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ArtBook specs: • A5 format about 14,5cm x20,5cm [5.71 in x 8.07 in] with book flaps. • 92 color pages (76 last yeart/artbook).

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Surrender

Word count: 4400

Synopsis: You have been feeling tension in your back and neck for several days. You try to manage it on your own, but your captain has other plans and decides to relieve you…

Tags: Kidxf!Reader, not really NSFW, massage, possessive!Kid, soft!Kid, dom!Kid, fluff.

Notes: Just in time before the end of my birthday ^^ I’ve been working on this piece for a long time... I’m happy to share it with you today! @jintaka-hane and @pandora-writes-one-piece, this text is for you. I hope you like it and that I managed to capture the atmosphere well in both English and French. Thank you for everything—for your support, your encouragement, your messages, your comments, your reblogs. You are truly a source of inspiration for me. I love exchanging and sharing with you and rambling about our beloved grumpy Captain with the fiery hair. I love you, girls! English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

The common room was bathed in a soft, flickering light cast by the lanterns hanging from the dark wooden beams. The steady swaying of the ship added a slight oscillation to the dancing shadows on the walls, making the atmosphere almost hypnotic. An enveloping silence reigned, punctuated only by the gentle creaking of the wood under the pressure of the waves, creating a familiar and reassuring melody. The air was imbued with the salty scent of the sea, mingled with the residual warmth of the day.

With your body heavy and your movements marked by the fatigue of a long and demanding day, you had settled on a high chair near the counter, seeking support that could ease the tension in your back and neck. Shoulders slumped, you absentmindedly brought your fingers to your neck, where a dull, insistent pain throbbed. The tension had taken hold for days, clinging to your muscles like an invisible weight, turning each movement into a nagging reminder of your exhaustion. Despite your efforts to ignore it, the sensation intensified, as if it fed on your will to push it away.

The ambient calm seemed to amplify each breath you took, each tremor of your fingers sliding over your tired skin. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the darkness offer you a brief, albeit fleeting, reprieve from your tumultuous thoughts. The space around you felt both comforting and heavy, filled with that temporary solitude which, paradoxically, made every sensation more palpable and more intense.

Yet, it was not only fatigue that made you tense. There was something else in the air, a far subtler but equally oppressive tension. Kid, your captain, had said almost nothing all day, but you knew he was watching you. You could feel his gaze on you, that piercing and weighty look that made you shiver more than you cared to admit.

For weeks, a sort of change had taken place between the two of you. Something you couldn’t name but felt every time you were near him. This silent bond, this almost tangible electricity hanging between you, like a storm on the verge of breaking. Conversations had become rarer, replaced by long, heavy glances and silences that seemed to stretch far longer than necessary. A silent storm, full of unspoken words and hidden emotions.

You unconsciously bit your lip, trying not to focus on the warmth in your chest that surged every time you thought of him, of his imposing presence. You tried to chase those thoughts away, to push them to the back of your mind, but they were always there, lurking, ready to overwhelm you when a thrill ran down your skin.

And you knew this thrill well.

You slowly opened your eyes, and it was only then that you saw him. Kid was standing in the shadows, leaning against the back wall, his massive silhouette outlined by the flickering lanterns light. In an instant, your breath caught, surprised by his presence that you hadn’t noticed until now. He was unusually silent, arms crossed over his chest, his intense gaze fixed on you.

He had been watching you out of the corner of his eye for several hours, frowning each time you rubbed your neck or stretched your shoulders. You had exchanged more glances than usual without saying a word. The tension between you kept growing day by day, and it had become almost unbearable for you.

Once the surprise passed, you tried to collect yourself, quickly looking away to break the burning connection of his eyes on you. But the silence remained heavy, and the air seemed charged with an indefinable anticipation, as if even the ship held its breath at this unexpected face-to-face.

Kid still didn’t move, his stillness amplifying the effect of his presence. You knew that when he was this calm, it never signaled anything ordinary.

He finally moved, crossing the room with his determined, imposing stride. You followed him with your eyes, thinking he would leave the room and let you be, but you didn’t expect him to stop right next to you. He was imposing, magnetic, and that mere proximity made you shiver.

“Sit properly,” he ordered in a rough voice, without preamble.

You looked up, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“Your back, your neck... You’re going to completely lock up if you keep going like that.” His piercing eyes left no room for argument. “Let me take care of it,” he said, guiding you to adjust your posture and placing his right hand gently on your shoulder.

