#oc: Amy Lajoie

[vespidphoenix]

Entirely at your service

Tag list: @fanaticsnail @turtletaubwrites @weaversofnulbundin

It's Sanji's turn to stay on the Thousand Sunny while the rest of the Straw Hats explore a new island, so he makes his way up to the crow's nest for his watch. He is pleasantly surprised in more ways than one by what, or rather who, he finds up there.

Notes: NSFW, minors begone, lots of swearing, friends to lovers, porn with feelings, idiots in love, chubby OC, some angst, lots of fluff, praise kink, breast worship, consent really is sexy, inappropriate(?) use of observation haki, etc; word count 6.3k

AN: Baby's first fan fiction! Ya girl can have a little a shameless self-insert, as a treat. I've only seen OPLA and I'm not past the East Blue in the manga/anime yet, but I've done my best to keep everything consistent with canon.

AN 2: I use French as the language of the Celestial Dragons, and both Sanji and Amy are fluent. Most of the time, I'll put the English words in brackets at the end of the paragraph, but there are some recurring phrases that I'll leave untranslated: mère bleue is 'blue mother', as in Mother Ocean; merde is 'shit'; mon amour, chérie, and ma chère are endearments

Chapter One: you are here! | Next chapter | Masterlist

Edit: read this chapter on ao3!

(Banner courtesy of @cafekitsune)

As soon as the hatch leading to the crow’s nest clangs shut, Sanji sets his snack tray on the floor mats and collapses with a dramatic groan. 

“Fuck me raw,” he sighs.

“As appealing as that sounds, that’s gonna have to wait another couple days per Chopper’s advice,” a feminine voice deadpans behind him.

Sanji sits upright with a start, nearly knocking over his water bottle. “Mère bleue!” he exclaims as he turns to face his crew mate; “for some reason I thought you were in the landing party today.”

Amy’s reply is drowned out by the pounding of Sanji’s heart when he blinks and notices just how casually she is dressed. He recognizes her sarong as a recent gift from a grateful cloth merchant—he would stand by the assertion that everything looked good on Nami, the original recipient, but he’d have to agree with her that it suited their crew’s interpreter better—and the crocheted halter top as Amy’s own handiwork. He feels a sudden itch to find out for himself just how soft a yarn she chose for this particular work of art…

For lack of a mirror, Amy could not see what her face looked like; but she imagined that if she could, her eyes would be wide and sparkling with mischief. It’s certainly the feeling she always seems to get whenever she’s face-to-face with the handsome blond before her: a grin pressing at her cheeks to escape through the seam of lips pressed together, eyelids spread as if to take in more of him.

(Sometimes, she reckons she could spread other parts of herself for that purpose, if she thought him willing to put his money where his mouth always seems to go.)

“I’m not complaining, mind you,” she continues to say, “but this is the third—no, fourth time in a row!”

Sanji gulps and shakes the slightly-glazed expression from his face. “I’m sorry, can you say that again? I was…distracted by your beauty.” He winks one piercing blue eye, and skepticism be damned, she feels heat creeping over her body and pooling between her legs.

Amy rolls her eyes and fidgets with her sarong in lieu of making a snarky comment about blindfolds.

“As I was saying while you were ogling me, I was going to be one of the landing party, but Nami insisted on having Usopp join her in mapping the island because my handwriting is so much better than his, so I should be the one to help you with inventory. She’s not wrong, per se, but this is the third or fourth time in a row this has happened, and part of me wants to call bullshit.”

“Part of you? What about the rest of you?” Sanji asks, resolutely fixing his gaze on Amy’s eyes instead of letting it drift to her bust or the soft rolls of her exposed torso.

This time it’s Amy’s turn to deliver a blush-inducing wink. “The rest of me is simply happy to be spending time with you.”

“Well, lucky for us, sweetheart, I took the liberty of doing inventory earlier this morning so that Miss Nami would have a grocery list,” Sanji replies after taking a deep breath, “so I am…entirely at your service.” 

Entirely at your service. The words tickle Amy as she takes in Sanji’s shirtless form, supine once more and sporting that megawatt grin. As her gaze trickles down from his abs to those steel-hard thighs, she can’t even bring herself to be annoyed by how smug he looks; Mother Ocean knows how handsome he knows he is, how hard he’s worked to earn those well-toned—

“Have I rendered you speechless, mademoiselle?”

Sanji’s voice, sultry and teasing, interrupts her train of thought.

Entirely at your service.

Sanji knows he’s close to some sort of victory when Amy’s face flushes even more deeply and she still doesn’t answer right away. There’s something uniquely thrilling about fencing with words and looks the way Mosshead trains with Wado Ichimonji—maneuvering, testing, anticipating, parrying, scoring—and he reckons it has to do with the way both parties win something if one goes about it correctly.

He watches and sits up as Amy walks around to his front before she settles next to the tray of snacks. His heart thumps harder in his chest the same way that foolish thing does every time they’re in such close proximity, not quite touching but close enough that he wouldn’t even need to fully extend his arm were he to caress her cheek—

“You don’t need to sit up on my account, handsome. Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer later, but right now maybe I’ll serve you some—how does that sound?” Amy plucks a single grape from the cluster and holds it above his mouth.

Maybe I’ll serve you some.

It’s not often Sanji allows himself to contemplate what he might do with such an offer. As a child, he’d served in order to live; as an adolescent and now as an adult, he lives to serve. But sometimes it occurs to him that letting someone serve him instead can itself be an act of…well…service.

(It will take some time before he allows himself even to think the word ‘love’ in place of ‘service’, and longer still before he allows himself to speak it; but it’s there, waiting like a daffodil bulb in early March for safe conditions to bloom.)

There will be time for Sanji to unpack all of this later, when a beautiful woman is not offering him a grape that looks as sweet and delicious as the person holding it, looking at him with the inviting heat of an onsen—or perhaps it is the sort of hunger that no amount of grapes can quench but he might be able to satisfy anyway. 

All Blue forbid he keep a lady waiting. He lowers himself back onto the floor mats and opens his mouth.

“Good boy,” Amy teases in her best attempt at a sultry purr, frowning when Sanji gives her a strange look and shifts uncomfortably instead of rolling his eyes. “Sorry, does my femme fatale impression need work? Too over-the-top, not campy enough, too demeaning?”

“No, that was—no, no, you’re fine,” he replies, suddenly a little breathless. “How about that grape?”

If Amy notices the hunger filling both his mind and his gym shorts, she mercifully does not comment on it.

There’s a look in Sanji’s eyes that, if she didn’t know better, Amy might call naked desire, and the idea renders her dizzy with want, or it could be dehydration—she’s not sure, not in this weather. She drops the grape in Sanji’s waiting mouth, pats his jaw, and gets up to let a breeze in through a window.

She can hear the slight frown in Sanji’s voice when he calls, “Are you alright, darling? Can I get you something to drink? I think I saw a fountain somewhere…”

“You’re not beating the waiter allegations from Zoro anytime soon, are you?” Amy chuckles, the cooler air having relieved her flustered state.

“He can call me a scullion for all I care; it’s a small price to pay to see you satisfied.” The chef curses under his breath; there are no spare cups up here, so sharing his canteen will have to suffice. He brings it to Amy with an apologetic smile.

She takes a sip and smiles gratefully, and allows her eyes once again to wander over Sanji’s chiseled body. “I have a tall glass of water to drink from, and that’s a good place to start.”

Sanji draws a sudden breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Keep talking like that, and we might not get to finish the snacks I brought up.”

A wicked grin spreads over Amy’s face, and Sanji knows he’s fallen into his own trap.

“How about I help you finish your snack, and you help me finish mine?”

He groans and tilts his head back, and the creeping heat that became smoldering want is stoked into flame by the huskiness of his voice, by the way his neck seems further exposed, there for the kissing—

“Say the word, Amy, and all of it is yours.”

Amy merely smiles. She steps past him, hooking an arm around the far side of his waist as she goes; when he spins around to face her once again, she tugs on the hand suddenly holding hers.

