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mere-mortifer · 5 days ago

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Sweet Tooth - Sanji x reader

Sanji is obsessed with the thought of you, but when you return his affection, he's at a loss for words.

Sanji x gn!reader

Smut

CW: Oral sex (m receiving), masturbation, slight bullying, swearing

WC: 7k

@yourboyhack @ozzities

Gods, how embarrassing can he possibly get?

The pitiful moan that chokes its way up from his throat is his answer. He just can’t help himself. You had walked back to the Sunny today more elegant than a ray of sun through stained glass. Your presence is borderline holy to him every time he’s graced with it, and here he is drowning in the sacrilege of his fist clumsily wrapped around his aching cock as if he could actually deserve you.

How could he do such an ungentlemanly thing? You’re royalty. You’re the most beautiful person the gods have ever created. The obscene view of you that’s playing out in his head hasn’t the right to exist.

He clasps his free hand over his mouth and he lets a moan pour loose. His hand seems to act of its own accord, swiping his thumb across his leaking slit while his filthy mind imagines it’s your sweet-talking tongue.

“Fuck,” he whines into his palm. “Yes, fuck.”

Surely he wouldn’t curse if he were in bed with you, would he? No. You’re too elegant, an angel in your own right. If you were giving him the heavenly pleasure of taking him between your lips, he couldn’t dare assault your ears with such language.

No, no he’d say only the most beautiful things to you.

Pretty baby, feels so good.

You’re so beautiful.

I’m the luckiest man in the world, my love.

His hand grips the head of his cock so hard that his vision goes white. The chokehold you have on him courses through his whole body just as much as his own blood does.

There’s a set of footsteps creeping into the Sunny now, gentle voices floating through the ship with laughter and delight.

As much as Sanji doesn’t want to abandon the sweet fantasy of you he’s begun concocting in his head, he knows he has no choice but to hurry. It’s bad enough that he does such foul things while picturing your beautiful face. Gods forbid you ever catch him doing it.

He trades in the long and calculated pumps of his hand for a more typical, rushed pace.

Would you ever touch him like this, frenzied and rough?

The thought makes him arch into his fist and cum with little warning. He wants so badly to be disappointed by the mess in his hand, the amount of cum he’s spilled onto his dress pants, but he’s too hyper-focused on the thoughts of you in his head.

Would you hold him when he was finished, panting and whining?

Would you kiss his cheeks and cuddle him close?

Would you make him feel safe?

A knock on the door almost makes him tear out of his skin. He prays that the voice that follows will be yours, but no such luck.

“Hey, dartbrow,” the swordsman barks from the other side of the bathroom door. “Get out. I gotta piss, and I’m not pissing on deck with the witches out there.”

And so marks the end of the cook’s alone time.

“Give me a fucking second, Moss,” he barks, shoving himself unceremoniously back into his pants.

Zoro grunts, but doesn’t argue, giving Sanji the second he needs to wipe his cum off his hands and pull himself to weak legs.

When the door swings open, Zoro stands on the other side, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Shit, took you long enough. Jacking off to a muffin recipe in there?”

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Chanting the mantra in his head is the only way Sanji can keep himself from blushing. Surely Zoro doesn’t know what he was actually doing, but even the vague suggestion that a member of the crew could discover his behavior is enough to nearly send him into a frenzy.

As much as Sanji hates it, you do seem to have some sort of friendship with the swordsman. There’s no doubt in his mind that Zoro would tell you immediately if he knew what Sanji thinks about in the shower at night.

The chef shoulders past, shoving his crewmate with a little extra oomph.

“Back off,” he snarls. “Go shove your sword up your ass and leave me alone.”

Zoro bares his teeth at him like a wolf on the verge of striking. It’s threatening, violent. Sanji has the urge to recoil from it.

“If you’re gonna hog the bathroom to nut over your porno mags, at least don’t do it when other people have to use the bathroom,” Zoro snaps. “Pervert.”

Sanji’s face is so hot that he fears it’s going to melt. He wants so badly to hush the swordsman, to keep you from hearing his vulgar accusation, but the act would only feed into Zoro’s assumptions. Surely he’d realize just how right he was if Sanji showed his insecurities so boldly.