What?

Your heart skipped a beat. The idea that Kid, the feared captain, was offering... a massage? You didn’t know what to think anymore.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just a little tension. It’ll pass,” you replied, swallowing hard.

A wave of warmth flushed your cheeks, and you could already feel your heartbeat quickening. This exchange was becoming far too intimate.

But Kid wasn’t the type to accept refusal. He moved around the chair, pressing his hand more firmly on your shoulder to keep you from leaving.

“Stop pretending to be strong and let me do this.” Your breath caught in your throat as he positioned himself behind you, imposing, and you felt the weight of his presence overwhelm you. With a confident gesture, he moved his hand up to your neck, his fingers pressing lightly into your tense muscles.

The warmth of his palm radiated instantly through your skin, flooding every inch of your body. You couldn’t decide if it was the contact, his closeness, or the intensity of the moment that made you so nervous, but your whole body reacted. It was like an electric current spreading at an alarming speed. Your skin responded immediately, every fiber sensitive to the slightest movement of his fingers.

He was surprisingly skilled, despite having only one functional hand. Every movement was precise, as if he knew exactly where to press to release the accumulated tension. There was no hesitation in his touch, no doubt.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re as tense as a bowstring about to snap,” he murmured, almost to himself, continuing the massage with a surprising expertise.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the sigh of relief that threatened to escape. The pain that had been weighing on you all day gradually dissipated under his fingers. You felt your muscles relaxing, despite yourself. His hand, rough and large, brought an unexpected comfort. He said nothing, focused on his task, but his slow, steady breathing against your bare skin made you shiver.

His fingers pressed slightly into a knot of tension, and you couldn’t suppress a sigh as your body instinctively yielded to the pressure. That warmth... it spread like a slow fire through you, transforming the pain into an unexpected kind of pleasure. Every inch of your skin seemed hypersensitive to his touch, and you struggled to keep your body from betraying the effect he had on you.

No matter how hard you tried to stay calm, every movement of Kid made pushed you further off balance. The warmth of his hand spread through your body, sparking a troubling sensation that mingled with the fatigue and pain you had accumulated. But it was no longer just tension in your muscles; it was something else. Something much deeper, more intimate, that burned softly beneath your skin.

“You really don’t know how to relax,” he breathed softly, his breath brushing against your skin as he leaned slightly closer, his deep voice resonating in the almost oppressive silence of the room.

His fingers began to slide under the strap of your tank top, exploring the tense muscles of your shoulders. The precision of his movements was disconcerting. Despite his imposing stature and reputation as a brute, he massaged you with a gentleness you would have never imagined. Even with just one hand, he made you feel every pressure, every movement as if your entire body belonged to him. You bit your lip discreetly, trying to suppress another sigh that threatened to escape."

His hand moved a bit lower, lingering on a sensitive spot between your shoulder blades, and a shiver ran through your entire body. You closed your eyes, trying to push away the sensation that overwhelmed you, but it was impossible. The way his fingers pressed, the way his warmth spread... It was too much. Too intense, too intoxicating.

'Kid, I...' your voice faltered slightly, unable to find the right words. You wanted to say something, anything, to regain a bit of control. But everything seemed futile against the mastery he displayed."

"Let it go," he replied calmly, but with a firmness that allowed no argument. It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. You felt trapped by that deep voice, by that burning hand wrapping you in a silent embrace. And you no longer had the strength to fight.

Nor the desire.

His hand moved slowly up, caressing the curve of your neck before returning to your shoulder, his thumb gliding with calculated slowness over the tense line of your muscles. You felt your body relax despite yourself, surrendering to his touch. You were no longer in control, and each brush of his skin against yours made you shiver even more.

"You're much more sensitive than you let on," he murmured, an almost audible smile in his voice.

He knew.

He knew what his touch did to you, how you tried to hide the effect he had on you. But he wouldn’t let you escape.

His fingers ventured even lower, lingering on your back, tracing the natural curve of your spine. The heat of his hand only grew, and each slow, precise movement seemed to awaken sensations you had never felt before. It was almost too much. Your breath quickened, and you desperately tried to maintain control, but your body betrayed you.

“Kid…” you tried to protest again, but your voice sounded foreign, muffled by the intensity of the moment.

"Shh," he replied, his deep voice resonating right by your ear. He leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your bare skin, sending a wave of shivers through your body. "Just let it happen."

