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lee-lucius · 5 months

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Fatherly Love

Summary: Zeff isn't used to dealing with kids, especially not one like Sanji.

Word Count: 5,630

Warning: Mild spoilers for Sanji and Zeff's backstory (The Baratie Arc)

There is nowhere near enough content for Sanji and Zeff, and I had to do something about. I've only seen the live action and started reading the manga (hopefully it isn't too ooc 😅), but I'm already unreasonably attached to these two. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! 💙

Zeff never saw it as anything complicated. When they finally did get off that godforsaken rock, Sanji had nowhere to go. And, well, he'd already given up a leg for the boy; he didn't see why he shouldn't give up piracy as well.

So they started over. Neither of them were ready to give up the sea, not until they found the All Blue, and Zeff always enjoyed sharing a meal. So they opened Baratie.

Maybe it wasn't the best place for a kid to grow up, on a ship full of angry brutes, but the little eggplant got on well enough with the crew—Zeff made sure of that—and he seemed content enough. At least, better than he had been after their rescue. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't horrible, either.

But there were still moments that shattered their illusion of peace, like right now. Sighing, Zeff pulled off his sheets, slowly sitting up and slipping his legs off the bed, taking a moment to steady himself. It wasn't as easy as it'd been in his younger years. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the wooden leg, or the little eggplant's muffled cries that kept him up almost every night.

It was odd, considering what a deep sleeper Zeff had been when he was younger, but it was almost as if he had a sixth sense for when Sanji needed him; when he'd wake up, shivering and sobbing over his latest nightmare, Zeff woke up as well, lumbering over to his room to provide what little comfort he could for a boy who'd been through far too much.

Knocking lightly, he waited for Sanji's muffled consent before entering and closing the door softly behind him. He didn't know why he'd bothered giving Sanji his own room when Zeff spent the night there more often than not. Something about a growing boy needing his privacy; how simple he thought it'd be.

"Just me," Zeff said, as if they both weren't already used to this routine. It still made something stir uncomfortably in his chest every time, seeing Sanji's small figure curled up in his bed, blankets huddled around him like a faulty shield, head tucked into his chest to hide his tear-stained face, though Zeff still saw the way his shoulders trembled and heard the pained, hiccuping gasps Sanji tried to hide.

Zeff didn't say anything else. There was no reason to bombard the boy with pointless questions, especially when it only seemed to send him slipping further into a panic.

He never knew what he was supposed to do in situations like this. He liked to think his presence helped; after all, he was the only who'd been there with Sanji, though Zeff thought his issues began with something long before the shipwreck, and Sanji never stopped letting him in. But he'd never quite been a smooth talker, save for with women, and always found himself tongue-tied in situations like these. Zeff wasn't one for emotions, and Sanji was perhaps the most emotional boy he'd ever known.

There wasn't much to do besides perch on his bed, sitting as far away from Sanji as possible to give him space, and frown, trying to act as if his heart wasn't ripping in two at each muffled cry.

It must have been an especially bad night. Zeff realized that as his cries slowly quieted and his small, trembling frame steadily inched closer. Finally, Sanji's knee, barely a fraction of the size, touched his own. He was tense, more than before, and skittish, as if any wrong move from Zeff could send him running. It probably would. So Zeff did nothing, allowing Sanji his own time to decide.

They'd never been affectionate with each other. Zeff had never been affectionate with anyone, really, except for in the brief way that sailors met with women, something as intimate as these moments with Sanji but in an entirely different way.

Zeff had only ever used his body for that and fighting, which only made this harder. It wasn't like the other times Samji had reached out for him, right after the rock, or even in the midst of it, when he threw himself at Zeff in a moment of reckless grief, while Zeff wrapped his arms around him, trying to offer comfort in a way he didn't know how.

This was different. Slower. Intentional. Calculated, even.

It wasn't a helpless boy blindly reaching out to soothe the ache in his heart, but it was a helpless boy reaching out to him.

Sanji wanted him.

Zeff waited. Sanji continued to creep closer until he leaned into Zeff's side, and finally, slowly, gently, slower and gentler than he ever thought he could be, Zeff wrapped his arm around him, pulling Sanji into a hug.

Sanji buried his face in his chest, his own clumsy arms wrapping around Zeff, clutching handfuls of his shirt as if he was afraid to let go, afraid this would end.

"You're alright now," he said, voice gruffer, and a bit more emotional, than he intended. He lifted one hand, stroking his hair, the other rubbing his back, trying to remember what soothed him all those long years ago when he was a boy. "That's over. You're alright."

Sanji held onto him all night, crying until he finally slipped back into sleep, and Zeff stayed there, awake and cursing the growing ache in his back, until it was time for morning prep, when he shook Sanji awake, squeezing his shoulder one last time before leaving him to get ready for the day.

Neither of them spoke about what happened.

They barely spoke at all, save for a mini-screaming match when Zeff tried to drown Sanji's dish in oregano before it was sent out to his patrons.

It was a busy day, but at least they had had a functioning waitstaff for once—thank god for small mercies. Zeff didn't have the time to babysit Sanji, not anymore than usual, when he had to try and keep the rest of his rowdy crew in line, though he figured the reason at least half of their customers were there was in hopes of seeing the rumored fighting pirates.

