high tide came and brought you in

Sanji is practically horrified. He crosses the kitchen immediately, reaching out to take your hand in both of his. Absolutely not, you're doing beautifully, you could never—"

And that's when your eyes drop.

The silence between you stretches exactly one second.

Which is how you end up on your knees on the kitchen tile, the mixing bowl still sitting on the counter above your head. Sanji's slacks are open, shoved down just enough, and he's flushed from the collar of his shirt up to his cheekbones. His pupils are blown so wide the blue of his irises is barely a ring.

You spit into your palm, working it slowly over the length of him, watching his jaw clench with no small amount of satisfaction. He's warm and heavy in your hand, a bead of precome smearing under your thumb when you drag it over the head, and he exhales through his nose like he's been punched.

"You're staring," you tell him.

"Obviously," he breathes.

You open your mouth to say something else when you hear it.

Footsteps from down the hallway are getting louder.

You both freeze.

Sanji moves first, stepping back toward the counter in one fluid motion. You press yourself flat against the cabinet beneath it, tucking into the space behind the tall counter — the one Sanji had insisted on during renovations,

I'm not destroying my back for the rest of my life, he'd argued, and you had teased him about it for weeks. Right now, you could kiss him for it.

You hear Nami's voice first, then Usopp's, before the kitchen door swings open. You wait a bit as greetings are exchanged before they jump into conversation, before you wrap your hand around Sanji again, just to feel him twitch.

He goes very, very still above you.

You drag your tongue up the underside of him, base to tip, slow and deliberate, and feel the full-body shudder he suppresses. You mouth at the head of him, lips soft, then kiss the side of his cock. When it jumps against your lips, you muffle a laugh against the inside of his thigh.

Then you take him into your mouth properly. Sanji's cock rests heavy on your tongue, the heat of him pulsing with every careful swallow. You feel every ridge, every throb as you take him deeper, your lips stretched tight around the thickness. The underside drags along your palate, smooth and fever-warm, and when you hollow your cheeks, the suction makes his hips jerk once before he locks them still.

His breathing turns ragged above you. You can hear the strain in every exhale, the way he fights to keep his voice level while Nami and Usopp talk about supplies. The head of his cock nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow around it deliberately; the wet clutch makes his thigh muscles jump under your palm. Precome leaks steadily onto your tongue, salty and slick, mixing with your spit until everything is messy and hot.

You pull back just enough to let your tongue swirl under the crown, tracing the sensitive ridge, then sink down again in one smooth motion. Sanji's fingers dig into the counter edge so hard the wood creaks. A low, choked sound escapes him; half groan, half cough, when you take him to the root and hold there, nose pressed to the soft hair at his base. His balls draw up tight against your chin.

Sanji makes a low, broken sound in the back of his throat.

"—what was that?" Usopp asks.

"We're completely out of flour," Sanji says, and his voice only drops once, only slightly, when your throat tightens around him as you swallow. "And the good olive oil. I've been meaning to say something, we need to make a port stop, the state of this pantry is honestly—" you pull back and sink down again, and his next words come out distinctly lower, "—honestly criminal."

His cock twitches hard in your mouth, the shaft thickening further as you feel him edge closer. The tension radiates through him; his stomach clenches visibly, breath catching every time you suck harder or let your throat flutter around him. You can sense how close he is; the way his legs tremble, the frantic pulse under your tongue, the way his free hand hovers like he wants to grab your hair but doesn't dare.

You ease off just enough to keep him right there, hovering on the brink. Spit trails down your chin as you lick slow stripes along the length, feeling every vein throb against your tongue. Sanji's hips make tiny, aborted thrusts he can't quite stop. His breathing grows shallow, desperate. Another swallow around the head, and his whole body locks up, a strangled noise caught behind clenched teeth. He's right on the edge now, cock jerking insistently, balls drawn high, seconds from flooding your mouth if you push him just a little further.