He was far too close now. You could almost feel the heat of his body against yours, and just the thought of that proximity was enough to make your heart race. His hand, still firm but attentive, continued its exploration as if he knew every corner of your body, every sensitive spot you tried to hide. Every time he pressed a little harder, a sigh escaped your lips despite yourself, and you could no longer control your reactions. He knew it. He felt your body yielding under his touch, surrendering to his movements.

“Let go,” he repeated, this time in a lower, almost husky whisper. His fingers slid gently over the curve of your collarbone, moving up to your neck with an exasperating slowness. And this time, you didn’t even try to resist.

Your breathing became deeper, more ragged, as you lost yourself in the sensations. Each movement of his hand seemed to ignite your skin a little more, each pressure sending shivers racing through you. Your mind wandered, unable to think of anything but that hand on you, the heat enveloping your whole body. Your world had shrunk to this single touch, to this intimacy you had barely dared to dream of.

Then, slowly, Kid leaned even closer. His chest almost brushed against your back, his burning breath caressing the back of your neck. The tension between you was unbearable, and yet, you had never wanted something so intensely. The closeness, the heat, that hand capable of controlling everything... You were swept away, lost in this wave of sensations.

"I know how you feel," he purred close to your ear, his deep voice piercing right through you.

An uncontrollable shiver ran through you. His words were a promise, an invitation to relinquish that last shred of control. And at that moment, you knew there was no escape. Kid had taken over, not just your body, but every thought, every sensation. All that was left was to surrender.

And he was going to make it happen.

Your mind was in turmoil. Kid’s words echoed within you, striking every thought, breaking down the barriers you had tried so hard to maintain. He was too close, his warm hand still on your neck, sliding slowly down your back with disconcerting expertise. Your breathing quickened, each breath harder than the last, as the proximity of his body and the heat of his breath overwhelmed you.

"Don't hide from me what you want," he had murmured, his voice resonating in your ear like an invitation impossible to ignore.

You wanted to protest, to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. You were trapped by your own emotions, by the heat consuming you, by the tension that kept building between you. Your throat tightened, your skin burned under his fingers, and despite yourself, you felt incapable of resisting any longer.

"I know you feel it too," he whispered again, his deep voice making you shiver. His fingers brushed against your skin with such slowness that you thought your heart might explode from the intensity of that simple touch. "This tension... it won't disappear if we ignore it."

His words hit the mark. The tension between you had never dissipated. For weeks, it had only grown, weaving into every glance, every gesture, until now, when it had become unbearable. You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but you were already too far gone to turn back.

"Kid..." you breathed, your voice trembling. It wasn’t a protest, nor a request. It was just his name, slipping from your lips like a plea for help, but also a surrender.

"Do you really think you can still resist me, lass?" he murmured, his warm breath caressing your face.

His eyes traced the line of your neck and lingered on your hair, neatly braided, a detail that stirred something within him.

Slowly, he let his fingers slide down to the base of the first braid, his touch light at first, almost hesitant, before becoming more assured. With calculated precision, he took hold of the elastic holding the braid, sliding it off slowly, unhurriedly. His grip, usually firm and rough, was surprisingly delicate here. The simple contact of his fingers against your hair felt searing, sending a shiver down your spine.

" You won't need it now," he murmured in a deep, rough voice, his warm breath brushing against your neck.

You felt your throat tighten at his touch, a gentle yet intense heat spreading throughout your body. Kid began to undo the braid, strand by strand, each of his movements slow and meticulous. He let his fingers glide over each lock, seeming to savor the moment, as if he wanted every action to remind you that you were under his control, at his mercy.

When he finished undoing the first braid, he slowly ran his hand through your hair, pushing it aside and letting it fall freely over your shoulders.

His hand lingered for a moment on your neck, brushing your skin with an almost possessive touch. The contrast between the gentleness of his touch and the force of his presence left you defenseless, each brush of his fingers sending shivers through you that you could no longer suppress.

He moved to the second braid, repeating the same ritual with an exasperating slowness, undoing each strand with measured precision. Occasionally, he let his fingers sink gently into your hair, caressing your scalp in a way that sparked electric sensations overwhelming you. You could no longer stifle your moans, and Kid smirked, satisfied with the effect he was having on you.

When the second braid was undone, he ran his hand through your loose hair, gently separating it to let it fall around your face.

