I don’t write extreme heavy kinks, incest, or anything non-con/dub-con [no shame at all to writers that do, but I just don’t feel comfortable writing that!].
No pedophilia, underage, or extreme gore. [I don’t want minors reading my stuff—why would I write about them?!😅]
Light romance, fluff, angst, smut, and hurt/comfort are totally fine!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Warnings: Explicit Language, 18+, MINORS DNI, Cunnilingus, Mentions of Squirting, mentions of foodplay, Wearing luffy's hat while-yk
That morning at breakfast you had it bad. not the food, no Sani never missed when it came to meals. Luffy was there to confirm that sitting next to you like there weren't any other open seats, directly stealing food from your plate. But Luffy Stealing food was normal–what wasn't was him staring at you every 10 seconds mid-bite.
“Are you okay Luffy?”
“Mhm”
“Are you gonna eat that?”
Which of course, he doesn’t let you answer and took the piece of bread off your plate without waiting.
He seemed normal, well–”Luffy normal”. Maybe it was just the guilt eating at your skin, he’s your captain after all and you can’t stop thinking about him in a way you shouldn’t. But today it just seems off, has he always looked at you like that?
In all honesty no, he hasn’t. Anyone would be lucky to grasp his attention without the words One Piece, or Meat. but that changed after what he saw last night. The poor boy couldn’t get that image of you in your room like that saying his name, just reimagining it had his dick getting heavy in his pants again.
This is the third time this morning since waking up.
in his defense you looked too pretty eating a banana like that, seeing your lips open wide enough to let it in, and how full your cheeks got of it–damn it. His thoughts were getting to him again and his brain couldn’t catch up to these feelings. Thankfully Sanji stole his attention away with another plate.
Sanji brought you a glass of some smoothie he made with fruits he picked from the last island–you weren’t paying much attention it it because Luffy “borrowed” the glass and finished it in a chug, you didn’t get mad at him for stealing food today. Nope your breathing picked up when you realized he drank from where your lips were, an indirect kiss. Slowly you became hyper aware of everything around you. He was too close today, too touchy and a lot more curious about your face.
“You’re acting weird”
His voice snapped you out of your thoughts and your eyes darted to his.
“W-what-?!”
“What are you talking about? I’m fine.”
He just linked at you once. Chewed, swallowed, then nodded.
“Okay”
“You were making weird noises that’s why”
…what?
“Huh? What do you mean Luffy?” you itched your head slightly while trying to think about what he meant, it’s not like you were breathing out loud.
“Last night—-In your room” his face hadn’t changed its shape at all, like he was clueless.
“Why were you saying my name __-chan?”
The shock hit you harder than whiplash for a moment, then you got up without excusing yourself and hurried outside. Only then did his expression change into confusion, then realization that he must’ve said something wrong. He forced all the food in his mouth and followed.
Outside he spotted you in the hallway near your room.
“__-chan! Wait!”
Could this get any more embarrassing? Yes, because before you could reach your room his hand caught your wrist.
“Luffy–” he cut you off quick.
“Are you gonna lock the door tonight?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t lock me out tonight __-chan”
You looked at him wide eyed and confused, what did he mean by that? Did he see you folded up like that last night? Oh shi–
“Next time… don’t do it alone” his voice was soft this time with a hint of seriousness to it.
“What?”
“You needed me right? Crewmates have to be there for each other!”
“Luffy that’s not–”
“--I know.. But Nami and Robin don’t need help like that too right? I only wanna help you!”
And very quickly did you teach him the line that boarders Crewmate and Captain to Boyfriend and Girlfriend. Because he very much realized how much he wanted that too.
Now, he's got you on your bed.
your legs folded back against your chest, knees hooked over his shoulders as he kneels between them.
His hat resting over your face as you moaned into it.
this is uncharted territory for him. “So shiny…” he murmurs, staring at your exposed folds, already glistening from his mouth working on it and the arousal that he was actually doing this.
The way he ate pussy was messy, his face told the story too as his chin was drenched in you–tongue working in a way that put your fingers to shame.
lapping up your wetness like it's the juiciest fruit he's ever tasted. “Mmm, it's better than meat!”
Luffy dives in deeper, his mouth sealing over your clit with a wet suck that pulls a sharp whine from your throat. He doesn't know finesse yet, but his raw energy makes up for it—tongue flicking wildly, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks shooting through your core. You buck your hips, lifting off the mattress, but he pins you down with one hand on your thigh, growling into your pussy like he's devouring his favorite meal. “You taste so good __-chan!” he pants between licks, slurping noisily, his chin already shiny with your arousal.
Each pull on your swollen nub has you crying out, your fingers twisting in the sheets as waves of pleasure build, your body coiling tighter.
“Like that? Keep making those sounds—I wanna hear more!” Your hips jerk up again, chasing the pressure, and he obliges by rubbing his nose against your humping, his tongue circling your entrance before plunging inside, fucking you with it in short, eager thrusts.
“Oh–Luffyy”
The sensation is overwhelming, his inexperience turning into pure instinct as he explores every inch.
Then his fingers join in—two thick digits sliding into your soaked heat, stretching you as he curls them experimentally. "Whoa, it's so tight and squishy in here!" his voice in pure awe.
Pumping them slowly at first. But he picks up speed fast when he realizes you like it, the wet sound of his fingers fucking your pussy echoing in the room. It's better than fishing, he decides right then, the way your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper. He scissors them, rubbing that spot inside that makes stars burst behind your eyelids, his thumb brushing your clit in messy circles.
The orgasm crashes over you without warning—your pussy spasms around his fingers, gushing slick onto his hand. Splashing on face slightly as you screamed his name.
But Luffy doesn't stop, lapping at the flood like it's nectar, his eyes locked on yours with pure delight.
No dessert Sanji whipped up was ever gonna compare to this.
You both catch your breath, the air thick with the scent of sex. Luffy nuzzles your neck, just breathing softly there. “That was fun–way better than anything! ” He pauses, then perks up with that signature stupid grin he carried “Hey… next time can I eat ice cream off your pussy? Bet it'd taste even better!”
Perv! luffy watching you through the cracked door as you call his name 🤧 #O meathod
I haven’t posted in almost 6 months omg I’ve been so busy with my clinicals, but ask and you shall receive!! MINORS DNI
[Pairing]: Luffy x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Explicit Language, 18+, MINORS DNI, written as requested
You should’ve known better than to do this on the Sunny.
Too risky. Too many creaky floors. Too many curious idiots.
But the ache was too much tonight.
So you locked the bedroom door.
Or thought you did.
Palm between your thighs.
Breath catching.
Sweat on your brow as your hand reached under your shorts, slow, gentle then at a mediocre pace your fingers rubbed at your clit. The sexual tension you faced all day staring at his toned body, that ‘X’ draped around his chest like a fucking treasure map you wanted to hunt down. But for now you kept it a fantasy, just like you did a few days ago, then the week before that: you were currently in a loophole of pleasuring yourself to the thought of him.
And his name.
Spilling from your lips before you can stop it as your middle finger curved while slipping in & poking your cervix.
“Luffy…”
Soft.
Wrecked.
Needy.
You don’t know that he’s right there, behind the door.
You don’t hear the barely-there creak of the hallway floor.
Don’t see the shadow pass in front of the crack in the door.
Don’t feel the pair of dark eyes on you—wide, hungry.
He doesn’t mean to stop.
He shouldn’t stop.
But then he hears it again.
“Luffy, please…”
And he freezes.
You’re breathless.
You’re close.
You’re whimpering for him like he’s the only thing you need in the world.
His cock twitches.
Hard. Fast. Immediate.
He presses his forehead to the wall, eyes still locked through the gap.
Your fingers.
Your slick.
Your thighs.
Your voice.
He licks his lips.
God, you’re so pretty like this.
He palms himself through his shorts.
He’s never really touched himself before meeting you—never really thought about it.
But you? Like this? on his ship fucking yourself to the idea of him?
It’s different.
He’s breathing hard now. Quiet, but shaky.
The grip on his dick is clumsy, of course it is.
But it's effective.
He’s mouthing your name.
You don’t know he’s there.
Not when you come.
Not when you arch and cry out and grind down like you need him. that's the part that had him questioning whether to cross the line between you two. (like it still existed at this point).
Not even when he bites his lip to keep from groaning when he follows a few seconds later, panting through his teeth, hand wet with heat and want.
He stays there.
Just for a second.
Watching you come down.
Watching the soft, fluttery way your fingers tremble.
Then he slips away into the dark.
You never see him. But you did see the mysterious milky white liquid left dripping on your door handle when you left to go wash your hands.
He secretly followed you the whole time till you went to bed, then called it a night himself.
But in the morning? His dick is already poking out through the sheets, leaving him to beat it again. Then a flash of memory while he was in the shower—rock hard again. Then the memory of how you smelled when you gave him hugs, that little twitch your eye does when you smile, poor boy couldn’t handle it anymore.
Streamer!Luffy and his bimbo looking roomate that he lowkey has a crush on and she catches him red handed, Smutttt plss !!
MINORS DNI
(Oral sex F!receiving, Fingering, Cunnilingus) 18+ content
Streamer!Luffy who you've always had this easy vibe with his room being across the hall from yours. The guy's laugh echos throughout the whole house during his streams and he's got that dumb laugh that makes you laugh without even hearing the context of the joke. He's got a crush on you—or at least, that's what you suspect from the way his eyes linger a second too long when you cross paths in the kitchen, your tight crop top riding up as you reach for a mug. You're the bimbo type on the outside—big tits spilling out of low-cut tanks, plump lips always glossy, blonde wig in messy waves with a smile that makes it impossible for him to hide his pants tenting up.
The two of you became roomies after your friend Nami hooked you up with a deal for her old room, that's when you met the sexy mess she has for guy friends; The cook with a restaurant on 43rd--sanji or something, the personal trainer with a thing for swords who seemed like the real hookup, and then there was Luffy, the twitch streamer who ransacked the fridge so many times after a Costco trip that you personally gifted him a fridge in his room during your Christmas gift exchange.
Sometimes you wander into his streaming setup by accident or in need of advice, waving at the camera with a giggle before he shoos you out, his cheeks flushing pink. 'Hey, no spoilers for the viewers!' he'd say, but you catch him smiling at the chat when they start assuming you're his girlfriend. Luffy doesn't know if you've got a boyfriend—hell, you don't even know yourself half the time, too busy with work and late-night scrolls. But he knows about your rose toy, you seem to have a problem reminding yourself to be quiet sometimes.
The walls are thin in this place, paths intersecting like a weird maze, and some nights when you're alone in your pink covered room—walls plastered with posters, bed drowning in fluffy pillows and stuffed animals as you crank it up, the buzzing hum slipping under the door. You wonder if he hears, if it fuels those quiet moments when you pass him in the hallway and his gaze drops to your ass in those tiny shorts. which of course it does cause the second he peeps it in his room with his headphones half-on mid stream he's immediately apologizing for needing to cut tonight short; the reason being how hard it is for him to focus on a damn Valorant match knowing the shit you're pulling next door.
Tonight, though, it's different. You've had a shit day—boss yelling, friends ghosting, that nagging ache between your legs that the toys couldn't quite scratch. but instead of buzzing it to life, tears hit first. Hot, frustrated sobs rack your body. You're lost in it when you hear footsteps quick, concerned padding down the hall. The door creaks open without a knock, and there he is: Luffy, shirtless in his sweats, hair tousled like he was in the middle of something private.
"Shit, hey... I heard you..you alright?" he says, voice rough, stepping inside and closing the door. You scramble to cover up and manage to slip your panties back on, but your arms freeze before you can reach for the blanket. his gaze is unreadable yet desperate at the same time and your eyes drop down to his sweats as you nod, peeping the log poking through the fabric.