Before the cook can come up with a return insult, a pair of footsteps from behind him grabs his attention.

“Boys,” you snap, clapping your hands together as if he and Zoro were dogs about to fight. “Come on. Relax. No fighting before dinner.”

The sound of your voice has an immediate effect on Sanji. It’s as if the angels have sung, all the anger once felt towards Zoro melting off of him in waves.

How could he be angry when someone so precious is in his view?

He spins on his heel so quickly that he almost falls over. “Your wish is my command, darling! Are you hungry for dinner now? Do you have a request?”

It takes every ounce of strength in him to speak to you without stumbling and stuttering his words out. Somehow, some way, you look more beautiful now than you did when you left the Sunny just a few short hours ago. A bit of sweat has begun to bead at your hairline. The strap of your tank top has fallen just so to reveal a delicious little piece of collarbone to Sanji’s unworthy eyes. Your hair -as beautiful and heavenly has ever- has come loose from its earlier styling in a way that almost resembles your adorable bed head.

If Sanji was any more of a deplorable man, he’d keel over and die from the sight.

You cross your arms over your chest then, trying to hide your smile as you shake your head at him. “You’re insane. I thought you told everyone you made fish stew and the garlic flatbread they love so much.”

Sanji can’t help but allow his mind to list the ingredients to the familiar dish. He had promised Nami and Robin he’d make it, and he can’t break a promise made to one of his lovely ladies.

“I almost forgot,” he chirps, still giving you that million-berry smile. “Is that okay with you, my love?”

If Sanji was a little less of a hopeless romantic, a little dumber of a man, he could swear he saw your cheeks go red at the endearment.

My love.

No. No, not you. Surely the rosy red hue in your cheeks was from your day walking about on a summer island. You were too good to blush at the likes of him.

You raise your hand to wave him off. “Everything you make is delicious, Sanji. As long as it’s you feeding us, I’m set.”

The cooks swears to the gods that his heart is going to shatter his ribs and leap into the ocean.

Despite himself, he just keeps smiling. “You’re too good for me, my love. I’ll get started on our dinner.”

You give Sanji one more holy smile before turning away and making your way back across the deck. Robin and Nami have posted up on a blanket in the sun, and by the laughter that sings from your lips, you’re more than happy to join them.

The cook then lets out a large breath, letting his body settle from the thrill of getting to speak to you. His muscles are absolutely shaking, knees feeling like they’re going to collapse into each other at any moment. He feels like he may fall over as he begins a slow walk back to the galley to fulfill his promise of dinner to you.

Gods, how is it possible that you make him so weak? Sure, he loves a beautiful woman, a stunning man. Who the hell doesn’t?

But you.

You make him feel things he’s never felt before. Before he met you, the sight of someone beautiful used to bolster him with the strength to impress, to protect. He was constantly peacocking about to seem valuable to all the stunning people that blessed his sight in the Baratie.

He just can’t seem to muster that energy when he’s around you. You bring him to his knees, make it hard for him to even form words. He can’t even bear the thought of speaking correctly or standing straight in your presence. It’s embarrassing, but something about it is oh-so addicting.

The act of cooking dinner almost escapes him as he goes through the motions. All he can think about as he cooks is you.

It’s been more intense lately.

When the two of you first met in Loguetown, there was already something about you he couldn’t quite put his finger on. You were immediately interested in him, interested in his past and his talents in the kitchen. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like he needed to go over the top to get your attention. He had it just by being himself.

It took him awhile to get used to that type of affection, but now that he has, he isn’t sure he’s ever going to live without it again.

Just as Sanji begins to pour the water to boil the scallops, the sound of the galley door catches his attention.

“Moss,” he snarls, throwing the bowl a little too harshly into the sink. “Look, I don’t have time to get you any-”

“Not Zoro.”

Oh, your voice, smooth and angelic.

“Oh!” he chirps, turning so fast that his towel falls from his shoulder. “I’m sorry, my dear! I didn’t mean to talk to you like that.”

You wave him off. The way the sun glints off the little ring on your middle finger makes him want to cry.

“Smells good,” you tell him, settling yourself down on one of the barstools. “Nami said our next island is gonna be colder. If we have leftovers, they’re gonna be great for the weather.”