“You gonna have a seat or what?” she asks, nodding toward the tray.

A moment’s hesitation, and Sanji steps forward into the gap between them.

“Are you gonna call me a good boy if I do?” he asks almost under his breath, just above a whisper.

They’re standing so, so close together now, Sanji is sure Amy can feel his breath on her forehead and the place where his shorts are almost too tight to contain him—because she might have called him a tall glass of water, but to him her eyes are Dressrosi kahlua, and he is so drunk on her gaze he would confess to a lot more than his longings, just for another shot.

“I can call you anything you like,” she breathes, “when I am entirely at your service.”

Their lips meet now in a kiss that, for all the repartee and flirtation that preceded it, is gentle and unhurried, a moment to be savored. After a few moments they pull apart, all smiles, long enough for Sanji to remark:

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.”

The pair dissolve into giggles and quick pecks as Sanji finally lays himself down beside the snacks.

To his left, recumbent and supporting herself on one arm, Amy realizes her mistake and gestures to the tray. "Would you mind passing me those?" she asks.

"I thought you were supposed to be serving me," he replied with a mock pout and still-twinkling eyes. 

"I was always taught it was impolite to reach directly across someone's personal space." Amy raises an eyebrow, still looking amused.

Gently, tentatively, as if reaching out to pet a cat, Sanji places his left hand on the small of her back. The hitch in Amy's breath at his touch and the way her eyes widen send a tingling sensation down his spine, straight to his groin. He flashes her the most charming smile he can muster.

"Chérie, in case I haven't made it clear, I want you in my personal space; and unless I am reading you wrong, in which case I apologize sincerely..." He begins to remove his hand.

"No, no, keep doing that—"

(Amy almost doesn't recognize that plaintive voice as her own, but the way his broad palm spread across her back and the soothing way he moved his thumb in little circles have seared themselves into her mind like an addiction.)

Sanji, that smug, sexy bastard, grins and does as he is told.

“…if I am not mistaken, you want me in your personal space, too.” 

Amy is speechless for a moment with an embarrassment she can’t quite explain, but she knows exactly how to get back at Sanji. With his hand back in its place holding her, she smiles sweetly and says:

“Thank you…”

—she moves not only to reach across him for the food, but also to straddle him entirely, which she is sure was his plan to begin with; but then she leans her head close to his, and her smile turns impish—

“…or should I say ‘good boy’?”

Pulling her waist closer with one hand and pushing himself up from the floor with the other arm, Sanji kisses Amy again, trailing along her jawline with an unmistakable urgency.

“Mon amour,” he pleads, “laisse-moi te montrer ce que tu m’inspires…” [Let me show you what you inspire in me...]

“Ho-hold on, lover boy,” Amy gasps, giving the smallest yelp when his hand squeezes a plush asscheek and presses her body against his hardness. “Don’t forget what you came here to do. We don’t—fuck—we don’t waste food.” She pushes against Sanji’s chest and hopes he can see the sympathetic reluctance in her face.

He whimpers. Sanji whimpers, and the sound of it is almost enough to break her resolve; but she knows that if he loved anything in the world more than women, it would be food alone. She presses her forehead to his and a gentle kiss to his nose.

“We don’t waste food.”

If Sanji didn’t know better, he’d think he was dreaming. If he’s dreaming, then woe betide the person who wakes him up, he thinks.

The afternoon sun backlights Amy’s head like a halo, and the breeze through the window causes her brown hair to flutter like a curtain or a sacred veil. Sanji thanks whatever deities are listening—for surely the vision above him is divine in source as well as appearance—for every person before him who fumbled their chance at the privilege that is now his. Hell if he knows what a rejected-princeling-turned-pirate-cook could possibly offer that is worthy of a goddess like this; but he would devote himself to her, be her high priest, beg her to take him as her throne—anything for the heaven in her embrace, if she would only let him.

We don’t waste food.

The reminder nudges Sanji out of his angst, and he grins. “Let’s have those snacks, then, before we get carried away and fill up on something else.”

He gives Amy one more kiss on her lips, chaste yet searing, and lets her go.

The absence of his hand on her waist feels like a loss, until she sits back to reach for the grapes and feels something pressing below her tailbone. She exchanges a knowing smile with the man pinned beneath her, handsome as a demigod.

“You know, if we share those snacks, they’ll be gone faster,” he muses, before dropping his voice even lower. “Then you and I can have our ways with each other.”

“Someone’s eager.” Amy winks and picks up a piece of bruschetta.

“Eager to please you, eager to serve you, eager to feel you in the throes of bliss—yes, I am eager, and you deserve an eager lover, Amy.”

Amy looks stunned. Sanji gestures to the bread slice in her hand.

“Mind telling me how that bruschetta tastes?” he asks. “I used a different combination of cheese and seasoning since we couldn’t find any mozzarella in the last port.”

You deserve an eager lover.

Amy knows this to be true, knows that a lack of sex is better than mediocre sex; but knowing is one thing, and hearing a would-be lover echo the sentiment is another. Not only that: Sanji says it with such conviction, as if pleading with her to believe it too. It's refreshing. Arousing.

So...maybe she leans forward a bit more than necessary when she brings a morsel to Sanji's waiting mouth, and delights in the way his noises of appreciation seem to be as much for the heft of her breasts as for the acidic tang of the diced tomatoes. Maybe she grinds her bottom on his clothed cock just a little when she reaches for another handful of grapes, and smiles with the knowledge that his moaning isn't only for the bursts of sweetness on his tongue. Maybe she is uncommonly thorough when licking the sticky tangerine juice off his fingers.

Entirely at your service.

Maybe I’ll serve you some.

Swimming as their heads are with heady lust, it takes Sanji and Amy by surprise when they find the snack tray empty. They stare at it in silence for a long moment, before—

“Should I, uh—”

“That went more—”

“No, sorry, you go—”

“You go—”

Sanji sits up, laughing, and Amy kneels in front of him, head cocked to one side.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any condoms on you, or know whether Zoro keeps any up here?” Amy asks quietly.

“Hm? I think Mosshead keeps all his in his belt thing; Franky’s shooting blanks and exclusive with Miss Robin, so they don’t need any—”

“Wait, how does Franky know…”

“Apparently the Surgeon of Death also does vasectomies from time to time—wish I’d thought of that the last time we ran into them.”

“Damn. But do you have any?” Amy asks, leaning closer and poking him gently.

Sanji sighs deeply. “Don’t got any rubbers on me, but I keep some in the bunk room…”

“Hmmm, mais je ne peux plus attendre.” With her left hand on his right cheek, Amy pulls Sanji in for a lingering kiss. “J’ai besoin de toi maintenant.” [but I can't wait anymore; I need you now]

“Fuck, Amy,” Sanji groans between hungry, open-mouthed kisses, “how’m I supposed to resist you when you talk to me all sweet like that?” He slides a hand just above the waist of her sarong for emphasis, and cautiously slips a couple fingertips between fabric and skin.

Amy allows her fingernails to lightly scrape his skin as her free hand finds his spine; the hand already on his face threads through his hair. “You’re not supposed to resist me,” she murmurs into his jawline as she pulls his head back to expose his neck. “You’re supposed to forget about that snack tray, forget about our crewmates”—she places a cluster of kisses along his neck—“and enjoy some time alone with your lover—”

Your lover. The words send shivers coursing over Sanji’s skin.

“—just…enjoy yourself for a while.” She looks up at him through half-lidded eyes and allows one hand to drift down to his waistband.

“Well, when you put it like that—merde, ça me sens bien—let me at least put a towel down for us?” Sanji reluctantly extracts himself from Amy, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand when he catches a pout on her lovely face. [that feels good]

“Make it quick, mon amour…vraiment, j’ai besoin de toi…” [truly, I need you]

Sanji pulls a couple towels from a nearby rack, drapes the larger one so that it flows from the bottom step onto the floor, and sets the smaller one beside it. Approaching Amy, he holds a hand out to her with the air of a gentleman at a ball asking a lady to dance. She takes it and pulls herself up to stand in front of him.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she asks with an adoring smile.

