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willowbelle · 2 months

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Sous Chef

sanji & jealousy + possessiveness

per this request from my 500 follower event!

❤︎ sanji x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: teasing, jealousy, obsession, possessiveness, body worship, oral (f receiving) (sanji kneels to eat you out while you're standing), fingering, breast/nipple play, piv sex, unprotected sex, kitchen sex, counter sex, dirty talk, dom!sanji (but he also gets flustered a lot), use of "good girl" + "say my name"

summary: chef innuendos, sweet sanji to jealous sanji pipeline, reader is a huge tease ("i bet that swordsman could fuck me harder" type) reader really pushes sanji's buttons, sanji gets jealous, mentions of sanji being jealous of zoro, possessive sex ensues.

word count: ~5,000

tagging: @sanjisprincesswifey @bby-deerling @maddddstuff

Sous Chef

Sanji is an ardent lover; a devoted man, gentle and caring to the core. He's hellbent on making you his own and maintaining that bond, often expressing it through sweet gestures like gifting flowers, freshly-cooked meals, and handwritten love letters.

However, sometimes the gentle cook gets sloppy, and his tender demeanor falters, allowing his lustful yearnings to take the reins long before his kind heart can intervene.

He's quite susceptible to teasing, easily flustered by your sharp tongue and playful remarks, often hiding his flushed face behind his blonde bangs. His shy demeanor emboldens you, making you feel uncharacteristically confident. You frequently find yourself pushing boundaries, testing the waters to put his adoration to the test, seeing just how much you can get away with before his gentlemanly persona dissolves entirely.

You've never witnessed his possessive nature firsthand, but deep down, you're certain it lies within him. It must.

Today is one of those days; you're determined to draw it out.

————

You’re pushing his buttons, as you often do, and though you've become accustomed to him brushing it off, offering a sweet smile and an amused laugh, today, the tender chef seems… different.

Silently, he moves about the kitchen, his movements precise and deliberate, taking long drags of the cigarette that dangles from his lips as he works. The sizzle of oil, the rhythmic chop of vegetables, and the gentle simmer of sauce provide a soothing backdrop to his thoughts. Yet beneath the surface of his composed facade, jealousy prickles at his skin like tiny, agitated needles.

As he stirs the saucepan, his mind wanders to the image of you with that swordsman, sharing a moment he's not a part of. It gnaws at him, a subtle ache in his chest that refuses to be ignored. He tries to focus on the task at hand, on the symphony of flavors he's orchestrating, but the green-eyed monster coils tighter around his heart with each passing moment.

His movements become more brisk, more forceful, as if trying to exorcise the unwelcome emotions through sheer physical exertion. Yet, despite his best efforts, the simmering resentment refuses to be quelled. It taints the air in the kitchen, adding a bitter undertone to the aroma of spices and herbs.

And so, he continues to cook in silence, the smoke from his cigarette clouding his face, the clatter of utensils masking the turmoil within. He knows that until he can silence the jealousy that festers within him, his efforts will be in vain.

To an outsider, he appears calm, composed, his attention solely fixed on the task at hand. Yet, to you, the recipient of his affection, it's evident that something is amiss. There's a tension in his demeanor, a subtle urgency that belies his usual ease. He's unusually stiff, his movements hurried, and he nervously gnaws at his bottom lip—a stark departure from the fluid grace that typically characterizes his actions.

So, you aim to tease, yet again.

“Don't like me flirting with that swordsman, do ya, cook?”

It’s a playful jab, but one that’s sharp, piercing through the thin veil of his composure. It's innocuous on the surface, a needle, perhaps, but to him, it’s a dagger.

Sanji’s hands momentarily still, the utensil he holds clenched a little tighter. His jaw tenses, and a flicker of hurt flashes in his eyes before he quickly masks it with a forced smile. Inside, jealousy ignites like a sudden spark in the dark, consuming his thoughts and sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

In that moment, the carefully constructed facade of calm shatters, revealing the turmoil within. Your words hang in the air, that damn nickname, a painful reminder of the insecurities that gnaw at his soul. He struggles to regain his composure, to push back the rising tide of jealousy threatening to overwhelm him.

