#zeff x reader

[mydearlybeloathed]

I loved your fic where the reader is Sanji's little sister!! I could do more of this but with something more angst? (I'm crazy about angst, forgive me 😭😭😭)

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you would have thought your birthday would keep zeff and sanji from bickering—well, you thought wrong.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sanji x littlesister!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pre-opla, reader is sixteen atm, swearing, reader is at the end of her rope

𝐚/𝐧: you're forgiven anon i also enjoy my fair share of angst 🥰

Turning sixteen had never been so awful for anyone in the entire world. You felt for certain of that.

The water of the sea lapped at your bare feet, dangling off the docks of the Baratie. Silence sat over everything, the moon hung high above you. You kicked at the water, angry at it for some reason, and scoffed at the face of the world.

You swore that if you listened hard enough, you could still hear Sanji and Zeff fighting all the way in the kitchens. The sound of their shouting had driven you out here into the fresh sea air, but it hardly helped the frustration welling up in your gut.

When you heard the footsteps coming up behind you, half of you hoped it was Sanji, coming to apologize and wish you a happy fucking birthday. 

You peered over your shoulder to find Patty looming over you, a plate in hand. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi,” you murmured, slouching back over as he knelt down beside you. 

You glanced over as he set the plate beside you, grinning a bit at the slice of cake. “How’s the birthday?”

Scoffing, you said, “Shitty. Per usual.”

Patty pursed his lips, sighing out his frustration, cursing the two idiots who’d driven you out here on your birthday. Still, he looked out at the sea, and told you, “He’s looking for you.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Zeff is too.”

“They took a break from their precious bickering?” You couldn’t help but roll you eyes. “I’m frickin’ honored.”

The chef nudged your shoulder before rising to his feet. “Come on. It’s getting cold.”

You hugged your legs, having no intention of moving. “I’ll freeze.”

“Aww, don’t go all moody teen on me.” Patty half grinned. “I’m barely surviving Sanji.”

Turning your face away from him, you fought down the tears welling up in your eyes. “Go away, Patty.”

The longest moment past, before his footsteps retreated back into the Baratie, and you were left alone. Another birthday down the drain. And all you’d wanted was to spend time with your little family.

જ⁀➴

Patty walked back into the kitchen, brows taut and frown evident. He threw open the doors and glared at the young blond boy who whipped around.

“We’re not rea—”

“Your plan didn’t work,” Patty snapped. “She’s pissed.”

Zeff appeared from around the corner. “So she’s not coming?”

Patty deadpanned, somehow fighting the urge to slap him, if only because Zeff was his boss. “No. She’s not coming.”

Sanji and Zeff turned to each other, each donning an expression of awkward guilt. Sanji sighed. “We messed up.”

“No kiddin’,” Zeff scoffed.

And Patty rolled his eyes, moving to finish setting up this little party. “I’ll finish up.” He glared over at Sanji. “You go fix this.”

“Why me?” Sanji had the nerve to ask. 

“She’s your kid sister!” Patty gritted out. “And this was your bright idea! Let’s start fighting even though we know it makes her sad so we’ll have time to throw a surprise! Yeah, great idea. Now she’s wallowin’ on the docks.”

Your brother’s face fell, the image painted for him flashing across his eyes, and he hated it. This was a bad idea, after all. He’d just wanted to surprise you, but you were too quick for that these days. Sanji thought it’d be fine… “Shit.”

He was halfway through throwing off his apron when Zeff dropped everything and beat him to it. He set a heavy hand on Sanji’s shoulder and shoved him back toward the half decorated cake. “I’ll handle it. Just don’t fuck up the cake with yer shaky hands.”

Sanji stumbled into the counter, eyes narrowed, but he didn’t bother arguing. So Zeff trudged out of the kitchen, face sullen, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to console a teenage girl.

He’d figure it out, he hoped. He was a pirate after all, and pirates don't get scared. Then he stepped out into the midnight air and spotted you swinging your legs off the dock.

Pirates don’t get scared. Except, maybe, of their upset daughters.

You heard him before you saw him, tensing up as the sound of Zeff’s peg leg hobbling up behind you. You didn’t say a word and stared out at the crisp black waters, not knowing why he even bothered as he plopped himself down beside you, moving your untouched plate of cake to the space behind you.

“Hey, Pip,” he started, testing the waters.

“‘Sup.” You were irritated, that’s for sure, but not completely shut off. If you wanted him to go, you’d have said so already, or punched him or jumped into the water or something like that. Zeff didn’t pretend to understand youth these days. Typically, your silence was a good sign.

If Zeff knew you at all, and he ought to after all these years, he’d wager you didn’t want to be alone at all.

His peg leg kicked up some water, disturbing the peace. “You cold?”

It was the warmest night the sea had seen in some time, and he expected you to snap back that it was a stupid question. But you just shifted away and muttered, “Nope.”

Maybe you weren’t as open to talking as he’d thought.

“Listen,” he huffed. “I’m sorry. We both are. It’s just, you know how he gets…”

Your sudden glare shut him up, the set in your jaw a tad bit worrying. “I know how he gets, Zeff. But I still wouldn’t throw a pan at him on your birthday.”

Touche. 

Zeff grimaced. Maybe he overdid it a bit. “Yeah, I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

“Whatever.” You started to tug at your hair, and Zeff noticed how you’d ditched the ol’ pigtail braids. Now, your hair was pulled back into a single braid a bit on the messy side. There was a white ribbon tying it off. 

His stare turned an odd sort of soft, one you didn’t catch often. You glanced up at him quickly, unnerved. “What?”

Zeff didn’t answer right away, choosing to instead take a breath and savor this moment. But you grew impatient, eyes narrow. “What is it, Zeff? Have I got somethin’ on my face?”

Oh, how to explain. How was Zeff to explain just what he thought of you?

You’d surely grown from the little demon who’d bitten him and left a nasty scar on his arm—grown into not so much a demon, but a woman with just the same fire. On odd days he longed for the times when you were small and thought the world of him. When you would come to him for anything and everything. 

When you slipped up and called him “Dad.”

That never happened anymore. You were careful now.

You were growing too fast. If he could hide how awful the world was from you, he would, but it was too late. You were giving up on learning the ways of a chef and instead leaning toward waiting tables, learning to pickpocket like a seasoned criminal when you thought no one was watching. And with every passing day Zeff could see that starvation for something more grow brighter and brighter.

Sometimes he wondered if allowing you to work in his restaurant had been a mistake—he had a rule against women working in such a dangerous establishment as his could be, after all—but you were long past the age of listening to a word Zeff had to say. You and Sanji were alike in that manner.

Zeff shook his head. How did he explain how he had thought he’d been so strong until the day you’d come red faced to him, no older than nine, with just a skinned knee. You weren’t crying, not ever letting a tear fall, but you wanted to, he saw it in your eyes. 

The former captain of the Cook Pirates had felt so strong until he had no clue how to fix what was wrong. 

Zeff hated kids. He hated them, but you and that eggplant of a boy had become exceptions. The pair of you, as frustrating as you could be, had weaseled your way into the old man’s heart. He thinks he’d do just about anything for you, specifically.

How could Zeff begin to explain how much it scared him that his daughter was getting older?

“Zeff?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Got lost a bit.”

You lowered your gaze and shifted, reaching behind you to pick up the cake. There was a singular bite taken out of it. You messed around with the fork. “Patty made this?”

Zeff nodded. “Think so.”

“It’s good. You could do better,” you grinned, setting the plate back down. You’d finish it off later; you never dared to waste food. 

“Yeah?” Zeff chuckled. “Probably.”

You kicked at the water again. “I haven’t decided if I forgive you yet.”

“As expected. Just don’t take too long.” After a moment of thought, and an observation at how you returned to your surly demeanor, he made a decision. “We’ve got somewhere to be.” Zeff turned away the moment you whipped your head around to give him that curious look of yours. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, skeptical.

“Can’t say. It’s a surprise.” He rolled his eyes. “Sanji’s been insistent on a surprise for days. You’re too nosey to keep secrets from, so we needed to get you out of the kitchen…”

He waited for the realization to sink in, and then you were punching his arm with a gasp. “No way! No way you were faking! You’re the worst!” You couldn’t decide between being angry or amused, letting out a laughing scoff at their complete idiocy. “I was about to cry, you bastards!”

Zeff couldn’t help it. He laughed—no, cackled whilst he gently blocked your tiny fist. “Language, Pipsqueak.”

You raised your middle finger and fought hard to hide your growing smile. “I don’t believe you. You’re just covering for yourselves. That fight was real.”

“Or we’re just that skilled at actin’,” he countered. He did admit that after a minute the argument was more real than not. “It was his idea.”

“Zeff.”

“We meant well.” He rerouted his defense. “He’s been going on and on ‘bout this surprise—”

“That you’ve now spoiled.”

“I had to! I wasn’t gonna deal with his moping when you never showed.” You started to protest, making him scoff. “You weren’t gonna show. You’re stubborn.”

You huffed, lunging over to scoop up the sea and splash it in Zeff’s face. The old man sputtered before he reached out a hand and pushed you into the water with barely a shove. You squealed and sank under the water, coming up gasping as thinly veiled hilarity broke past your anger.

Flapping around in the water, you gaped up at Zeff as he wheezed, barely able to get enough air through his laughter. Your own laugh bubbled out of you. “What the fuck, Zeff?”

“You–you started it!” He was still catching his breath, eyes crinkled. “Didn’t mean to push you in.”

Like you believed him. Rolling your eyes, you held out a hand and awaited your rescue. The old man stood to his mismatched feet and gripped your wrist, hoisting you up. You were airborne for at least three seconds with the momentum of his pull, giggling as your feet touched the dock again. 

“I should tell Sanji you ratted him out,” you mused as the night air hit you, shivers running up and down your spine. 

“You won’t,” he said, though there was a slight hope in his eyes that you really were bluffing. You were, of course. As much as you fought with Sanji, you would never dare to ruin his fun—and if planning a surprise for you was fun for him, so be it.

“I won’t,” you agreed. “But I should.”

You started back into the Baratie, crossing your arms tightly to condense what was left of your body heat. Zeff fell into step beside you, his chef’s coat draped over your shoulders not a second later. Stepping inside wasn’t an escape from the cold; if anything, the chill grew worse. 

As much as you hated being cold… you were curious as to what Sanji had cooked up. 

So you braved the frigid walk through the empty dining room, weaving in and out of tables and chairs, and rushed ahead of Zeff to enter the kitchen first. You gave the doors a shove and came face to face with a platoon of balloons bobbing around the ceiling. 

Little purple flowers poked out of various crystal glasses. A sweet smell filled the room. You froze in the doorway, taking it all in, and noticed Sanji at the counter, finishing off the icing on a small cake. He glanced up and blew his hair out of his face, a smile splitting onto his face when he saw you.

“Pip!” His eyes ran you up and down, confusion clouding his blue eyed gaze. “What happened to you?”

You let out a huff and slipped your arms into the too big coat. “Went for a swim.”

Zeff chuckled suspiciously and swept toward the cake, inspecting it briefly. “Just like I said. The icing’s uneven.”

Sanji threw down the icing. “It is—”

“Stop!” you shouted. “I swear.”

That shut them up, each of them rolling their eyes. Children, you thought. Taking another look around, a little smile grew on your face. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

For a moment, Sanji’s confidence faltered, as if he was really questioning what day it was, before he caught your sly grin and relaxed. “Only yours, so I really don’t know why I bothered with all this.”

“Ouch,” you laughed. The kitchen was empty save for you, Zeff, and Sanji. It reminded you of quiet nights similar to this one, back when the Baratie was in its early years. Back when Zeff and Sanji didn’t fight as much as they did now. 

In the gentle quiet to follow, you did admit: growing older wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. 

You blinked and Zeff had lit a candle and poked it into the top of the cake, causing Sanji to grumble at how he’d messed up the swirl design he’d crafted. Zeff ignored him and bumped your shoulder. “Too old to make a wish?”

“As if.” You were almost offended he’d asked, leaning forward to blow out the candles, squeezing closed your eyes and uttering a wish in your head. When you were done, Sanji gave you a questioning look.

“So? What was it?”

Every year he asked, and every year you shook your head. “Can’t say. It’ll break the magic.”

The night grew old, as night always does, and it aged with laughter and thrown icing and sleepy eyes, before it died to make way for the sun. And by then, you and Sanji were passed out on piles of flour sacks, side by side and snoring in tune. 

The Baratie was to open in five hours. In one hour, the chefs would file in to prepare for the breakfast run. For now, though, there was peace as Zeff pulled up a stool to the countertop and observed the pair with increasing, sickening fondness. 

The plan had never been to raise two of the possibly most difficult children on the seas… but now that you weren’t children anymore, there was a significant amount of pride welling up in Zeff’s chest.

He knew neither of you were destined to remain at the Baratie all your lives. To keep you there was to imprison you. Someday, you and Sanji would leave this place, and Zeff could only hope it wouldn’t be tomorrow as each day came to a close. 

And someday, a year down the road, his hope would be in vain as the next morning your annual birthday wish was granted in the form of a grand ship with the masthead of a goat—the ship that would sail you and Sanji away. 

But that was a year away, and no one knew of what fate had in store. You only knew that maybe turning sixteen wasn’t so bad.

[fanaticsnail]

Bar Shift: Part 1

First time writing for Sanji, which accidentally turned into a multi-part mini series. This is part 1!

Your eyelids fluttered open as the rays of the morning sun shone through the material of the curtain and directly onto your face. Any other day, waking with the dawn would cause you to groan, wipe your face with your fingertips and you would lunge straight into a tirade of self-hype to awaken your senses as you prepared for your shift as the front of house manager of the floating restaurant, Baratie.

However, today was unlike any of the others you had encountered over the past several months. Today, you had finally been rostered for a single day off. You smiled and raised your arms over your head, stretching them above you and arching your back with a low moan. You released the tension acquired in your shoulders and shrugged back into the mattress below you.

It was not like you hadn’t been rostered off, releasing you from your duties over the several months prior. You had just acquired the nasty habit of accepting shifts pushed onto you to cover other members of staff in their duties. From aiding with back of house duties: washing dishes, vegetable preparation, sauce reduction and preparing ‘family meal’ for the staff to enjoy after completing a successful shift; to aiding the head Chef Zeff with listing groceries, preparing payroll, timetable scheduling and product costing. This is how you rose so high in the ranks aboard the sailing restaurant as their front of house staff; never being one to decline a shift to cover others in their time of need.

You smiled to yourself, springing the sheets from your body and preparing to undertake a true day dedicated to only yourself. You had a whole list of items prepared in your mind: face masks, deep hair conditioning, pampering your body by doing some exercise in the gym and enjoying breakfast on the broad deck in the sunshine on the bar.

You started with your face, plucking unruly and unwanted hair from their desired location, applying a face and hair mask and began doing your stretches to limber your body up for a small run after your masks had dried, been rinsed and tidied.

As the conditioning treatments began to solidify atop your features, you placed a record in your music player and swung to the beat with a small giggle. You discarded your sleep attire and searched through your draws for something to exercise in and something to wear to breakfast after you had a shower.

You rinsed off the dried masks from your face and wrapped your masked hair into a tight bun out of your face and left your quarters adorning your work-out gear. You completed a slightly cardio intensive routine over the course of an hour, including some kick-boxing against a small bag hanging from the ceiling on the crew-quarters gym before heading to the showers.

Indulging in the warmth of a lengthy shower, you dried your now shiny soft hair and styled it in a way you hadn’t done in a while – wearing it out instead of in the tightly woven style you would adorn in your regular shifts aboard Baratie. You raked through the locks, pinched your cheeks a little to add some warmth to your un-made up features and left the showers wearing slightly dressy clothes.

You were relishing in every moment you had acquired in a well deserved day off, noticing the hands on the clock on the hallway indicated it was now around 7:45am as you made your way atop the deck. More often than not, you would pull double – if not triple shifts – to aid the creater, owner and head chef of Baratie; often starting at 5am to aid in pastries, work a full shift on the floor before covering for a chef in the kitchen or helping with the dishes from the rush before managing the bar for the night life. You would often end your shift just after midnight if the night was slow, but would stay later if required.