There was hardly even a moment for him to sit down, rest his leg and back, and get some shut eye, though the sips of alcohol he savored between the lunch and dinner rushes helped.

But at the end of the day, he was more drunk on exhaustion than anything else, practically stumbling over his feet as he stalked through the kitchen, ensuring every surface and every dish was up to his standards. On days like these, the last day before they hauled up their anchor and moved on, his men tended to get lazy, a problem he could never solve no matter how many times he yelled at them. Except for one, who shared his dutiful dedication to maintaining a clean kitchen.

"Shouldn't you be heading off?" Zeff asked, glancing at Sanji as he silently swept the floors. "A growing boy needs his rest."

"I could say the same. Doesn't a shitty old man need his beauty sleep?"

He grunted. They both knew why he was so tired, and they both knew why Sanji didn't want to go to sleep, but they both said nothing. Didn't matter much tonight, anyway. They could both sleep in, supposing Sanji managed to stay asleep for once. Zeff put a kettle on the stove. Tea usually helped Sanji get through the night.

"Come here, kid," he called, after the tea was brewed. Sanji always preferred it sweeter, so he added a dollop of sugar and spoonful of honey, while he added something a little stronger to his.

Zeff kicked a stool in his direction, and he sat down, gratefully taking the mug that came along with it and enjoying a long sip.

"Not as shit as usual," he said, which was about as good a compliment as any, coming from him.

Leaning against the counter next to him, Zeff took a much needed drink of his own, glaring down at him. "You don't need to help me down here every night. Not that you're much help."

"'Not much help'? I'm the only reason people come to this shithole!"

"Mm. Are you then?" He didn't have the energy for this now. Damn kid.

"I'm the only half-decent chef you have!"

Zeff would never understand where his arrogance came from, not that it was entirely unwarranted. He had made Sanji his sous-chef for a reason, and it wasn't just his fondness for him.

"And who's the one that taught how to make those fancy little dishes, eggplant?"

"It doesn't matter when you drown everything in oregano."

"It's a delicacy!"

"It's for savages!" He slammed his empty mug on the counter, his one visible eye glaring daggers at Zeff, who had to resist the urge to laugh. It'd be a good few years before Sanji got anywhere close to intimidating him.

"You're too young. Palate hasn't developed yet," he waved him off, collecting his glass to wash it in the sink. No need making the kid do it, not when he was practically about to fall off his stool.

"No, you're too old. Can't taste shit anymore."

Zeff rolled his eyes. He didn't know why he always started a fight. Just his attitude, he supposed. He had to take in a kid with the worst personality imaginable. And it didn't help that he was eerily similar to how Zeff had been at that age.

"I can still see well enough, and you're done for the night."

Sanji stumbled to his feet, knowing he was right but not wanting to agree with him. "You look worse than I do."

"Mhm. Then let's both get to bed," he said, because Sanji was right too, and he couldn't bother to keep up with any more banter.

Nudging him in the back, Zeff wasn't prepared for Sanji's violent flinch that almost sent him toppling over. He resisted his instinct to reach out and steady him, figuring that would only make things worse. Instead, Sanji's fingers dug into the countertop, clutching it so hard his knuckles paled, and he turned towards Zeff, eyeing him wearily.

They stared at each other for a moment, silent, before Zeff sighed.

"Go on. Up to bed."

Sanji only nodded and trudged along. Zeff supposed they hadn't made as much progress as he thought. He'd have to be more careful next time.

Zeff always preferred days when Baratie was sailing. As much as he enjoyed the regular hustle and bustle, serving whatever customers had washed up that day, he enjoyed these quiet moments more.

It was good, standing on deck and watching the ship bob in the water, breathing in the sea breeze that was never the same when they were stagnant. He craved the movement, the sailing. And the quiet. Which made him feel like the old man Sanji always insisted he was. As if he was coaxing into retirement and savoring easy days on the sea.

But there was never anything easy on Baratie.

After he'd assembled his men to yell at them about their lazy behavior yesterday and lack of respect, they were dismissed and shuffled out of the kitchen, grumbling among each other but knowing better than to stand up to Zeff.

They'd be really punished later, but a light scalding was enough for now. Especially when he had other plans.

Sanji crept into the kitchen, eagerly buzzing around with a frantic energy Zeff rarely saw. That was another good thing about it. On days like these, Sanji was more excited than Zeff had ever seen him.

It was like there was finally life in the kid. His cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and joy palpable. He couldn't shut up either. The whole time he was rambling, trying to spew out his mess of ideas all at once that had been building up in his head since the last time they did this.

It really wasn't anything that special, and it always led to more than one argument between them, but Sanji liked to offer his input to these menu changes, even when most of his ideas consisted of trite, over-inspired pieces of shit. Though Sanji felt the same way about most of Zeff's dishes.

After gathering up all of his ingredients and managing to form his ramblings into something coherent, Sanji prepared his sample dishes with Zeff watching closely, correcting his mistakes or suggesting alternate techniques. Sanji was always surprisingly receptive to his advice, though he was always an enthusiastic student, and Zeff thought he preferred it when they were alone like this. Even if he still protested oregano coming anywhere near his food. Damn rebellious kid.

