#sorry for disappearing again but school and college apps were kicking my ass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lee-lucius · 5 months

Text

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.

185 notes · View notes

sitabethel · 7 years

Note

*rolls across floor* it's my work break, I just want to eat the fluffy waffle bits that come off of the side of the pizzelle cookies but that's a Bad. We make lemon cookies, and TKB deserves a lemon where he bosses Atem around to balance all this top!atem. Normally I'm team Bottom!Kura but Thief has too much swag for this.

What was that? Dumb casteshipping coffee shop au with top!TKB? Okay

damn thing won't let me add tags (thanks mobile app), but it's nsfw

***

“Cookies smell ready. Take them out of the oven.” Bakura sat on an upturned milk crate near the floor and played Pokémon on his phone.

“The timer hasn’t gone off get.” Atem sat on the stainless steel prep table like it was a throne. He shuffled a deck of Duel Monster cards and started flipping them over to see how balanced his new deck was.

“Who cares? They’re done.”

“They’re not done because the timer hasn’t gone off.

“You can’t always trust the rules, Atem. I’m telling you- they’re done.”

“Then get up off of your own ass and get them yourself. You’re not my boss.” Atem frowned at his hand, discarded it, and drew several more cards.

“I’m busy.”

“You’re on your phone.”

“You’re playing with cards.”

“So what?” Atem shrugged. “I’ll get them when the timer goes off.”

“Dumbass, now they’re burning.” Bakura growled, shoved the phone in his pocket, and pushed himself to his feet.

“But the timer-”

“I swear to God, Atem, say timer one more time and I will shove it so far up your asshole that your boyfriend will get jealous.” Bakura pulled open the oven, brushing away the first developing wisps of smoke and frowning. “I fucking *hate* the smell of burnt shit. I fucking hate it! Look at this shit! The edges are all dark brown and ugly- I told you they were done.”

“Who cares about dark edges.” Atem dropped his cards on the table, face pulled into a sad expression that didn’t quite fit the situation.

“They’re lemon cookies. They need to look fluffy and yellow, not all brown and crusty like your feet.”

“Lay off me, Bakura.” Atem jumped to the floor. The table wasn’t that high, but Atem was short enough that it was an event to get up or down.

“What the hell is your problem today?” Bakura shoved the pan on the rack for cooling and turned off of the oven. He turned towards Atem, his frown causing the scar on his face to slice crookedly on his face.

“I got dumped, okay?” Atem stared at floor.

“Weren’t you two soulmates or some shit like that?” Bakura snorted as he used a pocket knife to wedge a cookie off of the sheet and bite into it. “They taste okay, but they still look like shit.”

“I thought we were.” Atem hugged himself and leaned against the prep table. “I really did. That’s why … I still don’t understand. He just left me. He said I sat around and played games too much. Okay? But, like tell me and give me a chance to change before you dump me?”

“Fuck that. You don’t play too much. It’s not like that little bitch was a WOW widow or anything.” Bakura shoved his hands into his apron pocket, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Sucks man. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Atem grit his teeth, turning towards the sink. “Whatever. Let’s just get out of here. I want to go home and crawl into bed.”

“Nah man, fuck that. You’re single. It’s Saturday night. You should do something better than go to bed. Fuck your ex, don’t mope over him.”

Atem ignored Bakura as he filled the sink with hot water and started to wash coffee pots and cookie sheets. The café was small and on the wrong side of town, away from the college crowds. They hadn’t had a customer for forty-five minutes and probably wouldn’t get another one until they closed.

“Atem~” Bakura sang, slinging an arm around Atem’s shoulder.

“Look, just let it go, okay? I don’t need another game-playing loser trying to cheer me up for being a game-playing loser. That’s like a wino telling an alcoholic that he doesn’t drink too much.”

“You know what you should do. You should come back to my place and…” Bakura pressed his lips close to Atem’s ear, whispering in his lowest, most seductive bedroom voice, “play even more games.”

