Cravings

Cravings

Summary: Sanji has gone much too long without his favorite meal and he fears that it’s driving him insane. Once he finds himself fully alone with you, he takes full advantage of the moment.

Tags: Sanji x afab!reader, nsfw, established relationship, oral (female receiving), fingering, face riding, overstimulation, squirting

Word Count: 3.4k

There’s a hollow pit in Sanji’s stomach this morning and it sets him on edge. He woke up late, a dream of you keeping him asleep longer, one that was cut off too early to be satisfactory anyway. When he got up from bed, the cold air bit harder than usual, settling into his bones and it seemed nothing could warm him. His clothes did not hug his body the way they should have. The image of you sleeping in his bed, hair mussed and sheets rumpled, didn’t leave him warm and fond, but instead running hot and with a fierce ache. The taste that he desires most hasn’t been on his tongue in much too long and he’s afraid it may kill him.

He arrives to the kitchen late. His process is not as smooth as usual, he starts and stops again and again. His foot caught on the stairs on the way up, tripping in a way he never does. He had to pause at the top to take a moment, to relax the building tension in his body. As he searches for ingredients, he has to dig around for much longer. He scans the fridge again and again, his eyes not finding the sauce he wants. He moves bottles and containers around and still cannot find it. He slams the door shut, thinking to try again later. When he does, he finds it immediately. He lights his third cigarette of the morning by then. Everything is too loud, too much. The pots and pans clang and bash as he uses them. A spoon clatters to the counter as it slips from his fingers, another to the floor. He grits his teeth.

Brook was always silent when he came in. There was a routine here by now, a pot of tea waiting on the table for when he wandered in. He waits until Sanji has been in the kitchen for some time before he enters, so he must have noticed Sanji’s late start. This time, Sanji can feel his eyes—or whatever damn thing the skeleton saw with—boring into him. His neck prickles with Brook’s all too knowing gaze and so Sanji waits.

It must have been after his first cup that Brook decides to venture a question. “Has something bothered you at all this morning, Sanji?”

Sanji twitches at his voice even though he had been anticipating it, and grunts. “Nothings bothering me.”

He wonders if he sounds too gruff. Does he grunt like that when he feels fine? He’s sure he does, but does it sound exactly like the way it did just now? Was his answer rude? He asks himself these things even though he can’t do anything about it. He can’t admit to what’s bothering him anyway, isn’t sure what he can do about it either.

The thing is, the past few weeks have been perfect. They ran into some marines, yes, but they’d won and no one had been injured. The last island didn’t bring any issues. The stock has been well kept, Luffy’s grubby finger successfully and consistently kept at bay. They could relax. But that didn’t mean they weren’t busy, or that their ship life meant they had all too much alone time.

It meant that Sanji couldn’t lavish you in the way he wanted. When you could be intimate, it had to be quick. Any time spent with you is time spent in heaven, so he cannot really complain, he still enjoys it immensely. However, it does also mean that you want him as close to you as possible. That you want him inside you as fast as you can. And your love for his mouth on yours means you don’t want to break away to breathe for even a moment. He loves this, he loves this, but it leaves him without having his favorite meal between your legs, and that’s what has got him so irate this morning. To go so long without the taste of your pussy on his tongue might be the thing that drives him insane. He’s considered stealing a pair of your panties to stuff his mouth with while he cooks. It wouldn’t be enough, but it’d be something to tamper the need.

His thoughts turn vile, leachurous, nasty. Thoughts he is always too afraid to say aloud to you. He wonders if you know how good you taste. He thinks of you alone in your shared room, your fingers dipping into your wet cunt and collecting the slick there. Bringing them to your mouth and sucking on your fingers. Fingering and collecting and tasting again and again. He grips the counter and pictures himself showing you how delicious it is. His fingers dipping in and your tongue swirling around his digits, watching your cheeks redden as he describes to you how it feels to drag his tongue through your folds, to shove it in your hole—

The door to the kitchen slams open, followed by confident footsteps, a stride so sure of itself. Zoro. All brashness, he comes in, heading straight for a bottle of sake. Not even a good morning, not even a oi, shit cook. Just coming in to raid his supplies, ruining the perfect fantasy he had going. Sanji starts in on him immediately, legs flying.