Your compliment makes Sanji’s cheeks heat up. He just knows that his entire body is turning red.

Despite the sweat beginning to drip down his brow, he ensures that his tone is chipper and kind before he responds.

“I can put a second pot on if you think it would be best,” he suggests. “I’d hate for you to go cold when we get there.”

He can hear the clicking of the chair on the floor every few seconds as if you’re rocking back and forth.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I think you should.”

Trouble? Nothing is too much trouble if it will make you smile.

Sanji reaches up overhead, grabbing a second pot from the shelf. “Your wish is my command, darling.”

Your little giggle threatens to send him into cardiac arrest.

The rest of dinner prep is rather uneventful. You chatter on about the island you visited while Sanji cooks, the smile on his face so large that it begins to hurt his jaw. He debates telling you how he feels about you at least thirteen different times throughout the conversation. It isn’t new, the battle in his head on whether he should ask you out. It happens every time he so much as lays eyes on you. He begins by thinking your sweet laughter and intoxicating blush are a sign that he has a chance, but the thought always ends in the cruel reminder of him.

His past, his family, his imperfections.

To him, you’re a perfect angel. How could he possibly think for even a second that he’s worthy of you?

When dinner has finished, Sanji sets his spoon down on the counter and sighs.

Should he lie and say dinner has five more minutes so he can keep talking to you, no other ears lingering about?

Should he make up some task he needs help with just to have your body close to his?

As much as Sanji doesn’t want to give up another second with you, the sight of the food he’s prepared brings him back to reality. One way that he knows he can serve you, knows he can make you smile is with his cooking. The last thing he ever wants to do is linger too long and let his act of service for you go cold.

“Well, dinner’s on,” he chirps then, his voice coming off a little too chipper as he spins back around to face you. “My darling, could you be a dear and let the rest of the crew know?”

The instant the words leave his lips, he regrets them.

How in the world could he ask you to leave, make you do service for him?

Despite the slight panic building up in Sanji’s chest, you don’t argue. You just give him that sweet smile and head for the galley door. He just can’t help but watch. Every inch of you feels like a gift to him, soft and sweet. His greatest dream is to just reach out and hold you.

He can finally focus on cooking again when you’re gone. The soup looks good, smells of root vegetables and meat in a way that reminds him of winter dinners. It’s a meal made for a family, a thought that makes Sanji’s chest feel warm.

Family. It’s a department he hasn’t been too lucky in throughout his life. To see that the crew around him has become a sort of family is something that still wills him with wonder every time he thinks about it. As annoying as Moss is, as difficult it can be to feed Luffy or tolerate Usopp’s never-ending chatter, the cook knows he wouldn’t change a thing.

He smiles softly to himself as he ladle’s the soup into bowls. It might just be some pumpkin and roast, but it’s love. It’s how he shows love.

“Sanji!”

His captain’s voice boom through the galley as if on cue. Sanji’s smile grows. Never in his life has someone shouted his name with so much joy.

Luffy uses his arms to launch himself into his usual seat at the table. The wood scream beneath his rough treatment, but no one seems to notice as the rest of the crew gathers around the table.

“What’s for dinner, Sanj?” Franky wonders, making sure to pull out Robin’s chair before taking a seat himself. “Smells super in here.”

Sanji turns with four bowls balancing on his arms. “Pumpkin and beef stew. We’re sailing into cold waters, so soup is good for keeping us warm.”

Per usual, no one has any protests to Sanji’s cooking as he passes out dinner. The table is soon filled with laughter and chatter, all of it goofy and none of it serious. Soup nights seem to bring that out in the crew, Sanji has noticed. Something about the warmth gets everyone in a better mood, brings jokes and joy.

Sanji himself, though, finds his mind wandering as he tries to eat; wandering to you.

Do you know how gorgeous you are, sitting at the end of the table, laughing with just a tad bit of orange soup on your lip? The sound of your giggle makes it hard for him to do anything but listen for it. It’s like a song, and he wishes it was him making you laugh. He wants it to be his jokes that cause that beautiful laugh to wash over the crew.

When you’ve finished your bowl, your eyes almost immediately flit back up to Sanji.

“Ji?” you wonder, reaching for the glass of wine before you. “You okay?”