“That’s the last thing I should do.” Atem nudged Bakura away. He glanced at the cards scattered across the prep table. “Think if I dump them all in the sink and ruin them, that maybe he’ll give me a second chance?”

“What?” Bakura shouted. “Mother fucker, please. First of all- give them to me, you have some bad ass cards- and second- fuck your ex! Nothing is wrong with you. I mean, okay, you’re a smug fucking bastard and I want to punch you in the face half the time we work together, but you don’t play any more games than the rest of us.”

“But…” Atem pressed his face against Bakura’s chest. “He left me.”

“Shit man, he’s probably fucking a girl on the side or something. The card games were a cheap ass excuse. C'mon. Let’s close up early and get the fuck out of here.”

“We have ten minutes left,” Atem said.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Bakura grabbed a bag and started shoving cookies into it.

“Bakura? What the hell are you doing?”

“Well, can’t sell ‘em like this, so I’m going to mark them as waste and take them home.”

“That’s stealing!”

“And throwing them in the trash is a fucking sin against hungry children.” Bakura waved his bag of loot. “My place. Cookies and card games.”

“We’re going to get fired.” Atem sighed. “Whatever. I’m too depressed to care.”

They closed up the café early and walked to Bakura’s car. He drove them back to his apartment and piled the cookies on a paper plate, setting them down on a water-stained coffee table.

“Let me get my deck.” Bakura went to his room and changed into a pair of navy sleep shorts before grabbing his cards.

“Okay, just prance around half naked. Damn.” Atem glared at Bakura when he came back.

“Fuck, you’re such a prude.”

“I’m not. You’re just half naked.”

“Well, I have extra shorts if you’re jealous.”

“Oh goody.” Atem rolled his eyes. “A slumber party.”

“Shut up and cut my deck.” Bakura slammed his cards on the table.

They played a quick game. Bakura got out every letter he needed for his Destiny Board in order to win. Atem slumped into the cushions and sighed.

“See? I’m a loser.”

“Atem, how many times have you kicked my ass at work?” Bakura rolled his eyes. “You’re distracted because you’re thinking about that jackass. Shuffled your cards and play again like a real duelist.”

“What’s the point?” Atem reached over and grabbed two cookies, double fisting bites to his mouth.

“The point is break-ups happen and then you get on with your life.”

“Easy for you to say. No one ever dumps you.”

“No one ever dates me.” Bakura grinned as he stole a cookie from the plate. “I’m too much of an asshole to ever get a second date.”

“That’s because you’re a card game-playing loser.” Atem spoke with a mouth full of cookie.

“Don’t fucking project your insecurities on me. I like my life.”

“You work in a fucking coffee shop.”

“Excuse me, your majesty, I didn’t realize that lowly peasant work was too good for someone of your skill set. Oh wait, you work in a fucking coffee shop too, nevermind.”

“Yeah, and I’m a loser. That’s my point.”

“Whatever.” Bakura got up and disappeared. He came back and threw sleep clothes, a pillow, and a light blanket on top of Atem. “I’m sick of your emo bullshit. I’m going to sleep if you’re not going to play.”

Atem pushed the pillow off his face. “Is this you trying to get me to spend the night?”

“Fucking couch is free, but you can call an Uber if you want to go home. I’m not driving your morose ass anywhere tonight.”

With that, Bakura went to his own room. In the morning, he saw Atem sitting on the couch with his feet on the table and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms.

“Morning, bitch.” Bakura yawned and crashed beside him, grabbing the plate of cookies and resting it on his stomach.

“That’s not breakfast, Bakura.”

“It’s the goddamn breakfast of champions, what are you talking about?” Bakura crammed an entire lemon cookie into his mouth to prove his fucking point.

“Do you work tonight?” Atem asked.

“I’m the half-shift bitch tonight.”

“Want to swap? I close.”

“Are you going to go home and cry into your pillow?”

“No,” Atem said, then added. “Maybe.”

“Dammit, fine then. We can swap. I need the hours, I guess.”

“Thanks, Bakura.”

“Don’t thank me. You owe me next time I want to switch shifts.”