Eventually, Nami and Usopp drift toward the door, their conversation shifting to something about the log pose. You slow, just slightly, dragging it out, and then you hear Usopp pause.

"Sanji, I gotta ask. Are you flexing right now?"

You stop moving entirely, taking him out of your mouth, as you press your lips together.

"What?" Sanji says.

"Your whole body — you're flexing. Your veins are everywhere, and you're clearly tense." A pause. "Is cause Nami ‘s here? Is that why you're doing the thing?"

Nami makes a withering sound. "Don't drag me into this."

Usopp's voice drops to something almost disappointed. "Sometimes you're just too weird, Sanji."

"Agreed," says Nami.

The door swings. Before it closes all the way, Nami's voice carries back, crisp and deliberate: "I'll just — shut this for you."

The latch clicks.

You both listen to their footsteps fade down the corridor.

Then Sanji steps back from the counter and reaches down for you, hands under your arms, pulling you up and onto your feet in one motion. He walks you backward into the counter behind you, and his mouth finds yours before you've fully caught your balance — deep and slow and thorough, his fingers coming up to cup your jaw, tilting your head back.

You kiss him back just as hard, hands fisting in the front of his shirt.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead tipping toward yours, and his voice drops to something low and unhurried.

The kitchen was usually a sanctuary of quiet efficiency after midnight for Sanji. He was in his element, meticulously wiping down the counters as he hummed a quiet tune under his breath. 

When the heavy wooden door creaked open, he didn’t even need to look up to know it was you. The shift in the room's energy, the soft patter of bare feet against the floorboards, was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

He glanced over his shoulder, a soft smile instantly gracing his lips as he saw you standing in the doorway, rubbing your eyes, looking small and still half-asleep. Your curls slightly flattened from sleep, a few soft coils spilling freely around your face as you stood there, clothes hanging loosely on your frame as if you had been gently pulled out of a dream. You looked unfairly beautiful in Sanji's eyes, the kind of beauty that made his chest tighten without warning. 

“You should be in bed, my love,” he murmured, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. "The night air is cold, and a beautiful creature like you needs their rest. Go back to the bedroom." 

You didn’t move. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest, a heavy, exaggerated pout settling on your face as you leaned against the doorframe. “I can't sleep,” you said, your voice thick with exhaustion and a distinct note of frustration.

Sanji’s expression softened instantly, his protective instincts kicking. He tossed the towel onto the counter and turned to face you fully, wiping his hands on his apron. “Do you want me to make you some tea perhaps? A little warm milk with honey to help you drift off?”

“Noo,” you whined, stretching out the word as you walked further into the kitchen, your eyes locked onto his. You stopped just a few feet away, looking at him with pure accusation. "I want my boyfriend in my bed.”

Sanji let out a breathless, weak laugh, his chest tightening at the sheer sweetness — and the agonizing temptation — of your words. He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. He wanted nothing more than to scoop you up right then and there, carry you back to the dark warmth of your shared room, and hold you until morning. But the kitchen was a mess from Luffy's midnight raid, and if he didn't finish now, breakfast would be late.

“Don't tease, baby, I am almost done,” he pleaded softly, offering you a reassuring, apologetic smile. "Just give me ten more minutes to finish scrubbing this counter, and I'll be all yours."

Instead of going back to the room, you walked over to the long wooden dining table. With a slow, fluid motion, you climbed up and laid down on it lazily, propping your head up with one hand while stretching your legs out across the dark wood.

"Ten minutes is too long, Sanji," you sighed, tracing a mindless circle on the table. "It's so cold in that bed without you."

Sanji turned back to the counter, trying desperately to focus, but his heart was hammering against his ribs. "Really, hm? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to corrupt your hard-working cook."

"Maybe I am," you purred, shifting your weight, the fabric of your sleepwear rustling softly in the quiet room. "Or maybe I'm just thinking about what those hands of yours could be doing instead of holding a dish towel. You're so good with your hands, Sanji. It's a shame to waste them on countertops."