There had been two crew birthdays for the front of house staff, one chef du cuisine reigniting his affections with an old flame and asking you to cover for him in the kitchen, three injuries at the hands of apprentices and one chef finding themselves overcome with some form of sea-bearing respiratory illness he acquired on one of his days off that rendered him useless for a week. Each time, Patty or Carne would seek you out and sheepishly ask you to cover; knowing they could truly count on you. And each time, you would say yes.

As you took a seat, basking in the light of the morning rays; you rolled your neck and closed your eyes to release some tension in your neck as a shadow fell over your face – successfully blocking the warmth from falling onto your skin.

You opened your eyes and looked up to see the blonde chef, Sanji; a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he presented you with what looked to be some number of fruits above a jelly and custard tart with whipped cream on the side. You smiled at him and sat up slightly from your reclined position.

“For you, princess,” he said with a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes and accepted the dish from him and placed it on the side table to the right of the lounging chair you were sitting on.

“What is it, love?” you asked him, gesturing to the dish he had handed to you. He broadly smiled at you, appreciating the name you bestowed onto him. He removed the finished cigarette from the corner of his lips and placed it in the ashtray on the table beside a different recliner, further away from the dish.

“It’s a white chocolate ganache custard tart with a bitter blueberry reduction,” he began, crouching down at the table, fixing his gaze at the dish in front of you and gesturing to each part.

“I’ve topped it with a sweet lychee jelly with chiffonade mint leaves and finely diced cubed mango,” he pointed to the finely chopped pieces, “and I’ve hand-whipped a vanilla bean meringue buttercream just for you.”

You noticed a twinkle in his eyes as you looked the dish over, assessing its presentation. You narrowed your eyes at the tart base, noticing it was different than the usual pie crusts Sanji had worked with in the past.

“And the base?” you questioned him, arching your eyebrow up at him. He chuckled a little and leant forward.

“A flattened and rolled out layered Bischoff brioche,” he winked at you. You were not unaccustomed to Sanji’s flirting, as many of the chefs would playfully banter with one another during the shifts. Between Patty, Carne or the other line cooks; it was more loving insults or playful banter and encouragement. If there was a pretty lady sitting at the tables, a chef would alert the rest of the kitchen by calling out a dish to table number that didn’t exist, or more boldly, wolf-whistle under their breath.

With you, being one of the only women who would grace the back of house with your presence on the line, they would often include you in their jabs and try to point out any men they would deem worthy of your time. Sanji, however, would push to include you in a more flirtatious manner – often calling out the non-existent table number when you would walk to the pass on one of your front of house shifts, or referring to you with a rotating number of pet-names, his latest including “princess”.

“Thank you, love,” you smiled at him, broadly. You picked up a small fork and sliced the sharpened edge of the utensil into the tart and collecting a sample of each of the ingredients onto it.

“Did you make one for yourself too?” you asked before raising it to your lips. He was gazing at you with anticipation as you placed the ingredients into your mouth. Immediately, an explosion of flavours erupted over your tongue; bitterness from the reduction, richness from the ganache and meringue, fresh juices from the jelly and herbaceous botanicals from the mint leaves eclipsed over your senses; pulling an unwilling moan from between your lips. Sanji broadly smiled at your reaction, his eyes twinkling at the unwithheld compliment to him that he managed to bring forth.

You blushed heavily at the reaction your body made in response to consuming the first bite of his food and continued to chew, rolling the contents over your tongue.

“Bloody hell, Sanji!” you widened your eyes and covered your mouth with the hand you had the utensil in, still chewing the tart in your mouth. He chuckled and cradled his head in his enclosed fist, bashfully while he continued to watch you enjoy the dish he made.

“To answer your question, princess,” he smiled, “no I didn’t. I made that especially for you.”

You swallowed the first bite and rose your eyebrows in subtle shock. You again carved off a generous piece of the tart, ensuring you collected a taste of each of the many parts of the dessert. Sanji followed your movements with his eyes as you skilfully did so, only looking back to you in confusion as you presented the fork towards his lips.

“Well then,” you declared, offering the fork further over to his lips, “say ‘ah’.”

He smiled widely before leaning towards the silver utensil and wrapping his lips over the tip of the fork. His tongue collected the ingredients from the bottom of the fork, drawing your eyes to the silver balled piercing located on his pink frenulum momentarily. He maintained eye contact with you as he placed the contents into his mouth, causing an unintentional blush to rise from your chest, tips of your ears and over your cheeks.

He released the fork slowly from his lips, removing all pieces of indulgent tart from the end of the fork and he smiled at you with fondness.

“Thank you,” he nodded his head at the fork, “always wanted to share a meal with you. I didn’t think it would be quite as literal as this, princess.”

You rolled your eyes at his playful flirtation and began to collect more of the beautiful breakfast he had meticulously prepared for you.

“You should’ve made this one for Chef,” you commented, “he might even be so inclined to put this on the menu. I’d vouch for you, love.”

He laughed at your comment, reaching into his jacket pocket and placing an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“Nope,” he said, bringing his lips to the filter end of the cigarette, “too much work went into that one. Wouldn’t want it wasted on uncultured pricks that believe the height of cuisine is a well-done tomahawk steak with mashed potatoes and boiled carrots.”

You laughed at his comment, watching him as he stood up and attempted to click his flint-less lighter to ignite a flame. He growled slightly in frustration, prompting you to reach for your own lighter in your bag. You rose to your feet and situated yourself in front of the tall blonde, reaching up your lighter and flicking the flint to ignite a small flame from the end. He smiled in thanks at you as you brought your hand cradling the flame up to his lips once more. He leant into your hands, igniting the tip of the cigarette and inhaling deeply before releasing the tobacco-riddled smoke from the corner of his mouth away from your face. You smiled at him and flicked off the flame from your lighter and made to place it back into your bag.

Unknown to you, Sanji’s eyes followed your every movement as he gazed at you with nothing but pure adoration. This little crush he seemed to have on you was subject to many of the unrelenting teasing from the kitchen staff, especially from Patty. He didn’t mind being the butt of the joke, especially as his only crime per say was his unrequited fantasy in pining for you.

Sure, he’d flirt with many women over the course of his shift – more often than not to secure a higher tip, or to simply mess with an overzealous man who needed his oversized head to be knocked down a few paces. It was only ever playful, nothing truly more. With you? He found to be fixated on you. The highlight of his shift was knowing you were with him on Baratie, pulling all of your strength, effort and unbridled determination in ensuring the smooth sailing of each night. He adored how much work you put into the place, especially as he owed his life to the head chef and having you aboard seemed to make everything flow so easily.

Silence fell between you as you cut into the meal Sanji prepared for you and continued to place it into your mouth. He continued to smoke, always turning to release the smoke away from you to not tarnish your dining experience in any way.

Loud footsteps broke you both out of your shared silence together as Patty almost skipped over to the place you were sitting, a broad smile adorning his finely groomed facial hair.

Immediately, alarm bells blared into you as this smile you came to know as the one he would only ever use when asking you to cover a shift.

“No,” you said, holding your hands out and defensively shaking them at him, “absolutely not.”

The smile continued to widen over Patty’s features as a clasped his hands together in a pleading fashion.

“Oh my darling, the most precious and radiant flower all of the ocean has to offer,” Patty began his tirade of flattery aimed at you, prompting Sanji to turn to stare at his form.

You shook your head and frowned at him, continuing to wave your arms in front of your face.

“Don’t even start-,” you began, being cut off by more flattery.

“The angel of the east blue,” Patty spoke over you, “more beautiful than the shooting stars littering the sky!”

You brought your thumb and middle finger to your brow before raking your fingertips through the loose strands of your hair. Sanji’s eyes narrowed slightly at the stream of compliments flowing from the blue-haired chef.

“What happened?” you uttered reluctantly at his flattery. Patty dropped his hands from their pleading position and released a sigh, reluctantly removing the smile from his face.

“Cole slipped a disc in his back while walking down the steps last night,” Patty uttered through gritted teeth. You sighed slightly and frowned at the comment.

“Are you certain it’s a slipped disc? Not the fact that his fiancé was finally cleared to dock yesterday?” you growled at Patty. He flinched a little at your accusation, before uttering.

“Actually, he did seem more limber this morning,” he confirmed with a downturned smile, arching his eyebrows. You groaned and lay back into your reclined position after placing the fork on the side table alongside you finished plate.

“If Cole wants me to do his bar shift for him, he should be the one here grovelling for coverage,” you declared with frustration. Patty nervously laughed at your comment, turning to look at Sanji who had a look of complete displeasure on his features.

“You know what?” you suddenly said, sitting up from your reclining position, “the only way I will accept the shift tonight is if the almighty head chef Zeff himself saunters over here and tilts my head up with his index finger and whispers it to me like he would a lover. If those absolute improbable circumstances are completed, I’ll work the bar tonight.”

You slumped back into your seat with a large smile, knowing there was no way Zeff would come to you and flirt his way into having you complete a bar shift for him. Sanji snickered slightly at the thought. Patty excused himself from your presence and sculked back into the halls to where you assume he would go and ask another rostered off member of staff to complete tonight’s shift.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you turn down a shift,” Sanji said, collecting another cigarette from his jacket pocket.

“It’s been five months since I’ve had a proper rostered off day,” you shrugged your shoulders and slumped back into your chair and enjoying the warm rays of the sun shining into your body, “and that was the only thing I could think of to get Patty off my case. I have so much respect for Zeff, and I would never mean to disrespect him in any way. I’m sure Patty has run off to find someone else, anyway.” Sanji smiled in response.

“May I?” Sanji asked, gesturing to your bag to retrieve your lighter.

“Go right ahead, love,” you said, closing your eyes and placing your hands behind your head.

Suddenly your peaceful morning was again interrupted with a loud thump and heavy wooden slap echoing along the polished wooden floor of the hallway where Patty had retreated into moments earlier. Several other bellowing drumbeats could also be heard reverberating behind the thump and slap, alerting both Sanji and yourself to a few bodies approaching.

You snapped your eyes open and stood immediately alert, focusing your sights on the approaching figure of your head chef.

“Alright, pumpkin,” the chef declared, charging over to the place you were standing alongside Sanji, “I’ll play along.”

Your eyes immediately widened at the figure closing the distance between you. Several other chefs, including Patty and Carne were trailing closely behind him almost brimming with excitement.

“Sorry Chef?” you apologised as more of an indication of mishearing him, shock riddling your face. He closed the distance between your bodies, bringing himself uncomfortably close to your own. He reached his hand forward and hooked his index finger beneath your chin, lifting your gaze to focus on his eyes.

“I need you,” he whispered into your face with a hint of close intimacy, holding firm to your chin and pulling all of your focus into his gaze. He paused before he released your chin from his firm grip, “to work the bar tonight.”

You felt a blush creep up over your shocked features as your head chef stepped away from you.

“Y-yes chef,” you managed to stutter out from between your clenched teeth, eyes still standing wide in shock. He smirked slightly and brushed his hands over his apron, stepping away from your close proximity. The snickers of your coworkers were reverberating throughout the area, causing more waves of embarrassment to course over your body.

“I meant no disrespect, chef,” you called after him, suddenly. Zeff chuckled in response.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, “couldn’t resist a challenge though. Get a move on, your shift starts in under an hour.”

He began to retreat back to the kitchen office before calling back over his shoulder; “and Cole was working a double tonight.”

You hung your head and grit your teeth at the shock of the fact your boss actually responded to your non-serious challenge. Your shock was broken by the full belly-laugh from the blonde sous chef next to you, prompting you to snap your gaze over to his. His eyes were closed as he flung his head back and released more of his unhinged laughter.

“Your face,” he managed to gasp out through his unrelenting chuckles, “you should’ve seen your face.”

You growled slightly at the comments made by your coworker.

“Yeah, well I didn’t think my words all the way through, did I?” you spat at him in mock anger. He continued to laugh at you, wiping a small collection of tears spent at your expense.

“I didn’t think the old man had that amount of charm in him,” he said once hunching himself over and wiping his palms over his knees to collect himself.

“To be fair, neither did I,” you replied, “for a second there, I almost caught feelings for the man.”

Sanji chuckled again and straightened himself up.

“Gee if that all it takes to charm you, I should’ve given that a go first. Didn’t need to go through all the trouble of making you breakfast,” he playfully flirted with you, nudging your shoulder with his own. You offered him a warm smile in response.

“Alright, enough playing,” you said, nudging him back, “I’ve got to go get changed out of all this and make myself presentable.”

“You’re always more than beautiful, princess,” Sanji commented at you with a playful smile.

“Hah-hah,” you responded sarcastically, “seriously, love. I’ve got to go get into my bloody uniform now. Customers await.”

You reached your hand up and patted his cheek affectionately.

“Thank you again for breakfast,” you expressed your gratefulness to him, “it was beautiful. We should do this more often.”

He widened his eyes at you and leant slightly into your touch before you turned on your way, returning to your crew quarters. His gaze trailed over you, eyes filling slightly with a small amount of want. Although partially exhausted, he was so glad he gave up his night to preparing a dish especially for you – especially as you released such beautiful sounds acknowledging how much you appreciated it.

He was absolutely going to make something more flavourful for you to hopefully pull more of those melodic sounds from your lips. If he can’t have you moaning his name while coupling with you in a romantic embrace, he was going to extract those illicit sounds from you the only other way he knew how: cooking.

Part 2

[turtletaubwrites]

Hello luv, you wouldn't be willing to write for Red Leg Zeff would you? If not do you know of anyone who would. Thank you, have a great day!

Hi, thank you for the request! I hope you like it! 😊🙏🏼

My Lovely Patron

Pairing: Red Leg Zeff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1300

Ao3 Link

Summary: You are a journalist following a story about fishmen attacking a floating restaurant. You try to ply the head chef with wine for some details, but end up getting something else instead.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ Only, MDNI, Fem!Reader, Reader Insert, Smut, Fluff, Age Difference, Flirting, Alcohol, Vaginal Fingering, Size Kink, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut, Zeff is just a softie, with very skilled hands

A/N: This is my first request, and I hadn't planned on writing for Zeff, but I had a great time! I hope you enjoy it, and I'd love to try some more requests soon!

The fishmouth bar at the Baratie was emptying, noises drifting as patrons returned to their ships for the night. You’d bought a bottle of red, and given the bartender a hefty tip to let you stay while he closed down the bar. 

You’d asked him for details on the recent events, but it wasn’t enough for your story. 

Why were the fishmen here? Who were the Marines after?

The motivations of the Marines was always a risky subject, and could be even more difficult to publish. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a good story here, something went down at Baratie.

So you waited, hoping to catch staff grabbing an after hours drink. It was always easier to get people gossiping over booze. 

Your heart raced, and you tried to keep your excitement in when the owner himself walked in, his wooden peg leg giving his stride a powerful rhythm. 

Red Leg Zeff.

It didn’t seem to be well known, but you did your research. This head chef once led a pirate crew, and now some pirate chaos just happened in his restaurant. 

You grabbed the opportunity, picked up your bottle of red, and sauntered over. 

“Hello chef, I just wanted to thank you for such a lovely meal. Would you like to share a glass with me?”

Zeff looked like he came out of daze, his braided mustache swinging as he shook his head. 

“Oh, yes, thank you, We live to serve.”

The bartender magically appeared, taking the bottle from your hand to pour his boss a glass. 

You sat beside the older man, realizing just how massive he was compared to you. He must have been a terrifying foe back then. 

‘You’re uh, you’re here late aren't ya?”

You tapped your glass and gave him a shy smile. 

“Yes, chef. The ship I’m staying on gets pretty rowdy at night, your bartender was kind enough to let me relax here for a while.”

“Oh, I’m sure he was.”

Zeff gave the poor bartender a look that could have been teasing or menacing, you couldn’t tell. You touched his forearm gently, which he looked at before turning back to you. 

“Please don’t blame him. I can be very persuasive.”

Zeff huffed a laugh, seeming surprised. 

“Well, my persuasive patron, we’ve got some wine to drink, don’t we?”