He then tugged lightly on your locks, just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck further. His hand in your hair didn’t loosen its grip, and you felt a wave of intense heat wash over you, as if this simple act plunged you into an abyss of sensations you had never known. His hold wasn’t rough, but it kept you firmly anchored, grounding you in the moment.

Then, without warning, his metal hand gently settled around your throat. The coldness of his touch contrasted with the burning heat of his skin, and you felt your breath catch as the metallic fingers encircled your neck. He didn’t squeeze. He just held you, a gesture that was both incredibly tender and intensely possessive.

His metal thumb traced softly along the line of your jaw, and you felt your chest rise with the burning desire that surged within you. You were trapped in this moment, unable to move, yet every fiber of your being craved more.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured in a husky voice, his warm breath brushing your ear as his fingers tightened slightly around your throat, never harming you. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. A declaration of quiet, yet infinite dominance.

The combination of his two hands – the warmth of his skin in your hair and the cold metal around your neck – overwhelmed you with sensation. And in that moment, you knew you no longer wanted to escape. You surrendered completely to his will, your body responding to every movement, every touch, every brush.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered close to your ear, his deep, rough voice sending a shockwave through you.

His metal hand slid softly, tracing your neck, lingering just enough for you to feel that possessive presence. You were completely at his mercy, every fiber of your body instinctively reacting to this silent yet total domination. And as you tried to maintain control, Kid moved closer, pressing his chest against your back, his warmth engulfing you entirely.

He gently tugged at your hair, tilting your head back further until it rested on his shoulder, his metal fingers now brushing your collarbone before slowly moving down along your chest. The coldness of the metal contrasted with the heat of his body, each touch drawing you deeper into this intensity. Kid didn’t loosen his grip. On the contrary, he enveloped you fully with his presence, his body against yours, holding you firmly under his control.

“I know what you feel,” he repeated, his voice deeper, slower, as if savoring every moment. “You don’t need to hide anymore.”

His lips grazed the back of your neck, leaving light but searing kisses as his flesh hand, still buried in your hair, applied a delicate yet unyielding pressure, holding you in place. His metal hand, meanwhile, slid lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your neckline with an unbearable slowness, each touch awakening uncontrollable shivers within you. He didn’t go further, but just the fact that he held you like this, at his mercy, was enough to overwhelm you.

“Someone could come in…” you tried to murmur, your voice betraying your unease. But you knew your words were futile. Kid had already thought of everything, orchestrated everything.

“No one will come in unless I decide it,” he replied simply, his metal fingers tracing new lines on your skin, pulling more uncontrollable shivers from you. “And even if they did, it wouldn’t change anything. You are mine, here and now.”

“I control everything here… just as I control you.”

He tightened his grip slightly on your throat, forcing your head to tilt back even more, exposing your neck to his insistent gaze. “Look at me,” he ordered, his deep, commanding voice resonating in the silence.

You obeyed without thinking, your eyes meeting his. His gaze was intense, filled with that relentless domination that made you tremble. Kid gently tugged on a strand of your hair, his expression showing a mix of satisfaction and desire, and he let his fingers slide slowly down your neck, brushing your skin with a surprising yet possessive gentleness.

“Know one thing,” he whispered, his eyes holding yours. “From now on… you are mine. And I won’t let anyone or anything change that. I want you completely at my mercy,” he murmured, his rough, low voice making you shiver to your fingertips. “Every breath, every shiver, belongs to me.”

Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his lips to your throat, placing a slow, burning kiss at the exact spot where he could feel your pulse racing. The touch of his lips, so close to that sensitive point, made you lose control of your breathing. Each breath became shorter, more ragged, as if your body struggled to contain everything you were feeling. Your throat tightened slightly under his kisses, and you felt an intense shiver run from your neck to the tips of your fingers.

Your lips trembled slightly, and you felt your cheeks flush with heat. You tried to regain control of your breath, but it was a losing battle.

He felt your body tense, desperately seeking an anchor. That drew a slight smile to his lips. Kid relished this sense of control, this soft yet relentless dominance he exerted over you. He could feel how hard you fought to maintain your composure, but each movement, each tremble of your body showed him that you were yielding to him completely, that you no longer had the strength to resist.

