softlyposessive

[softlyposessive]

Oh ngl I'm so stupid for sanji it's not funny. I would love to read something for sanji and a plus size girlie that's fully the filthiest thing u can think of. I just want sanji and a female who's plus size cause I'm chubby and I need me some sanji smut... Pretty please with a cherry 🍒 on top ,🫣👏

Sanctified

♡ Characters: Sanji x Chubby!Fem!Reader ♡ Warnings: explicit smut, body worship, praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving + m!receiving), face sitting, titty sucking, titjob, kitchen sex, creampie, overstimulation, French dirty talk, nipple play, cum play/clean-up, intense devotion, light dom!Sanji, Sanji being feral for reader’s body, fluff-laced filth, reader sitting on his face like a throne, post-sex snacks and light aftercare, mildly possessive vibes ♡ WC: 5k ♡ Notes: This fic was originally requested as “just some Sanji smut where he’s down bad for a chubby reader,” and um... I may have gone a bit overboard… What was supposed to be a quick smut scene turned into a 5k+ marathon of filth, feelings, and food play. Plot? I don’t know her. Sanji is feral, worshipful, absolutely wrecked by your existence, and I didn’t have the heart to stop him. So yeah. It’s long. It’s messy. And he cries a little.

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You wake with a sleepy groan, blinking blearily in the dark as the urgent need to pee drags you from the warm cocoon of your sheets.

The Going Merry is silent, rocking gently beneath you. Everyone’s long gone to bed—soft snoring and the creak of old wood the only signs of life.

You shuffle quietly out of your room in your sleepwear—just a ribbed tank top and a pair of thin cotton shorts, worn soft from washing, riding high on your thick thighs.

After finishing in the bathroom, you start heading back, ready to collapse into bed again—when something stops you.

A scent.

Something sweet. Rich. Buttery and sticky, drifting on the air like a whisper. Caramel, maybe? Brown sugar? And underneath it, the gentle sounds of movement—muffled footsteps, the low clink of silverware, and a soft humming that makes your skin prickle with recognition.

Sanji.

Your brows furrow in confusion. Why the hell is he up at this hour? And cooking?

Curiosity pulls you toward the kitchen like a thread.

The light is warm and low, only one lamp flicked on over the counter. It casts a soft golden glow across the room, pooling around the figure moving with practiced ease near the stove.

Sanji.

He’s barefoot, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar lazily unbuttoned. His blond hair catches the light, glowing like honey, tousled and messy like he’s been running his hands through it. There’s a smudge of flour on his cheek.

And he’s humming to himself. Focused. Peaceful. Until—

“Sanji?” you whisper, still rubbing sleep from your eyes. “What… what are you doing?”

He turns to you slowly, not startled, not surprised. Just smiling. A soft, secret smile like this is exactly what he wanted.

“Ah, ma chérie…” His voice is thick with warmth. “You’re awake.”

You blink. “You were cooking? At this hour?”

He shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Couldn’t sleep. I had a craving for something sweet.” His eyes roam down your figure, lingering. “And I was hoping… maybe you would too.”

You glance at the plate in his hands—golden, steaming, syrupy. A gooey dessert he’s clearly just finished, caramel sticking to the edges.

Your stomach growls, traitorous.

He chuckles softly. “Come sit.”

You hesitate, still standing in the doorway in your tiny shorts and barely-there tank, but Sanji’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, his gaze grows more reverent, more intense—like you just walked into the room glowing.

You pad over and take a seat on the wooden stool. It creaks softly under you, and you squirm a little, pulling the hem of your shorts down in embarrassment. Sanji doesn't look away. Not even for a second.

He sets the plate down in front of you, sliding a fork beside it. Then he leans one hand on the counter, tipping forward slightly to watch you.

“Go on. Taste it.”

You glance at him once, then take a small bite.

The moment it hits your tongue, your eyes flutter shut.

It’s heaven. Sweet and buttery, still warm, melting in your mouth with just enough salt to make your toes curl. You moan softly without thinking, eyes squeezing shut as you chew.

And when you open them again—Sanji is staring.

His pupils are huge.

His breath catches audibly, throat bobbing. There’s color blooming high on his cheeks, and his jaw flexes. He shifts slightly where he stands, and you think—no, you know—his cock is getting hard.

“…Holy shit,” you whisper, fork halfway to your mouth. “This is insane.”

Sanji swallows hard. His voice is rough when he speaks.

“You’re insane. Sitting there looking like that. Making those sounds.” He steps closer. “Fuck.”

You stare at him, cheeks hot. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

He reaches out and gently brushes his thumb against the corner of your lips. You freeze.

His touch is light, almost reverent, thumb sweeping away a crumb that never even had a chance to fall. But he doesn’t pull back.

He stays there, staring at your mouth.

The silence is heavy.

Your breath catches in your throat.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and the look in them nearly knocks the air from your lungs—hunger, yes, but also something deeper. Devotion. Adoration. Longing so thick it makes your thighs press together.

He’s drinking you in. Your curves. The softness of your belly. The stretch of your top across your chest. The faint press of your thighs where your shorts have ridden up. And he’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re…” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, “so beautiful.”

You inhale sharply.

He leans in slowly, like giving you a chance to stop him. His fingers brush your cheek.

“A goddess.”

You whisper, “Sanji…”

He doesn’t kiss you yet.

He lingers—forehead nearly brushing yours, breath hot against your lips, the scent of butter and sugar and something darker, more masculine. Your lashes flutter.

And then you close the gap.

The kiss is soft at first. Gentle. Just lips brushing lips, testing the waters. But it doesn’t stay that way.

Sanji groans quietly into your mouth, his hand sliding into your hair as he deepens the kiss. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until your body is pressed flush against his. The heat of him is overwhelming.

His tongue teases at your lips, slow and careful, and when you open for him, he kisses you like he’s starving.