Your voice, your worry pierces his heart and heals him all at once.

“I’m okay, my love,” he assures. “Just thinking.”

There it is, that beautiful, soul-crushing smile.

And it’s for him.

Sanji places the last clean plate into the drying rack just as the clock on the wall strikes midnight. The Sunny is quiet now, the rest of the crew asleep as they usually are when Sanji has finished cleaning up. He doesn’t mind, though. The peace is nice. It’s a rare find as a Strawhat.

The last thing Sanji wants to do, though, is go back to the men’s cabin. Sure, he loves his crew and their chaos during the day. At night, when all he wants to do is sleep, it can become a stressor.

So, instead of heading to his bed, he makes his way toward the aquarium. On nights where he feels he needs an extra bit of rest, he’ll curl up with a blanket on the couch and go to sleep with the fish. It’s quieter, easier.

The room is bathed in a soft blue light when he enters. The water from the large tank is soothing, a perfect night light to compliment an evening of much needed rest.

“Sanji?”

The cook never thought your voice could ever scare him, but coming from the corner of the barely lit room, it nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

“Oh!” he gasps, dropping the pillow he’s carrying to the floor. “Oh gods, you scared me, love.”

You shut the book in your hand and look up at him, smiling despite the exhausted look on your face. “Sorry, Ji. Couldn’t sleep, but I didn’t want to turn on any lights in the bedroom to read.”

Always so considerate of others. It’s one of Sanji’s favorite traits of yours.

“You’re too good to them,” he compliments as he reaches down to pick up his pillow. “This crew doesn’t deserve you.”

Even though the blue light of the room is distorting the color of your cheeks, Sanji hopes he makes you blush.

You lean over and place the book in your hand on the small end table, curling into yourself than and pulling your blanket tighter around your shoulders. “What are you doing in here so late? Aren’t you tired?”

Sanji shrugs. “I sleep in here sometimes. There’s only so much of Mosshead’s snoring that one mortal man can take.”

You give him a sweet, tired giggle. He swears to the gods that the sound could cure all diseases and end any war.

“I can go,” you suggest then, pointing toward the door. “Let you get some sleep. I know you have to get up early to make breakfast.”

Sanji swears he feels his heart break in his chest. Leave? How could he ever want you to leave?

Hoping he can keep his voice neutral, Sanji shakes his head. “No, sweetheart. You’re too good of company.”

“You’re too sweet to me,” you tell him. “Mind if I crash in here with you? I really don’t want to risk waking anyone by going bcak to my bed.”

He might die. He truly might die.

It isn’t like you and Sanji haven’t slept next to each other before. There have been countless nights when the two of you have fallen asleep at terribly assembled camps or around dying bonfires, heads on shoulders and legs tangled together. You’re best friends. There’s no one on the crew you feel safe with, so it’s never been a surprise when you seek him out to sleep in a strange place.

But, sleeping next to him when your own bed is right down the hall? Choosing to sleep in the same room as him when you have access to your own?

He swears his heart has exploded, and he’s in Heaven.

He grabs his own blanket and pulls out over himself. “I don’t mind, sweetheart. It would be an honor to sleep next to you.”

A bright smile lights up your face. “Yay! Slumber party!”

There is no way on the planet that you could be any sweeter.

With that, you move your own pillow so it’s next to Sanji and lie down, resting your head just inches from his thigh. If he moves his hand just an inch, he could run his fingers through your hair to soothe you to sleep. Maybe you’d hum at the touch. Maybe you’d lift your head so you could rest it on his leg.

“Sanji?”

“Hm?”

“Want me to get up with you tomorrow and help with breakfast?”

Sanji feels his jaw tighten. One thing he dislikes is other people in his kitchen when he’s trying to cook. He feels claustrophobic, like he’s out of control. Of course he loved the Baratie, but after a few years of cooking alone in his own kitchen, he isn’t sure he could ever go back.

But you?”

He’s just trying not to get a hard on thinking about it.

“I’d never ask you to get up that early, darling,” he dodges. “You need your rest.”

As if the devil himself is trying to tempt him, you roll onto your belly and rest your chin on your hand. You look too sweet. Staring up at him with that darling look on your face is almost enough to send him over the edge.