But despite his efforts, a crack has formed in his chivalrous armor, and he knows that once unleashed, jealousy is a force that's hard to contain. With a forced laugh and a shaky exhale, he busies himself once more, hoping to drown out the tumultuous emotions that threaten to consume him whole.

“It doesn’t bother me, beautiful,” he murmurs, more so to reassure himself, “I know you’re all mine.”

“Are you sure, Sanji?” you press, casually leaning against the kitchen counter, idly twirling a strand of hair between your fingertips, a deliberate gesture intended to stir his interest. “I don’t know, Zoro’s really been grabbin’ my attention lately.”

Sanji continues to cook, the simmering jealousy within him only grows more pronounced, like a pot left unattended on a blazing stove. Each word that leaves your lips fuels the fire, each syllable stroking the flames of his insecurity. He reaches for another cigarette, his hands trembling slightly as he lights it, the flame flickering in the dimly lit kitchen. The smoke curls around him, a tangible manifestation of his inner conflicts, and he takes a long drag, hoping to find solace in its bitter embrace. He clings to his kind side, outwardly at least,

“A wonderful woman like you has many admirers, I bet.”

He smiles but grits his teeth, the cigarette dangling from his lips like a lifeline, a futile attempt to quell the storm raging within him. The scent of burning tobacco mingles with the aroma of spices and sauces, a bitter undertone to the dishes he’s preparing.

"He'd never love you the way I do," the chef mutters through clenched teeth.

The remark is so subdued that you almost question if you heard it, but the tight grip on his wooden spoon, stirring with such sudden intensity, confirms you’d heard him correctly.

A smirk tugs at your lips. He's jealous. Bingo.

“What’s that, cook?” you jab, “Did ya say somethin’?”

That nickname again, it slices at his heart. He’s been worn thin, and you’ve stretched him to his breaking point.

With a sharp exhale, Sanji stubs out his cigarette, the ember extinguished with finality.

Slowly, he turns to face you, the simmering jealousy that had been gnawing at him now burns brightly in his eyes, an unspoken challenge in their depths.

His movements are deliberate as he approaches, each step echoing with an air of quiet intensity. There's a newfound resolve in his demeanor, a steely determination to confront the source of his unease head-on.

As he stands before you, the tension in the room is palpable, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Yet, despite the storm raging within him, his voice is steady as he finally speaks, his words laced with a quiet authority that brooks no argument.

“I said,” he begins, “That moss-headed loser could never love you like I do, y/n,” he rasps, making you gulp dryly. His expression is authoritative but not unkind as he looks down at you.

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words, caught off guard by the unexpected intensity of his presence. It's a stark reminder that beneath his gentle exterior, lies a depth of strength and resolve you hadn't fully appreciated.

As you take in his determined expression, a flicker of admiration sparks within you mingling with the lingering shock. You realize that this is a side of him you’ve only glimpsed in passing, a facet of his character that demands your attention.

Despite the initial shock, the playful, devilish side of you creeps in once again, up your spine, taking root in your skull.

Leaning in close, your breath tickles his ear as your hand glides up his toned arm, coming to rest gently on his shoulder.

"I believe it's time you remind me who I belong to," you whisper, your voice laced with a playful yet provocative undertone.

The chef feels a tremor run through him, a reaction to the proximity of your touch and the suggestive tone of your voice. His muscles tense beneath your hand as it trails up his arm, a subtle yet undeniable gesture that sends a shiver down his spine.

Despite his efforts to maintain composure, he can feel the telltale flush creeping up his neck, coloring his cheeks with a rosy hue. It's a familiar sensation, one that often accompanies your playful advances, yet it never fails to catch him off guard.

His heart races in his chest, the rapid thud echoing in his ears as he struggles to find his voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. With a shaky exhale, he finally manages to muster a response, though it comes out as little more than a breathless murmur.

