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fanaticsnail · 1 day ago

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Ease the tension

Masterlist here

Word Count: 4,500+

Synopsis: After an extremely long stint at sea, tensions were at an all time high aboard the Thousand Sunny. The one person that never seemed to let it impact the important work needing doing aboard was the ships cook, Sanji. Deciding he must be as pent up as the rest of the crew, you offer to help him ease it. What you didn't expect was how truly dominant being tense would make him.

Themes: Dom!Sanji x gn!reader, mdni, smut, 18+, NSFW, blowjobs, semi-public sex, kitchen sex, minor BDSM, top!Sanji, mean!Sanji (little bit, not much), coaching, praise, no prior relationship, mutual crush.

Notes: Massive shout out to @mermaniaa and @autumnnjoy for being a listening ear and beta reading this for me. Love you guys! Thank you for helping me out 🖤

“Just what the hells do you think you’re doing?” Sanji’s panicked voice called down at you as you knelt by his feet. The cool tiles of the kitchen met with your knees as you gazed up at Sanji with your eyes rounded and innocent. Your actions, however, were quite the opposite. Fiddling with his belt buckle, you effortlessly pulled the leather strap from its iron fastening while still peering up through rounded eyes and blinking nonchalantly at him.

It had been several long and grueling weeks of travel aboard the Thousand Sunny. Tensions had been beginning to arise in the comradery between the crewmates. Zoro was stuck in a bout of silence while only interacting with Sanji in an effort to bait him into a fight, Robin confined herself to her room to escape from the noise that was Usopp and Luffy bickering over who the captain truly was in one of the retellings of complete and utter lies, Nami was trying to balance her books before yelling up at Zoro regarding increasing the interest on his loans due to late repayments.

Chopper was more mopey than usual as he stated he was running out of medical supplies, while Franky was starting new projects left right and center to ease his ever whirring mind, and Brook was seemingly playing the same song over and over again. It was pure and utter nonsense, and the migraine forming in the back of your mind only eased up when the smile of the ship’s cook dawned on you like pure sunlight as he offered you tea.

Sanji has always managed to draw a smile out of you. There was never the moment of tension truly between you, and your friendship only seemed to grow more while you chronicled the journey of the Straw Hats. You pondered this more throughout the day spent etching in notes and cataloging memories from the last island you made port at.

However, each time you made a scratch in the notations, your mind always seemed to be drawn back to the ship’s cook.

The chef of the Thousand Sunny ran his kitchen like the commercial one back at Baratie. He got up at 5am to begin breakfast preparations. After breakfast was conducted in a varying schedule throughout the day, he moved onto several elements of preparing snacks for the next few days before the lunch meal was completed - all the while ensuring there were no dishes left behind to dirty the countertops in his work space. After lunch, there were further snacks. After snacks, there was dinner to prepare while dessert was being set in the refrigerator or baking in the oven.

Then he would do it all over again, each time the kitchen being more spotless and clean than the last.

As Sanji made his way back to the kitchen, you snapped your chronicler’s journal shut and hastily finished your tea. Your migraine had long-since left you with a newfound purpose forcing your momentum in every solid step.

Sanji was already doing the dishes, finally polishing the last pot with a dried tea towel before placing it on the overhead rack above his cooking space. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, rings left in a small dish beside the sink where they normally were when he would cook, and a him of a song he learned from the kitchens we're leaving his lips as he whittled down the wick of his cigarette to the edge of the filter.

You watched as he carefully began the routine of adding a moisturiser to his hands, ensuring the epitome of care to every nook and crevice of his greatest treasures. His hands were what formulated his art, and they needed protecting from any soaps and chemicals used in his duties. After the moisturiser came the rings. One by one, those circlets of beauty slid back on the pirate-chef’s lengthy digits down to the knuckles. The sight alone almost had you drop to your knees.

Which is where you found yourself presently.

“I’ll ask you again,” Sanji’s voice snapped you out of your momentary daze while your fingers set to work at his pant button, “What in the hells are you doing?”

All you could do was simply smile up at him while quickly flickering the onyx button outside of its fabric fastening. Before you had the opportunity to relieve him of his zipper, Sanji’s delicate hands gently grasped yours in a bid to stop them. You blinked rapidly while you wriggled your hands within his grip in a bid to continue completing what you set out to accomplish.

“Sanji,” you softened your voice and exhaled an exasperated sigh, “You’ve been taking such good care of us. You always seem to ease the tension with the crew by just being yourself.” You returned your eyes up to his and darted them between his shocked and partially disgruntled eyes. “I just… I wanted a way to ease your tension in return. If-... I mean… if you don't want me to-.”