It took the entire day and only two fights that escalated so far Zeff worried Sanji would grab the knife on the cutting board and stab him, which was better than usual. They'd sampled enough dishes that neither of them were hungry, nor the rest of the crew, not when they called in a member or two for a third opinion, or a witness when their fights got especially heated.

The kitchen was a mess, but it wasn't their problem. Zeff wanted to head in early, and his crew had to be punished for their mess yesterday, so making them deal with disaster was only fair. With all of them working together, it wouldn't take too long anyway, unless they got into a fight—no, until they got into a fight, forcing Zeff to straighten them out again.

But until then, he pulled Sanji with him above deck to relax for a change.

The sun was already beginning to set; the sky fading into a pinkish-reddish color as Zeff sat down to watch it. Now he really was acting like an old man. Maybe he should start thinking about retirement.

He glanced at Sanji, but he seemed to be enjoying himself as well, even with something as simple as this. It seemed they both savored these little, simple moments.

Now would be a good time to continue their other training. Zeff had been teaching the boy to fight, only simple moves so far, though their progress was slowed by Zeff's own efforts to adjust to his new leg. But it was late, and they were both tired, even if yesterday was one of Sanji's better nights. He'd put it off for another day.

Zeff was so absorbed by his thoughts that he almost didn't register the movement in the corner of his eye. Not until Sanji was noticeably closer to him.

It was different this time. Maybe it was because of his excitable attitude today, or maybe he was starting to feel just a bit more at ease around him, but Sanji, in one quick, casual motion, pressed into Zeff's side, leaning against him.

His body was stiff, no matter how nonchalant he tried to act, and when Zeff looked at him closely enough, he could see the slight shake in his hands. It took a few minutes before Sanji began to relax, his tense muscles easing into the touch, and in another act of courage, he leaned his head against Zeff's shoulder.

He was warm. That was the first thing Zeff noticed. He wasn't used to being touched like this. Besides Sanji's fits after his nightmares and consoling his men who managed to survive the battle but not much afterwards, he hadn't been this close to someone since he was a child. Even then, no one ever reached out to him, curling up beside him the way Sanji did.

It was oddly comfortable, and Zeff found himself enjoying the affection more than he should. This was something he never could've imagined, not at his age.

While he never disliked children, he'd never been particularly fond of them either. And as much as he respected women, he never found one that interested him; no men either, so he never imagined settling down with someone, starting a family, not when his first love was cooking. But here he was, with Sanji. And he couldn't deny his growing affection for the boy, even if he was as rude and shitty as most of the grown men Zeff knew and more traumatized and disturbed than any child should be. He couldn't be sure—it was something he'd never experienced before—but Zeff thought his affection must have been something like that a father felt for his child.

It was a troubling thought that was becoming more persistent, and he had no clue if Sanji felt the same, but that was a problem for another time.

Now, it didn't matter. He simply shifted, leaning his own head against Sanji's to reciprocate the touch and imagined the nervous smile on the kid's face that he must've been fighting so hard to hide.

Maybe this had gone too far, Zeff realized, far, far too late to do anything about it.

It started simple enough.

Sanji had always been a fidgety kid, a fact that Zeff and practically anyone who knew him more than an hour could realize. He was never still, always moving, always squirming. And clumsy, too. He was prone to tripping over his own feet, something that their training had made marginally better so far, but Zeff still held onto the hope that he'd fall out of it with age when the rest of his body grew into his long legs.

Zeff didn't mind; truly, he found it more entertaining than anything else to see the boy bounce around the kitchen. It never interfered with his work, Sanji was far too professional for that, but there were times when Sanji's body moved and fidgeted around so quickly Zeff swore his limbs would fly off, and Sanji swore that he'd die of boredom if something didn't change.

So Zeff came up with a solution. A rather practical one, he liked to think. Instead of twiddling with his fingers or tugging at the strings of his apron or furiously flapping his hands, Zeff, like a practical seaman, taught him how to tie knots. Figured it'd pay off, considering how much of his life the boy spent on a ship.

He'd bring him up to the deck, show him the ropes and give a brief explanation, then show him how to tie every knot just right and send him off with a smaller scrap to practice.

It seemed to help, though they never talked about such things. Sanji simply practiced his knots, asking Zeff when he wasn't sure if he'd gotten it right, and he'd whip it out and practice anytime he got bored, during lulls between the dinner and lunch rush or at night, in bed, when he was trying to fall asleep.

Zeff didn't know how it ended up like this. He'd noticed Sanji's habit, how he'd begun to unconsciously twist strands into his complicated knots, like his apron or the loose fibers on his cheap blanket. It'd escalated fast.

Sanji must've known it would be another bad night, because he didn't bother going to his own room, instead silently teetering after Zeff to stay with him. He didn't like to be alone on bad nights.

There hadn't even been any sign of it, any indication; he simply leveled a heavy stare at Zeff and not asked, ordered him.

"Stay still. I need to try something."

"What are you planning?" He asked warily, recognizing that glint in Sanji's eye that was only there when he got up to mischief, an occasion that was becoming less and less rare.