The cigarette between his lips flared bright orange. "Sweetheart, please," he groaned, his voice dropping an octave, a sudden wave of heat washing over his skin. "You have no idea how hard it is to stay over here right now."

Holding his gaze, you slowly slid your hand down your stomach, your fingers slipping effortlessly beneath the waistband of your panties.

Sanji completely froze. He couldn't take his eyes off you. He watched painfully frustrated, as the fabric of your underwear tented over your fingers. He looked so incredibly hot and bothered, his jaw tight and his chest heaving as his breathing turned shallow and ragged, already sounding like a complete mess. 

"Ah... god," Sanji choked out, setting his cigarette down safely and taking a heavy, helpless step toward the table. He looked absolutely ruined just by the sight of you, completely intoxicated by how effortlessly beautiful you were. "You are... you are absolutely perfect, my love. Look at you."

He leaned his hands on the edge of the table. He was transfixed, on the movement of your hand under the cotton fabric.

"You're so gorgeous like this," he whispered, his voice trembling with lust. But as he leaned in closer, desperate to touch you, you stopped him with a sharp look. 

"No," you whispered, your fingers dipping deeper into your panties, the friction producing a soft, wet sound that echoed loudly in the quiet kitchen.

You kept your eyes locked onto his, your hips rolling slightly against your own hand. You were punishing him. Punishing him for prioritizing his chores over you, for telling you to go back to bed instead of welcoming you into his arms the moment you walked through the door.

Sanji’s breath hitched. He took a desperate step forward, completely unable to focus on anything but the agonizingly beautiful sight of you taking care of yourself right in front of him.

"Ah—wait, please," he choked out. "Let me... please let me help you. You shouldn't have to do that yourself when I'm right here."

"I said no," you commanded. 

Sanji stepped closer anyway, desperate, his hands reaching out instinctively to touch your knees, to pry your legs further apart so he could finally bury his face between them. But as he leaned in, you raised your leg, pressing your  foot firmly against his chest, right over his racing heart, stopping him in his tracks.

"Stay there," you told him.

Sanji gasped, your resistance only fueling the fire in his blood. He didn't push your foot away. Instead, his hands came up to gently cup your ankle, and with an expression of pure devotion, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to the arch of your foot. He couldn't help himself. He was entirely at your mercy already, begging with his eyes as you continued to finger yourself, rubbing over your soaking wet clit under his worshipful gaze.

You let out a plaintive whimper, and it breaks his heart. You slid two fingers deep inside your tight folds, tracing your sensitive walls while your thumb frantically worked your swollen nub. "Mean Sanji," you complained, your voice breaking into a breathless, irritated pout. "I can't reach it. It’s your fault. It's all your fault."

Sanji looked up at you from where he was held at bay, his eyes blown wide with desperation. "My fault? Tell me how to fix it, please—"

"If you had been a good boy," you gasped, arching your back off the wooden table. "If you had just taken care of me from the start, I'd let you touch me. But you weren't. So now I can't even focus."

The words good boy seemed to snap something deep inside him. Sanji dropped heavily to his knees before the table, his hands gripping the wood. "Please," he begged you, "please, let me do it. Let me fix it. Don't punish me like this, I'll do anything. Just let me make you come, please, my love."

Instead of answering him, you reached up with your free hand and slid it under your top, cupping your own breast. You squeezed it, rolling your nipple between your fingers, letting out a soft, needy moan that made Sanji's knees go weak. 

"Sanji..." you sighed his name out loud, but your tone wasn't an invitation, it was a reprimand. You kept pumping your fingers inside yourself, your hips rolling against your hand. "You're such a bad boyfriend. Leaving me all alone in that cold bed while you worry about your kitchen.”

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, my love," Sanji begged, his hand instinctively dropping down to grasp his own crotch, grinding his throbbing length into his palm right through his trousers. He let out a loud, ragged groan. "I'll be better, I swear. Just let me touch you. Look at how beautiful you are... you're absolutely perfect, driving me entirely insane.”

