sweater against your back, the warmth of his body radiating through you. He was still deep in sleep, his breathing even and peaceful.

Your own breath hitched. The carefully maintained distance from the night before, the unspoken rules of no touching, no facing, had dissolved in the unconsciousness of sleep. Here, in the quiet intimacy of the morning, all the barriers that had defined your relationship for so long had simply... melted away. You lay there, frozen, acutely aware of every point of contact, the surprising comfort of his embrace, and the sheer, overwhelming surprise of it all.

Your breath hitched. The reality of Sanji's arm around you, his warmth a comforting furnace against your back, crashed over you. Every instinct screamed. Freak out. Move. Get away. But another, quieter part of you, the one that had just experienced a night of profound, unexpected peace, hesitated. Then, you heard a soft shift behind you, a faint sigh, and a new wave of panic surged. He was waking up.

Your eyes snapped shut, lids squeezed tight, and you went completely rigid, feigning the deepest sleep of your life. You slowed your breathing, trying to mimic the gentle rhythm of slumber, praying he wouldn't notice your sudden stiffness. The warmth of his arm lingered, then, slowly, tentatively, you felt him shift. His grip loosened, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he might pull away completely.

Instead, the pressure against your back lessened as he seemed to prop himself up on an elbow. You could feel his gaze on the back of your head, burning into you even through your closed eyelids. You held your breath, every nerve ending screaming with awareness.

Then, a feather-light touch brushed your forehead. So soft, so brief, you almost imagined it. It was his lips. A gentle, lingering kiss, a moment suspended in the quiet morning.

A soft whisper followed, barely audible, rough with sleep and a vulnerability that pierced through your feigned slumber. "You have no idea, do you, y/n?" His voice was a raw murmur, a confession whispered into the silent room, meant only for the ears of a sleeping person. "You have no idea how much I... how much I actually adore you."

The words hit you with the force of a physical blow, stripping away every layer of pretense, every lingering shred of doubt. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat in your ears. You lay motionless, a silent, stunned witness to a confession that reshaped everything you thought you knew about him, and about yourself. The "hate" had been a lie, a clumsy shield for a truth far more profound and terrifyingly beautiful.

The weight of his words, of his unexpected confession, pressed down on you. You lay there, still feigning sleep, every fiber of your being buzzing with the shock of "adore you." It was a word so far removed from "hate," from "dismissal," it was as if an entirely different person had whispered it. You felt a tremor run through his arm, a final, lingering caress as he slowly, carefully, began to withdraw.

The warmth against your back dissipated, replaced by the cool morning air. You heard the soft rustle of blankets as he eased himself out of bed. The floorboards creaked faintly as he moved. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, listening intently. A soft sigh escaped him, then the sound of fabric rubbing together, indicating he was likely pulling on his borrowed clothes.

Finally, you heard his footsteps pad softly across the room towards the door. The latch clicked, barely audible, and then silence. He was gone, presumably to find the old woman and inquire about his and your dry clothes.

You waited a beat, two, three, just to be sure. Then, slowly, cautiously, your eyes fluttered open. The room was still, the light soft and diffused. You pushed yourself up, the warmth of the bed already fading, replaced by the chill of the morning. Your mind raced, replaying his whisper, the feel of his lips on your forehead. Adore you. It echoed in the quiet room, a profound, undeniable truth that had just rewritten years of your life. The world, or at least your world with Sanji, had just irrevocably shifted. You slid out of bed, your feet touching the cool floor, your heart still hammering in your chest.

You moved to the small window, pushing aside the heavy curtains. Outside, the world was a pristine landscape of untouched snow, glistening under a pale, serene sky. The storm had passed, leaving behind a breathtaking, silent beauty. Yet, your mind was anything but serene. Adore you. The words resonated, shaking the very foundations of your understanding.

You dressed quickly in the borrowed sweatpants and shirt, the warmth of the fabric a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your head. Every interaction, every dismissive glance, every terse word from Sanji over the years now replayed in your mind, seen through the new, astonishing lens of his confession. His frustration hadn't been with you, but with himself, with his inability to express something far deeper than mere chivalry.