You moan into it, fingers curling in the front of his shirt, nails dragging lightly down his chest.

He kisses you harder.

Your teeth clack. Your bodies bump awkwardly. It’s messy, heated, real.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers along your jaw. “You’re not even real. You’re something else entirely. A dream.”

You’re breathless.

You can barely speak.

“A goddess like you should be worshipped.”

You swallow hard, blood rushing south.

“You should be kissed,” he murmurs, lips ghosting across your cheek, “touched, adored. Every inch of you. Every curve. Until you know how perfect you are.”

You let out a shaky laugh, heart pounding.

“So show me, then.”

His gaze snaps to yours. You see his pupils dilate further. His chest rises.

You smirk, leaning in just enough to brush your nose against his, the faint scent of tobacco and sea salt clinging to his skin.

“If you really think I’m a goddess…” your voice drops to a husky whisper, lips grazing his ear, “prove it.”

Sanji exhales sharply through his nose—half laugh, half groan, his breath hot and shaky against your cheek. 

He kisses you again, hard, his tongue shoving past your lips, wet and desperate, tasting of wine and lust. 

Before you can catch your breath, he hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts you off the stool in one fluid motion, his lean muscles flexing under his shirt. You squeak, arms flying around his neck, your soft, heavy curves pressing into his chest as he carries you like you’re weightless—his hands digging into the plush meat of your thighs, heat pouring off him like a goddamn furnace.

“I’ll worship you,” he rasps, voice low and ragged, his lips brushing your jaw as he stumbles toward the kitchen floor. “Starting right fucking now.”

He sets you down gently on the warm wood, the grain rough against your bare thighs, but his lips are back on your neck before you can blink—hot, sloppy kisses trailing down your pulse, his teeth scraping just enough to sting. 

His breath’s a furnace, scorching your skin, and his kisses burn hotter still. You barely register him tugging your tank top up, the fabric catching on your curves until your breasts spill free—full, heavy, nipples pebbling in the warm air, dappled by the golden light flickering from the overhead lamp.

He doesn’t rush. He freezes, just staring, his cigarette dangling forgotten from his lips as ash flakes onto the floor. His eyes—dark, dilated, fucking ravenous—trail down your body, drinking in every soft roll, every plush inch, like he’s etching you into his soul. 

His hands, smooth as silk but trembling with need, brush up your sides, thumbs grazing the undersides of your tits as he starts kissing—slow, open-mouthed, from your throat to your collarbone, then lower. His lips hover just above the swell of your chest, his breath shaky, fanning across your skin, making your nipples tighten even more.

You glance down, confused by the pause. He’s hovering, forehead resting lightly above the curve of your breast, sweat beading on his brow.

“Sanji?” Your voice is soft, uncertain.

His lashes flutter, and he lets out a choked exhale, the cigarette finally dropping to the floor with a faint hiss.

“I’m just…” He swallows hard, voice thick with awe, “trying to convince myself this isn’t some wet dream I’ll wake up from with my cock in my hand.”

Your heart skips, heat flooding your cheeks and pooling lower. 

Before you can respond, he leans in—his mouth wrapping around your nipple, sucking hard, a guttural groan rumbling in his throat like your taste is his lifeline. His tongue flicks over the peak, wet and relentless, circling it before he sucks again, pulling it deep into his mouth. His other hand cups your free breast, kneading the soft flesh, thumb teasing the nipple in slow, deliberate circles until it’s stiff and aching under his touch. Spit drips from his lips, slicking your skin, pooling in the valley between your tits as he moans into you.

You gasp, back arching off the floor, fingers tangling in his blond hair, tugging hard.

Sanji moans louder, burying his face deeper between your breasts, his nose pressing into your sternum as he nuzzles like a man possessed. He kisses the soft, sweaty skin there, tongue darting out to lick up the salt, whimpering like he’s drunk on you. 

“Magnifique,” he breathes, voice muffled against your flesh. “Tellement parfaite, putain.”

His hands slide down, reverent and slow, tracing the plush of your sides, the dip of your waist, the roundness of your belly. He kisses every inch—open-mouthed, messy, leaving wet trails across your stomach, your hips, the tender spot where your shorts dig into your skin. His thumbs skim beneath the waistband of your shorts, slow and careful, like he’s handling something precious. He doesn’t pull right away—just breathes for a moment, resting his forehead against your belly with a soft, shaky exhale.

“May I?” he asks, voice hushed, reverent. “Please.”

And when you nod, he makes a quiet sound—half gratitude, half hunger—and starts to ease the fabric down. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just devoted.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband and peels your shorts down inch by inch, kissing the skin he reveals like every soft patch is a secret he’s lucky to be let in on. He kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your leg where it meets the crease of your softness.

When the shorts finally hit the floor, he leans back to look at you fully, eyes wide with that wrecked kind of worship.

“You’re divine,” he whispers, breath hitching as his fingers sink into your soft hips. “Every fucking part of you. Every curve. Every goddamn inch.”

You’re panting now, trembling, your core throbbing as he unravels you with nothing but his lips, his words, his wide-eyed worship. Then—he pulls back, sprawling onto the floor, his chest heaving, shirt half-unbuttoned, cock straining against his slacks. He tugs at your hands, eyes blazing. 

“Come here,” he says, breathless. “Sit on my fucking face.”

You freeze. “W-What?”

His eyes go half-lidded, hazy with lust, pupils blown wide. 

“Please, mon ange.”

Heat floods your face, your thighs clenching instinctively. 

“Sanji—I can’t—I mean—” You cross your arms over your stomach, shoulders curling in, voice small. “You don’t have to do that, I’m… I’m too—”

“Shhh,” he cuts you off, sitting up just enough to press a kiss to your knee, his lips lingering, soft and warm. 

“Don’t hide from me, ma déesse. Don’t you fucking dare.” 

His hands slide up your thighs, squeezing the thick flesh like it’s his anchor, his thumbs digging in just enough to make you shiver.