The fight doesn’t last long. Sanji’s too focused on getting him out, and Zoro’s too baffled on what the fuck he possibly could’ve done this time to really put much effort into staying.

It isn’t too long until you catch wind of Sanji’s foul mood. Zoro goes storming by, grumbling about some idiot shit cook. As you watch him pass, Brook comes up on your other side. He’s silent as he finds his place next to you, watchful. It’s clear to you he has something on his mind, and you think it may have to do with Zoro’s attitude. You look up at Brook, inviting him to speak.

“Do you know what’s bothering Sanji?” he asks.

You raise your eyebrows and glance in the direction Zoro has just gone, but he shakes his head. “It started before that.”

You frown. “Oh, well, no. I’ll go see what I can find out.”

Brook nods and pats your head as you walk past, perhaps as a way of saying good luck, or maybe thanking you.

When you walk in, Sanji knows it’s you by your soft footsteps. He can pick you out by any sound you make. He knows you by your scent and by the smallest flash of you across his sight. He could be deprived of all his senses and yet he could still pick you out, still know it’s you.

He pauses before he turns, taking in his progress. It’s close enough to done, close enough to breakfast. All he really would have to do is keep most of it warm. His fingers twitch as he thinks of this, as he does the math in his head. I can, I can.

Some mornings, the crew comes in still wearing their pajamas. It depends on the day and the mood of the person as to whether they’ll come to breakfast dressed and ready for the day. For you, the morning has been a lazy one, and you walk in wearing one of his t-shirts with a pair of shorts hidden beneath. Your hair is still a little messy from your pillow. The sight has his cock throbbing.

Before you can fully open your mouth, fully form your question, he’s across the room in a handful of strides. His mouth is on yours immediately, heated and desperate, and he starts dragging you back to the pantry.

“You must forgive me,” he murmurs. “Forgive me for my crassness, forgive me…”

“Sanji?” you ask him, confused and concerned.

Brook and Zoro will be warning everyone off by now. They’ll know you’ve come in to do some sort of damage control, and won’t come in themselves until you give them the all clear. You both have time.

You’re in the pantry, door almost slammed shut so he can push you against it. Sanji drops to his knees and the impact of bone on wood makes your stomach churn.

“Sanji—”

“You must understand,” he cuts you off. “You must understand just how much I need this. I’m sorry but I… I need it.” The last part comes out high pitched as he gets your bottoms off, removed at an impressive speed.

He doesn’t waste anymore time. He latches onto you as he hitches your leg over his shoulder. The moan he lets out is sinful, the shiver that wracks his body almost terrifying. He’s like a dog, the way he immediately starts lapping into you, the way his hips buck as he humps air. Sanji knew he had an affliction, one revolving around you, and could only be solved by you. He knew he was a desperate man, but he did not know just how bad it was.

You give up on trying to get anything more out of him. For one, it’s clear he’s not going to answer you. Two, it’s difficult for you to form words, to form a single coherent thought. He knows you so well that he already has you moaning, arching off the door, and sliding your fingers through his hair.

It’s perfect. It’s exactly what he has been wanting. But some greedy part of himself, one that he tries to keep tucked away, tears its way through, and he feels that it’s still not enough. He adds his fingers, reaching two in to hit that spongy spot that has you keening, because he needs you coming in his mouth now. He needs you tugging on his hair and grinding down onto his tongue right this second.