“I mean thanks for everything.”

“I guess I should wash our uniforms before we go in.” Bakura stood up and gathered up their clothes.

The next week went by smoothly for them, and by the next weekend Bakura and Atem found themselves back at Bakura’s place playing Duel Monsters. This time they played three games- Bakura won two and lost one. Atem grumbled, but he no longer referred to himself as a loser, so Bakura didn’t rib Atem too hard for the complaints.

The next week was the same routine. Working, school work, longer shifts on the weekend, but by Saturday they were back at Bakura’s playing card games. Atem won two and lost one.

“You’re getting back into your stride,” Bakura said as he gave the score sheet a death stare.

“Yeah, can’t say I’m over the break-up, but I’m over the woe-is-me phase of it at least.”

“Good.” Bakura gave Atem a snort. “You were acting like a total bitch.”

“Shut up.” Atem gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. They laughed a moment and then a heavy silence stretched over the room.

“Uh…” Bakura scratched the back of his head.

“W-want to do something else?” Atem asked. “Have any good movies?”

“I’m kinda a weeb,” Bakura confessed. “Most my shit is anime.”

“Well? Let’s watch something. I’m not tired yet.”

“Sure. Guess we’ll start with Dragon Ball. That’s a classic.”

They marathoned episodes until the first world tournament. As the show progressed, Bakura started becoming unusually aware of how close he and Atem sat. They’d always kept some distance during the card games, but now their shoulders brushed together and it was… strange. By sunrise, Bakura stumbled to his feet, stretching and yawning.

“Better get some sleep before work.”

He started to keep the blanket and pillow on the couch, and Atem had brought his own change of clothes, so Bakura went to sleep without further fanfare. That night at work, they were able to stagger their lunch breaks to have a fifteen minute overlap and tried to sneak a card game in- although it made Bakura late back from his lunch.

“Looks like I won.” Atem smirked.

“Fuck off, I have to go back before I get bitched at.”

“You close tonight, right?” Atem asked.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“So?”

Atem traced a design on the little table they had in the back instead of a real break room.

“Um, well, I thought maybe I could come over again? Watch more Dragon Ball?”

“Sure.” Bakura shrugged. “But I have Lit at 8am Monday mornings, so I can’t stay up all night like last time.”

“Oh, need help with your homework or anything?”

“Bitch, I ain’t illiterate.” Bakura snorted in mock offense.

“Bitch, you sound illiterate,” Atem snapped back.

That night, as they watched TV together, Bakura was again acutely aware at their proximity. The next thing he knew, he felt hands shaking him awake.

“Bakura. Bakura, wake-up. Bakura, it’s 7am, get your lazy ass to class.”

“What?” Bakura rubbed his eyes, confused. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but his neck complained as if he’d been on the sofa all night.

“It’s morning. Go to class.”

“Fuck.” Bakura crawled into jeans and the first T-shirt he grabbed.

“Eat something,” Atem said.

“You ain’t my mom.” Bakura grabbed a Red Bull and tossed Atem his extra key. “Lock up before you leave.”

“Can I watch a few more episodes? Krillin died.”

“Knock yourself out.” Bakura waved as he took off to class.

He half expected Atem to be there when he returned, but the apartment was empty. Bakura stared at the couch, still trying to remember falling asleep. Had Atem stayed on the sofa with him the entire night? Bakura sniffed and went to take a shower before work.

He’d almost been… looking forward to it? He and Atem used to fight more than their fair share as co-workers. Atem followed every damn little rule and it drove Bakura nuts, but hey, Dragon Ball and stolen cookies and card games weren’t so bad with someone to chat with, so Bakura was looking forward to talking to Atem at work that night.

However, once he actually arrived, Atem seemed to be in a bad mood. He barked orders, snapped at everything Bakura did, and bitched him out for adding whipped cream to a drink that was no-whip. Maybe Bakura would have let it slide, but it was in front of the customers and Bakura was pissed off.

“What’s your problem?” Bakura hissed once their evening rush died down.