He wants you. Fuck, he craves you.

“I wanna help. You can teach me how you make that strawberry syrup you put on our pancakes.”

You do love that strawberry syrup. Sanji always loves making it, partially because it makes you smile, partially because of the way you always end up having to lick the sticky jam from your fingers.

“You want pancakes?” he offers, desperately trying to change the course of the conversation so his cock stops throbbing in his pants.

You nod. “But I wanna help, too.”

Gods, how could he ever tell you no?

“If you really wanna get up with me, you’re more than welcome to help, my dear.”

The smile you give him is nearly giddy. You’re quite literally kicking your feet, the blush on your cheeks breathtaking as you stare up at him.

It’s almost painful, how strong the urge to touch you is. It’s like one of his dreams is playing out in front of him, and it takes everything in him not to just rip apart every boundary he has and kiss you.

Surely you don’t feel the same way about him as he does about you. Making a move, caving to his urges would ruin the friendship he holds so dear to his heart. He can’t risk it. He can’t dare.

“Sanji?” you ask gently, breaking his train of thought. “You’re staring.”

An emotion akin to terror begins creeping up his spine. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, darling.”

Surprisingly, you give a little laugh.

He tilts his head. “What?”

“You,” you tell him simply. “You’re always calling me little pet names and being so sweet to me.”

Sanji can feel the blush creeping up his neck. He knows he hasn’t necessarily been hiding his feelings, but something about hearing you acknowledge it is making his stomach turn.

“Of course I do, love,” he tells you. “You deserve to be pampered.”

You give him a sweet, toothy smile. “You pamper me. Such a sweet boy.”

The praise flies up Sanji’s spine like electricity, then reroutes directly to his cock.

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Sanji has a grand total of two choices. He can either pray that you don’t notice his erection, or he can stumble to cover it and come up with some sort of lie to explain why he’s so frantic.

He never gets the chance. Almost like clockwork, your eyes trail directly to the tent that’s formed from his pants and blanket. There’s no denying it. You’re staring, watching intently at the way his cock twitches in his pants with every microscopic movement of your body.

Shit.

It’s strange, seeing his worst nightmare playing out before his eyes. Of all the ways he thought you’d notice his affections for you, this was not on the list of what he wanted.

Slowly, not taking his eyes off your expression, he moves his hand to cover the outline of his cock. “I…uh….I’m sorry.”

He feels like his heart is going to explode. Are you going to run? Smack him? Shame him?

Smile?

The cook does a double take when the little smile spreads across your face. It’s tiny, almost mischievous, but it’s there.

“Hm,” you hum gently, your bottom lip sneaking between your teeth. “That because of me?”

If all of Sanji’s blood wasn’t racing to his cock, his cheeks would burn red. He must be dreaming. There’s absolutely no way that you’re lying just a few inches away from his hard, aching cock and smiling about it.

When he doesn’t answer, you lean in and lay your cheek on his thigh. “You like when I compliment you?”

Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.

All he’s able to give you is a pitiful little nod.

Sexy, Sanji. Fuck.

You don’t seem too turned off by his soft, shy expression. It almost acts to fuel you, what with the way your hand settles on his inner thigh.

Your touch feels like fire. He’s always dreamed of this moment, dreamed of how good it would feel to have you touch him. Now that it’s here, he can’t handle it. Every inch of skin feels like it’s melting off, like you’re made of flames that have the sole purpose of burning him to nothing.

He’s not sure what happens between his brain and his tongue then. It’s a war, his brain begging him to stay quiet while his tongue betrays him.

“Angel, please,” he breathes, the words almost nothing as they leave his lips. “Please.”

Your hand creeps just a bit higher. His breath hitches, so hard that it’s almost painful.

“Please what, Ji?” you urge him. “I gotta know what you want.”

He swallows, something akin to a bowling ball in his throat. His cock feels like it’s reaching toward you, every heartbeat making him harder, making him ache.

He closes his eyes when he speaks as though he’s ashamed. “Touch me. I’m sorry. Please, touch me.”

Higher. Your hand goes higher, but doesn’t reach where he needs you.

“Don’t be sorry, Sanji,” you soothe, squeezing the flesh in your hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry for how you feel.”