“You think I don’t want this?” His voice cracks, raw and needy, eyes burning into yours. “You think I don’t dream about you smothering me with these thighs while I drown in your pussy? That I don’t jerk off every night wishing I could suffocate between these legs and die happy?”

Your thighs twitch, heat pooling between them. You stare, speechless, as he whimpers—fucking whimpers—his hands trembling as he pulls you closer.

“Please,” he begs, voice breaking, dragging you gently forward. “Please, let me have this. Let me taste you. Let me worship you like you deserve.”

You don’t even realize you’re moving until your knees frame his head, your thick thighs trembling, heart pounding so hard you can hear it. “

“You’ll stop me if—”

“If I stop,” he cuts in, voice low and shaking, “it’s because I’ve passed out from fucking ecstasy.”

You lower yourself, hesitant, your weight settling over him. He moans before his tongue even touches you—just from the heat of your pussy hovering over his face, the scent of your arousal hitting him like a drug. His hands clamp onto your hips, fingers sinking into your soft flesh, dragging you down hard with a groan that rattles through your bones. 

His mouth finds you instantly—tongue licking a long, slow, greedy stripe through your folds, parting your slick lips, tasting the wetness already dripping from you.

“Oh fuck—Sanji—!” you cry out, hips jerking as heat explodes in your core. 

He feasts like a man starved—mouth wide, lips sealing around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking and pressing with delirious precision. His jaw works fast, wet and sloppy, slurping your juices like they’re the finest wine he’s ever tasted. The sounds are obscene—loud, wet smacks, his muffled groans vibrating against your pussy, the squish of your thighs squeezing his head as you rock against him.

Your thighs shake, instinct screaming to lift off, overwhelmed by the intensity, but his grip tightens, bruising your hips. 

“No,” he growls into your cunt, the word muffled, hot breath fanning your clit. “Stay. Fucking stay right here. Don’t you dare run from me.” 

His tongue dives deeper, thrusting into your hole, fucking you with it as his nose grinds against your clit, his face drenched in your slick—shiny, messy, dripping down his chin.

You look down, and he’s smiling—eyes wet, glassy, fucking beaming like he’s in paradise with your pussy smothering him. 

His hands knead your ass, pulling you harder against his mouth, and you sob, tugging his hair as your hips roll on their own. He humps the air beneath you, his cock tenting his slacks, a dark wet spot spreading as he moans louder, the vibration pushing you over the edge.

You cum hard, thighs clamping around his head, trembling as you scream his name, voice cracking. Your pussy pulses, gushing slick over his face, and he drinks it all, tongue lapping frantically, sucking your clit through the waves. 

You try to lift off, panting, overstimulated, but he yanks you back down, growling like a feral animal, and goes at it again—tongue relentless, lips bruising your folds, fingers digging into your thighs with desperate devotion.

You sob through the second orgasm, hips jerking wildly, your body shaking as it rips through you, leaving you a trembling, breathless mess. When you finally slump back, he lets you go slow—his lips brushing your pussy one last time, a soft, reluctant kiss like he’s saying goodbye to a lover. You collapse beside him on the floor, legs limp, soaked with sweat and your own slick.

He’s lying there, chest heaving, face glistening—lips swollen, chin dripping, eyes glassy and fucked-out. 

“I need more,” he whispers, voice hoarse, raw with want.

Sanji lifts you like you’re a sacred relic, his hands trembling as he carries you from the kitchen—your bare thighs wrapped around his waist, your slick smearing against his shirt, his breath still scorching your skin. He kicks his bedroom door open like a man possessed, the wood slamming against the wall, and lays you on his sheets—soft, rumpled, smelling of him—like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Then he kneels. Between your legs, at your feet, his lips pressing reverent kisses to your stomach, your thick thighs, your hips—anywhere he can reach. His tongue drags slow, wet circles, tasting the sweat and arousal still clinging to you, worshipping every inch with shaky breaths. You reach for him, fingers threading into his sweat-damp hair, tugging him up until his chest brushes yours.

But you stop him, cupping his face, pushing him back gently. He freezes, brows knitting, lips parting to protest. 

“Mon amour?” he whispers, chest heaving. “Is everything okay?”

You smile, soft and wicked. 

“Sit,” you murmur.

He obeys instantly, settling on the edge of the bed, legs parted wide, his chest flushed red, breaths ragged. 

“I’ve let you worship me,” you say, sinking to your knees between his thighs, your voice low and sultry. “Now let your goddess serve.”

His eyes widen, pupils blown. 

“Mon Dieu,” he breathes, voice cracking. “You can’t just—fuck, you can’t say shit like that.”

You grin, dragging your palms up his thighs, thumbs grazing the waistband of his slacks, feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric. He groans, hips twitching. 

“You okay?” you tease, voice sweet and low.

“No,” he chokes, head tipping back. “I’m gonna fucking die.”

You kiss his thigh through the fabric, lips lingering, then unbutton his pants with agonizing slowness, sliding them down, revealing his briefs—tight, soaked with pre-cum, clinging to his thick cock like a second skin. 

When you peel them off, his dick springs free—flushed red, veined, the tip dripping, a fat bead of pre-cum rolling down the shaft and pooling on his balls.

Sanji groans like he’s ascending, hands fisting the sheets. 

“Putain de merde—”

You wrap your fingers around the base, stroking slow, your thumb swirling through the sticky mess at the tip, smearing it down his length. His thighs tense, muscles jumping under your touch. You lean in, pressing your lips to his cock—soft, sensual kisses along the shaft, tasting the salt and musk, then a slow lick from base to tip, tongue flattening against the pulsing vein.

He gasps, hips bucking. 

“Oh fuck—fuck, yes—” 

His hand grips the sheets tighter, knuckles white, throat bared as his head falls back.