“You keep messing up. It’s slowing us down.”

“I’m messing up cuz you’re riding my ass, Atem.”

“Don’t blame me because you’re screwing up.”

“Fuck you.” Bakura stormed off, cleaning the lobby as an excuse to keep away from Atem.

He thought maybe they’d simmer down after the one bad night, but each night after that seemed worse than the one before. Saturday came and went, and neither Bakura nor Atem mentioned card games or anime and they drove home in separate cars.

For a full other week they were at each other’s throats. Finally, Bakura couldn’t take it anymore. He made sure their breaks overlapped again, and cornered Atem in the back.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Atem snorted and turned his head away from Bakura.

“You’ve had a beehive up your ass for over two weeks now. What’s up?”

“Why is everything always asses with you?”

“I like asses.” Bakura grinned.

“Well, kiss mine, then, and let me get back to my lunch break.”

“Not until I figure out what’s been riding you.”

“Stop with the innuendos, Bakura. They’re not funny.”

“I’m not making innuendos. You’re over analyzing what I’m saying.”

“You’re blaming me for everything!” Atem shouted.

“Everything?” Bakura raised a silver eyebrow. “Like, climate change, and orphans, and traffic jams? Or just your attitude problem?”

“I don’t have an attitude problem.”

“You’re acting weird as fuck, Atem.”

“Well.” Atem snorted, stepping into Bakura’s space. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“The hell? I’m not doing a damn thing!”

Next thing Bakura knew, Atem had him slammed against a shelf full of coffee beans. He braced himself for a punch, but felt Atem’s mouth smashing against his instead. Bakura hooked his fingers through Atem’s wild, multi-colored hair, but after finishing the kiss, he pushed them apart.

“Have you seriously been nagging me because you’re frustrated?” Bakura started laughing.

“Shut-up.” Atem’s complexion was dark, but just light enough that a bit of his blush showed through on his almond-colored cheeks.

“Tell you what.” Bakura untangled his fingers from Atem’s hair and instead grabbed Atem’s ass, pulling their bodies together. “Come over tonight and I can take care of that for you.”

“I-I have to go back to work.”

Bakura let Atem go, wondering if perhaps he had been too bold. The rest of the night was quiet and awkward, but after close Atem walked straight to Bakura car, glancing over his shoulder and giving Bakura a sly wink.

Bakura exhaled. One the one hand, he wanted to slap Atem for being so damn difficult, but on the other, his entire body was hot and eager at the thought of getting Atem between the sheets.

He drove fast, and he and Atem raced back to Bakura’s apartment. Bakura shoved Atem towards the bedroom, and then pushed Atem down onto the mattress. He tore his work clothes off and then helped Atem do the same.

Their mouths clashed together. They were too eager and making out with Atem was more an argument of lip placement than a romantic gesture. Bakura wasn’t going to complain, however. It was his first time, and it was fun, and his cock was throbbing so he scrambled across the bed to the nightstand where he kept a bottle of lube.

“Thought you never made it to a second date?” Atem chuckled. “So why do you have anal lube?”

“Because I jerk off.” Bakura winked.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of that, lately.” Atem snorted. “Please hurry.”

“Holy shit, his majesty said please. What an auspicious day.” Bakura greased up Atem’s asshole and popped a finger in right away.

“It’s been too long.” Atem moaned, tossing his head back. “Don’t take too long prepping.”

“You know I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, right?” Bakura laughed and added a second finger.

“Feels like you do,” Atem purred. Then his violet eyes grew round. “Wait, are you saying you’re a virgin?”

“Duh.” Bakura pulled his fingers away and coated his cock. “I already told you I don’t get along with people.”

“But… hook ups, and, and FWB’s?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have friends- with benefits or otherwise.”

“Damn, Bakura, you’re pathetic!”

“Really turning me on here.” Bakura glared at Atem.

“Sorry.” Atem shrugged.

Bakura blew out between his lips. “Who am I kidding? I’m hard as fuck right now.”