Sanji cups her face in both of his hands and looks her in the eyes. “We can stop at any time and it won’t cause problems between us, y’know that, right? I want this to be enjoyable for both of us.”

Amy lets her eyes flick down to Sanji’s parted lips before meeting his gaze. “What would really be enjoyable right now is you kissing me…”

“So needy,” he teases, but obliges Amy anyway.

“‘Needy’? The love cook calls me ‘needy’?” she replies with mock outrage. “You’re the one who tricked me into straddling you and got so horny over a simple pet name that you reverted to Celestial!”

Sanji gives her a mischievous smile and another peck. “You stepped into the trap very willingly, though, didn’t you?” Another kiss, lingering a moment, and he adds: “And I know for a fact you loved it when I switched languages.”

“Quoi d’autre peux-tu faire avec ta langue, hmm?” Amy whispers against Sanji’s lips. [What else can you do with your tongue]

“S’il te plaît, chérie,” he whispers in kind, his fingers dancing lightly along one arm as he lifts it to his shoulder, “je peux te démontrer…” [If it please you, I can demonstrate]

Suddenly he bends down, and with a grunt he lifts Amy by her thighs, one on either side of his waist. He sets her down on the towel.

No sooner does Sanji let go of her legs than Amy is on him, gripping his face with both hands and kissing him voraciously. 

“That’s so—ungh—so fucking hot, Sanji,” she moans. “Fuck, you’re strong.”

“You’re not that heavy, are you?” Sanji manages to say between kisses—not that he’s complaining. “Ten stone, twelve?”

“Fourteen last I checked,” Amy murmurs into his chin. “You’re so good at what you do, I’m always hungry for more.”

Sanji chuckles at her double entendre. “Fourteen’s nothin’, long as I let my legs do the work.”

“Definitely the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen.” Amy sucks lightly at the base of Sanji’s neck, and almost erases his train of thought completely.

“Merde—since your own, of course, right?” He places his hands on her knees and ever-so-slowly moves them upward.

“Mmm, naturally,” Amy murmurs, more interested in Sanji’s collarbone.

“Are you even listening right now?” Sanji asks, grinning with amusement as he pulls away. He laughs when Amy makes a whining noise and chases him with her lips.

“Your tongue is doing way too much talking, lover boy. Starting to think maybe you’re all talk.”

Sanji narrows his eyes.

Before Amy has time even to discern anything from his smile, Sanji’s gripping the back of her head in one hand and nudging her mouth open with his tongue. His other hand slides higher along her thighs, tantalizingly close to where she suddenly realizes she needs his touch the most. She moans into Sanji’s hungry mouth, the noise sounding more like a whimper than she would have liked to admit were she clear-minded; but her senses are consumed with him, and she can’t bring herself to care. His appreciative groans are like held notes on a saxophone; he smells of musky cologne and sweat in a way that registers as the essence of virility in the back of her mind; he electrifies her skin with the slightest contact; she can taste fruit and spice on his tongue, and—

“Sanj, there’s something metal in your mouth, is that a piercing or…?”

Amy leans back to peer into Sanji’s grinning mouth, and sure enough, the frenulum is pierced with a horseshoe bar.

She puts her arms around his neck and pulls him close again. “You know, I’d heard you described as having a silver tongue,” she teases, her lips a hair’s breadth from his, “but I didn’t think Nami and Usopp were being serious.”

Sanji kisses her again, delicate and sweet like a meringue. “It’s surgical steel, love, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He chuckles and Amy rolls her eyes fondly.

“Now, why don’t we go back to your talent show?” she suggests.

“A show, hmm? I’ve never tried exhibitionism, but we can talk kinks later, sure.”

“You know what I meant!” Amy laughs, giving Sanji’s shoulder a playful backhand.

“Oh, yes, that’s right: the talent show in which I”—Sanji places one more kiss on Amy’s smiling mouth—“pleasure this lovely lady”—he whispers before kissing behind her ear and sliding his hands to the laces of her top—“with my tongue until she”—loosens the knot holding the halter-neck in place and nips an exposed shoulder, prompting her to buck against him—“begs me to make her cum on my face.” He presses his face into her cleavage, and looks up to gauge her expression. “That one?”

Amy combs a hand through Sanji’s corn-silk hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and gasps with something like awe marbled with need. His lust-darkened eyes peering up at her from between her breasts might be the most erotic thing she’s ever seen.

Entirely at your service.

You deserve an eager lover.

“Oh, Sanji…” she sighs and leans back against the bench. “Please, yes, I need it…

“…do I get to serve you after?”

The question is so airy and quiet that Sanji almost doesn’t catch it, occupied as he is with the scent of Amy’s perfume and the solemn task of unbuttoning her from the other side. “What’s that, darling?”

Amy holds his face between her hands and pets his flushed cheeks with her thumbs. “Do I get to return the favor once you’ve made good on those wonderful things you said you want to do to me?”

“You may not need to. I’m pretty, ah, worked up right now—might be that I’ll follow you over the edge when you cum for me.” Sanji kisses her palm and, taking hold of her hand, guides it along the faint trail of hair leading to where he needs her touch the most.

Amy wants to press the question further, but contents herself with pressing her hand to the bulge in Sanji’s shorts. She gasps in wonder at his size and the needy cry that pours from his lips.

“Let’s find out for sure, shall we?” She turns her back to Sanji and lifts her hair out of the way.

Seating himself on the bench beside Amy, Sanji can reach the buttons just fine, but he welcomes the chance to lavish her neck with a flurry of kisses. He smiles against her skin at her giggling, and thinks of how quickly the sound is becoming one of his favorites.

Amy’s breath, already shaking, hitches when she feels her top come loose, and again when Sanji sucks lightly on the skin joining her neck to her shoulders.

“Sanji, please…”

“Shhh, darling, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs as his hands snake over the bare skin of her waist to cover hers in the front. “Your body is so soft, so beautiful. I love it.

“Can…can I just…feel it for a moment first? Explore it, admire it for a bit before I ravish you?” Sanji continues, tracing with his fingers the places that had previously been covered.

“Just as long as your body stays on mine.” Amy sighs dreamily and leans against him, eyes closed, happy to let him fill her senses once again.

There has, historically, been precious little in Sanji’s life that could be described as soft or tender. Such is a hard-working life at sea, to say nothing of what came before his stint on the Orbit; even on such a well-appointed ship as the Thousand Sunny, piracy is piracy, and the oceans swallow the weak. So when something comes Sanji’s way that could be construed as even the vaguest promise of devotion, he has learned to seize it, to enjoy it while he can, before the Blue Mother’s waves inevitably carry it out of reach.

He does not seize Amy, for she is not a pipe dream or a fantasy: she is substantial, in multiple senses of the word, generous in the warm plushness of her body and likewise in the beauty of her soul. He paces himself, like a man who has known starvation followed by plenty; though he does have to take a steadying breath when she sets aside the bralette and turns toward him, now bare-chested. One hand goes to her heartbeat, one to her shoulder, trailing downward and leaving a tingling heat in its wake.

“I want to figure you out, chérie, before I take you apart,” Sanji rasps in Amy’s ear as he engages his haki.

Amy has a hunch she’s in for some of the best sex of her life. Not that she has a great deal of first-hand experience for the love cook to exceed—men did not often stay in her life long enough for attraction to develop—but even if Sanji is as much of a serial womanizer as Nami and Zoro make him out to be, he has already proven attentive and empathetic enough to be above average. It’s not his skill she’s worried about—

The casual flick of a thumb across a now-stiffened nipple jolts Amy back into the moment with a squeal.

“Fuck, Sanji, that feels so good, do it again…”

He obliges, of course he does, and pleasure like an electric shock goes straight to her cunt, suddenly flooded with slick. She arches her back, leaning forward into his touch; and he must have heard the needy impatience in her wordless moan, because he pulls her flush with him and nibbles her ear. 