"Quiet. I need to focus."

Then Sanji was sitting cross-legged in front of him as Zeff sat, back pressed against the headboard. He had to lean down an uncomfortable amount for Sanji to, much to his horror, reach his mustache as he began working on whatever convoluted idea he had.

Zeff wasn't sure what he was doing, as his eyes were firmly closed—and Sanji began yelling at him anytime he so much as tried to peak them open—but it seemed as if Sanji was styling his hair, hands working with a surprising gentleness and expected hurriedness, though it seemed as if his rush ruined his work, judging his heaving sigh every few minutes as he straightened out Zeff's mustache to start over. Always a perfectionist.

It was annoying, like Sanji always was, but Zeff found he didn't mind the intrusion as much as he thought he should. Not that or the tedious ache once again spreading through his back or the feeling of pins-and-needles in his legs that had fallen asleep under Sanji's weight, who sat precariously on top of them.

Perhaps he couldn't complain because he knew what Sanji had been like mere weeks and months before, and that boy never would've afforded Zeff with this casual closeness, one that made an unsettling happiness grow in him, because he knew that they were getting somewhere, that this makeshift ship was becoming closer and closer to the little eggplant's home, and that did, ashamedly, make Zeff happy.

"Okay, I'm done," Sanji finally announced, and Zeff let out a sigh, of relief or disappointment he wasn't sure.

"On with it then," he opened his eyes, this time without any urgent protest from Sanji, and shifted his good leg with a smile too fond for his liking. "Up so I can look."

Something resembling a scowl appeared on Sanji's face, but it was gone just as quickly as he scrambled off of him, rolling onto the side of the bed. Zeff took his time, ignoring Sanji's protests, to stand up, letting feeling come back into his limbs as he stretched before trudging over to his drawers, accompanied with a small mirror hanging above it.

It was about what he'd expected. Zeff's mustache was styled into two somewhat unkempt braids, tied up with his usual blue ribbons. It wasn't half bad, not for the eggplant's first try, and Zeff didn't recall teaching him any braids. He wondered where he'd learned how to do that, but now wasn't the time for questions.

"Right. We done here?"

Sanji's cheeks puffed out slightly, tinged red as his face morphed into a pout. He always did wear his emotions on his sleeve, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Reluctantly, he nodded and stood from the bed.

Zeff turned out the lamp, settling back down into his bed and sparing a glance at Sanji. "You layin' down or not?"

There was a moment of awkward shuffling, Sanji's head darting back and forth between Zeff's bed and the door, looking as if he wished he had that rope on him to give his body something to do and soothe his mind.

After an uncomfortable amount of time passed, Sanji perched himself at the edge of the bed, slowly laying down, as if he was scared Zeff would change his mind and yell at him to scram.

He didn't. He had an extra blanket and pillow, so he didn't mind at all, though if he had to, he knew he would've given his own to Sanji to make him comfortable—the kid hardly got enough sleep as it was.

"Night," he grunted, then added, far too impulsively, "Didn't do half bad with the hair."

For a moment, he thought he imagined Sanji's muffled sounds of joy, but then he only laughed quietly to himself, thinking about all the trouble this dumb kid brought with him.

Zeff was going soft, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

Morning was quiet. Zeff woke up first, squinting at his window, watching the faint rays of light trickle in.

It was early, but he wasn't ready to go back to sleep. Instead, he carefully shifted in the bed, turning on his side to face Sanji. He was still sleeping, lying curled up on his stomach. Zeff didn't realize how much he moved in his sleep, not until Sanji woke him up more than once in the night with a flying limb.

He'd seen him sleeping before. After Sanji had crossed to his side of the rock and discovered Zeff's secret, there was less distance between them. Less reason to hide. And Sanji seemed to, for whatever reason, like the company of bitter old men, apparently as much as Zeff like the company of snarky young kids. But there were some nights when Sanji fell asleep there, with Zeff. He'd moved around too then, violently, thrashing so much Zeff feared he'd fall right into the ocean. He was prone to nightmares then too, but he didn't have any more tears to cry by then, just hiccuping gasps that sounded so painful coming from his dry, aching throat.

He wasn't having a nightmare now. His face was relaxed, not curled up in an aching knot of dread like it usually was. His chest rose and fell with calm, steady breaths. Zeff couldn't see it clearly, not in the dim light, but he heard it, and the noise was a comfort.

Another impulse. That's what Zeff wanted to blame it on. Say that his arm had a mind of its own; that he acted without thinking. He didn't know if that was better or worse than the truth.

But he did know what he was doing. And he wanted to. That was the reason.

That was the reason he reached his hand out, with a touch lighter and gentler than he ever thought he was capable of, combing through Sanji's hair to fix the disheveled mess.

It was soft and void of any obnoxious clumps, both traits he attributed to Sanji's fixation with his appearance. Just had to look good for the ladies, apparently. Not that any took interest in him. The little eggplant had about as much charm as one.

Hair straightened, his hand trailed further down, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into the back of his neck. It was something he normally only did after a nightmare, when Sanji cried and clung to him, but it seemed appropriate now too. He thought it was good for Sanji. He always slept better when Zeff held him.