As you stepped out of the room, the scent of something savory wafted from the kitchen. You found Sanji and the old woman chatting by a crackling stove, the woman stirring a pot while Sanji, now in his own dry clothes, politely poured her a cup of tea. He looked up as you entered, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze met yours. A subtle blush dusted his cheeks, and his eyes, usually so direct, quickly darted away.

"Ah, good morning, dear!" the old woman chirped, her smile as warm as the fire. "Sanji here was just telling me about your ship. Sounds like quite the adventure!"

You offered a weak smile, still reeling. "It certainly was, ma'am." You risked another glance at Sanji. He wpas carefully avoiding your eyes, his posture a little stiffer than usual. The confident, charming cook of the Thousand Sunny was clearly flustered, wrestling with the aftermath of his unwitting confession.

The air between you felt different, charged with unspoken knowledge. The playful banter, the subtle jabs, even the cold silence of the past, all seemed like childish games now, replaced by a profound, almost overwhelming awareness. The question wasn't if you'd heard him, but what came next.

The scent of hot breakfast and the cozy warmth of the old woman’s home were a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, but the need to find the crew weighed heavily. You and Sanji exchanged a silent, knowing glance. The time for awkward revelations and stunned silences was over; the mission, finding your nakama, was paramount.

"Thank you, ma'am," Sanji said, bowing deeply to the old woman as she handed him a small, neatly wrapped package of provisions. "For everything. You saved us."

"Indeed," you added, a genuine warmth in your voice as you took her soft, wrinkled hand. "We can't thank you enough for your kindness."

The old woman smiled, her eyes twinkling as they flitted between you and Sanji. "Nonsense, dears. Just be safe out there. And do come back if you ever pass this way again."

With final goodbyes and heartfelt promises, you both stepped out of the warm house and back into the crisp, cold air of the winter island. The blizzard had completely subsided, leaving behind a world blanketed in pristine, untouched snow that sparkled under the gentle morning sun. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, promising a clearer day for travel.

The immediate silence was deafening after the cozy chatter of the house. You and Sanji began to trek through the deep snow, the only sounds the crunch of your boots and the distant calls of unseen birds. The Thousand Sunny was a dark, distant smudge against the stark white landscape, a visible landmark in the vast expanse.

"We should head for the ship first," you stated, your breath misting in the air. "Franky will be trying to assess the damage, and the others will likely rendezvous there."

Sanji nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Agreed. We need to find out the extent of the repairs needed. And make sure everyone else is alright." His voice was back to its usual controlled tone, the lingering vulnerability from the morning confession carefully tucked away, for now. Yet, the air between you was no longer charged with animosity, but with a new, tentative understanding. The journey to find your crew now felt like a shared mission, bound by more than just pirate loyalties.

The crunch of snow under your boots was the loudest sound as you and Sanji began the long trek towards the Thousand Sunny. The crisp, clean air filled your lungs, and the silent, vast expanse of the snow-covered island stretched before you. The ship, still a distant, dark silhouette, stood as your beacon.

The journey was long, punctuated only by the occasional gust of wind that stirred the snow into dancing eddies. You found yourselves walking side-by-side, a comfortable silence settling between you that was entirely new. It wasn't the strained, awkward quiet of before, but a peaceful absence of needing to fill the space. You were both focused on the task, but a quiet understanding, a newly forged connection, hummed beneath the surface.

As you walked, you occasionally glanced at Sanji. He seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowed, but not with the familiar irritation. It was a contemplative look, almost somber. You wondered if he was replaying the events of the morning, just as you were. The "adore you" echoed in your mind, a secret shared between the two of you, unknown to the world, and for now, to him.

After what felt like hours, the Thousand Sunny began to grow larger, its familiar mast and distinctive figurehead slowly taking shape. The damage, even from a distance, looked substantial. The hull was visibly breached, and the ship was listing heavily, a testament to the force of the collision.

"Looks like Franky will have his work cut out for him," you murmured, the sight of the damaged ship bringing a fresh wave of concern.