His lips continued to travel across your throat, his kisses becoming deeper, more demanding. He wanted to feel you completely let go, to reach that moment where you would abandon all resistance. Kid loved this game, this slow build-up of tension where he made you surrender, forcing you to accept each touch, each caress as proof of his domination. He tightened his hand slightly on your neck, holding you firmly in place, savoring the sensation of your body trembling against his.

Despite his brute strength and reputation as a ruthless pirate, Kid showed remarkable control over himself at this moment. He wasn’t rushing. He knew that pushing you gently, slowly, into this state of submission made the moment even more intense. He delighted in every reaction you offered him, every shiver he provoked in you. Your ragged breath, your moans, the tremors that coursed through your body—all of it fed him, filled him with a satisfaction he couldn’t hide.

His eyes darkened as he looked at you, his lips grazing your skin, his warm breath brushing your throat. “You’re mine,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, his rough voice full of absolute certainty. He could feel your body tense under that declaration, but instead of giving you an escape, he held you firmly, letting his fingers trace slowly down your stomach, savoring every movement, every response of your body.

He loved the idea that no one else could make you feel what he made you feel.

The constant pressure of his metal hand on your throat, combined with the softness of his lips, plunged you into total confusion. Your body responded with both uncontrollable shivers and tremors that coursed through you with each moment. You felt your muscles tense with each kiss, each caress, your stomach tightening almost painfully under the burning desire consuming you.

Kid slightly loosened his grip around your throat, just enough to turn you toward him, forcing you to meet his smoldering gaze. Your muscles tensed, every fiber of your being seeking to resist, but his hands applied a gentle yet unyielding pressure, letting you know that there would be no escape. His hard, possessive gaze captured every emotion playing across your face, and he savored this moment, this vulnerability he saw in you.

“Look at me,” he ordered in a deep, husky voice, his tone cutting through you like a blade. “I want to see you surrender… completely.”

Your breath came in uneven gasps, your eyes searching for a momentary escape, but you were held captive by his stare. Your lips parted under the weight of his silent dominance, a slight tremble betraying your state of surrender. The distance between you seemed to dissolve under the intensity of his hold, his gaze piercing you, demanding the total submission you felt was inevitable.

He slid his flesh hand up to your jaw, holding your face with controlled firmness, his fingers exerting a possessive pressure that left no doubt: he had you, and he intended to mark every moment of it. His thumb gently stroked your cheek, tracing burning lines across your skin, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Say it,” he murmured commandingly, his lips mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours. “Tell me that you belong to me.”

Your hands, almost trembling, rested instinctively on his chest to find support, an anchor in this sea of sensations. Your heart pounded so hard that you could feel each beat resonate throughout your entire body, every fiber of you responding to this relentless domination. A whisper escaped your lips, your voice weak, almost broken by the intensity of the moment: “I am… yours.”

A satisfied smile touched his lips. His gaze, filled with an unbridled possessiveness, shone with an intensity that made you shiver. He lowered his lips to your ear, his words reverberating like a promise, dark and undeniable.

Before you could respond, he claimed your lips in an unyielding, demanding kiss.

This kiss was a claim, an assertion of his power over you, and you felt each pressure, each touch of his lips as an indelible mark. Kid controlled every movement, and you let yourself be swept away by this total hold, your body surrendering completely to this silent domination.

His hands roamed your back and neck with calculated precision, alternating between the warmth of his skin and the coolness of steel. You felt your last defenses crumble under this touch, each shiver, each tremble betraying your complete submission. You were his, utterly and without reservation, and he knew it.

When he finally pulled back, his intense gaze remained locked on yours, as if probing every thought, every emotion. He slowly ran his fingers through your disheveled hair, a gesture that was both possessive and tender.

He finally released his hold, but his gaze, filled with that absolute dominance, made it clear that this connection would never fade. Your heart pounded so hard that you felt each beat resonate through your body, and the warmth of his gaze, his voice, his embrace enveloped you entirely. Kid’s eyes bore into yours with that possessive intensity that left no doubt about his intentions.

He observed you for another moment, as if to imprint every detail of your surrender, and his lips brushed yours again, his voice murmuring with unyielding certainty: “From now on… every part of you is mine.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Masterlist

"I wanna see your face when I fill you up"

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x fem! reader

a/n: um atp i just post randomly now

summary: After a battle, you catch yourself openly admiring Luffy’s now-ripped physique — and he totally notices. Flirty teasing turns into a steamy, passionate moment where Luffy confesses he’s wanted you for a long time. Things quickly heat up on the deck, and by the end, it’s clear neither of you plans to stop at just one night.

wc: 2.2k

contains: smut! (18+) semi-public but private setting (upper deck at night), rougher pace, dom-ish Luffy, possessiveness, light manhandling, marking, dirty talk, cocky Luffy losing his control, creampie, aftercare.