Sanji shakes his head. It’s all just coming out now. The dam has broken, and there’s no way of fixing it. “I am sorry. You’re so sweet. You’re so beautiful. I shouldn’t be…thinking about you how I do.”

Your hand is a bit gentler now. You rub small circles on his leg, soothing him despite the fact that every movement makes his body tense.

“Sanji,” you begin, propping your head up so you can take his hand in yours. “Hon, I have to tell you something.”

Instantly, his body goes rigid. Every single thing that could possibly go wrong begins to stream through his mind.

Am I being too much? Am I being too forward?

You don’t seem phased by Sanji’s upset. Instead, you sit up, your body slowly sliding down to the floor so you’re positioned between his thighs.

Fuck. Oh gods, fuck.

You settle your chin back on his knee, giving him that sweet, angelic look. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Sanji. If you want something, all you’ve gotta do is ask.”

A million thoughts race through his mind so fast that he can’t catch a single one of them. All he knows is that they’re filthy, sinful. Your hand is too close to him. Your mouth is too sweet. He’s never had these blessings from someone else, and to have them even hinted by you?

It’s a dream. It’s something he can’t even fathom.

Despite himself, he shakes his head. “I…I’ve never…no one’s ever…”

You place a kiss on his thigh. “No one’s ever what, baby? Come on, love.”

He could die. Sanji could die right now and he’d be a happy man.

“No one’s ever…touched me…before.”

The admission slips off his tongue so quietly that you barely catch it. You do notice the way his cheeks light up red, though.

You hum a bit, straightening up then and pulling away a bit. “Are you okay? With this, I mean? Sanji, we can stop if you need me to.”

He shakes his head wildly before he can stop himself. It surely makes him look desperate, needy, but he can’t help it. All he wants is you back between his legs.

You place your hands back on his thighs to rub slow and soothing lines on the muscle. “I’m serious, Sanji. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have been so forward.”

He tries his best to take a deep breath, gathering himself before he looks down at you.

You look like an absolute angel. He swears he’s never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. Your hair is mussed from where you were lying down on the couch, and there’s more color in your face than usual. The plump of your lips and your smile makes him want to cry.

“Angel, I’m sure. I’m sure. I don’t want it to be anyone but you.”

His words don’t seem to reassure you. “Honey, are you positive? I don’t want your first experience to be rushed or weird or anything like that.”

He gives a tiny laugh. The thought of you being weird or ‘anything like that’ is almost funny to him.

“Please,” he breathes. “Please, darling. I dream about this. I think about this all the time.”

The admission leaves you wildly blushing. The thought of him with his fist wrapped around his cock, moaning and whispering your name while he comes has you teetering on the edge.

You re-situate yourself back between his legs, and he swears to the gods he’s going to drool.

“Are you positive?” you ask again. “Yes?”

Sanji nods. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure. I’m sure, darling. I’ll take anything you want to give me.”

With a smile, you reach up and place your fingers on the button of his dress pants, still searching his face for any signs of hesitation. He doesn’t give it to you. He just stares down at you with a wistful look on his face as you unbutton his pants and lower the zipper.

“Gods,” he breathes. “Love…”

You don’t seem at all phased by his words, his breathlessness. “Lift your hips for me, baby.”

He does as he’s told instantly. You shimmy his pants off, gently setting them on the couch beside him. There’s a twinge of embarrassment in his chest when you look him over. Your eyes scan the new bits of his body revealed to you, a look on your face that he hasn’t quite seen before.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that you seem to be enjoying the view.

“What do you want me to do, Sanji?” you wonder, bringing a finger up to drag along the waistband of his boxers. “What do you think about?”

As if he couldn’t blush more, he feels an undeniable heat rush to his head. He can’t possibly tell you all the things he’s dreamed of. Surely this is a dream as well.

Would he embarrass himself?

Would you find him pathetic?

When he doesn’t answer, you give his thigh a squeeze. “Come on, baby. I’m here for you.”

He licks his lips. “I…I don’t…I don’t wanna have sex. I want to take you out and get you flowers first. I want it to be in bed where I can hold you after.”

You lean in to kiss his thigh. “Okay, baby. That sounds good to me. Do you want my hand or my mouth?”