Sanji nodded, his gaze hardening with resolve. "Yeah, but if anyone can fix it, it's him." His voice held a quiet determination, already shifting into the protective, reliable mode of a Straw Hat crewmate.

As you drew closer, you could hear faint shouts and the clang of metal. Relief washed over you. The others were there, working. The shared ordeal of the night, the surprising intimacy of the morning, and now the sight of your nakama, united by crisis, solidified the fragile new understanding between you and Sanji. The journey back to your crew felt less like an escape from the storm, and more like a return to a home that, for the first time, truly felt complete.

As you and Sanji finally reached the Thousand Sunny, the scene was one of controlled chaos. Franky, stripped to his waist despite the cold, roared instructions as he welded a temporary patch onto the gaping hole in the hull. Zoro was hauling splintered wood away, his muscles straining, while Usopp and Chopper scurried around, gathering tools and bandages. Nami was huddled with Robin over a map, likely already charting a course for repairs. Luffy, ever himself, was attempting to fish through a hole in the ice, occasionally snagging a frozen boot instead of a fish.

"Y/N! SANJI!" Luffy's delighted shout cut through the din, and he abandoned his fishing immediately, rubber limbs stretching to engulf you both in a bone-crushing hug. "You're okay! We were worried!"

"We found shelter with a kind old woman in town," you explained, pulling free from Luffy's embrace, your gaze finding Nami's relieved expression. "She let us stay the night. The storm was too bad to move."

Sanji, meanwhile, was already peeling off his coat, his eyes scanning the damaged ship with a professional intensity. "The old woman was a lifesaver," he confirmed, then turned to Franky. "How bad is it, Franky? Can she sail?"

"SUPER unfortunate, but we'll manage!" Franky boomed, sparks flying from his welding torch. "Need some major patching up, but we can get her seaworthy enough to reach the next island!"

Without a moment's hesitation, you and Sanji integrated yourselves into the work. You began helping Chopper organize the medical supplies, making sure everything was accounted for after the crash. Sanji, ever the multi-tasker, quickly assessed the remaining food stores, then joined Zoro in hauling heavier debris, his movements efficient and strong.

The crew, however, began to notice. It wasn't just that you were both present and safe. It was the way you interacted. You and Sanji, the two members of the crew who had always seemed to exist on separate, icy planes, were now moving with an easy, almost natural coordination.

"Need a hand with that, y/n?" Sanji asked once, his voice surprisingly gentle, as you struggled to lift a heavy crate of supplies. He stepped in before you could answer, effortlessly hoisting it himself. You met his eyes, and a small, genuine smile touched your lips. "Thanks, Sanji."

Later, as you passed him a tool he needed for a repair, he offered a quick, appreciative nod. You even caught a glimpse of him laughing softly at something you said to Usopp, a genuine, unforced sound that warmed you. The subtle jabs were gone, replaced by polite requests, easy cooperation, and even shared smiles. The tension that had always hummed between you had vanished, replaced by a nascent, comfortable camaraderie. The Straw Hats, a family that knew each other intimately, couldn't help but notice the profound, undeniable shift.

As the day wore on, patching the Thousand Sunny became a unified effort, but the subtle shifts between you and Sanji didn't go unnoticed.

During a brief break, while Franky was retrieving more supplies, Nami leaned towards Robin, a speculative look on her face. "Did you see that?" she whispered, nodding towards you and Sanji, who were currently conferring over a length of rope. "They're actually talking... without arguing."

Robin's usual serene smile deepened. "Indeed, Nami. The atmosphere around them seems remarkably lighter."

Over by the main mast, Usopp nudged Chopper with his elbow. "Hey, Sanji just handed y/n a wrench without even grunting! And she actually smiled at him! What's going on?"

Chopper tilted his head, his innocent eyes wide. "Maybe they finally made up from their big fight?"

Even Zoro, who usually paid little mind to anything beyond fighting and napping, cast a sidelong glance at the pair of you. He saw Sanji offer you a flask of hot water, a gesture of quiet consideration, and observed you accepting it with a comfortable nod, not a bristling retort. There was a quiet hum of curiosity spreading through the crew, a subtle acknowledgment of the monumental shift.