Except now. Sanji twitched, and Zeff worried he'd wake him, so he lightened his touch, fingers barely grazing the skin, and that's when he heard it.

A giggle.

The noise was muffled by the pillows, but it was unmistakable in the quiet of his room. Something high-pitched and boyish and utterly unexpected.

Zeff's hand stilled, staring intently at Sanji. His body was still and breathing steady. He'd heard Sanji talk before in his sleep, but laugh? That seemed odd. Unless it was something else.

Curiously, he continued his light movement, holding back a laugh of his own when he noticed Sanji squirm, twisting back and forth but trying so hard to hide it.

So he was awake. And Zeff didn't see why he shouldn't have his fun.

He changed tactics, switching to scratching at Sanji's neck, touch still light, using just his blunt nails.

There was another noise; this one was more like a muffled whine, low in his throat and barely contained. One of his arms shifted, trying for a subtly he had never been gifted with, and pushed the pillow further into his face, hiding his wide smile.

How stupid did Sanji think he was? He wasn't sure he actually wanted to know after this. And if Zeff said something, he knew it'd ruin the moment. He didn't want to.

He didn't, so he continued tickling the boy who he'd become uncomfortably fond of.

His hand drifted, grazing across the side of his neck in a way that made Sanji's shoulders scrunch up. He couldn't contain himself anymore, and soft giggles poured out of him. The kid was oddly cute like this, and that fond feeling he had for Sanji only grew.

Zeff was careful. They'd never done anything like this—he doubted Sanji'd ever even been tickled before—and they were still in a somewhat precarious position surrounding the kid's tolerance for any touch at all. He wasn't one to be playful, but Zeff figured this was the closest he'd ever get as he moved to new spots.

Sanji chortled when he scratched under his chin, and seeming to have given up the act of pretending to be asleep, kicked his legs when Zeff's fingers prodded at his ears. The strongest reaction came when he scribbled at his back—Zeff hadn't even known backs could be ticklish—making an alarmed high-pitched sound that Zeff could only call a squeal, grip around the pillow tightening, trying to hide his embarrassment or laugh or something, Zeff figured.

After a few more moments, Zeff stopped, pulling his hand away and waiting for Sanji to collect himself. It took a long time for his laughter to calm down, but Zeff only watched, unable to help his own amused smile.

Finally, Sanji removed his face from the pillow, looking up at Zeff. His face was completely flushed, and he had a large, dopey smile on his face that Zeff had only ever seen when he was talking to a girl. Dumb kid.

"Um…" Sanji brought the pillow to his chest, hugging it tightly and partially obscuring his face. "What was that?"

"Tickling. Ever happened to you before?"

He shook his head, eyes flitting away from Zeff with a sad look. He was quiet, seemingly lost in thought, and Zeff watched him, waiting for Sanji to gather himself.

It took a few minutes before he dropped the pillow, propping himself up. There was still a trace of sadness, but there was something else, something Zeff couldn't quite place.

His eyes were big and droopy, fatigue weighing down his lashes and a smile, albeit faint, dragged across his lips. In the quiet of these late nights and early mornings, there was something different about Sanji, more tender. Like the darkness of the sky cloaked them in a veil of security, wrapping around his shoulders and tucking him in with the same comfort of a loving parent.

Leaning closer, a yawn breezing past his lips, Sanji shifted further towards Zeff, mumbling, "'t's nice."

"Guess so," he grunted and, seeing the expectant look on his face, reached back out, curling his fingers into Sanji's side until he burst into another fit of giggles.

Zeff supposed it was quite nice.

Sanji, by some miracle, had actually managed to fall back asleep after crying for mercy.

Zeff wasn't tired, but he stayed, figuring Sanji wouldn't like waking up alone, and there wasn't much work to be done today anyway; he could let him sleep in. He grabbed a book at random from his shelf, biding the time by staring absentmindedly at the pages, his attention always somehow drifting back to Sanji. It was almost annoying, the grip that the kid had on him.

When he did wake up, scolding Zeff for letting them stay in that late and wasting so much of the day as if Sanji was actually the adult. It was stupidly endearing.

Zeff, like always, brushed away his concerns. "Then stop complaining and help me get ready."

"Help?" Sanji asked, indignant, and Zeff sorrowfully remembered what an attitude he had on him. "What do you need now, old man? A diaper change?"

Sighing, he only gestured to his face, watching the confusion spread across Sanji's face and sighing again.

"The braids," he huffed, untying the ribbons. "They need to be redone."

Sometime during the night, or perhaps during his horseplay with Sanji, the hair had become wildly unruly, strands unwinding and sticking out at odd angles.

Sanji stared at him for a long moment like he was stupid. Then asked, in an oddly anxious voice, "What?"

"You heard me. Get on with it."

He couldn't bite back his smile. His whole face lit up, and no matter how hard he always tried to hide it, Sanji still always wore his heart on his sleeve, and his joy was infectious. Shuffling closer, he carefully reworked Zeff's mustache, hair now slightly curled, into a neat braid, redoing them both a few times until he was satisfied with his work, staring at Zeff proudly.

It was better than the ones yesterday; Zeff had to give him credit for that.

