#baratie fic
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Your Flirty Chef
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Masterlist Here.
Word Count: 4,267
Synopsis: Sanji has been working hard lately, your flirty chef no longer as present as you’d like him to be. You both have some unspoken flirtation between you, hopefully something to shatter by molding him beneath the touch of your hands.
Themes: Sanji x reader, mutual pining, idiots in love, flirtation, cooking, kissing, touching, massage, moaning, Sanji is a whimpering mess, suggestive themes, Baratie.
Notes: This was a gift created for the lovely @vespidphoenix who adores my 'Bar Shift' series. We're back home at Baratie! I hope you enjoy!
Tag List: @sordidmusings @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry
The light danced from the open bay windows across the circular polished floorboards, the wax allowing for a wonderful grip beneath your black, closed toe work-shoes. The handles of the porcelain tray began to heat beneath your palms and fingertips, the foamed milk and cream jiggling with each careful footstep you placed on the ground.
You noticed first the depiction of the business of the kitchen staff through the circular windows attached to the doors, the smoke and flames rising to char the dish within the pans. You caught the eyeroll of your favorite blonde coworker as he shook his head, refusing to take direction from your boss and head chef of Baratie.
“Alright boys, coffee time. Take a break!” you called after making your way through the swinging double doors to the kitchen. Immediately, pre-service was paused as a pile of hardened ex-pirates enthusiastically made their way to the pass.
Echoes of praise rang from the kitchen upon your utterances, all occurring simultaneously as grabbing hands eagerly pried the dishes within your tray as you placed it down.
“Truly a lifesaver, Doll,” Carne praised, claiming his piccolo-latte from the tray and raising it to his lips in one quick swig.
“Oh, my sweetheart. Thank you, Love,” Patty shot you a winning smile, raising his extra strong flat-white from the tray and scuttling back over to his patisserie station.
“Something there for me, Honey?” Zeff asked, the click and scrape of his pegleg and boot heel knocking against the floor prompted you to gather his long-black coffee and hand it off to him personally with a small bow.
“Of course, Chef,” you smiled at him, handing it over and turning back to the tray to witness the depletion of the amassment of coffees you’d prepared; only two now remaining. Sanji was in the middle of temperature controlling whisked egg whites and scorching sugar, unable to halt his whipping to claim his regular hit of caffeine from you.
“Just leave it on the table, Dove. I’ll be over in a second, okay?” Sanji’s brows were furrowed in concentration, the stainless steel bowl held firmly in his left hand and cradled against his chest. Soft peaks of white, fluffy meringue began to form within the bowl, his right hand continuing to beat in absolute concentration in a rotational way.
“You want to take it outside when you're done, Ji? Have smoko?” you asked him, removing the two mugs and placing it on the tray. Sanji scoffed back a small chuckle, flicking his hair away from his eyes as he continued whisking.
“Please, and thank you. I’ll be out in about a minute thirty? Just gotta start on the macaroons, then I’m on my quarter,” He broke his concentration on the bowl below him, flicking his cool-gray eyes over to you and watching as you began wiping down the tray, and claiming the emptied cups within to return to the bar.
As you left the kitchen, Sanji continued to watch your departure through his peripherals while meeting optimum temperature for the egg whites. He paddled the mixture with a silicone spatula into a plastic piping bag and rotated the end to hold the pressure in place, leaving it neatly to the side of his workstation to complete forming the macaroons after his break.
“On your quarter, Little Eggplant?” Zeff asked, brow raising as he took a sip from his strong coffee. Eyeing his apprentice suspiciously, he looked him over as Sanji removed his apron and neckerchief to relax on his break.
“Oui, chef,” he smirked, hanging his apron on his designated hook and halting once more at the door, “that alright with you, old man?”
“Fine by me, boy. Just-,” Zeff had an almost sly twinkle in his eye, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, “-Just be kind to our bartender, alright?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m always kind,” Sanji retorted, taken aback with his lip curling into a small snarl. A small echo of teetered laughter and snickers reverberated within the walls of the kitchen amongst the clanging of pots and pans.
“You know what I mean, lad,” Zeff grunted, placing his empty coffee cup on the sink beside Carne who had begun washing the crockery, “Off you pop. When you get back, we’re doing Before Service. Start gettin’ it ready, lads! Family Meal in a quarter.”
“Oui Chef!” Echoed in the kitchen, each chef springing to their station to begin getting the elements of their dishes together to present to each other before the rush of the dining service.
Sanji huffed a small sigh, exiting the kitchen and walking over to the fishmouth of the bar where you were waiting for him. Sanji had a small circle of thoughts swirling within his mind, echoing and reverberating the words Zeff had commanded of him. ‘Be kind’? What does ‘be kind’ even mean? Was he not kind? Had he not been kind to you in your interactions prior?
There was never a doubt in Sanji’s mind that he adored you. His affections were showcased in how he regularly sought you out on advice when conflicting with your boss and his mentor, Zeff. You were the one he came to when he had a rush of inspiration in the kitchen, spoon feeding you samples of his amazing cuisine for your constructive criticism or your unwithheld praise.
Just a simple hum and a nod of your head in response to his food had his heart swelling, but when you closed your eyes and a moan was siphoned from your breath had his pupils darkening, and thoughts of lustful interactions with you plagued him. He would lie awake at night thinking about how your lips wrapped around the spoon he presented you, your eyelashes fluttering shut and a small gasp fled from your lips as you reopened them in glee.
And that is when it hit him. As he watched the sun dance on your skin, your fingertips casually dancing along the ropes beneath the hard surface of the bar; he realized what Zeff meant by his suggestion.
Sanji was in love with you.
He was so desperately in love with you, he would do anything to see you smile, to hear your laugh, or to collect one of those hummed moans you’d save only for him when sampling his dishes. He was mad for you, so much so that he charged right through the feeling itself and bypassed all of the warning signs screaming at him to not fall in love with his coworker.
He halted his steps, the spell shattering within him as he came to terms with the feeling swelling within his chest. Sanji was a perpetual flirt, and you would reciprocate his advances in a way that had you both giggling and teetering like idiots. Your natural rapport with one another, the way you bounced off each other on the pass when you worked floor shift, or when you’d fetch him coffees and trial new designs within the foam just for him. The way he would present a meal he had created for Family Meal for everyone, but alter yours in a way that showed how much he truly adored you with its careful assembly.
Sanji was in love with you.
Looking over your shoulder, your body remaining presented to the water and the docks, you noticed Sanji staggering in the shadows of the fishmouth bar with his footsteps halting. You furrowed your brows, turning completely around and arching your back against the railing of the external bar surrounding the perimeter of the side-bar.
“That you, Ji? Here for your quarter and a smoke?” you asked him, a warm smile pulling at your mouth to welcome him into the area. You thought you heard Sanji cough, a choked sound within the shadows indicating his presence. Your furrow began to descend into a frown while cocking your head to the side, “Coffee’s getting cold, Sweetheart. Come over here and keep me company.”
You were unsure how more obvious you could be regarding your affections for the blonde suis-chef of Baratie. You were a flirt by nature, a job you were hired and paid to complete to build a successful interaction with your clientele. But Sanji. Sanji you got to flirt with for free.
Flirting with Sanji was a competitive sport, and one you championed as the captain of the team and the cheer squad.
It started with a game of chicken; food related innuendos and outrageously crass flirtations offered to fluster one another for entertainment, while completing a particularly grueling shift. It had you both laughing and in high spirits regardless of how little the guests respected you or physically fought with one another during the shift. You adored spending time together, building rapport and learning from one another through your flirtatious nature.
Your favorite pastime was watching Sanji work. The way he rolled his sleeves up slowly to pin by his elbows, the way his forearms stretched and flexed as he julienned vegetables, the concentrated expression of his eyes as he tweezed a piece of gold leaf atop a caramel fudge, with a careful scoop of vanilla ice cream melting on the rim.
And then it hit you. The arrow of the winged cupid struck your heart with the pierce of iron as he offered you the first spoonful of a dish he had prepared, and meticulously cared for, specifically for you. Apprehensively wrapping your lips around the spoon and flicking your tongue over the curved edge, you couldn’t help but to moan at both the flavor presented to you, and the expression of complete devotion and the eagerness to please you written all over his face.
You were in love with Sanji.
You couldn’t help the way you felt for him, always aiming to task him with something simple: “Ji, be a sweetheart and hand me that steel jug, please?” to something a little more complex: “Sanji, would you cook that dish for me for Family Meal? The one with the brie and the rillette de canard? I adore that one.” He was a puppy, following your direction and orders with glee, and you were absolutely smitten with him.
Sanji danced his body into the light of the bar, sheepishly not meeting your gaze as he fished out his tobacco pouch from within his trouser pocket. He opened the bag, noticing a small quake in his fingers at the knowledge that now plagued him. What was he meant to do now? Act like he didn’t worship the ground you walked on?
“Sweetheart, why don’t you give that to me and you take a sip of your coffee? I’ll roll you one,” you asked him, reaching your hand over and claiming his right wrist beneath your hand, “You must be tired after all that hand-whisking. You just sit back and enjoy your quarter. I’m on my halfa, and you deserve more time off your feet before we get absolutely railed by the service shift.”
At the term ‘absolutely railed’, Sanji’s mind was racing beyond its capacity. He couldn’t find an appropriate word in his mind to relay onto you in return, simply nodding in confirmation as he handed over his tobacco pouch before standing beside you and watching the ocean dance against the hull of the floating restaurant.
As the sun hit his golden hair, dancing along the glow of his tired and overworked features, you couldn’t help but look at him in awe. The way his eyes closed with his smile as he took the first look at the design you had created for him with the foam, before pressing it to his lips and sipping at it.
You were in love with Sanji.
Setting to work on rolling the cigarette with the wafer thin paper and setting the filter within the side, you placed some of the brown, dried leaves into the fold and rolled it. From the corner of your eye, you watched Sanji’s eyes float down to your lips as you darted your tongue out to dampen the paper. You could’ve sworn you heard a catch in his breath, and a small strangled groan halted within his throat; but surely you were mistaken.
You presented him with the cigarette, placing the filter end within his lips for him and wordlessly asking if you could ignite the tip with your lighter. Sanji’s eyes watched you carefully, nodding his head to give you confirmation to flick your flint and ignite the flame for him. Your eyes softened, cradling the flame as you elevated it to his lips and doused the end with its light to burn through the paper tip at the end.
“You work too hard, Ji,” you commented, a flick of the corner of your lip in a small smirk captivated his gaze further, “It’s made you silent. C’mon now,” you placed the lighter back within your pant pocket, “Where’s that flirty chef I love so much?” Sanji smiled, inhaling the nicotine-riddled smoke as he extended his lungs to capacity.
“I dunno, Dove,” He began on his exhale, eyes closed and head lulling as he savored the feeling, “Your flirty chef might need some convincing to come out and play. I have been pushing myself a bit more today, and I’m beginning to feel it in my bones.” You half-smiled at him, watching as he removed the cigarette and threw back the remainder of his coffee in his mouth and swigging it with one fell gulp.
“Oh, you poor dear,” you pouted, raising your hand up and pressing it gently on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, “What can I do to bring him back?” Sanji groaned at the feeling of contact on his aching muscles, unsure of what came over him to elicit such a wanton sound. Your eyes widened, watching as his face began to contort as he hung his head low, relishing in the contact.
“Let me take some of the weight off?” you suggested, bringing up your other hand to cup his shoulders, maneuvering your body behind him and firmly rotating your thumbs against the meat of his shoulders, “Maybe then my flirty chef will come out to play.” More of those beautiful groans escaped his lips as he succumbed to the ministrations of your fingers, molding and bending his hardened flesh within your hands.
Sanji’s sweet cries of bliss were addictive, more addictive to you than any meal he had presented to you in the months you had worked closely together. The way he cried out in bliss as you found a particularly tender point in the center of his shoulder blade had you gasp out breathily in response. He was a slave to your touch, leaning in as a stray cat would to an affectionate caress.
His cigarette fell from his lips to litter the ground by his shoes, the light extinguishing upon impact and rolling beneath the deck chairs surrounding you. He curved and arched his back into your touch, moaning and crying out as quietly as he could muster, with his mouth agape and a small amount of saliva collecting at the corners of his rapidly drying lips. Sanji’s body was responding a little too well to the simple touch of your hands on his shoulders and back.
“Y-You’re so good-... mmff-... at this. W-Where did you-... oh-h merde-... where did you learn it?” He asked, lulling his head back and inadvertently rested the back of his head against your shoulder while holding onto the railing firmly in his grasp. You giggled, moving your hands beneath his shoulders and coaxing him from the railing to one of the lounging chairs, secluded in the shade of the sails of the wide umbrellas. Although this area was a public space, the lounges were private enough to shield Sanji as he rapidly fell apart in your arms from prying eyes.
“I just know how hard the muscles work to produce the food you do, Ji,” you shrugged, sitting down on the lounge chair and ushering him to sit between your legs with his back to you. Initially, Sanji desired to sit up, his back convexing in a perfect arch to experience more of your touch. But his body had other plans beneath your skilled hands.
He immediately found a more relaxed version of his former position: his head lulling back into your right shoulder as his eyes fluttered shut, your hands now finding rest against his biceps and rotating them beneath your firm grip to work out the kinks.
Sanji had no idea what had come over him. The sounds falling from his lips were desperate, his body pleading and crying for more of your touch as he fell apart from the simple strokes of your hands now trailing up to his chest. You couldn’t get enough, your hands responding faster than your mind could tell it not to in order to find places on his body to have the sweeter sounds of your name rolling off his tongue between gasps and groans.
“Y-You’re-... fuck Dove-... Th-This is really good,” his breathy gasp complimented you, ending with the small pull of a whine within his throat. You tried your hardest to stop the rising heat from flooding to your cheeks at his voice, opting to giggle to relieve some of the tension surfacing.
“You’ve got maybe three minutes before you have to go back, Sanji,” you said, patting him politely on the chest to indicate you were done assaulting him with your affectionate caress. At the small pat, he groaned, chasing the weight of your palm atop his chest by arching his back and pleading with you to continue.
“Just a bit more?” he whined, opening his eyes and lulling his head further into your shoulder to gaze up at you with wide eyes, “Your flirty chef will come back if you do it just a little bit longer, I’m certain.” He smiled with his lips in a tight line, eyes twinkling in hope up at you. You scrunched your nose up at him, your own eyes reflecting his playful twinkle back at him.
“Maybe after the rush?” You suggested with a shrug of your shoulders and another curt tap of his chest. He groaned, slouching down and melting into your torso with the drag of his head. You laughed at him as he continued slinking lower and finally settled his head against your thigh, feet brushing against the ground over the side of the lengthy deck chair you were sharing.
“But that’s so far away,” he groaned, a raspy growl rumbling against his tone. He clapped his hand over his eyes, squeezing his palm and fingertips in the pinch of his eyes before having it fall away from his face and down to his side with a small gasp.
“Makes the waiting all the sweeter,” you cooed down at him. At this, he immediately rose to a sitting position, turning within your lap and gazing at you. His irises were blown, the small tint of pink dusting his cheeks and his lips were slightly parted. There were a thousand unspoken words dancing behind his eyes. The mystery surrounding such a look had you hooked and leaning in to see if a closer proximity would grant you further insight.
At the small lean of your body from the back of the deck chair, Sanji reached his palm up and cupped your cheek, his fingers lacing in your hair, as he guided your lips to be claimed beneath his. A small squeak exited your lips in shock at the gentleness of his touch, eyes wide and watching him as his brows furrowed. A small hum of his lips against yours informed you that he was as shocked about this as you were, but not shocked enough to end the kiss just yet.
He pried your lips apart with his own, tilting his head to nudge you with his chin. You hooked your arms around his neck, pulling him against yourself and reciprocated with enthusiasm; your tongue darting out to meet his own. He chuckled against your lips once he felt you relax into it, flicking his tongue against yours with a groan of appreciation. You nudged him away from you, breaking the meeting of his lips on yours and unhooked your arm from his neck.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you commented, raising your arms up and fixing his ruffled hair. His eyes widened, brows peaking at the center as his lips parted. Focusing on redressing him and straightening up his uniform had your gaze pulled from his, unable to read the absolute heartbreak written all over his face.
Nodding in appreciation at the straightening of his chefs jacket, you finally drew your smiling eyes up to meet his; immediately having your grin fall from your face once meeting with the sorrowful expression painted atop his features.
“Ji, are you okay? What’s wrong?” you asked, cupping his cheek and darting your gaze between his two gray orbs.
“We shouldn’t be doing this?” he whispered quietly, tilting his head down and gazing up at you through his eyelashes. Your eyes widened, smiling lips now falling open with a small shake of your head.
Scrunching your nose, you leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss against his lips which ended with as much haste as it began. You giggled as you felt him chase his lips forward to halt your retraction, but ultimately got away from his approach.