The next week was a revelation. With the Thousand Sunny undergoing extensive repairs, confined to the icy shores of the winter island, daily life became a continuous, shared endeavor. And with it, the dynamic between you and Sanji transformed in ways no one, least of all you two, had anticipated.

The sharp edges of Sanji's usual demeanor towards you softened completely. He still fawned over Nami and Robin, but now, his compliments to you were quiet, genuine observations. "That patch job looks good, y/n," he'd remark, a faint approval in his voice, or "You handled that supply run well." He started preparing small, thoughtful treats for you specifically, leaving a warm cup of spiced tea by your side while you worked, or a specially grilled piece of fish on your plate that he knew you favored. There was no fanfare, just a subtle, steady stream of care.

And your own reactions shifted in kind. The bristling defensiveness, the passive-aggressive retorts, simply evaporated. You found yourself laughing easily at his jokes, accepting his help without a moment's hesitation, and even seeking him out for conversation. During meal prep, instead of shooing you away, he'd sometimes offer a quiet, "Need a hand with that chopping?" and you'd find yourselves working side-by-side, discussing recipes or sharing anecdotes about past adventures.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of repairs, you sat on the deck, watching the stars appear in the clear winter sky. Sanji joined you, offering you a steaming mug of cocoa. The silence that fell between you was no longer awkward, but companionable.

"Thanks, Sanji," you murmured, blowing on the hot drink.

"No problem," he replied, his voice soft. He didn't turn away, didn't make an excuse to leave. He just sat there, a comfortable presence beside you.

The crew saw it all. They saw you and Sanji sharing hushed conversations over dinner, a genuine smile gracing his lips as you spoke. They saw him automatically covering you with a blanket when you dozed off during a break. They saw you instinctively handing him tools before he even asked. The old, icy wall had not just crumbled; it had vanished, replaced by an invisible bridge of quiet understanding and blossoming affection. The Straw Hat Pirates, a family defined by their bonds, watched with a mixture of surprise and profound satisfaction as two of their own, once perpetually at odds, finally, truly, found their way to each other.

[lingarace]

Jackass

Summary : Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. 

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x florist!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Secret wife trope. Cursing, Injury. Featuring the Thunderbolts*. Bucky kinda gaslights the entire team. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 3k

Note : The next chapter of spoils of war is almost here, but I just need to go over a couple of paragraphs! In the meantime, enjoy!

The Thunderbolts knew a few undeniable truths about Bucky Barnes.

One: He was grumpy.

Two: He was a private person.

Three: He never, ever let anyone see where he lived.

That last one bothered them the most. They’d pieced together the general area; a quiet neighborhood with old brick buildings, modern cafés, and just enough charm to make it feel… vintage. But no one had ever set foot inside his home, no one had even seen him unlock the door to his sanctuary, since he dodged every casual suggestion to hang out at his place with a variation of “I got plans” or another. And, curiously, every time they stopped for coffee in this part of town, Bucky would mysteriously slip into the tiny flower shop beneath a brick apartment building.

That was odd. No one would’ve guessed that Bucky Barnes even liked flowers.

What was even odder was that this infinitely grumpy, emotionally constipated, “I hate people” supersoldier — would be capable of flirting.

With the florist.

With you.

“Are we seeing this right?” Yelena whispered, elbowing Alexei as they peered through the shop window after Bucky made them wait outside. 

They watched as Bucky stood by the counter, leaning in ever so slightly, a charming grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you wrap a bouquet.

“He’s smiling,” Alexei muttered, horrified.

Inside, Bucky reached for the bouquet you were tying up, his gloved fingers brushing against yours. You playfully smacked his hand away, laughing. He laughed, too, and that was enough to send Yelena spiraling into an existential crisis.

Yelena squinted. “He’s flirting.”

Alexei frowned. “Bucky does not flirt.”

“I know. That’s why I’m freaking out.”

They watched as you handed him the bouquet, and in return, Bucky gave you a wink. And then he turned, walking out like he hadn’t just transformed into a different person.