“Où d’autre, where else do you need me?” Sanji murmurs. “J’ai besoin de te plaîre…” [Where else; I need to please you]

Where doesn’t she need him? Amy wonders. “Everywhere, babe, jus’—fuck—everywhere. My neck, my hands, my tits, need you inside, everywhere.”

Sanji’s face lights up like he’s received the best news of his life, and he kisses her again. 

“As my lady commands.”

As he nibbles at her ear and her neck, Amy can’t resist rolling her hips against him, flush as she is with his hardened abdomen and his cock, and spirits it feels so good—

“Amy, my love,” Sanji pleads, “I don’t want to cum yet, let me do this for you—”

“But Sanji…”

“Amy. Don’t you want me to keep my promise to you?”

He stands and pulls her up as well, and continues: “Don’t you want to find out what my tongue can do? I should think you wouldn’t want the talent show to end so early.”

“Your fingers untying my skirt are giving me a mixed signal,” Amy mutters, though her fingers digging out the knots belie the annoyance in her words.

“I’m going to have you lay back for me, darling,” Sanji says as he folds the sarong, “and I want to have a cushion for your beautiful head.” He holds the garment out to her, and he’s looking at her with such tenderness that she feels something clench in her chest. “Your comfort matters to me.”

“And you feeling good matters to me.”

“Tell you what,” Sanji offers as his hands push gently on Amy’s hips, encouraging her to sit. “I get to taste every part of you, and you get to shower me in praise and ‘good boys’ to your heart’s content. How does that sound?”

“And then I get to play with your cock?” she asks, pouting slightly but positioning herself on the towel nevertheless.

Sanji makes a choked gasp. “Merde, yes, then you can play with my cock.”

“Sounds good to me.” Amy leans back and watches as he hems her in, elbows on either side of her shoulders, powerful legs astride her own.

Sanji takes a deep breath and considers what he learns from his haki. Amy shudders almost imperceptibly with each heaving breath; her eyes, wide and dark, dart between his eyes, his lips, his chest, and occasionally his groin. Her back is arched just enough to not have the steps’ wooden lip pressing into her, or perhaps she means to draw his attention back to her sizeable breasts; and her knees are turned outward, as though readying her legs to cage his lower torso close to her own. She smells of jasmine, sweat, and the spiced tang of arousal, so much arousal. 

He can’t wait to taste her. With no dissonance of thought or feeling in her aura to give him pause, the tasting begins.

He starts, quite naturally, with her mouth: lips that capture his sight whenever she has occasion to wear lipstick, staining his fantasies a pomegranate red; gasps and moans that spill from her like an overturned glass of sparkling wine; the lingering taste of sweet words and peppery olive oil on a tongue seeking out its counterpart to pull him closer. When the cruel need for oxygen forces them to pull apart, Sanji and his own clever tongue find the sensitive spot just behind Amy’s ear that he knows will make her nerves sing—

“SANJI, oh gods!” she cries, sure enough—

“Amy, chérie, would you be very offended if I were to leave a souvenir on your skin?” Sanji asks in a husky voice while he has her ear. “A mark of my passion, so to speak?”

Amy does not answer right away and her frenzied groping stills, but her embrace remains steady, which soothes his unease. She’s considering it, Sanji reminds himself.

Finally, she caresses his cheek, and he takes the chance to kiss her inner wrist. “Put them in places that can be covered with ease,” she replies decisively. “Whatever…this is”—for the first time since he found her in the crow’s nest Sanji hears a note of apprehension in her voice—“it’s our treasure, and I’d like to enjoy it that way for a bit before making it known to anyone else.

“We may be Straw Hats, but we are still pirates,” Amy continues with a smile returning to her face. “I think we’re allowed to be a little cagey about our hidden treasure.”

Whatever this is. Our hidden treasure. Sanji feels something shift in him at Amy’s words—not a jarring shift like a fall or a sudden change of perspective, but a shift like the changing of plans or steering a vessel in a new direction. A shift like soil making way for growing roots.

In the meantime, Sanji’s cock is twitching at the prospect of marking this woman as his, and again with the thrill of keeping a secret. “Such an angel,” he groans into her neck, “such a privilege just to touch you.”

Such a dangerous business, this whole falling-in-love thing, Amy thinks to herself. No, she’s not in love, not with one of the most notorious flirts on the Grand Line, even if he does look like he belongs on a magazine cover instead of a pirate vessel. Even if she isn’t merely imagining the heartbroken look on his face at the words ‘whatever this is’. Even if he is the most caring lover she’s ever had—because that’s just the thing: he does love generously, he loves in defiance of the sire he left behind, he loves and he loves and it would be selfish of her to want some part of it to be hers alone, wouldn’t it? No, she’s not in love with Sanji, but the cliff’s edge is right there, and the call of the void is strong.

“Chérie, have I lost you again? Is everything alright?”

Sanji’s handsome, smiling face is hovering above her chest again. Amy runs her fingers through his hair—he closes his eyes and hums at the sensation—and tucks it behind his ear.

“I was just…distracted by your beauty.” She smiles and winks.

“Using my own lines on me, are you?” Sanji growls in mock annoyance.

“What?! I’m just learning from the best.”

“Flatterer.”

“Clearly flattery works, or else you wouldn’t be straddling a mostly-naked woman right now.” Amy begins to drag one foot along Sanji’s leg for emphasis.

In lieu of an answer, he shudders and trails a finger along the side of one breast, which he lifts toward his mouth. While Amy lets her head fall back against the improvised cushion, he mouths at one pebbled areola with relish and strokes the other with a firm thumb, basking in her babbled praises over the next several minutes.

“That feels so, so good, darling, so good…

“Gods, your tongue is incredible—yes, just like that!”

“Oh, fuck—could let you do just this to me for hours…”

…and Sanji thinks, feeling the way she bucks and tenses under his caresses, he’d be willing to do it, too, his own erection be damned, if he didn’t think muscle cramps on his part would put a damper on her pleasure. If nothing else happens between him and Amy, he could at least go for months touching himself just to this memory.

Mercifully, the sound of a soft chuckle interrupts Sanji’s anxious thoughts before they have a chance to spiral. He leaves off the sucking motion of his tongue and looks into Amy’s half-lidded eyes. “Chérie?” he inquires tentatively.

She again combs his hair back with her fingers, still smiling. “It just struck me as funny, the way you looked like a boy licking his first ice cream cone of the summer.”

Sanji stares a moment before spluttering with indignation. “And what is a man supposed to look like as he is worshiping at his lady’s breasts?” 

Unfortunately, this serves only to make the lady in question laugh harder, albeit with fondness, and touch her forehead to his.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! It felt so good, but when I opened my eyes, there you were, swirling your tongue like you were afraid of letting your mint chocolate chip melt—”

“Melt?!” Sanji echoes, still playfully indignant. “Oh, I’ll make you melt—”

—to which end he pushes Amy back down and renews his ministrations with a vengeance, licking and sucking and nipping the sensitive buds, and tickling her sides. His hands slide lower and lower along her hips until he’s teasing the skin just above her panties; and when she makes no move to bat his hand away, he dips two fingers into the heat of her folds.

Amy never knew sex could be so fun.

Well, no, that’s not quite true; she’s long known, in an intellectual sort of way, that feeling safe and relaxed emotionally is conducive to both having fun and to having good sex. But the wisdom gleaned from others feels like an understatement compared to the euphoria and the anticipation suffusing her right now.

“You—” she pants, smiling, “you’re as good as your word, ah-aren’t you?”

Sanji releases a reddened nipple with a lewd smack.  “And you, love, have been melting for a while already, haven’t you?” He runs a finger along her slit, grinning wickedly at her wetness. 

“Oh fuck, Sanji, keep—keep doing that…”

“Tell me, Amy, is all of this for me?” Sanji all but purrs. Her pussy clenches at the sight of him licking her slick off of his hand and she whimpers.

A whimper is not enough for him: his fingers tease her clit, dancing around but never touching it. He flicks a nipple with his tongue. “I need words, ma chère…” he says.