“I meant, you’ve only got about a minute left of your quarter,” you restated, confirming your words while elevating your hand to his chin. You brushed your thumb over his lower lip, dancing over his kiss-swollen lip with your digit. “We shouldn’t be doing this while we have so little time available for us to do so.”
“O-Oh,” Sanji stuttered, the blush once again rising to dance over the apples of his cheeks, tips of his ears and button of his nose. You had never seen such a pretty color gracing his features, your heart swooning at the chef as he attempted to stifle his rising blush.
“Has my flirty chef come back yet?” You asked him with a sly smile, retracting your hand from his face only to be caught within his own.
“Your flirty chef,” he whispered, eyes holding firm to your own as he elevated your knuckles below his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against your skin, “Is going to be flirting with you for the rest of this shift,” he pressed another kiss against the back of your hand, slightly further up than the last, “And hopefully all through Before Service, Family Meal, and Knock Offs,” he uttered between a flurry of pecks and grazes of his lips further up your arm.
Now it was your turn for the hues of warmth to swell beneath your cheeks, ears and nose at his words; becoming flustered further by the animal poised behind his eyes, threatening to ravish you with the intensity depicted beneath. He chuckled as he began showering your cheek with a further flutter of his lips grazing your skin. He halted just before meeting your lips with his, choosing to tease you with a small brush of his own.
“I’m going to cook you something,” he whispered, his breath dancing against your lips, “And you’re going to make those pretty sounds you do so well, hm?” He nodded, pouting his lips and widening his eyes with that innocent yet mischievous twinkle you have come to enjoy him wearing. You couldn’t help but nod in response, mesmerized by the enchantment held within his eyes.
“And then,” he ushered you against the beck of the chair, pressing his torso against yours and continuing to hold his lips an eyelash’s width away from your own, “I’m going show you how flirty your flirty chef can really be.” As you attempted to chase his lips to plant another kiss against his own, he quickly stood to his feet at the call of his name.
“Sanji!” Patty called, “Your macarons are portioned and ready for the oven. Take care of ‘em, would you?” Your breath caught in your throat, Sanji’s blush dissipating at the interruption and his face paling.
“Alright, I’ll be there Patty! Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he shouted in return, frustration written over his expression.
“C’mon kid, we all know the only knickers you’re keen on seeing are the bartender’s!” He shouted in return, turning and stomping down the hallway towards the kitchen, “Get to it, Chef Zeff’s waiting.” Your eyes widened at the thought, your smirk withholding a small scream of bashful laughter from parting from your lips as your face drew a further flaming heat to it.
Sanji waited a brief moment, inhaling a deep breath through his nose before removing his finger from your lips, tracing it down your chin and tilting your face to meet his eyes. His gaze was doing its best to disguise the horror of having the secret he thought he’d been withholding from surfacing.
“I-I’m sorry,” he quickly stuttered, turning and immediately walking back to the kitchen with haste, the steam almost tangibly falling pouring from his ears as he stampeded away. You were too shocked to laugh, but a small giggle fell regardless.
You could not wait until the rush of service was completed to get to experience the flirtatious fluster of the blond chef after shift hours. Perhaps to even continue what began against the deck chairs in a more quiet and intimate setting.
#one piece#opla#x reader#opla fic#one piece live action#sanji#sanji x reader#vinsmoke sanji#black leg sanji#baratie fic#chef!sanji x bartender!reader#flustered sanji#whimpering sanji#op x reader#one piece x reader
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Sanji: I am a man with STANDARDS
Zoro: I ate chocolate rice balls off the floor after they'd been stepped on
Sanji: oh no! Hes meeting all my standards!
#one piece#opla#one piece sanji#one piece zoro#zosan#listen#i know its been said probably a million times#and im reading a fic with it rn#but we all know Sanji lost his goddamned mind when he found that out#rivalry ended in SECONDS#zoro went from public enemy number one to hearing wedding bells approaching at fearful speeds#hes unsure why theyre stopping at the Baratie again#zeff is griling him about eggplants now?#the cook gets nosebleeds when he looks at him?#hes never been so well fed in his life until then#the rest of the crew is so tired of eating Zoros favorites#hes out of the loop until Sanji asks when he thinks the wedding should be#the little girl who made the rice balls is their flower girl
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new au idea on the brain that i think i might do because it's fun:
a series of letters sanji writes to zeff. can be in canon divergent universe or a different historical au. heck it could even be modern where it's like instead of sending texts or emails, sanji just prefers to sit for hours writing out details of his life the past few months until his hand cramps and chopper is scolding him about carpal tunnel. whatever the universe, sanji always writes a long letter to zeff to update him while he's away from the baratie.
at some point, sanji starts to write about this "annoying piece of shit mosshead that won't leave me the fuck alone" and at first zeff just reads a few paragraphs here and there of sanji complaining about mosshead (he doesn't write down the name). it goes on like that for maybe a couple months, close to a year.
zeff only learns the mosshead's name after some really life-altering event where sanji writes pages upon pages of being so scared that he lost zoro (wow so thats his name) and imagining a life without him was freaking him the fuck out. now the paragraphs sanji writes about zoro after that are less of complaining about him (though that never actually stops), and a lot on little things sanji notices about zoro. how he takes his coffee, how he spreads like a starfish when he sleeps, the number of haphazard stitches on his chest, etc etc. zeff learns so much about zoro without ever seeing his face.
and zeff can read it all, how sanji slowly but surely describes his daily life with zoro, and how his idiot of a son was denying his feelings through pen and paper. there are a lot more scratched out words and ripped pages in his recent letters. probably because he wrote down something he wasn't willing to admit yet. not really. but what else can zeff do but read his son's letters and write back with anecdotes of his own?
one day, zeff receives his usual letter from sanji. but it's shorter than the rest. no. not just shorter. it's just two sentences.
old man, i think i'm in love. i think you know who it is.
and zeff knows. zeff always knows.
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personal headcanon but like. i think opla zeff kicking sanji off the line is a common occurrence. whenever sanji cooks something not on the menu or gets caught flirting on the job or otherwise ticks zeff off, zeff tells him he's off the line and every single time, sanji kicks up the biggest fuss over it and threatens to walk as if he won't be cooking the very next day. every single cook in the baratie is used to this and in fact has a betting pool every morning as to whether sanji will be kicked out to wait tables
#'i'm banned from the line until he dies :(' sanji hes your dad. ur gonna be sous chef again tomorrow bc he doesn't have to pay u#one piece#opla#one piece live action#sanji#vinsmoke sanji#opla sanji#red leg zeff#opla zeff#baratie#little spoiler for the fic i'm doing rn ig haha
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are you doing a part ii to your sanji angst on the baratie?
PAIRING: OPLA!Sanji x f!reader
WORD COUNT: 1.7K
WARNINGS: canon-typical things, angst, longing looks and bitter words, mentions of sleazy pirate, food/food consumption, not proofread, squint, and you'll see fleabag vibes (shout out to that anon), rushed ending, etc.
A/N: ahhhhh, idk how I feel about this, so I’m posting it because I know if I don’t, it’ll sit in the drafts forever. Thank you so much for all the love and support on the part before this. It truly means the world! Enjoy.
COMMENTS ENCOURAGED
PART I
The coolness felt sharp on your skin, numbing superficially but struggling to pinpoint the pain.
It sunk in when the ice melted and bled down your elbow that you were alone, and the ache was still there.
The devil’s hour was the only time you felt the ship's rhythmic sway. The constantly anxious environment was silent, leaving your shallow breaths to fill the space. There was only so much time before the early risers would begin the prep routine all over again.
You didn’t fare well with the cyclical nature of it all, but you were skilled in covering the discomfort. It was a game you were good at; the facade behind the swipe of deep lipstick and the soft fabric of your dresses hid you well. Yet, the pressure became unbearable on nights like these. It made you feel stuck, with nowhere to go, as the open ocean surrounded you.
The constant adrenaline at all hours was taunting you. It kept some focused and motivated their drive, but you struggled to stay afloat. Instead, you toyed with the thought of letting the tendrils pull you down into the sinking pool of burdens you ran from.
“You hear me?” Sanji’s voice pulled you to the surface for a shock of air. You failed to notice he even entered the room. “Where’d you go?”
Sanji broke your thousand-yard stare, just shy of waving a hand before you. You wanted to scold him for accurately reading you. Instead, your heart pinned to your throat at his overt observation.
“Hmm?” He prompted again, moving deeper into the space. Worry began to etch his tired features; you failed to hide. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m—” Your response was lost in its formation. Emotion pricked at your nose, but you refused to spill any tears. You were drained, and it all started to feel claustrophobic. “—tired.”
The practiced lie felt smooth and believable enough to be a sufficient excuse. And, yet, Sanji matched the defiance. “I’ve known you a long, long time…I know your tells, sweetheart—
“Come off it.” You discouraged the name, but it fulfilled Sanji’s purpose. You always stumbled, and your frown conveyed your disdain. “It’s been a…” Day. You stopped to begin again, frazzled, “I-I…I just, I’m just…hungry, Sanji.”
His name rang in his ears like a confession. He waited for you to correct yourself, scold him for prying as you always had. The air shifted to something unexplored, vulnerable. Despite the years of working together, moments like these were rare. Sanji used the pause to take you in, searching for any deception. But you laid bare, asking for comfort and company.
“Alright...” Sanji’s voice was soft so as not to spook you. He nodded, more confident in his promise. “I can help with that.”
Clearing your throat, you nodded, a rush of relief flowing through your body. Sanji’s flirtations were easy to ignore. His sarcasm, you returned. The attitude you dished, he accepted with his own. It was how you worked; it kept things fluid. The push and pull kept you going.
However, the static of your hesitancy tugged at something foreign. It kept you quiet and made you thoughtful. Sanji moved like he always had, calculated and knowledgable of the dish and whose palette he would earn the respect of. Everything he touched turned into a creation. He didn’t do it to prove a point or for a broader ‘them.’ Tonight, he created for you.
There was assurance in Sanji’s demeanor. He rolled his sleeve to his elbows and tugged at an already loosened tie; he became just as exposed as you were under your watchful eye. You itched for something familiar. The smile you fought proved Sanji read your mind, choosing correctly—a grilled cheese.
The tomato was missing, and so was the dill. Yet, there was a thick slather of freshly made mayo on each slice of homemade bread. The smell wafted, reminding you how the day's stress surpassed your hunger.
“Something to drink?” Sanji’s low rumble broke the silence, checking on you indirectly.
Sanji spoke through food and understood another through choices and habits. You were picky. You had staples that he perfected the recipe for, this one of them. He knew to be gentle and use his fingertips to smooth the toasted edges of the bread against the browning butter lining the pan.
“I’m trying to keep the wallowing to a minimum.” You shook your head. You tried to laugh through the feeling, but the joke felt ill-timed and ill-received. “Don’t hurt yourself too much trying to play nice.”
The air felt still, like the moments of a taut breath. There was no longer an eye on the throne of fabricated competition the Baratie created rather, you looked at each other as if it were the first time, both newly transparent.
“Oh, no—” He tutted, smirk settling naturally. “—that’s not the painful part, love.”
The kitchen was always warm—burners running, heat lamps, bubbling stovetops, and incidental fires. That very temperature caused certain anger to tip over and still provided fluidity in the brigade. However, even when you found yourself in the back, you brought a chill to the air. It rivaled the walk-in and existed as your only trait in the eyes of those found under your glare.
Yet, the warmth Sanji transferred to you was different. It didn’t come from the kitchen or from anger. It was just him, and his words carried him over. His smirk was more of a smile, hesitant to become a smile as he presented his tenderness on a plate for you to devour.
“Bon appétit, madam.”
You pulled at the edges of the grilled cheese, the inner parts reflecting fondue. The jagged edges defined the unorthodox moment. There was something so perfect in the imperfection of comfort it provided.
“C’mon…” You cleared the lump forming in your throat. Blindly, you push a hand forward to offer Sanji a half. He half-expected it to be a ploy, for you to snatch it back just as he would go to reach it. Instead, you gestured again, “Go on, take my olive branch so I don’t look like a total dick.”
“Gladly.’
This was what you needed. This was a warm hug at the end of the day. This was a blanket wrapped tightly around you, protecting you from the mess of it all. The simplicity of the company broke you.
You cleared your throat, wanting to be heard. “You know earlier…”
Sanji hummed encouragingly. He would never pry, afraid of your retaliation, but he knew that the slimy pirate clung to you. While he cooked, Sanji noticed the deep hues on your wrist and how you nurtured them with patience.
“He scared me.” You scoffed at your own admission, belittling your feelings already. It felt ridiculous in hindsight, allowing someone to crawl so deeply under your skin. “I just didn’t see it coming…and wasn’t sure where it was going.”
You played with a few crumbs on your fingertips, allowing a thoughtful pause that you refused to fill. Sanji knew you’d eat the crust first, saving the gooey inside for when you ripped off the bandaid.
“I could have—” He started, unwilling to miss the opportunity you gave him. “I’ll talk to Zeff. We’ll handle this. You’ll never—That’ll never happen again.”
Sanji’s sandwich half was forgotten, his hunger only satiable by your security. You almost fed into it, tripping into the depths of his gaze’s concern. But you’d been tricked before and you’d be damned to fall for it all over again.
“No—” You were blunt, words pointed. “Sanji…” It didn’t matter what promise he could give; it had no power against the past. “This world doesn’t look out for people like me but carves spaces for you. For him.”
Everything became unappetizing, as if you’d come back to yourself. Any defenses dropped were regained with dual force. You’d scold yourself later for accepting the shared meal as if that were the obvious solution to it all.
“And what does he get, hmm?” You hummed with disgust. “A slap on the wrist? Meal on the house?” You barked with hate. “And me? My professionalism gets questioned. I’m told to cheer up and move on—and yet, you all are blind! The real problem has nothing to do with that fucking pirate.”
Zeff was your advocate. He only tolerated so much, and anything that interrupted or dragged you in unwillingly was dealt with. You heard how those around you reacted. They cheered and glorified Sanji’s heroic acts but didn’t waste a breath to see if you were still intact.
Sanji had, in his own way. You knew that and detested how it made you crumble to the pieces you always had to pick up. Drawing a sharp but much-needed breath, you promised never to allow it again.
Sanji read your expressiveness; understanding the sentiment was a deep-running thread. He knew it wasn’t his place to advise, tempt, and, worst of all, ignore you.
Despite being at loss for words his effort was persistent.“Love—”
You wanted him to curse you or mock you or do something that would qualify the anger that made you tremble. You couldn’t stand how readily he took everything you gave him with such gentleness.
“Sanji—” There was a coldness you attached to his name, but a warning nonetheless. You detested how, even now, he still remained. “I never wanted this…Here I shift–I change, I mold into this…hybrid of a being just to fulfill what you think you want me to be—And still, I find myself disappointed in that fact that I think that’ll change—shame on me.”
The scraps of the sandwich had grown cold, its newly rigid, solid form symbolic of how things were supposed to be. You left Sanji with the weight of your words, a clear reminder that he was no more than a cog in the grand scheme of things---an insignificant part of your greater plan to be heard.
#q#sanji x reader#sanjii opla#sanji x f!reader#sanji angst#sanji fluff#opla!sanji x reader#opla!sanji x f!reader#request#sanji fanfic#one piece sanji#one piece#sanji#vinsmoke sanji#black leg sanji#baratie#op fic#op sanji#sanjionepiece#sanji one piece#sanji vinsmoke#sanji x femme!reader
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Sanji and Zeff Fic Recs
This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)
Right To The Root by Cute_Bear - Rated G
Zeff will carry Sanji on his heart, forever and ever.
Or, the life of Sanji and Zeff after their time in the rock, inspired by the song "Hasta la Raíz".
His son's father by caparvisquartet - Rated G
When all is said and done, All Blue discovered and Luffy sacred King of the Pirates, Zeff and Sanji meet again.
How to Dad by IcedMatchaMilk - Not Rated
The former Grand line pirate, Red-leg Zeff, and his journey on becoming a somewhat half decent parent. Navigating the grandline was a whole lot easier.
Baratie's Second in Command by first_rate_fish - Rated T
"It's perfect!” He replied, smiling wide at Zeff.
Zeff smiled back at him before standing up and moving to where Sanji sat, placing a comforting hand on top of his head and ruffling his hair when he got close.
“Baratie it is then.”
~~~
While recovering from their time spent on the rock, Zeff and Sanji decide to build a restaurant.
Just a little more by charcharizard5 - Rated T
"Almost there. Almost there. Just a little more and they'll stop. They won't hurt you if you do well." Sanji kept swinging the knife, "Just a little more, and maybe he'll love you."
Little Sanji learns to use a knife in a different way. It's a lot harder than he thought.
Nightmare Remedies by CryptidCatalogue - Rated G
After Sanji wakes from a nightmare he can’t seem to calm himself down again and goes to Zeff for help.
However, what will he do when the old man isn’t there?
Quiet Eggplant by TsarinaTorment - Rated T
When the teenager didn't react to the woman, Zeff knew something was wrong.