That was when Yelena, utterly horrified Yelena, caught a flash of gold on your ring finger. She squinted her eyes. It was unmistakable. “Wait a second—”

As soon as he got back to them, Alexei folded his arms. “You were flirting.”

Bucky scoffed. “I was not.”

“She’s married!” Yelena accused, pointing dramatically. “She had a ring! You flirted with a married woman!”

Bucky didn’t even blink. He simply shrugged, tucking the bouquet carefully under his arm. “I didn’t see a ring.”

“She was literally wearing it—”

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky insisted, tugging absentmindedly at the chain around his neck— the one that held his dog tags, hidden under his shirt.

Yelena and Alexei exchanged a deeply disturbed look.

Bucky Barnes was flirting with a married florist.

What was the world coming to?

—

Bucky knew he’d fucked up the second he stepped back into Thunderbolts HQ. 

Alexie had just looked confused, while Yelena had been simmering the entire walk back, her arms crossed so tightly over her chest it was a miracle she hadn’t snapped a rib. 

She lasted exactly two seconds before she exploded. “You are jackass, Barnes!”

Bucky barely had time to sigh before she stomped closer.

“What’s so wrong with what I did?” he muttered, placing the bouquet of flowers in an empty vase

Yelena let out an incredulous laugh, pacing in front of him like a caged tiger ready to strike. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her accent thickening with rage. “You flirted with a married woman! I should punch you in the face on principle!”

From the lounge, John Walker looked up from whatever government-issued nonsense he was pretending to read. His brows immediately furrowed, his eyes twisting into the signature disapproving dad look he’d perfected. “Wait, what?”

Ava, who had been drinking tea in the corner, raised an eyebrow. “This is scandalous,” she murmured, eyes brightening with intrigue.

Alexei, who was now plopped on the couch like some washed-up, Soviet-era king, said, “If a man had flirted with my wife like that, I would have hunt him down and mount his head on wall.” He crossed his arms, nodding to himself in approval. “As is tradition.”

Bucky scowled. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Oh?” Yelena snorted, “So you were just undressing her with your eyes for fun, then?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s just how I look at people.”

Alexie shook his head. “So you look at us like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth. Then immediately shut it.

Yelena’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah. Thought so.”

John’s arms crossed over his chest in that holier-than-thou stance that he was so famous for. “Look, man, I’m married. And if someone flirted with my wife, we’d have a problem.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” Yelena threw up her hands. “She’s married, Bucky!”

“Okay, even if I was flirting,” Bucky turned to her, exasperated— “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s hands flew to her head, fingers digging into her scalp like she was resisting the urge to rip out her own hair. “You probably chose to look away!”

John sighed like a disappointed youth pastor. “This is unbelievable.”

“No,” Bucky still insisted, “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped. “It was a thick gold band, Barnes. How could you not see it?”

Ava, who was clearly enjoying the drama more than anyone, sighed. “That is inappropriate behaviour, Barnes.”

Alexei shook his head again, “You should apologise.”

“I’m not apologising,” Bucky scoffed, “Because I did nothing wrong.”

His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the chain that led to his dog tags, and Yelena immediately locked onto the movement. Every person has a tell, a habit they did when they were nervous. And being a super spy, Yelena knew this was his.

She narrowed her eyes. “You are gaslighting us,” she muttered, pacing again like she was mentally weighing the pros and cons of strangling a super soldier.

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky repeated, his voice steady.

“You’re lying,” she snapped.

He shrugged, maddeningly casual in all of this chaos. “Guess we’ll never know.”

Ava laughed cynically. “I can’t tell if you’re a complete scumbag or if this is just really fun for you.”

Bucky just popped a beer from the fridge, flicking the cap off with his metal hand. “Why not both?”

He took a long sip of his beer, completely unbothered.

And maybe, he looked a little bit too smug.

—

Three weeks later, Bucky led Yelena and John on a mission to take down a high-scale arms dealer.

And, as always, the mission had gone sideways.

It was too late for any shops to be open, too late for anyone with a shred of common sense to be out on the streets. 