Amy does not have words, though. There is nothing in Amy’s world save her body, and Sanji’s touch, and pure sensation.

“Answer me,” Sanji insists in a rumbled voice; and when he hears no answer but more wordless whimpering, he bites on Amy’s nipple and strokes her clit at the same time.

“Fuck! SANJI!” she screams, mustering the last two words in her brain as her world turns from pure sensation to white-hot ecstasy.

Likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated, especially if somehow I fucked up post formatting or my French grammar LOL

[vespidphoenix]

Entirely at your service (a One Piece fanfic)

MASTERLIST

From their first meeting, to her joining the Straw Hat Pirates, to one fateful afternoon aboard the Thousand Sunny, life has had a way of surprising Amy Lajoie—and Amy Lajoie has had a way of surprising Sanji. Love, of course, will find a way of surprising them both.

Black Leg Sanji x Original Character

Written with live-action Sanji in mind, but I'm doing my best to keep the plot consistent with manga/anime canon. Rated 18+ for explicit sex scenes

Chapter One: you look like fun to me [read on ao3]

Chapter Two: get to know me close [read on ao3]

Chapter Three: in progress

Collage courtesy of @fanaticsnail!

[vespidphoenix]

Entirely at your service

Chapter 2: get to know me close

Sanji and Amy are excited, to say the least, to find their sexual attraction is mutual; but for Amy, there's more at stake than hedonistic pleasure. Lucky for her, Sanji takes his nickname 'the Love Cook' very seriously.

Notes: NSFW, minors begone, porn with even more feelings, chubby fem OC, more angst, more fluff, more smut, gratuitous use of French because ya girl studied that shit (affectionate) for eight years and will be damned if she lets it go to waste, oral (f receiving, m receiving mentioned), dirty talk, masturbation (m and f), praise kink, etc.; word count 5.9k

AN: I think the only recurring French Celestial word that's new in this chapter is 'dieux', which is 'gods'. 'Calisse' is only used once, but I feel like the author's notes is a more appropriate place than the main body to explain that it is a profanity in Québécois French.

AN 2: I should have mentioned this in the first chapter's ANs. While this fic is set before Whole Cake Island, Amy has partial knowledge of Sanji's backstory for reasons that will be explained eventually

Chapter 1 | Next chapter: coming soon | Masterlist | Read this chapter on ao3

(Banner courtesy of @cafekitsune)

Tag list: @turtletaubwrites @fanaticsnail

When Amy’s awareness slowly extends beyond her pulsing cunt, Sanji is there, fingering her gently as she comes down from her high and cradling her neck with his other hand. His eyes are soft and his smile broad.

“Did you…did you just cum for me?” he asks, incredulous.

Amy turns away, grumbling, “I told you I needed you now.”

“Hey, hey, hey, none o’ that, none o’ that,” he coos, and turns her head back to face him. “Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, sweetheart. You were so lovely.”

The lovers say nothing for several deep breaths while Amy recovers her ability to think. Sanji removes his hand from between her legs and cleans his fingers on the smaller towel.

“What…what do we do now?” Amy finally manages to say.

“What do you want to happen now? We can get you cleaned up, we can keep going, whatever you’d like. I am still at your service.” He winks.

Mère bleue, his winking, his eyes never fail to set Amy’s insides aflutter. She frowns, though.

“But you haven’t finished yet.” She nods to Sanji’s painfully-obvious erection. “Don’t wanna leave you hanging.”

“Well, I don’t want to pressure you into doin’ anything you don’t want…”

Amy stretches her arms and back with a groan. Sanji is torn between concern about back pain from her leaning against the bench and drooling over the view of her breasts; Amy notices his internal conflict and giggles. She leans forward and kisses him slowly.

“Let’s move this to someplace a little more comfortable, shall we?”

———

“Sanji, no, surely you’re not going to fuck me in the galley?” Amy pants a few minutes later with her back pressed against the wall of Sunny’s kitchen. “This is a food prep and storage area. Chef Zeff would—ungh, that’s the spot—Zeff would feed your cock to the sharks.”

Sanji kisses her, deeply and hungrily, grinding his hips against her. “You don’t know how my old man runs his kitchen, and besides, he’s not here.”

“I just don’t want us to get cum in tonight’s supper or something.”

“Is eating you out still on the table?” the chef asks, before sucking a mark in the valley between Amy’s breasts.

She rakes her fingernails through his hair and down his neck. “It can be, mon amour, but the couch is much more comfortable…”

She shrieks with laughter when Sanji lifts her over his shoulder and carries her around the counter to the long, green couch. “I hope you didn’t leave my top over there!” she says when he sets her down and kneels before her, and holds the towel out to her.

“Which one?” Sanji replies, his voice theatrically sultry. “Your top is right in front of you.”

“The one you all but tore—”

The punchline finally clicks, and Amy groans as she seats herself on the towel.

“My sense of humor has been a bad influence on you,” she sighs, leaning against the couch.

“Good thing I’m hot enough to pull it off, right?” Sanji grins and presents the discarded garment with a flourish.

Another fond eye-roll from Amy. “Come here and finish what you started,” she orders him, draping her arms over his shoulders, “before I change my mind and make you put it back on.”

Sanji pouts—“You would never do that to me, would you?”—but nevertheless he leans in for another deep, slow kiss. He slides his hands down to the waist of her skirt and again pauses as he dips his fingers between fabric and skin; she encircles his own hips with her legs and pulls him close.

“You’re right,” she murmurs as she nibbles his earlobe. “I wouldn’t do that to you, because you’re going to be pretty busy taking off my skirt and showing me what you can do with your tongue.”

Not for the first time this afternoon does Sanji think it a miracle when he doesn’t erupt right then and there. 

“Je fais ce que la mademoiselle me commande,” he moans into Amy’s neck. [I do as the miss commands me]

Broad, strong hands plunge boldly under Amy’s sarong, under the cotton of her panties, to give her buttocks a firm squeeze. He kneads her flesh like so much dough as he works the layers of fabric down her body; like salt on focaccia he sprinkles kisses and little bites over her stomach. Forceful, yet also measured; gentle, but oh, so very thorough—such are Sanji’s touches, and Amy feels herself melting under him once again, until—

“Sanji, I—I just remembered…I haven’t shaved or anyth—” she begins to say, but he holds up a hand to stop her. His eyes remain closed, and he does not move his face away from the juncture of her thighs.

“Amy, if the notion of my being exposed to your body hair makes you truly uncomfortable, of course I will stop at once. But if you think I will be repulsed by something perfectly harmless and natural…”

Sanji sits up and presses his forehead to hers, and his clothed hardness to her sex. He’s every bit as aroused as he was when they were making out in the crow’s nest.

“Tu sens, t’as senti l’évidence de mon désir. C’est toi de qui j’ai tant besoin.” [You feel, you have felt the evidence of my desire. It's you of whom I have such need]

Amy looks up, and Sanji’s ocean eyes are troubled, darkened with lust but also disquiet; the thought occurs to her that this isn’t the first time he’s worn that look today—

Whatever…this is…

—and something in that fact feels inexplicably like the sensation of missing a step while walking down a flight of stairs, like she’s about to—

“Baise-moi, Sanji, j’ai aussi tant besoin de tes caresses,” she pleads in the hope that if her mind is overflowing with pleasure, she’ll never have to finish that thought. [Fuck me, Sanji, I need your touch just as much]

Sanji doesn’t need observation haki to tell that Amy is holding something back, something that is causing her distress. She has to know by now that he wants this, that he wants her—that his attraction to her is not in spite of her body but because of it—that he will stop at nothing to accomplish her satisfaction. He would do anything to make her feel as beautiful and desirable as she is; she deserves it, and he is the ‘love cook’. It’s what he does. But to keep going while she is upset feels wrong somehow, like he’s using her or being insensitive…on the other hand, though, she did just make her desires known in the most direct terms.

He’s overthinking this. He promised Amy she would cum on his tongue, and he will not let her down.

“I’ve got you, chérie,” he murmurs, kissing her. “I’ll make you feel good.”