A shockwave launches up his spine at your words.

How the hell is he supposed to process that?

“Um…oh gods. I’m not gonna last, angel. I don’t wanna finish in your mouth if you don’t want that.”

“Would you be uncomfortable if I used my mouth? If I said I wanted to?”

He’s died. He’s died and gone to Heaven.

“N-no. No, I would love it. I just want you to enjoy this. I never want to do anything to take from you.”

You give him a smile too sweet for the way your hand is tugging at his boxers. “Making you feel good is going to make me feel good.”

Sanji takes a deep, steadying breath. Sex just isn’t something he’s ever had the opportunity to have with someone else. Living on a ship filled with men never gave him too many opportunities growing up. Sure, he’d made out with a few women here and there, but nothing that ever went past some groping and tongues swapping mouths.

This? With you?

He can feel his heart slamming in his chest, but in the best way possible. All he wants is you, whatever you’re willing to give him.

You tap his leg. “Can I touch you, Sanji? I won’t put my hand in your boxers just yet.”

He nods. “Yes. Yes, please touch me.”

Slowly, as if you’re savoring it, you let your fingers ghost over his clothed cock. His hips immediately buck up to meet you. The little whine that rips from him makes him feel vulnerable.

“Mon ange,” he moans, his leg twitching a bit. “I’m really not gonna last. I’m sorry.”

The only response you give is cupping him through his boxers. The feeling is electric, unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

Maybe it’s because it isn’t his own hand.

Maybe it’s because it’s you.

“More. Please.”

He’s shocked when the plea leaves his lips, but you’re eager to give him anything he wants, anything he needs.

“Okay. Can I take your boxers off?”

He nods. So sweet, so caring about every little thing he feels.

You bring your hands up and peel his boxers back, the cold air drawing a hiss from his teeth and it washes over his hot and aching cock. Though he wants to be insecure, wants to feel the urge to cover himself, you don’t give him the chance. The only look you give him is one of hunger.

“You’ve really never been with anyone else?” you wonder, not taking your eyes off the bead of pre-cum about to drip down his shaft.

He shakes his head. “I’ve kissed other girls. I…no one has ever seen…”

You finally, finally wrap your hand softly around his cock then. The smile on your face never fades. “Damn, they’re unlucky. So handsome, baby. Big.”

The compliment draws the most pathetic moan he’s ever heard from his lips. It horrifies him, but someone makes him know he’s singing like music to your ears. “Thank you, angel. Thank you. All for you.”

Your give him a few experimental pumps, taking the pre-cum from his tip and stroking it down the length of his shaft. He swears that he’s never felt euphoria like this in all his life. When he imagines you when he touches himself, his own hands are always too rough, too unrelenting. The slow and tight pump of your fist does things to him he never imagined.

“Please,” he sighs. “Your mouth. Please, I’m so sorry. I need it. I’m gonna come.”

You giggle a bit, and the sound makes his cock impossibly harder. “Never apologize for asking for what you want, love. I’ll never shame you for asking.”

An idea, a filthy thought, pops into his head the moment you speak.

“Can…can I…can you…”

You stop stroking him when he stumbles over his words, looking into his eyes to give him your undivided attention. “Tell me, baby. Can I what?”

His eyes flitted to your chest, but his words appeared to be stuck in his throat.

“My shirt?” you wonder. “You wanna see my tits?”

Tits. It’s so vulgar, and though he wants to badly to tel you how beautiful you are, all his can do is nod and moan.

When you let go of his cock, it feels like a death. The cold of the air rushes back to him instantly and forces a punched sound from his chest.

The sensation only lasts a moment before he has a new thing to focus on. You hands have made quick work of your tank top, and beneath, you wear nothing more. Your entire top is revealed to him, and there isn’t a glint of hesitation anywhere in your eyes.

“Mon ange,” he moans, eyes glued to your breasts. “My love, gods. Please, touch me.”

The look on your face is so satisfied that it’s almost smug, like you’re feeding off the reactions he’s giving you. A rush of joy shoots through every single one of Sanji’s bones when he sees the smile. He has made you happy! You’re enjoying yourself.