Finding yourself laughing, you realized you were enjoying Zeff’s company. You had a feeling he would catch on instantly if you tried to needle him for information too soon. The wine bottle was almost empty.

“So, Chef… I heard that you have an interesting past. I’ve always wanted to hear some real adventure stories.”

Your heart raced, adrenaline pumping for the fear you may have already pushed too far. 

Zeff looked away from you, then gestured to the bartender as he was heading out. With another bottle in hand, Zeff led you to a table. You grinned as he poured another for you, then he leaned toward you with his glass in hand. 

“I just wanted to thank you dear. It’s been a tough week over here, and I appreciate the distraction.”

You tapped your full glasses, and almost jumped at his words. 

“Tough week? Want to talk about it?”

Zeff looked out at the dock, and you almost felt bad about doing your job when you saw the look in his eyes. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just, uh... Just an old man letting go of his apprentice. That little eggplant has left me understaffed, and didn’t even have the decency to restock the smoked meats first.”

You tried not to smile. But it was so cute. This scary ex pirate was drowning his sorrows because one of his cooks left. 

Fuck. I’m not going to get anything useful out of him tonight. 

You looked toward the dock. You hadn’t lied about the ship you were paying for. The crew was obnoxiously loud, and you didn’t feel like heading there just yet. 

Besides, I kinda like this old pirate. 

You had cut yourself off, knowing that you couldn’t hold your liquor against Red Leg Zeff. 

But you knew you were both rosy cheeked as he shared his stories, and you laughed when you weren’t sure if they were true or not. 

Zeff sat back in his chair, head tilted as he looked at you with a slow smile.

“Bar’s empty now, pretty thing. How ‘bout you come take a seat on my lap?”

Zeff pushed his chair back, and patted his thigh, while your face burned. 

“I, uh-”

“It’s alright if you don’t want to, sweetheart. I just wanted to thank you for cheering this old man up.” 

Pleasant chills crept over your shoulders at his gruff promise. You almost laughed at yourself when you realized you wanted to. 

You walked around the table, grabbing a sip from his glass before taking a seat. 

The chef had already taken off his uniform, and your shoulder brushed against his soft striped shirt. You sat on his firm thigh, and tried not to look at the wood on his opposite leg.

One of Zeff’s arms circled your back, so warm and steady. A sigh left your lips, and you looked up at his small smile. 

“Hi, Chef,” you breathed, and he laughed before using his free hand to stroke down your cheek to your neck. 

‘You’re a vision, ya know that?”

You felt your cheeks burn more, and tried not to squirm.

Chuckling, he started stroking along your thigh. 

“Now, I hate to have debts, darlin’. Can I repay my lovely patron for her company now?”

“Yes, Chef,” you said, biting your lip.

Zeff kissed along your temple as his fingers slipped under your skirt. The trace of his fingers sent heat right through you, your breath speeding up.

Zeff reached your core, and dragged his knuckles up and down along your panties. Your body bucked slightly and he grinned at you, before moving your panties to graze the wetness that had already built there. 

Zeff brought those fingers to his face, languidly sucking your arousal from his skin. The sight was too much, and you moaned in his arms until his raspy words made your eyes roll back. 

“Mm, you taste delicious, love.”

Zeff stroked along your thighs again before bringing his fingers back where you needed them. This time, he pushed your panties aside, and explored you. His fingers trailed along your folds, then found that bundle of nerves. 

Gasping, you reached for him. You gripped onto him, holding yourself onto his thigh and shoulder while he showed you how skilled his fingers were. 

Zeff leaned you back a bit, and sent one of his large fingers inside. His thumb rubbed along your clit, and your moans were getting louder. 

“You’re being so good, pretty thing. Let me hear ya sing for me.”

Zeff thrust another finger in, reaching deep, hooking to play with that sweet spot that had your toes curling. Zeff’s arms had to hold more of your weight while you twitched in his lap. 

“There ya go, girl. Take your fill.”

Zeffs words rolled over you as his fingers took you over the edge. You screamed into the night sky. Zeff's arm supported you from falling off the chair, while his other hand kept your pleasure dancing through you, helping you ride it out. 

Zeff’s low hums as he stroked your hair and arms made you sigh, warmth and relaxation moving through your body. You tried to move to get out of his lap, but he held you to him gently. 

“I’ve still got a full glass, sweetheart. How about ya stay with me a while longer?”

His request sent warmth through you, and you grinned up at his cheerful face, his mustache wiggling above you. 

“Alright, Chef.”

Thank You For Reading! 💜

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

Part 2

[v1nsmoke]

SANJI and ZEFF clip, One Piece Live Action, 2023

"it's called imagination, but yeah, i wouldn't expect you to understand"

[tinfairies]

You Call Their Cock Small As A Joke

One Piece x Reader

Gets really insecure, and you're gonna have to basically worship them in order to make them feel better.

Sanji, Usopp, Koby, Helmeppo, Corazon

"And yet you still choked on it last night." They know you're joking, and they're gonna tease back.

Zoro, Mihawk, Doflamingo, Buggy, Zeff, Shanks, Ace, Garp

Will grab you and drag you away to prove that it's not small. They honestly don't care and just use it as an excuse to split you open on their cock.

Luffy, Crocodile, Arlong

They're gonna ignore you, and refuse to fuck you. "If it's so small then why do you want it so bad?"

Kuro, Law, Smoker

[paperultra]

candy stripes.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5,048 words Warnings: Swearing, hospital setting [A/n: Soulmate AU. :)]

sortiger (adjective): delivering prophecies of the future; having the qualities of being oracular

Nobody else can see the string but you.

You wish you didn’t. It has no texture, no weight, so you can’t understand why it can’t be invisible too. But the string demands attention with every use of your hands, seizes your eye when you wash dishes in the morning and brush your teeth at night, a garish and bloody red that matches the stripes of your uniform.

You hate your string and you hate the color red.

Miss Xinyu, the old lady in Room 30, has one too. At least, that’s what she had told you when you gained the courage to mention yours one day, not knowing what it meant and how much you would come to dread it.

“It’s your red string of fate,” she had explained. “It connects you to the person who understands you more than anyone else in the world.”

In other words, your soulmate. Your one and only.

Miss Xinyu says you’re a lucky ducky, knowing what your future holds.

Her string goes into the ground now. You don’t think being reminded of a dead person whenever you look at your pinkie is very lucky.

The biggest reason why you hate the string so much, though, is because you’ve always had a problem doing what you’re supposed to unless you want to, which causes a lot of trouble for a nine-year-old girl. You already have trouble being nice to patients who are mean to you, so how can you love and wait for someone you’ve never met? It makes you feel icky.

Why can’t you choose? How come you have to have one at all?

Your only source of comfort is that your string is very, very thin and runs out of the hospital. That means your soulmate, whoever they are, is very, very far away. You’d very much like it to stay that way.

But it doesn’t.

—

Nurse Taoh wants you to watch the patients in Room 8 while he finishes his charts. You don’t really want to, if only because it’s Nurse Taoh asking – he likes to order you around more than Dr. Gu – but you don’t want to get into trouble again, so you go.

(… And okay, you are just a little bit curious about the new inpatients. You only know three things about them: one, they were brought in together last night while you were in your room poking holes into your paper instead of correcting it; two, they’re a man and a boy, presumably father and son; and three, everyone says it’s a miracle they’re still alive.)

(Then again, you’ve seen many miracles here.)

The unit is quiet as you walk down the hallway. Quiet, but not silent, as your polished shoes squeak like little mice against the floor and you whisper the room numbers as you pass by them. Two, four, six – eight.

You stop and knock, three sharp raps against the brown wood.

“Hello?” You open the door and poke your head in. “My name is –”

The squiggly-patterned curtain that often separates patients for privacy is drawn, and you clamp your mouth shut as you realize the patient closest to you is asleep.

Shutting the door silently, you creep closer to the foot of his bed. The man underneath the sheets lies quietly; he is little more than a skeleton, eyes sunken and bones sticking out underneath blistered skin. His beard is long and scraggly, but it pales in comparison to his mustache, each side braided and sticking out to the sides.

He looks angry, even though he’s sleeping. You hope he’s not the type to wake up and yell at you as you tiptoe past to check on the boy.

You pass the curtain, catch a glimpse of the bed sheets, and see –

Red.

Your feet root themselves in place, the room suddenly devoid of air.

You stare. Blink hard, twice. Look again. Then, trembling, you look down at your hand.

Your eyes trace the string around your own finger, following down to the dip of it that barely touches the ground and back up over the blankets until it ends in a red loop around the boy’s pinkie, tied off with a little bow.

Your stomach turns.

Stumbling forward, you make your way to the visitor’s chair in the corner. You slump down into it and stare straight ahead at the curtain, refusing to look at the boy’s face.

He continues to sleep.

You don’t want him to wake up.

—

The boy does not stir during your first meeting, but that small mercy is quickly eclipsed two days later by a single bowl of chicken broth.

The look on your face is sour as you walk down the hallway again, the broth splashing up against the lid with each step. Because most of the patients in the hospital you live in are elderly, the staff have somehow gotten it into their heads that you simply must spend time with the boy in Room 8 because he is your age and you need to socialize with other kids. You very much don’t want to. Not with him, at least.

Dr. Gu is just leaving the room when you arrive. She gives you a quick smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling, and pats your head.

“So you heard that the boy woke up, huh?”

You grunt, looking away with a pout. “Can’t you give this to him, Dr. Gu?”

“Nope. I have to finish my rounds,” she says. “Go in and have a chat. His name is Sanji. You’ll like him.”

“I doubt it,” you mumble underneath your breath.

Dr. Gu probably hears you, but she doesn’t scold you, merely patting your head one last time before you enter Room 8.

The dividing curtain is drawn this time. The window curtains are pulled back, too; it’s a somewhat cloudy day outside, but bright enough to sharpen the shadows on the walls and make the boy look even paler than you remember.

His eyes are closed as you approach. A sprout of hope that he might have fallen asleep again blooms in your chest – you’ll just leave the broth on the table, you think to yourself, and go about the rest of your day. Nobody said you had to watch him drink it.

You get about five feet away, already planning to drop some books off to the other rooms, when the boy’s nose suddenly twitches.

His eyes open to thin slits. Your hope shrivels like a weed in the desert as he speaks.

“What’s that?” His voice is quiet and raspy.

Your eyebrow twitches. “It’s just chicken broth,” you say tartly, setting the tray down on the overbed table and turning it around so that it’s over his lap. You take off the lid and steam bursts from the bowl.

The boy reaches up to rub his eyes. The red string dangles from his pinkie, and you quickly look away with a scowl.

“Who are you?” he asks, scooting back to sit up more as he gradually becomes more alert.

Reluctantly, you give him your name. “Will you need help with the soup?”

He shakes his head. His gaze latches onto the contents of his bowl, and he stops, transfixed.

You scramble to stop him as he suddenly grabs the bowl and attempts to gulp it all down in one go.

“Don’t do that! You’ll throw up!” Without thinking, you seize his hands and pry the bowl away from his mouth. A few drops of broth splash over the blankets and his gown, and your irritation grows. Now you’ll have to fix that. “Drink it slowly.”

“I haven’t eaten anything for weeks,” the boy complains. “What do you know?”

“I’ve been studying medicine since I was a little kid,” you retort. “So I know a lot.”

He frowns. “You are a little kid.”

“I’m nine years old!”

“No, I’m nine! You don’t look as old as me!”

There’s no way this … this brat is the same age as you! Fuming, you let go of the bowl and jab a finger at his face. “I am nine years old and I know more than you! You can’t drink the broth like that!”

You’re met with silence. The boy’s eyes are wider than saucers. Pride wells up inside you at your ability to shut him up.

But then he puts the bowl down and seizes your hand, and your pride gives way to horror as he folds down your index finger and lifts your pinkie – the pinkie with the red string wrapped around it.

He lifts his own pinkie, the rest of his fingers folded. Your jaw clenches when you see how the string has shortened to mere inches, bridging the space between his hand and yours.

“Holy shit,” the boy says. The largest grin spreads across his face, and it’s blinding and scary and you hate it, you hate it. “It’s you! You’re my soulmate, aren’t you?!”

“No,” you reply quickly, whipping your hand behind your back and backing away. “No, I’m not!”

“But you see the string too! I knew I’d meet you some day. How come you’re”— he pushes the table away, eagerly but just gentle enough so no more of the broth spills—“how come you’re hiding it behind your back?”

“I’m not your soulmate,” you bark, panic rising in your chest. “Don’t you ever say that!”

You only catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across the boy’s face before you turn around and dash out of the room.

Mrs. Hong finds you in the storage closet later, curled up behind the shelves of gauze and IV tubing. She coaxes you out with a promise of rice balls and no questions asked. You wish all the adults were more like her.

—

The next day, Miss Jaylee hoists you over her shoulder like a human sacrifice and brings you to Room 8.

“I don’t want to see him! You can’t make me!”

“He’s refusing treatment and food unless he sees you,” the woman answers briskly, each of her steps jostling you up and down. “You don’t want to be responsible if Sanji dies, do you?”

“I don’t care if he dies!”

Miss Jaylee clicks her tongue and walks faster.

You flail, feeling a little guilty for your cruel words but too proud to take them back. Sanji couldn’t have heard you, anyway, and nobody here is going to let him die no matter what he does or what you say.

You hear a door swing open. Miss Jaylee walks into Room 8 and turns around, and you lift your head, glaring at Sanji as his face lights up and his cheeks turn rosy.

“[Y/n]!”

Your own cheeks burn in embarrassment at the position you’re currently in. This, you only now realize, is way worse than walking into the room voluntarily.

“How come they’re carrying you? Are you okay?” he asks.

“Let them treat you,” you snap, arms limp and dangling. “And eat your stupid food or I’ll get in trouble.”

“Okay.” You nod, opening your mouth to speak again only for him to continue, “But only if I get to talk to you afterwards.”

What is he, a prince?! What makes it so easy for him to demand such things?

“That wasn’t what you told them,” you protest, squirming, but Miss Jaylee only tightens her arm around your waist.

(“Be nice,” she warns. You growl.)

“It’s important,” Sanji stresses, looking pointedly down at his hand and then back at you.

You bite down on your tongue as the red string glimmers in the light.

Dr. Gu and Nurse Taoh stare at you expectantly. Your neck is starting to ache from craning it, and there’s a feeling that you’ll never stand on your own two feet again unless you do what he wants.

“… Fine,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Only once you promise to stay does Miss Jaylee let you slide off her shoulder. You stand to the side, arms crossed impatiently as they take Sanji’s vitals and ask him some questions. He’s only half paying attention, head turning to look at you more than once, which you merely turn up your nose at.

“All right, we’ll leave you two to chat now,” Dr. Gu says. “If you need anything, just let [Y/n] know, okay?”

“Okay,” Sanji says.

With that, the three adults leave, and you and Sanji are left alone once more.

“I’m glad you came. They were starting to get mad at me,” he says, then cuts straight to the chase. “How come you don’t want to be my soulmate?”

“Because I don’t want a soulmate,” you immediately reply.

“But why? It’s nice, isn’t it? Being special to each other?”

“You can’t be special to me. We’re not even friends.”

For the second time, Sanji looks hurt.

“…We’re not?” he asks. You shake your head. “But … you brought me food.”

You’re befuddled. “Because Dr. Gu made me,” you say, trying to ignore the disappointment on his face. “Besides, I yelled at you yesterday. Friends don’t yell at each other.”

“I thought that you were maybe just really surprised …” His voice gets smaller and smaller. “Some people get mad when they’re just surprised …”

“I wasn’t surprised. I saw it when you were still asleep.”

“Oh,” Sanji mumbles. He looks down at the sheets, scratching at the wrinkle in the thin white fabric. “Okay.”

He says nothing more. You fidget, wondering if he’s pretending to look like he’s about to cry or if he really is trying not to. You’re not good with people who start crying.

You chew on your bottom lip. Sanji tucks his hand with the string on it underneath his bed sheets, his eyes disappearing behind his tangled hair, and fine, you feel kind of bad whether he’s tricking you or not.