His thumbs trace circles on Amy’s hips as he ever-so-slowly kisses a trail down her body, pausing only at the hickey he’d made earlier to suck at it again before soothing it with his tongue. She shudders and sighs, and lifts her hands to cup her breasts—and gives her lover an idea.

“That’s my darling girl,” Sanji rumbles. “Show me, show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone. Teach me your body, so I know best how to make you cum.”

Amy moans, and Sanji doesn’t think he’s ever heard so heavenly a sound as her desperate need for him.

“Fuck, Sanji, you don’t know how many times I’ve fantasized about you saying those words to me. It’s even hotter in reality than in my imagination.” While one hand continues to palm her nipples in turn, Amy’s left hand goes straight to her cunt—which Sanji realizes with wonderment is already dripping her slick onto the towel. He looks down to his own groin to find his shorts dampened with precum; very carefully, he slides his shorts and boxers down until his cock is freed. He takes himself in hand, moving slowly at first.

Amy’s fingers gather slick from around her entrance and move to swirl it around her clit. “I couldn’t get you out of my head after our first conversation on Mirror Ball Island,” she continues. “I had never met any man as beautiful as this tall, fair stranger who was so interested in hearing me talk about different accents of the North Blue…the prettiest blue eyes, the sharpest jawline, the smoothest voice…spirits, if I’d had the boldness, I would have dragged him outside and told him to fuck me right then and there. I just knew he would be an incredible lay.”

Sanji remembers that night well. How quickly the sting of rejection had turned to rapture when the lovely blonde med student at the bar declined his offer of a drink, only to insist that he was definitely her roommate’s type, that he might like to buy that drink for her instead—how right she had been! How charmed he had been by Amy’s sincerity and the intensity of her doe-eyed gaze! He’d have followed her anywhere, and he’d have satisfied her lust, had he been able then to read her aura.

Well, no time like the present to make up for lost time.

“Tell me, darling girl, what was I doing to your body when you couldn’t get me out of your head?” Sanji asks as he sits down, as his finger collects the sticky liquid leaking from his tip to spread along his shaft. “How did you imagine me touching you, fucking my name out of you?”

Gods, where to begin? Amy wonders. The enticing phase, the seduction, the foreplay? Does she begin with her longings, or with their blooming into sexual desire?

She’s overthinking this. He wants to know how she masturbates, so that he can get an idea of what feels good to her.

“Well, a lot of the time I’d imagine you reaching from behind me—easier to pretend that way, y’know?—perhaps I’d be wearing a halter top or that sleeveless jumpsuit, and you would just…slide your hands under the straps to cover my chest like this, yeah?” 

Amy opens her eyes, and—her jaw drops. Sanji is entirely bare to her now, and his thick fingers are massaging what is indeed a respectably-sized penis. He’s breathing deeply, trying to concentrate, but his cheeks are flushed and his hairline is beaded with sweat. Is he…might he be close to finishing?

“Please, Amy…” he breathes, “please, continue de parler, je ne peux pas durer longtemps…” [keep talking, I can't endure for long]

She shakes her head. There will be time to wrap her mind around the questions of how or why her later. She resumes her rubbing and squeezing.

“You’d feel me like this for a bit, feel my heartbeat and my breathing quicken, and after a while maybe one of your hands might just…slide the straps of whatever I’m wearing off my shoulders so you could kiss me there.” Amy traces a line down her upper arm and tilts her head back, letting her eyes flutter shut for a few moments. She hears Sanji whimper an “oh dieux” that makes her cunt pulse with fresh wetness. At this rate, neither of them are going to last very long…

“…and meanwhile your other hand might be drifting over my stomach, down, under my swimsuit bottom or my panties, right down here where I need you.” 

Her own hand reaches its destination, and she draws a sharp breath when she realizes there’s almost no friction at all. She gives herself one slow stroke, spreading her thighs, saying:

“This, Sanji, this is what you did to my body.” Amy draws a shuddering breath. “All for you, mon amour…”

And she finds to her amazement that the choked whimper, the quiet whine of her name, the bucking of Sanji’s slender hips, the spurts of semen from his cock are all for her.

It’s all too much, in perhaps the most pleasant of ways in which something can be too much.

It always takes him by surprise, somehow, to find himself the object of someone’s desire. Call it the ghost of his upbringing: as far as Vinsmoke Judge was concerned, other people were glorified props, with no desires to speak of until he deemed them relevant; and even when he did, it was a preposterous notion that anyone should want anything from the failure Sanji that they could not be persuaded to find elsewhere.

(More than ten years have passed since Sanji escaped from his sire, as Amy so aptly termed him; but from time to time, he can still hear German voices seeping poison into his ear. “If you lay down with dogs, you’ll get up with fleas,” his sire was fond of snarling at him—not realizing that he, Judge, was himself the dog of which he spoke.)

The surprising and preposterous is happening anyway, and Vinsmoke Judge is far from his third son’s mind. Amy Lajoie, in all her voluptuous glory, is right in front of Sanji, calling herself his lover, detailing the ways in which she wanted him of all people to feel her. It is all too much—and yet, as his mind goes blank with orgasm, he needs more.

All for you, mon amour.

He’s giving his cock a few more strokes when he hears noise from somewhere above him. Opening his eyes to find a still-naked Amy pushing herself off the couch, he protests weakly (“Darling, shouldn’t I—why don’t you let me get water—”), only for her to kneel beside him and brush the hair away from his forehead.

“It’s okay, sweet boy,” she whispers, earning a soft moan from Sanji. “You looked so gorgeous fucking your fist under me, and coming for me. If you want, you can clean yourself a bit with the towel while I get some water, maybe a fresh towel or two? We did get this one pretty wet between the two of us.”

Sanji makes a grunting noise like he’s about to protest again, and makes to sit up, but Amy is already moving toward the kitchen.

“Besides which,” she calls over her shoulder as she searches for the cups, “you did say you were going to do some eating down here, and most meals come with a drink, don’t they?”

Well, that certainly gets the man’s attention. 

“I am feeling a little thirsty, now that you mention it,” he replies with a grin. “If you give me a moment, I’ll show you where I keep the coconut oil as well.”

Amy feels the presence of a warm body pressing her gently against the stove. “The cups are right here, chérie,” Sanji’s smooth voice murmurs just behind her ear as he slides his hands from her shoulder blades to her breasts.

She snickers and hangs her head. “It’s a good thing you’re hot, because that was terrible.”

“Don’t lie, sweet thing, it still made you laugh.” He smiles into the back of her head and gives her a gentle squeeze. “The cups you’re looking for are on the drying mat behind us.”

“Let’s go and get those, then, because mine won’t hold any water.” She turns to face Sanji, still in his arms.

“They could hold milk, at least in theory.”

“Only if they have a reason to do so, and ah…I’d as soon they not have one, if you catch my drift.”

Sanji looks thoughtful for a moment, before moving away from Amy to reach for the water glasses. Amy herself looks for the kitchen towels, and finds them under the sink.

“That reminds me,” Sanji says, “what did you mean earlier when you said, ‘that’s gonna have to wait a few days per Chopper’s advice’?”

Amy straightens her back and laughs. “Hah! You had said ‘fuck me raw’ upon making your entrance to the crow’s nest, yes?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Where are you going with this?”

“Well, as is often the case,” says Amy, “I was cracking a joke, but my statement was also true in a literal sense.”

“Go on…”

“I finally went to a gyno clinic before we set sail and got me one of those birth control implants. That was five days ago, and Chopper says the kind I got is fully effective after a week, lasts for a few years.”

Sanji’s eyes go impossibly wide as he connects the dots. “So what you’re telling me is—”

“—is that in just a couple more days, I’ll be able to take your pretty cock into my drooling cunt and let it fill me with your hot, thick cum without thinking about anything except for how good it feels inside me.”

Sanji is speechless, utterly speechless.