You didn’t acknowledge his begging once again and instead, you slowly hooked your index finger under the elastic band of your panties and slid the fabric completely to the side. You parted your thighs wider, showing your swollen folds to him. Your pussy was dripping, completely soaked, with your own thick cream coating your fingers. 

Sanji let out a pathetic whimper at the sight, his eyes blowing wide with pure desperation. “Fuck so wet… so gorgeous. God, please, let me clean you up.”

Finally, you stopped your fingers, pulling them out with a wet pop. You looked down at his ruined form. “Come closer,” you whispered. 

Sanji moved forward like a starving man, his face hovering just inches from your pussy, his lips parted as he panted heavily, and you plunged your fingers soaked in your juices, into his mouth. His tongue tickles your fingers as he moans.

When you remove your fingers, you lean down slightly, and deliberately spit directly into his waiting mouth. Sanji swallowed it instantly, his throat bobbing as he whimpered, a dark flush spreading across his cheeks. You leaned down further, reaching out to fist your fingers tightly into his soft blond hair. You tugged firmly, before you dragged his face down exactly where you wanted it. 

Instead of letting him touch your bare skin yet, you pressed his mouth flush against the damp fabric of your panties, keeping your hand tangled firmly in his hair. He immediately began kissing you right through the cloth, his hot breath soaking into the material. “Taste how wet you made me through my clothes.”

Sanji whimpered loudly, his hands gripping the edges of the table so hard the wood groaned. "Please... yes, my love, anything," he choked out, completely drunk on you.

"Good boy. Now kiss the lace. Lick it clean," you murmured, pushing his face back down.

He didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. He began to worship you exactly the way you demanded, tracing the damp outline of your pussy through the fabric with the flat of his tongue. He groaned into your lap, the deep, vibrating sound rumbling right against your sensitive core, making your own hips twitch. You pulled his hair again, directing his mouth to the soaked center, commanding him to suck the wet cotton until he was completely drenched in your scent. 

Only when you were completely satisfied by his work, you slowly slide  the fabric down to your legs, with his little help. “Now, make me cum baby.”

Sanji didn’t waste another second, driven entirely mad by the taste of your juice, and buried his face directly into your soaking wet pussy. 

He didn't just touch you, he devoured you. He slammed his mouth against your clit, his tongue sweeping over your sensitive opening in long, heavy, greedy strokes. He spread your soaking wet lips wide with his thumbs, forcing his tongue deep inside your creaming hole, mimicking the motion of a hard fuck before pulling back to suck your engorged clit into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it, biting gently until you were screaming. Every loud whine and sob that left your lips was met with a deeper press of his mouth, swallowing down every single drop of your sweet juices as you creamed directly onto his face.

But as he swallowed your sweetness, as your frantic essence coated his tongue and lips, something in Sanji began to shift. The taste of you was too intoxicating, making him utterly drunk. The hunger didn't fade, it grew stronger and more demanding. The gentle, compliant cook was fading away, replaced by something much more dominant. 

He caught your hips, pinning you flat against the hard wooden table. When he pulled his face away, his lips were slick and shining, his gaze dark and heavy under his blond bangs. 

"You're so cruel to me," Sanji whispered, his voice suddenly smooth, not begging anymore. "Making me wait. Making me watch. You've been a very bad girl, ruining my kitchen like this."

Before you could even process the sudden switch in his demeanor, Sanji hooked your legs over his broad shoulders. His large hand reached down, quickly unzipping his trousers and freeing his thick cock, already leaking heavy pre-cum. He didn’t wait a single second and aligned his aching head directly against your soaking little hole, and drove into you, his head carving a place for itself inside you. 

You moan as your fingers tangled into his shirt, your body already overwhelmed by the thick stretch of his head. You were completely ruined by it, and so was he. Sanji let out a loud groan, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. 

He pinned your hands above your head against the table, his grip firm and possessive, yet his lips still pressed soft kisses along your jaw and neck.