Caring, Not Careless by EclecticIsMyMiddleName - Rated G
Even as a little kid, Sanji was stubborn as hell. For the past three days, he's been staying up too late in the kitchen to get more work done. And every time, Zeff has had to drag the brat's behind back to bed. As much as he'll complain about it, Zeff doesn't entirely hate it.
Set shortly after Baratie opens, when it's just Sanji and Zeff running it.
Cause for Concern by kaeyuh - Rated T
It worried everyone to no end when at age 15, Sanji came home smelling like cigarette smoke.
Asking was no use, Sanji would brush it off as if it were just another night terror, or as if it were a small burn, he got while cooking. So, they just let him be.
For the longest time, no one mentioned how Sanji would sneak out on deck, how he would light up a cigarette, how he would eat less.
Until today.
try it again (breathing's just a rhythm) by lakesandquarries - Rated G
Zeff never set out to be a dad, but he's doing his best.
Oneshot collection of Sanji and Zeff navigating a father/son relationship.
Nightmares by orphan_account - Rated G
When Zeff had first met him, Sanji was crying, but those tears were filled with an unmoving determination to not let his dreams be crushed- that's what Zeff had first seen in him. Now was different, now his eyes were overflowing with raw, unfettered pain and silent pleas for help that Zeff was clueless how to answer.
Little Eggplant by Airuna - Rated G
The little eggplant is weird. Zeff kind of likes him anyway.
Or
Zeff tries to figure out Sanji while they built a home together.
Blood of the Covenant by kiite - Rated T
Zeff never wanted a kid. A restaurant, sure— but he hadn’t planned for the kid.
(Or: a brief look at Sanji’s childhood, through the eyes of the man who raised him.)
News of the World by AzWrites - Rated G
There's no eggplant in the paper. There is, however, Monkey D. Luffy, splashed on the front page. He looks like he's praying, in front of what Zeff assumes is his brother's grave, and there is something written and crossed and written again on his arm. The letters and numbers don't mean anything. Or maybe they do, and Zeff is just not who the message is for.
Once again, Luffy is alone. Or he's not, not really, because he came back to Marineford with Gold Roger's first mate and a former Warlord, somehow. But once again, his crew isn't with him. In Zeff's book, that means he's alone.
Zeff wonders where Sanji is. Whether Sanji is still alive.
---
Or: A pirate crew keeps getting into trouble or making trouble everywhere they go, and a restaurant owner tries his best to understand what the hell his kid is doing
#black leg sanji#red leg zeff#one piece#one piece fanfiction#baratie#sanji and zeff#veryace recs#ao3 fic recs#fanfic recs#ao3#strawhat pirates#straw hat crew
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Parallel
Through the power of a strange new devil fruit encounter, Sanji gets turned into an anchor between universes. Zoro doesn't really get to help his crew deals with this, though, because the instant he makes contact with the cook, he's teleported right next to the man again.
Only this time Sanji's wearing different clothes, and looking at him weird. And they aren't on the Sunny anymore. They're in some weird, gray kitchen, and Sanji's holding a weird looking piece of technology, and also looking at him like he doesn't know who the hell he is.
"Who the hell are you?" Sanji says, and it's his voice, but with an accent he doesn't recognize, and Zoro realizes something is very, very wrong.
-----
modern au sanji / canonverse zoro. because i'm insane
only posting the first short chapter here, but the rest will be on ao3 as it goes on
By the time Zoro wakes up, the invading pirate crew is already halfway unloaded onto the Sunny’s deck.
His stomach drops.
Did he fucking fall asleep on watch?
“OI!” He shouts, voice less of a yell and more of a deep-throated growl, alerting both his own crew and the invaders. A large man in an oversized coat looks up at him with a scowl, curly black hair obscuring his face. But then he smiles. The captain, Zoro presumes.
As he does so, Sanji and Robin appear on deck, followed shortly after by Nami, Usopp, and Chopper. They all get into fighting stances within seconds, meeting head to head with crew-members already on the Sunny’s lawn, dyed dark blue in the nighttime’s dark haze.
Zoro’s still staring at the captain from the crow’s nest, the other practically daring him to come down and fight. Wasting no time, Zoro unsheathes his swords, jumping from one of the crow’s nest windows, swords gleaming the whole way down. He slams into the deck with enough force to rock the boat, causing a loud splash on its starboard side. Luffy and Franky emerge seconds later, quick to join the battle with eager grins.
Zoro feels a bit bad for taking the captain. He usually leaves that honor for Luffy. But the guy’s pissed him off, and he feels responsible for dozing off during watch.
Seriously, what the fuck? Zoro may love to sleep, but he takes watch seriously. He’d never endanger his crew for something as fleeting as a little shut-eye. Mistakes happen, but not to him. Not Roronoa Zoro, master of willpower and control.
He takes all that anger and shame and uses it to beat the shit out of the captain now defiling the Sunny’s deck with his presence.
But the other man is fast. And now he’s finally talking.
He jumps up to the top level of the ship, narrowly avoiding the fight behind him, where Sanji is throwing kicks at a man that looks strikingly similar to-
Wait, what? …Twins?
The man follows Zoro’s stare and gives a hearty laugh. “Whatever you’re thinking, it ain’t right.” He explains. He snaps his fingers, and Sanji suddenly stops behind him, looking uneasy.
“What the hell?” The blonde whispers to himself, looking down at his hands. He feels…wrong. Overwhelmed. Nauseous. The man the cook is fighting has stopped to, looking at him with the same grin as the man Zoro’s focused on.
“I’m Captain Morales of the Parallel Pirates.” The Captain declares.
“And so am I.” Says the man in front of Sanji, now turning to look at Zoro. He steps forward to stand beside Captain Morales (the first one, anyways) and Zoro is shaken, because even identical twins aren’t that…perfect.
It’s obvious this is some kind of devil fruit power, but Zoro isn’t in the mood for learning tonight. He just wants them dead or off his ship.
“Huh?” Usopp pipes up from somewhere to the left of him. Luffy and a few others take notice too.
“Hey, Zoro, why’s there two of that guy!?” Luffy exclaims, slapping away some insignificant crew member.
…Now that he thinks about it, something is off about this guy’s crew, too. He glances around again, at all the faces scattered among the deck and the ship beside them, and he realizes none of them go together at all. Most pirate crews have some sort of theme, yes, but he doesn’t mean it in the way that they don’t share a similar motif. No, they look like they’ve all come from completely different worlds.
One man wears old leather greaves, another wears a three-piece suit. One looks straight from Thriller Bark, another is dressed in nothing but silver chrome. One woman boasts a wide array of guns, while another looks slightly more Neanderthal than is excusable by old genetics. It’s a big world out there between all four seas and the Grand Line, he knows that, but this feels like…something even more than that. They feel out of place in a way he can’t place.
“Confused, aren’t you?” Says the man Sanji was fighting. The cook tries to kick him again despite the nausea, but Captain Morales the Second catches him by the leg and throws him down next to Zoro. Zoro doesn’t blink an eye.
“This is the power of the Verse-Verse Fruit.” Says the first Captain Morales.
“I don’t care what the hell your power is. Get lost, or you’ll be split into more pieces than two.” Zoro growls.
The Captains laugh. “Split?”
“No, no.”
“We’re both entirely intact. And no, we aren’t twins.”
“And I’m not a copy, either.”
“He’s me. From another world.”
“I mean, who better to have as a First Mate than another you?”
“Never have to worry about stupid decisions or insubordination. You can always trust yourself.”
“He always makes the same choices I would have made had I been there. It’s awfully convenient.”
Zoro loses track of who’s saying what at some point, but he doesn’t care. “Listen, I already told you, I don’t care about your stupid crew or your stupid powers.”
“Whaaaaat!? I do!” Luffy exclaims, apparently entranced by this guy’s…These guys’? Speech.
“Other worlds!? Like what? How?” The captain continues.
Zoro holds himself back only out of his own loyalty to Luffy. He knows the idiot wants answers, and he can’t go attacking their opponent while the two…three, are talking.
The Morales’ laugh. “Well, you see, I have the ability to traverse other worlds. It’s how I found half my crew, if you hadn’t noticed.” Says the first captain.
“But he can also turn others into anchor points between worlds, allowing anyone who touches that anchor to travel to another world where that anchor exists.” Says the second captain.
Luffy looks completely lost, as do a few other Strawhats who are listening.
Usopp pops his fist onto his other hand. “Oh, I think I get it! So say if Zoro existed in another universe, I could touch Zoro and travel to the other world he exists in?”
One of the Captains nods. “Exactly.”
Nami crosses her arms. “And how do they get back?” She looks concerned, scenarios swimming in her head already.
“Well, if I’m available, of course I simply turn him into an anchor again. He touches the other world Zoro, and he returns here. If I want it that way.”
Nami doesn’t move. “And if you aren’t here?”
They both shrug. “Too bad, so sad.” They say in unison.
Nami grits her teeth. “Hey! Nobody touch anybody! Not even the crew! There’s no telling who he’s already turned into an anchor.”
They both laugh again. “Good work, girl! You’re exactly correct. One of your own is already an anchor, ready to take anyone who touches them to somewhere far, far away from here. And I won’t bring them back no matter how much you beg.”
Zoro grits his teeth.
That’s it. He isn’t waiting any longer. He can take this guy out without touching him easy-peasy. It’s just his swords that need to make contact, after all. He puts Wado in his mouth and darts forward, demonic eyes set on the dual Captain and his First Mate, when someone stumbles to their feet behind him.
He doesn’t take stock of this, of course, he’s far too focused in the fight- but the Captain notices. He snaps his finger and someone appears in front of him like a wormhole, kicking him harshly back where he came from.
He collides with the cook behind him, Wado knocked from his mouth as the wind is knocked out of him, and before he can even realize what’s happened, he’s standing in a small, gray kitchen, with strange futuristic design completely unfamiliar to him. And before him stands the cook, only now Sanji's wearing different clothes, and looking at him weird. He holds a small flat screen, a piece of technology Zoro doesn’t recognize. The cook turns to him.
"Who the hell are you?" Sanji says, and it's his voice, but with an accent he doesn't recognize, and Zoro realizes something is very, very wrong.
#2 chapters up atm#hi im writing op again. sad#one piece#vinsmoke sanji#roronoa zoro#zosan#fanfic#fic#my writing#modern au#so fun facts: named the multiverse devil fruit user morales after miles morales from spiderverse bc i thought itd be funny LMAO#also! im trying to follow the stuff oda put forward for modern strawhats#such as french sanji and usopp being a graphic designer etc etc#sanji's still a chef tho. but. i do appreciate oda giving him the most stereotypical gay job of ~stylist~ regardless#i find this fic a little silly and embarrassing but im having fun w the lore of it#sanji's in culinary school but works part time at baratie. nami's majoring in geography w a finance minor#usopp is a graphic design major#More Might Happen Idk Read And Find Out
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Now for something similar and yet different! Sometime after Lola left, Pudding saw how everyone treated Lola. With the combination of the bulling, the emotional abuse, and seeing Lola leaving Pudding decided to do something drastic. She, despite being young but also a Charlotte, managed to fake her death and ran away. Once gone she manages to make her way to East Blue and one floating restaurant. There she meets Sanji and Zeff who loves her third eye and doesn’t care for it, each respectively, who then becomes her new older brother and father. They help her realize her dream to become a Baker and pastry chef.
Sanji adores his new little sister, bittersweet on getting a sibling who loves him, and he is very protective of her. Only the best would ever make his little sister happy in marriage! They have to beat him in combat first.
Zeff is happy to gain a daughter who has love for food and secretly happy that she somehow managed to get Sanji to call him “father.”
#one piece#fic ideas#charlotte lola#charlotte pudding#op sanji#one piece sanji#Sanji#red leg zeff#they become family your honor#Pudding is too young for Sanji and she’s the little sister he never knew he wanted#all of the staff on the Baratie love Pudding to death#they would die for her and kill for her#you talk shit about her third eye?#you’re never coming back to the restaurant and now die#Pudding feels so loved#Zeff teaches her so much about baking#and Sanji would have baking nights with her#when cake island comes around Pudding gets kidnapped because one of her siblings recognizes her and took her back to the island#Pudding and Sanji become horrified when they learn that they have to marry each other#’THAT’S MY SIBLING YOU WANT ME TO WHAT’#they also feel ashamed about not telling the other about their past#but then bond over it#and Pudding escapes with them#they throw a party afterwards#I have actually a lot of thoughts about this and Pudding deserves better#honestly pretty much all of the Charlotte kids do because of their mom#Linlin honestly could’ve been such a wonderful mom if she wasn’t so fucked up#edit: I seemed to have forgotten Zeff’s no hitting women rule#so perhaps Sanji teaches Pudding since Zeff won’t due to his teaching style?
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l'âme d'un cuisinier chapter 1
Summary: Zeff doesn’t remember teaching Sanji how to make broth; Sanji doesn’t remember how he came to wake up back at Baratie. Thankfully neither of them are prone to getting hung up on that sort of thing.
2155 words
Zeff stomped back into the restaurant, sweeping an assessing gaze over the dining room. He clicked his tongue; half of his lily-livered so-called sea cooks jumped ship at the first sign of trouble. Looking around at the bums loitering at the tables, he’d lose another half of what staff were left before tomorrow morning. Slinking out quietly in some effort to preserve dignity.
Finding men with any kind of iron in their stomachs was hard.
The Navy usually didn’t bother him anymore. Not since that first time some big shot showed up to check the legitimacy of his retirement from piracy. The dregs of his reputation as Red Leg still attracted the odd band of weasels, though; most of them working under the assumption that Zeff hung up the crossbones because he couldn’t hack it in a fight anymore.
A stupid, sorely mistaken assumption that nonetheless ate up Zeff’s time and scared off customers.
He made his way toward the back, mind already at work figuring out how another day’s lost business would affect the budget for the month. The ship might’ve been paid for, but he couldn’t reel in alcohol with a lure and line; and Baratie would be a piss poor restaurant if he only offered unseasoned fish on the menu.
He knew the business wouldn’t be an easy thing; after buying the ship, he’d only had enough money to get a few fistfuls of flyers printed. The rest of whatever foothold he managed to claim would come from word of mouth about his cooking and the novelty of a fully functional restaurant on the water. Gaining enough traction to get regular customers would take about a year.
He didn’t put on the chef’s hat for the sake of profits, but he did need to break even to get fresh supplies and ingredients, let alone stay afloat.
The smell of the stoves burning drew him out of his head.
“Eggplant!”
Sanji, working with a dutch oven and at least half a dozen plates gathered from the dining room that he’d arranged around the burners, threw a glance over his shoulder.
“Hah?”
That the brat looked so comfortable and at ease despite needing a stool to see everything in the dutch oven; that he seemed so relaxed despite Zeff raising his voice. It briefly snagged the chef’s attention.
He dismissed it before it could take form as a thought, though, scuffing the floor with his peg leg as he made his way to the stove.
“Hell’re you doing?” He asked.
“Making the most of leftovers,” Sanji said, already focused back on the burner. “The scraps should make a passable broth. Haven’t decided what to do after that.”
Zeff looked over the eggplant’s work, ready and expecting to make multiple corrections; he came up empty for comment, though, even as the water began to boil and Sanji smoothly adjusted the heat. Having nothing to add, he chose to let the kid do what he wanted; he’d intervene if things somehow took a turn for the inedible. He latched onto the distraction from finances in front of him, mulling over what he might do with chicken and bones.
Sanji leaned sideways, reaching to pull the salt and peppercorn into his workspace.
“…!”
Zeff frowned, zeroing in on the wince that Sanji tried and failed to hide.
“Oi, look here.” Zeff said.
“I’m fine.” Sanji said with a flip of his hand.
“Look here.” He insisted, grabbing the brat’s jaw and turning his head to face him.
Sanji rolled his eye, acting put-upon.
“It’s just a cracked rib.” He said, annoyed and flippant.
Zeff pressed a palm against Sanji’s side gently; blood leaked out of the corner of the kid’s mouth.
‘What the fuck?’
Zeff hadn’t realized Sanji had even been in the fight out on deck.
“Fine,” Sanji amended. “A cracked rib and a busted lip.” He swatted at Zeff’s hand. “I didn’t get any blood in the broth, don’t worry.”
“How do you know that?” Zeff demanded.
Sanji wrinkled his nose.
“I do wash my hands and pay attention when I’m working, shitty g”
“Brat,” Zeff said. “How do you know what a cracked rib feels like?”
Sanji blinked. Twice. He shrugged.
He shrugged, too naturally and casually to be the bravado of a nine-year-old.
‘What the fuck?’
Zeff sent the brat to his room, against the expected indignant protests.
“You need to let your bones knit, brat.”
“It’s not even that serious, ch–!”
Zeff shoved the eggplant off the stool, answering the brat’s clicking tongue with a scowl.
“I’ll finish the broth and bring some up in a few hours.”
Sanji’s fight and gusto suddenly stalled out. Zeff huffed.