“-I don't want you to,” Sanji hastily cut you off. Releasing your hands from his grip, he slowly reached down to take your chin in his thumb and freshly ringed index finger. Your breath hitched as shock and embarassment only had an opportunity to find you for a second before Sanji’s thumb tapped on your lower lip. Barely understanding what was occuring, the pad of Sanji’s thumb entered your mouth and pressed down firmly on your tongue as he did so.

“At least, not in my freshly mopped kitchen,” he uttered with a soft quirk of his lip. Your eyes continued gazing up at him while you instinctively began rolling his thumb on your tongue and gently bobbing your head at a very subtle increment.

Sanji’s eyes held an aura of command that you had only seen a handful of times: in battle with a foe about to be conquered, focussed on a dish that required extra handle and care, and bartering with a vendor to get the best price on the freshest produce. You had begun feeling like an enemy made from the best ingredients at the most fortunate price before Sanji removed his thumb from your mouth and gently rubbed your saliva over your lips and chin.

“And just what were you planning on doing to ‘ease my tension’, hm?” he quipped down at you, removing his hand from your face while the other fiddled with his belt. “Offer me a hasty relief with manic frivolity before I begin preparing the evening meal? Suck my cock in the kitchen, kneeling down before me at the sink and watch me unravel at your touch? No. I don't think so.”

The crack of his belt leaving the hoops lining his pants struck the air like lightning. He drew his other hand up to the belt and began fiddling with the leather and sockets. Butterflying it out to the sides, he nodded with his whiskered chin down at your kneeling body.

“Hands. Now,” Sanji ordered down at you. You gingerly rose your hands up in front of him with mild alarm ringing now in your eyes. He soothed you with a smile while strapping the loops around your wrists and tugs you closer to him. Leaning down towards you, Sanji tilts his head to the side and smiles warmly down at you.

“While I appreciate you taking the initiative to seduce me, darling,” he encouraged you with his smile still beaming down at you, “I don't want us doing anything like this in my kitchen. Contrary to popular belief, us chef’s from Baratie don’t particularly enjoy sexual acts in the space we work.” He leaned away from the sink, drawing you by your wrists to shuffle on your knees to follow behind him.

“It takes all the routine out of the kitchen, and throws everything off balance.” He aided you to your feet first, still beaming radiantly at you with a soft smile, he began leading you by the end of his belt towards the green sofa lining the circular port windows.

“Now,” he sighed out, turning back to face you and plonking himself down on the sofa while gazing up at you with a sweet smile, “Where were we, hm?” You rolled your eyes and slowly lowered yourself to kneel between his thighs. His knees straddled out beside each of your shoulders as you made yourself comfortable at between them.

“I was offering you a bit of stress relief because you’ve been taking care of us for far too long all by yourself,” you shrugged nonchalantly, moving your leather-cuffed hands to his parted fly and rubbing circles with your thumbs against his crotch. “You’re always so attentive to everyone's needs, working so hard to keep us happy and comfortable aboard in long stints at sea. I just wanted to give you something that I know you needed.”

“And how do you know what I need, hm?” Sanji leans down towards you, gently scrunching his nose and peering at you through the lengthy curtain of his bangs. He playfully. tapped your nose gently with his index finger. You initially frown before offering him a small pout to mask your hidden grin.

“Be so kind as to educate me, chef?”

A small spark bloomed behind Sanji’s eyes, blackening his globes as he leaned his back on the punctured sofa. Letting out a shaken sigh, he gently reached forward with his unoccupied hand and gently cupped your cheek while tugging on the belt.

“Alright then, chronicler,” Sanji mirrored your expression back at you, smirking while angling his chin upwards in a soft taunt. “Get my cock out for me and I’ll talk you through what to do with it.” He released your chin and leaned back against the sofa once more, gazing adoringly with his smile, but with that hidden fire in his eyes you can come to enjoy. You peer up at Sanji with a warm, tight-lipped smile and began to fiddle with his pants and reach gently inside his briefs.

Drawing your hands beneath the elastic waistband, your digits trail along the dark blonde patch of his neatly trimmed hair before finally reaching down and grasping his cock. He was already swelling with need as he twitched in your single-gripped hand. Slowly, you reveal his flushed tip and outwardly sigh at how beautiful he truly was. Sanji took care of his appearance, certainly, but his cock was smooth and simply almost sweet to behold.

