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mydearlybeloathed · 6 months

Note

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

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍

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

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sanji x littlesister!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure he is.”

“Zeff is too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

જ⁀➴

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

“We’re not rea—”

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

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

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

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

“No kiddin’,” Zeff scoffed.

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

“Why me?” Sanji had the nerve to ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touche.

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you slipped up and called him “Dad.”

That never happened anymore. You were careful now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Zeff?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Got lost a bit.”

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

Zeff nodded. “Think so.”

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

“Yeah?” Zeff chuckled. “Probably.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Zeff.”

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

“That you’ve now spoiled.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanji threw down the icing. “It is—”

“Stop!” you shouted. “I swear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So? What was it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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fanaticsnail · 6 months

Text

Honey Glazed

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

Warnings: hypothetical discussions regarding cannibalism, drinking.

Word Count: 2,500

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

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

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

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

-------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #zeff #chef zeff #zeff x reader #zeff x you #chef zeff x reader #opla zeff #red leg zeff

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