You caught him red-handed once before, peeking through the crack in his door during a late-night stream break, his fist pumping that thick cock to some video, grunting something that sounded like your name under his breath. But now? He's the one walking in on you. "Luffy, what—" you start, voice cracking, but he crosses the room in two strides dropping to his knees beside the bed. His hands are warm on your thighs, gentle as he pries them apart just enough to meet your eyes. "You were crying. I couldn't just... fuck, what's wrong?"
and that's how you found yourself in this mess, from crying about your day to him and him just listening & giving you what you needed; a shoulder to lean on and some good dick. "Let me help" with a low murmur while tugging the thin fabric of your panties back down, His breath fans hot over your clit, and before you can think, his mouth is on you. His tongue dives right in, flat and broad, licking a slow stripe up your slit from your dripping entrance to your swollen nub. You gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he groans against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core. He doesn't tease—his lips seal around your clit, sucking hard while his tongue flicks relentlessly, wet and insistent. Your hips buck, pussy gushing as he laps at your juices, swallowing them down like he's starved. "Taste so fucking good" he mutters between licks, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple through your shirt, rolling the hard peak until you whimper.
He pushes your thighs wider, shoulders wedging between them, and buries his face deeper. His tongue thrusts into your hole now, fucking in and out with sloppy, eager strokes, nose bumping your clit. You cry out, not from sadness anymore, but raw need as he adds fingers, two thick ones curling inside you, hitting that spot that makes your walls flutter. He pumps them fast, matching the rhythm of his sucking mouth, your arousal coating his chin. The room fills with the sounds: your moans, the wet smacks of his tongue on your pussy, the creak of the bed as you grind against his face.
Your orgasm builds quick, coiling tight in your belly. Luffy senses it, redoubling his efforts— tongue swirling, fingers scissoring, free hand gripping your ass to pull you closer. "Cum on my mouth princesa" he growls, voice muffled against your folds, and that's it. You shatter, pussy spasming around his fingers, cum flooding his tongue as you scream his name. He doesn't stop, licking you through it, drawing out every pulse until you're a trembling mess, tears of release streaking your cheeks.
Finally, he pulls back, lips shiny with your essence, eyes dark with lust as he climbs onto the bed. "Feelin' better?" he asks, voice husky, cock straining against his pants. You nod, pulling him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on him salty, sweet, perfect. Thinking to yourself;
'Maybe you should start crying more, especially when Luffy's home.'
Being Toji's Baby mama doesn't necessarily mean your relationship or what you've had is over--to him at least.
BabyDaddy!Toji finds himself crashing over at your place at least twice a week. He never returned his key to the apartment after you two "split up" and you've had countless arguments over it in the past that you felt numb about the topic all together, of course reminding yourself the reasons why y'all ain't together anymore. he always tries to make it up with cooking you breakfast & cleaning the house before you and your six year old daughter are up.
"Again Toji?" you half groaned while walking into the kitchen smelling the cooked sausages & hearing your daughter's soft laughing mixed with his as they stood by the counter covered in pancake flour.
"Blueberry or Chocolate Chip mommy?" and he'd just smirk your way knowing you were giving in.
"....Blueberry".
BabyDaddy!Toji who loves showing off family photos to his friends and coworkers all the time, the three of you at the beach for summer vacation, Disneyland for your daughters Birthday in which he "accidentally" booked a single bed suite for the parents. Smirking to himself when he overheard the receptionist explain to you that there were no more doubles as you tried to rebook another room.
"It'll be like old times babygirl"
BabyDaddy!Toji who's always at your doorstep when he finds out your daughter had a nightmare the night before, always is there to help you out with getting her ready, braiding her hair (even though he can't get through stitch braids for jack shit), or dropping her off at school when you clearly haven't gotten enough sleep.
"I got this one, Trust me."
BabyDaddy!Toji who comes back after dropping her off to take care of you, despite your pushing of him away. He brings your favorites; flowers, food, whatever he could think satisfy you enough to chat one on one. Which of course ends up in an argument of trying to remind him--y'all aren't a thing anymore, how this all is gonna confuse your baby, how you two should live your own lives and that is what really poked at his nerves. He wasn't gonna let you go just like that.
"We aren't together Toji! just stop it you're confusing her!...I'm tired of this shit from you..."
"It's not over yet...just lemme be There for you--for you both--!" and the argument is just rolling between the same lines for about an hour till you crack those tears that he hates most.
BabyDaddy!Toji who ends the argument officially like how you both do all the time; unprotected, your back on the couch with him hovering above, clothes scattered across the living room, hot kisses covering the tears that soaked your lips trailing down to your thighs. You know this whole thing is wrong but that's a thought for after your orgasm, He eats you out like a man starved, his wide tongue lapping at your clit while his strong hands grip your ass, pulling your dripping folds right to his mouth. You tangle your fingers in his short dark hair, grinding against his face as he sucks without a care for the thin walls of your apartment with his name bouncing off your tongue.
BabyDaddy!Toji who's got a thing for your tits, the man has absolutely gone crazy everytime he gets to suck on them, he'll suck on your nipples until they're hard peaks, then fuck you missionary so he can watch them bounce with every powerful stroke of his cock stretching you wide remembering how they were when you were pregnant then boom his libido just extended more. His breath hot on your neck, he bites your shoulder lightly as he fills you up, cumming with a grunt that vibrates through your body.
"Lemme 'give you another one hm?...'boy this time"
BabyDaddy!Toji who carries you back to bed afterwards, kissing your forehead silently promising that he's getting his family back no matter what. Slipping out of your arms a few hours later while you're still knocked out to pick up your daughter from school.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hi I'm so sorry but could you please not tag characters that aren't relevant to your fics on them?? 😭😭 Like Luffy x reader and law x reader on your last one with Sanji and Zoro. No hate ofc but it's just something that can get a bit annoying 😞😞
Heyy don’t worry I know exactly how it feels😭 my bad for the mishap! I was testing out those tags to see if my posts were actually uploading or not after getting advice to do so—won’t happen again!
Fixed the bug so I'm able to post on this Blog again! this drabble is available on both my main & second account @hellonanii
MINORS DNI
Sanji's saturday night routine after clocking out consisted of three simple things; Dinner, Cleaning up, and Treating himself with his favorite websex site to whoever's channel was the hotshot of the nights rating. Dick in hand and his card numbers on standby if the show seemed good, his right hand on the cursor ready to click on some blonde rubbing on her kitchen counter before the ratings refreshed & the poor blondes spot for #1 livechannel got replaced by a surprisingly familiar username. The same username his friend has for his IG handle.
The camera's been rolling for a good minute, you'd count the time if you were able to count how many orgasms y'all passed by now--three maybe four. The pink lights of the room radiating your skin for the camera, Zoro had you laid back on the bed legs up, skirt up, and panties tugged to the side flashing that pretty pussy for the cam. the camera itself of course resting on a lower surface compared to the bedframe to hide your faces but anyone that knew y'all fr could recognize one of two things: your voice moaning ever few seconds--even slipping his name out, or maybe the green happy trail or pubic hair that screams roronoa. His fingers slide in easily, two at once, curling deep and stroking that spot that makes your toes curl. You moan, arching into his touch, hips rocking as pleasure builds, the chat exploding with praise and another tip. "Mmphh, ‘Zo—“"Shhh baby i know" Everytime you nearly slip up again he's there to shush you over 'n over, Even if his name is your favorite word before cumming he can't have people knowing who y'all are.
The comments never stop rolling even during position switches and now you're bent over with zoro's cock in your mouth. The comments scroll—'She's so eager,' 'Deeper, girl'—and a small tip chimes, making you hum around him softly. Zoro's hips shift, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, your throat relaxing to meet him. You gag softly once, eyes watering, but pull back with a gasp, lips shiny with that whiny voice the chat can't get over. "Softer babyyy...'it's too big--stop 'movinn"
-
now, you're back on the bed laying tummy up, legs folded moaning like a bitch from overstimulation feeling his thumb rub on your clit while he fucked you like there was no tomorrow. The donation pings in the background going crazy as Zoro mentioned this orgasm being the last one for the night before pushing you back against the sheets. your vision was blurring with stars as you watched his dick disappear inside your pussy with every stroke, feeling him hit your cervix like it was meant to be there 24/7. Finally you came & it was messy, the post-sex bliss full of laughs and Thank You's to the donations and new subs before ending the stream to clean up. - Across town Sanji was in disbelief, and in a mess himself. "Shit....where's the towel?" He couldn't believe what he saw, one of his best friends doing all that on camera. And he couldn't believe that he himself watched through it, stroking his cock till he felt like he was in the room with them. it was time to call it a night while he was stuck in the shock, but before that he had to use that cursor to click on one more thing. NEW SUB ALERT: BleuChef114 has gifted 100 subs!
This was requested on my main blog @h1nanii but due to technical issues i gotta upload on here
MINORS DNI
Sanji's saturday night routine after clocking out consisted of three simple things; Dinner, Cleaning up, and Treating himself with his favorite websex site to whoever's channel was the hotshot of the nights rating. Dick in hand and his card numbers on standby if the show seemed good, his right hand on the cursor ready to click on some blonde rubbing on her kitchen counter before the ratings refreshed & the poor blondes spot for #1 livechannel got replaced by a surprisingly familiar username. The same username his friend has for his IG handle.
The camera's been rolling for a good minute, you'd count the time if you were able to count how many orgasms y'all passed by now--three maybe four. The pink lights of the room radiating your skin for the camera, Zoro had you laid back on the bed legs up, skirt up, and panties tugged to the side flashing that pretty pussy for the cam. the camera itself of course resting on a lower surface compared to the bedframe to hide your faces but anyone that knew y'all fr could recognize one of two things: your voice moaning ever few seconds--even slipping his name out, or maybe the green happy trail or pubic hair that screams roronoa. His fingers slide in easily, two at once, curling deep and stroking that spot that makes your toes curl. You moan, arching into his touch, hips rocking as pleasure builds, the chat exploding with praise and another tip. "Mmphh, ‘Zo—“"Shhh baby i know" Everytime you nearly slip up again he's there to shush you over 'n over, Even if his name is your favorite word before cumming he can't have people knowing who y'all are.
The comments never stop rolling even during position switches and now you're bent over with zoro's cock in your mouth. The comments scroll—'She's so eager,' 'Deeper, girl'—and a small tip chimes, making you hum around him softly. Zoro's hips shift, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, your throat relaxing to meet him. You gag softly once, eyes watering, but pull back with a gasp, lips shiny with that whiny voice the chat can't get over. "Softer babyyy...'it's too big--stop 'movinn"
-
now, you're back on the bed laying tummy up, legs folded moaning like a bitch from overstimulation feeling his thumb rub on your clit while he fucked you like there was no tomorrow. The donation pings in the background going crazy as Zoro mentioned this orgasm being the last one for the night before pushing you back against the sheets. your vision was blurring with stars as you watched his dick disappear inside your pussy with every stroke, feeling him hit your cervix like it was meant to be there 24/7. Finally you came & it was messy, the post-sex bliss full of laughs and Thank You's to the donations and new subs before ending the stream to clean up. - Across town Sanji was in disbelief, and in a mess himself. "Shit....where's the towel?" He couldn't believe what he saw, one of his best friends doing all that on camera. And he couldn't believe that he himself watched through it, stroking his cock till he felt like he was in the room with them. it was time to call it a night while he was stuck in the shock, but before that he had to use that cursor to click on one more thing. NEW SUB ALERT: BleuChef114 has gifted 100 subs!
[Warnings: Weed use, fingering, slight oral (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talk, thigh riding, possessiveness, infidelity themes, tattoo kink, pet names]
Porn with plot. MINORS DNI
Just trying out his latest product, as usual you did it together. Just being his “favorite customer” gave him the invitation inside your apartment as you complained to him about your boyfriend for what seemed to be the 100th time.