“I’ll only be friends with you if you don’t talk about being soulmates,” you finally tell him begrudgingly. “Not ever, okay?”

His head shoots back up. “Really?!”

“Only if you don’t talk about it! I’m serious.” You huff at Sanji’s sudden change in mood and click your tongue. “If you stay sad you might not get better.  Don’t get the wrong idea!”

He nods, grinning bigger than ever.

Oh, dear, you think as he promises that he’ll be a really, really good friend, you might have made a mistake.

—

By the fifth day, Zeff, the man who was brought in with Sanji, is awake.

You hear them arguing before you see them, pushing a cart of books for Sanji to browse through as per your agreement the day before. They’re loud, and Sanji calls the man an old shitbag right as you knock and push the door open.

“I’m here,” you announce, and the two quiet down to look at you. You give Zeff a polite smile. “Hello, sir. I’m [Y/n].”

“Hello, little miss,” Zeff says, his features softening from the angry expression he’d directed towards Sanji a moment before.

“Why are you being nice to her and not me?” Sanji pipes up from his side of the room, all puffed-out cheeks and petulantly crossed arms.

“Because she don’t make my ears ring with nonstop whining,” the man answers sharply. “Now get a book and read so I can finally have some peace and quiet.”

“You get a book and read,” Sanji grumbles.

“What was that, boy?”

You cut in before they start bickering all over again. “Do you want a book too, Mr. Zeff?”

Zeff’s gaze flicks over to you once more, and your shoulders tense. The man takes a deep, calming breath, and then he sighs, reclining back into his pillow and closing his eyes. “No, thank you, little miss,” he mutters. “Reading’s no good for my head right now.”

“Do you have a headache?” He grunts in affirmation. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

“No, no, don’t need any of that.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a headache,” Sanji accuses.

Zeff’s mustache twitches. “All you need to know is that you oughta stop yappin’ when a man wants peace and quiet!”

(Not again.)

As you give up and walk over to draw the curtains, Sanji says your name desperately. “Can we read somewhere else?” he pleads when you glance at him. “I don’t want to be stuck in here with him right now.”

Narrowing your eyes, you appraise his weak-looking frame, pointedly skimming past the red string that snakes over to you. “Can you even walk around yet?”

“Yeah,” he says defensively. He wriggles out of the bed sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Holding onto the side rail, he stands up and grips the IV pole for support. Though he’s a little shaky, he shuffles a few steps towards you and smiles when he manages to do so. “See?”

Well, you think, if you and Sanji stay here, you’ll need to have some light in order to read. But it will probably help Zeff if the room is as dark as possible, so if you guys go somewhere else, Sanji’s lamp won’t need to be on.

“Okay,” you agree. “Wait here. I’ll get some slippers.”

Ten minutes later, with Sanji shuffling along in his slippers, IV pole in one hand and your arm in the other, the two of you arrive at the common room and find chairs in the corner to sit down in.

“These’re mostly history books and stories for old people,” you explain as you pull out the one cooking-related book you could find from the top basket of the cart. “This was the only food one I could find.”

“That’s okay.” Sanji takes the book from you and begins to flip through it. “Oh, this one’s about seafood in the South Blue! Have you ever had any?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. I’ll try it someday, though … hey, this fish looks like a fried egg!”

Against your will, you perk up. “… Really?”

For the next half-hour, Sanji fawns over the spices used on grilled Sea King meat and how to cook wine clams and the best fish for South Blue-style sushi. And it’s … not boring. He doesn’t hog the book, and the pictures are cool, and he asks you which ones you think are the coolest or would taste the best. Looking at a book with another kid is different from reading with an adult. It feels like you’re sharing, not like you’re being tested on your comprehension or how to pronounce long words.

Hanging out with Sanji is okay when the string doesn’t sour it.

“So you want to cook all of these one day?” you ask after scanning through a full-color page of steamed Ocean Hawk feet.

“I want to cook things from all four seas,” Sanji says. His legs bounce with excitement. “That’s why I’m gonna find the All Blue.”

“What’s that?”

The boy glows.

“It’s where the North, East, South, and West Blue seas all meet. Think about it – fresh-caught fish from all over the world all in one place! I’ll be able to cook dishes no one’s ever cooked or tasted before.”

You’ve never heard of such a place. But Sanji talks about it with such conviction, such resolve, that you figure the All Blue could really exist.

“I hope you find it,” you say, and you mean it.

“I will.” Sanji closes the book. “And when I do, I’ll cook something just for you. A-As a friend.”

He peeks over at you, his eyes even brighter and bluer than before, his cheeks flushing a familiar red. And you find yourself believing him, just a little bit.

—

Sanji keeps his promise.

You know he still likes you (blech) and so does most of the staff (double blech). Nurse Taoh thinks it’s funny and teases you about your little boyfriend in Room 8 who always asks where you are. Mrs. Hong reminds you to be sensitive whenever you stop by to pick up meals. Dr. Gu tells you to tell her right away if Sanji ever does something that makes you uncomfortable.

But he never does. Sometimes his words spill out clumsily like a broken faucet and other times he blushes and stutters, leaving you to wonder what he’s going on about, but he doesn’t try to kiss you or hold your hand, and he doesn’t say a word about the red string that is very much still there. If anything, he just annoys you at times, with how nice he is to you and how sunny he gets when you eat lunch with him sometimes.

You’ve never seen somebody so happy to be in a hospital before, even if it’s just because he wants you to like him. It’s weird.

It’s on the eighth day of Zeff and Sanji’s stay that you learn not everything is how it seems.

You’d gotten in trouble the night before for digging holes in the garden – you had kept the seed from your dinner plum and wanted to see if you could make it grow, but Miss Jaylee had caught you while taking Mr. Hu out for some air – so you’re somewhat grumpy on your way to Room 8, two notebooks in hand.

One of them is blank for Sanji. He wants to record all the meals he’s gotten and write down how he would make them. The second notebook is full of your notes that you need to study for your quiz tomorrow.

Zeff is sleeping again when you enter. You move quietly across the room to where Sanji is lying with his back to the door.

“Sanji.” You can see his shoulders tense underneath the sheets, but strangely, he does not roll over to face you. “I have your notebook.”

No answer. That is even stranger.

Frowning, you walk around to the other side of the bed. Sanji moves to bury his face into his pillow, but not before you hear a very soft, wet sniffle.

“Sanji?”

“Sorry.” His voice is high and so muffled you can barely understand him. “You can just leave it on the table.”

“Why are you crying?” In the back of your head, you know it is not the most sensitive thing to ask. But for some reason, you need to know. “I won’t laugh or tell anyone.”

You hear another sniffle from the mop of blond hair. It takes a long time for Sanji to answer, but he eventually does.

“I don’t like hospitals.”

Your brow furrows. “Oh,” you say, somewhat surprised. Most people don’t like being in a hospital, you’re pretty sure of that, but you didn’t know Sanji didn’t like it this much. “Why?”

Maybe he’s tired of getting poked all the time, or the bland food, or the hospital smell. Nobody here can change that. Maybe he’s homesick. The hospital can’t fix that, either.

Sanji turns his head slightly and takes in a small, shuddering breath. “’Cause it … it makes me remember my mum … when she was sick,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.

“… Oh.”

You had assumed, upon learning that Zeff and Sanji were not at all related, that Sanji was like you and never knew his parents. He’d never talked about having any before, only his time on the Orbit and with Zeff. But he does know them – his mother, at least. And she was sick. The memory is what’s making him so sad, and it’s yet another thing that the hospital can’t help.

You don’t want him to be sad. You did make him your friend, after all, even if he does annoy you sometimes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, standing awkwardly with his notebook still in your possession. You remember what Miss Jaylee has told other patients before. “That, um, must have been really hard for you.”

Sanji squeezes his pillow more tightly.

Should you go? Should you talk to him some more?

“Please don’t tell anybody,” he whispers before you can decide. “Especially Zeff.”

“I won’t,” you reply firmly. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry I can’t hang out today. I really wanted to, but, um …”

“It’s okay. We can do it later.”

“Okay.”

You set his notebook and a pen on the bedside table. After some thought, you refill his water and, after even more hesitation, fix the bed sheets on him a bit so they’re not as twisted up. That is the best you can do.

The red string follows you as you quietly leave Room 8, and you don’t think about it at all.

—

“How do you spell necessary?”

“N-E-S-E-S-A-R-Y.”

“That doesn’t look right. I think it’s S-S-A-R-Y.”

“Maybe you can find it in the book,” Sanji suggests, kicking his feet as he lies on his belly next to you.

“Yeah, maybe.” You flip through the pages of your textbook, searching for the correct spelling lest you get marked off again.

It is the tenth day. Sanji is doing alright, and Zeff is up and about with his new leg. Dr. Gu says they’re good to go, so they’re leaving after Zeff finishes breakfast. You’re not sure how to feel about it.

In the meantime, Sanji is helping you with your essay about scurvy. He knows quite a bit about it, which makes sense since he’s lived at sea, and you hope the perspective he’s supplying will impress Dr. Gu.

(“That’s why every ship needs a good cook,” he tells you proudly. “We make sure everyone eats right so they stay healthy.”

“That’s why you and Mr. Zeff are going to have a restaurant ship, right?”

“Mmhm.”)

Sanji rests his face in his hands, cheeks squished against his palms while you continue to scan through your textbook. You finally find the word in a photo caption and, with a triumphant noise, jot it down correctly.

Someone knocks on your door. The two of you turn to face it simultaneously.

“[Y/n]?” It’s Mrs. Guo.

“Yeah?” you call, already slightly irritated.

“Is Sanji there? It’s time for him to leave.”

A frown presses down on your lips. Sanji sighs and gets up as slowly as possible, taking his notebook with him.

“Coming,” he says.

The two of you dawdle on your way to the hospital entrance. You pet Cabby the dog when you run into him and his handler and stop by the kitchen so Sanji can thank the cooks. There’s no rush, not really, but an uneasy feeling continues to well up in your stomach anyway.

Upon arriving at your destination, Zeff waiting at the double doors with a giant bag of treasure slung over his shoulder, Sanji stops and turns to face you.

“I’m – I’m going now,” he says, as if just realizing it.

“Okay,” you say.

You and Sanji stand in silence for a moment before Sanji’s bottom lip starts to wobble.

Yours starts to wobble too. The uneasy feeling in your stomach bubbles up into your throat and behind your eyes.

“I’ll write you,” he blurts, voice cracking. “You’ll come visit, won’t you?”

“I don’t know.” You don’t know if they’ll let you. The hospital is busy and the ocean is big, bigger than you, and you don’t know it at all like Zeff and Sanji do. “But I’ll write back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You are crying now.

For the first time, your arms wrap around Sanji, and he clings back as both of you bawl. Your tears and snot stain the shoulder of his brand-new clothes. Your uniform grows damp at the collar. It doesn’t matter at all.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” you croak into his shirt, face hot and eyes blurry.

His grip tightens. “You will,” Sanji replies in between sniffles. “I know it. Even if it’s when we’re really old, we’ll see each other again.”

“Okay.”

You believe him. Not because of fate, but because you want to.

—

You write to each other every single week for the next ten years. You tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

—

“You seem nervous,” Nami says. “Don’t tell me a little bribery got under your skin?”

“No, no.” You wipe your hands on your thighs and try to relax against the back of the booth. “Just … not used to places like this, that’s all.”

The Baratie is nicer than you imagined. Sanji had kept you up to date over the years, sending newspaper clippings and recipe drafts as the restaurant he and Zeff founded grew in staff members and reputation, but seeing it in person is a whole different deal. You’re telling the truth when you said you’re not used to a place like this.

But it’s not why you’re nervous.

“Hey, look!” Usopp exclaims, pointing across the room. “I think those guys are gonna fight.”

The rest of you look. Near the kitchen, two men are arguing, and the pink-haired man sitting at the table stands up when the pirate shoves his food onto the floor.

Usopp sucks his teeth. “Yikes.”

Luffy leans forward in interest. Zoro simply stares, and Nami rolls her eyes.

One of the waiters approaches them. You watch as he tries to deescalate the situation, but neither party is having it.

The pink-haired man draws a gun.

Within seconds, the gun and both would-be brawlers are on the floor.

The waiter shoves his foot into the pink-haired man’s back to keep him down, then picks up the plate of bread rolls again, stepping over both groaning bodies with the ease of one who’s done it before.

He reassures the other customers as he approaches your booth. You’re not concerned about the fight so much as you are about the way that you know.

It’s been ten years, but you just know, even before he gets close enough for you to see the red string that trails up and disappears into the black of his pants pocket. Even before you see the blue of his eyes and the annoyed set of his brow, exactly the same as you remember.

He places the rolls down onto the table, and for the first time, you wonder what you want.

“Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?”

[luxthestrange]

OP Incorrect quotes#26...What?He is adorable

Imagen...that you decide to help Luffy pay his debt in Baratie and are working as a waitress/waiter

Y/n: So how’s the food our dear chef made? Customer: It’s great, Compliments to them! Y/n*goes to the kitchen, spotting Sanji having his usual fight with his papa Zeff about the food he served*....Hey Blondie! Y/n*Smiles at Him*You’re adorable Sanji*Freezes on the spot, Blushes on the spot*!?!

[bowieandqueen11]

Preening Peacocks / Sanji Imagine

Request: could you write a sanji x reader fic of zeff sitting the two of them down and basically saying that if they don't stop making heart eyes at each other he's going to have to separate them because it's getting in the way of work. cue them both promising to act more professional only to end up making out after the kitchen is closed. reader tries to protest because they should be going to bed but ends up giving in when sanji kisses her along the neck.

Ooooh this is both sweet and spicy, the perfect combination! ;)

Warning: slightly NSFW so 18+ please, a little strong language!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @leonerdnimoy.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

How Zeff hadn't lost his mind over the last ten years, he would never know.

He knew, of course. That you had a shared history - a shared past, a shared ordeal that he couldn't even begin to understand. Neither of you chose to talk about it much, the shared glances you shot each other as you shrugged off your past and chose, fought, clawed for tooth and nail, to create a new life for yourself out here in the Sambas Region was something he respected. Admired, even. The two of you shared a past, true, but starting over was a commonality the former Cook Pirate could stoutly understand.

He knows that he should go easier on the pair of you, too. He knew what he had signed up for, when he met you both storming onto the Orbit all those years ago; when he had saved your shivering, despondent lives up on that desolate crag. The two of you had always been close: inseparable, even, from huddling together day in and day out on that rock, to sharing a room and cooking side by side on the Baratie. He knew the two of you, in some ways, better than he knew himself: recognised the signs of yearning, of perpetual adoration from day one. And yet he still found himself two teaspoon clatters away from yanking the hair off of his face when yet another customer comes strutting up to him, demanding compensation for an abysmal lack of service.

'Get your arses in here- now!'

It took you a few seconds to register the voice thundering out from the impact door, too busy trying to fan your face with one of the carded menus you were trying to stack away; Sanji, on the other hand, heard Zeff just fine. He was too preoccupied, absentmindedly placing a few empty champagne flutes onto his tray, while stealing glances in your direction. If his eyelids fluttered any harder, the candlesticks on table twelve would go out in a blazing blast.

Zeff jabbed his thumb in Sanji's direction and then back towards the inside of the kitchen, anger creasing the already wrinkled lines of his forehead like mettled waves in a storm. Realising he couldn't ignore the old sod's words any longer, Sanji sauntered up behind you and pressed his chest against your back. 'I think he's talking to us, sweetheart', he breathed against the shell of your ear, sending goose bumps shooting down your neck as his slender fingers reached round to fall delicately over your own. With a nudge of his nose against the back of your head, he intertwined your fingers and led you towards the back of the room. His free arm settled comfortably around your waist, his eyes staying so squarely on your gaze that he almost tripped over the poor old couple from table two, who were staggering up to collect their coats.

Zeff's groan could be heard out on the ships docked in the Baratie's port, even through the slatted fingers that were covering his drooping face.

As soon as the two of you had plonked down on a couple of seats near the kitchen's 'office' table, Zeff pounced on the two of you like a ravished vulture.