"Y-Yes, of course," he stammers, his words faltering as he meets your gaze. It's a vulnerable moment, one that exposes the depth of his feelings, and he can't help but feel a surge of both exhilaration and apprehension at the prospect of revealing his true desires.

But beneath the surface tremors and flustered facade lies a steadfast determination, a quiet resolve to seize the opportunity before him and lay claim to the love he knows is rightfully his. And as he gathers his courage, he silently vows to show you, once and for all, just how deeply you belong to him.

In an instant, he’s closing the distance, placing his hands on the countertop on either side of you as he crashes his lips onto yours.

His kiss is urgent, filled with a hunger that mirrors your own, and though his lips are slightly chapped and carry the faint taste of tobacco, you find yourself equally eager, reveling in the sensation of having him exactly where you wanted him—jealous and possessive.

You moan softly into his mouth as his gifted hands find their place on your waist, slender fingers softly digging into your warm skin.

Aiming to rile him up even more, you take the opportunity to take his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging softly on the tender flesh, earning a hearty moan from the man before you.

“Fuck,” he rasps, sliding his hands up your body to grasp at your tits, molding the clothed mounds in his soft hands as his hot tongue snakes its way into your awaiting mouth.

You mewl out at the sensation, a sound that excites the chef beyond belief. You wrap your arms around his neck as your tongues dance together, desperately attempting to get closer to him, to meld into one.

He pulls away, making you whine out at the loss. He pauses a moment, to gaze at you, your blushing face, heaving chest, it's almost too much to bear. He’s quick to connect your skin again, swiftly attaching his lips to the sensitive, untouched flesh of your neck. You whimper at the feeling of his hot lips on your body, the sensation is new and intoxicating, instantly causing goosebumps to bud all over your needy skin.

One of his hands slides up to gently hold your chin as he continues to kiss down the column of your neck, making you softly tilt your head back to give himself more access to your flesh.

“Good,” he rasps against your skin in between kisses, “Just like that, my love.”

The gesture is simple and gentle, but it exhilarates you, the chef is always kind with his touches, but tonight, he knows he’s in charge.

Weak, breathy moans and whines escape your lips as Sanji continues to kiss and nip down your neck, to your collarbones, then your chest. He pauses here, of course, taking his time with each breast. He’s devoted, tracing the contours of your body with reverent hands, his touch tender yet possessive, as if committing every curve and crevice to memory. He hooks his slender fingers beneath the hem of your shirt and shoots you a questioning glance. With your nod of approval, he lifts your shirt over your head slowly, savoring the way your curves are steadily revealed to him. His breath catches in his throat, and his heart pounds in his chest as he takes in the sight before him, drinking in every detail with hungry eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” Sanji whispers, awestricken.

Your cheeks flush a deep crimson at his words. While you've grown quite accustomed to this love-sick chef’s constant compliments on your beauty, this time feels different, as if his words carry a weight of sincerity and authenticity that pierces through his usual flattery.

His fingers linger over every inch of your skin, worshipping you with a fervor that borders on obsession. He revels in the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingertips, the way you respond to his touch with a soft sigh or a shiver of pleasure.

His hands are practiced and skilled, taking their time with your skin the same way he does preparing a plate. He carefully slides his hands up and down your bare torso, tracing your dips and curves with precision. His touches are slow and meticulous but they’re perfect, the right pressure in all the right spots. As if he’s taking his time selecting the finest ingredients, he takes in every aspect of you, savoring each nuance and subtlety.

He reaches around you, using just one skilled hand to unclasp your bra, letting it fall off your shoulders and down to the floor. You gasp softly at the sensation of the cool kitchen air hitting your bare chest, your nipples hardening instantly. He’s kind, picking your bra up off the floor and placing it on the counter before returning his attention back to you.