Your room smelled like strawberries, lip gloss, and just a hint of weed—and Law fucking loved it.
He leaned against the doorframe, black hoodie hanging loose off his shoulders, hands deep in the pockets of his sweats as he watched you bounce back onto your bed, pink LED lights casting everything in a cotton-candy glow.
“You always look this good when you get high?” he asked, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.
You giggled, already a little floaty from the first hit. “Only when I’m testing your shit.”
He crossed the room in a few steps, sliding the branded ziplock bag back into his backpack before flicking his lighter. The flame sparked as he lit the blunt you’d already rolled with shaking fingers. You inhaled deeply, the strain hitting warm and heavy behind your eyes, and you flopped back into your bed with a soft groan.
“This one’s good” you murmured. “Feels like I’m melting.”
Law’s golden gaze swept over your body—bare legs, short shorts, your baby pink tank top riding up just enough to show a peek of tummy. He grinned, slow and wolfish. “That’s the idea.”
You didn’t even notice him kneeling on the bed until his palms were spreading over your thighs, warm, big, inked fingers gripping your soft skin like it belonged to him. Your head fell back against the pillows, breath hitching.
“You high?” he asked, voice low and thick.
You nodded.
“Good. I want you floatin’ while I play with this pretty pussy.”
Your eyes fluttered open. “Law—”
He shut you up with a kiss, deep and slow, tongue sliding into your mouth while his fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts. You weren’t wearing panties, almost like you were expecting this. He grunted when he felt how wet you already were.
“Shit, you always get this wet when I’m around?” he teased, dipping one thick finger between your folds.
“Mhm..” you breathed, hips twitching.
That earned you a wicked grin. “That’s ‘cause you know I treat this pussy better than your bum-ass boyfriend ever could.”
As if on cue, your phone buzzed on the nightstand—3 texts from “No Good [boyfriend/name]”. Law saw it. He didn’t care. Instead, he sank two fingers into your cunt, knuckles deep, curling up just right.
“Oh my—f-fuck” you whined, legs already closing in but his left hand held you open.
“That’s right. Let him text. I got my fingers in his girl’s pussy while she soaks my hand, ‘makes you my girl now don’t it?.” His lips brushed your jaw, then your neck, biting softly. “He ever make you cum like this?”
You couldn’t answer. Your back was arching, thighs clamping around his wrist as he picked up the pace, thumb finding your clit with practiced pressure.
“Law—!”
“Say my name when you cum. Not his. Mine.”
It didn’t take long. You came hard, gasping his name, fingers twisted in your bedsheets, your whole body twitching. Law didn’t stop. He just slid down, kissed your thigh, then licked a slow stripe up your pussy like he had all night.
“Mm. I’m not done,” he murmured against you, voice muffled by your thighs. “Told you—you’re my favorite customer. I always take care of what’s mine.”
Your thighs were still twitching when Law kissed his way back up your stomach, slow and unbothered like he hadn’t just made you cum so hard your vision blurred. His hoodie hung over your body like a blanket, the scent of weed and him wrapping around you warm and sticky.
“You good?” he asked, though his lips were already brushing your jaw.
You nodded, dazed and breathless. “Still high.”
He smirked, licking his lips. “Good. ‘Cause I’m far from done with you, baby.”
His hands—those tattooed, ring-clad hands were everywhere. Squeezing your hips, stroking your sides, slipping under your pink top just to palm your tits lazily, thumbs flicking your nipples. The contrast of his calloused fingers on your soft, sensitive skin had you moaning again, brain fuzzy.
Then he sat up and dragged you with him, settling you on his thigh.
“Grind on me.”
You blinked, lips parted. “…What?”
He cupped your face with one hand, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “I said” he murmured, voice low and rough, “grind on my fuckin’ thigh, princess.”
You were already soaked—your pussy leaving slick heat against his sweats. He flexed his thigh, the muscle firm under you, and your hips moved on instinct. The pressure made you gasp.
“Atta girl” he muttered. “Take what you need. Don’t think. Just feel. Babygirl”
You whimpered as you rocked against him, your bare pussy dragging against the fabric, your clit rubbing just right. He kept a hand on your lower back, guiding you, his other one gripping your jaw to keep you looking at him.
“You like riding my thigh more than his dick, huh?” he growled. “Bet that weak-ass motherfucker never made you cum like this.”
You nodded fast, breath catching. “Uh uh—!” you moaned, hips moving faster, desperate and messy. “Only you, Law—fuck—”
His thigh flexed again, making you cry out. He looked high off your sounds, high off you, eyes dark and burning under the glow of your bedroom lights.
“Such a needy little thing” he purred. “All this pink, all this pretty….you were made to be my girl. Made to be my pillow princess. Let me fuckin’ spoil you.”
Your orgasm snuck up on you—sharp and overwhelming. You clung to his hoodie, forehead pressing against his neck crying out nonsense as your whole body trembled, riding out the waves.
Law didn’t move. Just held you there, kissing your shoulder, whispering in your ear.
“You think he could ever do this for you? Keep dreamin’, baby.”
Then your phone buzzed again—another message from your boyfriend. Your hand reached for the phone but before you could get it it Law grabbed it, glanced at the screen, and chuckled.
“He wants to ‘talk things out’? Nah…Not tonight.”
He tossed the phone aside, then flipped you onto your back again.
“I’m not lettin’ you go till you forget his name.”
Your body was spent, wrecked in the prettiest way—thighs shaking, lips swollen, skin sticky with sweat and slick. You were still wearing that tiny pink top, tits peeking out as Law hovered over you, hoodie long gone, chest tattoo on full display under your soft lighting.
He’d already made you cum twice, and he looked like he was just getting started.
“Face down” he growled, grabbing your hips. “Ass up, I wanna see how messy this pussy’s gotten.”
You moved without thinking, too fucked-out to be shy. Your cheek hit the pillow as you arched for him, moaning when he grabbed a fistful of your ass and spread you open.
“Goddamn” he muttered with a groan before tugging down his sweats. “Look at this pussy…you gon get it right with me, ‘ain’t nobody gonna feel like me princess.”
You gasped when he rubbed the thick head of his cock between your folds, teasing your entrance—slow, so you could feel all of it. Then he pushed in, inch by inch, burying himself to the hilt.
You nearly screamed. “L-Law—fuck!”
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips so tight you’d have bruises. “You feel that? That’s what a real man feels like.”
He pulled back, then slammed into you, hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.
“You let him fuck you with that weak-ass dick?” Another thrust. “That sorry little boy who thinks he owns you?” Another, deeper now, dragging a broken sob from your throat.
“N-No” you whimpered. “He never—fuck! Law—he never fucked me like this.”
“Damn right he didn’t.”
 He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head up just enough so you could speak.
“Grab your phone.”
“What—?”
“You heard me. Text that sorry motherfucker and tell him it’s over. Now.”
Shaking, you reached for the phone. Fingers trembling, you opened your messages and typed with one hand, the other bracing you as Law kept fucking into you, cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you.
“We’re done. Don’t text me again.”
You hit send. Law grabbed the phone from your hand, smirking.
Then he angled the camera—snapping a shot of you from behind, face buried in the pillow, drool at the corner of your mouth, ass in the air, his thick cock splitting you open.
He sent it without hesitation.
“She’s mine now. Stay the fuck outta her life.”
Then he tossed the phone aside and grabbed your throat, not hard—just enough to make your pussy clench around him.
“You feel that?” he growled in your ear. “That’s what being owned feels like. Not that weak shit he had you under”
You shattered on his cock, crying out his name like it was the only word you knew. He followed right after, slamming into you with a guttural moan as he filled you up, cock twitching deep inside.
When it was over, he stayed there for a moment, chest to your back, one hand stroking your hip while the other gently brushed your hair from your face.
“You okay, baby?” he murmured.
You nodded, dazed and glowing. “Never better.”
He smirked and kissed your shoulder, pulling you onto his sweaty chest. “Told you I’d treat you better.”
Themes: MODERN AU, Romance, NSFW 18+, Sugar Daddy/Baby dynamic, Spoiled Bimbo-coded Reader, Emotional tension, porn with plot
Warnings: NSFW, Pre-Established dynamic, teasing, possessiveness, Oral (F! receiving), penetrative sex, spoiling, use of pet names. [Minors DNI]
You don’t just meet the man—you become his obsession from the moment he laid his eyes on you. From champagne-soaked nights to silk sheets and whispered promises in French, he doesn’t just want you. He needs you. Every curve, every secret, every damn detail you think no one notices—he sees it all, worships it all, owns it all and makes sure of it.
The first time you see him, it’s over champagne.
Not the cheap kind, either—the kind that sparkles like liquid gold, poured into tall flutes by a waiter whose bowtie is tighter than your dress. You’re at a hotel rooftop bar, legs crossed, baby-pink bandage dress hugging your body like it was stitched directly onto your skin. Your lace front is bone-straight, silky, falling all the way down your back, and your nails—almond-shaped, cotton-candy pink with tiny rhinestones—tap against the stem of your glass as you scroll your phone.
You’re not here looking for anyone. You’re here because you like being somewhere beautiful, somewhere you fit in. But you feel his eyes on you before you see him.
He’s across the room, leaning casually against the bar, dark gray three-piece suit hugging his tall, lean frame. Blond hair perfect despite the evening breeze, tie just loose enough to look deliberate. He’s talking to someone—or at least pretending to. Every so often, his gaze flicks back to you like he can’t help himself.
When the man he’s speaking to leaves, he crosses the room with the slow confidence of someone who’s never had to chase—but would run a marathon for the right woman.
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle” he says when he stops at your table, voice low and honey-smooth. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion. I couldn’t help but notice you look like you were poured into that dress by the angels themselves.”
Your lips curve, amused. “That line work for you often?”
He smiles like you just handed him a challenge. “Wouldn’t know. I’ve never met anyone worth saying it to before.”
You let him buy you another glass of champagne, and then another. By the time the night ends, you’ve learned his name is Sanji—just Sanji—that he speaks French fluently, that he owns not one but three restaurants, and that he has a thing for women who look expensive. Someone like you.
Two weeks later, he’s sliding a Cartier box across the table at brunch like it’s nothing.
It wasn’t his first time doing something like this, the money pulled more girls in his roster then it kept calmness between him and other billionaires, but he was a businessman of course. Knowing his way around the life, but something about you made him want to give it all up.
It was the night he saw you cry.
Not a messy breakdown—Sanji didn’t think you were even capable of being messy. No, it was subtle, quiet, the kind of thing most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Sanji did.
You’d just walked out of a high-end boutique, shopping bag in hand, pink cardigan draped over your shoulders. You were flawless—new hairstyle he noticed, long honey-brown knotless braids swinging against your back, diamond studs catching the city lights. But he caught the way you swiped at your cheek when you thought no one was looking.
He’d been sitting at the café across the street, nursing an espresso after a long day at the restaurant. He’d seen you earlier, sweeping into the boutique with the kind of walk that made people step out of your way, and he’d thought, there she is again. You’d been haunting him ever since that rooftop bar and the light brunch that followed—pink dresses in his dreams, the sound of your laugh in the middle of service, the ghost of your perfume clinging to his mind.
This time, though, you weren’t laughing.
He crossed the street without even thinking. “Ma chérie” he said softly when he reached you, tilting his head to catch your eyes. “Something’s wrong.”
You tried to shake your head, but he could see it—that flicker of exhaustion beneath the perfect lashes. “It’s nothing. Just… one of those days.” Another failed talking stage, none of them could handle you so you took your anger out on your bank account.