'Look', he stamped over, one hand on the side of his hip and the other still holding the spoon he had been whisking up a fresh batch of meringue with. 'I don't care what the two of you get up to during your free time. In fact, if it's anything worse than what you've already been spotted doing on the floor, I don't want to know.' Sanji guffawed, settling his thighs down further into his seat.

'But the two of you are starting to cause trouble for the business', Zeff continued with a earnest glare in Sanji's direction, his words aimed directly at the sous chef. 'For my business.'

'Our business', Sanji retorted, chewing the inside of his cheek and pointing with a circling finger between the three of you.

'In my restaurant.' Zeff leant forward, his nostrils flaring in a manner that you know meant trouble, but to your surprise Sanji dropped the issue; he grinded his teeth, but chose instead to grip onto your hand underneath the table and hold it against his knee. He knew what he owed Zeff. If not for saving his own life, than, more importantly, for saving yours.

'Even our patrons are starting to relay back to me that you, little donkey-', he jabbed the whipped edge of his wooden spoon straight towards your chest, 'and you, little eggplant-', the spoon gets whisked with a firm buttered splat against Sanji's cheek, 'are flaunting around each other, front of house no less, like two preening peacocks!'

Sanji tilted his head in your direction, doing his best to not further anger the already irate chef by pretending he is not very subtly dropping his eyeline down past the bridge of your nose and landing on your cupid's bow.

The side of your irises met his, and he goes breathless.

To no one's surprise, the flirtation doesn't go over Zeff's head, no matter how hard he's rubbing it. With his pointer and middle finger rubbing his temples and half-covering the rimosed dark-circles under his eyes, Sanji took the opportunity to lean over the arm of your chair and leave a sweet kiss against your cheek with puckered lips. You could feel his smile as he pulled away, and in retaliation you pulled your intertwined fingers up to your lips and peppered a few kisses against his knuckles, clasping it against your chin in a tight lock.

He takes it as a challenge: who can shower the other in more affection, and the soft brushes of his nose against the tip of your own is only interrupted by the slam of Zeff's spoon planking down on the table.

'I've had to deal with this for near twenty years now, and I swear-'

'We're not even twenty, Zeff', you chimed in, attention still fully centred on the dazed look clouding Sanji's lovestruck face as he hovered in front of you, nearly out of his chair by the point and falling onto your lap.

'Yeah, stop being dramatic old man.'

Sanji's words are chiding, but the way he watched you - god, the way he always watches you, the way he spends his whole life helplessly contemplating you is so soft. So serene. So overwhelming. Even though his eyes have lidded, falling down to peer almost lasciviously at the seam of your mouth, his distracted eyes are still so filled with wonder. Whether he had been five years old, locked up inside his father's dank, damp old dungeon, wasting away in the corner as the whole of his kingdom celebrated his death. When you had come, slamming the lock open with a stone you had spent a full half an hour tugging out of the circular cobbled wall, he had clambered into your lap and shoved his face straight into your neck. He had refused to move, only interrupting his desperate sniffles by alternating clenching his tiny fists into your shirt, and tilting his head to the side so he could look up at the side of your face with a childlike bewilderment. That first streak of light brightening in his enamoured eyes.

Whether he had been nine years old, laying his head on your lap and waiting anxiously for the sun to bleach his bones up on that rock, he had still looked at you wonder. Had looked up at you as if you reflected all the pockets of starlight in the universe and stored them in his eyes, and he had been ready there and then to decay, as long as he could be weaved within your atoms for all eternity.

Whether he had been nineteen, sitting next to you at the Baratie's kitchen table with all the cosmos now in his eyes, and so, so deliriously in love with you.

'I mean it,' Zeff huffed, head seesawing between the two of you (which wasn't too far, since your faces were resting roughly one inch apart.). 'One more googly eyes look at each other, and you're both scrubbing barnacles off the dock for the next month.'

'That's alright with me old man, as long as we can share a plank seat.' Sanji winked teasingly in your direction, and you're not sure whose face turns more rubescent: your flushing cheeks, or Zeff's ruddy ears as steam starts pouring out of them in rolls.

'Table seven's still waiting for their appetisers. Go. Now. While the two of you are still teetering on my more charitable side.'

~

The rest of the service goes past in a flash. The sound of your chopping from the far corner of the kitchen is met only with the sound of Sanji's intent whisking from the other, and the occasional 'oi, stop that', from Zeff when he comes marching through and spots you and Sanji eyeing each other up over your respective bowls.

Sanji had to stop looking over at you. If you met his earnest side-eye one more time before you got off for the night, trying to look away from how furiously Zeff's moustache was swinging with each steaming word he muttered out during the rest of the service, you were going to collapse onto the kitchen floor in a fit of giggles.

Evidently, Sanji seemed to be having a similar thought, albeit with one exception: he was making it his life's mission to try and get you to break. That mischievous spirit - that light heartedness and ability to face trouble head on and grin in it's face was exactly the thing that had saved him all those years ago in the Germa Kingdom, back when he was a child. It was one of the things, still, from a list that could reach the bottom of the ocean floor and continue down to the core of the world, that he found endearing about you.

He wanted to hear the sound of your laughter for the rest of his life, for it was the most blissful sound in the world to his eager heart.

He made it his mission to try and distract you: with a flick of his tongue wetting his bottom lip, pretending it was a subconscious action, he let his biceps strain through his dress shirt with the force of his chopping. By the sound of his breathy moans every time he lifted up his sautéing pan to his nose to smell the fresh sprigs of rosemary intermingle with the diced potatoes, you could tell he was toying for your attention.

With the last few orders starting to roll in from the dispersing crowd of diners, Sanji braved out across the kitchen to 'accidentally' bump into you at the sinks. As his hip snapped against yours, he leaned his elbow up on the counter and turned his body fully towards you, until the the front of his apron was shoved up against your belly button and he could go no further. Leaning over you, he pressed the jut of his chin into the top of your head and looked towards the door to make sure the coast was clear.

'You know, sweetheart, if he heard the name you were calling me up in our room last night I swear we could make his stupid moustache fly clean off.'

The corners of your eyes were still tearing up by the time you made it back to your chopping station; the other chefs side-eyed you with merry-meant distaste each time your knife slipped over the outer peel of your garlic as your stomach doubled over in laughter.

You might have made it - you really might have, if you hadn't been able to hear the sweet little huffs emitting from Sanji's side of the kitchen at the same time. Sanji bit his bottom lip and ducked his head back down towards his trout, focusing on his skilful descaling to try and hide his laughter.

The next time he waltzes by with a white chocolate panna cotta, he grazes his hip and elbow in a way that was both a little too tantalisingly close to your side, and creates the perfect opportunity for you to latch onto his elbow and pull him down behind the counter.

'Why are we crouching sweetheart?' He was desperately trying to stifle his smile by catching his teeth against the side of his bottom lip, but he couldn't help the way the corners twitched up at the sight of how flustered you were.

'Because if Zeff catches us again, he'll feed us to the fishes Sanji!'

'Well, it's a good thing that was my last dessert for the night, isn't it my cherie? Because I'm also on clean up duty, and I've just signed you up for it as well.'

Before you could stop him, Sanji has jumped up and is already waltzing back out into the middle of the kitchen.

'Oi, Patty! What do you think you're doing! Y/n and I are on clean up duty tonight, you know - on account of-'

'The two of you being insufferable. Yeah, what's new.' The poor cook just shakes his head and turns his attention back to scouring the grease out of his saucepan.

'Come on', Sanji holds out his arms wide', 'don't you want to help true love's wings blossom? Or at least get some well deserved sleep - tell me the truth, when was the last time you worked less than double shifts. Zeff's wringing you out to dry, and you know it.'

'I don't think so, kid.' Patty's shoulders droop, but he thumps the last few suds out of his pan and hangs it back up on its hook. 'Chef's already warned us about you two, and he's not adding my head to the pile.'

'I don't get it', pipes up the latest addition to the Baratie chef team - a straggler pirate, who had tried his luck sneaking out the door without paying his bill, and had soon found his face sliding across the tile when Zeff's wooden leg had knocked him flying. He shakes out his hands and dries them off with a tea towel, before snorting and rubbing his nose with the linen. 'Why doesn't the guy just split these idiots up?'

'Because the last time he tried it, troublemaker here spilled a fresh pot of béarnaise sauce all over his apron and half of the floor.' Patty's tone is austere, but even as he wipes off the last bits of water from the steel edges of his counter's sink, he can't help but let a fond smile escape across his face. 'Before Zeff could even finish kicking him out, he was already through the door. Poor Chef nearly threw a fit when he went out twenty minutes later to find him, and he was sitting coddling on Y/n's lap behind the bar.'

'Yeah yeah yeah', Sanji laughs, sauntering over to the light switches behind the apron rack and knocking them off with an ostentatious throw of his arm. 'Goodnight, everyone!'

Patty sighs, but obliges. 'If Chef catches you, you're on your own', the man threatens with raised eyebrows as he walks out of the door Sanji props open with the toe of his shoe, but your boyfriend just shrugs light-heartedly.

'Subtle, by the way.'

Sanji pats the man's shoulder and grins. 'I can't help it if three's a crowd now, can I?'

As soon as the door sweeps to a close, your boyfriend's almost flown across the room to spin you around in his arms, your toes barely gracing the floor as he flings you about.

'Finally! Alone at last my love! Do you understand-', he interrupts himself with a kissing peck against your lips, 'how hard-, and another, 'it is to not kiss you every second of service?? I swear, it's torture!' From anyone else the sentiment may have sounded churlishly facetious, but from Sanji the words were so sincere that it almost made your heart melt into a pool of butter by his feet.

'Sanji, we really should get to bed. If Zeff catches us, we're going to be sent out on restroom attendant duty again', you groan, doing your best but hardly succeeding in trying to unlatch Sanji's ravishing hands from off your sides. Instead, his arms wrap tightly around your spine and his palms flatten against your back as he holds you against his thuddering heart.

'My precious life, from what I can remember, you got us back onto the main floor pretty quickly.' His lips land heavily on the top of your head, and you can't help the coarse shockwave of pleasure that floods through your body at the feel. Languidly, he allows his lips to slip down your forehead, softly tilting your head back so he can sweetly lick a wet trail down the side of your cheek.

'That's because Zeff got tired of arguing with me', you huff out, but you don't complain when you feel Sanji's hands roam down to cup the joints between your upper thighs and buttocks. With a hoarse pant against the side of your chin, his fingers dig into the meat and pull your legs up to his waist. You oblige, and allow him to pick you up and delicately place you back down on the sink counter.

'See, no problem!', his lips twitch as he walks between your opening legs, settling himself firmly against your groin as you wrap your ankles in a cross behind his legs. You nip playfully at his earlobe, and he swears he's about to pass out.

With short, panted breaths, he manages to finish his thought. 'Besides, that's why he calls you little donkey, isn't it? Because you always kick back.' His lips ghost a chuckle over the pulse point throbbing on your neck, and you have to do your best to clench your thighs together to stop yourself from whimpering.

'Is this alright, sweetheart?', he asks breathlessly, swiping the flat tip of his tongue out against a sensitive spot, one he knows lies right above your collar bone.

'God- yes', you reply, gripping some curls by the nape of his neck and tugging. 'I've been waiting to do this all bloody day.' He whines, his lips reverberating the sound so its muffled against the side of your neck.

That won't do. That won't do at all. You want to hear all the pretty sounds Sanji can make. Want to make him feel as loved: as wanted, as revered as he's made you feel your whole life.

In reprisal, you snake your hand down, making sure to capture his whimpers with your open, awaiting mouth as your fingers scratch over the taut muscles of his abdomen. When you finally reach down to cup the growing pressure straining against his trousers, he bucks forward against you and nearly knocks your teeth out.

His whimpers are drowned out by muttered, fervent, worried apologies, but you only giggle and silence him with a supplicating kiss.

'But we really should stop and go to bed, Sanj. We make enough trouble around here as it is.' You say the words, but you don't really mean them. Not when you can feel the tip of his finger run slowly... slowly... god! So agonisingly slowly up your inner thigh as he folds the bend of your ear over with a crushing kiss, his lips falling open clumsily as his inner mouth drags plumply across your temple, before running down to suck at your neck.

'Stop? I can barely stop thinking about you, every waking and sleeping second of my day. But if you want to stop, I will my sweet. I'd do anything in the world for you.'

You cup his face with your hands, and with a smile bring him down so you can rest the side of your cheek against his own burning one. He can feel his chest flittering at the feel of your stretching smile burning against his skin: at the feel of your legs tightening their vice around his thighs until he had stumbled forward, body fully resting atop your own now.

'Don't you dare stop now', you giggle. 'I kind of want to see Zeff's mustache fly off, now that I think about it.'

The sound of your and Sanji's roaring laughter is interrupted by the crash of the swing door against the wall, and the looming shadow of the Head Chef trembling up the rocking ceiling.

'Right, forget scraping barnacles. The two of you are going to be swimming with them in a minute!'

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Cackling at the thought of Zeff walking in on Sanji and reader in the kitchen amid ahemmm ✨️extracurricular activities✨️

Like how pissed would he be

"This is NOT WHAT THE KITCHEN IS FOR, YOU GODDAMNED EGGPLANT"

"Right next to my cutting boards?!"

Just throwing a gallon jug of bleach and a sack of cleaning rags at Sanji and telling him he's not leaving until he's disinfected every surface in the entire kitchen

"If we get sued for sexual harrassment it's coming our of your wages, you little shit."

You ask if you need to help and he just snaps off with, "NO. OUT. I don't want you horny idiots in the same room, OUT."

Frustrated dad-sigh grumble grumble "...goddamned kids..." mumble

And Sanji trying not to crack up the entire time he's going off on his tirade

[imhenritz]

Giving him the love he deserves (Sanji x Reader)

I have had this idea in my head for quite some time. I enjoyed writing it, but I don't know how to continue and if I would.

Reader is Mc or Main Character, but I made it sound like it's a name! I'm too lazy to think of a real name. Forgive me! Y/N didn't feel right somehow *sweats* Could this still be considered x reader? Oh god.

The prompt in my head goes like this: "The reader gets sucked into One Piece after wishing that someone would love Sanji like he is supposed to be loved, as nobody has given him a chance. She would love to give him that chance if only she could. One time, she was in her room, falling asleep while recording her voice for a cover request sent to her. When she woke up, she found herself in a boat floating, wearing pieces of jewelry fit for nobility. Her neck, ears, and bracelets were all glittering in the darkness." Story under the cut! Part 2 here!

She hated the dark. There were no lights to be seen, and her eyes adjusted to the darkness, recognizing she had been in a lifeboat. A medieval one; she knew this because of museums she had visited, always drawn to pirate ships, wondering how it would be then.

Everything was quiet, like she was completely alone and trapped. Shouting would be pointless at this point. Absent-mindedly, she started singing "Jolly Sailor Bold." It had been a few days; she was starving and weak. She caught herself and huffed, “If I die, I might as well go in style,” she continued.

She kept repeating it until she got tired and chose to lie down and look up at the stars. They were never this clear in her city.

When she woke up, it was with a man with a braided blonde mustache talking to a few more men. “Ah, the lass. Must be shipwrecked.”

“-Must be loaded…”

“Jewelries…”

She could barely catch their whispers. Groggy and weak, she looked up at the man. It must have been dawn. “Please help me.” Holding her throat, she felt the jewels that were like stones. “Take everything-” She wet her lips, trying to swallow the moisture in her mouth, which she didn’t think was there. “Jewel… Please.”

She lost the ability to talk but could feel a soft arm taking her in. The smell of aftershave and nicotine lulled her to sleep.

“I got you, Madame.”

She woke up to Sanji greeting her with food and saw her eat it without any grace, making him let out a chuckle, and she glared weakly, more embarrassed than mad. “I’m sorry; I lost count of how long I was in the sea.”

“Try 85 days.”

“What—85?” her eyes widened as he grinned. He gestured to the seat next to her bed, and she nodded. “I’m sorry. I think I was only there for a week—”

He shook his head. “It’s not about the days. It’s experiencing hunger. You gave up every bit of your jewelry, you know.”

She reached for her neck and huffed. “Those jewels meant nothing if you can’t eat or drink.”