Yelena was bleeding, pressing a torn scrap of fabric against a deep gash on her arm. John had a busted lip and a slight limp. Bucky was sporting a few cuts and bruises himself, but nothing he hadn’t shaken off a thousand times before.

“Guys,” Yelena managed a grunt, shifting her grip on her makeshift bandage, “we need to get ourselves patched up before one of us drops dead.”

“We ran out of antiseptics back at HQ,” John reminded them.

Yelena groaned, throwing her head back in despair. “So what are we supposed to do?” She gritted out, “Just bleed out in the street like sad little orphans?”

John scowled. “That’s a little dramatic.”

Yelena turned and glared at him. “Your face is dramatic.”

Bucky let out a deep breath through his nose, running a hand along his damp hair. He glanced around the street, making sure they weren’t being followed before whispering to himself, “Guess we’re doing this now.”

Yelena tilted her head. “Doing what?”

Instead of answering, Bucky turned on his heel and started walking.

John and Yelena gave each other a wary look.

“I don’t like when he does that,” John said.

“No one does,” Yelena agreed, but they both followed anyway. 

It didn’t take long for them to recognise the route— ​​It was the neighbourhood where the team usually got coffee.

But Bucky wasn’t heading to the café.

They rounded the corner, and suddenly John stopped dead in his tracks.

It was a closed florist—the very one where Bucky had, allegedly, been trying to charm his way into a married woman’s bed.

To John’s absolute horror, Bucky walked right up to the door and knocked.

“Bucky.” He said, voice strangled. “What the hell is this?”

Yelena blinked. “I don’t think we need to seduce a married florist to get medical supplies.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already regretting this decision. He turned to them, leveling them both with a look. “Alright, listen up,” he said through gritted teeth. "The secret’s out now, so you two gotta keep your mouths shut.”

John’s brows furrowed. “What secret?”

Before Bucky could answer, the door to the flower shop clicked open.

And there you were, standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of Bucky’s hoodies, looking exactly how he’d expected: exasperated but unsurprised. He knew you’d still be up, cataloguing the latest floral shipment for tomorrow’s arrangements.

The second your eyes landed on a bruised and bloodied Bucky, and flanked by two wounded Thunderbolts, no less—you let out a sigh.

“James,” you said knowingly, your voice laced with fond irritation. “What did you do?”

Yelena and John froze in their tracks.

James?

James?

No one called Bucky by his first name. No one. Not unless they had a death wish.

Bucky, unfazed, just stepped inside. “We ran out of antiseptics, honey.”

Yelena and John exchanged a wide-eyed look.

Honey?

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Again?”

Bucky shrugged like this was a perfectly normal Thursday night occurrence.

You muttered under your breath, “I should’ve known this would happen when I married an ex-assassin.”

Oh.

Yelena’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Married.” she repeated

John blinked rapidly. “This is why we can never go to your place?”

Bucky could only shrug. Of course it was— they would have seen the evidence of how much love in his home was carved out for just you.

John let out a wheeze.

Yelena pointed between you and Bucky, motioning erratically. “Wait. WAIT. So—so she’s your wife? She married you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yup.”

“Like—actually married?”

“Mhm.”

Yelena gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. In a way, she had. “And no one knows?”

Bucky thought for a second. “Sam does.”

“And Joaquin,” you added, trying to be helpful.

Bucky nodded. “Right. Joaquin.”

“Oh, and Isaiah and Elijah Bradley.”

“Yeah, they were at the wedding.”

“A teenager knew about this,” John’s eye twitched, “—and we didn’t?”

Bucky could only nod again.

Yelena rubbed a hand down her face, “You gaslit us,” she accused, jabbing a finger at Bucky. “You let us believe you were a homewrecker for weeks—when you were married the whole time?!”

You snorted, glancing at Bucky, who had the audacity to look smug. “Yeah, that sounds like my husband.”

Yelena let out a string of very creative Russian curses.

John looked like he was about to have a stroke. 

“All secrets aside,” you said, welcoming the two disoriented Thunderbolts in and locking the door behind you, “It’s good to finally meet you both.”

John still looked like he was buffering. Yelena, on the other hand, was vibrating with adrenaline, looking like she was trying to solve a conspiracy theory in real time.