Sanji didn’t like “one of those days.” He liked you radiant, adored, impossible to touch without getting burned. The idea of you hurting—even a little—lodged itself in his chest like a knife.
“Come with me” he said, no room for argument.
Mentally tired without a ride home, you followed.
He took you to his restaurant after hours, the place quiet except for the soft hum of the kitchen lights. Sat you at the chef’s table and made you a plate from scratch—seared scallops, saffron risotto, roasted asparagus, champagne in a crystal flute. He didn’t ask questions. He just tended to you—pulling out your chair, draping a silk napkin over your lap, brushing his fingers against yours when he set down the fork.
Somewhere between the second glass of champagne and the dessert, you smiled again. Not the practiced one for strangers, but the real one, the one that lit up your whole face.
That was the moment.
He decided right then that he’d never let you go without that smile again. That he’d handle the “one of those days” before they could touch you. That no one else would ever get to see you break—because they’d never be close enough.
And when he walked you to your car, slipping a tiny pink velvet box into your hand with a quiet, “For next time you need a reminder you’re the most beautiful thing in this city” he knew it wasn’t just about spoiling you anymore.
It was about keeping you. And only You.
Fast forward eight months into this, and you’re not just his spoiled girl—you’re his only girl. He’s relentless in the way he takes care of you: he books your hair appointments himself, sends flowers to the salon, tips the stylists so heavily they rush to make sure your installs are laid to perfection. One week it’s a 40-inch bust-down, the next it’s knotless braids down to your hips, each one dipped in hot water and perfectly even. He notices every detail—the change in curl pattern, the way the color pops against your skin, the new nail charms you had added “just because.”
And he never lets you pay for any of it.
“You don’t get to spend your money around me, Princess” he tells you one evening, voice firm but soft as he zips you into a pink satin slip dress. His hands linger at your waist, eyes drinking you in from behind. “Your only job is to be beautiful. I’ll handle the rest.”
Which is why you’re now in his penthouse, lights low, jazz playing somewhere in the background, the city spread out below you in glittering gold and silver. Dinner was a private three-course meal he cooked himself—lobster tail, truffle risotto, molten chocolate cake—and now his hands are on you, sliding the straps of your dress down your arms.
“Sanji…” you murmur, but it comes out more like a sigh.
“Shh, mon trésor” he says against your neck, lips brushing your skin as he presses you back toward the bed. “You’ve been running around all week, making the world jealous. Let me remind you who you belong to.”
You melt into the kiss he gives you—slow at first, then hungrier, tasting of champagne and dark chocolate from earlier. His hands roam like he’s mapping you all over again, fingers tracing the swell of your hips, the curve of your ass, the soft expanse of your thighs. When he pulls back, he looks wrecked already, eyes half-lidded, breathing heavy.
“You’re art” he says, and it’s not a compliment—it’s a fact, carved into the way he’s staring at you. “Perfect, from your curls to your pedicure. And all mine.”
By the time you’re fully naked, his suit jacket is gone, his tie loose, shirt half-unbuttoned cause he got too distracted by your tits, his left hand coming in to give them attention as his right completely discarded the tie. He doesn’t just undress—he peels the fabric away like unwrapping something too precious to rush. His mouth finds your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach, every kiss slow and lingering, leaving you whining for more.
And when he gets between your thighs, he doesn’t stop. He never gets tired of his favorite scene of trying to get you loose.
“Mm’ open for me beautiful” his voice is deeper, more demanding yet gentle.
A groan of enlightenment when you spread your legs for him, exposing the wetness of your pussy for him entirely. “…Fuck”
He immediately wastes no time, spoiling you was already his favorite hobby in every aspect.
The first stroke of his tongue has you gasping, hands flying to his hair. He groans into you, the sound vibrating through your core making you moan, one hand gripping your thigh tight enough to leave marks. He eats like a man starving, like you’re the only thing in the world worth tasting—messy, deep, relentless. Every time you try to close your legs, he holds them apart with an almost desperate growl.
“Let me have it, baby” he murmurs, slick on his lips. “Give me everything.” His thumb rubbing gently on your clit until you came as if it were a routine.
You do. Again and again, until your voice is raw and your legs tremble. He comes up looking ruined—hair mussed, mouth glistening, pupils blown wide. He can’t take it anymore, fuck it. His designer pants are soon wrinkled up somewhere in the corner, he’s extra desperate now judging by the way his tip was already leaking.
When he finally pushes into you, it’s slow and deep, like he’s savoring the stretch, the heat, the way you cling to him. Every thrust is deliberate, With every stroke comes a praise. His forehead pressed to yours, one hand holding your jaw so you can’t look anywhere but at him.
“You feel that?” he says, breath hot against your mouth. “That’s me. That’s all yours. All this? ‘For you baby”
It builds until you can’t think, only feel—until you’re clawing at his back and crying out his name, until he’s whispering in French against your ear, words you don’t even understand but feel in your bones.
“…-jiii”
“I know chérie, just a little longer”
His dick hit the back of your cervix with every stroke back to back, slowly fucking you dumb just how you liked it. You felt your core finally tighten up when he decided to hook one arm under your hip to lift you slighter.
The sounds of your sweet moans rang throughout his penthouse like therapeutic music, the sounds of slapping skin every time his balls met your ass, the squelching noise with every thrust from the way you creamed around him.
When it’s over, he doesn’t pull away. He kisses you slow, strokes your hair, murmurs how proud he is of you for taking him so well. Then he disappears for a moment, returning with a warm towel, a tall glass of cucumber water, and—because he’s Sanji—a little jewelry box.
Inside is a rose-gold anklet, tiny diamonds winking in the light.
“For my princess” he says, fastening it around your ankle before pressing a kiss there. “So everyone knows you’re taken.”
You laugh, soft and breathless, but the way he’s looking at you—like you hung the moon—makes you ache all over again.
“They been knew that”
And when you fall asleep in his arms, satin sheets against your skin, city lights spilling across the room, you realize Sanji doesn’t just spoil you.
He worships you.
A/n: This lovely piece was requested by @yvngnanie <33
I sadly lost the request drop you made but i hope you love it!
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The club always smelled of smoke, perfume, and spilled liquor — a place where men came to forget, and women like you were paid to be remembered. You’d been dancing long enough to know the routine: fake smiles, swaying hips, laughter that never reached your eyes.
And then he appeared.
Sanji. Blond hair tied back neatly, sharp suits that smelled faintly of cologne and tobacco, eyes so blue they looked out of place in the haze of neon. He wasn’t like the others.
The first night, he tipped too much. The second, he tipped the same. By the third night, he had booked you for a private room. You braced for the usual routine — hands that wandered, mouths that begged.
But Sanji only sat back on the velvet couch, cigarette dangling from his fingers, eyes tracing your movements like he was watching a sunrise.
“You dance” he murmured, smoke curling from his lips, “like you’re punishing the world and rewarding me at the same time.”
You raised a brow, rolling your hips against his lap. “And which do you think you deserve, baby?”
His smirk was faint. Sad, almost. “Both.”
That was how it began.
The club lights always washed over you in pinks and blues—your world painted in neon, velvet, and dollar bills fluttering like confetti. You had regulars who adored you, men who came and went, drunken promises you learned not to listen to. But Sanji wasn’t like the others.
He became a fixture. A guaranteed face in the crowd at least twice a week. Sometimes he’d pay for private dances just to sit with you, to talk. He’d ask about your favorite foods, your favorite colors, what songs made you dance when no one was watching. You never gave customers much of yourself—it blurred the line too easily. But with Sanji… you slipped. You gave him pieces.
“What’s your favorite color, ma belle?”
“Do you sing in the shower?”
“Who cooks for you after long shifts like this? You deserve some real food”
You laughed, deflecting, but you found yourself giving answers anyway. Pink. Yes, badly. No one.
You’d never intended to let a client see you. But he seeped through the cracks.
he’d pay just to sit with you. Sometimes he’d bring food, homemade — rich stews, delicate pastries, things no man had ever thought to feed you after watching you starve yourself for tips. He’d feed you with his hands, grin when you moaned at the taste, whisper filth about how he wanted to hear those sounds for him alone.
It was dangerous.
And then one night, he was gone.
No call. No note. No more bookings.
Weeks bled into months, and the emptiness was sharp. You kept dancing, letting strangers toss cash at you, but the taste of his cooking haunted your tongue, the echo of his accent haunted your ears.
You hated yourself for missing him. Hated that you scanned the crowd each night, praying for a glimpse of that blond hair.
It was stupid—an employee and her client, you told yourself. Just another fantasy to him.
The bitterness festered, but the longing never left.
It was a Friday when you saw him again.
You’d just stepped on stage, lights washing your skin in pink, when you caught sight of him at the bar. Sanji. In a navy suit, cigarette burning low, eyes locked on you like not a second had passed.
Your stomach twisted — anger and desire colliding until it hurt to breathe.
You danced harder, sharper, pretending you didn’t see him. But when the bouncer touched your arm after your set “VIP. He asked for you.” — your pulse betrayed you.
You told yourself it was just money. Just a job. But your hands shook when you opened the door.
He sat waiting, tie loosened, whiskey in hand. When you entered, his cigarette slipped from his lips.
“Chérie…” His voice was low, ragged. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”
You climbed into his lap, mask slipping into place, hips swaying. “Funny. You remembered me after vanishing for months? got the money?”
He slid crisp bills across the table. But his hands — god, his hands trembled like he was afraid to touch you.
“Months” you spat, grinding down harder. “You vanish on me, then come back like nothing? Do you know what that did to me, Sanji?”
His jaw flexed, eyes burning. “I tried… I tried to date, to cook for other women. But it was useless. Every time, it was you. Your laugh, your eyes, your voice in my head. I couldn’t forget you.”
Your chest ached. You hated the part of you that melted. “So what am I? Plan B when no one else worked out? A pretty little fantasy you couldn’t shake?”
He grabbed your waist, desperate, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Never plan B. Never cheap. You own me princess, do you understand? From the first night. I was a coward — I left because you made me want too much, more than I thought I deserved.”
Your throat tightened. “You are! and you left me wondering if I was crazy. If I meant anything.”
His hand cupped your face, trembling. “You meant everything. I should have stayed. I will never forgive myself for leaving you like that.”
You wanted to push him away. You wanted to give in. Both burned inside you.
“Then fucking show me” you whispered, voice breaking. “Show me I wasn’t just a stupid girl to you.”
The leash snapped.
His mouth crushed to yours, feverish, teeth clashing. His hands roamed your body like a starving man — gripping your thighs, clutching your ass, sliding up the curve of your waist. You kissed back with fury, nails raking down his chest, ripping buttons free.
You hissed, grinding harder. “You don’t get to disappear and then worship me now.”
You wanted to shove him away--slap him. You wanted to cling to him. Both urges tore you apart, your chest aching with the weight of months of silence.
Sanji surged forward, kissing you like a man starved, like he’d been holding his breath for months and you were the only air left in the world. His hands trembled where they cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as though he was afraid you’d vanish if he held too tightly.
You gave in and kissed him back, not out of forgiveness but out of fury, grief, longing. Teeth clashed, lips bruised, tears stung the corners of your eyes until you weren’t sure if it was you or him crying.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice and heart cracked open
“Every night without you was hell. I tried to pretend I could move on, but no one—no one—was you. I’d sit across from other women, pour wine, cook for them, and still—” his voice broke into a ragged laugh
“—still I’d see your smile, hear your voice. I was haunted, chérie. Haunted because I threw away the only thing I ever truly wanted.”
The silence that soon passed between you wasn’t empty. It was heavy — thick with all the things you’d said, all the things that had been building for months. Your chest rose and fell unevenly, tears cooling against your cheeks as you sat there in Sanji’s lap, his arms still wrapped around you like he couldn’t bear to let go.