“Damn right.”

Her eyes went to the door, where she recognized the man who saved her. She thought she was in a dream before, but it’s uncanny how both are real-life versions of Zeff, and now looking at the young blond man at her side—Sanji?

“You’re an aristocrat. I’m sure a few pieces won’t go missing,” the older man grumbled. He kicked the young blond’s head. “Give up the seat, little eggplant.”

Sanji lookalike grumbled but did mutter, “Old shit bag.”

She gasped, blinking, piecing things together. “Little eggplant…” she muttered in disbelief.

“I assure you it has nothing to do with—”

Zeff lookalike chuckled. “I assure you he is every single bit of a little eggplant,” he smirked and brushed his mustache down, making them bounce up, resisting the brush. “They call me Zeff. What’s your name, lass?”

“Mc, sir,” she bowed deeply. “I owe you my life, Sir Zeff. Please let me repay you somehow.”

“Another one on the bag,” he mumbled.

The blond man saw the chance and began, “My name is Sanji. You can call me whatever you—”

“—Your family must be looking for you. Where are you from?” Zeff watched as she gulped and looked away from him, mouth opening and closing with no words. “I can’t let you stay here and be seen as a kidnapper—”

“—Old man, what if she runs away? We have extra rooms—”

“No, no stuff on the boat. It’s shipwrecked. Can’t let the place close because of a stowaway—”

“NO!” she stopped him with a loud voice, causing both to stop. “I’m sorry. This might sound crazy, but I’m not from around here. I don’t think I am,” she gulped.

“Could you have amnesia?”

She sighed and shook her head. “Please don’t kill me, but I think I know who you are and where I am. Please let me finish.”

She gave them a recap of what she knew, and both men were quiet. She pulled on her IV, hissing at the pain. “I’m sorry. I will go now; I’m sure you won’t want anyone like me here, after knowing all of those. I think the jewels are real. Although I’m not sure if they are since I just woke up wearing them—”

“You are staying, lass.”

“I know. I’m sorry—let me.” She stood, but her legs didn’t work as they were supposed to, and she fell on her knees. Sanji was there to help her.

“I know I gave you 85 days as a hint. But damn, giving out the whole story. So you know me and everything?”

She nodded, and Zeff began to laugh. “Just when I thought I had seen all the world has to offer.”

“You’re just going to accept this, you old man?”

Zeff smirked, “Anyone could have lied better than that.” He looked at Mc and smiled. “I won’t have a freeloader here. You know what this place is, then.”

She nodded, “I can wash the dishes, clean the toilet—wait tables.”

“God no. I don’t need a woman in my kitchen or in the toilet. You’ll wait tables. You start tomorrow.”

Sanji stood, still supporting her. “She can’t even walk!” he protested.

Zeff was about to reply when she patted Sanji’s hand. “I’ll start tomorrow, sir Zeff. Thank you so much.”

"Just Zeff will do, lass"Zeff grumbled and began walking to the door, hearing Sanji sweet-talking her as she left. “Patty will help you with your clothes.”

Sanji paused and shouted, “Old man, Patty won’t know what fashion is if it knocks on his head!”

Zeff glared. “More than you.”

**===**

“I have to say, having the girl waiting on tables isn’t bad,” Patty said, seeing how everyone can actually work in the kitchen better now. She works fast, and all the cooks have to do is the labor of bringing out the heavy meals.

“She has a great smile, pleasing personality—”

“Charming!”

“A sight for sore eyes, you lot aren’t,” Patty chortled, laughing as he proceeded to cart in the finished meals. He smirked, seeing one certain sous chef who was grumbling under his breath as he was stirring a pot. He walked closer, pushing the cart to a designated dishwasher for the week. “Got to get a move on that soup.”

Sanji glared and hissed, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Never thought I’d see the day you would hate being in the kitchen,” Patty leaned forward from the preparation counter.

“Who hates being in the kitchen?” Zeff entered, making Patty straighten up and busy himself, but not before smirking with Carne. “The shit cook wants to wait tables, boss.”

Zeff rolled his eyes, “He is staying in the kitchen. Can’t afford to have him kick another customer out on a whim.”

Sanji took off the ladle he had been stirring and turned, “He was flirting with Mc!”

“And?” Zeff huffed, “You do the same with every woman who darkens the door, little eggplant.”

“Yeah!” Carne added, “She must have learned that from you! That woman charms women and men! Makes you look like an amateur!”

They laughed. “Someone’s getting a taste of their own medicine.”

“Ooooh, getting a taste of their medicine?” Mc walked in, heels clicking on the tiled floor, smiling. “Who is it this time?” She looked expectantly at everyone, who dispersed. “Hey!”

Sanji was about to float over to her when Zeff interrupted. “Lass, your notepad seems to be getting thinner.”

Mc looked down at her little notepad, with a grimace she apologized. “Sorry, Zeff, I just take so many notes. I would need a new one tomorrow.”

Zeff chuckled, “Those notes make customers feel like you’ve known them forever. Take this and buy yourself a whole stack of notes—”

“—Thank you!”

“I can, of course, escort you tomorrow!” Sanji offered, now getting to Mc, who was glowing from the berries that Zeff had handed over.

“Oh no, no need, Sanji. It’s just notes. I can handle it.”

“Get the lass the notebook from my room, Sanji. This one won’t last the night.”

Mc smiled at Sanji, and he went tapping Carne, gesturing to the pot.

As soon as Sanji left, he pulled out a list. “Take him to carry stuff.”

“Oh, okay,” Mc nodded, going over the list that had meat and rice on it. “That makes sense. It’ll be best to get everything at once.” She gasped. “I almost forgot we got this order from table 8, 5, and 2!” ripping off three papers and pinning them overhead of the pot Sanji was cooking.

She breezed out of the kitchen when the bell rang. “Thank you again, Zeff!”

She exited the door when Zeff hollered, “Buy yourself something else too!”

If she was drawn at that moment, she would surely have flowers in the background.

Carne looked at Zeff, who just returned it with a raised brow. “We got enough ingredients for next week.”

Zeff brushed his braided mustache. “The little eggplant deserves the break for how obedient he has been lately,” he chuckled. “Even volunteered to wait tables!”

**===**

“I’m pretty sure by the way you keep feeding me this expensive food, I’ll be in debt forever, Ji,” Mc sighed in content as she savored the dessert she just served earlier, which cost berries she'd earn in a day.

“Then you’ll stay forever with me,” Sanji winked, wiping the utensils they washed together dry.

Mc grinned, “You won’t hear me complaining,” taking another bite, she remembered something, causing her to pause.

Sanji paused and bit his cheek, watching the spoon in her mouth and her fishing out a paper and sliding it to him. “I hope this is a love letter.”

Mc pulled the spoon clean and held it up. “Unfortunately not, I thought about giving you one with the orders, but I don’t know if Carne or Patty will process the order instead, so I held back.”

Sanji blinked. Mc had always flirted back with him and accepted his flirtations, but he always thought it was a game they were playing. She was just charming, and she knew his past; why would someone like that return his love?

“I have a favor to ask, Sanji.”

He raised a brow, taking the paper but not opening it. “It’s a yes, whatever it is, darling.”

Mc opened her mouth to respond as if it was their usual game when she paused and stopped his hand from picking up the slid paper he just covered with his hand.

“Take me out on a date.”

His mind stopped. He watched her eyes, vulnerable and sincere. “Darling…” he trailed.

She can’t be playing with him. She must know how he couldn’t resist females, especially not her. Someone he treasures.

They went on a date. He planned it all out. She made him feel like he is the only man she could see. It was addicting to have all her attention just on him.

**===**

No one asked how old she was; no one was crude enough to ask, not with him, Carne, Patty around. She had always acted maturely. He was sure she was young, younger than him in appearance at least. Her mental age was around mid or late 20’s. Her actions were so, as he observed from their patrons.

It had been years since she drifted on their restaurant. Ever since his 19th birthday, Sanji had noticed her checking the orders or peeking at the customers as if waiting for someone or loud noises. She knew what was going to happen but refused to tell, afraid it won’t happen.

Then the chore boy appeared. Mc was so gentle and nice to him, always saving him and sneaking him food and patting his head. It wasn’t like she wasn’t giving him attention, but she was giving more energy to him. He didn’t like it one bit.

It was night; she was out for her regular singing at night, a small boat a few meters away from the restaurant. She never told anyone; they believed she assumed nobody could hear her, but they did. Everyone kept their windows open to hear her sing.

In her long nightgown covering everything but her hands and face. The glow of the night lamp she brought with her gave her a soft, ethereal glow.

“I always wanted a musician! Be my friend!”

Sanji’s heart leaped. If she left with the chore boy, he would never see her again. She smiled and patted the boy’s head, pushing his straw hat out of the way. “I can only play the guitar and not that well though.”

“Who cares? We can find one that plays music! We’re friends now!”

Her peal of laughter filled the darkness. “I’ll be just a singer then?” she smiled and sighed, “I would only in one condition.”

“Condition?”

She urged him closer and whispered, and before the boy could shout it, she held a finger on his lips. “You can’t tell anyone.” Part 2 here! Thank you for reading! I've never written for Sanji or One Piece before, but this idea won't let me sleep. It's a shame to leave it in my drafts to collect dust. Here's my tribute!

[timelessstardust99]

sanji x reader where he’s basically in love with them, he’s always by their side but reader can’t quite understand why someone as handsome as sanji would love someone like them, angsty and fluffy please! i love sanji so so so so much

Sanji's Love | LA! Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader (Spoiler for the Live Action One Piece show)

Summary: In which Y/N doubts that Sanji actually loves them and thinks he was just flirting with them out of pity, because who could fall in love with someone who barely knew how to boil water, much less cook.

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x GN! Reader

Y/N sat on the ram head of the boat, their legs dangling from the ledge as they looked over the ocean that was sloshing around beneath them. They couldn't believe that they were a part of a Pirates crew after years of serving the Baratie, they had always had the dream to be a part of one just like Zeff was before he had lost his leg. Thinking about it now though, they couldn't understand why Luffy had wanted them on his crew. Maybe it had been Sanji's persuasion or the fact that Luffy always felt the need to have them fulfill their dreams whilst they look for the One Piece together. Y/N sighed, pulling their legs up to their chest and resting their head on their knees.

"Y/N, darling, what are you doing all the way up there?" Came the voice of Sanji, the man Y/N had been avoiding since they had become a part of Luffy's crew. The eighteen-year-old looked over the edge of the ram and towards the older blonde who looked up at them with a charming smile which made Y/N blush at one of the pet names the cook seemed to call them in endearment.

"Uh, thinking." Y/N admitted, smiling shyly at the nicely dressed man who walked a little more to the ram head so he could climb up there with them, though it seemed to be hard for him to climb with pants as tight as his. Y/N's thoughts seemed to disappear as they watched Sanji try to climb up the ram head, which caused the younger of the two to giggle at him. Sanji thought it was music to his ears. "Do you need help hun?" They asked him, watching as the man struggled to hang onto the statue, with one leg draped over so he could get a good footing.

"No, I've got this," he strained, pulling himself slowly up the ram head and sitting with his back against theirs for a moment as he gasped in breaths, his hair now sticking to his already sweaty forehead.

"No, no, I see you've got it," They nudged him causing Sanji to chuckle and swing his legs around so he was now sitting side to side with the younger teen. Their smile soon turned into a frown again as they looked out to the ocean again, Sanji noticed this and pushed his shoulder against their's.

"What's the matter, love?" He asked them gently. They didn't want to admit it, not anyone, but they felt as if they didn't deserve Sanji's love and appreciation. They didn't look anything like the kind of person Sanji would prefer. They looked at him with a frustrated glint in their eye.

"Why do you love me?" They asked him, his eyes going wide from the sudden question. He didn't think they'd question his love and loyalty, sure he was a big flirt, but he had quit doing that because Y/N was everything he had always wanted in a partner.

"What's brought this on?" He asked, his hand going against their back as a way to comfort them.

"I just... I just can't understand why you'd want me when there are so many more people out there and you picked me? Why? I'm a nobody, even when I worked at Baratie." They said, looking at him with frantic eyes. He stared at them in shock.

"Dear, there is no one on this planet besides you that I want," He said gently to them.

"Really?" They doubted, their overthinking nature always seemed to win. He smiled at them, bringing his face closer to theirs and giving them a kiss on the forehead, which caused them to close their eyes. He pulled back from them, looking at their content face.

"Really," he said, "is that also why you were avoiding me after we left Zeff?" He asked after a moment. They sighed, laying their head on his shoulder with shame.

"Yeah, I just couldn't bring myself to look at you with all of these thoughts, I felt like I was holding you back." They admitted to him.

"You can never hold me back dear," He said, wrapping an arm around their shoulders and hugging them close as he kissed their temple. In the silence of the air, Y/N was finally feeling like they were meant to be here, with this man and their crew.

EDIT: Sorry, had to edit a couple of parts, it was only a small part.

[fanaticsnail]

Honey Glazed

Chef Zeff. I love him, and I won't apologize for my adoration.

Warnings: hypothetical discussions regarding cannibalism, drinking.

Word Count: 2,500

(Coming from real life conversations and experiences in both my and chef-husband's hospitality careers; you'd be surprised at how much the thought comes up regularly in conversation. Yes, can confirm: chef's flirt like this)

It had been a particularly difficult shift; balancing your managerial roles like an expert plate spinner in a circus.

On one plate, you had a wait staff member needing consolation in the ‘cool room’ to manage their mental breakdown over a particularly rude patron dining in the circular wooden floor. On another, you had to talk down Patty from storming out onto the floor not only in defence of the aforementioned wait staff member, but due to the fact they sent their food back to the kitchen with the proclamation that their meat was undercooked and “bloody”.

Round and round you balanced the dynamic of pure professionalism with engaging with the variety of patrons, serving the dishes presented by the team of chefs, and managing the rapport with the staff with a cheery disposition under the ever watchful eyes of the braid-bearded, head chef Zeff. He would often gaze longingly at you, admiring how truly blessed he was to have you as his queen of the front of house, his warrior of waitressing and his confidant in comradery. And to think, he nearly didn’t hire you.

-------

From the amount of profiles and resume’s he had received from his request for a front of house manager, your resume stuck out like a gem incrusted tiara amongst a pile of dulled rocks. Ex-convicts, reformed pirates, seasoned managers and members of his own staff putting their names forward for the position; all eclipsed by your resume.

You were young, younger than he would ever consider thrusting into the role but older than his blonde apprentice. Kind, gracious and innocent were the three words that flew into the mind of the braided ex-pirate captain.

“Found someone yet?” the young Sanji asked him with his own frown rising to his face.

“Not yet, little eggplant,” he grouchily informed him, placing your resume back to the side of the table and away from any of the other candidate profiles.

“Well, hello,” Sanji said as he took the sheet within his hands, “this is the one, chef.”

Zeff again shook his head, flittering through the tattooed and scarred front of house manager resumes within his hands, muttering a simple: “no.”

“Why not?” the teen Sanji asked him, his eyes wide as he thrust the paper back into Zeff’s pile, “she’s beautiful.”

“That’s exactly why not, kid,” Zeff said again, pushing the resume away from him and back onto the table; “she’s not meant for here. Too pretty, too young,” Sanji shook his head as Zeff continued; “she’d be chewed up and spat out before she’d be able to manage the guests, let alone the staff.”

Sanji let out a small angry growl and fished your resume back and thrust it once more into Zeff’s arms; “humour me. Wait staff are meant to be pretty, it’s the chefs that are hardened criminals. If she’s applying to work on Baratie, it shows she has the balls to run the front of house looking the way she does.”

Zeff locked his eyes with his young apprentice, finally clasping the paper once more in his fingertips and looking it over in consideration. Sanji did have a keen eye for quality, travelling over from his appreciation of food to his appreciation of other areas of his interests.

You were perfect. From your vast experience to the way your uniform clung to you. He just needed to ensure your personality would match up to your role; and with one den-den-mushi call, he was completely smitten with you and offered you a full-time job immediately.