He maneuvered in between Atem’s legs and guided his cock to Atem’s asshole. He tried easing in, but couldn’t manage to get through until he used his hips to thrust forward. Atem sucked in a quick breath. Bakura looked at his face, trying to decide if it’d been pain or pleasure. Atem looked heated and his eyes were unfocused. Bakura figured it couldn’t be that bad with that hazy look on Atem’s face, so he eased up and pushed in again.

Atem whimpered with each thrust, but didn’t complain. Bakura watched his face. He thought Atem looked aroused, but wasn’t sure.

“Is this okay? Should I slow down?”

“S'good. Speed up.” Atem moaned. Bakura hitched his hips a little faster. Atem’s fingers clutched at the sheets and he tilted his head back.

“Better?” Bakura asked.

“Fuck yes. You’re… thicker. I like it.”

Bakura’s cheeks grew suddenly hot. The complement spurred him to thrust harder, letting himself relax a little and enjoy the tight suck of Atem’s flesh around his cock.

He leaned down and kissed Atem’s neck. Atem wrapped his left leg around Bakura’s waist. Bakura grabbed it and hooked it over his shoulder so he could get a better angle.

“Fuck! Fuck! Holy shit, Bakura!” Atem started screaming.

“Does it hurt?” Bakura slowed down.

“Don’t stop!” Atem screamed louder. “Harder! Please, God please! Please!”

A spasm tightened every muscle in Bakura’s body. He steadied his breath and focused on Atem’s face, trying not to think about how good each thrust felt. He didn’t know how much longer he’d last. Bakura closed his eyes and tried to focus on the feel of the sheets against his knees and not Atem’s body.

He went as fast as he could, going until sweat carved little trails down his brown-sugar colored skin. No matter how hard he tried to hold back, Atem’s curses and shouts were enough to make him want come.

Bakura’s silvery lashes fluttered as he opened his eyes. He saw Atem stroking himself and couldn’t last a second longer. Bakura rocked back and forth, leaning over Atem and staring at Atem’s face as he poured out into Atem’s ass. All the strength leached from Bakura’s body, but he forced himself to continue to move as Atem pulled on his own cock. Atem squealed and several bursts of come splashed against his tawny stomach.

“Holy shit,” Atem sighed. “That was good.”

“Hmmm.” Bakura grunted, collapsing beside Atem. His eyes lowered. He tried to keep them open, but he felt lost to the urge to sleep.

“A few weeks ago, you fell asleep on my shoulder,” Atem stared at the ceiling.

“Sorry,” Bakura muttered, still hazy and pleasant feeling from his orgasm.

“I started to comb your hair with my fingers, and you made this soft little coo sounds and then nuzzled against my chest and it was… so nice. It was so nice that I wrapped my arms around you and held you. I wanted to kiss you, and it scared me, so I waited until it was time to wake you up, finished the rest of Dragon Ball, and tried to ‘get over it,’ but the more I tried to push you away, the more I thought about you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I couldn’t help it. I was afraid that if we got close you’d leave me… yeah, I know that’s stupid.”

“No, I mean you’re an idiot for thinking that you’re done with Dragon Ball. We haven’t even started Dragon Ball Z yet.”

“Z?”

“Fuck, lemme sleep a bit, yeah? You’re about to learn all about Super Saiyans.” Bakura intentionally moved to Atem’s chest and used him as a pillow.

“Bakura…”

“If you’re still worried, you know I think you being a card-game playing nerd is your only good quality, right? I’m not going to dump you for that. Maybe for being a smug-self absorbed bitch, but not for being a nerd.”

“You goddamn bastard.” Atem sounded happy despite his word choice.

“You can comb my hair with your fingers if you want to.” Bakura grinned.

“Quit bossing me around,” Atem said, but he did comb Bakura’s hair.

It was a nicer feeling than Bakura would have guessed, and so was laying on Atem’s chest. He’d never been with anyone before, but he figured that, like sex, he’d just fumble his way through, and hopefully they’d move through it right until the end.

37 notes · View notes