For the first time in a long time, you weren’t playing a part. Not the dancer. Not the fantasy. Just you.
And that terrified you more than anything.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red, his lips swollen from the mess of a kiss you’d shared. He looked wrecked. Not the smooth, confident man who used to lounge in your private rooms like he owned the world. Just… a man who had made a mistake so big he didn’t know if he could crawl back from it.
“You don’t understand” you said softly, voice still shaky. “When you left, I kept asking myself what I did wrong. If I wasn’t enough. Do you know how humiliating it is to sit here, night after night, pretending none of this matters, while it felt like I meant nothing to you?”
Sanji’s face crumpled. His hands slid down to grip yours, squeezing them as if he could anchor you both.
“You meant everything” he said, voice hoarse. “I left because I was a fool. Because I thought someone like me didn’t deserve someone like you. I thought—” He stopped, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I thought if I walked away, I’d protect you from me. Instead, I hurt you. And I will regret that until I’m in the ground.”
Your lip trembled. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to hold onto your anger. Both warred inside you, leaving you exhausted
“Words are easy” you whispered. “Anyone can say them.”
“I know” he murmured, inching closer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “That’s why I don’t want to just say them. Let me prove it. Let me cook for you. Let me drive you home when you’re tired. Let me be the one you lean on, not the one who leaves you wondering.”
You looked away, swallowing hard. “And what if you leave again? What if I start to believe you, and you vanish like last time? I can’t go through that twice.”
Sanji leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours, his voice breaking.
“Then I don’t deserve to fucking breathe. If I walk away again, I’ll cut out my own heart, because it won’t be worth a damn thing without you. But I swear, on everything I am, I’m not going anywhere this time. Not unless you tell me to.”
Your chest ached with how badly you wanted to believe him. How badly you wanted the warmth of his promises to be real.
“I don’t know if I can trust you Sanji” you admitted, voice barely a whisper.
“Then let me earn it” he said. His hand moved to your cheek, cupping it with aching tenderness. “Every day, however long it takes. I’ll show up, I’ll be there, I’ll prove that I’m not running. Not from you. Never again.”
The tears you’d been holding back slipped free, trailing down your cheeks. And this time, when Sanji leaned in to kiss you, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t frantic. It was soft. Careful. A promise pressed to your lips.
You didn’t forgive him. Not yet. But for the first time in months, you let yourself hope.
Pairings: SugarDaddy!Sanji x Black!Fem!Reader [Pt.1 here]
Themes: MODERN AU, Romance, NSFW 18+, Sugar Daddy/Baby dynamic, Spoiled Bimbo-coded Reader, Emotional tension, porn with plot
Warnings: NSFW, Pre-Established dynamic, teasing, oral(F! Receiving), possessiveness, jealousy, bondage, penetrative sex, spoiling, use of pet names. [Minors DNI]
Life has been nothing but a breeze since you've met the man—a luxurious breeze filled with shopping spree's, private jet rides, expensive dinner and casual sex that isn't so casual. You realized how deep you were in a bit too late, your heart was tied to his. Confused on whether this was still casual or shifting into something else. Sugar Baby or not—Sanji made one thing clear: He Doesn't Share
The morning sun hit the boutique windows just right, bouncing light off polished floors and racks of fabric. Sanji held the door open like he was escorting royalty, his eyes sweeping over you before he even bothered to glance inside.
“You’re really gonna make me go broke, ma chérie” he teased, holding the door with a little bow. “And you’re not even sorry about it.”
You smirked, stepping past him with a sway in your hips you knew he noticed. “You’re the one that keeps begging to take me shopping. That sounds like a you problem.”
He made a soft noise low in his throat — part laugh, part groan. “It’s only a problem when the store runs out of things pretty enough to match you.”
The way he said it made you roll your eyes, but your cheeks still warmed. You brushed a coil of hair out of your face, the fresh twist-out bouncing around your shoulders, and you caught him staring again, eyes so soft it almost hurt.
You grabbed a dress off the rack, holding it up to your skin. Deep emerald green, the kind that made your melanin glow like candlelight.
Sanji froze like he’d just seen art in motion. “That’s it. That’s the one. That color was made for you, mon amour. Try it on—no, don’t argue—just try it.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re too much.”
“And you’re not enough” he murmured, brushing the fabric against your waist and letting his fingers linger just long enough to make your stomach flip.
Before you could fire back, another voice cut in. “Damn, that looks good on you.”
You turned, surprised, to find some guy nearby grinning at you. He wasn’t ugly, but he had that casual boldness of a rich man who thought a compliment entitled him to more.
You barely had time to react before Sanji was already there, palm resting on the small of your back, positioning himself between you and the stranger. His smile was polite, but his voice was like a blade wrapped in silk.
“She’s taken” he said smoothly, eyes sharp. “Move along.”
The guy held up his hands, muttered something under his breath, and disappeared into another aisle.
You sighed. “Sanji—”
“No.” He turned to you, jaw tight, blue eyes burning. “Don’t ‘Sanji’ me. You saw the way he was looking at you. Like you’re… accessible. Like he had a chance.”
“And what’s so wrong with that?” you challenged, folding your arms. “People are gonna look. I can’t stop that.”
His gaze softened, but his voice stayed firm. “It’s not the looking. It’s the idea. The idea that anyone but me could ever—” He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair and sighing it off. muttering a quick Forget it, Lets check out.
Later, back at his Penthouse, the fight boiled over again.
“You can’t just guard me like I’m some trophy” you snapped, pacing the living room. “I don’t need a bodyguard, Sanji. I need—”
“What? Tell me.” His voice cracked, raw, the accent in his words heavier when he was upset. “Because I can’t just sit there and watch someone else look at you like you’re available. I can’t.”
You froze. His hands were shaking, fists clenching like he was holding something back.
“Do you think I’m proud of it?” he whispered. “Do you think I like being this jealous? I don’t. But I… I love you, alright? I’m in love with you, and I don’t know how else to show you I mean it.”
The room went quiet.
Your chest tightened. You’d never heard him say it so bluntly, without roses or metaphors to soften it. Just raw, desperate honesty.
“Sanji…”
He moved toward you slowly, as if you might run. His hands found your face, his thumbs brushing the high of your cheekbones. “I don’t want casual. I don’t want playful. I want you. All of you. Every day, every night. Let me have that.”
Your breath shuddered out. “Then show me, take me off that fucking market. Show me it's real”
Something snapped in his eyes. His hands left your face only long enough to tug his tie loose, the fabric sliding from his collar with a hiss.
“Arms up” he said, voice low, commanding.
Heat shot through you. Still, you obeyed, lifting your wrists. His fingers wrapped the silk around them, binding you with care, pulling just tight enough to remind you he could. His lips brushed your knuckles, reverent.
“You don’t know what you do to me” he murmured, pulling you against him. His body was fire, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was messy, hungry, desperate. He pressed your wrists to the wall, his knee slipping between your thighs, and groaned against your lips when you gasped.
“You’re mine” he growled, biting softly at your jaw. “Say it.”
“I’m yours” you breathed, and the sound nearly undid him.
The tie burned against your skin, the silk tugging as he pinned your hands higher, his free hand roaming over curves he worshipped with every touch. His mouth was everywhere—your throat, your collarbone, lower still—leaving marks he wanted the world to see.
When he finally pulled back, panting, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes wet with more than just desire.
“I’ll spoil you, I’ll worship you, I’ll ruin anyone who even tries to touch you” he promised, voice shaking. “But you’re not walking away from me princess. Not now. Not ever.”
And you believed him.
You shivered as he leaned in, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, messy and desperate. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you like a shockwave. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that all day” he muttered between kisses, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.
“Sanji—” you started, but he cut you off with another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier. His teeth dragged over your bottom lip, and you whimpered, your body arching into him.
“No more talking,” he growled, pulling back just enough to yank your blouse open, buttons scattering across the floor. His eyes raked over your bra-clad tits, and his voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I’m going to ruin you tonight.”
His hands were everywhere—cupping your tits through the lace of your bra, tugging at the waistband of your skirt, gripping your thighs to hoist you up against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, and he groaned again, grinding against you so hard it made your core ache.
“That’s it” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking bruises into your skin.
“Hold onto me. Let me take care of you.” His hands slid under your skirt, fingers dragging along the inside of your thighs until they found the edge of your panties. He paused, his breath hot against your collarbone
“You’re already so fucking wet for me.”
The sound that escaped your throat was a mix of a moan and whimper as he ripped your panties off with a sharp rip.
“Sanji!” you cried out, but he silenced you with another kiss, his fingers slipping between your folds with no warning. The sensation made your entire body jolt, and he laughed softly against your lips.
“Shh baby, jus’ feel..” he whispered, his fingers sliding through your folds rubbing back and forth. “Let me hear how much you need me.” He pressed two fingers inside you without hesitation,
Your head fell back as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you, the sound of your wetness obscenely loud in the quiet room. “Oh godd” you moaned, your hips rocking against his hand. “Don’t stop—oh fuck don’t stop—”
“I’m not stopping” he said firmly, his other hand gripping your hip to keep you steady.
“Not until you come for me.” His thumb found your clit, rubbing small, firm circles that had you seeing stars. The pleasure built quickly, coiling tight in your stomach until it was almost unbearable.
“Sanji, I’m gonna—oh fuck—I’m gonna—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before the orgasm hit, crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body shook, clenching around his fingers as he fucked you through it, murmuring praises against your skin.
“That’s it, baby” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. “Come for me. Let me feel how much you need this.” He kept going even as the waves of pleasure subsided, making you whimper from oversensitivity.
But he wasn’t done yet. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he leaned in, his tongue flicking across your clit.
“Sanji!” you gasped, your bound hands flying to his hair as he began to eat you out with reckless abandon. His tongue was relentless, licking and sucking at your sensitive flesh while his fingers slid back inside you. The sounds he made—low groans and hungry slurps—only added to the heat pooling between your legs.
“You taste so fucking good” he mumbled against your pussy, his breath hot and damp. “I could do this all night.” He sucked hard on your clit, making you cry out and buck against his mouth. “But I want to be inside you first.”
He stood up suddenly, his hands fumbling with his belt and zipper. When his cock sprang free, thick and throbbing, you couldn’t help but lick your lips. He smirked when he caught you looking. “You want it, don’t you?”
“Yes” you breathed, your eyes locked on his.
He didn’t make you wait. In one swift motion, he lifted you off the wall and laid you down on the couch, spreading your legs wide. He positioned himself between them, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance.
“Tell me what you want princess” he demanded, his voice rough.
“I... want you to fuck me” you said shyly, you hated being direct and he sure loved teasing you.
“Say please”
“…please?”
“Good girl.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. With a low groan, he thrust into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. The stretch was delicious, the feeling of him inside you overwhelming. “Fuck—” he hissed, his hands gripping your hips. “You feel… holy shit...”
He started slow at first, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in with a slow grind. But it didn’t take long for him to pick up the pace, his hips slapping against yours with a wet slap.
“You’re so fucking perfect like this” he muttered, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. “Taking my dick like a fucking Queen.” He gripped your hips tighter, thrusting harder and faster until the couch creaked beneath you.
The room was filled with the scent of sex and the sounds coming out of you both, it was nasty yet complete. The tie around your wrists began to loosen with every deep stroke, your hands immediately clutched onto his shoulders when they were set free. His pace was unsteady—a sign that he was close.
With a loud grunt he buried himself deep, biting down on your neck as you both entered that afterglow bliss you both cherished so much. He plopped down next to you, holding you close like he was afraid to let go.
“You really meant that?” You chose to be the first to talk. Questioning his sincerity from earlier.