You take him into your mouth—slow, teasing, eyes locked on his as you hollow your cheeks and suck the tip, tongue swirling around the slit, lapping up the pre-cum leaking steadily now. His moans are loud, broken, like he’s never felt this before. 

“Mon ange, your mouth—fuck, it’s made for this,” he whimpers, hips twitching, trying not to thrust too deep.

You bob your head, once, twice, drool spilling down your chin, coating his cock in wet shine. You pull off with a loud, sloppy pop, grinning as he whines. 

“Not done yet,” you say, yanking your tank top off, your heavy breasts bouncing free.

You cup them, pressing them around his cock, the slick warmth enveloping him.

Sanji fucking loses it. His hands shoot to your arms, gripping tight, his whole body trembling as you slide him between your tits—soft, sweaty, slick with spit and pre-cum. 

“Oh god—oh fuck, you’re unreal,” he gasps, head lolling, hips grinding up into the plush heat. “I’m gonna cum just from this—look at you, fuck, look at what you’re doing to me.”

You lean down, sucking the tip as he fucks your cleavage—sloppy, loud, the wet squelch of skin on skin filling the room. His cock throbs, veins pulsing, and he cums hard with a sob—thick, hot spurts spilling across your tits, dripping down your chin, hitting your tongue as you lick him through it. You swallow what you catch, lapping up the rest, his moans turning into prayers of your name.

“Please,” he pants, still shaking, cock twitching. “Please, let me return the favor—please.”

You crawl onto the bed, straddling his lap, your slick pussy brushing his still-hard cock. “Then fuck me, Sanji.”

He lays you back with care, like you’re fragile despite the filthy mess you’ve made of each other. He settles between your legs, kissing your inner thighs—soft, reverent—his hands shaking as he lines himself up. When he presses inside, his whole body shudders, a low groan tearing from his throat. 

“Mon dieu… so warm, so tight, so fucking perfect…”

You gasp at the stretch—thick, slow, inch by inch—his cock filling you, stretching your walls until he’s buried deep, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathless. He starts moving—slow, deep, devoted thrusts, each one rocking your soft body, your breasts bouncing with the rhythm. His hands roam your thighs, your hips, your tits—fingers sinking into every plush curve like he’s branding you.

“You feel like heaven,” he groans, voice raw. “You are fucking heaven.” 

He leans down, kissing you as he fucks you—deep, messy, tongues clashing between moans. His lips trail to your chest, sucking and biting your nipples, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, steady circles.

You keen, body arching, the wet squish of his cock driving into you loud and filthy. One hand presses just above your pelvis, adding pressure, making you choke on a gasp. 

“Oh god—Sanji—fuck—”

Your thighs tremble, body tensing as he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your lips. 

“Come for me,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

You break with a sob, legs wrapping around him, cunt fluttering wildly as you cum—hard, messy, gushing around his cock, soaking his thighs. He moans your name, thrusts faltering as your walls milk him, squeezing tight.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I can’t—” he gasps, voice shattering.

“Cum inside,” you whisper, still pulsing around him. “I want it. Fucking give it to me.”

He chokes, tears stinging his eyes as his hips jerk forward, burying deep. He grinds against you with a helpless whimper, cock throbbing as he spills—hot, thick, flooding your pussy, leaking out around him as he keeps thrusting, smearing it into your folds. 

“Merci… merci… je t’aime… oh fuck—” The words spill like a confession, his body trembling as he collapses into you.

You’re still twitching, thighs locked around his waist, your cunt spasming, milking every last drop. He’s still hard, still throbbing inside you, moaning into your neck as his hips shift, dragging against your oversensitive walls. You jolt, gasping, 

“Ngh—Sanji—!”

He freezes, kissing your shoulder. 

“I can’t stop—I need more, just a little more.” His voice is wrecked, pleading.

You clench around him, involuntary, and he groans, deep and broken. 

“Fuck, you’re still so tight—please—” 

You reach down, circling your clit, gasping as your body sparks again. 

“I can take it,” you whisper.

He rocks into you—smooth, heavy thrusts, his cock dragging through your swollen, cum-slick walls. His lips stay on you—chest, jaw, collarbone—kissing everywhere he can reach. Each thrust pulls a moan from you, your body a live wire, still teetering on the edge.

“That’s it,” he whispers, fingers sliding back to your clit, rubbing fast. “One more, ma déesse. Fucking break for me.” 

Your body convulses, the buildup crashing hard—you scream, cunt clamping down, gushing again, soaking him as he groans, thrusting through it, filling you with another hot, sloppy load, his cum dripping out, pooling on the sheets beneath you.

Neither of you move. You just breathe—ragged, shallow gasps filling the quiet, the air thick with the musk of sweat and sex. Sanji’s trembling against you, his lean body pressed tight to your plush curves, whispering your name like it’s a prayer he’s carving into the dark—“Mon ange, mon angel…” 

His hands roam, shaky and reverent, tracing the soft dip of your waist, the heavy swell of your hips, anywhere he can touch to prove you’re real.

Eventually, your breathing slows, chest still heaving under his weight, your thighs trembling faintly—boneless, fucked-out, but sated deep in your core, a warmth that sinks past muscle into soul. You blink up at the ceiling, vision hazy, the lamp’s golden glow smearing into a soft blur. Your pussy throbs faintly, slick and tender, still leaking his cum onto the sheets.

He presses one last kiss to your cheek—soft, lingering, his lips damp with sweat—then pulls away, slow and reluctant, his cock slipping free with a wet squish that makes you wince. 

“Sanji?” you murmur, voice hoarse, blinking at the sudden emptiness.

He’s already on his feet, bare and glowing in the dim light—golden hair a sweaty, tousled mess, chest flushed red, cock still half-hard and glistening with your mixed juices. 