You give him just that. The way he pumps his fingers so mercilessly into you, the way he sucks on your clit and flicks his tongue, the way he’s so uncharacteristically aggressive with you, has your hips bucking on his face. When he wants you, he’ll ask so sweetly, sliding his hands all over to convince you. He’ll ease you into it or simply beg, face buried in your shoulder. You have to take the final step and say yes. But right now he was just taking, and it made your head swim. He throws you into your orgasm and your legs shake with the force of it.

It’s wet and it’s messy and it has him shivering with delight. And all he wants is more.

He maneuvers you onto the floor so that he can shove his face into you harder. He doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath, he simply keeps licking his way into you. He’s eating so much sloppier, making out with his delicious treat.

There’s an ache in his teeth that he’s unfamiliar with, an urgency in his jaw. It feels similar to when he feels the urge to snap, to dig into someone. His mood swings are constant, a thing everyone is used to, but it’s not a feeling he ever feels towards you. His mouth, as never before, just wants to bite.

You can feel his teeth grazing, wanting to sink into flesh, but never doing so. The sensation makes you shiver. You’ve prompted marking each other before, something he’s glad to let you do, but he can’t bring himself to do it in return. He’s slowly loosening to the idea of hickeys, as they don’t hurt as they’re given. The bruising still bothers him. But biting, he’d always been firmly against biting.

He, as always, never wants to harm, never you, and now he wonders why he tortures himself so. To put his teeth so close but never sink them in. He thinks it may be the yearning, that he always has to have something to ache for, but knows he’ll never receive. Something about what he does and does not deserve. Something about deserving suffering, perhaps. Or maybe he does have a part of himself that likes to toy, to tease.

You’re so sensitive from your first that it doesn’t take him all too long to get you to your second. Your back arches off the floor, the zaps of pleasure running through your spine and all the way down to your toes. The throbbing of your cunt spurs him on and still he does not let up, does not give you a moment to recover. You pull on his hair and wriggle your hips, trying to get him to at least slow down.

“Sanji,” you whine. “‘S too much, too good, I can’t. Please?”

Just taking the short moment to pull back and answer you makes him want to cry. He can’t handle the short distance between him and your pussy. You feel his breath tickle you as he speaks. “Oh, but my sweetheart, please. Don’t you know how good you taste? It just drives me wild. And you’re doing so good for me, squeezing my head and clenching,” his voice hiccups and stutters on the word, “around my fingers… yeah. Yeah, my baby, you can give me more, can’t you? I know you can…”

He dives back in after trailing off, your pussy pulling him back into a trance. The teary look in his eye and desperation to his voice makes it impossible to tell him no. You let out a whimper but say, “Okay...”

He coaxes another out of you, all tongue and fingers and spit. You buck and spasm so hard, legs kicking out, that he has to put in more effort to hold you down, making sure you don’t hurt yourself. And yet he is just not satiated. He never truly is, really, but usually he’d be… calmed by now. Some out of place thing inside of him would be put back. His mind a little clearer. A sense of purpose, a job well done, a need fulfilled. But he feels as jittery and needy as ever.

“Just… just a little more, my love,” he tells you, and starts to move you again.

You can do little else but allow him to do as he pleases, and soon your pussy is hovering over his face.

“Your full weight, baby,” he murmurs, running his hands up and down your thighs, rubbing your hips. “Don’t think, don’t worry about a thing, just sit and feel good.”

You mewl out his name again as he pulls you down. Your thighs give out, unable to hold you, and it causes him to moan in delight. You’re always too worried, too self conscious, to ever fully press down on him. To have you too weak, too fucked out, to hold yourself up was delightful.

Ravenous. Depraved. Deprived. His mouth aches, his tongue and jaw tired, but it doesn’t matter. He feels you start to rock your hips and he groans, but suddenly you yelp and stop. The added movement was too much, overstimulating, and you couldn’t keep it up. Sanji wanted it, though, needed it, and began to grind your hips for you. You cried out, babbling about too good, too much, all over again, with his name in the mix, and you try to crawl away from him.