“Babygirl I can’t see a future without you in it, I don’t care how much I gotta spend or how many diamonds I gotta place on that body—I’d do it all for you” his voice was hoarse with no hesitation, by the time you looked up in his eyes you saw it.
Not the same man you met in that club last year, he was honest, he wasn’t your sugar daddy anymore—no, he was obsessed, he was devoted, he was yours.
The club always smelled of smoke, perfume, and spilled liquor — a place where men came to forget, and women like you were paid to be remembered. You’d been dancing long enough to know the routine: fake smiles, swaying hips, laughter that never reached your eyes.
And then he appeared.
Sanji. Blond hair tied back neatly, sharp suits that smelled faintly of cologne and tobacco, eyes so blue they looked out of place in the haze of neon. He wasn’t like the others.
The first night, he tipped too much. The second, he tipped the same. By the third night, he had booked you for a private room. You braced for the usual routine — hands that wandered, mouths that begged.
But Sanji only sat back on the velvet couch, cigarette dangling from his fingers, eyes tracing your movements like he was watching a sunrise.
“You dance” he murmured, smoke curling from his lips, “like you’re punishing the world and rewarding me at the same time.”
You raised a brow, rolling your hips against his lap. “And which do you think you deserve, baby?”
His smirk was faint. Sad, almost. “Both.”
That was how it began.
The club lights always washed over you in pinks and blues—your world painted in neon, velvet, and dollar bills fluttering like confetti. You had regulars who adored you, men who came and went, drunken promises you learned not to listen to. But Sanji wasn’t like the others.
He became a fixture. A guaranteed face in the crowd at least twice a week. Sometimes he’d pay for private dances just to sit with you, to talk. He’d ask about your favorite foods, your favorite colors, what songs made you dance when no one was watching. You never gave customers much of yourself—it blurred the line too easily. But with Sanji… you slipped. You gave him pieces.
“What’s your favorite color, ma belle?”
“Do you sing in the shower?”
“Who cooks for you after long shifts like this? You deserve some real food”
You laughed, deflecting, but you found yourself giving answers anyway. Pink. Yes, badly. No one.
You’d never intended to let a client see you. But he seeped through the cracks.
he’d pay just to sit with you. Sometimes he’d bring food, homemade — rich stews, delicate pastries, things no man had ever thought to feed you after watching you starve yourself for tips. He’d feed you with his hands, grin when you moaned at the taste, whisper filth about how he wanted to hear those sounds for him alone.
It was dangerous.
And then one night, he was gone.
No call. No note. No more bookings.
Weeks bled into months, and the emptiness was sharp. You kept dancing, letting strangers toss cash at you, but the taste of his cooking haunted your tongue, the echo of his accent haunted your ears.
You hated yourself for missing him. Hated that you scanned the crowd each night, praying for a glimpse of that blond hair.
It was stupid—an employee and her client, you told yourself. Just another fantasy to him.
The bitterness festered, but the longing never left.
It was a Friday when you saw him again.
You’d just stepped on stage, lights washing your skin in pink, when you caught sight of him at the bar. Sanji. In a navy suit, cigarette burning low, eyes locked on you like not a second had passed.
Your stomach twisted — anger and desire colliding until it hurt to breathe.
You danced harder, sharper, pretending you didn’t see him. But when the bouncer touched your arm after your set “VIP. He asked for you.” — your pulse betrayed you.
You told yourself it was just money. Just a job. But your hands shook when you opened the door.
He sat waiting, tie loosened, whiskey in hand. When you entered, his cigarette slipped from his lips.
“Chérie…” His voice was low, ragged. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”
You climbed into his lap, mask slipping into place, hips swaying. “Funny. You remembered me after vanishing for months? got the money?”
He slid crisp bills across the table. But his hands — god, his hands trembled like he was afraid to touch you.
“Months” you spat, grinding down harder. “You vanish on me, then come back like nothing? Do you know what that did to me, Sanji?”
His jaw flexed, eyes burning. “I tried… I tried to date, to cook for other women. But it was useless. Every time, it was you. Your laugh, your eyes, your voice in my head. I couldn’t forget you.”
Your chest ached. You hated the part of you that melted. “So what am I? Plan B when no one else worked out? A pretty little fantasy you couldn’t shake?”
He grabbed your waist, desperate, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Never plan B. Never cheap. You own me princess, do you understand? From the first night. I was a coward — I left because you made me want too much, more than I thought I deserved.”
Your throat tightened. “You are! and you left me wondering if I was crazy. If I meant anything.”
His hand cupped your face, trembling. “You meant everything. I should have stayed. I will never forgive myself for leaving you like that.”
You wanted to push him away. You wanted to give in. Both burned inside you.
“Then fucking show me” you whispered, voice breaking. “Show me I wasn’t just a stupid girl to you.”
The leash snapped.
His mouth crushed to yours, feverish, teeth clashing. His hands roamed your body like a starving man — gripping your thighs, clutching your ass, sliding up the curve of your waist. You kissed back with fury, nails raking down his chest, ripping buttons free.
You hissed, grinding harder. “You don’t get to disappear and then worship me now.”
You wanted to shove him away--slap him. You wanted to cling to him. Both urges tore you apart, your chest aching with the weight of months of silence.
Sanji surged forward, kissing you like a man starved, like he’d been holding his breath for months and you were the only air left in the world. His hands trembled where they cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as though he was afraid you’d vanish if he held too tightly.
You gave in and kissed him back, not out of forgiveness but out of fury, grief, longing. Teeth clashed, lips bruised, tears stung the corners of your eyes until you weren’t sure if it was you or him crying.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice and heart cracked open
“Every night without you was hell. I tried to pretend I could move on, but no one—no one—was you. I’d sit across from other women, pour wine, cook for them, and still—” his voice broke into a ragged laugh
“—still I’d see your smile, hear your voice. I was haunted, chérie. Haunted because I threw away the only thing I ever truly wanted.”
The silence that soon passed between you wasn’t empty. It was heavy — thick with all the things you’d said, all the things that had been building for months. Your chest rose and fell unevenly, tears cooling against your cheeks as you sat there in Sanji’s lap, his arms still wrapped around you like he couldn’t bear to let go.
For the first time in a long time, you weren’t playing a part. Not the dancer. Not the fantasy. Just you.
And that terrified you more than anything.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red, his lips swollen from the mess of a kiss you’d shared. He looked wrecked. Not the smooth, confident man who used to lounge in your private rooms like he owned the world. Just… a man who had made a mistake so big he didn’t know if he could crawl back from it.
“You don’t understand” you said softly, voice still shaky. “When you left, I kept asking myself what I did wrong. If I wasn’t enough. Do you know how humiliating it is to sit here, night after night, pretending none of this matters, while it felt like I meant nothing to you?”
Sanji’s face crumpled. His hands slid down to grip yours, squeezing them as if he could anchor you both.
“You meant everything” he said, voice hoarse. “I left because I was a fool. Because I thought someone like me didn’t deserve someone like you. I thought—” He stopped, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I thought if I walked away, I’d protect you from me. Instead, I hurt you. And I will regret that until I’m in the ground.”
Your lip trembled. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to hold onto your anger. Both warred inside you, leaving you exhausted
“Words are easy” you whispered. “Anyone can say them.”
“I know” he murmured, inching closer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “That’s why I don’t want to just say them. Let me prove it. Let me cook for you. Let me drive you home when you’re tired. Let me be the one you lean on, not the one who leaves you wondering.”
You looked away, swallowing hard. “And what if you leave again? What if I start to believe you, and you vanish like last time? I can’t go through that twice.”
Sanji leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours, his voice breaking.
“Then I don’t deserve to fucking breathe. If I walk away again, I’ll cut out my own heart, because it won’t be worth a damn thing without you. But I swear, on everything I am, I’m not going anywhere this time. Not unless you tell me to.”
Your chest ached with how badly you wanted to believe him. How badly you wanted the warmth of his promises to be real.
“I don’t know if I can trust you Sanji” you admitted, voice barely a whisper.
“Then let me earn it” he said. His hand moved to your cheek, cupping it with aching tenderness. “Every day, however long it takes. I’ll show up, I’ll be there, I’ll prove that I’m not running. Not from you. Never again.”
The tears you’d been holding back slipped free, trailing down your cheeks. And this time, when Sanji leaned in to kiss you, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t frantic. It was soft. Careful. A promise pressed to your lips.
You didn’t forgive him. Not yet. But for the first time in months, you let yourself hope.
Themes: MODERN AU, Romance, NSFW 18+, Sugar Daddy/Baby dynamic, Spoiled Bimbo-coded Reader, Emotional tension, porn with plot
Warnings: NSFW, Pre-Established dynamic, teasing, possessiveness, Oral (F! receiving), penetrative sex, spoiling, use of pet names. [Minors DNI]
You don’t just meet the man—you become his obsession from the moment he laid his eyes on you. From champagne-soaked nights to silk sheets and whispered promises in French, he doesn’t just want you. He needs you. Every curve, every secret, every damn detail you think no one notices—he sees it all, worships it all, owns it all and makes sure of it.
The first time you see him, it’s over champagne.
Not the cheap kind, either—the kind that sparkles like liquid gold, poured into tall flutes by a waiter whose bowtie is tighter than your dress. You’re at a hotel rooftop bar, legs crossed, baby-pink bandage dress hugging your body like it was stitched directly onto your skin. Your lace front is bone-straight, silky, falling all the way down your back, and your nails—almond-shaped, cotton-candy pink with tiny rhinestones—tap against the stem of your glass as you scroll your phone.
You’re not here looking for anyone. You’re here because you like being somewhere beautiful, somewhere you fit in. But you feel his eyes on you before you see him.
He’s across the room, leaning casually against the bar, dark gray three-piece suit hugging his tall, lean frame. Blond hair perfect despite the evening breeze, tie just loose enough to look deliberate. He’s talking to someone—or at least pretending to. Every so often, his gaze flicks back to you like he can’t help himself.
When the man he’s speaking to leaves, he crosses the room with the slow confidence of someone who’s never had to chase—but would run a marathon for the right woman.
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle” he says when he stops at your table, voice low and honey-smooth. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion. I couldn’t help but notice you look like you were poured into that dress by the angels themselves.”
Your lips curve, amused. “That line work for you often?”
He smiles like you just handed him a challenge. “Wouldn’t know. I’ve never met anyone worth saying it to before.”
You let him buy you another glass of champagne, and then another. By the time the night ends, you’ve learned his name is Sanji—just Sanji—that he speaks French fluently, that he owns not one but three restaurants, and that he has a thing for women who look expensive. Someone like you.
Two weeks later, he’s sliding a Cartier box across the table at brunch like it’s nothing.
It wasn’t his first time doing something like this, the money pulled more girls in his roster then it kept calmness between him and other billionaires, but he was a businessman of course. Knowing his way around the life, but something about you made him want to give it all up.
It was the night he saw you cry.
Not a messy breakdown—Sanji didn’t think you were even capable of being messy. No, it was subtle, quiet, the kind of thing most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Sanji did.
You’d just walked out of a high-end boutique, shopping bag in hand, pink cardigan draped over your shoulders. You were flawless—new hairstyle he noticed, long honey-brown knotless braids swinging against your back, diamond studs catching the city lights. But he caught the way you swiped at your cheek when you thought no one was looking.
He’d been sitting at the café across the street, nursing an espresso after a long day at the restaurant. He’d seen you earlier, sweeping into the boutique with the kind of walk that made people step out of your way, and he’d thought, there she is again. You’d been haunting him ever since that rooftop bar and the light brunch that followed—pink dresses in his dreams, the sound of your laugh in the middle of service, the ghost of your perfume clinging to his mind.
This time, though, you weren’t laughing.
He crossed the street without even thinking. “Ma chérie” he said softly when he reached you, tilting his head to catch your eyes. “Something’s wrong.”