"Good work, little eggplant," he said, staring at himself in the mirror. "Now you go get ready. It's late."

Sanji, ever the dutiful worker, hurried out, but Zeff caught the blinding smile on his face before he left.

It was worth the odd stares he got from the rest of his crew, and none of them had the courage to say anything after Zeff stared down the first person who'd so much as uttered a word about it.

Unless it was a compliment, which he tolerated in silence only because it brought that bright smile back to Sanji's face, and the kid deserved the praise.

The day was slow and calmer than Baratie had any right to be.

There was an odd lightness in Sanji; Zeff didn't know if it was because of him, but he was glad.

And he was even happier when it seemed to persist into the next day and the next.

They still bickered, of course—the kid—his kid—just had to bitch about every little thing. They spent long days cooking together, sweating and struggling in their somehow always understaffed restaurant. They trained together on those off days, splitting time between cooking and fighting. And in those early mornings, late nights, and all the time in between, they regarded each other with a new softness, with the playful and affectionate touches Sanji had become accustomed to, the ones he craved.

And Zeff, forever worn out by the rude, annoying kid he'd ended up with, always indulged him, his little eggplant.

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thirstydiglett · 8 months

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Omgomgomgomg YOU GUYS. I normally just write smut so I was really nervous about how this was going to turn out but I think it’s one of the best things I’ve ever written!!!!!!!!! Please give feedback if you have it, I’m very new to writing and I would love to know what y’all think 😊😊😊

The Mice and the Eggplant

Summary: Sanji makes a friend, makes some food, and deals with trauma. Zeff is a Good Dad about it.

Characters: child!Sanji, Zeff (I was picturing anime, but could totally be live action)

Pairings: None lol

Spoilers: Don’t read this if you haven’t hit Whole Cake Island yet!

Warnings: Brief mention of Sanji’s abuse, but other than that this is all fluff ^_^

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It was the end of yet another dinner service at the Baratie, and Sanji was left to do the dishes alone.

Deep down, he knew he kind of deserved it. He’d lost his cool, and if there was one thing Zeff hated, it was people who couldn’t stay calm in the kitchen. Hell, they’d lost two prep cooks for that exact reason just since the opening of the Baratie six months ago. But still, Sanji couldn’t help but feel a bit resentful of the old geezer for the punishment. Last night’s dinner service had been extra stressful for everyone, and if a plate just so happened to get thrown at Patty, it couldn’t have been helped.

Two weeks of dish duty—alone—had made him rethink that outburst.

So here Sanji was, standing on a stool to be able to reach the sink, with his arms sunk up to the elbows in soapy water.

“Stupid geezer,” Sanji ground his teeth as he rinsed what must have been the zillionth plate of the night and set it in the drying rack. “Stupid Patty.” Turning on the water, he reached his hand under the stream to clear off the soap.

“Ow!!!”

The water was far too hot. Sanji felt tears sting the corner of his eyes as he grabbed his burnt hand, stumbling off the stool as he reeled in pain and landing hard on his rear end.

For a moment Sanji sat prone on the cold floor, still clutching his hand, his backside throbbing. The kitchen was silent save for the hiss of the still-running water. Then, his lip began to tremble.

“It’s…”

Sanji’s vision began to blur as tears filled his eyes.

“It’s not fair!”

And with that, the 12-year old boy was fully bawling, mucus dripping from his nose, his shoulders heaving.

It really wasn’t fair; none of this was fair. It wasn’t fair that Patty was so annoying. It wasn’t fair that Zeff was so hard on him. It wasn’t fair that Zeff never let him serve his own dishes at the restaurant. It wasn’t fair that he had to do the dishes alone, It wasn’t fair that he’d spent so long doing everything alone. It wasn’t fair that there wasn’t a single other kid on Baratie for him to play with, not one person his own age to be his friend. It wasn’t fair that even if there had been, Zeff probably would have kept Sanji too busy to play with them much anyway.

He missed Reiju. He missed his old room, the one he’d had before the dungeon. For some twisted, messed up reason he even missed his brothers. At least they’d been kids like him, even if they’d been brutally mean to him. Sanji hated himself all the more for missing them. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t…

A sudden flash of gray across the white tile floor twisted off Sanji’s internal monologue. Twisting his head, he just barely managed to catch a glimpse of grey-brown fur before it disappeared under a counter.

A… a mouse?

Wiping his eyes, Sanji quietly crawled across the floor, hoping the tiny animal hadn’t scurried into a crack or hole somewhere. Squinting into the dark space under the counter, Sanji’s heart leaped.

There it was! The little creature was sniffing the air, leaning back onto its hind legs as it tilted its head up. It had a long tail, and a scar on the tip of its nose.

“Hey, little buddy!” Sanji whispered, his hands trembling a little from excitement. It had been so long since he’d seen one! Not since the one he’d fed back at Germa, the one his father had knocked out a window.

The mouse glanced over at the sound of Sanji’s voice, and Sanji clapped his hands to his mouth. But the animal didn’t seem to be frightened of him in the slightest. It looked him over, then began to groom its large ears nonchalantly.

