Warnings: Middle school party games, friend group shenanigans, obliviousness and miscommunication to comedic effectā¦and also dirty talk, semi-public sex, light dom/sub dynamics, handjobs, and a rookie authorās first attempt at smut. (Plz bear with me - if I forgot to list any warnings, please kindly lmk).
Summary: A party game āround a campfire stirs up some stray feelings. But, contrary to all you hopes and expectations, things donāt go at all according to planāSanji, flirtatious, hopeless, lovey-dovey Sanji - does absolutely nothing. From there, everything just snowballs: you try everything, half the crew is in on it, and heās still clueless. In that case, it seems your beloved cook has left with no choice. The time has come, to take mattersā¦into your own hands.
Luffy had eaten three helpings of marshmallows and declared the night a crew-wide game night, which was already a bad idea. But then Nami added rum, and Usopp dared Chopper to dance, and now there was a bottle on the ground.
You sat cross-legged across from Sanji, trying not to think about how heād spent the last twenty minutes flirting with Robin, Nami, and you in perfect, predictable rotation. He was all fluttering lashes and āmy sweet,ā like always.
And you? You were so goddamn over it.
The bottle spun. It pointed to you.
Then it spun again. It landed onā
You raised a brow at the swordsman. Zoro blinked at you, expression unreadable, but you caught the flicker of recognition in his eyeāthe IOU. The deal. The plan.
He leaned ināand you kissed him.
You pulled back with a smirk. Zoro wiped his mouth like it was no big deal, though you caught the way his ears turned a little red.
Sanji, on the other hand, was short-circuiting.
āWhat in the seven seas was that?ā he shrieked.
You looked at him lazily. āA kiss. Thatās what the game is, right?ā
Zoro smirked. āSheās got taste, eyebrow.ā
āYou shut your mossy face!ā
The crew cackled. Brook played a rimshot on a tin cup. Even Robin smiled behind her book.
But you were watching Sanji. The way his jaw clenched. The way he wouldnāt look directly at you now.
And thatās when you realizedāHe wasnāt mad you kissed Zoro.
He was mad you didnāt kiss him.
It started the next morning.
You expectedā¦ something. A flirty joke. A dramatic soliloquy. Hell, even a fainting spell.
Sanji made you breakfast. Exactly the same as he made everyone elseās. Smiled. Bowed. Flirted with Nami instead.
You stared at your plate as if it had personally betrayed you.
Two days later, the situation had escalated to emergency levels of frustration.
Sanji wasnāt avoiding you. He was being normalāand it was infuriating.
So, naturally, you built a team.
Nami listened to your rant, sipped her tea, and said, āSo weāre poking the chef with a stick until he breaks? Count me in.ā
Usopp was bribed with snacks.
Robin simply offered an amused, āI do enjoy romance disasters.ā
Zoroā¦took the most work.
You found him training on deck and gave it to him straight. āYou still owe me from the campfire,ā you said. āTime to cash in.ā
Zoro narrowed his eyes. āYou want me to flirt with you in front of curly-brow?ā
You smirked. āNot flirt. Justā¦ play along. A look here, a little shoulder touch there.ā
Zoro looked pained. āDisgusting.ā
āSanjiāll implode.ā
Phase One: Mild Jealousy.
A casual lean on Zoroās shoulder at dinner. A slow drag of your hand down his arm after a sparring match. A lingering glance across the galley.
Sanji spilled flour. Twice.
Nami clocked it. āHeās cracking.ā
Luffy, bless him, was recruited for one line only.
You planted it during a lazy evening while Sanji was chopping onions, pretending not to listen.
Luffyāswinging in a hammock out on the deckāhollered after him: āHey! Sanji! Did you know our swabbie likes you?ā
Sanji froze. From outside the chefās purview, you vehemently gestured to Luffy ākeep going-!ā
āā¦As inā¦ likes-likes you!ā
A pause. Sanji didnāt look up. Didnāt so much as poke his head out the galley window. āShut up, Luffy,ā he called back. āYou donāt know what youāre talking about.ā
Phase Three: The Breakdown
You stormed into the galley late that night under the pretense of cleaning up. The galley was warm. Not from the ovenāthough something half-baked still sat forgotten on the middle rackābut from the tension pulling tight between the two people alone in this room, you and Sanji, thick as honey and just as resistant to let go.
Sanji, of course, was already there. Was likely heād been there all evening, even after supperāsleeves rolled, flour-dusted, half-cursing the stubborn dough that āwouldnāt cook rightā. But of course, he was gonna try to spruce it up anyway. After all the flour spilled over the past week, he wouldnāt have the chance to get more till yāall reached the next island.
You brushed past him. He tensed.
You leaned in, hip against the counter, grabbed a spoon, and tasted a smear of frosting off his finger.
āYouāre a damn coward,ā you said flatly.
He blinked. āIāI beg your pardonā?ā
You stepped closer. āI kissed Zoro because I knew itād piss you off. I got Luffy to shout it because I wanted you to know. Iāve had a thing for you forever, Sanji, and all youāve done is pretend not to see it.ā
He stared at you. Jaw slack. Flour in his hair.
āIā¦ā he stammered. āYouālike me? Whaāreally?ā
You grabbed his tie. Pulled him close. Whispered against his mouth: āIām about to show you how much.ā
He stood in front of you, apron still on, fingertips sticky with frosting, breathing shallow.
You hadnāt let go of his tie.
He was blinking down at you like youād just spoken in tongues, heart thudding so loudly in his chest you could see the pulse in his throat.