“I’ll be right back, ma belle,” he says, voice low and fond, a promise wrapped in gravel. “Stay there.” He’s gone before you can protest, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sit up, dazed, arms crossing instinctively over your sticky chest—your breasts heavy, nipples swollen and slick with spit and cum, glistening in the faint light. Your thighs stay parted, tender and aching, the cool air hitting your pussy and making it clench, a dribble of his seed leaking out, thick and warm, trailing down your inner thigh. 

You wince—half from overstimulation, half from the flicker of loneliness that creeps in, sharp and sudden, like he’s taken the heat of the room with him.

But then—footsteps. The door creaks open, and he’s back. Your heart fucking melts.

Sanji’s carrying a small tray, his hands steady despite the faint tremble in his fingers. One holds a warm, damp cloth, steam curling off it, folded with his usual precision. The other balances a dish of delicate, sugar-dusted sweets—puffy little pastries, glistening with glaze—and a tall glass of pink hibiscus tea, ice clinking, the rim crusted with honey. 

He kneels beside you, bare knees sinking into the mattress, his face soft but his eyes burning, locked on you like you’re the only thing in the world.

��Let me clean you, mon ange,” he murmurs, voice a husky caress. 

You lie back without a word, spreading your thighs for him, and he starts—slow, gentle, the cloth warm and rough against your skin. 

He drags it between your legs, wiping away the mess—your slick, his cum, the sweat pooling in the creases of your thighs. The heat soothes the ache, but his touch ignites it too, his fingers brushing your swollen folds as he cleans, parting them just enough to swipe at the sticky mess dripping from your cunt.

You hiss softly, hips twitching, and he pauses, lips brushing your inner thigh in apology—a wet, open-mouthed kiss, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin. 

“So good,” he whispers, moving up, the cloth gliding over your tummy, tracing the soft rolls, erasing the sweat and spit. 

He lingers on your breasts, wiping the cum streaked across them—thick, tacky ropes that cling to your nipples—his thumb grazing the peaks as he works, making them stiffen again under his touch. He leaves kisses behind—soft pecks on your stomach, a slow suck on the curve of your tit, his breath hot and shaky.

“So sweet. So soft. So fucking perfect.”

You hum, a pleased little moan slipping out as he brings the glass to your lips. You sip—the tea’s cool, floral, cutting through the haze, and you chase it with a pastry, sugar dusting your fingers, melting on your tongue. 

He watches, rapt, as you lick the crumbs off, his cock twitching visibly between his legs, still slick and heavy. He finishes cleaning you, the cloth now cool and damp, and tosses it aside, sliding into bed behind you—pulling the covers up, tugging your back flush against his chest.

His skin’s warm, damp, reeking of sex and sweat and the faint sweetness of the treats, his arms wrapping tight around your shoulders, lips brushing your neck.

“I meant it,” he whispers, voice low and rough, teeth grazing your earlobe. “You’re the only goddess I’d crawl for, bleed for, fucking die for.” 

His cock presses against your ass, half-hard, smearing a wet trail of pre-cum across your skin as he shifts closer.

You turn your head, smirking, one brow arched. 

“So that’s how you treat every goddess?”

His answer’s instant, fierce, soft as sin. 

“Only you.” 

His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking your lip, pulling it down just enough to tease the wet inside of your mouth.

Your cheeks heat, pulse kicking up. 

“Well, damn,” you murmur, leaning back into his chest, feeling his heartbeat thud against your spine. “Good thing I’ve got killer taste in men.”

He chuckles into your hair, a low rumble, and kisses the crown of your head, his breath stirring the strands. His hands start moving—slow, careful circles on your shoulders, knuckles brushing the curve of your arm, thumbs digging into the tense muscle of your upper back, kneading out the ache.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, voice drowsy but thick with promise, “I’m cooking you breakfast in bed.”

You grin, shifting your hips just enough to grind against his cock, making him groan low in his throat. 

“Only if you serve it naked.”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s strained, his hips twitching forward, cock stiffening against your ass. 

“If you keep talking like that,” he rasps, voice dropping dark and hungry, “you’re getting round three before the sun’s up.”

Your thighs clench, pussy throbbing at the thought, still slick with him. You don’t pull away, don’t let him slip out of reach—instead, you press back harder, feeling the heat of him, the sticky mess of his pre-cum smearing wider. 

“Prove it,” you whisper, voice a dare, a spark.

Sanji freezes for half a second, breath catching, then he’s on you—flipping you onto your back with a growl, his hands pinning your wrists above your head, his body looming, cock fully hard now, dripping onto your stomach. 

“Oh, ma déesse,” he breathes, eyes wild, lips curling into a feral grin. “You’re gonna regret that.”

Your thighs clench.

You decide not to sleep just yet.

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

[softlyposessive]

Hello, do you write for ennoshita? i wanna see more yan fics of him

I haven't yet, but most certainly can~ feel free to send in a request anytime ♡ i’d love to write more yan!ennoshita ✧

[softlyposessive]

Can I request Yandere Omega Izuku Midoriya x Alpha Male reader. Alpha male reader is kind of a jock, big, strong, protective alpha but a sweetheart, kind, and caring. Yandere Omega Izuku has had a cush on Alpha male reader since before UA beause Alpha male reader was nice to Izuku even when he was quirkless, and is sill crushing on him now that they are both in UA together.

Soft Words, Sharp Teeth

 ♡ Character: Yandere Omega!Izuku Midoriya x Alpha!Male!Reader  ♡ Warnings: Yandere themes, soft jock alpha reader, obsession, A/B/O dynamics, stalking, yandere thoughts (not super dark), pheromone/scent mention ♡ A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on my last post… over 200 likes on my very first fic is actually insane and made me do a little scream into my pillow <33 I’m so grateful to everyone who read, reblogged, and sent sweet messages—it means the world!! This one was a request (my very first, actually, so I hope it satisfies!) Thank you for the delicious prompt, and please feel free to keep sending them in!! I had way too much fun writing soft jock alpha reader with an unhinged omega Midoriya watching him like a hawk. Hope you enjoy the descent~  ♡ WC: ~1k

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

You’ve always liked the way Izuku smells. It’s subtle. Calming. Kind of like fresh-cut grass and ink. You think it might be from all the time he spends scribbling in those notebooks of his, muttering about quirks and battle strategies. But there’s something warmer under it—sugary and a little sharp, like fruit left too long in the sun. Overripe, almost. Dangerous, if you weren’t used to it.