“There you go, darling,” Sanji praised you, “That's good. Now, gently grip around my shaft and slowly pump it in your hand.”

“I have given a handjob before, Sanji,” you scoff while doing as instructed, gently fastening your hands around his cock. Gently rolling his velvety skin backwards and forwards along the ever-swelling shaft, you were surprised when he yanked the belt looped around your hands hard enough to hold you stationary.

“But you haven't given one to me, have you?” Sanji retorted with his smile turning more cheeky and mischievous, “And you were adamant about this being for me, right?” His smile grew yours on your face with a natural radiance, your own reflecting his mischief as he slowly released the belt to slack the binds.

“Yes, chef-,” you began, halting as he spoke over you.

“-It’s ‘Sanji’ here, darling. I don't want to be thinking about work when I've got you doin’ that to my cock,” he chuckled easily before his throat hitched with a small moan catching within, “Routine, you know?” You nodded as you moved your hands along his shaft, only ever gently caressing it in a soft tease in lieu of the hastened pace you were going to gift him in the kitchen, “That's it. Nice and slow. I… I like a bit of delayed gratification, you know? Like waiting for a souffle to rise in the oven or a brisket roasting over a low and slow coal in a barbecue.”

“I see why I don't call you ‘chef’ while doing this,” you chuckled as you moved your other hand to his inner thigh, “Comparing a handjob to brisket is very unsexy. ‘Souffle’, I don't mind. I could get behind 'Souffle'.” Sanji chuckled before a soft sigh flew from his lips while he hung his head back on the stippled backrest.

“H-hah. A little firmer and faster,” he gasped while his hips involuntarily twitched in a small bucking motion. You pressed firmly down on his thighs while you strengthened your hold slightly and focussed on drawing up your thumb to gently stimulate his frenulum with every up-tug. Sanji let out a breathy moan as he turned back to gaze at you.

“Th-That’s nice,” his soft praise was as melodic as those soft moans he was granting you, “Focus on my tip a little, darling. What you're doing with your thumb, I want it there. It’s sensitive, you know?” You bite your lip as mischief continues to grow in between the both of you. The thick air of lust was palpable as your own ignored need began to swirl in your abdomen and tingle in your pants.

Instead of using the hand pumping his cock, or the other bracing against his thigh, you leaned your mouth forward and lulled your tongue out and gently flickered the muscle over the small slit at the top of his mushroomed tip. Sanji’s whimper was unexpected, but he hastily recovered by reaching his hand to cradle the back of your neck.

“I don't particularly like teasing. Delayed gratification, yes. Teasing, no thank you,” his chastise was laced with playful admiration as he drew your lips closer to his tip, “If you're keen on sucking it, please suck it. Don't taunt me with just a little lick. Open up and let me feel that beautiful mouth wrapped around all of me.”

Sliding your lips over his cock, Sanji gently coaxed you lower with his fingers splayed over the back of your neck. Inch by inch, you focussed on swallowing around him while he eased you to take him entirely into your throat. You gulped a little, choking as the blunt tip brushed against your tonsils, but you took a few stabilising breaths through your nose and continued on deeper.

Once snugly fitting in the back of your throat, Sanji eased you back up to swirl your tongue over his tip. You followed the swiping motion of your thumb prior, swirling against his frenulum before bobbing greedily against his cock. At each pass of your lips circling his cock and swallowing around him, Sanji’s breath escaped him in small huffs and pants.

Contrary to his earlier notions, Sanji was as pent up as the rest of his crew. His work simply never ended, and his supplies were running scantily close to the end of its tether. He usually waited until his shift finished for the night, returned to the boys’ shared quarters, and viciously pumped his cock while his hand was clapped over his lips to halt his whimpers to relieve his tension.

It was just not working as much as it usually did. Not when you would always offer him a soft smile. Not when you would always offer him a gentle touch. Not when you would always offer, without fail, to aid him in the kitchen if it was simply too much to handle alone.

He could always rely on you, depend on you, and expect you as someone to lean on when travelling on the seas - likely why he was so keen on ensuring you had everything you needed. While you were not together romantically, you both had an unspoken familiarity with one another that had a small promise of more being possible to unfold.

The unspoken familiarity was further halted from speaking while your lips muffled themselves around his cock, humming and messily sucking around him as if his bliss was your life’s tether. Sanji let out a low groan as he felt his need reach its pinicle.

“Ffffffuuuuuck,” he whispered, gently massaging his fingers over your scalp and rocking his hips to meet your momentum. “That's it. Just there. Keep doing that. Y-You just keep doing that and you'll make me cum.” He tries desperately to keep his voice as even, commanding, and dominant as he began this small session together. As you hummed around him, vibrating your voice and flattening your tongue over your bottom lip, he simply couldn't help himself.