“This is—this is insane,” she muttered, pointing aggressively at Bucky, then at you, then back at Bucky. “You’re—you’re so normal.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d like to think so.”

Bucky just hummed. “She’s perfect.”

Yelena actually sputtered like an old car engine.

John made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh. This was all too much.

But there wasn’t time to let them spiral further. Bucky, gently nudged you toward the others. “Take care of them first, darling. They’ve got worse injuries.”

You frowned, wanting to protest—because, really, Bucky should always be your first priority—but your husband was nothing if not stubborn. You knew better than to argue when he had that look in his eyes— you knew that fighting him on this would only drag things out longer, and right now, time was precious.

You turned your attention to Yelena and John, motioning for them to follow you deeper into the shop. The scent of lavender, roses, and freshly cut stems—clung to the air as you led them toward the back, where your little work table stood tucked in the corner.

Years of practice had made you quick. You moved with quiet efficiency, gathering supplies from neat shelves: you cut and split an aloe vera plant for burns, grabbed bandages, and a mix of balms you’d perfected over your time tending to Bucky. It wasn’t the kind of sterile, military-grade first aid they were used to, but it would have to do for now.

You started tending to Yelena’s arm, gently dabbing the wound with fresh aloe. She hissed through her teeth before narrowing her eyes at you.

“So how long has this been a thing?” she demanded. Bucky, now leaning lazily against the counter with his arms crossed, barely spared her a glance. “A while.”

John scoffed, “A while?”

You bit back a grin as you smoothed a bandage over Yelena’s arm, “Three years.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped.

“Three—” She turned to Bucky so fast it was a miracle she didn’t give herself whiplash. “You’ve been married for three years?!”

John let out a long, defeated groan,This was simply too much to process. “Fuck’s sake.”

Yelena shook her head. “I thought you were a loner who hated people."

Bucky only shrugged, unbothered. 

You chuckled as you pressed the last piece of medical tape into place on Yelena’s arm. “Alright, you’re done.” Then, glancing at John, you motioned for him to sit. “Your turn.”

John sighed but still plopped down. You took his hand gently, turning it over to examine his bruised knuckles before moving to his busted lip.

Meanwhile, they kept peppering you with questions, barely giving you room to breathe.

“How did you meet?”

“How do you put up with Bucky’s brooding?”

“Does he ever actually smile?”

At that last one, you paused, dabbing at John’s lip carefully. “He smiles all the time.”

John let out a scoff. “No, he doesn’t.”

You glanced over at Bucky, knowing he showed that part of him to you and no one else. “Oh, he does.”

And then, finally, it was Bucky’s turn.

You turned to him, your brows knitting together as you studied the little cuts on his cheek, the dried blood near his brows. He looked a little tired, a little worn around the edges. 

Your fingers found his chin, tilting his face toward you as you inspected the damage. Your touch was so featherlight, so incredibly careful. There was no missing the way your thumb brushed over his cheekbone— how incredibly gentle it was.

“You should’ve let me do you first,” you murmured, half-scolding, half-concerned.

Bucky’s lips curved into a small smile, a flicker of mischief lighting his tired blue eyes. “That’s exactly what you said last night, sweetheart.”

John choked.

Yelena groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow from the nearest chair and hurling it at Bucky’s head. “You two are disgusting.”

Bucky caught the pillow effortlessly, giving her a smug grin before setting it aside. When his eyes found yours again, his shit-eating grin turned… lovely. The tension in his brows eased as you dabbed gently at his cut. 

For all the blood, for all the bruises, you handled him like he was glass.

And then, without thinking, you leaned in.

It was meant to be a brief kiss— a quick reassurance, a way of saying I’ve got you. But the moment your lips brushed his, you couldn’t help but linger.

Your fingers curled instinctively against his chin. His hand found your waist without hesitation, as if he needed you closer. As if the world shrank down to just the two of you. 

John and Yelena exchanged a look, the previous horror of their teammate hiding a secret wife momentarily forgotten because this was… weirdly cute.