Flirty, fiery, charismatic and professional; exactly everything he didn’t know he wanted flittered in with the qualities he needed in his front of house counterpart. You were the one he wanted.

-------

You sighed, throwing your head backwards to relieve the tension gathered after waving off your closing floor staff for the evening. You leant your hips against the lit benchtop of the pass; the kitchen island closest to the door where chefs and wait staff would meet their hands in service.

“You gonna hang around for knock offs, sweets?” Zeff asked you from his place leaning against the frame of his office door with his arms crossed over his chest. You lulled your head to rest itself on your shoulder and smiled with your eyes barely parted.

“Yes, Chef,” you offered him an exhausted, two-fingered salute as you drew enough energy and willpower to push yourself forward from the pass. Zeff began his stride over to meet with you, his hand brushing with the small of your back to escort you through the entrance of the kitchen and up towards the fish-mouth lounge. You shot him another half-smile in thanks for his attention, a twinkle forming back within his own gaze in appreciation for your gratuity.

He remained close as he approached the bar with Patty falling his grasp of several bottles and sloppily attempting to pour beer from the taps into the wrong kind of vessels. A groan fell from your lips and your back dropped, defeated at the sight that lay before you.

“Get out of there, Patty,” you ordered him with a smile, making your way behind the bar and away from Zeff’s hold on your body, “stick to the food. I’ll get you lot your knock offs.”

“Don’t forget about yourself, honey,” Zeff ordered you, his uneven step making his way over to the till to begin his inventory duties to complete the close of the night. You nodded at him before beginning to assemble a variety of drinks while overhearing the chefs discussing something amongst one another in hushed tones; brows furrowed, lips passionately fleeing words in whispers.

The three major instigators in conversation were Sanji, his eyes widening and hands gesturing to different points of his torso before trailing them down towards his stomach; Patty who was shaking his head with a frown and gesturing to his shoulder blades while hissing out between his lips; and Carne who was just watching the conversation falling between them standing concerned and confused.

You approached the chefs with their knock offs: a red wine for Sanji, a flagon of ale for Carne and a dry whiskey for Patty while keeping another red wine to the side for your head chef to retrieve once he had done inventory.

“There you are, lads,” you uttered with a sigh as you held the drinks forward, your left hand reaching behind your neck as you relieved it of the tension with circular motions beneath the ministrations of your fingertips, “knock offs: done.”

“What are we drinking tonight, love?” Sanji arched his brow upward and pursed his lips suggestively. You leant forward against the bar in response, your elbows and palms lying flat as you brought your face closer to his.

“You’re drinking a cabernet sauvignon-,” you whispered an inch away from his lips, tilting your chin upwards; a pink blush immediately rising to rest on Sanji’s cheeks, “-and I’m,” you pulled away from his face with a small giggle, “having a black Russian.”

You fished your fingertips within the short glass, pulling out the stem of the bright red maraschino cherry and plopping the syrupy fruit on your tongue; wrapping your lips around it and breaking the stem away with a ‘pop’. The three chefs in front of you held their gaze, completely transfixed by your suggestive movements.

This was your favourite part about working at Baratie. The rapport and flirtatious engagements between the front of house and the back of house was the driving force to keep you motivated as you navigated through the shift. After chewing and swallowing the amoretto-forward fruit, your warm laugh fell contagious amongst the four men; Zeff shaking his head off while continuing jotting down his varied notes.

“And all of you-,” you placed the stem of the cherry into the compost bin located below the wooden surface, “-were talking about cooking with human again, weren’t you?”

An apprehensive blush rose to the three chefs in front of you, ashamed of their unbridled conversation.

“Look,” you began, shaking your head, “there’s too much variety in your body shapes and muscle density. You’ve got to focus on just the one of you or you’re never going to make cohesive progress in this completely hypothetical situation.”

“Oh?” Sanji began, raising his glass away from his lips while taking his bottom lip between his teeth; giddy about your willingness to join in the conversation, “so who should we choose to hyper-fixate our cooking practices on? I’m all ears, love.”

You laughed at him, a shrug adorning your shoulders and mouth down-turning in thought, “what about me?”

The chefs all down-turned their mouths in thought, eyes falling to your body as you adorned a slightly more dressed-down version of your uniform. You laughed, held out your arms and gave a small turn in response to their ponderance.

“Will I suffice?” you arched your brow up as you made your rotation back towards the three chefs once more.

“You’ll do nicely,” Carne nodded, turning his body atop the stool to bring his body to face Sanji next to him and Patty behind him, “thoughts, gentleman?”

“Smoked on an open fire,” Patty nodded, gesturing to your body. You chuckled, raising the cool liquid to your lips and taking a small drink as you rested your back against the wall of the bar.

“Smoked?” Sanji questioned him with an elevated tone, “what, and ruin the natural sweetness of her body and unable to crisp up her beautiful skin? Look at her! Whole-smoked?”

“Oh, and what would you suggest; Sanji?” Carne spoke up, prompting the blonde to first turn to him and frown before bringing his attention back towards your body.

He raked his eyes from your ankles, dragging his gaze slowly up your thighs and settling on your stomach. His tongue flicked out to dampen his lower lip in thought as he drew his sights to your breasts before falling to your arms. You giggled at his attention, almost regretting your decision to open your body up to extreme examination.

“I’d take my time,” Sanji began, gesturing to a variety of points on your body, “cut the different portions and begin reductions at the same time as preparing your body to not only be smoked,” he grimaced at Patty before turning his eyes back towards you, “but also honey glazed.”

The four of you all chuckled at the conversation falling between you. Zeff, finally having completed his inventory, made his way back towards his key staff members and collected the red wine glass from the counter besides you.

“Care to weigh in, chef?” you asked him, eyes half-lidded and your signature smile falling to your lips, “if you had my body to enjoy,” you gestured down to your torso and legs, “how would you prepare me for consumption?”

Having no prior context to the conversation falling between the four of you, Zeff found himself get slightly flustered under your brazen disregard for discussing cannibalising your body. You widened your eyes and shook your hand outwards defensively with a laugh.

“Hypothetically speaking, chef,” you breathily laughed in defence of your prior suggestion, “we were talking about how you chefs would go about preparing human. Thought I’d volunteer my flank, ribs, legs, shank and rump,” you playfully slapped your left ass cheek with a giggle, “for continuity’s purposes.”

Zeff hummed thoughtfully, raising his glass to his lips with another glimmer of adoration behind his eyes at how truly accustomed you were to engaging flirtatiously with himself and his staff. He sampled the vintage over his palate, rolling the bitter liquid over his tongue and whistling it through his lips to oxidise the wine to savour the flavour. In response, you rose your black Russian back up to your lips and take the final gulp of the liquid and lay the glass upturned against the bar sink.

“Go on, chef,” you encouraged him, doing another small twirl in front of him, “lay it on me. I truly don’t mind.”

Sanji smirked as he witnessed the flirtations engaging between you and Zeff. He was well aware of his favouritism of you, potentially harbouring more than simple affection for you as his manager. You were a part of the crew, a major part of running smooth operations; Sanji would think Zeff daft to not harbour a semblance of infatuation with you.

“There’s a lot I could do with your body,” Zeff smirked with his left brow arched upwards, causing a small tingle to rise up in anticipation of your next words. The head chef stepped forward, placing his glass down to the side and reaching with his right hand forward to claim your left.

He moved his bearded jaw towards your arms, slowly raking it upwards while inspecting your flesh; uttering: “braised in red wine, spice and liquid smoke,” his lips travelled up to your shoulder, halting at your arched neck, “roasted with a mirepoix and pesto butter.”

Your jaw hung slack with a small smile falling to your lips as your eyes watched your chef remove himself from your body and twirl you away from him; tracing his fingers down your spine, “I’d either crack these separately,” he trailed his hands over your ribcage and leant in towards your ear, “or I’d keep them as a solid rack and tenderise them with a firm massage with coarse sea-salt to bring out your natural sweetness.”

A blush crept up towards your cheeks as you felt his arm come around your body to bring itself against your thigh and clutch it firmly in his wide hands; “but this,” he steadily shivered your flesh under his strong grasp, “this would be my absolute favourite. I’d stud it with cloves, cross-hatch and cure it,” his breath tingled against your neck as his lips traced the shell of your ear, “and I’d glaze it with a sauce as sweet as you are, honey.”

An unintentional gasp fled from your lips at his words. You admit to yourself, you enjoy the odd flirt from time to time with the staff; but this particular interaction with your boss felt unlike any flirtation you had engaged with him prior. Your whole body tingled in surprise and shock at how Zeff so intimately spoke to you, even though it was words so completely unhinged as how to cook you appropriately.

Zeff chuckled and withdrew his hand from your thigh and made his way back towards the wooden bar; reopening the cabernet sauvignon bottle and filling his crystal glass once more before offering the neck to Sanji’s empty one.

“Anything to add, boys?” Zeff asked his team from his spot behind the bar, you remaining stunned before shaking off your stupefied state and bringing yourself beside Zeff and beginning to make your second black Russian to continue to rid your body from the rise of heat.

“Yeah,” Sanji added, raising his glass to his lips, “you’d probably fuck it all up with oregano.”

[turtletaubwrites]

part 2 to my lovely patron pretty please?? or just like anything with zeff works too lol

Thank you so much for the request! I've made part 2 for My Lovely Patron, and I hope you enjoy it!

My Lovely Patron ~ Part 2

Pairing: Red Leg Zeff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1922

Ao3 Link

Summary: You are a journalist following a story about fishmen attacking a floating restaurant. You tried to ply the head chef with wine for some details, but ended up getting more than you bargained for. Your story may be a bust, but you've still got time to kill, and you know exactly how you'd like to spend it.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ Only, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader Insert, Smut, Fluff, Age Difference, Flirting, Alcohol, Condoms, Penis in Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Size Kink, Praise Kink, Pet Names, Zeff is an amputee, mention of peg leg and removing it, Shameless Smut

A/N: Part 1 was my first request ever, and it was so fun to write. I wouldn't have thought to write for Zeff without the ask, but I'm so glad I did! There's something about this old chef 👨🏼‍🍳💛

It was getting late, but you didn’t want to go back to that ship now. Not when this handsome old pirates' skilled fingers had just sent you screaming to the night sky. Not while his deep laugh was still rumbling through your body as he told you more stories of his adventures.

Running your fingers up and down your water glass, you bit your lip as you worked up your nerve.

It looked like this trip was going to be for pleasure instead of business, and you couldn’t be mad about it. 

“What’s got ya smilin’ like that, girl?”

Zeff grinned at you over his wine glass, and your skin flushed at his knowing smile.

You cleared your throat as you straightened in your chair, leaning forward slightly. 

“I was just thinking that I’d rather not sleep on that ship tonight.”

Humming, he set his glass down, and rested his hand on his knee as he leaned toward you. 

“And just where would ya like to sleep, doll?”

Your face was burning now, and you fought to keep your voice steady instead of squeaking. His sparkling eyes burned into your skin, and you shivered.

“With you, chef. If that’s alright?”

He beamed, staring at you for a moment. 

“How could I deny my lovely patron?”

Zeff stood, reaching out for you to take his hand. He guided you out of your seat, and again you felt suddenly small. He wasn’t a pirate anymore, but the way he carried himself, and the broad expanse of his body made you feel delicate, fragile.

He brought his hand to rest on the back of your neck, looking over your face before he spoke.

“Let me take care of ya, sweetheart.”

His strong hand gripped you as he leaned down for a kiss. The tickle of his goatee and braided mustache were balanced with the slow, warm pressure of his lips, and the tease of his tongue as you opened for him. His free hand found your hip, pulling you close, and you hummed as your hands ran along his sides. 

“Let’s get outta here.”

His large hand gripped yours, and you couldn’t stifle a giggle as he led you through the empty restaurant. He gave you a wink as he pulled you along, and you realized you wouldn’t have been able to find your way back, the anticipation was too distracting. 

The steady rhythm of his steps with his wooden peg leg felt like the thumping of your heart until your rhythm sped too fast. 

Finally, a dark wooden door was before you, and he tilted his head down, catching your eyes. 

“Sure ya wanna spend the night with me, darlin’? I can find an empty bed if ya don’t wanna go back to that ship.”

Your body relaxed, and you grinned up at him.

“I’m sure, chef.”

A satisfied hum vibrated through him, making you sigh as he opened the door. 

His room was large, and smelled of wood, smoke, and that rich scent of his skin. A large wooden desk was covered in papers, and a set of glassware with a bottle of whiskey. There were interesting items around the room that you wanted to focus on, wondering if he’d picked them up during his adventures. 

But the bed caught your eye, covered in dark red blankets, a bit rumpled as if he’d rushed to make it in the morning. It was huge, plenty of room for his large frame. And maybe one more, you thought as you chewed your lip. 

Zeff poured himself a small glass of whiskey, lifting the bottle to ask you, but you shook your head. You were glad you’d cut yourself off earlier, you had a feeling you’d like to enjoy and remember tonight clearly. 

After a small sip, Zeff leaned against his desk, and looked you up and down.

“Why don’t ya get comfortable, sweetheart?”

Nerves tingled through you as he winked. You set your purse by the bed, then undressed while the old pirate watched your every movement. You noticed as his eyes grew dark, and he gave a short intake of breath when you were fully nude. 

With a smile, he nodded toward the bed.

“Go on now, love.”

You obeyed, crawling to lean against the pillows and headboard. He set his glass down, and moved toward the foot of the bed. 

You spread your legs for him, and his mouth went slack while you teased your fingers around your clit, showing him how wet he’d made you earlier. 

“Mm, such a good pet for me.”

His voice was even deeper, the heat of it making you gasp as he removed his shirt, and the small scarf around his neck. His body was large, with muscles and weight to it, his skin accentuated with some blonde, but mostly gray hair.

Holding your breath as you watched him strip, your eyes went wide as he pulled his pants down, revealing his thick cock that matched his large stature. He winked at you again as you watched his partially hard cock growing while he looked at your body on display for him.

He sat at the edge of the bed and removed his peg leg, letting his pants fall to the floor before crawling up the bed toward you. 

Your eyes fought to look at his instead of the impressive shaft bobbing toward you. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I don’t have protection in here, so ya won’t have to fit all of me in the sweet little body of yours.”

“I, uh.. I have a condom.”

Zeff’s wicked grin felt searing on your skin as you pointed toward your purse. He handed it over, chuckling as you pulled out the condom for him. 

“Let’s get you ready first, sugar. I want a taste.”

Zeff had moved between your legs, and you couldn’t help another nervous laugh as you spread for him. He moved his hand over you, massaging your clit with his thumb as he watched your face. 

“Such a good little girl. Let me take good care of ya.”

Zeff wrapped his big hands around your hips, and brought his mouth down. You giggled again as his long mustache tickled the inside of your thighs. Then you gasped as his lips pressed a kiss to your clit, before his tongue explored your folds, tasting the pleasure he’d already brought you. 

“Oh, Zeff,” you moaned softly, running your hands into your own hair as you squirmed under him. 

The tickle of his facial hair only added to the sensations as he dipped his tongue into your entrance, swirling inside you as his nose rubbed against your clit. His tongue found its way there again as he brought one of his thick fingers to push inside you.

You tried to keep your moans quiet, but he lifted his mouth away to watch your face. 

“Come now, girl, it’s just us in here. Be a good pet, and let me hear ya.”

He added another thick finger as he commanded you, and you gave him what he wanted. 

“Yes, chef,” you breathed before letting your moans out, his fingers dragging more and more noises from you as they curled against that sweet, desperate spot.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibrations taking you over the edge until you were twitching around him, mouth hanging open as you grasped his hair, holding him against you while you rode the waves.

He crawled up to sit beside you, leaning against the headboard while he gave you a smile. You moaned again at the sight of him licking the taste of you from his lips, then shivered as he kissed your temple.

“How ya doing, love?”

You could have passed out right then, all the pleasure he’d given you tonight making your body loose and warm. 

But you saw his own need standing straight up beside you, and you reached across his lap to grasp onto it.

He groaned softly as you used both of your hands to move along his length, the size of it making your body tighten. 

“Mm, such a good little pet. How ‘bout ya come sit on my lap again, pretty girl?”