You gazed up at him and depicted simply need. A need to be filled, a need to be used, a need to satisfy, a need to ensure the Chef of the Thousand Sunny knew how truly valued and cherished he was by spilling his hot cum down your throat. He met your eyes with his own and picked up the pace of aiding you to gulp his lengthy down your throat and bucking up to match your bobbing.

“G-Gonna cum. Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum. I-I’m g-gonna-!” He warned you, which only made you keep the pace and focus on your task. Molten rings of his viscous ecstasy coated your throat, forcing your parted lips to swallow around him to the best of your abilities. The thick gulping sound of you drinking him in only seemed to have him cum harder into your mouth, the tadte barely making contact with your palate as you greedily consumed him.

“Cumming,” he panted, holding your head down to the base of his cock, pressing your nose flush against his pubic hair, “Fuck. Fuck. Gnghhh-, shit. T-Take it. That's my good little thing. Swallow it all.” He gave a few shallow thrusts into your mouth while holding you close. Just as your eyes began to water from lack of oxygen, he pulled your head off his cock and gently held your chin in his cupped hand.

“Come up here, darling,” he gasped. His entire face was flushed with that soft glow of relief as he soothed over your skin. The hand behind your head moved to his belt and slowly removed the buckles from your bound hands. He eased you onto your wobbly legs, slowly moving you to sit on his lap. His cock slowly deflated at every moment, still limply lingering over his belt as you straddled his lap.

“How are you feeling, Sanji?” you asked him while bringing your hands over his chest and gently caressing the cotton button-up stretched over his torso. Sanji moved his hands to your hips, rubbing soothing circles against your body with his thumbs.

“Like my ‘tension has been eased’,” he parotted your words back at you with a charming smirk. You shook your head and clicked your tongue at him in a bid to scold him, only halting as he drew his head up to nuzzle his face into the nape of your neck. You move your hands over his shoulders and hold him close to you, gently reaching up and caressing his soft hair with your hands.

“I'm happy to be at your service like this whenever you need it,” you affirm to him with a small smile in return, “I mean it. Any time you need relief like this, I'm more than happy to be there for you.”

“Careful now, sweetheart,” he chuckled, rubbing his forehead into your neck before pressing a gentle kiss against your throat, “I'd never want you to leave.” He slowly moved up and blinked dotingly at you through a flurry of his lengthy eyelashes, “Although, what I'd really prefer is just this. Just a little bit of human contact, you know? Human contact that isn't me and the moss-head sparring while we yell at each other. Just… Just me holding you like this is enough for me to feel relaxed.”

“Just like this?” you asked him, tilting your head to the side. He smiled up at you as he gently nodded his head at you.

“Just like this. Are you… are you okay with this?” Sanji asked softly against your skin. He pressed a deep and soft kiss against your skin, slowly moving gently up to caress his doting lips over your jaw and up to your cheek. His actions were soft, an apology laden in every motion for his prior rough treatment. “I went a little overboard. I… I don't usually have the luxury of being a little bit unrelenting. I'm usually a bit more gentle and doting when I… I mean, I don't usually have people doing this act for me in the beginning. Personally, I like giving a whole lot more.”

“If I didn't want it, I wouldn't have let you do it. I trust you, Sanji,” You hum as he continues to worship your cheek, neck and chin, slowly moving his kisses to above your lips. He hovered over your lips and tilted up his head, asking for permission non-verbally to kiss you. You tilt your own head in return and raise your eyebrow at him playfully to encourage his words.

“Can I kiss you, please?” Sanji asked sweetly, his hands softly beginning to caress your back softer before lingering over your ass. You laughed and shook your head in disbelief at his question.

“Of course you can,” you smile down at him. Leaning closer, you draw your lips over his before pressing them fully against the skilled chef. He immediately parted your lips and needily explored your mouth with his deep and desperate kiss. Your tongues collided in a messy and enthusiastic kiss, flickering together and tasting one another as you added a deep intensity.

“I want to pay you back,” Sanji muffled his speech against your lips, “I need to make you feel good too. Worship your skin, feel your flesh warming mine, show you how truly sorry I am for getting rough with you just now.” His hands move to gently place you on your back beside him. You laugh against his lips as he adjusts his pants back up, doing the top button and moving to cage you beneath his form.