“I told ya,” he said, pitching his tone low; he didn’t need any of the yellow-bellied bums on board hearing him. “So long as you’re on this ship, you’ll have food whenever you’re hungry.”
Sanji blinked.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “You did.”
He turned and shuffled out of the kitchen.
—————
Sanji seemed… different. Not in any readily quantifiable way, yet between one day and the next, it felt as though the air around the eggplant had changed. Nothing was wrong, exactly; he’d already put back on a healthy bit of weight since they were found stranded, and his rib put itself back together just fine. The brat was no more addled in the head than Zeff or any of the other crooks that frequented Baratie.
And yet, at times the way Sanji carried himself seemed smoother, incongruous with a guppy who hadn’t even smelled puberty. No more scampering around the ship trying to match Zeff’s stride; his movements were more fluid, insofar as one could describe a nine-year-olds movements that way. Sanji had always been almost alarmingly skilled at taking up less space than he really needed, but Zeff hadn’t heard one of the usual complaints about the brat being underfoot in weeks.
Granted, putting up with the eggplant was one of Zeff’s unspoken requirements for working at his restaurant. Word might have gotten around about the last bum he’d punted overboard, broken-nose-first.
More than simply not getting in the way, the eggplant was suddenly all but immune to fluster and embarrassment; the bastards who showed up in answer to Zeff’s Help Wanted posters were prone to shooting the shit while they worked, no topic off-limits.
Sanji, without missing a beat, effortlessly fired off shots of his own:
“I call bullshit that you’ve ever spoken to a lady.”
“I have to put up with your shitty breath but you don’t hear me whining.”
“There isn’t enough chocolate in the world to get you laid.”
His delivery and timing were tailored for maximum impact; hearing raunchiness in his prepubescent tones was hilarious, but it was as if he’d either been tutored or else picked up ten years practice at being rude in the space of a night. Never mind that he apparently knew how to make chicken broth out of table scraps, despite only being a junior chef by virtue of being Baratie’s first hire.
And yet there were moments when Sanji looked every bit the petulant, stubborn brat Zeff had given his leg for; when the eggplant insisted on getting cigarettes, he coughed for fifteen minutes before he finished his first stick and glowered at the carton afterwards.
Zeff wasn’t sure if the shift was all in his head or not; no one else on board had really been around long enough to say one way or the other if his suspicions held any water.
Speaking of the staff, while the turnover rate had dropped a lot after the first month or so, there were still more vacant positions than there were actual cooks on board. It left Zeff doing the job of head chef, purchasing manager and at least two station chefs in the kitchen. Sanji helped with the food prep, but it still meant Zeff didn’t get much spare time to plan out menus.
“Shitty geezer.” Sanji said, appearing in the doorway to his office.
“Eggplant.” Zeff answered, matching the precocious brat’s tone.
“Pair of shitheads pulled up to the restaurant,” Sanji said, jerking his head back toward the kitchen. He glanced down that direction. “One’s got pork chops for forearms and the other has a rat tail sticking out of his head.”
Zeff snorted; he heard not a few barks of laughter from the kitchen, along with one shout.
“WHAT’D YOU SAY?!”
“And?” Zeff asked, getting up from his desk.
“They want a job,” Sanji said, with an odd urgency in his voice as he shifted his weight. “Hire them.”
He ran off before the newcomer crooks could catch him, leaving Rat tail glowering after him outside Zeff’s office. Pork chop stepped in and looked around with a critical eye.
“You Red Leg Zeff?” He asked.
“You the bums who wanna work?”
Rat tail and Pork chop traded looks; they nodded.
“Uniforms are down the hall,” Zeff said, gesturing with his thumb. “Toss ‘em on and find an empty station in the kitchen.”
—————
“Quit being a fucking martyr!”
Sanji’s body seized, catapulting him back into the waking world. He gasped for air, scrubbing at his face and rolling out of bed to open his window; the smell of ocean and the sound of the waves eventually drowned out his pulse pounding between his ears.
More than a month had passed since he woke up back in this bed, back in East Blue. Perhaps some whim of fate, maybe some freak accident.
“Run, Sanji! Run, and don’t look back!”
Maybe he’d been saved. Again.
The how of coming back didn’t matter; only that he had, and he had work to do.
He reached under his mattress and retrieved a single sheet of paper; he pored over his map. His shitty, rudimentary, completely shoddy map with something like five locations in total; no accounting for an accurate representation of distance between them. A fish head for Baratie, a shitty triangle for Reverse Mountain, and only names in bold print to differentiate between the circles he used to mark what islands he knew. That he’d lived so many years of his life exclusively on board Baratie was all too apparent in his ignorance of East Blue’s geography.
The mediocrity of his work didn’t bother him; the lack of artistry and personality, however, the absence of finesse and grace in each line…
It punctuated the hole in his heart where his nakama belonged.
(“USOPP!”
“I didn’t do it!”
“Calm down, I’m not mad; is this a Sea King?”
“Ah, based on my expert opinion, having fought a half dozen before I was”
“Yeah, yeah. Can you draw another?”
“R-really?”
“By some miracle, you didn’t obscure anything important. And I think it adds something to the map.”)
“Fuck.” Sanji muttered, swiping at burning eyes with the back of his hand.
He shoved the memories back into the recesses of his mind and frowned. He’d never been the one to make plans. He knew a thing or three about how to sabotage the best laid plans, but he’d always been much more dreamer than schemer. He had ten years before his captain came calling; yet only a paltry two to figure out a way to save Nami’s mother.
Sanji was sick of dead mothers.
He had no bearing on where to go save the general direction of Cocoyashi from Baratie, no way to traverse the sea save his own body, and a body sorely untrained and only months out of recovery from near-starvation.
His greatest boons were his yet-intact Haki and that he’d already developed his own black leg fighting style off what he’d inherited from Zeff. The impact his younger, weaker body could handle would be an obstacle, but at least he wasn’t starting from zero.
He stepped outside onto his balcony, eyed innocuous clouds. He looked down at his feet; flexed his toes. Canted his weight sideways and stretched what meager muscles he had. Breathed in, and…
Sor–!
He faceplanted onto the wooden planks, hissing between clenched teeth against the burning agony in his legs.
He’d managed three of the necessary ten consecutive kicks.
“Shit.” He grunted, thumping his fist against his thigh.
The groan of floorboards had him going still; he listened through Haki to the restaurant, holding his breath.
A minute without movement from the floor below and he exhaled.
He closed his eyes. For a moment, he wondered how long it would take to build his body back up for even one of those shitty assassin’s techniques.
One of the many, countless bittersweet echoes living in his mind that he treasured and dreaded in equal measure came forward as if in answer.
“Sanji; fly!”
He opened his eyes to the moon; pressed the heel of his palm against the wood beneath him, clutched at the banister in front of his balcony.
“Roger,” he whispered, pulling himself onto legs screaming in protest. “Captain.”
#One Piece#fanfic#fic#chapter 1#Sanji#Vinsmoke Sanji#Zeff#Baratie#title may be subject to change#post may be subject to being a draft#we'll see#title was achieved with machine translation#sorry about that
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I wanted to throw this somewhere--but its WAY too dry to put on my a03--so here, baratie room headcanon, kind of because i like to think the chefs at the baratie whove been there for awhile care about each other. And that Zeff's s good manager but through ACTIONS (I cant believe it took me this long to use my creative writing class as an excuse to write fanfiction)
You learn a lot about a restaurant’s management from its storeroom. On the starboard side of the Baratie, a massive maritime restaurant, and tucked behind a port-hole door in the back right corner of the kitchen, there is a broken freezer. It acts as the ship's break room. The room smells mainly of dry goods–dust wood, wax, and the kerosine–like smell that wafts off of burlap sacks–and faintly of food from delicious smells that creep under the door from the kitchen behind it. Two large, nondescript storage shelves take up the entire left-hand wall. Above the shelves is a wide, porthole-window that floods the room with light. A few feet to the right of the second shelf, and against the back wall there is a seating area: A table made of a barrel and a round slab of repurposed wood from deck repairs, four pseudo-chairs, two decks of cards, and a lamp. The chairs are a motley collection of recycled objects: One was a crate; another was a well-made child’s step up ladder with two wide, flat steps; a third is a rickety stool made from the legs and seat bottom of a rickety chair; the fourth is another crate.
A pile well-worn of blankets sits behind the table in the back right corner of the room. Further down the right wall, two smaller shelves filled with more dry goods take up the wall space closest to the front wall of the room. Though those shelves aren’t only filled with dry goods, they hold extra clothing for the chefs, dried meat, and old-well worn cookbooks. They hold silverware for lunch breaks and have extra shelves for chefs to leave their lunches. On the shelf that fits into the front right corner of the room there are muscle-rollers for sore legs fitted into a X-shaped wine rack.
Up against the front wall of the room, just a few steps to the right of the door lies a utility cabinet. It contains all your typical first aid supplies–rolls of clean bandages, needle, thread, scissors, painkillers, even acupuncture needles–and something a little more caring. A chef has to take care of their hands simply because they use them so vigorously and so often.
In the cabinet, just a shelf above a first aid kit there is a collection of containers-jars, pots, bottles, even corked vases–of hand care items: anti-inflammatory creams for joints, ointments, scar-oil, tigerbalm, and other miscellaneous mixtures that are either meant to heat or soothe hand muscles to stop cramping. There is a little remedy book in there made of tanned-pig-skin and stitched together with butcher's twine. Its pages, well worn and thin, contain remedies written in different colors of ink by countless hands. Helpful notes and stars litter the margins denoting what works and what doesn't. So pages, so well worn and torn, are tucked back into the book in tatters, their contents on another page to help future users. The very ink of that little book smells of love and community. The second I stepped into the room, I knew that the Head Chef of the ship’s kitchen cared deeply about their workers.
#one piece#writing#my writing#baratie#fic writing#headcanon#room headcanon#sanji#zeff#ill break up this big boy later#writing exercise#its basically one big 500 word paragraph not broken up by ANY character description because that was the assignment
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TITLE. ships in the night
WORDS. 4041
SUMMARY.
Sanji doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t pull away either. Against his better judgement, Zeff wraps his arm around him, hooking the brat neatly flat against his hip. Spent five days on the rock like this, waiting to die so what’s five more? Fifty more? However many they’ll have, bound together by the Rock as they are.
Or, how must it feel to sail with a killer?
STATUS. complete
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Bar Shift
Back to main Masterlist
“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.”
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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Synopsis:
An all-rounder, front of house manager finally acquires the first day off she's had in a very long time. Sanji, the ever faithful "work-husband" makes her breakfast just in time for Patty to break the news to her that her peaceful day off is to come to an end. Covering the bar shift for one of her staff members, shenanigans and mutual pining ensues.
#one piece#opla#opla fic#one piece live action#x reader#sanji#sanji x reader#vinsmoke sanji#baratie#another baratie fic#one piece sanji#black leg sanji#sanji x you#chef x waitress#one piece sanji fic#sanji completed series#sanji fic
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ok tbh, and i have been resisting discussing this bc i don't wanna get tempted to Really Really Write It, but the pitch has rapidly developed in my head and the zoro nami teamup part of it is only like. half of it at this point. and that part is like, that's easy, that's straightforward, there's so much fun stuff there. precanon nami needs a fuckton of berries to pay arlong with but stealing from pirates is kinda slow. she could be picking up bounties along the way but alas. she cannot fight. so she hires/teams up with/drags along zoro, who doesn't even care that much about the money part of bounty hunting as long as he can like, eat. she does the planning and navigating and shit and he does the fighting and gets a cut of the bounty in exchange. works out great! we're easy cruising along the road to that 100mil!
and then the second part of it was actually a separate idea at first, which basically went, what are precanon ways straw hats couldve met -> well there's quite a few characters hanging around in the east blue -> two on island villages -> what if the arlong pirates came to usopp's village.
#the nemesis speaks#part of the resistance is also like. the continual ''but i'm not very far into this i don't wanna contradict canon by accident''#BUT OH WELL.#i don't want this to be too insanely long so i'm leaving out a lot of the non setup stuff whkwjhw#but then you could also bring sanji into it via zoro and nami chasing a pirate with a bounty to the baratie#calling this one ''oops i wrote the main character out of the story'' lmao#but did i... cause what if some of them run across a mysterious barrel floating in the ocean#but that would be late in the fic i think. if i wrote it. which i'm not going to
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𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤)
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 as much as you wanted to stay by his side, you couldn't bear the thought of watching him fall in love with other women while you're stuck at the kitchen washing dishes and measuring ingredients. so you dreamt of leaving, of traveling to different islands to share your lovely songs and tunes; but the more your desire to leave grows, the more sanji finds himself drowning in your warmth.
or,
you and sanji over the years, wherein five times you tried to leave him and the one time you finally did, despite his refusal to let you go.
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 musician reader, 5 + 1 things, pining, unrequited love, not actually unrequited love, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i swear i cannot escape a brainrot whenever i watch a new show. this automatically wrote itself, i don't even remember how i came up with this idea. anyway, i'm surprised there aren't many sanji fics that involves the unrequited love trope, seeing that it suits him. or maybe that's just me. this is only a SNEAK PEEK though.
𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 full version now published here!
You accepted it years ago.
You accepted the fact that you somehow fell in love with Sanji Vinsmoke along your weird journey of working in a sea restaurant full of former pirates and making music while at it. How the pesky feelings grew and wrapped themselves around your aching heart, you didn't know. Maybe it was when he learned to cook your favorite food and gave it to you afterwards, or the way his crystal blue eyes reminded you of snowflakes every winter.
Or maybe it was when he pulled your hair out of jealousy the moment he learned that Zeff would be taking in another child in his care, but brushed it and even braided it after the latter cleared the misunderstanding. Maybe it was when he supported you in your dreams and told you they weren't silly, maybe it was when he fought off drunk men that were trying to hit on you. Or maybe it was the way his voice would drop an octave lower whenever he asks you for a favor. The list could go on and on and you still wouldn't know the reason why. It doesn't matter anyway. You tripped, you fell, and now you're pining.
Drying off the last of the plates, you washed your own hands after and patted them dry on your skirt. You were the last one to leave the kitchen, the other staff already back in their quarters after a long, exhausting day of cooking. You fixed the signature blue bandana tied in your hair then went on your way towards the upper deck.
You weren't blessed with a talent in cooking, so you offered to do chores instead. Washing the dishes, cleaning the restaurant, and doing the laundry were few of the things you do in the Baratie. You can't say that you enjoy it, but you were beyond grateful that Zeff gave you a chance despite his opposition to let a woman work inside his restaurant.
As you were about to go to the newly laundered clothes you hung on a thin wire earlier that morning, you heard two voices speaking. You also smelled cigarette smoke wafting through the air, and you only knew one person who could be smoking at this hour. Your breath hitched in anticipation.
"You bringing a woman to your bed again, Sanji?" The other person asked playfully, but there was a hint of disbelief in his voice. You carefully took a peek so you won't accidentally reveal yourself and be accused of eavesdropping. Two people came into view with their backs facing you.
"Now, what are you talking about, Patty? I am a gentleman. I only had a nice chat with the lovely lady and escorted her back to her ship." Sanji interjected, a cigarette hanging on his lips.
Patty huffed. "I didn't know that chatting included kiss marks on jawlines."
This caused Sanji to laugh and say, "Not my fault she was charmed by my food."
"The boss man ain't gonna like it when he finds out about this."
"He's not gonna find out." Sanji assured him, wiping off the said kiss mark on his jaw. You stared at him as he did so, and you pitied the woman who planted that kiss, knowing she was just one of the many beautiful ladies Sanji had flirted with before. However, a tinge of pain in your chest said otherwise, taunting you that it was not pity you're feeling, but foul jealousy.
"Why don't you look for more decent women, eh? How about 'little lass' for a change?" Patty suddenly suggested.
It was like someone had hit your stomach with one of the metal pans in the kitchen with the way it lurched in surprise and nervousness. Your heartbeat started to quicken the longer you waited for his response, making your grip on your skirt tighter. In moments like these, you allowed yourself to hope, to wish that he saw something in you and that he finds you beautiful and lovely enough to be the person standing by his side.
But his answer made all that hope crumble down into nothing but dust.
"I don't see her that way." Sanji said after a long stretch of silence, taking a long drag from the cigarette then releasing the smoke in a single breath.
Ah.
You blinked repeatedly, trying to keep the tears from forming. It's always been like this, so why can't you get used to it? Taking a deep breath, you gulped away the knot forming in your throat and decided to leave. You can grab the clothes later.
"You're too kind for him." Someone behind you spoke, making you jump and tense up. Turning around, you saw Zeff looking at you with an unreadable emotion in his eyes and his hands on his hips, almost like he knew your secret. Of course he does. He always sees everything.
You stumbled on your words. "Sir?"
"That boy is always up to something." He began, switching his attention to Sanji. "One minute he's stubbornly immature in the kitchen, and the next he'll be a thirsty man staring at women like they're liquid booze."
Clearing your throat, you forced a smile.