Maybe it’s the calm confidence with which she said something so intensely erotic, or perhaps it’s the way her sparkling eyes never once wavered from his that takes his breath away. He knows Amy, for all her beauty and—well—amiability, is deeply uncomfortable performing to strangers, and even among her crew she is still very much the retiring sort.

You don’t know how many times I’ve fantasized about you saying those words to me.

I couldn’t get you out of my head.

All for you, mon amour.

His mind is reeling, but he’s present enough to fill two glasses with water. 

“…so hopefully Nami will be able to reallocate that part of the budget to the kitchen staff.” Amy winks at him as she sips.

“Hm? Yes, yes, that would be great.” Sanji blinks and smiles as if it were an everyday occurrence for him to be chatting so casually in the kitchen with his…crush? Girlfriend? Friend-with-benefits? Both of them completely naked, no less. Calisse, he’s overthinking again, and Amy’s stepping toward him—

She sets her cup on the counter and puts her other hand on his waist, lightly at first, waiting for him to object.

“Now who’s not listening while their lover is talking?”

Ah, yes. Lover. So he hadn’t been imagining that part after all.

“Sorry, love, I was just…taken aback, that’s all.” He smiles sheepishly.

Amy grins and pulls him closer. Resting her chin on Sanji’s chest, she says, “I was just saying that with the berry we save on tampons and prevention pills and whatnot, Nami might be persuaded to expand our kitchen budget…and, coincidentally, I will also be able to satisfy your request that I fuck you raw.”

Sanji groans and tilts his head back, and this time Amy does not hesitate to kiss his exposed neck, though she pulls back and frowns.

“Chérie, why did you stop?” Sanji whines. 

“I should have asked you before whether you liked me doing that. You deserve all the same consideration a-and caring you’ve shown me.”

(There will be time later, between waking up in Sanji’s arms and the snail call from Nami alerting her to the crew’s impending return, for Amy to dwell on her reluctance to say the word ‘love’ in front of Sanji—as if the word had only one meaning, as if she and Sanji hadn’t taken to calling each other ‘lover’ like fish to water, as if merely speaking the word aloud would turn to solid ground the ocean beneath her sea legs.)

Sanji pulls her closer so that their foreheads touch. In a way, the gesture feels more intimate even than his fingering her, and Amy can feel her heart pounding harder; but there’s a soothing sort of protectiveness in it as well.

“You deserve all of that and more, sweetheart, I hope you know that,” he says, “and if you do something I don’t like, I’ll tell you to stop, o-or we can pick a safe word—and of course you’ll do the same for me, right?”

“Like you said before, I want this to be enjoyable for both of us.” Amy’s right hand begins to scratch Sanji’s back gently, while her left stays just above his firm, toned ass.

He hums and replies: “And like you said, what would be really enjoyable right now is getting back to the part where we kiss each other senseless.” He presses her between the counter and his stirring cock, and Amy feels her knees threaten to give way beneath her.

“Don’t forget”—she gives a breathy moan, and feels a fresh wetness between her legs—“about your meal, darling…”

Sanji groans, grabs a handful of towels, and downs the rest of his water in a few gulps. With his glass in the sink, he lifts Amy by her thighs and walks her back over to the couch.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he moans, kissing her again with fresh hunger, “mais ça suffira comme apéritif.” [but this will suffice for an aperitif]

If Sanji’s mouthing at her breasts reminded Amy of a boy with ice cream, she thinks to herself while she still has the presence of mind, he might be said to give head as though he were savoring a popsicle. He licks long stripes up and down each side, spreading the wetness about; he laps around her glistening clit and sucks; he makes shorter licks along her folds to catch the drips that threaten to escape—only to end up with his face a mess anyway. His tongue is a warm, wet tickling thing punctuated by the blunt little tips of his piercing, leaving a swell as of the inexorable tide in its wake. He looks up, and Amy’s breath hitches in her chest: his eyes are the wine-dark sea of antiquity’s poets, and she could drown herself in them, just as he looks fit to drown himself in her.

“So fucking delicious,” he growls. “Goûte-la toi-même.” [Taste it yourself]

The faintly spicy tang which Sanji had smelled on Amy earlier dances now on his taste buds, laced with the delicate saltiness of her sex. He can’t help wanting to share—was it not Amy herself who told him that ‘a happiness shared is a happiness doubled’? And few things give him happiness quite like a woman’s pleasure.

For Amy’s part, the taste of her in Sanji’s mouth is peculiar, but not unpleasant—an acquired taste, she supposes, like alcohol or coffee. Vastly more delicious is the look on his face as he reaches for her, as he pulls back to gauge her reaction, as he dives back in to tangle his tongue with hers: equal parts bliss and longing, satisfaction and need, all for her.

So fucking delicious.

“There’s so much more where that came from, beautiful boy,” Amy whispers into the hair’s-breadth of space between them, “so don’t hold yourself back.”

“Tu me fais fondre, m’appelant comme ça, ouais?” Sanji moans, leaning into her upper body even as his hands find her thighs once more. “Dis-moi encore.” [You make me melt, calling me that, yeah? Tell me again]

Amy’s eyes flutter shut, and her fingers scrape lightly along his scalp. “My beautiful boy, my sweet boy, eating me like a good boy and sharing your food,” she croons. “So generous, my darling boy is.”

Sanji’s heart soars on the updraft of Amy’s praise, so freely given, without hesitation, that he could almost believe himself worthy of it; and to be called hers only sends him flying even higher. He nestles his head into the juncture of her legs and breathes deeply, her scent serving to ground him against going dizzy with longing. Jasmine, sweat, spice, salt. Arousal, so much arousal.

He grabs her by the waist, pulls her to the edge of the couch cushion, and dives right in. He kisses her mound, kisses the inside of her thighs, sucks marks into her skin and soothes it with swipes of his tongue; and the sight fills him with an unaccustomed warmth.

Our hidden treasure.

She’s so fucking wet for him, Sanji realizes, that he might have to swap out the towel before he and Amy are done—her slickness is dripping between her buttocks and along her thighs, and it covers surely half of his face.

“Keep talking to me, darling girl,” he rasps, “and don’t you dare be quiet. I wanna be able to hear you talkin’ me through how to make you cum.” He licks a stripe along the middle of Amy’s glistening cunt, teasing her nub until she whimpers. “I want to hear you coming undone for me.”

Amy smiles through her moan. “Ho-how’m I gonna be able to talk if you’re making me fall apart with your tongue?”

“An excellent point,” Sanji chuckles, his breath sending frissons of delight rushing over her skin. She moves her hands to massage her breasts, but is interrupted by a sudden grip on her arm.

“Hold on, chérie,” he says when Amy gives him a quizzical look. “I have an idea: you hook your legs over my shoulders”—he shifts each leg into position, pressing a kiss to each thigh as he goes—“and we hold each other’s arms”—he holds her elbows in a gentle grip—“so that you just sit back and enjoy while I do all the hard work.”

“Are you sure you don’t just like having me at your mercy?” she says with a smirk.

Sanji’s sultry grin mirrors hers. “Well, if it’s gonna be hard for you to pay attention to talking and what I’m doing to you and touching yourself, I just…want to take a bit of the load off you.”

“So considerate of you.” Amy rolls her eyes, but she is smiling, and she leans back nevertheless.

“Like I said: I’m at your service.”

“Well then, high time you get to servicing me—shit, baby, that feels good…”

Sanji has already resumed his meal. He seems to be savoring it, tasting her juices with a reverence Amy might expect him to reserve for a glass of Micqueot; and the swelling sensation that followed his tongue earlier is coming on faster, spurred by the vibration of his own moaning. 

Amy starts to writhe in Sanji’s hold, whimpering when the bucking motion and the jiggling of her breasts, rather than relieving her in the slightest, only turn her on more.

“Sanji, baby, please, please,” she begs her lover, digging her heels into his back, desperate to somehow pull him even closer. “Need you more, need you deeper, please, I’m getting close—”

Something roars with triumph in Sanji’s chest when he looks up and sees the desperation in Amy’s face. Ecstatic, pleading, vulnerable yet awash with bliss, and by the clenching of her walls he can tell she’s on the edge. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls, his breath ghosting over her entrance. He lets go of Amy’s arms and reaches for her breasts, and at the same time licks one long stripe along her pussy-lips, pushing his face and his tongue in as far as he can.