āYou donāt mean that,ā he whispered, breath shaking. āYouāyouāve seen me. You know how I act. Iāmāā
āYouāre you,ā you said. āAnd Iāve been watching, too. Iāve seen you flirt with everyone but never really touch anyone.ā
His mouth opened. Closed.
He stepped backāuntil his back hit the galley counter.
āYou look at me like Iām art and treat me like glass, and Sanjiāā your voice dropped to a murmur, āāI donāt want to be glass with you.ā
Your hands moved to his waist. His chest heaved under your touch.
āI want to crack that polished mask. I want you to feel.ā
Sanji swallowed hard. āI feel everything with you.ā
āThen stop pretending you donāt.ā You reached between you. Took his frosting-covered finger in handā¦brought it to your lipsā¦and sucked it clean.
Sanji groaned. Actually, physically groaned. His knees wobbled.
You smiled against his finger. āNot frosting,ā you said sweetly.
You cut him off with a kiss. It wasnāt softāit was claiming. Your mouth took his with a slow, deliberate press, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw as he frozeāthen melted. His arms hovered in the air, unsure where to go, unsure if he was allowed.
You pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips: āTouch me, Sanji.ā
His hands landed on your hips like gravity had finally won, and you felt the whimper he tried to swallow the moment his palms met skin under your shirt.
āYouāre not humoring me?ā he breathed.
You kissed the corner of his mouth. His cheek. His neck. āNo.ā
āYou actuallyāyou want me? Like this?ā
You kissed his throat where it pulsed. āEvery version of you.ā
He looked like he was about to cry. āIāve wanted to be wanted like this for so long,ā he whispered. āI just didnāt think Iād everāyouāā
You kissed him again. This time, slow. So slow it burned.
His hands tightened. His breath turned ragged. āIāll do anything,ā he said hoarsely. āWhatever you want. Iāll let you take the leadājust donāt stop kissing me.ā
You nudged his legs apart. Pressed your thigh between them.
Something in your chest trilled - and gods, if that wasnāt an addictive sound-! Your hand slid to his belt. He tensedābut didnāt stop you.
He was hard alreadyāaching. And he kept his hands behind his back, like he needed permission to want this too much.
āPlease,ā he whispered. āTell me what you want.ā
You pressed your mouth to his ear. āI want you,ā you whispered. āFlushed. Breathless. Making noises no one else ever gets to hear.ā
And when you wrapped your hand around him and he bucked into your palm, moaning your name like a prayerāhe finally believed it. You wanted him. Not the act. Not the mask. Him.
Not because of your hand on himāthough gods, the heat of your palm, the confident claiming of it, had him clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.
No, he was shaking because this wasnāt some fantasy. This was you.
You, who called him out when he hid behind dramatics. You, who made him laugh when he thought he was too tired to smile. You, who tasted his frosting like it meant something.
And now your lips were brushing his jaw, murmuring things into his skin that no one had ever dared say to him before. Things like:
āI want you ruined for anyone else.ā
āYouāre beautiful when you beg.ā
āYou deserve to be adored.ā
Your hand didnāt move yet. You kept it thereāfirm and present, but still. He was so hard, it hurt. But he didnāt rush you. He couldnāt.
Not when your free hand curled behind his neck and stroked his hair with the kind of reverence heād only ever dreamed about.
āYou really thought I didnāt mean it,ā you said softly.
āI didnāt know how to believe it,ā he confessed.
His eyes were glassy now, his breath coming in short, shallow huffs, and it hit you just how deep this went for him. āHow long heād been waiting for something like this. How many times heād given his affection away like candyā¦ and never been offered anything real in return.
āIām going to take my time with you,ā you said against his throat. āIām going to make you say thank you when I let you come. And youāre going to mean it.ā
His whole body shuddered. And the only thing he could say, in the softest, most broken voice was:
A plea. A prayer. A surrender.
āPlease,ā he whispered again, and it was barely that.
You smiled against the shell of his ear. Not cruel. Not smug. Justā¦ sure. āSay it again.ā
Sanji whimperedāactual, desperate whimpering, the kind that made his thighs tense and his grip on the counter tremble. āPleaseā¦ let me come. I canātāmon dieu, I canātāā
āYou can,ā you murmured, dragging your hand down his length slow, until his knees buckled and he gasped like heād been punched. āBut not until I say so.ā
He dropped his forehead to your shoulder. His whole body was radiating tensionālike one wrong breath would shatter him. But he didnāt beg againā¦not yet.
And gods, that alone made you ache.
Your grip shifted. Tighter now. Rhythm steady. Pressure perfect. You stroked him with a precision that bordered on cruelānot fast, not enough, but just enough to keep him buzzing, coiled, teetering on the precipice.
Sanji was panting. Moaning into your skin. Eyes clenched shut, hips barely twitching in your hand like he was fighting his whole instinct not to thrust.
āGood boy,ā you whispered.
He made a noise at thatāsharp, high, desperate.
Your thumb slid over the head of his cock, slick and flushed and pulsing, and he choked on a sob.
āI c-canātāpleaseāpleaseāā
You kissed him. Softly. Deeply. And then, finally:
He came like heād been set on fire.
With a cry that was almost your name and a stuttering breathless moan, Sanji spilled into your handāhis whole body jolting, hips jerking against you as his knees gave out. He wouldāve collapsed if you hadnāt caught him.
You held him. Kissed his forehead. Let him ride it out.
And when his breath finally slowed, and he blinked up at you, wrecked and shining and dazed, you whispered one more thing:
He shuddered. Grinned, a little crooked. Then leaned in and murmured, āThank you.ā And kissed you like it was a promise.