Nodding, you stroked the condom onto his skin, rolling your hands down his shaft and into his wiry, gray hair. You rubbed your fingers from there up his body, enjoying the feeling of his coarse hair and solid muscles, until your hands found his shoulders.

His dark eyes didn’t lose that sparkle as he watched you line yourself up. He grasped your hips, holding you steady while you started to move your body down his, your wetness helping you to take in the size of him.

You couldn’t help but hold your breath as you let him fill you up, stretching you, until you were gasping as he was fully hilted within you. 

“You really are such a good little girl, aren’t ya?”

“Mmhm,” you moaned, still adjusting to him. 

“Let me feel this pretty cunt of yours, doll.”

His words were like heat through your body, making you shake as he guided your hips, helping you ride him. 

It wasn’t long before you were falling apart, unable to hold yourself up. You lay across his chest, the roughness of his hair moving against you with every thrust he helped you with. 

He took one large hand, rubbing it along your back as he grunted softly.

Flipping you over easily, he grasped one of your wrists in his hand as he looked down at your face. You knew you were gone, already so fucked, and he chuckled at the sight of your heavy lidded eyes, your tongue hanging loose for him. 

His thrusts became heavier, slamming into you with the weight of his powerful body.

“Do you like what this old man can give ya, girl? You wanted this old man to fuck ya?”

“F-Fuck, yes, chef!”

He groaned then, bringing his hand to your face now, cradling your cheek with his warm fingers while your eyes rolled back in your head.

“That’s a good girl. Let me feel ya now. Come for me, pet.”

His words poured through you until your body was clenching on him, milking his cock while you screamed his name, your nails digging into his arms. 

Zeff’s movements staggered, and he groaned, lending his voice to your moans while you felt his twitching length, coming inside you. 

He pulled himself out, but stayed above you, resting his forehead against yours while your breaths evened out. 

“Be right back, love.”

He grabbed a cane, and went to an adjacent room, the sound of water running before he returned with a towel. 

“Here ya are, sweetheart.”

His pleased smile brought your own, and you rolled closer to him as he helped you clean with a warm towel. 

“Still wanna sleep in here, doll? I can find another bed for ya.”

Still feeling shy, you shook your head.

“Here sounds nice, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, darlin.”

He crawled into bed, moving the covers aside, and patted beside him.

“Come on, pet. Cozy up.”

Huffing a laugh, you lay beside his warm body, his arms wrapping around you as you let yourself relax. 

This was not how you’d planned this trip to go. You had no leads on a story. But at least you had a good time.

In fact, you may come to visit this floating restaurant more often. 

It’s got great service, you thought as you fell asleep with a smile.

Thank You for Reading! 💜

TurtleTaub Fanfic Masterlist

A/N: This was so fun, let me know if there are other characters you'd like to see!

Tag List for Zeff: @thewildomega I hope you enjoy it!

Buy me a coffee ☕🙏🏼

[rollinouttahere-writes]

what about platonic Zeff and Sanji where they take in an abanoned baby and Sanji is immediately like guess I'm a big brother now

Adrift, At Home

Platonic Zeff and Child Sanji x GN Baby Reader

2.6k words

Warnings: graphic depictions of gore and mild references of starvation

The fishing line swayed with the water, drifting freely as it waited for something to bite. Zeff had been sitting in a chair on the dock for a while now and had yet to catch anything beyond the errant piece of seaweed that had tangled itself on the hook. This didn’t bother him. The restaurant was closed for the day and he was more than content to simply enjoy the fair weather, the fishing rod was an excuse to be out here more than anything. 

He’s not an old man that just wants to relax once in a while, he’s catching some fish for the restaurant, thank you very much.

A page was turned from a little farther down the dock. Zeff glanced over, casually observing Sanji as he paged through that fish book he was so fond of. He was lying on his stomach, head propped up on one hand and feet kicking in the air behind him. The boy was fully engrossed in the book and hasn’t spoken a word to Zeff since coming out here. Which was normal for him. 

Zeff went back to idly watching his line, not wanting to provoke Sanji into getting huffy because he caught Zeff looking at him. The horror.

“There’s a boat.”

The off duty chef couldn’t help but tense when Sanji abruptly broke the silence. Looking over at him again, the boy had propped himself up and was pointing. Shifting his focus to where he was motioning to, he saw what Sanji was talking about.

A small boat was slowly drifting past them. It was far too small to be a legitimate sea faring vessel. A lifeboat, perhaps? Had there been a shipwreck nearby? If there was anyone in it, he couldn’t see them. It’s still light out. If they were lost at sea, they should be up and actively trying to call for help. The only reason there wouldn’t be anyone in sight is either because the boat is empty and had simply drifted off on its own.

Or if whoever was in it was already gone.

Sanji suddenly leapt to his feet, “There’s someone in there! I can see a hand!”

A hand? Zeff squinted, internally cursing his aging vision. Just barely peeking over the edge of the boat was the hand Sanji was talking about. Some fingers limply hung off the edge, showing no signs of movement. Zeff really didn’t like that.

Sanji hopped on one foot while ripping off his shoes and was just about to leap into the water when Zeff caught his arm, “Don’t. I’ll go check on them, you go tell the others.”

The boy’s eyes flickered down to his leg, “But-”

“Go. I’m sure that person is hungry, tell Patty to make them something nice,” Zeff’s tone left no room for argument, and Sanji knew better than to push it. He sped off for the Baratie, his previously discarded shoes forgotten in his hurry. 

It would be for the best if Sanji wasn’t here to see this if the stranger in the boat was indeed deceased. There was no telling how long they’ve been there, and Sanji did not need to see that.

After reeling in the fishing line, he tossed it to the side and got to work on unbuckling the straps for his prosthetic. He pulled the peg leg off and propped it up against the chair. Using the armrests, he stood on his remaining leg, then dove into the sea.

The water was cold, but not debilitatingly so. Zeff had no trouble cutting through the mild waves, his lack of one of his limbs had done little to slow him down. The lifeboat wasn’t far off, it won’t take him long to close the gap.

Once he was close enough to be heard, he called out, “Are you alright in there?”

The flapping of wings, followed by some birds flying away from the boat was the only response he received. His heart sank. Maybe those birds were only there to rest, but it was unlikely that they would be bold enough to do so if someone was there to shoo them away.

Then the smell hit him. The musty, putrid, and sickeningly sweet scent of death. Before even making contact with the boat, he knew that it was already too late for whoever was on it.

Still, he forced himself to go the rest of the way. Whoever this was deserved a proper burial after what was likely an agonizing death.

Finally, he was at the boat. His hands grabbed onto the side of the boat, the unidentified person’s hand was directly next to his left hand. Steeling himself for what he was about to see, he hauled himself up. If it wasn’t for his rough history, the sight would have left him sick.

Based on the clothing, he could assume the deceased had been a woman. There wasn’t much else for him to go off of. Sea birds had been eating away at her flesh. They would start at the face, the skin was easiest to get through there, and after that they would work their way down. Her face was gone, every strip of meat had been ripped off and left nothing but a blood soaked skull in its wake. The birds had made decent progress down to the chest after that, a couple hours more and they would have gotten to the organs.

If he had to guess, he would say she hasn’t been dead that long. Birds work quickly, and the wounds are all very fresh. She was probably still alive yesterday. 

Zeff heaved himself up onto the boat, doing his best to avoid disturbing the body. Empty food tins crunched loudly under his weight as he army crawled onboard. The rocking of the boat dislodged the woman’s sunburnt hand from its perch. Rather than falling limp, the muscles remained stiff, fingers clenched as if they were still holding on to something.

Under no circumstances could he let Sanji see this. His eyes darted around the boat for something to cover at least her face with. He would use his shirt if he had to. There was a turned over crate with a tarp covering it. Perfect. It would be more than big enough to wrap around her entire body. Why she hadn’t used it for protection from the sun was beyond him, but there was really no use questioning it now.

The tarp was ripped off the box unceremoniously, and Zeff was frankly eager to get the body covered. Just because he could handle the sight didn’t mean he particularly wanted to see it.

There was something in the box. No. Someone.

A baby, and it isn’t moving.

Zeff forgot about the tarp in an instant and lurched forward to pull the baby out of its hiding place. You were underweight, that much was notable off the bat. Cradling your weak form carefully, he held you up to his face and pressed an ear against your chest.

thump thump thump

The relief that went through him was indescribable. You were weak, but alive. As bad as your given condition may be, your lack of energy was likely the only reason the birds hadn’t noticed you. He set you down in his lap and scrambled to get the oars into the water and get paddling. There was no telling how little time you had left.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll puree some of the best baby food you’ve ever had as soon as we get back to the Baratie.” It was debatable if he was saying this to reassure you or himself. It was barely audible, but he heard a small grunt. Looking down, he saw your face pinch as you attempted to open your eyes with what little energy you had left. “That’s it. Keep fighting, kid.”

Fortunately for you, the dock wasn’t far away, it would only take a couple of minutes before you would be out of the scorching sun and in the restaurant. Several of his workers were already waiting for him at the dock, one of them being Sanji.

Shit! He forgot to cover up the body of who he now presumed to be your mother. Setting down the oar, he pulled the tarp over her head and did his best to make sure it wouldn’t come loose. “Sanji, go inside and help in the kitchen!”

It looked like he was trying to argue, but the other cooks shut it down. From their grim expressions, it appeared that they already knew why Zeff would be so insistent on Sanji not being here for this. The kid scowled, but ultimately turned to leave, stomping his way to the restaurant.

Zeff paddled as fast as he could, praying that his efforts wouldn’t be in vain.

—

The time from when Zeff docked to now had been a whirlwind. Everyone had been prepared for a dead body, but had gone into a tizzy upon realizing there was also a survivor. A very young one at that.

Fortunately, you appeared to be old enough to eat solid food, and had been eager to do so once you’d gotten your wits about you. Apparently they hadn’t been feeding you fast enough, so you tried to take matters into your own hands by snatching the spoon out of theirs. For as weak as you’d looked on the boat, it seems your health hadn’t deteriorated as much as he’d initially thought. Your mother must have been giving the bulk of the food she had to you.

As for the deceased mother, there wasn’t much they could do about her. Ships went missing all the time, figuring out which one she had specifically come from would be near impossible. Even if they did… it would be difficult for anyone to identify her. As sad as it was, giving her a burial at sea was the best they could do.

They can only hope that she will be able to rest peacefully now that her baby is safe.

After giving you a much needed bath and clothing you in one of Sanji’s old shirts, you were happily sitting in a basket they’d stuffed some blankets into for padding. The shirt was dramatically too big for you, but it would have to do until proper clothes could be picked up.

Taking in an infant had hardly been something that Zeff planned to do today, but he saw few other options. If he couldn’t figure out who your mother was, what chance did he have at identifying you and tracking down surviving family members? Sure, this situation was what orphanages were there for, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon you at one. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to have a good roof over your head, and such a thing is hardly a guarantee at one of those.

“Where is the other person?” 

Zeff looked up from the catalog he’d been flipping through at Sanji’s inquiry. Admittedly, he’d been hoping the kid wouldn’t ask about it, however unrealistic that was. He’d been very focused on you since you were brought in. Even now, he was sitting by your basket and letting you play with his hand. Ah, they would need to pick up some toys for you next time they went to shore, too.

The pause was too long for Sanji’s liking, so he continued, “That hand I saw was too big to be theirs.”

Of course he’d notice the discrepancy. While Sanji was far from being a stranger to horrors and hardships, Zeff still did not want to disclose the details of what he saw to him. “The other person was already dead. We had no way of knowing where she came from so she was buried at sea.”

“Was she their mother?” Sanji turned to look at Zeff.

“More than likely,” was his simple response.

Sanji bit his lip and abruptly looked away, then back at the baby. Silence hung in the air a while longer before he spoke up again, “So they’re all alone now?”

“I wouldn’t say that. They’ve got all of us, don’t they? I expect that you’ll help take care of them since you were the one that spotted the boat they were in.” Zeff glanced over the list of baby supplies he’d made. Content with what he saw, he stood from the table. Now he needed to take account of what food they had in stock and make that list next. “Keep an eye on them while I finish making the list.”

He heard a hum of affirmation and considered that good enough before making his exit. The pantry wasn’t far, he’ll be able to hear you if you start fussing. Besides, Sanji’s a good kid. He can handle watching a baby for a few minutes. 

You’re going to need a name, he supposes. Can’t keep calling you ‘the baby’ forever. Oh well, he’s sure a name will come to him soon enough.

It didn’t take long to make note of what food they needed, which wasn’t much. They weren’t due for another grocery run for a few more days yet, but there were some supplies for you that they simply couldn’t go without in the meantime. He’ll set out bright and early tomorrow, you won’t have to wait for long.

Zeff came back into the kitchen, only to find it empty. This wasn’t immediately concerning to him. The only people on the Baratie were his staff, and he knew none of them posed any danger. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder where you’d gone off to. Even the basket was missing.

Might as well look around, to sate his curiosity if nothing else.

The first place he checked was the dining room, but that turned up nothing besides a couple of workers repairing a table that had been broken in a scuffle earlier that day. Maybe someone had taken you out to the outdoor seating area for some fresh air? He was on his way to go and look when he heard a muffled voice. It was coming from Sanji’s room.

The door was cracked open just enough for Zeff to be able to peer in.

“And this one is blue-finned elephant tuna. See how it’s got tusks and a feeler that looks like a trunk? It’s supposed to taste really good!”

Sanji was seated behind your basket and used it to prop up the book he was showing you. The book seemed to be holding your attention. You were taking in the pictures with wide eyes while gnawing on one of your fists. Sanji’s enthusiasm appeared to be rubbing off on you, making you let out little coos as he spoke to you in depth about the fish.

The next page was turned to, and he continued excitedly rambling, “This one is a sandora catfish. They’re carnivorous and huge! I bet it would be really good fried and with a cream sauce.”

It would seem that you liked the sound of that. The hand that had previously been in your mouth suddenly went forward and grasped at the page.

“Ack! Hey, don’t get drool on it! It’s not even food yet,” Sanji mumbled the last part. He’d been able to pull the book away without you tearing a page and was trying to wipe off the drool you’d smeared across the page.

His scolding had little effect, you giggled loudly at his outburst and were doing your best to turn around and continue your assault on his book.

Zeff quietly chuckled to himself as you succeeded in grabbing the book again. It seems you two were getting along well, he’ll leave you be for now.

[tinfairies]

You Say Someone Else's Name During Sex

One Piece x Reader

They get very insecure and stop immediately.

The whole mood is ruined, and they get dressed. They try not to ignore you, but they need alone time before they can even look at you.

Expect a long talk about the relationship and how serious it is to you.

Sanji, Usopp, Nami, Robin, Buggy, Koby, Helmeppo, Corazon

They get pissed.

They'll ask you what the hell you just said and then they make sure that their name is the only thing that will ever come out of your mouth during sex.

They will fuck you so hard, you'll never make that mistake again.

You'll definitely be having a serious talk about it later though, it genuinely hurt them to hear you say someone else's name.

The ones in red are pissed but aren't hurt by it, they'll just use it as an excuse to be rough with you

Zoro, Crocodile, Mihawk, Doflamingo, Boa, Alvida, Zeff, Smoker, Kuro, Arlong

They ignore it and keep going, they genuinely hope it's an honest mistake and will try not to bring it up

It deeply hurt them though, and if you're observant you'll be able to tell.

They'll definitely hold off on having sex with you for a while and may even sit you down to talk about what happened before getting intimate with you again

Luffy, Franky, Law, Shanks, Ace, Garp

[auryborealis]

I've recently come across some really cute imagine / headcanon posts of the Straw Hats as parents so that made me think of Sanji and Yuna meeting their future daughter (inspired by Fire Emblem Awakening and Sailor Moon :b) (edit: also I just noticed I forgot Nami's tattoo asdfgjk)

I don't know what to name her for now (but her nickname is "little/baby duckling") but I've seen a post where Sanji names his daughter after his mom Sora ;w; and a friend suggested Rosa as an anagram for Sora and since the rose represents Sanji's romantic personality. Any more ideas? :3