Just as he began snaking his hand down to your waist, the kitchen door flew wide and your Captain’s smile was what greeted you therin.

“Sanji! Cook up everything you can, we're heading to a new island to resupply-... Oh, hi down there!” Luffy halted his question to approach you as Sanji froze in his position above you. Crouching beside you, Luffy reached out his hand and passed you a sheet of paper, “Nami said this is the map notes for your chronicling journal. Took me a minute to find you. Tried everywhere before I got hungry.”

The both of you exchanged a flickering alarmed look before you addressed your captain and his unwavering grin.

“Did Nami give us an estimate on when we're arriving?” you asked him as you attempted to hide your fluster. Sanji shook his head and disguised his own smile by turning his head into the back of the sofa.

“Said it was all in the notes,” Luffy shrugged before standing up to full stature. “Well, get to it, chef. I'm hungry! Make all of the food we have left in the kitchen. I need everything!”

Luffy rolled on his feet before turning back and exiting the kitchen as hastily as he arrived without mention of the position you and Sanji were situated. Your momentary silent fluster was immediately broken as the two of you began to laugh with every inch of your diaphragms.

The return of joy overwhelmed the both of you at that severed moment crafted by the hands of your captain. Sanji shook his head and pressed a soft kiss to your collar bone before sheepishly gazing up into your eyes. His brows sorrowfully triangulated upwards as a pout warmed his kiss-blown lips.

“I would prefer to return the favor right now, but if you wouldn't mind waiting-.”

“-You and I both know the captain will continue to periodically check on his ‘everything’ until it's done, Sanji,” you shook your head as you halted his words. Gently leaning up, you brushed his nose with your own before gently pressing a hasty kiss against his lips, “Get me back when we get to town? I mean, you don't have to. I didn't do it for you to owe me one, Sanji.”

Sanji shook his head and leaned off your lap, offering his hand to you to lift you up. Taking it, Sanji aided you to your feet and welcomed you into his arms in a warm, fully engulfing embrace. You both sighed out as you felt the tension fully release from your shoulders at the promise of a new port.

Lingering like this for a moment, you both finally pull apart and gaze into one another's eyes. Sanji’s eyes drew half-lidded, swarming with devotion and adoration for you, alongside the lingering promise of new beginnings solidified within this unspoken moment. He leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and holding you to him as if you would vanish at any moment. In the silence, Sanji and you shared breaths to calm yourselves before he finally broke the moment.

“I’m going to make you another tea, and bake something suitable to accompany it,” he nodded as he finally raised his hand to claim your chin in his hand. Slowly rising his thumb to caress your bottom lip, he chuckled and added another note of apology, “Perhaps a little bit of honey and lemon to help with your sore throat. Again, I really am sorry about that.”

“And I'll say it again: if I couldn’t handle it, I could’ve stopped you at any time,” you confirm with him, raising both of your hands up to hold the back of his hand, “I like you, Sanji. In all ways you come, I like you. A bit of meanness from time to time is fine by me, pretty boy.”

Sanji shook his head with a small smile before you both finally pulled away from one another. Sanji pulled out the kitchen barstool for you and gestured for you to sit before assembling the ingredients to brew your tea for you. You hopped up onto the stool and began looking over the notes and charts Nami comprised for you, opening your journal and adding the next stop into your course.

Everything was purely organic and fluid in the way you both worked alongside one another in silence. He assembled a meal, you took note on every ingredient missing and used to restock in town. He brought you your tea, you exchanged your kitchen notes with him. Everything seemed to flow into one, with joy reverberating in every notion where tension was found moments prior.

Sanji was already delegating an entire banquet of what he was going to do with you in his mind, stealing glances and undressing you with his eyes as a soft shudder in every breath drew through every exhale. Where there was once a kind gesture from one friend to another, Sanji was hoping for more to come of this small exchange of stress relief. The lingering promise of what was to come at the next port added an almost giddiness to every action, and you were both anticipating the next chapter of this friendship with hidden smiles and soft kisses at every opportunity.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @mermaniaa @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

#one piece #x reader #sanji #one piece sanji #op sanji #sanji x reader #one piece fanfiction #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #dom!sanji #sanji x gn!reader #one piece smut #x gn!reader

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xxmysticxxx · 3 days ago

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ANOTHER BANGER (SANJI EDITION)

I'm not a sanji girl, but then I saw the author 😌

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly regret oversharing, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

divider courtesy of @cafekitsune tag list @eggrollforyou

#sanji smut #op sanji smut #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #cutesy asf #not funny #i cried #bro this author knows how to make you FEEL

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