SUGAR Nโ SPICE
Pairings: SugarDaddy!Sanji x Black!Fem!Reader
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 donโt just meet the manโyou 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 doesnโt just want you. He needs you. Every curve, every secret, every damn detail you think no one noticesโhe sees it all, worships it all, owns it all and makes sure of it.
The first time you see him, itโs over champagne.
Not the cheap kind, eitherโthe kind that sparkles like liquid gold, poured into tall flutes by a waiter whose bowtie is tighter than your dress. Youโre 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 nailsโalmond-shaped, cotton-candy pink with tiny rhinestonesโtap against the stem of your glass as you scroll your phone.
Youโre not here looking for anyone. Youโre here because you like being somewhere beautiful, somewhere you fit in. But you feel his eyes on you before you see him.
Heโs 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. Heโs talking to someoneโor at least pretending to. Every so often, his gaze flicks back to you like he canโt help himself.
When the man heโs speaking to leaves, he crosses the room with the slow confidence of someone whoโs never had to chaseโbut would run a marathon for the right woman.
โBonsoir, mademoiselleโ he says when he stops at your table, voice low and honey-smooth. โI hope youโll forgive the intrusion. I couldnโt help but notice you look like you were poured into that dress by the angels themselves.โ
Your lips curve, amused. โThat line work for you often?โ
He smiles like you just handed him a challenge. โWouldnโt know. Iโve never met anyone worth saying it to before.โ
You let him buy you another glass of champagne, and then another. By the time the night ends, youโve learned his name is Sanjiโjust Sanjiโthat 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, heโs sliding a Cartier box across the table at brunch like itโs nothing.
It wasnโt 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 breakdownโSanji didnโt think you were even capable of being messy. No, it was subtle, quiet, the kind of thing most people wouldnโt have noticed. But Sanji did.
Youโd just walked out of a high-end boutique, shopping bag in hand, pink cardigan draped over your shoulders. You were flawlessโnew 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.
Heโd been sitting at the cafรฉ across the street, nursing an espresso after a long day at the restaurant. Heโd seen you earlier, sweeping into the boutique with the kind of walk that made people step out of your way, and heโd thought, there she is again. Youโd been haunting him ever since that rooftop bar and the light brunch that followedโpink 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 werenโt laughing.
He crossed the street without even thinking. โMa chรฉrieโ he said softly when he reached you, tilting his head to catch your eyes. โSomethingโs wrong.โ
You tried to shake your head, but he could see itโthat flicker of exhaustion beneath the perfect lashes. โItโs nothing. Justโฆ one of those days.โ Another failed talking stage, none of them could handle you so you took your anger out on your bank account.
Sanji didnโt like โone of those days.โ He liked you radiant, adored, impossible to touch without getting burned. The idea of you hurtingโeven a littleโlodged itself in his chest like a knife.
โCome with meโ 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 chefโs table and made you a plate from scratchโseared scallops, saffron risotto, roasted asparagus, champagne in a crystal flute. He didnโt ask questions. He just tended to youโpulling 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 heโd never let you go without that smile again. That heโd handle the โone of those daysโ before they could touch you. That no one else would ever get to see you breakโbecause theyโd never be close enough.
And when he walked you to your car, slipping a tiny pink velvet box into your hand with a quiet, โFor next time you need a reminder youโre the most beautiful thing in this cityโ he knew it wasnโt just about spoiling you anymore.
It was about keeping you. And only You.
Fast forward eight months into this, and youโre not just his spoiled girlโyouโre his only girl. Heโs 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 itโs a 40-inch bust-down, the next itโs knotless braids down to your hips, each one dipped in hot water and perfectly even. He notices every detailโthe change in curl pattern, the way the color pops against your skin, the new nail charms you had added โjust because.โ
And he never lets you pay for any of it.
โYou donโt get to spend your money around me, Princessโ 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. โYour only job is to be beautiful. Iโll handle the rest.โ
Which is why youโre 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 himselfโlobster tail, truffle risotto, molten chocolate cakeโand now his hands are on you, sliding the straps of your dress down your arms.
โSanjiโฆโ you murmur, but it comes out more like a sigh.
โShh, mon trรฉsorโ he says against your neck, lips brushing your skin as he presses you back toward the bed. โYouโve been running around all week, making the world jealous. Let me remind you who you belong to.โ
You melt into the kiss he gives youโslow at first, then hungrier, tasting of champagne and dark chocolate from earlier. His hands roam like heโs 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.
โYouโre artโ he says, and itโs not a complimentโitโs a fact, carved into the way heโs staring at you. โPerfect, from your curls to your pedicure. And all mine.โ
By the time youโre 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 doesnโt just undressโhe 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 doesnโt stop. He never gets tired of his favorite scene of trying to get you loose.
โMmโ open for me beautifulโ 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. โโฆFuckโ
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 youโre the only thing in the world worth tastingโmessy, deep, relentless. Every time you try to close your legs, he holds them apart with an almost desperate growl.
โLet me have it, babyโ he murmurs, slick on his lips. โGive me everything.โ 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 ruinedโhair mussed, mouth glistening, pupils blown wide. He canโt take it anymore, fuck it. His designer pants are soon wrinkled up somewhere in the corner, heโs extra desperate now judging by the way his tip was already leaking.
When he finally pushes into you, itโs slow and deep, like heโs 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 canโt look anywhere but at him.
โYou feel that?โ he says, breath hot against your mouth. โThatโs me. Thatโs all yours. All this? โFor you babyโ
It builds until you canโt think, only feelโuntil youโre clawing at his back and crying out his name, until heโs whispering in French against your ear, words you donโt even understand but feel in your bones.
โโฆ-jiiiโ
โI know chรฉrie, just a little longerโ
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 itโs over, he doesnโt 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, andโbecause heโs Sanjiโa little jewelry box.
Inside is a rose-gold anklet, tiny diamonds winking in the light.
โFor my princessโ he says, fastening it around your ankle before pressing a kiss there. โSo everyone knows youโre taken.โ
You laugh, soft and breathless, but the way heโs looking at youโlike you hung the moonโmakes you ache all over again.
โThey been knew thatโ
And when you fall asleep in his arms, satin sheets against your skin, city lights spilling across the room, you realize Sanji doesnโt 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!