You tried to shake your head, but he could see it—that flicker of exhaustion beneath the perfect lashes. “It’s nothing. Just… one of those days.” Another failed talking stage, none of them could handle you so you took your anger out on your bank account.
Sanji didn’t like “one of those days.” He liked you radiant, adored, impossible to touch without getting burned. The idea of you hurting—even a little—lodged itself in his chest like a knife.
“Come with me” he said, no room for argument.
Mentally tired without a ride home, you followed.
He took you to his restaurant after hours, the place quiet except for the soft hum of the kitchen lights. Sat you at the chef’s table and made you a plate from scratch—seared scallops, saffron risotto, roasted asparagus, champagne in a crystal flute. He didn’t ask questions. He just tended to you—pulling out your chair, draping a silk napkin over your lap, brushing his fingers against yours when he set down the fork.
Somewhere between the second glass of champagne and the dessert, you smiled again. Not the practiced one for strangers, but the real one, the one that lit up your whole face.
That was the moment.
He decided right then that he’d never let you go without that smile again. That he’d handle the “one of those days” before they could touch you. That no one else would ever get to see you break—because they’d never be close enough.
And when he walked you to your car, slipping a tiny pink velvet box into your hand with a quiet, “For next time you need a reminder you’re the most beautiful thing in this city” he knew it wasn’t just about spoiling you anymore.
It was about keeping you. And only You.
Fast forward eight months into this, and you’re not just his spoiled girl—you’re his only girl. He’s relentless in the way he takes care of you: he books your hair appointments himself, sends flowers to the salon, tips the stylists so heavily they rush to make sure your installs are laid to perfection. One week it’s a 40-inch bust-down, the next it’s knotless braids down to your hips, each one dipped in hot water and perfectly even. He notices every detail—the change in curl pattern, the way the color pops against your skin, the new nail charms you had added “just because.”
And he never lets you pay for any of it.
“You don’t get to spend your money around me, Princess” he tells you one evening, voice firm but soft as he zips you into a pink satin slip dress. His hands linger at your waist, eyes drinking you in from behind. “Your only job is to be beautiful. I’ll handle the rest.”
Which is why you’re now in his penthouse, lights low, jazz playing somewhere in the background, the city spread out below you in glittering gold and silver. Dinner was a private three-course meal he cooked himself—lobster tail, truffle risotto, molten chocolate cake—and now his hands are on you, sliding the straps of your dress down your arms.
“Sanji…” you murmur, but it comes out more like a sigh.
“Shh, mon trésor” he says against your neck, lips brushing your skin as he presses you back toward the bed. “You’ve been running around all week, making the world jealous. Let me remind you who you belong to.”
You melt into the kiss he gives you—slow at first, then hungrier, tasting of champagne and dark chocolate from earlier. His hands roam like he’s mapping you all over again, fingers tracing the swell of your hips, the curve of your ass, the soft expanse of your thighs. When he pulls back, he looks wrecked already, eyes half-lidded, breathing heavy.
“You’re art” he says, and it’s not a compliment—it’s a fact, carved into the way he’s staring at you. “Perfect, from your curls to your pedicure. And all mine.”
By the time you’re fully naked, his suit jacket is gone, his tie loose, shirt half-unbuttoned cause he got too distracted by your tits, his left hand coming in to give them attention as his right completely discarded the tie. He doesn’t just undress—he peels the fabric away like unwrapping something too precious to rush. His mouth finds your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach, every kiss slow and lingering, leaving you whining for more.
And when he gets between your thighs, he doesn’t stop. He never gets tired of his favorite scene of trying to get you loose.
“Mm’ open for me beautiful” his voice is deeper, more demanding yet gentle.
A groan of enlightenment when you spread your legs for him, exposing the wetness of your pussy for him entirely. “…Fuck”
He immediately wastes no time, spoiling you was already his favorite hobby in every aspect.
The first stroke of his tongue has you gasping, hands flying to his hair. He groans into you, the sound vibrating through your core making you moan, one hand gripping your thigh tight enough to leave marks. He eats like a man starving, like you’re the only thing in the world worth tasting—messy, deep, relentless. Every time you try to close your legs, he holds them apart with an almost desperate growl.
“Let me have it, baby” he murmurs, slick on his lips. “Give me everything.” His thumb rubbing gently on your clit until you came as if it were a routine.
You do. Again and again, until your voice is raw and your legs tremble. He comes up looking ruined—hair mussed, mouth glistening, pupils blown wide. He can’t take it anymore, fuck it. His designer pants are soon wrinkled up somewhere in the corner, he’s extra desperate now judging by the way his tip was already leaking.
When he finally pushes into you, it’s slow and deep, like he’s savoring the stretch, the heat, the way you cling to him. Every thrust is deliberate, With every stroke comes a praise. His forehead pressed to yours, one hand holding your jaw so you can’t look anywhere but at him.
“You feel that?” he says, breath hot against your mouth. “That’s me. That’s all yours. All this? ‘For you baby”
It builds until you can’t think, only feel—until you’re clawing at his back and crying out his name, until he’s whispering in French against your ear, words you don’t even understand but feel in your bones.
“…-jiii”
“I know chérie, just a little longer”
His dick hit the back of your cervix with every stroke back to back, slowly fucking you dumb just how you liked it. You felt your core finally tighten up when he decided to hook one arm under your hip to lift you slighter.
The sounds of your sweet moans rang throughout his penthouse like therapeutic music, the sounds of slapping skin every time his balls met your ass, the squelching noise with every thrust from the way you creamed around him.
When it’s over, he doesn’t pull away. He kisses you slow, strokes your hair, murmurs how proud he is of you for taking him so well. Then he disappears for a moment, returning with a warm towel, a tall glass of cucumber water, and—because he’s Sanji—a little jewelry box.
Inside is a rose-gold anklet, tiny diamonds winking in the light.
“For my princess” he says, fastening it around your ankle before pressing a kiss there. “So everyone knows you’re taken.”
You laugh, soft and breathless, but the way he’s looking at you—like you hung the moon—makes you ache all over again.
“They been knew that”
And when you fall asleep in his arms, satin sheets against your skin, city lights spilling across the room, you realize Sanji doesn’t just spoil you.
He worships you.
A/n: This lovely piece was requested by <33
I sadly lost the request drop you made but i hope you love it!
It wasn’t that you and Zoro didn’t love each other.
You did. Too much. The kind of love that made you loud in the middle of the night and silent in the morning.
But now it was really quiet.
You told yourself you wouldn’t look at him.
Not tonight. Not after what happened earlier on the island—the fight with the bounty hunters, the way he walked ahead of you without looking back, like you weren’t bleeding from a cut that wasn’t your fault.
Now the Sunny rocked in the moonlight, and you sat on the deck with your knees drawn up, hoodie over your silk slip, bonnet still on from when you’d stormed off earlier. The crew was below deck, their laughter distant. You wanted it that way.
You didn’t hear him come up from behind, but you felt him.
Zoro’s presence was like the weight of a blade—heavy, steady, impossible to ignore.
“You’re really gonna ice me out all night?” His voice was low, gravelly, with that slow drag like he’d been drinking.
You didn’t turn around. “Not ice. Just… nothing left to say.”
“Bullshit.”
That made you look at him over your shoulder. He was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, moonlight catching the scar on his eye. The sight made something twist in your chest, but you held your ground.
“We go in circles, Zoro” you said, the words sharp. “Fight, make up, pretend we’re fine. Then you go cold again.”
His jaw ticked. “And yet here you are. Still here.”
“That’s the problem.”
The silence after that was loud. You could hear the water hitting the Sunny’s hull, the creak of the mast. You wanted him to say something that would make it easy to stay angry, but he just stood there, looking at you like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
Finally, you pushed yourself up, walking past him toward the hatch. “I’m tired of chasing you.”
You didn’t get far. His hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist—not rough, but firm enough that you stopped.
“W..wait..” his voice cracked hoarsely
“I’m not easy to love” he said, voice quieter now. “You knew that when you got into this.”
You turned, meeting his gaze dead-on, using everything in you to keep composure. “And you think I’m easy? I’m a storm, Zoro. I don’t just show up when it’s calm. I’m here in the ugly parts. But you—” Your voice cracked, the frustration slipping into something softer. “—You disappear. Even when you’re standing right next to me.”
His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go. “I don’t know how to… do this right.”
“Then learn” you whispered.
For a long moment, you just stared at each other. Then he stepped closer, until the heat from his body brushed against yours. His hand came up, rough fingers cupping your jaw, thumb tracing the edge of your mouth.
“Show me” he murmured.
You hated him for saying it like that. Like you were the answer to a question he’d never asked before. You hated how your chest ached and how your knees felt weak. You hated how much you wanted to fold into him and stay there until the rest of the world burned away. It was sickening how bad you didn’t want to let go.
You leaned in until your forehead touched his. Neither of you spoke. His breathing was uneven, and you realized yours was too.
When his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t sweet. It was raw—the kind of kiss that felt like an argument, like an apology, like a promise you weren’t sure either of you could keep. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.
By the time you broke apart, both of you were breathing hard. You didn’t say “I love you.” You didn’t have to. It was there—in the way he looked at you like you were the only thing worth finding in this world, and the way you let him hold you even though you knew the cycle would start again.
And when he whispered, “You’re still here”
you didn’t say it out loud,
but in your heart, you answered
You never left.
You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve walked back to your cabin, shut the door, and locked it.
Instead, you stood there, chest heaving, his breath ghosting against your lips like he was daring you to step back first.
But Zoro didn’t back down. He never did.
His hand on your jaw slid down to your throat, not choking, just resting there—the warmth of his palm enough to make your skin prickle. His thumb brushed the hollow of your collarbone, slow, deliberate, like he was grounding himself.
“You’re still mad.” he murmured.
“I am.” Your voice came out softer than you meant it to.
“Good.” His mouth ghosted over yours again, not quite kissing you. “Means you care.”
That infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his lips— the one that always made you want to either slap him or drag him into bed. Maybe both.
“You’re so—” you started, but you never finished, because his mouth finally crashed into yours again.
This kiss wasn’t the same as before.
Before, it was an argument now, it was surrender. His hand left your throat to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you felt just how much he’d missed you in the way he held you—firm, unyielding, like he was afraid you’d dissolve if he loosened his grip.
Your fingers found his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his chest. The sound went straight through you. His other hand slid down, splaying wide at your hip, thumb tracing the curve like he was memorizing it.
You broke for air, your forehead pressed to his, and he stared at you like you were the only thing on this ship worth fighting for.
“This—” you panted, “—doesn’t fix anything.”
“I know.” His voice was rough, almost pained. “But I’m not letting you walk away tonight, imma make it right again.”
The deck was quiet except for the waves and the sound of your breathing. His knuckles brushed the hem of your hoodie, just enough to graze the silk underneath. He didn’t push it further—not yet. Just that slow, teasing drag, watching your reaction like it was the only thing that mattered.
You swallowed hard, your pulse loud in your ears. “You’re dangerous when you’re like this.”
Zoro’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then stop letting me get this close.”
But neither of you moved.
When his lips found the curve of your neck, you shut your eyes and let the tension pull you under—messy, magnetic, and inevitable, the same way it always was with him. Because you could fight the circle you kept falling into all you wanted, but tonight, you’d chosen to stay inside it.
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The sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting a cool glow over the island bar where the Straw Hats had docked for the night. The place buzzed with laughter, the smell of alcohol and fried seafood thick in the air. Zoro sat alone at the bar, a half-empty glass of sake in front of him, ignoring the high-pitched giggles of the woman pressed a little too close on his right.
He didn’t encourage her. He didn’t stop her, either.
Because to him, none of it meant anything.
