Sanji was known for his love of women—flirting, chivalry, swooning, always ready to charm. But that all came clashing when he met you.
From the moment she joined the crew, his reaction was… off. Not rude, just strangely indifferent. The others noticed right away. The reason? She was a masochist—someone who loved pain instead of comfort, rough treatment instead of being held softly, and degradation instead of hearing sweet words. Everything Sanji stood against. you is a lady, shouldn't she be treated with respect and love like a lady should? It unsettled him, but maybe even angered him. Not just at her, but at whoever made her think that was normal, failed to protect her.
Since then, he kept his distance, barely looking at her except for the occasional sharp glance.
Now, on a cold, quiet night, you stepped out for a drink and spotted him leaning against the railing, cigarette in hand, staring at the sea. Without a word, she stood beside him.
Sanji exhaled a slow stream of smoke, not bothering to look at her.
“Do you need something, you?” he asked, frowning.