A swipe of his thumbs across sensitive nipples and a swirl of his tongue around her clit is enough to send waves of release washing over her entire body, cries of “Sanji, Sanji, Sanji” gushing from her mouth like the cum spilling from her pussy. She tugs at Sanji’s blond hair, grinding her cunt on his face, wishing her bliss would last forever.

Sanji’s tongue and jaw are just starting to ache when the spasms in Amy’s sex and her legs subside. It’s a small price to pay, he thinks when he straightens his back and takes in the display before him: glistening beads of sweat dot the woman’s flushed face, itself sporting a faintly dopey smile; her ample bosom heaves with each breath; her limbs are spread wide and her head is flopped against the back of the couch, framed by her sweat-dampened locks; and of course, there’s the absolute mess of slick and saliva between her thighs. 

“Ah, que tu es belle, comme une oeuvre d’art,” Sanji sighs, smiling affectionately. If he could paint with half of Usopp’s skill, he’d be minded to preserve this moment on canvas; but alas, the medium of his own art needs cleared away lest it go stale. He picks up a clean towel from the small stack beside him. “Are you able to stand?” [You are so beautiful, like a work of art]

“I’m still catching my breath,” Amy huffs, “after you took it away and all. Give a girl a minute.” She smiles, and Sanji chuckles. 

“And here I thought your sense of humor was rubbing off on me—turns out it goes both ways.”

She hums. “Speaking of ‘rubbing off’, when—when do I get to have my turn with that cock of yours? He looks like he could use a kiss.”

Sanji pauses his massage of his jaw joints. “Say that again?”

Amy lets her eyes drift downward to rest shamelessly on his hardness. “I won’t need to use my legs if you let me give your cock the attention it’s due from here.” 

Oh. He imagines her leaning forward and placing one kiss after another on the sensitive tip, down his shaft and back up its length, before licking her lips and taking him in her mouth—oh yes, he could very much use some of those kisses, and he feels his cock twitch in agreement.

“Can I swap this towel for a fresh one first, chérie?” Sanji asks. “I-I don’t know how long I can last before we’ll both need cleanin’ up.”

“I guess I can stand long enough for you to do that,” Amy pretend-mutters. “Help me stand, would you?”

He stands, takes her by the hand, and tugs.

Amy and Sanji have been naked in front of each other for several minutes now, they’ve masturbated together, they’ve put their hands and their mouths in some very intimate places—and yet, when she finds herself once again face-to-face with Sanji and skin-to-skin with the man of her lewdest dreams, part of Amy is oddly pleased to find that she is still capable of blushing.

“Can I see that for a sec?” she asks, and takes the towel from Sanji’s other hand. “You’ve got something on your face, lover boy.”

With both of his hands now unoccupied, Sanji wraps his arms around Amy. She dabs gently at his face, enough to wipe the greater part of her slick away, but leaving enough for her to inhale deeply and smell herself on his parted lips. 

“Puis-je t’embrasser?” she whispers, closing her eyes. [May I kiss you]

“You, ma chérie, are always welcome to kiss me.” He leans in, closing the gap as if sensing her sudden shyness, and cradles her head in his palms. “Sois généreuse avec tes bisous. Tu devras m’en donner beaucoup plus avant que j’en aurai eu trop.” [Be generous with your kisses. You will have to give me a lot more before I will have had too many.]

Amy smiles as their lips brush. “Sounds like a challenge to me…”

The thought occurs to her that perhaps she is being recklessly unguarded, as she all but pours herself into Sanji’s eager mouth. She shoves that anxious voice out of her mind, though, and allows the voice of the man embracing her to drown it out with his appreciative moans. There’s something about kissing Sanji that feels as natural as breathing, like the realization that she can breathe normally again after recovering from a cold—a cold she’s had for more than two years, come to think of it…

Amy’s thoughts are interrupted when Sanji pulls away from her without warning. She whines wordlessly.

“Darling girl,” he murmurs almost lovingly, “if we’re to explore each other here on this couch, wouldn’t you rather do so on clean bedding?”

Amy sighs. “I suppose you have a point…but on the other hand…”

Sanji tosses the soiled towel next to his shorts and looks up. “What’s that?”

“You wouldn’t need to worry about the towels if you were coming down my throat.”

Sanji flops, dazed, onto the couch, and Amy is just standing there, her expression neutral but her eyes twinkling. She’d said it so casually, as if she were talking about groceries rather than about sucking his cock that aches to feel her around it. And ache it does, all the harder now that he’s tasted her heat and felt the hunger in her lips; but now she’s climbing into his lap, straddling him much as she had not even an hour prior—

“Would you like that? Can I—may I taste you as you’ve tasted me?”

He throws his head back, and this time Amy neither hesitates to kiss every inch of his neck she can reach nor pulls away to apologize.

“Oh dieux, Amy, fuck—you’re—you’re not makin’ it easy to be romantic here…”

You’re not makin’ it easy to be romantic here…

to be romantic

romantic

Amy doesn’t even realize she’s frozen still until Sanji shifts in her embrace so that he’s looking into her eyes.

“Is everything alright, darling? Talk to me.” 

She blinks and scrambles to think of something to say. He’s making that face again, she realizes, the face at once doting and troubled.

“Why…do you keep looking at me like that?” she finally manages to whisper. “Like the sight of me makes you happy and breaks your heart at the same time? You made that face just before you started going down on me, and you made it when I told you I wanted to keep the fact of our, well, tryst to ourselves…”

Sanji pulls her down to sit across his lap and takes her right hand in his left.

“Truly, has no one ever tried to romance you or woo you in any way? Surely I’m not the only person in the world who isn’t blind to your many charms?”

Amy tucks her left arm around Sanji’s waist and her cheek into his shoulder. “I guess…a few have tried, but they never lasted very long. More often I would…develop an affection, let’s say, for someone in my circle of friends, and he might move away in search of greener pastures—or deeper waters, you might say—before anything had a chance to actually happen between us.” She pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath—why the hell is she still tearing up over this?—and adds: “That’s if I was lucky.”

There’s a long silence after Sanji’s hum of acknowledgment, during which he only rests his head on top of hers, and runs his right hand up and down her arm.

“I let them go,” Amy says darkly. “I’d rather live without them than have someone change their mind and be with me out of pity or guilt.”

Sanji nods thoughtfully and is quiet for several breaths longer. Just as Amy is about to beg him to say something, he speaks.

“I think you underestimate your own courage sometimes. Your integrity. The value of those qualities. Easy to do so when you’re not the first person to downplay those parts of you, yeah? Doesn’t make it right or true, though.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips and holds it there for a long moment. He twines his fingers with hers, and Amy stares at their clasped hands, transfixed.

“I meant what I said, Amy, when I told you that you deserve an eager lover,” Sanji murmurs. “I dunno what face I was makin’ in those moments you were talkin’ about, but I think that’s why I was makin’ it. You deserve someone who treats you like the treasure you are.” 

Another silence, which Amy breaks this time—

“I thought you said I wasn’t making it easy to be romantic.” 

“It’s not quite so hard when I don’t have a beautiful, naked woman kissing my neck”—Sanji grins and lightly pokes her nose—“not that I’m complaining.”

Sanji’s not complaining, no, but he does feel a pang of something when Amy steers the conversation back into the familiar territory of flirtatious banter. She’d gone from amorous to vulnerable at the mention of romance, evidently with good reason; and though he’d done his best to reassure and comfort her as befits a good lover—well, it seems Amy’s sexual needs aren’t the only things his predecessors neglected.

It looks like the Love Cook has his work cut out for him.

PS: this angst has been brought to you by the influx of posts about Bridgerton season three on my dash. Picture Nicola Coughlan as a brown-eyed brunette, and for purposes of OC art you basically have Amy.

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