Just like you both hadn’t meant anything—at first.
That drunken night had been a mistake. A warm blur of lips, skin, and muffled groans under tangled sheets. But the mistake had repeated. Again. And again. And again. Until it didn’t feel like a mistake anymore. Until it became routine. Until he started noticing things he shouldn’t—like how you always smelled faintly of saltwater and citrus, or how your laugh made the knots in his shoulders loosen.
But you had never said anything. Neither had he.
So he assumed—wrongly—that you felt the same: friends, with benefits. No attachments. No feelings.
And that made tonight unbearable.
He caught sight of you across the room, tucked into a booth, laughing with your head tilted back, hand lightly resting on the arm of some island pretty-boy who looked like he belonged in a perfume ad. Zoro’s eye twitched when you touched the guy’s hand. Laughed again.
And then he watched you walk out with him.
Still holding his hand.
His grip around the sake cup tightened.
The woman beside him kept talking, but her words faded into static. All he could focus on was the door you just slipped out of.
You were always so damn frustrating. You’d kiss him like he was air in your lungs, then roll over and ask if he wanted the last piece of bread in the morning like nothing had happened. And he let you. Because Zoro didn’t do emotions. He did swords, battles, and discipline.
Not whatever this was.
But seeing you with someone else ignited something he didn’t have a name for—something hot and ugly and dangerous.
Without a word, he stood and left the bar.
He found you outside, in the quiet alley beside the tavern, the other man’s laugh low and cocky as he leaned in closer. You didn’t notice Zoro at first. But the man did.
And when Zoro stepped forward, his hand instinctively dropping to one of his swords, the smile slid right off the guy’s face.
“Get lost.” His voice rang, low and sharp.
The man hesitated. Then looked at you.
You blinked, lips parting slightly, surprised—but not entirely shocked.
You didn’t stop him when he turned and walked off.
“What the hell was that, Zoro?” you said, crossing your arms.
He stepped closer, crowding your space. “What were you doing with him?”
You raised a brow. “What do you care? Thought we didn’t do the jealous boyfriend thing.”
He didn’t answer, just stared at you with that unreadable expression of his.
“Right” you said bitterly. “Friends with benefits, remember?”
“I’m not your damn friend,” he muttered.
You froze. “What?”
Zoro’s jaw clenched. “I’m not your friend. I can’t be. Not with the way I think about you. Not with the way I feel when someone else touches you.”
For a man who faced death with a smirk, he looked nervous now. Tense. Uncertain.
“You want to keep pretending this means nothing, fine. But I’m done playing that game.”
You swallowed hard, heart racing. Was he finally letting it click in? “So what are you saying?”
He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his breath fan against your cheek.
“I’m saying if you’re mine, be mine,” he said, voice low. “If not, tell me now—before I kill someone over it.”
You looked up at him, eyes searching. And slowly—carefully—you slid your fingers through his.
“I was always yours, ‘waited so long for you to ask asshole” you whispered.
He pulled you in, kissed you like a promise, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like a mistake.
It felt real.
—
His mouth was on yours before you could say another word—hot, demanding, furious. Zoro’s calloused hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you in like he couldn’t stand the space between you.
He backed you against the alley wall with a thud, pressing his body flush to yours, hard muscle against soft curves. You barely had time to gasp before his thigh wedged between your legs, pushing up, grinding, sending a jolt of pleasure through your core.
“This not official enough for ya?” he growled against your lips, voice rough, ragged with restrained jealousy. “That what you needed? Some pretty-boy touching you so I’d finally fucking claim you?”
You moaned as his hand slid down your chest, grabbing your tit through your shirt and squeezing hard, rough. No teasing. No games.
“You let him touch you like this?” He yanked the neckline down, your bra dragged aside, exposing you to the cool night air. His mouth was on your nipple in seconds—biting, sucking, then soothing with his tongue. The sharp sting made you cry out, back arching off the wall.
“No—fuck—Zo, I didn’t let him—”
“Then why’d you let him hold your hand?” he bit out, sliding his fingers under your waistband, palm pressed flat against your mound. “Why’d you smile at him like that?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. His fingers slipped into your panties and found your pussy already soaked.
“Shit,” he breathed. “You’re this wet for me? From this?”
Two fingers shoved into you without warning, thick and fast. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into warm skin as he curled them deep inside you.
“You like getting me riled up, huh?” he muttered darkly against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “You wanted this. Wanted me jealous. Wanted me to lose it.”
“Zoro—please—” you gasped.
He didn’t stop. He spun you around, bent you forward against the brick wall, and yanked your pants and panties down in one rough motion not even giving you time to be embarrassed doing this outside. You barely caught your breath before you felt the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance.
“This what you wanted yeah?” he hissed in your ear. “For me to fuck you like I own you?”
You whimpered something that sounded like yes—and then he buried himself in you, hard and deep.
You cried out, gripping the wall as he slammed into you
Then came no movements.
“Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re mine, not moving till you do.”
“Yours—fuck—I’m yours, Zo—!”
He grunted at that, hips stuttering slightly as if the words went straight to his cock. You clenched around him, and he let out a choked curse. Then finally gave you the pace you wanted.
“You’re mine,” he growled again, slower now, more controlled. “Not his. Not anyone’s. Mine.”
He reached around to rub your clit, finally giving you the friction you needed. Your legs shook as heat coiled deep in your belly, the coolness of the brick wall against your cheek. pressure building fast. Maybe getting him mad wouldn’t be so bad if it felt this good.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your back now, voice softening as your climax built. Guess the alcohol & jealousy were beginning to wear off. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Cum for me. Let go.”
You cried out as your orgasm hit, body tensing, then unraveling around his cock. The way you squeezed him pushed him over the edge—he groaned deeply, hips jerking as he spilled inside you, warmth flooding you with each pulsing throb of his release.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just breathless silence and the cool air against sweat-slicked skin.
Then, slowly, he pulled out, gently this time, and caught you before your legs gave out.
“Hey—” he whispered, brushing hair from your face as he turned you to him. His tone was nothing like before—warm, concerned, steady. “You okay?”
You nodded, but your body trembled. He cradled you to his chest, rubbing your back, kissing your temple.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he murmured. “I just… I hated seeing you with him. I didn’t think I had the right to say anything. Thought maybe… maybe you didn’t want this to be more.”
You looked up at him, touched by how raw he sounded.
“I do,” you said softly. “I’ve wanted more. I just didn’t think you did.”
He kissed you again, slow this time. Gentle. Reverent.
“Next time you feel like making me jealous,” he whispered against your lips, “just wear something short and sit on my lap instead.”
SO GLAD YOU'RE ALIVE GIRL, can't be having my favorite law writer die out there on me fr.
saw you taking requests and was wondering if I could request a modern hospital au with law? With maybe like...angst..but still comfort...but still don't forget the angst. 😈
Reader and Law are both coworkers. Reader likes Law, but doesn't want to make any moves towards him because he's that popular doctor of the hospital that all the nurses love and then there's just her, whose seemingly unaware that Law feels the same way.
Idk if this makes any sense at all lmao, so honestly, just anything with law and modern hospital au with some angst is perfect.
Also js wanna say I LOVE your writing sm girl <3
Oh I loveed writing out this request!! I hope you enjoy this piece I boggled together while reentering my Greys Anatomy phase 💗💗
Vital Signs
Pairings: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader (ModernAU!)
Themes: Angst, Drama, Emotional Tension, coworker x coworker.
You were just one nurse in a sea of many. Not that it mattered much — you liked keeping your head down. Clock in, check vitals, handle meds, soothe panicked families, maybe dodge the occasional entitled surgeon. You liked being good at your job and going home in silence.
But then there was Dr. Trafalgar Law.
Chief of trauma surgery. Quiet. Sharp. Intimidating. Efficient. Cold, if you asked most. Except he wasn’t—not really.
You’d worked at Saint Claire’s Hospital for… years, you thought.
It was hard to remember exactly when you started— the days blended together in a haze of bright fluorescent lights, polished tile floors, and the constant beeping of monitors.
You weren’t the busiest nurse on the floor. In fact, no one ever seemed to need your help much. If you tried to fetch meds, the drawers stayed locked. If you offered to take vitals, someone would quickly say, “I’ve got it.”
It didn’t matter. You liked being around, talking to patients, making rounds.
And you liked seeing him.
Dr. Trafalgar Law.
Sharp. Controlled. Always in black scrubs that made him look even taller. The kind of doctor who could silence a room without raising his voice.
There was something about him that pulled at you. Something that felt familiar, like you’d once known him far more intimately than just “coworkers.”
But if you’d ever been close, he gave no sign.
Whenever you passed him in the hall, his eyes flicked over you like you were a stranger. In the break room, he’d walk out if you walked in. If you offered to help with a case, he’d hand the task to someone else without explanation.
It wasn’t coldness—it was deliberate avoidance.
—
—
One night, the ER was dead quiet. You found him alone in Trauma Bay Three, head bent over a chart.
“You work too much” you said lightly.
No answer.
“Seriously, you’re going to burn out if you keep doing this.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look up. “Go home [name].”
You huffed. “You always say that, but you never tell me why.”
This time, his eyes lifted to yours—and for a second, the grief there nearly made you step back.
“You don’t know, do you?” he said softly.
“…Know what?”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
⸻
The next week, you noticed more… oddities.
When you brushed past a nurse in the hall, there was no real contact—just the faintest ripple of air. You waved at a patient you’d spoken to the day before, but he just stared.
You told yourself they were tired. Distracted.
But a sliver of unease stuck with you.
⸻
Then came the multi-car pile-up. The ER was chaos— alarms blaring, stretchers rolling in one after another. Law was everywhere, moving like clockwork, barking orders.
You followed him into Trauma Bay Three. It felt almost routinely to do that after a major pile up.
“You need to take a break before you collapse” you said.
Nothing.
“Doctor, are you even listening—”
“I hear you” he cut in, voice low, eyes still on the monitor. “I’ve been hearing you every damn day for two years.”
Your chest tightened, Thinking about how he’s witnessed your minimal advances. “Two years…?”
Finally, he turned. The opposite reaction of what you expected—His face was pale, exhausted, and hollowed out.
“You died here.”
Your breath caught, some sick joke it must’ve been. “…What? Doctor I’m trying to have a serious conversation here”
He returned your gaze with a blank expression, tired mentally as he pulled something out of his wallet, a Polaroid photo of what seemed to be someone’s wedding—Your wedding.
“You are—were my Wife. You bled out in the back of an ambulance. I tried—God, I tried—but I couldn’t save you.”
It sounded more of a blame to himself rather than an explanation to you.
“And now you follow me through this hospital like nothing happened.”
Memories slammed into you—sirens screaming, his hands on yours, the unbearable pressure in your chest, and then… nothing.
You looked down at your hands. Perfect. Unscarred. Too clean.
“I thought if I ignored you” he said, voice trembling, “you’d fade. But you don’t. You look at me like we’re strangers, and I can’t stand it. The only way I can keep working is to pretend you’re not here.”
The walls felt like they were dissolving around you.
“I don’t want to leave” you whispered.
“I know.” His voice cracked. “But you have to, You always do.”
The next morning, Dr. Trafalgar Law walked into the hospital alone.
For the first time in two years, the halls were silent. Not from the presence of your soul that lingered his mind, he chose to ignore you again.
Just like he did everyday when the clock seemed to rewind and you were stuck in that time loop of forgetting you died, forgetting your relationship past the days you officially started dating.
You were doing rounds again, just like you did everyday. Looking at your hand confused, did you throw it on in a rush this morning before you clocked in? You can’t remember, can’t remember anything before you walk up to the punch in machine, staring in confusion at how there was a diamond ring laid on your finger Engraved with the doctors name on it.