“So cute…”

Sanji scrambled up, nearly banging his head on the underside of the counter in the process. “I bet you’re hungry! I bet you want something to eat, don’t you? I’ll make you something great!”

He ran to the pantry, grabbing ingredients quickly. Some rice, peanut oil for frying, an onion, a few shrimp, some spices. Dragging his stool over to the counter, Sanji began chopping, measuring, and eventually frying everything together.

“This is my special shrimp fried rice, mouse!” Sanji remarked. He leaned over to look at the animal, who had come out from under the counter to watch him. “Even Zeff said it was pretty good, and he never likes my stuff!”

Finishing the dish, he scooped it into a bowl, taking care to finish it with a sprig of cilantro and a dab of sriracha (as annoying as Zeff was, Sanji had to agree with him on one thing—presentation counts). Gently, he laid the bowl on the floor a few feet away from the mouse.

“Go ahead. Have some!”

Apprehensively, the mouse sniffed the air again, then glanced furtively back at Sanji.

“Oh, sorry.”

Sanji quickly scooted back a few feet to give the animal its space. The mouse cautiously crept closer to the bowl of rice, then climbed to the rim, and took a bite.

When it continued happily munching away, Sanji smiled so wide it hurt.

The mouse ate for several minutes, Sanji watching happily from a seat on the floor, until it finally grew full and climbed back out of the bowl.

“Good night, little friend,” Sanji whispered as the mouse began to scamper off. At the sound of Sanji’s voice, it turned and looked at the boy. Suddenly, the animal ran back in his direction, stopping just in front of his hand.

Sanji flushed. “Can I…?” Gently, he extended a finger. The mouse sniffed him briefly, then lowered its head, allowing Sanji to gently stroke it behind the ears.

“Thanks, little guy…” Sanji whispered. The mouse dashed off as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Sanji alone in the kitchen once again.

I’ll see you tomorrow, he smiled to himself as he once again began to work on the mountain of dinner dishes.

—————————

The next day passed in a blur. Sanji was barely present, and nearly sliced off the tip of his finger a couple of times because of it. He could not stop thinking about the mouse.

He worked dinner service with speed and grace. Even Patty had to (begrudgingly) compliment the kid on his well-blended sauces and evenly diced veggies. The quicker dishes went out, the quicker folks would leave, and the quicker people left, the faster the end of the night would come, and Sanji could be alone in the kitchen with his new friend once again.

Sure enough, eleven o’ clock rolled around and Sanji found himself flying solo with a mountain of plates. This time yesterday, he’d been furious. Today, he could barely think over the sound of his pounding heart.

“Hey, little mouse?” Sanji called softly, peering under tables and into corners as he searched for the animal, a small piece of cheese in his hand. “You hungry, friend?”

The mouse, however, seemed to be nowhere to be found. Sanji could feel his disappointment rising as each potential hiding spot turned up empty. One last spot to check, and then he’d have to accept that the mouse was just a fluke. Biting his lip, Sanji opened the door to the pantry.

No less than fifty mice turned to look at him.

They were on the shelves and on the floor, sitting on top of boxes, running in and out among the produce. Sanji was vaguely aware that he should be disgusted, but his grin was too big for that as he spotted the original mouse from last night, the one with a scar on its nose.

“Hey, little guy! Did you bring some friends?”

Sanji quickly began grabbing ingredients from the shelf. “Sounds like it’s crepes for a crowd, then!”

—————————————————

It had been five days since the first mouse, and Sanji was starting to feel a little like a fairy tale princess.

The animals seemed to adore him. They would get close to watch as Sanji prepped his dishes (he was getting a lot of practice with new meals!) and sometimes even climb up his arm to sit on his shoulder. Sanji began to name the ones he saw every night—Romeo, Willow, Bitey (Bitey was by far his least favorite mouse). The original mouse, however, he saved a special name for. It was a fighter, Sanji could tell by the scar on its nose. A little devil. The only name that truly suited it was just that—Diable.

It was about one in the morning as Sanji sat on the floor of the pantry, eating pasta puttanesca with Diable while the other mice munched from their own plates.

“So normally you put in black olives, but I wanted to increase the briny flavor of the dish so I used kalamata instead!” Sanji babbled to his new friends, stroking Diable’s back as it chowed down on a piece of spaghetti.

Suddenly, a noise from the kitchen outside made Sanji jump. A door opening. And then a voice.

“Little eggplant?”

Zeff.

Sanji frantically tried to shoo the mice away. “Hide, hide!”

But the little creatures seemed to be particularly enjoying this dish, and even when Sanji picked them up one by one to hide them behind bags of flour and boxes of produce they scurried back out to nibble on a caper or a piece of tomato.

“Sanji? Look, I thought I’d come help you out with these dishes if you want.”

Don’t come to the pantry, don’t come to the pantry…

“You’ve been finishing up pretty late. A kid needs his sleep, after all…”

Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepl—

The door to the pantry opened.

The silence hung pregnant in the air as the man and the child and the mice (nearly a hundred by Sanji’s last count) stared at each other.

“WHAT. THE ABSOLUTE. FUCK, SANJI???”

The mice finally scattered at the sound of the huge man’s voice, hiding wherever they could.