But you are used to it.

You’ve been sharing classes and training sessions since UA started—known each other even longer. You’ve sparred together, sweat together, laughed breathlessly on the ground after Aizawa kicked your asses in joint combat. You’ve carried him when he’s collapsed, tucked him under your jacket when it rained, brought him water bottles when he pushed himself too far. You’ve always looked out for him—because that’s just what you do.

You’re an alpha. The urge to protect is in your very bones. And Izuku’s always looked like someone who needed a little protecting.

Small. Sweet. Nervous. Smiles like he doesn’t think he deserves it.

So of course, back in middle school, when Bakugou was cornering him—snarling like a mad dog with sparks in his hands—you stepped in. It wasn’t even a question. Just instinct.

You remember the look on his face. Like someone had just handed him the moon.

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

It was after a training session, when most of the other students had already parted ways, eager to shower and rest, that you approached him.

“Hey, uh… Midoriya?” You jog up beside him, still wiping sweat from your neck with a towel. “You good?”

He startles like he didn’t hear you coming—which is weird. Omegas usually clock alphas the second they’re within five meters. You’re about to apologize when he turns, eyes wide and shining like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh! Yes! I-I’m good! Fine! Thank you for asking!”

He’s twitchier than usual, fingers tapping rapidly at his thigh. His scent flares—warm and sugary, like the air right before a thunderstorm.

“You sure?” you ask, tilting your head. “You kinda zoned out there.”

He stares at you. Hard.

It’s something he’s done for almost as long as you’ve known him—like he’s trying to memorize your face down to the way your lashes fall.

“You’re always checking on me,” he says softly.

Your ears go a little red. “Well—yeah. That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No,” he says, his smile curling at the corners. “It’s not bad at all.”

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You’ve always liked Izuku. But lately, you’ve started to notice him.

How he always seems to be in the same place as you. How his eyes track you when he thinks you’re not looking. How his scent clings to your clothes sometimes, even when you’re sure you haven’t touched.

You chalk it up to proximity. Dorm life. Sparring partners. Shared meals.

You try not to think too hard about how your favorite hoodie went missing for a week… only to show back up in your laundry pile smelling faintly of something that wasn’t you.

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

“You remember, right?” Izuku says one day after training.

You blink, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Remember what?”

“In middle school. When you helped me.”

You pause, towel halfway to your face. “Oh. Yeah, of course I do. Bakugou was being a dick. You looked like you needed backup.”

A lazy smile makes its way onto your face at the memory—of the way Bakugou balked at the mere idea someone would contradict an alpha as powerful as him. He’s always been a little full of himself that way.

“I did,” Izuku murmurs. “And you were the only one who gave it.”

You shift awkwardly. Compliments always feel weird coming from him—too intense. Like he’s seeing something you don’t. Like there are heavy meanings behind his innocent words.

“I mean… anyone would’ve done it.”

“No,” he says—and suddenly, he’s close. Close enough that you can see the freckles on his neck, the way his lips part like he’s tasting your scent. “No, they wouldn’t have.”

You swallow, the hairs on your neck standing on end. His eyes are green fire.

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You’re in the library studying together when he looks up at you innocently, chin resting in his palm, a gentle smile on his face.

“Do you… have anyone?”

You blink in surprise, not expecting a question so bold from the shy omega in front of you.

“Huh?”

“A partner,” he says casually, tilting his head. “Anyone you’re scent-matching with? Nesting? Courting?”

You laugh nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “Uh. No. Not really. Haven’t had time.”

Izuku tilts his head. His lashes lower. His scent pulses in waves like heat. It’s sickly sweet and all-encompassing—the familiar smell washes over you.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes refocusing on the papers in front of him, scribbling quickly in a notebook.

You laugh again, but it’s thinner this time. “You’re not, like… trying to set me up with someone, are you?”

He pauses, pen stilling on the page. Then he looks up again with those same intense green eyes. You freeze, feeling your heart rate spike.

“I think I’d be a good omega for you,” he says simply—like it’s the weather forecast. He punctuates it by sliding his chair just a little closer to yours.

The words hit you like a punch to the chest.

You stare at him. He’s still smiling. Still soft. Still sunshine and tea and nervous fingers. But there’s something underneath it now—something sharp. Wild. A thread pulled too tight.

“You—you’re teasing, right?”

He laughs. Light. Easy. But his eyes never leave yours.

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You walk away, a little shaken. Behind you, Izuku stays still. Watching.

His fingers twitch at his side.

Your scent is stronger today. Tired. Vulnerable. A little confused.

It makes him want to crawl under your skin. Make you understand.

You don’t need to keep looking. You don’t need to be gentle to anyone else.

You’ve already chosen. You just don’t know it yet.

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

[softlyposessive]

Just casually writing smut at karaoke (˘･_･˘) Nothing like describing face-sitting in vivid detail while someone’s passionately singing Bohemian Rhapsody in the next room.

Stay tuned. (｡•́‿•̀｡)

[softlyposessive]

I was curious when I saw your blog and I would like to start sending in some requests, but I wanted to ask a few questions first if that’s ok,

1. Are you ok with writing Yandere?

2. Would you be ok writing for character x Yandere reader?

-🎀

Hello darling 🎀Nonnie~

Thank you so much for your message, and absolutely—questions are always welcome! I’m really happy you were curious enough to stop by ♡

To answer:

Absolutely yes, I’m happy to write Yandere content! Soft yandere, obsessive and devoted, delusional sweetheart, feral clingy boy—gimme all of it. I eat that trope like it’s a midnight snack.