You giggled as you pulled away, seeing Bucky looking at you like you hung the moon for him. 

“Anywhere else?” you asked, brushing your thumb over his lips.

Bucky hesitated just for a second. Then, a little sheepishly, he said, “Got a cut on my ribs.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. Of course he did. Before he could argue, you reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged.

“Off,” you said simply.

Bucky huffed but didn’t fight you. He lifted his arms, letting you strip the fabric from his skin, and goddamn.

Bucky, half-naked, was unfairly, ridiculously beautiful. Even now, even after all this time, seeing him like this still knocked the breath from your lungs. His body was a roadmap of battles fought and survived, scars carved into the expanse of his chest and ribs that told stories only he could say. 

John made a strangled sound, somewhere between “Jesus Christ” and “I need to leave the room,” but you ignored him completely. Yelena let out a dramatic sigh and whispered “they are one second away from sucking each other’s face off,” to herself.

You tuned them both out, fingers dragging carefully over Bucky’s ribs, searching for the wound. When you found a thin jagged cut just below his ribs— you sighed softer this time and reached for the aloe.

“You need to stop getting hurt, my love,” you said, smoothing the cool gel over his skin.

Bucky’s voice came quieter. “Lucky I have someone to take care of me, then.”

And that’s when Yelena finally noticed it.

The thin chain around Bucky’s neck—one she’d always assumed was just for his dog tags—held something else, too.

A ring.

A simple wedding band that matched yours, worn from years of resting against his skin.

She blinked, realisation hitting her like a freight train. Oh.

That’s why he always played with it.

Every time Bucky was nervous, every time he was uncertain, his fingers would move to that chain—not just to fiddle with his tags, but to remind himself of you.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete jackass after all.

-end.

Note: Hope this doesn't bite me in the ass when the movie comes out.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

[lingarace]

Au where everything is the same except the baratie is a mcdonalds

[lingarace]

wait have you guys seen the sanji at universal studios cuz genuinely he made want to watch op 🙈

[lingarace]

I think the kicky feets guy and the stabby guy r neat.

[lingarace]

Part two because I’m obsessed with them

[lingarace]

Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes aka The Winter Soldier

Exclusive Outtake from Captain America: The Winter Soldier

@homoeroticfisticuffs asked for a way to find all of these outtakes so I'm gonna post this. These are all I have posted so far. I only have 5 left unreleased.

[lingarace]

Thunderbolts: Don’t worry. We have a permission.

NYPD: This just says, "The new Avengers can do what they wants" with Contessa de Fontaines signature.

[lingarace]

Interviewer: What do you have to say about the rumors that Robert Reynolds, Sentry and The Void are all the same person? Mel, as the new social-media manager of the Avengerz: Well... *panic* that would be really weird... cause i’ve literally seen them kiss before? Bob after watching the interview: guys something really weird just happened…

(The internet would ship tehm and make fan arts of the Void and Sentry kissing. Proof me wrong)

[lingarace]

Alexei: Hey guys, what would be a goods response for being stabbed with a knife?

Ava: Rude.

John: That’s fair.

Yelena: not again…

Bucky: Do you need this back?

Bob: Are- are you guys okay?

[lingarace]

Ava: Alexei how do you get revenge on those who have wronged me.

Alexei: The best revenge is letting go and proof that you are a true hero

Ava: …

Ava: Yelena how do I-

Yelena: Stab. Eliminate. Destroy.

[lingarace]

Bob: *sobbing* Serenity said you don’t love me

Yelena: What?! Who is Serenity?

Bob: The voice in my head

Yelena: let me talk to that bitch

[lingarace]

Yelena: you can’t make everyone like you. You are not Bob.

John: Not everyone likes Bob.

Yelena: Who doesn’t like Bob?

John: well…

Yelena: Names John. I want names

[lingarace]

Bucky, trying to be a politician and realizing how inefficient it is at stopping bad guys quickly: Welp. I can't debate, diplomat, or deposition my way out of this one.

Bucky, loading his explosive disc launcher: Detonate it is.

[lingarace]

[lingarace]

Alexa how do I adopt a fictional character?

[lingarace]