“Don’t hurt them!! They’re my friends, and they like my food!” Sanji scooped up Diable and cradled it to his small chest, backing away from Zeff as much as he could in the tiny pantry.

“I ask you to do the damn dishes, and instead you bring dirty pests into my kitchen???”

Sanji could feel his lower lip start to tremble. “They’re not pests! They’re like our customers!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“They come every night to eat my food! And they think it’s delicious! Not like you!” Sanji’s vision was blurring as tears ran down his face. Why couldn’t Zeff let him have anything?

Zeff’s jaw relaxed, his shoulders lowering. “Kid… You really think I don’t like your food?”

“You always tell me it’s not good enough to serve at the restaurant, and you never let me hang out with the other chefs after closing, and you always yell at me no matter what I do…”

“Little eggplant, look at me.”

Zeff squatted, tilting Sanji’s chin up to look him in the eye.

“Maybe I’m a little too hard on you. Your food is pretty damn good, kid. You’ve got a lot of natural talent. When I tell you to remake it, it’s just because I want to push you to be even better. But you know that, don’t you?”

Sniffling, Sanji nodded his head.

“So what’s this whole thing with the mice really about?”

Sanji turned away, glaring. “It doesn’t even matter, ok?”

Zeff (somewhat awkwardly) wrapped an arm around Sanji’s shoulders, pulling him down to sit on the pantry floor together. “It, um… It matters to me.”

The floodgates opened. The anger, the loneliness, the constant feeling of never being good enough—for the Baratie, for Zeff, for his father, for his brothers—all of it spilled over into a little boy sobbing into the arms of the only man who’d ever shown him love. Zeff held him stiffly at first, but gradually pulled him closer as Sanji began to quietly open up.

“Before I met you, I had a family. My dad, my mom, my sister, and three brothers. My mom and my sister were the only ones who were ever nice to me. My dad hated me, he said I was weak and I’d never amount to anything. He made me live in a room in the dungeon so no one would ever know his son was so worthless. He didn’t even let me cook!

“My brothers used to beat my up, put bugs down my shirt when my back was turned. My mom died and my sister had to pretend to hate me when Dad was around, and my only friends were the mice, and I had to run away so I wouldn’t be stuck in that dungeon forever…”

Sanji hiccuped between sobs as he clung to Zeff, the mice peeking out of their hiding spots to watch their friend cry.

“And then I didn’t have anyone, all I had was cooking, and then we got stuck on that rock and there wasn’t even any food to cook with, and… and…”

“Sanji.”

Sanji looked up through reddened eyes to see Zeff looking down at him. He couldn’t be sure, but the old geezer’s eyes seemed just a little wet.

“You have me now.”

Sanji’s mouth dropped a bit as Zeff brushed his hair out of his eye.

“And the Baratie. And all the cooks here, too. Maybe—maybe I should let you hang out with everyone after close once in a while. Would you like that?”

Sniffling, Sanji nodded.

“Alright. Your dish duty is revoked. Starting tomorrow, you can come to the bar and swap stories with us after all your other chores are done. Every kid needs friends, I suppose.”

“Th-thanks, geezer,” Sanji mumbled, looking anywhere but into Zeff’s eyes. It wasn’t that he wanted to be pitied, but… it was going to be nice to feel included with the rest of the crew.

“Now we have to figure out what to do about this mouse problem.” Zeff stood, wincing a bit as he put weight on his wooden leg. “They can’t stay here on the ship, you know that.”

Sanji’s eyes widened, and his heart began to pound. “Zeff, don’t make me kill them! Please, I know they’re pests but they’re my friends and they like my food and—“

“Make you kill them? God, kid, what did your family do to you? No, I have another idea,” Zeff said as he twisted his mustache thoughtfully around one finger. “Something a bit more…humane.”

—————————————————————

If someone had happened to sail between Baratie and the nearest island at around 5 o’ clock in the morning that day—just as the sun was beginning to rise—they would have seen a strange sight. A hulking man and a golden haired child in a rowboat, the child clutching a wooden crate, both of them in chef’s uniforms. A small wire cage rested on the seat beside the boy. The odd duo landed on the beach of the island, and the boy, sniffling a bit but with a small smile on his face, upended the box into the sand. Mice scattered everywhere, diving for the nearest cover, and the man and child got back in their boat.

If that someone had been listening very closely, they might have heard the man say—

“Make sure you feed that thing. I don’t want it getting back into the kitchen again.”

And they might have seen the boy nod, and gaze into the wire cage by his side. And if they had strained their ears and listened as hard as they could, they might have heard the boy whisper—

“Let’s go home, Diable.”

———————————————————————

A/N: thank you SO MUCH for reading you guys. I love Zeff so much omg he truly is the dad that Stepped Up 🥰🥰🥰 I feel like I didn’t get his voice quite right but I might write more of these Sanji and Zeff stories so I can practice. The live action made me remember how much I adore their relationship, they’re just so cute 🥰 Also, you should try puttanesca the way that Sanji makes it in this story, with Kalamata olives. One of my all time favorite dishes!

#Diglett writes #sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #straw hats #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #straw hat pirates #red leg zeff #Zeff the chef #Sanji and Zeff

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