The sun was dipping low, casting a golden sheen across the deck of the Sunny. The crew buzzed around, cleaning up after the latest island showdown — weapons being stowed, bandages wrapped, bruises proudly shown off like trophies.

And then there was him.

Monkey D. Luffy. Bare-chested, grinning, still buzzing with energy as if he hadn’t just wiped the floor with a Warlord and his army.

You stood frozen by the mast, a rag in your hand and absolutely no thoughts in your brain except:

“Holy hell. When did he get so ripped?”

Luffy’s torso glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, muscles tight and cut like they were sculpted from sun-kissed stone. His abs flexed every time he laughed — and oh, he laughed a lot — and his biceps looked like they could casually throw a mountain or two if you asked nicely.

You were not drooling.

Not literally.

“You okay over there?” Luffy’s voice cut through your mental spiraling, and when you looked up, he was staring at you — eyes wide, cheeks a little pink.

Busted.

“I—uh, yeah. Just—cleaning,” you said, waving the rag like an idiot and definitely not staring at the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.

He tilted his head, still grinning, but his flush deepened. “You’re lookin’ real hard, y’know.”

You almost choked on your own tongue. “What?”

“Your face’s all red,” he said, stepping closer, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I get it. I am kinda awesome.” He flexed an arm half-jokingly, then dropped it when he caught you actually checking it out.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, covering your face with both hands.

Luffy laughed, the sound bubbling like soda. “You do think I’m hot!”

You groaned. “Luffy—”

“No, no, wait, I like it!” he said quickly, his voice getting higher, his own face nearly glowing with how flustered he was. “I mean—you always look cute when you’re all bossy and mad, but now you’re like—squirmy and pink and kinda…kinda kissable.”

That shut you up real quick.

He blinked. “Was that too much?”

“No,” you said, heart hammering in your chest, “but if you say ‘kissable’ again I might actually pass out.”

He stepped closer, until his toes nearly touched yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “Wanna try it? Just so I know what it’s like?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “You serious?”

Luffy gave you a grin that was almost shy — almost. “Been thinking about it since before the fight. Now I feel strong and you look all shiny-eyed. Feels like a good time.”

You barely managed a nod before his lips brushed yours — soft, sun-warmed, a little clumsy, but so Luffy. His hands landed at your hips, warm and grounding, and you sighed into him, threading your fingers through his messy hair.

When you pulled back, both of you looked dazed.

“…Wanna help me clean up?” you teased, voice breathy.

He smirked, muscles flexing just a little. “Nah. I wanna make you red again.”

--

The deck was quiet now.

The rest of the crew had cleared out, most asleep or below deck, leaving only the soft sway of the sea and the lingering heat between you and Luffy.

Your back pressed against the wood of the mast, heart thundering in your chest as Luffy’s fingers ghosted over your skin — featherlight, curious, hungry.

“I really like when you look at me like that,” he murmured, voice lower, rougher than usual. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your neck, sucking lightly until your knees nearly buckled.

“Luffy—” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Hmm?” he hummed against your skin. “You looked like you wanted to eat me earlier. Thought I’d return the favor.”

You gasped as his hand slid up under your shirt, palms rough from battle but his touch soft — reverent, even. He pulled the fabric over your head with a gentle kind of urgency, eyes flicking down over your body like he’d just found treasure more valuable than any One Piece.

“Whoa…” he whispered, dazed. “You’re so pretty.”

The way he said it — genuine, like he was seeing you for the first time — made heat bloom between your thighs. He bent down slightly, mouth brushing the top of your chest, teeth grazing as he teased.

“You always act all cool,” he said between kisses, “but you’re squirming so bad right now.”

“Shut up—”

“Nope,” he grinned, lips trailing down your stomach. “Not when you’re about to beg.”

You opened your mouth to argue — then yelped when he dropped to his knees and pulled your bottoms down with one smooth motion, tongue flicking out to tease right where you needed it most.

Your hand flew to his hair, gripping tight. “Luffy—! Wait, you don’t have to—”

He looked up at you from between your thighs, eyes half-lidded, cocky smirk on his face.