"Well, he can be a lot sometimes." You agreed, remembering the days when the two of you would fight over irrelevant matters. Then you chuckled and continued, "But he's kind. He's gentle, and lovely, like a freshly made poem you keep repeating in your head. But then he's also confusing, hot-headed, and reckless. He's like the sea, isn't he? Calm yet wrapped with mystery, dangerous yet beautiful..."
You trailed off, an unbearable heat rising up your cheeks and neck once you slowly began to realize that you just ranted out your feelings to the head chef. You glanced at him with wide eyes, preparing to see a disgusted look on his face; however, Zeff didn't appear to be repulsed by your little speech. In fact, the corners of his lips were slightly quirked up.
"But I cannot swim. If I were to drown, he wouldn't save me." You quickly added, hoping to shut down the topic.
He sighed. "You will meet someone who deserves you as much as you deserve them, little lass." He simply said. He then laid his hand out, and on his palm was a little box poorly tied with a ribbon. "Here, for you."
Altnough you were a bit confused at the random gift, you accepted it and cradled the box to your chest. "I'll be okay, Zeff." You insisted, grinning cheekily. "When I become famous, I'll sing my songs here in Baratie, and people would flood the restaurant to hear my singing. And to eat your food too, of course."
The head chef nodded, relief flooding his expression. "I look forward to that." He said while awkwardly returning your smile.
That night, when you were sure that everyone in the Baratie was asleep, you opened the loose floorboard on the floors of your bedroom and grabbed the wooden box you kept hidden for a long time now. You opened the lid and began counting the Berry you saved for the past few months.
Tomorrow was the perfect day to leave.
You just can't stay here. Yes, you had a roof over your head, delicious food to eat everyday, and clean clothes to wear but you were so miserable. This wasn't the life you wanted. You wish to go out there, sing your heart out, and fall in love with someone who actually loves you back.
A knock on your door made you freeze. You held your breath as the person on the other side continued to knock a few more times. "You awake?"
Pain surged through your veins, your chest twisting in agony. Sanji.
"You didn't come down for dinner. I guess you're too tired, hmm?" He said, his muffled voice gentle, and the sound almost prompted you to stand up and open the door for him. But you dug your fingernails in your palms and resisted, because you can't just let this opportunity pass by.
You heard a brief clinking sound before Sanji spoke again, "Sweet dreams, ange."
Once his footsteps faded away, you cautiously moved towards your door and opened it as quietly as you can. There, on the floor, was a small plate with a slice of your favorite dessert: angel's food cake, topped with fresh cream and strawberries.
You bent down and saw a note beside the plate. And when you got to read the contents of the note, you burst into tears and sobs that wracked down your entire body.
Happy Birthday
— S.
You ate the cake with tears silently falling down your cheeks, and that was the first time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.
again, this is only a sneak peek of the actual fic, i'm currently halfway in completing it. please let me know if you want to read it, because i might publish it next week. if not, i'll just drown in sorrow and self-pity.
#opla#opla x reader#opla x y/n#one piece#one piece live action#opla sanji#one piece sanji#sanji#vinsmoke sanji#sanji live action#sanji x reader#sanji x you#sanji x y/n#opla sanji x reader#angst#one piece sanji x reader#ਏਓ ladadiida
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the Special | Sanji x reader
a/n - my first One Piece fic. absolutely terrifying but definitely a needed change of scenario to get out of my writing block. please be kind; I'm taking all my inspo from the live-action as that is what I am currently the most familiar with. but, well, we just have to see how it goes. bon appetite
Shoutout to my dear @mydearzero for encouraging my newfound obsession with this show and this character, as well as generally encouraging me to write. this is all your fault. And to everyone else who had been expecting me to finally post one of the other million fics I had promised... I'm sorry
And kind reminder that reblogs is what makes tumblr work. Please, if you enjoyed the story, reblog
word count: 9.9k
warning: 18+ only. MDNI. smut. piv sex. oral sex (f!receiving). unprotected sex [wrap up your eggplants yall]. semi-public sex. several FDA regulation code breaks, probably. afab reader. swearing. little bit of angst. shitty and fat-shaming [oc!]boyfriend/date. fist fight. alcohol consumption.
“Look at your waiter's face. He knows. It's another reason to be polite to your waiter; he could save your life with a raised eyebrow or a sigh.”
― Anthony Bourdain,
The first thing you saw was the red, bright sign spelling out the restaurant's name.
Baratie. You had no clue what it meant but could only hope that “the best restaurant in the East Blue” was somewhere down the list of its definitions, especially after the months that they had kept you on the waiting list and the tumultuous trip that it took to sail there. Next, as your ship approached, you saw the… fish head. The sight of the sculpture at the front of the ship structure buried some worry in the pit of your stomach, but surely, if so many people had given it such fond reviews, the exterior was not to speak for what awaited you inside.
‘Believe me, baby, you’ll love it here.’
‘I really hope so,’ you smiled as you got off your boat. Your legs shook at the knee as you stepped onto the sturdy dock planks. Days at sea, which had never been your friend, had clearly done more damage than you expected. You would have been on the floor if it wasn’t for the pair of arms holding on to you.
‘Thanks, Chosi,’ you said towards your boyfriend as he helped you steadily get back onto your feet.
‘Can’t have you faceplant the second we get here,’ he brushed some invisible dust off your shoulder, and with his arm entwined with yours, he led you to the entrance of the establishment. You grabbed at the skirt of your dress to keep it down as the wind blew by.
As you walked, you looked at all the other ships harboured on the… was this an island? Was the entirety just one large ship? Was it anchored to something then, or was it drifting around the seas constantly? You couldn’t quite comprehend the logistics of it all. But you could tell that humans and other creatures of all walks of life–royalty, commoners, marines, pirates—were unbothered by each other's presence and enjoying the outing. Once inside, the shushed sound of the waves was exchanged for a whisper of swing music, as well as the chatter of the restaurant’s patrons and the clinking of their cutlery on plates. The walls were lined in crimson wallpaper as well as painted depictions of sea battles, accented in gold and bronze details matching the furniture placed spaciously around the room and the two stories above it that lead the eye to a beautiful aquamarine ceiling that gave the illusion as if one was looking up at the bright sky from underwater.
The maitre’d, a Fishman, stood to attention at your entrance.
‘Good afternoon, how may I help you?’ he asked kindly.
‘We have a reservation. Name is Chosi,’ Chosi stated with his head held high. Despite you doubting that anyone knew his name in these parts of the world, he never ceased to pronounce it with a level of expectation to it. It was commendable, as well as disappointing, when nothing happened afterwards. The maitre’d simply nodded and glanced down at his long list of names, searching for the one he had just heard, ready to cross it off.
‘Ah, yes, right here. Please, do follow me to your table.’ And so, you did just that, walking down the grand staircase onto the restaurant's main floor, where you seated at one of the smaller tables, perfect for a romantic dinner for two. ‘Your waiter will be right with you.’ The Fishman bid you farewell just like that and returned to his position at the door.
‘So?’ Chosi looked at you with a raised brow as you looked around.
‘It is quite stunning.’ You must admit that you did not expect this kind of splendour when looking at the carved fish that gaped at you outside. Something about that just did not exude the same essence as the timeless and classy beauty of the interior. You barely even felt the shake of the waves beneath you.
Maybe your response wasn’t sufficient, for Chosi had opened his mouth to respond, something in the angles of his face announcing displeasure, but he was interrupted by a new presence at your table. You looked up at the tall figure towering over you.
‘Welcome,’ the man spoke, his accent clearly indicating his origin if only you had been aware of where that was. Simultaneously, he put down a plate of bread rolls, perfectly and meticulously positioned atop it. ‘...to Baratie. My name is Sanji; I will be your waiter this afternoon.’
‘Took you long enough.’ Chosi mumbled under his breath, giving you an immense urge to kick him underneath the table, but you knew better than to do that, especially when he did not seem to be ready to stop any time soon. ‘Trying to convince my girl this place is worth visiting, heh.’ You could feel your cheeks burning up in embarrassment. Nevertheless, the waiter—Sanji, he said was his name—did not seem to give the comment much thought as he looked down at you with a curve to his thin-lined lips.
‘My apologies, madame; I hope my service will not give you the false impression of this establishment being worth any of your precious time.’ The smoothness of his voice almost concealed the true meaning behind his speech, leaving you, as well as your date, speechless. However, you felt your speaking ability to be taken away by more than just his words as you spared a second to take your waiter in properly. You just could not help but notice how his suit wrapped around his arms, and although one was covered by his blonde hair, his eyes had a glint of something that excited you despite not even knowing the root of that excitement.
Like nothing had happened, Sanji continued, ‘Would you care to see the menu? Hear the specials?’ That is when you noticed the menu cards he was holding in his hand. And he must have been ready to list the special items, but Chosi was a step ahead.
‘Actually, I think we are ready to order.’ That was the first you had heard of it, but you stayed put as he continued. After all, Chosi had eaten here before. He knew what was good, and you could trust his judgement.
‘Prime rib, medium rare,’ as your boyfriend spoke, you kept your eye on the waiter, noticing the appearance of the smallest of flinches in his face at the sound of the dish, but never faltering his picture-perfect appearance, ‘and my lady will have the salad.’
Another twitch, right below his visible eyes, followed, but Sanji’s professional facade stayed on as he inquired: ‘We offer quite a variety of salads; which would madame prefer?’ And with that, he turned to you, that smile plastered on like a sticker, but he had trouble keeping it on as the answer to his question did not come from your mouth.
‘Whichever is the best, of course.’ Chosi rolled his eyes, and you wished you could do so as well. The waiter glanced between you and him, turning back to you momentarily. Long enough for you to give him a reassuring smile. It would be in everyone’s best interest if he just moved on from the matter.
‘Drinks, then,’ Sanji again spoke with an unphased essence about him, as if nothing from the past few minutes had ever occurred, or at least tried to emulate this. ‘Madam, anything I can get you?’ The way he emphasised that word didn’t require any pointed glares.
‘Uhm,’ you hesitated as he kept his full attention on you, completely ignoring the man sitting opposite you at the table, making Chosi stare at you just as, if not more, intensely, for all the opposite reasons. Out of panic, you just blurted out the most straightforward order. ‘Just water, thank you.’ It being the first words you said in the waiter's presence, they came out soft. Nothing like your regular voice, which startled you slightly.
‘Still, sparkling or mineral?’ Sanji pursued.
‘Still please,’ you smiled shyly, unsure where that actual shyness derived from.
‘Ice? Cubed or crushed?’ He fired the questions at a rapid pace.
‘A bit of ice is fine. Thank you,’ you repeated yourself, looking down at the table and letting the waiter move on to the rest of the order. He didn’t say anything else but looked at Chosi with anticipation.
‘I’ll have your finest brew.’
‘Coming up,’ his voice had a sudden coldness to it as he walked away, back to the kitchen, leaving the table to a thick silence.
‘I could have ordered for myself, you know,’ you said, with that same soft tone you had spoken with earlier, although this felt much more familiar seeing who you talked to.
‘And have you stuff yourself with some useless carbs? C’mon, you know I’m just looking out for you, here.’
‘I know.’ You straightened out a fork in front of you, suddenly feeling uneasy at how far away from the plate it was positioned compared to the knife on the opposite side. You were straightening out a crease in the tablecloth when Sanji returned with a silver tray in one hand. He placed the pint glass full of golden brew in front of Chosi before turning your way and setting a glass beside your plate. With a pair of tongs, one by one, he let ice cubes fall to the bottom of it, the clinking against the glass almost deafening. Then, he followed up with another pair of tongs and reached for a little tray but stopped himself to ask you: ‘Care for a slice of lemon, madame?’
‘Oh, uhm, sure,’ you shrugged, unable to look away. This process of pouring a glass of water felt rather extensive, but you could not deny the fact you were enjoying it all. As he grabbed the large pitcher to pour the water, you were unsure how he had carried all of these items with one hand and did so seemingly effortlessly.
‘There we go,’ he smiled, ‘your food will be with you shortly, but do let me know if you require anything else.’ And just like that, he was gone again, but not without leaving you feeling that he had meant his parting words especially for you and that that sentiment had undoubtedly not escaped your date.
‘I don’t like the look of that guy.’ Chosi glared at you as he took a sip from his pint, slurping up the top layer of foam with it.
‘I think he’s quite sweet.’ You straightened out the fork again and reached for a bread roll to tear it apart piece by piece.
‘Of course you would,’ he rolled his eyes, which made you look up from your little snack.
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ You put the bread roll down as the pit in your stomach hollowed out your appetite. Right, making space for that damn salad.
‘Nothing.’ Chosi shrugged, ‘Just that it's typical that somehow I’m the only one to notice when some guy is trying to cop a feel.’
‘He was doing no such thing.’ You had to bite your tongue not to raise your voice as his insinuation, despite being on the waiter's actions, seemed to be brutally judging yourself. ‘The poor guy is just doing his job. I’m not bothered by it, and neither should you be.’ Usually, you would attach some sweet nickname at the end of that sentence, but this was one too many times you had said a variant of the confirmation, and you were growing tired of just the thought of it.
Somewhere in the distance, a table erupted into a shouting match that had to be broken up by a handful of waiters. While usually, you turned away from such brutalities, never having been fond of violence and not particularly having a necessity in seeing people getting their teeth punched out minutes before eating a meal, this time you stretched your neck out to glance across the room, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of the white-blonde hair among the rousing heads. Someone had pulled a pistol, but the weapon was kicked out of the man's grip before they could shoot or even alarm people enough to hide beneath their tables. Just like that, the restaurant resumed its normal state of pleasantries, and you got back to your abysmal date and hoped it was still worth saving… or that saving was still even an option to begin with.
‘From what you had told me about the place, Chi, it is much grander than I had expected.’ You smiled, and he nodded to your affirmations.
‘Well, I didn’t want to raise the expectations too high, but you know I don’t do anything but the best for you, sweet cheeks.’
‘Of course—’ you were interrupted by the footsteps nearing your table, and the weight nearly lifted off your shoulders at the sight of Sanji carrying too large plates.
‘Hello there,’ he grinned slyly, ‘hope I don’t interrupt anythin’.’
‘Not at all,’ You moved your glass aside to make space for your dish, but Sanji put Chosi’s plate down first, announcing the food.
‘Prime rib, medium rare, for the gentleman.’ Like everything else, he precisely placed it so the gold details on the plate faced the diner exactly right. The roast glistened in the restaurant's dim light, and the smell hit you right at the nerves that reminded you of your hunger. But that was for the gentleman, and the gentleman had ordered for you the—
‘And for the madame,’ Sanji put a plate in front of you, ‘what I like to call the Sanji Special.’
You looked down at your plate of food with a stunned expression and then looked back up. Just in time, you caught the slight wink that your waiter had sent you before stepping back to then, with a nod, say, ‘Bon appetite.’
He got to take about three steps and had just turned his back towards your table when Chosi called out to him, clearing his throat. ‘Ehem, excuse me, Sonny.’
‘Is there a problem?’ Sanji returned with his hands behind his back, but you didn’t need to see his fists to know he was clenching them. It was all visible in the strain of his upper arms and jaw as he restrained himself to keep up a polite smile.
‘I am pretty sure we had ordered a salad?’ Chosi tried to play it off with a casual laugh, but it turned out to be anything but. Sanji leaned forward to grab the plate, but then your boyfriend exclaimed, ‘No, not for me; for her.’ before the waiter got his hand on his prime rib.
With a satisfied smile, Sanji glanced at your plate and stated: ‘That is a salad.’
Not that you did not appreciate what was in front of you, but if it was a salad, it was the loosest interpretation of the definition possible. You had to keep your laugh in as he explained that the dish was a “twist on kensui salad with steamed components, egg, and pork” or, in your simpler terms… the most delicious-looking pot of ramen you had ever encountered in your life, but no, definitely not a salad in the traditional sense. You smiled at the food, not daring to look up at Sanji while your boyfriend’s head seemed to be boiling alive, but the waiter was a step ahead of you.
‘Ah, almost forgot, for the lady,’ almost out of nowhere, he made a pair of chopsticks appear for you.
‘She will not be eating that,’ Chosi grunted.
‘I think that is for her to decide,’ Sanji didn’t even bother to look at him, keeping his sweet smile on you, which, in turn, rushed a hot flush over your cheeks.
‘Chosi, don’t be like that; this looks delicious.’ You spoke, hoping he would calm down and let you finally sink your teeth into this gorgeous meal. After a tense second, Chosi finally huffed out and sank back down in his chair, making you realise he had been on the verge of getting up for whatever reason. Either way, his intentions could not have been good. In the meantime, Sanji excused himself once more to finally leave you to eat.
You had perhaps taken half a bite when Chosi, his food untouched, spoke up again. ‘Why do you always do this?’
‘Do what?’ your throat tightened around the pork you had just swallowed.
‘Embarrass me like that?’ He sighed, a vein in his forehead looking more prominent than ever.
‘I didn’t—’
‘Cut the shit, you know what you’re doing.’ Chosi slammed his fist on the table, startling you and the few people sitting at the nearest tables to you.