He waits for a moment, taking in the sight before him. His skin is hot and his cock aches in his ever-tightening pants, but he’s dedicated to pleasing you, determined to worship every inch of you before he lets himself get off. He leans down, hot breath against your hardened buds as he speaks,

“You’re so perfect, y/n,” he whispers against your skin before taking your nipple into his mouth, making you toss your head back and whine softly at the sensation. His mouth is hot around your cool skin, and his tongue is no different, melting you as it swirls slowly around the stiff bud.

“Oh, Sanji-” you whine, your hands flying down and finding themselves in his blonde locks, fingers lacing in the strands as he continues to suck on your breast.

“Mm,” he moans softly before pulling away, just momentarily, to return to your other breast, rewarding it with the same wonderful treatment.

As he sucks and licks at your breast, his hand grants the neglected one with attention, squeezing it softly, rolling and pinching your nipple in between his talented fingers.

The sensation is beyond pleasurable, allconsuming, even, and you feel your core aching for more, dampening your panties.

“Sanji,” you whine, making the chef pull away to look up at you, “I-I need more,” you beg, “Please.”

The man's cheeks flush with a surge of blood in response to your plea. He's taken aback, but undeniably aroused; what sort of man would he be to deny your desires?

“Say no more, my love,” Sanji purrs, instantly sinking to his knees in front of you.

His newfound position ignites something within you—a testament to his unwavering devotion, his fiery passion. As you gaze down at him, the man on his knees before you, ready to fulfill your every desire, it's a powerful reminder of his dedication to your pleasure. It makes heat tickle your skin and take root in your aching cunt, your body slightly trembling as it prepares itself to be pleased.

Sanji’s preparing, too, eyes wide and pupils blown with lust, his mouth watering as he awaits your taste. He loops his fingers beneath the waistband of your skirt before giving them a gentle tug, pulling the fabric down your thighs to pool at your feet.

Part of him wants to wait; oggle you for a moment, your trembling thighs, your slick crotch, but the other part of him, the determined side, overpowers this fleeting yearning, making him to instantly lean forward to plant a gentle, yet firm kiss to your clothed slit.

The sudden sensation causes you to throw your head back, eyes screwing shut as you tug at his strands.

“Mm, Sanji,” you whine, “Please, more.”

Despite his jealousy pangs, he's still a giver in every sense of the word; he knows his head is meant to be slotted between your trembling thighs. And so, he gives in to your pleas, looping a finger beneath the crotch of your soaked panties to tug them aside. He immediately leans forwards, planting another kiss, this time to your bare cunt.

“Fuck,” you inhale shakily, instinctively spreading your legs to give your lover more access to your intimate parts.

“Mmm,” he lets out a pleased noise at your eagerness, granting you with a long, wet stripe of his hot tongue to your needy slit.

“Fuck,” he rasps against your cunt, his words sending vibrations up your body, “Divine,” he groans, licking once more, “You taste divine.”

You moan again, needier this time, more breathless,

“That means a lot, coming from a chef,” you smirk playfully, earning an amused chuckle from the man between your legs.

Sanji continues his gentle assault, his skillful tongue moving up and down slowly from your aching clit to your needy hole, groaning in pleasure as he works.

Your limbs are shaking so you try to ground yourself, planting one palm firmly on the countertop while the other rests on Sanji’s head, your fingers tangled in his golden strands. As he continues to swipe his tongue along your slit, he takes one of your thighs into his hand, lifting your leg so you can rest your foot on his shoulder, allowing you take some weight off your feet, and in turn, allowing himself more access to your needy pussy.

“Fuck,” you moan in pleasure at the gesture, the newfound sensation of Sanji’s tongue stimulating new parts of your cunt making flames of pleasure lash at your skin.

He takes one more solid lick upwards before latching onto your clit, suckling skillfully on the pulsating nub.

“Sh-Shit-!” you curse, throwing your head back, tugging harder on the strands of hair between your fingers.

You instinctively open your thighs, desperate for more, knuckles growing white as your grip the countertop harder with each suck to your clit.