Sanji begins to crave seeing that look on your face again. All he wants is to please you, hear you tell him how good he’s making you feel. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything so much.

Your hand is back on his cock without another word, but your touch isn’t nearly as light as before. Your grip is tighter now, faster as you pump the ample amount of pre-cum he’s leaking down his cock. It’s downright filthy, sinful, but he never wants it to end. He never wants to do anything else as long as he lives.

Once you’re satisfied with the heavy, aching hardness of his cock in your hand, you shift so that you’re now cupping his balls. His hips immediately jerk at the new sensation. There’s a certain danger to it, a trust. He’s allowing you to sit before him with the most delicate part of his body in your hand, and the only thing he feels is need. There’s no fear when he’s with you.

“Ready baby?” you ask him, your voice soft and sweet. “Ready for my mouth?”

He nods so hard that he swears he injures his neck. It doesn’t matter, though, when your plush, beautiful lips wrapped around the head of his cock.

Perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

It’s the only word his brain has the ability to fathom.

The way your tongue runs along the vein on the underside of his cock? The warmth of your cheeks? The way your throat squeezes him just right as you begin to slide him in inch by inch?

Perfect. All perfect.

“Darling,” he whines, the noise so strained that you flick your eyes open to check on him. “Angel, baby, oh f-”

His words are cut off by a loud, helpless moan, his hips bucking up so hard that his cock nearly gags you. He feels the tight heat of your throat swallow around him, the way your body jerks just a tad. It so desperately makes him want to apologize, but he never gets the chance. He’s cumming down your throat before he has the chance to stop himself.

“Mon ange! I’m cumming, fuck, thank you! Thank you!”

He feels the way your beautiful throat milks him for all he has, swallowing every drop of his cum like you’re loving it.

You don’t release his cock from your mouth until he’s throughly spent, whining and squirming from the overstimulation. A bit of cum drips down your cheek when you finally pul off. The smile on your face is wicked, pleased and blushed in such a filthy way.

You lay a hand on Sanji’s thigh when he goes a few long moments without speaking. “Ji? You okay?”

He can’t move. He can’t think. The only thing his body will allow him to do is stare down your swollen, wet lips.

Finally, two little words are able to slip from his lips. “So good.”

The smile on your face only grows.

“Yeah? Good first time?”

Good? You just changed his life, gave him the touch he’s been craving since the moment he saw you, and you’re asking him if it was good?

“Darling,” he heaves, hand coming down to gently card through your hair. “So amazing. Thank you. Thank you so much. I…I want…do you…”

You grab his boxers from beside you then, nudging his ankles so he allows you to slowly begin redressing him. The gesture is soft, kind. It makes Sanji’s heart ache despite the fact that his cock had been fully down your throat just a minute before.

“I know, sweetheart,” you soothe once you’ve got his boxers back in place. “I know, but I want this to be about you tonight, yeah? I don’t need anything today.”

A strange, sort of uncomfortable feeling tangles in his gut. “Baby, no. No, I can. Teach me how and I can make you feel good.”

All you give him is a soft smile as you pull your tank top back over your head. “How about this? How about we sleep together in here tonight, and tomorrow when the crew is on the island, we can spend some more time together?”

Something about the way you say spend more time together makes him burn.

“Okay, love,” he breathes. “Yes, yes! Okay.”

A small giggle escapes your lips at the sight of his excitement. You lay down practically in his lap, curling into his side and under the crook of his arm. Sanji barely wants to move, doesn’t even want to breathe.

Of course the sex is amazing, the touching and moans, but this - oh this is what he’s always truly dreamed of. The feeling of you in his arms is almost just as overwhelming as his climax. You’re warm, solid against him in a way he’s never felt with someone else.

He’s safe here. He’s loved here.

“Sanji?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Have…have we kissed?”

The question almost makes a laugh tear from Sanji’s throat. You’ve swallowed his cum, made him see stars and moan until there were tears streaming down his face, but no. No, you haven’t kissed.

“Um…n-no. No, we haven’t.”

That’s all the motivation you need to grab ahold of his shirt collar and pull his lips down to yours.

All the cook wants to do is weep. It’s biblical. It’s heaven. It’s you.

If he didn’t know any better, he might even say that it’s home.

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