‘Please, can we not do this now,’ you kept your head down, ignoring all the pairs of eyes that must have started catching on to what was happening. Chosi had turned red from anger by that point.
‘What, am I being too much for you? Imagine what it’s like going out with a slut—’
‘Chosi!’ you snapped, immediately covering your face with your hand as if you had not meant to shout and grab the attention of even more people.
Deep breath in.
Out.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ You hissed at the man across the table from you.
‘With me? You’re the one that has been eyefucking the waiter this whole time, and now you disrespected me like that in front of him? Do I mean so little to you?’
‘I did no such thing.’ You rolled your eyes, catching glimpses of the room you were in. The people that sat around, the employees. Of course, Sanji stood only a few tables away, taking an order. Could he hear what was happening? Most likely, the idea of that burned you in a new, much more unpleasant manner. Chosi must have said something, but you had been too occupied by your surroundings and too tired to even listen to what other vile things he had to tell you. The only thing that kept you at that table was the food, but no matter how good, it wasn’t worth enduring him. ‘You know what,’ you grabbed your napkin and slapped it onto the table, ‘I can’t do this right now. I’ll see you on the boat.’ The chair shrieked as you shoved it back.
‘Where the hell do you think you’re going,’ Chosi growled practically, and despite you having already turned your back to him, you heard his own chair scrape the deck floor. You had your eyes squeezed shut as you got ready for what was coming. He reached out, but nothing happened.
You looked over your shoulder to see Sanji pulling Chosi in by the sleeve.
‘Believe me, we don’t wanna do that, mate.’ Sanji said, his eyes filled with a new rage that made you take a step back.
‘Let go of me, you sleaze.’ Chosi suddenly reminded you of a feral kitten, how he tried to wriggle himself out of the waiter’s grip. ‘I’ll make you regret ever touching me. Do you know who I am?’
‘Do I look like I give a shit?’ he let go with a laugh, almost pushing Chosi to the ground. As your date dusted off his sleeves, Sanji took a step forward, pressing himself against him. Now that both men were standing face to face, did you only realise how much taller Sanji was than your boyfriend. How much bigger and, most likely, how much stronger. With a hushed and reserved tone yet somehow full of intimidation, the waiter said, ‘Don’t you ever try to touch or speak to a woman like that again, you hear me? Or I’ll make you regret you were ever born.’
Chosi could only nod with his eyes blown wide open. The restaurant was dead quiet, unable to pull their eyes away from the scene unfolding before them. No one said anything or moved, and yet, somewhere, a stack of plates fell. The crash of porcelain echoed through the space, and Sanji turned his attention toward the kitchen’s double doors for a second. That quick moment was enough for Chosi to find his moment and attack.
Or at least make an attempt at it.
Sanji was still looking toward the kitchen, and Chosi’s fist was in mid-air, but the waiter flawlessly manoeuvred around it, swinging himself back and letting Chosi fall forward. To make matters worse, Sanji supplemented the fall by kicking him over. If it wasn’t for the fact that your boyfriend’s chin had smacked against the table, you would have missed the entire thing, as Sanji’s movements were so elegant that it seemed as if he had not moved at all. He might as well have been refilling your water, ignorant of the groaning mess of a man he had kicked down to the ground with such ease.
Chosi got up shakily. A nasty cut was already dripping blood from the underside of his face, but the redness didn’t compare to the rage on his face. He looked around until his eyes caught yours. ‘What, you’re just gonna stand there like some dumb–’
‘What did I just say?’ Sanji said, this time much louder, not trying to hide the row from the rest of the diners. But before he could make another move, Chosi reached for the nearest thing he could reach, which in his case was your dish of ramen, and threw a fistful of noodles Sanji’s way, hitting him square in the chest.
Silence.
He must have been too stunned at the audacious strike to move out of the way for it. Everyone must have been watching the noodles unstick from his navy jacket and slowly fall to the ground, then watched as Sanji raised his head back up, his expression unamused and cold, but his eyes filled with a passionate and furious fire. One that was enough to live up to the promise he had made the man you had come to the restaurant with. And so, just like that, without another word needing to be said by anyone, you watched Chosi back away—one, two, three steps, whimpering and mumbling some comments that could almost make up an apology, before he sprinted up the stairs to the exit.
‘Ridiculous,’ you heard Sanji mutter under his breath. ‘Fucking waste of food.’
Before you could think any better about it, you walked up and knelt down, as he did, to reach for the spilt noodles. ‘I am so sorry,’ you started apologising. ‘I swear normally he–’
‘Is exactly like that,’ Sanji chuckled with a rasp. You looked up at him, a bit dumbfounded. He had managed to scoop most of the food before you had and was already getting up. ‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ One of his colleagues had been quick with bringing over cleaning supplies. ‘If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. Let me make it up to you—a drink in the bar, on the house.’
‘No, that is really not necessary.’ You couldn’t accept anything for free after your boyfriend pulled off such a scene and… had run off without paying. The realisation hit you like a brick on the head as you cursed under your breath with a strong sense of panic, which Sanji caught on to immediately.
‘Please,’ He reached gently for your arm. ‘I insist.’
You stuttered for a moment before actually answering in defeated agreement. With a satisfied smile, Sanji led you to another exit, leading to the bar deck. ‘Right this way, madame.’
The bar deck, located in the mouth of that giant fish head, was moderately empty. Except for you and the appointed barman behind the counter, only a handful of others were sprinkled across the couches and futons. You chose a seat overlooking the sea and the setting sun that coloured the sky and waters an array of warm colours.
You understood that you had to go up to the bar to order, but you felt no particular need for it, just enjoying the breeze that brought over the calm sea air towards you.
It was unclear how much time you spent sitting out there, looking at the waves splashing by and the clouds above you and the people around you. Only once the sun had set entirely, darkening the sky completely, and most people had left the area, you decide to finally walk up to the bartender and place an order. The man nodded and proceeded to make your drink with only a few attached flourishes to the craft, but the result was charming and tasted delicious.
‘I hope I had made it clear that that was one drink on the house,’ you heard from behind you.
‘Don’t worry, this is my first.’ You said, turning around to see Sanji standing behind you.
‘You might just be the slowest drinker I have ever met,’ he said as he took the spot by your side.
‘Jeez, do your manners flush away the second you’re off the clock?’ You smiled, taking a sip of your drink, most likely also proving Sanji his point as the sip you took was particularly small.
‘For what it’s worth, madame, I was about to tell you that your bill has been taken care of.’ He leaned against the bar countertop with his forearms. ‘But I will make myself scarce now.’
‘No, wait,’ you stopped him before he could push himself back. ‘What do you mean it was– I would have happily paid. At least let me leave a tip.’ You were ready to pull out your purse when he took his turn to halt your movements.
‘I will not be accepting any tips for my service today. And honestly, you barely had a meal to eat, let alone to pay for. It is all taken care of. I promise.’
You looked up at him apprehensively, but something about his–not necessarily laidback–but how he was so comfortable with the situation put you at ease, too. But something was gnawing at your conscience.
‘Alright then, but I disagree with the review of your service. You most certainly need something for it in return.’ How could you repay the man who had just gotten you out of your horrific relationship? You doubted anything in the world could match your actual gratefulness. Although, maybe the smile that pulled at Sanji’s lips said something different.
‘Let me cook for you.’
‘What?’ You blinked slowly, making him smile even wider.
‘You haven’t eaten anything proper in hours. Let me make you something in the kitchen–an exclusive guest experience.’
‘That doesn’t sound much like a gratuity for you.’ You pointed out, but he did not seem to mind.
‘Indulge me,’ was all he responded with. Feeling giddy at the prospect, you glanced over at the bartender, who was definitely listening in on the conversation. Understanding what you meant with your look, he simply shrugged while wiping the glasses.
‘Ok then.’ This entire thing felt utterly ridiculous, and you didn’t hide the amusement you felt from it as Sanji opened the door to the kitchen for you. That is when your smile lightly faltered, only to be replaced with a fallen jaw as you looked around in amazement. Like the dining area, this room had a high ceiling but wasn’t decorated as much as simply visually enhanced by all the bronze pots and pans hanging around, and the pipes leading from the ovens and stoves up to the chimneys. There were long lines of prep stations, behind which one Sanji comfortably made himself at home as he immediately got started on something.
The first few minutes, after you watched him exchange his suit jacket for a white chef’s uniform, you were occupied with the kitchen itself, but once you had gotten used to the environment, you wondered where you could make yourself equally comfortable as not a nuisance to him as he cooked.
‘Make yourself at home, sweetheart,’ he said while chopping some ingredients at a speed that made your heart skip a beat in fear. Or did that come from the new nickname that caught you by surprise?
‘What happened to “madame”?’ you walked closer to his station. Sanji just looked up briefly, eye covered by his hair but his smile evermore present. Your smile lasted longer as you forgot you had meant to look at what he was doing, not to stare at him. Noticing he was not planning on answering your question, you asked another. ‘So, what exactly are you making?’
‘Since I’m sure dinner did not turn out entirely as you had planned, I thought maybe dessert would be a good pick-me-up. Rose and chocolate meringue tartes, how does that sound?’
‘Makes me wonder what I did to deserve it,’ you laugh it off while speaking the question that had been on your mind this whole time.
‘I like to show a lady how she’s meant to be treated,’ he said as he poured several ingredients into a glass bowl and began wicking at a pace that should have stopped him from looking so effortless long ago. ‘It’s all part of the special package deal.’
‘Right, the Sanji Special, was it?’ You looked around at the countertop next to him, which seemed free from ingredients and anything you could set on fire. You glanced his way, and he swiftly nodded your way. With that permission in mind, you pushed yourself up on the counter, swinging your legs lightly back and forth. ‘So what exactly does this special indicate?’
‘A nice meal, a little surprise, a few kind words, nothing too crazy. I would like to think that, with it, I have perfected the recipe on how to eliminate shitbag boyfriends like that prince charming you came here with.’
‘My knight in shining armour.’ You rolled your eyes, hiding how much you appreciated all his actions from that day. ‘Must have worked on quite a few girls then?’
‘Can’t say it has,’ he said as he pushed the oven open to prebake a few tartelette frames. The speed at which he worked truly was otherworldly.
‘Can’t because of a bad success rate or because you hadn’t actually tried it before?’
He appeared next to you from beside the oven; tiny droplets of sweat were forming at his temple, but his energy was still burning like the fire under the pot where he was melting the chocolate. ‘Let's say the latter. For both our dignity’s sake.’ It did not come as a surprise to you that he was a flirt and most likely tried these tricks out on the entirety of the female clientele, and yet, for reasons unknown, you did not mind one bit, and it still did not seize to make the smallest of his advances work on you with tremendous effect.
‘Don’t think I have much more of that left after everything that happened out there.’ You cringed at the memory of the shouting, the mess, and just how many people had been sitting there watching you.
‘There’s been much worse out there, believe me.’ Sanji lowered the fire under the pan lightly.
‘I hardly believe that. He threw noodles at you. That is absolutely revolting behaviour.’ And somehow, you managed not to get kicked out of the restaurant along with Chosi but even got to hang out in the kitchen after hours as a special dessert was being prepared for you… by the waiter that your boyfriend had tried to assault— no, that your ex-boyfriend tried to assault. That felt much better, but still didn’t let the whole situation make any more sense.
‘And that wouldn’t even make the top ten of shit that’s happened around this place.’
‘I… am not sure wether to be relieved or disappointed.’ For an inexplicable reason, you thought you would be more memorable to him. However, would you have wanted that, seeing the actual circumstances under which that would be? Ugh.
As if he could read your mind, Sanji added in. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not planning on forgetting you anytime soon.’
‘I bet you say that to everyone.’ You rolled your eyes, to which he just smiled. ‘But really, I am sorry for what happened—especially to your suit.’
‘I care more about the noodles, honestly, don’t like seeing food go to waste—’ he drifted off with his thoughts before coming back up to the surface with another question, ‘speaking of noodles, where’d you meet this guy anyway?’
‘It’s complicated,’ you sighed, not wanting to burden him with your story, but from the eager attitude he was conveying as he managed his ingredients, he did not hold the same sentiment over it. ‘We had been friends for ages—out dads worked together—and it seemed, to everyone, apparently, like the natural progression of events that we would end up together.’
‘Everyone… except for you?’ he assumed, looking up at you from the counter space.
‘No, I mean, at first I thought so too, but over time… well, you saw it yourself. But by the time I had realised what a mess I had gotten myself into, it felt like I was already too late.’
‘How so?’ You heard the gentleness in his question like he was treading the topic lightly, not wanting to put any pressure on it or on you to answer.
‘Heard people talking he had been planning to propose.’ You shrugged it off. ‘But I doubt that will be happening anymore.’
‘What are you going to do now?’ The question came with that same carefulness but perhaps a bit more intrigue. You simply shrugged again.
‘Will probably have to find another ship to get back home on, as I can’t imagine he would want me on board with him.’ It was crazy you had not bothered to check but assumed that he had already taken off hours ago, leaving you behind to fend for yourself. ‘And then, if I see him again… well, not much else I can do but officially dump his ass.’
‘So I shouldn’t feel bad for what I did?’ He stopped what he was doing as he waited for an answer.
‘Absolutely not. I can’t thank you enough for doing that.’
The both of you shared sheepish smiles before you watched him work silently for a few more minutes. The tarte frames came out of the oven in a beautifully crisp golden tone, and he mixed the chocolate into a thick mousse while the rosy syrup lay back to cool off. While the two of you remained quiet, the kitchen was anything but that as his utensils clinked around the pans. You thought back to a few hours ago and how the silence at your table had been anything but this. You had sat in a cold dread, waiting for something to snap until it inevitably did. However, you sat back comfortably here, happily watching as Sanji focused on his work.
It really was his element. While you thought the man had been exemplary at waiting tables, it was nothing compared to the ease at which he performed here. Each move he made seemed like second nature to him.
‘Do all the waiters here know how to cook like this?’ you inquired, leaning in to see how he filled the pastries up, hands in a tight grip on the piping bag.
‘The ones that are cooks do,’ he chuckled.
‘You’re a cook?’ you blinked, ‘then what were you doing out there earlier?’
‘Ah, the old shitbag that runs this place likes to torture me and send me off to do the waitin’.’ He readjusted his hold on the piping bag, briefly stopping to wipe his hand on the towel tucked between his belt.
‘Doesn’t that bother you? I’m sure you’d much rather work here.’ You certainly would. Some people could be real assholes to serve… your former date being a prime example. But Sanji simply laughed it off.
‘Nah, not when beautiful women are out there waiting to be served.’ He stopped to look up at you with a shit-eating grin, and the unseriousness dripping off of it made you blush, smile along with him and push him back by his shoulder before you would do something else much more irrational. Perhaps a bit too hard, as he lost his balance, only finding it on the counter, exactly where the piping bag had been left behind. His palm fell right over the ending, bursting out the mousse in an unfortunate mess, spilling all over him and the counter.
‘Oh no,’ you said, covering your mouth but not the giggles from it, ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You think it’s funny, don’t you?’ He couldn’t keep his smile, but you shook your head harshly. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ he pointed his hand, covered in chocolate, at you. Several thoughts ran through your mind initially, but you managed to suppress most of them, opting for simply running your finger over the back of his hand where most of the mousse had spilt and giving it a taste.
‘That is really good.’ you hummed at the sweetness. Sanji stood back, somewhat frozen at what you had done, but quickly thawed out with a few blinks.
‘Well, what else did you expect?’ He wiped the rest of his hand on the towel at his side, ‘and I’ll have you know it’s rude to eat the food before it’s done. Takes away from the experience.’
‘I’m sorry,’ you pouted, ‘but I promise you I am still very much enjoying this whole experience.’
‘You better.’ Sanji said, taking the baking tray and putting it back in the oven for the last few minutes. With the oven door shut, he sighed and leaned against the counter opposite you. ‘Now we wait.’
‘How long exactly?’
‘In a rush, are we?’ He glanced at you from behind his hair, and the question made you heat up in the face. Because how could you explain to this practical stranger that you were feeling the opposite of what he insinuated. That you did not want this night to end at all. That being here with him, even if you were just waiting for a damn tart to bake, you were having more fun than you had had in weeks, if not longer. So, all you did was simply shake your head again.
‘It will be just a few minutes, and then gotta let it cool for a bit.’ He reassured you. That is when you noticed the bowl he had mixed the mousse in, mostly scraped clean while filling up the piping bag, but even the best chef can’t always scrape every last ounce out. Now, you might not have had any particular urge to leave any time soon, but you certainly were hungry, and having tasted just how delicious Sanji’s food was, you couldn’t help but lean in to get another little taste.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ He said, bemused, reaching to stop you from taking another swipe of mousse onto your finger. His hand gently grabbed your wrist, but he had been too late. When he caught you, you had your hand directly over your lips, looking up at him. He glared down at you in a daring manner.
You licked the chocolate off yourself as innocently as possible without bursting into laughter.