When you open up for him, he brings his dominant hand up, gathering your essence on the tips of his middle and ring fingers before slowly pushing them inside you.

You let out a weak whimper as he pushes his digits inside you, grinding your hips against them.

“Fuck, Sanji-!”

The pace at which he’s suckling on your clit never falters as he begins pumping his slender fingers inside you. They’re gifted things, perfecting cuisine for years, now deep inside you, pulling you further towards your orgasm with each pump and curl.

He curls his fingers with each pass to hit your sweet spot, stars dancing beneath your eyelids as you feel yourself starting to become deliciously overstimulated.

He’s just as desperate as you, sensing you’re close, he begins sucking on your swollen clit more feverishly, pumping his fingers in and out of you with a heightened intensity, hellbent on getting you off, to make you gush on his tongue, to allow him to taste everything you have to give him.

It pays off, and suddenly, you’re a trembling mess, shaking beneath his touch, struggling to hold yourself upright as he maintains his sinful efforts.

“Sanji,” you mewl breathlessly, chest heaving up and down as you struggle to maintain your composure, “I-I’m so close-”

Your words hold sway over this eager man, and he redoubles his efforts to please you, relentlessly pumping his fingers in and out of your throbbing opening, groaning softly against your clit as he continues to suck on it.

Pleasure washes over your instantaneously, making your limbs feel numb and tingly, your orgasm hitting you harshly, white and hot, overpowering, head-spinning.

“Sanji-!” you let out a loud moan, voice trembling as your peak rushes over you.

“That’s it, my love,” he purrs, “Give me all you’ve got”

He laps up everything you’ve given him, as if it was his lifeline, your essence clinging to his chin as he rises to his feet.

Your face is red and flushed, mouth hanging slack as you gasp for air, but before you even have time to catch your breath, the chef’s lips are on yours again. His tongue is rougher this time, more needy, you can tell he’s aching, aching for more.

“Sanji-” you whine needily into his mouth, “Sh-Show me,” you let out a shaky breath, “Show me who I belong to.”

And just like that, you feel the gentle tug of a smirk on your lover’s lips as they’re pressed against yours.

He pulls away slowly, something different in his eyes as he looks down at you.

With deliberate movements, Sanji’s hands glide over the fabric of his suit jacket, his fingers deftly working the buttons until the garment slips from his shoulders, pooling at his feet. Each motion is executed with a sense of purpose, as if shedding the outer layers of his attire is a symbolic gesture, a stripping away of the barriers between him and the object of his desire.

Beneath the jacket, his white dress shirt clings to his skin, hinting at the contours of his lean, muscular frame beneath the fabric. With practiced ease, his eyes never leaving yours, he unfastens the buttons one by one, revealing slivers of bare chest with each exposed inch.

Your breath hitches in your throat as the intricate details of his body are revealed to you; he’s thin, but toned, skin pale and smooth, untouched by the sun. He’s beautiful.

He stands before you, exposed and vulnerable, yet radiating a quiet confidence. There's a rawness to his demeanor; he’s willing to do whatever it takes to prove his devotion to you, to show you who you belong to.

He moves forward again, pressing his soft lips to yours as he slowly busies his hands with his belt buckle.

With each swirl of his tongue around yours, he makes progress with his belt, eventually removing it entirely, placing it on the counter next to you.

Soon enough, he’s sliding his pants down his legs, boxers too, making you gasp slightly into his mouth as his cock is revealed. It’s lengthy and slender, pretty, even, tip flushed a rosy pink and weeping precum.

You breathe shakily into his mouth, placing your hands on either of his toned shoulders, grounding yourself, “Please, Sanji,” you whine.

A smirk tugs at the chef’s lips as he obeys your plea, gently lifting you up to make you sit on the counter. He takes one of your legs and lifts it up, making it bend at the knee, your ankle resting on his shoulder.

Your face flushes at the lewdness of the situation, testing your flexibility as you sit nude on the kitchen counter, leg dangling over the chef’s shoulder.