“I want to.”

And with that, he buried his face in you, tongue warm, wet, relentless.

His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you steady as he sucked and licked, building you up fast — too fast — and yet not enough. His nose brushed sensitive skin, his tongue working in maddening patterns, switching between deep licks and soft flicks that made your hips twitch.

“Y-You’re good at this—” you panted.

“Rubber tongue,” he murmured smugly against you. “Told you I’d make you red again.”

You came with a cry, head thrown back, thighs trembling against his shoulders.

But he didn’t stop.

You whimpered, twitching, the overstimulation making your whole body jolt.

“L-Luffy—!”

He looked up again, glistening lips, eyes glazed with lust and pride. “One more. Just one more. Then I’ll let you make me squirm.”

You didn’t even have the strength to argue — not when he leaned in again with that damn smile.

Your legs were still shaking when he stood.

Luffy’s mouth glistened with the aftermath of your first orgasm, and yet the look in his eyes said one thing: he wasn't nearly done.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand — then leaned in to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was deeper now, messier, full of unspoken hunger.

“You okay?” he murmured, breath hot against your lips.

You nodded, dazed. “More than.”

His grin turned wolfish. “Good. ‘Cause I need you. Now.”

You didn’t even get a warning before he hoisted you up by the thighs, pinning your back to the mast. His strength — casual, overwhelming — made your breath catch as your legs wrapped around his waist out of instinct.

“Didn’t know you could carry me like that—”

He pressed his hips against yours, and you felt him — hard, thick, twitching through his pants. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”

“Show me,” you whispered.

That was it. His restraint snapped.

He yanked his pants low enough to free himself, letting his cock slap against your thigh, hot and heavy. You barely had time to brace before he lined himself up and pushed in — slowly, but not gently.

“Shit—Luffy—!”

“Feel that?” he hissed, head falling against your shoulder as he bottomed out, his hips flush with yours. “Fuck—you’re tight.”

You gasped at the stretch, the heat, the way his voice sounded — deeper, raspier, needy in a way you hadn’t heard before.

He pulled back almost completely, then slammed in again, hard enough to make the mast behind you creak.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he groaned, hips snapping into you at a quickening pace. “Since Alabasta. Since Water 7. Since forever. Wanted you—so bad.”

Your nails dug into his back as he fucked you harder, the raw sound of skin slapping skin mixing with the crashing waves below. He was moaning openly now, whimpering your name between thrusts like a man possessed.

“Look at me,” he panted, grabbing your chin. “I wanna see your face when I fill you up.”

You bit your lip, nearly sobbing from the intensity — the way he hit just right, the way his voice cracked with every needy thrust.

“Gonna cum inside you,” he muttered, mouth by your ear. “Wanna see it drip out. Wanna stay inside, keep it warm.”

You clenched around him at the words, and he felt it.

“Oh fuck, you like that?” His voice broke into a breathless laugh. “You want me that bad, huh?”

You barely had time to answer before he was pounding into you like he couldn’t stop, couldn’t even think. His grip bruised into your thighs, his thrusts erratic now, desperate.

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

You nodded, your own orgasm building again, faster than you expected.

“Do it,” you whispered. “Come inside, Luffy.”

His whole body shuddered. With a low, wrecked moan, he buried himself deep and spilled into you, his hips stuttering as he came hard — warm, endless, claiming you in the most primal way possible.

You followed right after, clenching tight around him as your second climax hit, nails raking down his back.

For a long second, the world was just heartbeats and shaky breath.

Then his head dropped to your shoulder again, body still twitching with the aftershocks.

“…shit,” he mumbled, voice hoarse. “That was way better than meat.”

You laughed breathlessly. “High praise, Captain.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you — eyes soft, cheeks still flushed. “Hope you’re ready for more. ‘Cause now I know what you feel like, I don’t think I can stop.”

You leaned in, kissing him slow this time. “Good. I don’t want you to.”

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

why can't luffy be a real person bro

She’s so happy now, love to see it!

love them

zoro and sanji fighting for three minutes

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly regret oversharing, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

divider courtesy of @cafekitsune tag list @eggrollforyou

He's such a prince

One of my favorite thriller bark moments was when sanji got injured and his thought process was like "I can't let nami's white dress get dirty" while he literally had a fucking KNIFE stabbed on his back with his blood dripping on the floor like sanji is such a silly and romantic person