‘I can’t believe you’d do that.’ He took a step forward, nearly closing the gap between you. The presence of his body, so close to yours, almost touching, reverberated off of you with warmth, and suddenly, you felt the breath you had taken to be stuck in the back of your throat. ‘Did you not listen to anything I just said?’ His breath was hot against your skin, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought it was a direct source of the skip in your heart.
‘Of course I did.’ You ignored the fast beating of your heart and the feeling like it might just burst out of your chest as you took him by the arm to give you some space and let you slide down the counter back onto your feet. ‘Something about experience and…’ you slid out from between him and the counter, and as you did so, swooped by the bowl of mousse with your finger one last time. ‘I forgot what else.’
‘You are unbelievable,’ Sanji reached for your hand, but you were quicker and manoeuvred around him and from his arm’s reach. Taunting him with the mousse, you walked around the work counters, and he, happily playing along, followed suit.
Like children, you ran around the kitchen, with him not far behind you, trying to catch you until he finally did, picking you up by the waist. Unintentionally, a squeak of a shriek came out of you, followed by both your laughs. You kept on laughing until you heard something outside the door. Heavy footsteps, freezing you both in your place until they moved on by. That is when you noted the time. Hours past midnight.
‘Are we even allowed to be in here at this time?’ You whispered as if the person who had walked by would suddenly be able to hear you.
‘Of course,’ Sanji said with confidence, but his expression juxtaposed this with signs that you could only read as “absolutely fucking not.” chances were that if you were caught in the kitchen at this time of night, you would be shot on the spot by, what did Sanji call him, the old shitbag.
But before you could run away in fear of getting caught, it was Sanji’s turn to take you by surprise. As you stood in his arms, he leaned in and wrapped his mouth around your finger, sucking all the chocolate right off. You could feel his tongue move down your knuckles and back up until he released it, leaving you stunned and wide-eyed.
‘I thought it’s rude to eat a dish before it’s done,’ you managed to sputter out.
‘So you did listen,’ he smiled, ‘but you might want to know that a good cook always tastes their dishes in the process, and that… was delicious.’
‘Are you always this humble about your cooking?’ Your heart was basically in your throat at this moment.
‘Wasn’t talking about the food,’ his tone was deep, sultry, as he leaned closer. ‘But care to give me another taste?’
Your breath was officially hitched in your throat, unable to breathe properly, as you stared at him, body flooding with heat and need for him. As words escaped you, you nodded lightly and leaned in as he did the same, meeting your lips in the middle with a kiss.
As soon as it happened, his arms found their spot on your side as you fastened yourself on his shoulders. It was nothing like you expected it to be. For a man spending his entire nights and days in the kitchen, he felt nothing like it. You could smell the cologne, taste the cigarettes and the fresh mint he used to conceal the former. His tender but firm touch held you in your place as he pressed closer.
There was a force to it, but nothing that you didn’t feel in yourself to copy as the need for him boiled deep inside you.
Your hand moved slowly up to his cheek, over to his hair at the nape of his neck.
One of his hands, in the meantime, had found your thigh, pulling it up over his leg as he squeezed your soft flesh, but before giving you a chance to even react to this new position and all its implications, Sanji moved.
Pulling apart, leaving your lips to be the last piece he detached from as he kept your bottom lip between his teeth lightly, he apologised, ‘Excuse me for a moment.’ because while you might have forgotten all about the world around you, he had still been keeping track of the tartelettes that were baking down in the oven.
He pulled the tray of pastries out with a white tea towel, practically throwing it down on the counter, discarding it with a metal clang.
‘Now we wait for them to cool,’ he explained as he got back to you.
‘And what were you planning on doing in the meantime,’ you pulled him back in by the blue ascot tie.
With his lips ghosting over yours, he half-whispered, ‘I might have a few things in mind,’ and with it, kissed you again. While the kiss itself was not much different, with that same intensity and passion running through both of you as before, now you were very much aware of what was to follow. If it wasn’t your need that spurred you on, then it was Sanji and his eagerness. Despite his chef’s uniform and the navy apron, you could feel him grow harder against you as the kiss continued. A moan escaped you as his lips travelled down to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses one by one until he reached a spot that was more sensitive than others. The simple touch sparked a fuse inside you.
As he continued playing with your sensitive skin, he led both your bodies to one of the empty tables at the side of the room, pressing you right against the edge and locking you in between it and him.
Without needing him to say a word, you understood exactly what you needed to do and climbed on top of the table, spreading your legs to make space for him right in the middle.
Your dress might have hiked up slightly over your thighs, but it wasn’t enough for Sanji, who took it upon himself to pull it up.
‘I hope you don’t mind me saying’,’ he smiled as he kissed the corner of your mouth and as his hand reached the top of your leg, ‘but I had been thinkin' about this ever since I saw you.’
‘Me too,’ you exhaled deeply, letting the confession sink in. Maybe Chosi was right after all. Now, with him out of the picture, you could admit that something had been there from the start, from the moment you caught a glimpse of the waiter cook. And if it wasn’t for all the shit that occurred that day, maybe you would have felt a twinge of guilt as you guided Sanji’s hand between your legs. If you had not shut that chapter behind you, perhaps you would have felt bad, but any insecurities of that disappeared as Sanji began to toy with your core. His slender fingers grazed slowly over your slit, putting enough pressure on it to make you arch your back in need of more.
‘Already so needy,’ he smirked. ‘And I barely touched you.’
‘Touch me then,’ you said with gritted teeth.
‘Don’t need to tell me twice.’ His fingers moved up in pace and barely went any deeper, keeping you on the edge of satisfaction. ‘And what would madame like me to do?’ He threaded his movements, and you were growing impatient with the teasing.
‘Fuck me,’ ready to hear his next question, you added, ‘I don’t care how.’
His grin only grew wider at your words. Much to your dislike, he pulled his hand away to place both at your thighs, pressing his fingers into your skin and using that as leverage to make more space for himself in between.
‘As madame wishes.’ He spoke softly right below your ear as he descended onto his knees.
The kiss he left over your panties already invoked a tremble through your entire body, and it only got worse from there, in the best sense. He pushed your underwear aside and took his time giving you all his attention and care. Kissing your core deeply until his nose pressed up against you. His tongue licked up your juices like a starving man until your eyes rolled back, and you felt weak.
The table you were perched on was empty, so you only had Sanji to hold on to. At first, you reached for his shoulder, but it was just not high enough for you to find support. As you tried to look for it, Sanji reached for your hand and brought it up to the side of his head for you to tangle your fingers in his light locks. Before you even managed to grab onto them, simply letting your nails trace over his hair, you felt the vibrations of his moans strike you. Another deep blow to your senses pulled you further down to the edge. Closer and closer until you couldn’t take it anymore. Your grip on his hair tightened as your breath grew sporadic.
‘Fuck, fuck,’ you moaned, voice filled with desperation for a release, and one that Sanji would be more than pleased to give you… just not quite yet. As he pulled away from you, you deflated with the feeling of a ruined climax and the urge to pull him back to finish what he had started, but all you could do was whimper in protest.
‘Don’t worry,’ he kissed your knee softly, ‘all in good time. I promise to take good care of you,’ and with that, he rose back up to his feet, untying his apron.
‘That was good,’ your chest still moving up and down heavily as you caught your breath. ‘Really good.’
‘It pleases me to hear that,’ he said as he threw the apron aside onto the ground. ‘And believe me, I would love to go back for seconds—’
‘Does all your pillow talk stem from restaurant jargon?’ you interrupted jokingly.
‘You laugh, and yet you’re the one begging me to fuck you.’ God, he was so cocky, with the way he stood there in front of you, his head tilted sideways, and his lip turned up in a grin that told you he knew he was right. ‘So, please, let me.’ His hand was already on his belt buckle.
There was no time or need for either of you to undress. With your dress hiked up to your hips, he already had easy enough access, and once his belt was loose, it only took a few sharp pulls for you to release him from the material restraints.
‘You ready?’ he asked.
‘For the love of god,’ grabbing him by the arm, you pulled him in, ‘stop talking and just take me.’ You knew he was about to respond, but before he got the chance to make another absurdly silly but nonetheless flirtatious comment, you shit him up with a kiss. Just like that, the two of you melted into one another. Sanji made himself comfortable between you and let his lips wander down to your neck again, to that one spot he found that drove you crazy.
He kept kissing your neck as he finally slid into you. The two feelings made your body go weak, melting you into a puddle of burning nerves as he spread your walls and filled you up perfectly.
First, he moved slowly, but with each thrust, he sped up more and more, putting more force into it until you were both shaking with ferocity, and the table underneath you scratched over the planks it stood upon. The sound of the tortured floor was the only thing covering up both your moans and that of the messy skin-to-skin contact.
While he practically pounded into you, you reached for his hair again. There was just something about it: how messy you managed to make it with a few tugs and brushstrokes. All of it, how he acted and reacted, it was all in response to you. Just how he made you see stars with each move he made.
‘Feels so good, fuck,’ he groaned over your shoulder as you grabbed for his, pulling him closer if possible. He had your legs pressed against his sides. He shook his head quickly, letting the hair flick out of his sight, but the attempt was poor as the lock quickly fell back over his eye despite his efforts.
‘San–’ you moaned, ‘Sanji–’
‘That’s right,’ he might as well have been kissing you, so close were his lips to you, but instead, the only thing you truly felt was his hot breath on your skin as he kept going deeper and harder. ‘Gonna come for me? His voice got even deeper the longer he kept going. At the sound of it, your nails dug into his back, his striped shirt being the only thing saving him from possibly some nasty scratches, but it seemed to only spur him on more. ‘I–’ you gasped out as you felt him hit the deepest part of you.
‘Yeah?’
‘I’m close, fuck.’ the pit in your stomach tightened, your muscles strained as you tried to hold on to that feeling of pleasure he brought over you. The tension built up like a band being pulled tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment; he had you in his grip, waiting to let go of you at the exact right time. All you needed was that touch, just the right one in the right spot.
You could feel it all. Could feel just how close he was himself as his thrusts got sloppier, and his breathing grew heavier and rougher between his words. ‘Yeah, c’mon. I know you can do it. Come all over my cock. ‘’s gonna feel so good, I promise you.’
The encouragement might not have been necessarily what did it. It was more like a concoction of things that all led to this precise moment when ecstasy overtook your body and washed over you like a hot flash. Sanji was not far behind you, riding his high as he ensured you got to yours. His movements slowed down as you felt the cum slick down your thighs. While you both caught your breath, it became quiet once more.
It took you a bit longer to catch up on air in your lungs, and so while you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, you heard Sanji zip his trousers back up and lightly walk across the aisle between the workstations. When you opened your eyes again, he was making his way back to you already, a handful of paper towels in his hand.
Despite the burn you already felt in your sore muscles, you spread your legs one last time to give him access to clean you up. His soft touches to your sensitive core now were in stark contrast to what he had been doing to you moments ago, but the cold of the damp towel brought a nice sense of comfort.
‘You think you can stand up for me?’ he asked gently, and the little words in that tone were enough to make your heart flutter.
‘Yeah, I think so.’ You said, but that was quickly proven wrong when your knees buckled almost immediately when your feet touched the ground. It was only because of the way that Sanji held your arm that you had not completely toppled over.
‘Woah, alright.’ He smiled, never letting go of you, ‘How about we just sit for now.’ Slowly, he guided you to sit on the ground, back against a cabinet. ‘Water?’
You nodded in agreement. The question had made you realise just how parched you were.
‘Still, sparkling, mineral?’
‘Surprise me.’ You said through a tired smile at the reference to how he waited on you earlier, but moments later, you reminded yourself of your preference, ‘just not sparkling! It just tastes foul.’
‘Anything but sparkling water, coming right up.’ He moved around the room to pour you some surprise water, and while he did so, you pressed your face into your hands, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Less than 12 hours ago, you had been walking up the deck, arm in arm, with your good-for-nothing boyfriend, soon-to-be fiance. Now you sat on the ground of a restaurant kitchen, with no idea where said–now ex–-boyfriend was in the world, coming down from one of the best orgasms you had ever received… all by the hand of a stranger. A handsome stranger at that. One that you could imagine seeing much more of in the future, but it was all just too silly.
And you were tired. And hungry.
‘Voila,’ Sanji appeared in front of you with impeccable timing, a large ice-cold looking glass in one hand, filled with ice cubes and cucumber, and two plates in the other hand. The rose and chocolate meringue tartes look particularly inviting. ‘Thought you might finally want to try one,’ he said as he handed you a plate and fork.
‘I swear, you’re a godsend.’ No matter in how much need you were of a drink, the sight of the dessert made your mouth water.
‘Ah, just a little something sweet for—’
‘If you’re going to say what I think you’re going to say, I will shove this tarte in your face.’ One could only endure so much of this sappy flirting, even if you found it very endearing. Sanji shut his mouth and sat beside you, poking his fork into his portion.
The two of you ate quickly but still took enough time to appreciate the flavours that oozed out of the pastry and its filling. The moan you made as it all reached your tastebuds might have been more pornographic than any sound you made while he had been deep inside you.
‘Mmm, this is delicious,’ you said through another bite. The praise brought a huge smile to the cook’s lips. ‘Seriously, thank you. For everything.’
‘It’s been my pleasure,’ he spoke in a way that almost made you think he was getting shy on you. That felt unlikely, but you let him process it all for a moment as you kept eating.
Only once you had eaten everything off your plate did you ask your next question of the evening. ‘How did you know I would like this?’
‘It’s a chef’s best trait,’ he pulled the fork out of his mouth with a pop, ‘to be able to read their customers well. To be able to tell what they like or dislike; to know them better than they know themselves.’
‘But how?’ With intrigue, you moved closer to him. He had been leaning against the same cupboard as you, one of his knees raised up and an arm hanging casually over it. His hair was still messy, falling over his eye. ‘How could you tell I would enjoy this specific dish?’
The one unobstructed eye fell over you, looking up and down over your body as his mischievous smile reappeared. ‘It felt fitting.’
‘How so?’ You blinked, confused as to what he meant.
‘Sweet, decadent and hot; what’s there not to like? I mean—’ he leaned in over his arm to kiss you, feather-light. Then, he hummed as he pulled back. ‘It is an absolutely divine combination.’
Your cheeks burned up for what felt like the millionth time that evening, and you could not dare keep looking at him as he stared down at you with that innate hunger. That kind that could only be filled with one thing, and it just so happened to have wholly exhausted you.
‘Is this still all part of that special of yours?’
To this, Sanji shrugged, ‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On how long you want to keep me around.’ He scraped some leftover mousse from his plate, licking it off his fork.
‘I think for a while,’ you admitted. Yeah, you definitely hadn’t had enough of him yet.
‘Well, then there’s so much more I can do for you, madame.’
the end
thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging and commenting-either through the comments, in a reblog or through my inbox <3 to hear your thoughts on my writing means the world to me and really is a huge help in motivation to keep going.
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#opla sanji#opla sanji x reader#sanji x reader#one piece fanfiction#one piece x reader#sanji fanfiction#sanji fanfic#sanji#sanji vinsmoke#sanji vinsmoke x reader#one piece live action#one piece live action fanfiction#opla fanfiction#opla#opla x reader#opla x y/n#sanji x y/n#vinsmoke sanji x reader#vinsmoke sanji x y/n
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HERE WE GO EVERYONE. the long awaited jealous!Sanji fic!! AKA a prequel to the main go fish! storyline!!
this fic takes place before the main events in go fish! but after they met at the Baratie. and don't worry, part 3 for the main series will be on the way. enjoy!!
request: i was wondering if you’d consider making a lil imagine/blurb about sanji being jealous of someone flirting with the reader? like imagine zoro and the reader just talking and then zoro suddenly leans closer and whispers to her “it seems we’ve got an audience” or smth like that
WARNINGS: none
word count: 3.7k
pairing: jealous opla!sanji x fem!reader
summary: Sanji watches Zoro and reader talk and gets jealous. Nami tries to calm him down but fails.
go fish! series: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 masterlist
taglist: @mischiefmanaged71 @smolracoon25 @smol-book-nerd @shuujin @amanda08319 @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @whiskeypowder @jovialcat123 @nimtano @xtigerlily @shadowwolf1864 @quixscentsposts @guidingstarsstuff @ateliefloresdaprimavera
“Reading that garbage again?” a voice called out.
At hearing the question, you glanced up from your well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice, your favorite book, only to see a calm Zoro casually stroll over to you with a hint of amusement on his face.
You playfully rolled your eyes. “Don’t knock it till you try it, oh great sword master,” you playfully jabbed as you shook out the book to him as he leaned his back against the ship’s front railing, resting his elbows on top of it. “The almighty Zoro isn’t allergic to reading, is he?”
Zoro snorted, glancing down at your cross-legged position on top of a crate before returning his sights to the Going Merry’s deck and the open ocean. “Yeah, I am allergic,” he agreed. “Allergic to reading that monstrosity you call a book.”