Sanji lets out a shaky exhale as he takes his throbbing cock in his free hand, bringing his hips forwards to align himself with your entrance.

He shoots you a tender glance, “Are you ready, beautiful girl?” the kind man asks softly.

Locking your eyes with his, you nod, offering a soft smile,

“Ready,” you lean forwards, whispering against his warm chest as you prepare yourself for the intrusion.

Sanji slowly begins swiping his leaking, rosy tip up and down your needy cunt, making you moan softly against his flesh.

He brings his tip downwards to gently prod at your opening before pressing in, hissing through gritted teeth at the tightness of your walls sucking him in.

“Fuck, my love,” he rasps, his grip tightening on your leg as he continues to press in.

“M-Mmm, S-Sanji-” you moan shakily stumbling over your words as you slowly become accustomed to the stretch.

You reach around to dig your nails down his toned back as he finally bottoms out, making the two of you moan in-sync.

You both chuckle softly at the symphony, and Sanji begins, bringing his lean hips back to thrust into you slowly, carefully.

In an instant, he’s filling you entirely, the tip of his length cock coming forward to brush against your g-spot with each pass, making your skin tingle with pleasure.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you curse, nails raking down his back as he fucks you tenderly.

He’s groaning, face flushed red and chest heaving up and down as he gazes down at you, astounded by your body as his cock stuffs you full.

He’s gentle, petrified of hurting you, so he continues as he is, softly and carefully, bringing his free hand down to rub gentle circles against your aching clit.

In the same way a this chef meticulously crafts a culinary masterpiece, he approaches making love to you with a similar intensity, his obsession akin to the creation of a tantalizing dish.

The position you're in--your leg still up on his shoulder-- allows him to get as deep as possible, and although the sensation is welcomed, it’s simply not enough.

You want this gentle man to rail you, to make you come undone beneath him as a result of his skilled cock and brutal thrusts.

And you know just how to make that happen.

You lean forward to whisper against his chest in between moans,

“I wonder if you can fuck me harder than that swordsman could”

And just like that, something changes inside Sanji--a switch flips, a flame ignites-- soft, gentle Sanji retreats, and something new emerges from within him, just like you wanted.

In an instant, he brings his hips back to grant you with a particularly brutal, harsh thrust. His cock slams into you, battering your walls. The sudden intrusion makes you throw you head back and let out a weak squeal, but his pace only increases, thrusting in and out of you with a newfound brashness, his tip bullying your cervix relentlessly with each pass.

He’s brutal, strong, groaning through gritted teeth as he gazes down at you, watching you take his cock over and over and over again, tilting his gaze downwards to watch as your cunt greedily accepts every inch.

“Fuck you harder than this?” he groans, letting out an amused tsk as he continues, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together harshly dismissing all other noises in the kitchen.

“Fuck, Sanji-!” you whine, screwing your eyes shut as sparks erupt beneath your lids. It’s almost too much, but you asked for it.

“That’s right,” the chef groans, “Say my name”

Your face flushes a darker rouge at the lewdness of his words, you had never heard him speak like this before-- hell, you didn’t even know he was capable.

Your chest is heaving and your mouth and tongue are hanging slack, and your strands of hair sticking to your forehead from your sweat as you take his harsh thrusts, mind flooded with only visions of this sinful chef and his gifted hips.

“Say it,” he groans again, picking up his pace once more, pounding into you mercilessly, now, “I wanna hear it from your mouth,” he rasps, “Say you’re all mine”

Through weak moans and heavy breaths you oblige, your head growing numb as the chef brutally rails you, “Sanji-!” you cry out, “I’m all yours, S-Sanji!”

A smirk tugs at his lips and his grasp tightens on your raised leg as he continues, still rubbing tight circles into your clit as his cock abuses your walls.

“Sanji, Sanji, Sanji-” you whimper, his name falling from your slack mouth like a needy prayer, in time with each of his thrusts.

“That’s it,” he groans smugly, “Don’t forget that name, y/n,”

“You belong to me.”

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