Also yes, I’m very down to write character x Yandere reader! Unhinged reader behavior? Reader climbing in their window at night like “this is fate”? Reader acting normal to everyone else and terrifyingly intense to the love interest? YES. Inject it into my veins.

So yes, yes, and please send ‘em in anytime ♡ I’m ready to write some deliciously toxic love ♡ˎˊ˗

[softlyposessive]

♡･ﾟ𓏸 Strawhats General Romance HC 𓏸･ﾟ♡

♡ Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Franky, Nami, Robin, gn!reader ♡ Warnings: Mild suggestiveness, affection, fluff, a hint of perviness (Franky/Sanji), emotional softness, use of Y/N

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

🍖 Monkey D. Luffy

Doesn’t “get” romance in a traditional sense—just knows he likes being with you

PDA KING: hugs, kisses, clinging, piggybacks, sleepy snuggles—he doesn’t care who's watching

You’re part of his “treasure,” just like his hat or the Sunny

Always shares his meat with you = highest love language

Excitedly shows you off: “Isn’t my partner the coolest?!”

Kisses you out of nowhere just because the thought hit him

Never jealous, but very possessive (“They’re mine, okay?”)

If you’re sad, he’ll do something dumb to make you laugh, no hesitation

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You’re lounging on the grass of the Sunny’s deck, sketchbook resting on your knees, when Luffy drops beside you like a sack of bricks—arms already wrapping around you like he belongs there (because in his mind, he absolutely does).

“Draw me!” he announces, beaming.

“I’m literally in the middle of something—”

“Draw me anyway! I’m cooler than the ocean!”

You raise a brow, unimpressed. “You’re blocking the sun.”

He squints up at the sky, then grins. “Good. Now it can’t burn you. I’m protecting you.”

You sigh, but he catches your smile before you can hide it. He plants a quick kiss on your cheek, grinning like he just won something.

“I like when you smile at me,” he says. “So I’m staying here forever.”

⚔️ Roronoa Zoro

A man of few words, but deep loyalty

Not into PDA… unless he's drunk, injured, or real worked up

Shows love through actions: carrying stuff, training with you, always keeping you in his line of sight

Would literally rather die than say “I love you”… but “I’ll protect you” hits just as hard

Naps with you in quiet corners like it’s the safest place on earth

Notices when you’re upset even if you don’t say anything

Never pressures you to talk—just sits with you in the silence

Compliments are rare but hit like a truck: “You fight good.”

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

It’s quiet in the crow’s nest as you stretch out across the floor, sun leaking in through the glass above. Zoro’s already settled nearby, arms crossed, swords propped neatly behind him.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth lull you. “You always nap here?”

“Sometimes,” he mutters.

You peek at him through one eye. “Because it’s quiet?”

He pauses. “Because you’re here.”

You blink.

He doesn’t look at you, just leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. “...Don’t read into it.”

But when you shift closer, he doesn't stop you. Just opens one hand, palm-up, and waits.

You take it without a word. He squeezes once.

🍳 Vinsmoke Sanji

Peak gentleman behavior: doors opened, chairs pulled, “after you, my love~”

Cooks for you constantly—meals tailored exactly to your tastes

Doesn’t flirt with anyone else once you’re his. Eyes. Only. For. You.

Genuinely thinks you’re out of his league and tries so hard to be worthy

Shows love through service: food, comfort, acts of care

Swoons constantly—every look, smile, or compliment makes him melt

Big on romantic moments: dancing on the deck, candlelit dinners, stargazing

Jealousy is his fatal flaw—he trusts you, but hates other men looking at you

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You lean against the galley doorway, watching Sanji work—spinning pans, slicing vegetables with the grace of a man who was born to impress.

“I hope you’re hungry, mon trésor,” he calls, noticing you. “Dinner is almost as perfect as you are.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “If you keep talking like that, I’m gonna kiss you in front of the crew.”

He stumbles mid-stir.

You walk over, and before he can recover, you lean up and kiss his cheek. He completely shuts down—face flushed, smoke practically curling from his ears.

“I—I wasn’t prepared—”

“You never are,” you tease, sitting at the counter.

He turns away with a lovesick groan. “One day you’ll kill me and it will be delicious.”

🛠️ Usopp

SO frazzled when you get together, he barely believes it’s real

Tries to act cool and confident… ends up stammering every time you smile at him

You had to make the first move—he was too scared of scaring you off 😭

Not a fan of PDA; too flustered—but interlocked pinkies? Yes please

Loves your company while he’s tinkering, especially if you ask questions or bring snacks

Tries so hard to impress you with his tall tales—“Yeah, I once fought a sea king with one hand tied behind my back!”

Wants to protect you… but let’s be real, you’ll probably be the one pulling him out of danger

Will burst into flames if you tease him or call him handsome—please, he is fragile

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You settle beside him as he fiddles with a new gadget, oil smudged on his fingers and one eye squinted shut.

“Is that one of your new noise traps?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand.

Usopp jumps. “Y-yeah! Uh, I mean—of course! It’s… a top-secret, high-powered… thing! For… pirates. Bad ones. Very bad ones!”

You smile. “Sounds impressive.”

He turns pink down to his collar. “W-well, you know me! Captain Usopp! Sniper of the—”

You brush his hair back from his forehead. He malfunctions like a broken music box. “Oh no. No no no. D-don’t look at me like that. I will melt. I will catch fire.”

You giggle and lace your pinky with his, and he just sits there, stunned and smiling like an idiot.

🔧 Franky

HIGH ENERGY BOYFRIEND 🚨💥 but so sweet to you it’s unreal

Constantly hypes you up: “LOOK AT MY SUPER BABE!!”

PDA-heavy but not shy about it being a little saucy 😏

Probably made you a robot heating pad for cramps. Or a body pillow that feels like him. Or a transforming plushie bed.