“Ooo, ‘monstrosity’. That’s a mighty big word for a non-reader like yourself, Zoro. Good job,” you teased as you marked your page before closing the book and joining your friend in looking across the deck and out towards the ocean.
The green-haired swordsman crossed his arms. “I read.”
“Mmhm,” you hummed, not convinced. “Sure you do.”
“I do,” he defended in a gruff voice.
“Oh yeah? Here, I’ll make it easy for you: tell me about one book you’ve read.”
Zoro scoffed. “I can tell you about way more than one.”
You couldn’t help the surprised noise that came out of you. “Oh, yeah? ’More than one’?” you asked with a raised brow and glanced up at your fellow straw hat, trying to wipe off the grin on your face.
You were certainly surprised that Zoro has read more than one book in his lifetime, but you weren’t surprised that he took your earlier question as a challenge. Classic Zoro, you thought in amusement. The guy could never pass up a challenge, no matter what it was about.
So, you repositioned yourself on your crate, making yourself comfortable for the discussion ahead. “Alright, come on,” you said and sat up straighter, urging Zoro on, “let’s hear it. Tell me all about them.”
From the back of the ship, on the upper deck above the kitchen, a certain chef took a long drag on his cigarette as he watched you and his least favorite swordsman be engrossed in conversation. Sanji removed the butt of his cigarette from his mouth with his thumb and index finger, keeping the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could, before slowly exhaling the smoke from his nostrils, his eyes never leaving the two of you.
“Daaamn, Sanji,” Usopp drawled as he messed with the sails on the ship’s mast nearby, glancing at the chef for a second before returning to his knots. “You look like a smoking dragon. All ferocious and mean. And....extra smokey.”
Sanji’s gaze didn’t budge, Usopp’s words not fazing the cook in the slightest. “Oh yeah? And what of it knot-boy?” he asked with a slight edge to his words, taking another drag on his cigarette and exhaling through his lips.
At Sanji’s snarky question, Usopp recoiled and looked back at Sanji more closely with a confused expression. It was rare for Sanji to lose his cool or be in a bad mood for no reason, unless he was going back and forth in an argument with Zoro but even then, the blonde chef usually took those in stride with a smile, much to Zoro’s annoyance, so this was new.
“Aren’t those things supossed to calm you down?” Usopp asked as he nodded to the cigarette in the cook’s hand.
“I am calm,” Sanji rebuked a little too quickly to be true.
Usopp then noticed how intent Sanji’s stare was towards something at the front of the ship and raised an eyebrow. Whatever he was staring at must be pissing him off because the chef’s gaze looked absolutely lethal. What the hell could be making him so mad? Usopp followed Sanji’s gaze, looked towards the front of the ship, and saw....y/n and Zoro talking?
To Usopp, it looked like they were just having a normal conversation, but when he saw y/n laugh at something Zoro said, hitting his arm with a grin and Zoro having a slight smile, he heard Sanji scoff loudly in disgust and mutter something under his breath.
And in that moment, it dawned on Usopp what was up, and it was hard for him to contain his shit eating grin: Sanji was jealous. Sanji was jealous of y/n and Zoro. To Usopp, it looked like a completely normal conversation between friends since he knew of y/n’s affections for the blonde cook. But to Sanji? It probably seemed like a complete flirt fest, and he was jealous.
Up until this point Usopp had thought y/n’s crush was only one sided. Sure, he’s had his suspicions ever since Sanji seemed to stare at y/n more often than not, but Usopp was still just a guy at the end of the day, so he never considered if Sanji might actually have feelings for y/n too.
But now? Oh boy- Usopp was all caught up to speed and he couldn’t wait to meddle in their budding relationship and tease the heck out of them both for it (when the time was right, of course).
Usopp looked back over at Sanji and wiped off his grin as best he could. “You say somethin’ Sanji?” he asked innocently, knowing damn well the chef said absolutely nothing. “I thought I heard you mutter something.”
Sanji flicked the ashes off his cigarette. “No.”
“Oh. Must just be the wind then...”
Suddenly, y/n’s laughter could be heard from the ship’s front and Sanji nearly snarled in disgust and shook his head. “What the-” Sanji started but let out an exasperated sigh. “He’s not even funny,” Sanji complained before taking another hit on his cigarette.
Usopp couldn’t help himself, he had to poke the bear. “Who, Zoro? I think he’s funny.”
The blonde chef let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, funny looking.”
He also had to twist the knife. “Well, y/n seems to think he’s funny.”
Sanji chuckled to himself and stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating Usopp’s words. “You know what? It doesn’t matter,” he muttered and took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out and immediately lighting up a fresh one.
Unbeknown to the cook and slingshot fighter, standing underneath them and near the tangerine trees was the Going Merry’s orange-haired navigator, who had heard their whole conversation.
------------- -----
“Zoro!” You laughed loudly and hit your crewmate on his bicep. “Reading books on how to dismember your opponents doesn’t count as real reading!”
A ghost of a smile appeared on Zoro’s face as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Says you. Can you tell me fifty different ways on how to cut up a body? No? I didn’t think so.”
“Fair enough,” you relented good naturedly with a small laugh as you shook your head. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
A comfortable silence fell over you both as you let out a small sigh, watching the waves crash.
After a few quiet beats, however, you felt Zoro lean into your personal space as he lowly murmured, “Don’t look now, but it seems like we have an audience.”
You blinked in confusion as your eyebrows pulled together. “What? An audience? Where?” Completely disregarding Zoro’s instructions, you immediately started looking around the ship. “Watching what?”
“Us,” Zoro said simply and returned to his full height.
You shook your head in disbelief. “What? Us? Now who would be watching-” you started to say but the rest of your sentence died in your throat when you saw piercing blue eyes staring right you both. “...us?” you finished slowly.
Sanji? Sanji was your audience? But- why? What? You were so confused. Even from this far away, you could tell something was off with him. His posture was stiff and the usual smile that adorned his features whenever he saw you was nowhere to be seen.
“When did he get here? I didn’t know he was on deck...” you trailed off, about to move to hop off the crate and make your way over to Sanji to see what the matter with him was when something stopped you.
Before you could hop off the crate, you saw Sanji put out his cigarette and make his way off the deck and head down into the kitchen, not sparing you another glance. As you made your way across the deck, about to follow him into the kitchen, Usopp quickly called out to you from up on the ship’s mast, asking for your help with knot tying since ‘yours were so much better than his’. You agreed with a small sigh, not wanting Usopp to struggle by himself, so you made your way to the mast and started climbing, but not before sparing the entryway to the kitchen one last glance.
Meanwhile in the kitchen, Sanji flittered around, grabbing random ingredients he saw at first glance. Mushrooms? Grabbed. A block of cheese? Sure. Corn? Ok. Tomatoes? Sure, whatever.
As he looked down at the growing pile of ingredients on the counter, he stopped for a second to examine the pile, putting his hands in his pockets. What the hell was he supposed to make out of this? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think straight, and it was bothering the absolute hell out of him. The kitchen had always been his sanctuary, a place where he could always rely on to decompress and escape from his thoughts as he got swept away in the act of cooking that came so naturally to him. Usually.
But today? His natural instincts weren’t there. He felt his chef’s mind drawing up a blank on how to mix all of these items together and the longer he stood there, the more ticked off he became. On a normal day, he’d have thought up of 15 different dishes he could make and already have been busy at work making one of those ideas come to life. But now? There was nothing. No ideas swirling around in his head, nothing.
He could feel his face twist up in irritation the longer he was standing there until finally, he let out a short, brusque sigh, muttering, “Now what the fuck am I supposed to do with all this?”
“You’re the chef, aren’t you supposed to figure that out or something?”
The blonde chef glanced up from the pile and saw Nami casually strolling in from the deck and up to the counter opposite of him, hands clasped behind her back, with a curious eyebrow raised.
Instantly, to cover up his sour mood, the cook plastered on a fake smile. “Well, it seems my mind is a little blank at the moment, Darling. Why don’t you come over here and help me come up with an idea or two?” he offered with a wink, taking his hands out to lean against the counter.
But Nami saw right through him. “I’m good, thanks,” she declined bluntly. Nami wasn’t sure when she had become the Going Merry’s pseudo-therapist, especially since this crew hadn't been together for more than 3 months at this point, but someone had to be, and she figured the only way to get Sanji to talk right now would be if he was doing something he loved: cooking. “Actually,” she started offhandedly, “I have a request for you.”
Now that immediately got the cook’s attention. “Oh?” he asked with a raised brow, straightening up as he dropped the fake flirty persona.
“Yeah,” she said aloud, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself that she actually had a request for the cook. From behind her back, she pulled out a couple of tangerines. With a slight smile and raised brow, she said matter-of-factly, “If I remember correctly, I believe I was told I could ask for a tangerine tart anytime I’d like?”
A genuine smile came across Sanji’s face at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he laughed with a nod. “The Madam is correct.” He took the fruits from Nami’s hands and placed them on the counter, pushing away his bizarre pile of ingredients to make room. “One tangerine tart coming right up,” he said and started bustling around the kitchen with purpose this time, pulling out the necessary ingredients, a far cry from his movements a couple of minutes ago.
Seeing Sanji occupied, Nami took a seat at the table, sitting where she had left her charting journal and reading glasses from breakfast that morning. She opened her journal back up and put her glasses on, flipping through the pages and resuming her sketch of her latest map.
Both of them worked in silence for a few minutes, both engrossed in their respective activities until Nami broke it. Before speaking, she snuck a glance at the chef, making sure he was preoccupied before she started prodding and sure enough, he was. Perfect.
“You know, I never told anyone this before,” Nami started, laying the groundwork for Sanji to open up, creating a tit for tat sort of thing, “but I actually love tangerine tarts.”
Sanji huffed slightly with a slight smile, not looking up from his work. “Oh yeah? Well, be prepared to fall in love with them all over again.” He started pouring heavy cream into a separate bowl, adding sugar before whisking it all together. “Even Zeff used to say I made a mean tangerine tart.”
Nami hummed. “Maybe you can make Zoro fall in love with them too,” she said casually, sneaking a quick look at Sanji, only to see him press his lips together in a firm line and start to whisk the cream harder at the mention of the swordsman. “Or y/n,” she added quickly. “I don’t think she’s ever had one either.”
At the mention of you, Sanji’s face and motions relaxed slightly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I...think you’re right about that.”
The orange-haired girl rotated her journal ninety degrees. She decided to prod a little harder. “I think I saw them talking earlier.”
Sanji simply hummed in agreement, cracking eggs into a bowl, staying silent. With the third egg, however, he cracked it a little too hard on the counter, causing the raw egg contents to splatter everywhere and onto his black blazer.
“Ah- fucking hell,” he muttered in disgust, throwing the broken eggshell into the trash before cleaning his hands off in the sink.
Nami looked up from her work and quirked an eyebrow at her crewmate. “You good?”
The blonde cook shook his head once with a sardonic smile. “Never better,” he quipped.
Ok, she couldn’t do this dance anymore. Nami closed her journal and took off her glasses, looking straight at him. “Alright, you want to tell me what the hell is going on? You’re acting weird, even for you.” Sanji opened his mouth to protest but Nami spoke before he could. “And don’t lie to me.”
Mouth still open, Sanji exhaled slowly and deflated. “I- I’m fine.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sanji-”
Upon hearing his name, Sanji blinked and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Nami rarely called him by his name.
“Cut the bullshit,” she continued. “I heard your conversation with Usopp and you certainly didn’t sound ‘fine’.”
Sanji was caught red-handed. With what exactly? He didn’t really know but he did know he was caught in a lie because he definitely did not feel fine. He shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for words. “I...” he sighed and took off his ruined blazer, draping it over the back of an empty chair, rolling up his sleeves as he avoided Nami’s expectant stare. He grabbed a dirty rag and started cleaning the egg off the counter. “I don’t know...”
“Sanji, you can barely crack an egg.”
That brought out a short bark of laughter from the chef. “Yeah,” he relented. “Obviously.”
“Is this because of your jealously over y/n and Zoro?”
“My- my what? My jealously?” he sputtered and scoffed, still not looking Nami in the eye. “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why on earth would I be jealous over that stick in the mud?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Nami played along, tapping her temple, pretending she was deep in thought. “Maybe because you saw and heard them laughing from all the way across the ship?” she pointed out. When Sanji tried to wave off her accusations with an unconvincing smile, Nami decided to just go in for the kill. If Sanji wasn’t going to admit his obvious liking towards her female crewmate and friend himself, then she’d have to do it for him. “Maybe....maybe because you might have a little crush on y/n?” she offered with a raised brow, staring right at him.
“Wh-what?? A crush?” Sanji quickly rebuked, jerking his head back. “What are we? Little kids?”
From her spot at the table, Nami could swear she saw a faint dusting of pink appear on his cheeks. She smirked to herself. She got him. “Well,” she shrugged, “it doesn’t matter how old we get, we all get crushes from time to time.”
You? A crush? Sanji shook his head as he resumed making the tangerine tart. Labeling whatever feelings he had for you as simply a ‘juvenile crush’ didn’t feel right to him. You were more than that, and you didn’t deserve to be labeled as such. “No, she’s not a crush.”
“Oh, so you like-like her?” Nami said like it was obvious. “You like her as more than just a friend.”
“I-” Sanji started but stopped himself and sighed, feeling his irritation grow the longer this conversation went on. Now even the kitchen wasn’t bringing him peace? First, smoking and now this? What was next? “Why does it matter? All of a sudden, my love life is interesting to you and up for debate? I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”
Nami watched his jaw tense and his body become stiff as he started zesting the tangerines. Clearly whatever feelings Sanji was dealing with, he wasn’t ready to openly talk about them, so she decided to back off.
She put her hands up in surrender, slumping back in her chair as she said, “Hey, I’m...I’m sorry. You’re right.” Deciding to give the chef his space, she gathered her belongings and stood up, making her way to the counter. “If you ever need to...talk or anything, I’m here,” she offered quietly. In a normal tone, she added, “Let me know when the tarts are ready. I really do want y/n and Zoro to try one.”
Speaking of the devil, you came into the kitchen from the deck, eyes lighting up at the sight of Sanji cooking. Seeing Sanji cook was one of your favorite things and you always loved to guess what he was making. “Sanji! Ooo, what are you making?”
Nami watched as Sanji’s whole demeanor change at the sight of you, like a switch being flipped on. She couldn’t help but smile knowingly between you both. “I’ll be in my room,” she announced before making her way out of the kitchen, leaving you both alone.
Sanji had a wide smile, shoulders relaxing as his eyes lit up. “Why don’t you guess? Give it your best shot.”
“Oh! I love this game. Ok, let’s see,” you said as you surveyed the ingredients laid out before you. “I see flour, sugar, butter and tangerines...are you making a tangerine cake or something?”
Whatever jealousy or anger he had been feeling all day just instantly disappeared once he was with you. He felt like himself again, all carefree and lighthearted as he chuckled at your guess. “Not quite, Missus. But nice try,” he said as he looked into your eyes with a crooked smile.
Missus. You felt your heart skip a beat at the nickname and you felt your insides became all warm. You hoped your face didn’t give away your swooning. He's never called you that before and you hoped to God that he would never stop.
“Ah, my bad,” you laughed embarrassedly. “What are you making then?”
“I, am making a tangerine tart,” he proudly stated as he grabbed another egg, perfectly cracking it this time. “At the request of the ship’s navigator.”
A wide grin broke out across your face. “No way!!” you squealed eagerly, causing Sanji to laugh. “I’ve always wanted to try one!”
The blonde chef nodded. “Yes, she did mention that actually.” After a beat, he added, “I hope you like it.”
“Of course I will,” you said without hesitation. “I know I haven’t known you for that long, but it seems like everything you make is phenomenal. You’re the best cook I know.”
Normally, nearly everyone compliments his cooking (except for Zoro) and he never really thought anything of it. He knew was the best cook in the East Blue and someday, the whole world when he found the All Blue. But hearing that compliment from you? How you said it so easily and with such certainty? He felt a funny, warm feeling deep within his chest and when he looked at you, just like how you knew for certain that he was the best chef around, he knew right then that you really were the most beautiful woman he’s ever known.
So, yeah. Nami was right. He guessed he did have a little crush on you, or ‘like-liked’ you- whatever she was saying.
“Do you mind if I watch?”
Your question broke the little staring trance he was in, blinking and tearing his gaze away from you as he tried to refocus on the task before him. He truly had to make sure this was the best tart he’s ever made.
He nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. God, he was probably acting like an excited puppy, but he couldn’t help himself. “Of course you can,” he agreed with a small smile.
As you pulled up a stool to sit on the opposite side of the counter, Sanji realized something: him cooking in the kitchen with you sitting nearby? That’s something he could get used to and get used to very quickly.
#sanji x reader#sanji vinsmoke x reader#sanji x y/n#opla!sanji x reader#sanji#sanji fanfiction#sanji vinsmoke#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece fanfiction#one piece live action#opla!sanji#opla fanfiction#fluff#jealously#mutual pining#idiots in love#go fish! au#friends to lovers
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