Good god, what was happening? You’ve never had to crawl from Sanji before. He would overstimulate you at times, so eager and needy for more, more, more that he’d keep going, begging you to let him. But if it was just too much, he’d relent. Kissing and apologizing and thanking you.

He wasn’t listening now, though, and he didn’t let you move. He’s got an iron grip on you, the hardest his hands have held you. The moment he feels you try to move away, his heart twists in panic. He feels like something precious is being taken from him. You're his, your pussy is his, and he couldn’t handle it being taken before he’s done, taken from him ever.

He feels pissed each time he has to stop to breathe, too. He can’t believe his body thinks he still needs air. Why the fuck would he want air right now? His real form of substance is already sitting on his face. It’s a waste of goddamn time to breathe. He was a man built for servitude, pleasure. Breathing currently interrupted that, so why would his body request it?

Above him, you’re barely holding on. You’re on your forearms, panting and moaning and trembling. You can’t form any more words, the babbling having ended a bit ago. All you can do is whisper his name, your throat barely able to say it, and simply keen. You snake a hand down, so shaky the whole way through, and tangle your fingers in his hair. Maybe if you give him this last one, he’ll let you go. You wonder if you’d really want him to. It makes your stomach flip and your pussy pulse to think of him forcing more orgasms out of you.

He’s just as noisy, as he always is, as he has been the whole time. Making slurping noises so lewd it makes your skin burn. A few more guided movements of your hips and your coming again, but this time you’re squirting, gushing all over his face.

This, this, is paradise. Sanji’s cock, neglected and aching and leaking, shoots hot ropes in his pants; a wet and hot mixture soaking through the fabric. His hips buck from just how strong his own orgasm is, his back arching as much as it can. You’re creaming all over his face, from his ministrations, from his love. And oh, how you sing for him. He couldn’t think of a better way to fix his mood, a better thing to cum to.

You collapse, falling to the side and laying there, taking deep, stuttering breaths. Sanji doesn’t move, he keeps his head tucked between your legs, and simply twists to lay on his side as well. He doesn’t continue to eat you out, however, finally relenting and letting you both calm down and find yourselves.

He does take the time to stare at your pussy, though, enjoying the sight. All puffy and swollen and wet; you just look so pretty. He wonders if you’d let him sleep like this at night, so close to a most precious part of you. He likes breathing in the scent of you, watching the way you flutter and clench from him just looking. Your thighs keeping him so warm and cosy. Yeah, he could easily fall asleep like that. He gives you feather light kisses up and down your slit, trying not to push you any more, but you’re so sensitive that you twitch and jolt anyway.

When he’s had his fill—which is to say he hasn’t, he just misses your face terribly—he comes crawling out to hold you. He finds himself equally concerned and bashful. He can’t believe how… demanding he’d been.

“How do you feel, my love?” he asks, sheepish. He pulls you close, squeezing and rubbing at your body, switching between legs and hips and arms.

You hum, and softly answer, “Tired… but good.” You know that what he’s asking for is if he took it too far, did anything wrong. “You always make me feel good.”

“I’m… I’m sorry I—”

“So, so, sooooo good,” you cut him off. For him to crave you so madly that he just has to corner you and pin you down so that he could fuck you with his tongue? How could you not be flattered?

You lift your head to look at him, and his face is dripping. Your slick is smeared all over, his upper lip a mixture of your cum and blood from his nose. His face is flushed from both pleasure and his shyness. He chews his bottom lip, meek from your attention on the mess he’s made.

You giggle. “We need to clean up.”

Sanji grins a little at this. “I don’t know, I quite enjoy my face being covered like this. I might just stay like this all day.”

You stick your tongue out and scrunch your nose. “Gross.”

He smiles wider. “No, my love, this is what bliss looks like.”

“Dork,” you snort.

You both stay like that a little while longer, enjoying each other’s warmth and presence. Breakfast could wait just a moment longer.