Loves when you hang out with him while he works—extra points if you hand him tools or wear his goggles

Brings you up in every convo: “Y/N said that once!” “Me and Y/N do that too!” “You know who loves this? Y/N.”

Shows you off to everyone like you’re the best invention he’s ever made

His fridge-chest is your new snack drawer, but ONLY if you’re nice and say “please” with a kiss

Big cuddles, big laughs, and big hands roaming—he’s part cuddle-pillow, part perv, and all yours 💙

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You flop onto his lap as he tightens bolts on his newest invention, arms flinging wide.

“Baaaabe, I’m boooored.”

Franky grins down at you over his shades, one eyebrow cocked. “You’re laying on a human-sized, fully-modified snack vending machine, sweetheart. Bored? Never heard of her.”

You tap his chest and it opens with a satisfying psssht!—a row of your favorite treats neatly stashed inside.

“I rest my case,” he says, beaming like a man who just invented love.

You take a candy bar and nuzzle into his chest. It’s warm. Soft. Heated. Literally.

“Did you mod yourself to be comfier for me?” you ask, squinting up at him.

He kisses your forehead, unapologetically smug. “Damn right I did.”

🧡 Nami

She definitely goes easier on you when you mess up—still scolds you, but there’s a soft spot 🥺

If you’re good and make her laugh, she might even forgive your debts (temporarily...)

Loves being spoiled: praise, kisses, shoulder rubs, gifts—she laps it up like sunshine

Loves styling you up: matching outfits, cute accessories, doing your makeup with soft concentration

Hand-holding in public is a must, especially when she’s dragging you to the next boutique

You will carry her bags. She will kiss your cheek for it, so it's fine.

Late night giggles under shared blankets, secrets whispered while the crew sleeps

She’s a little possessive, but it’s cute—flashes a smile that says “They’re mine, back off~”

She won’t say "I need you"—she says, “Don’t be late coming back, okay?”

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

You're perched on the edge of her bed, shirt halfway buttoned, as Nami flits around the room gathering accessories. She returns with a pair of sunglasses and a patterned scarf, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“Okay, sit still—don’t make that face, I’m making you beautiful,” she teases, already fluffing your hair.

“Was I not beautiful before?” you ask, mock-offended.

She leans in with a sly grin, her hands sliding to your shoulders. “You were cute. I’m upgrading you to iconic.”

When she’s done, she pulls out her compact mirror and positions you both in the reflection—your outfits perfectly coordinated, colors matching like a magazine spread.

She smiles, satisfied. “Perfect.”

You beam at her.

“Now,” she adds, handing you four heavy shopping bags. “Let’s go out. You’ll be my arm candy and my pack mule.”

You laugh. She grabs your hand.

And honestly? You’d carry a hundred more.

📚 Nico Robin

She’s not subtle with her flirting—loves to watch you short-circuit when she purrs your name

Has so much fun teasing you in front of the crew with sultry whispers and sly smiles

Remembers every little thing you love and weaves it into surprises, snacks, reading recs, affection

Doesn’t do flashy PDA, but always keeps a soft hand on you—knee against yours, pinkies touching

At night, it’s a different story: kisses to your temple, warm cuddles, whispered reassurance

She’s your safety net when you fall apart—calm, warm, and steady

Lets you lay on her chest while she reads, fingers absently brushing your back

Her love is quiet but ever-present. You never have to ask—you just know

She smells like paper and jasmine and home. You’d live in her arms if you could.

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

The ship is quiet, lit only by the soft orange glow of the reading lamp beside her. You curl up beside Robin in the library nook, your head resting against her chest while she flips a page with elegant fingers.

Her heartbeat is steady beneath your ear. Her hand brushes over your arm, slow and reassuring.

“You were teasing me so bad earlier,” you murmur, voice muffled against her blouse.

“I was,” she agrees, not denying it for a second.

You glance up at her, cheeks warm. “It’s cruel how good you are at it.”

She closes her book, setting it aside, and tilts your chin up gently with two fingers. “You’re easy to fluster. And very, very pretty when you’re trying not to show it.”

You sigh, defeated, and press your face back against her, hiding in the scent of old books and jasmine. Her arms come around you without question.

“I don’t always know what I’m doing,” you admit softly. “But I feel better when I’m with you.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Just kisses your forehead and holds you close, lips brushing your skin as she whispers, “Then stay here. You don’t have to know everything. You just have to rest.”

And in her arms, you do.

[softlyposessive]

Knock, knock… your new fanfic dealer has arrived

<< ♡ >>

Welcome to SoftlyPossessive, a little corner of the internet where devotion knows no boundaries. Whether that’s soft, tender love or a darker, more obsessive side, I’m here to bring you the stories you crave.

If you're into fictional characters being obsessed with you—whether that’s through gentle touches, intense devotion, or love of all kinds—you’re definitely in the right place.

I’m a new writer who enjoys writing as a hobby, and I’m excited to share my love for these fandoms !

✧ What I Write ✧ — One Piece — BNHA — Haikyuu — Obey Me — Demon Slayer — ABO, yandere, angst, fluff, smut — WLW & MLM friendly—I write for all loves, genders, and orientations.

Requests: Open! Send me your ideas and let’s get started!

Rules: — No minors—all characters are aged up. — Uncomfortable topics like scat, vomit, cheating, excessive gore/body horror won’t be included. — All x reader stories will be gender neutral, unless stated otherwise. — Trigger warnings will be at the top of each post, please read at your own discretion. — If you want specific traits/features or a gender for your request, please specify!

Feel free to send in your requests, ideas, or any questions you have! I’m always up for creating new content. Keep in mind, I’ll do my best to include the themes and characters you love most.

New here? Drop an ask, say hi, or reblog something so we can be mutuals. Now tell me—who’s your favorite anime husbando/waifu?