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paperultra · 7 months

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service with a smile!

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader Word Count: 1,726 words Warnings: Swearing, violence, verbally/physically abusive customer, reader has a brief panic attack

eccedentesiast (noun): someone who fakes a smile

It’s six-thirty in the evening at the Baratie. The customers are ravenous, the kitchen is in the weeds, and you’re wearing a snake-like trail into the floor of the restaurant delivering drinks and dishes when the sound of snapping fingers pricks your ears.

“Waiter!”

Twisting your neck around, you spot the man at table four waving you over.

You quickly make your way to him with a bright smile. “Yes? What can I do for you?”

The man gestures to the plate in front of him, disgust clear on his face. “I said I wanted my steak medium-well.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir,” you reply. Leaning over slightly to check, your eyebrows knit together as you stare at the slice of meat pushed to the edge of the plate. “… It seems to be medium-well, though?”

“No,” he snaps. Light glints sharply off the many rings on his fingers as he pointedly prods at the center of the slice with his knife. “It still has some pink in it, see? I can’t eat this.”

“Well, sir,” you mentally roll your eyes up to the ceiling, though your gaze remains attentive and apologetic, “Here in our restaurant, medium-well steak will still have a little bit of pink. We could bring it back to the kitchen and have it cooked until it’s well done, if you’d like. It’d take no more than five minutes.”

“I don’t like well done steak. It’s too dry.”

Oh, god.

“I see. Well, we could still bring it back to the kitchen and see what the cooks can do.”

The man clicks his tongue. “Fucking hell.” Sneering, he drops his steak knife and pushes the plate towards you. “Fine. Go. I’m not paying if you guys fuck it up again.”

“We’ll do our best.” Fuck you.

Nodding deferentially, you scoop up the plate and head off to the kitchen, smiling all the while.

“Carne!” you announce after you kick open the door, setting the steak on the pass and leaning over to catch the attention of the rotisseur. “Customer at table four says your steak is shit.”

“What?!”

“He wants it medium-well with no pink at all.” Carne swears and stomps over to fetch the steak. A slight movement in the corner catches your eye, and you look over at Sanji, who’s already looking at you as he pulls his suit jacket on. “Hey, chef.” A genuine grin stretches your face. “The old man kick you off the line again?”

“He slated my mixed paella,” Sanji replies, no small amount of irritation in his voice. It melts away quickly as he smirks and sends a wink your way. “But I’ll be seeing more of you out there, so maybe I should count my blessings.”

“There’s certainly one at table four right now.” Balancing three plates for table seven on one arm, you grab the fourth with your free hand.

Sanji hurries to hold the door open for you, frowning through the thank-you that flies from your mouth. “What else did they say?” he asks seriously. “Do they need to be kicked out?”

Despite the rush, your heart finds the time to skip a beat.

“Nah, not yet,” you assure. “Now hurry up!”

“[Y/n] –”

“Bye!”

As you pass him, your head held high, you hear Sanji sigh and chuckle in resignation.

You deliver the plates and check back with guests who have already gotten their food before returning to the kitchen. Table four’s well done medium-well steak with no pink is on the pass already when you go in, freshly garnished and by all appearances even more gorgeous than before.

Raising your eyebrows, you whistle. “Thanks, Carne! Love you!” you shout over the din of cooks before grabbing the plate.

“Kiss my ass!”

You laugh. One of the other waiters wishes you luck and pats your back as you exit.

You waste only a brief moment just outside the kitchen to take a deep breath and scan the restaurant. Sanji is at the far end, refilling waters and likely charming the eyelashes off a table of giggling young women. You’d kill to be on either side right now.

Closing your eyes, you recite the Baratie’s fourth employee guideline and then smile, stepping out into the dining area and walking over to table four.

The customer is God.

“Here you go, sir,” you say, placing the plate before him. “I’m sor –”

“This looks like shit.” The man hardly glances at the steak Carne had so painstakingly reprepared, choosing instead to glare at you. “I waited five whole minutes for this?”

The customer. Is. God.

Your teeth hurt. “Our rotisseur put in his best work to fix the mistake.”

“Well, he should be fired on the spot.”

“If you would just try it –”

The man suddenly slams his fist on the table and stands up, his face red, grabbing the attention of the surrounding guests as he throws the plate onto the ground.

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, WAITER!”

His hairy, meaty hand seizes the collar of your uniform.

Your perfect smile slips off your face.

“Get your hand off of me.”

The man doesn’t listen. He raises his other fist and swings it at your mouth instead.

You pull him down and knee him in the face before he even realizes that you’ve dodged.

Crunch. Warm blood splatters over your carefully ironed slacks.

“Augh!”

The man’s hands fly up to his nose. You shove him face-down to the ground and press your knee into his back, yanking his head up by his hair.

“I asked you to taste your fucking steak,” you breathe, tightening your grip. “I didn’t ask you to FUCKING TOUCH ME. OKAY?”

His groan bubbles quietly through bloodied teeth.

Your ears ring. You’re cold and your head is numb and your heart is racing, and you’re breathing, but it feels like you’re not getting enough air. You don’t move a muscle.

Above you, muffled and buried underwater, someone calls out your name.

A hand rubs your back gently. Your name is murmured again, and you finally blink, slowly twisting around to look up at Sanji.

“I think he got the message, sweetheart. Come on. The old man’ll take care of the rest.”

He places his hand over yours, coaxing you to let go of the man’s hair. It hurts, but you do it, and Sanji helps you stand afterwards.

“Come on,” he whispers. “We’ll wash dishes together until you feel better.”

“You’re supposed to be waiting tables,” you mumble. Your mouth is dry.

“You know I hate doing that anyway.”

He tucks you underneath his arm. You push your face into the front of his suit and smell the traces of his last smoke break as he guides you to the kitchen.

Washing dishes is a ritual you’ve had since you were a kid. While Sanji’s punishments had been anything that prevented him from cooking or flirting, yours were limited to washing dishes. You loathed the chore, and Zeff took note and made sure to stick you at the sinks whenever you got into trouble. You’d curse and splash and generally be a pain in the ass to the rest of the kitchen, but you scrubbed the dishes pretty damn well, and within an hour or two your anger would fizzle out and you’d be back to your usual self.

Over time, the chore became something that grounded you whenever you weren’t feeling too hot. It kept your hands busy, and sometimes Sanji would join you to chat and complain until Zeff decided that the two of you were just a little too happy in his kitchen and kicked one or both of you out.

“Washing or drying?” Sanji asks. He had tossed his jacket somewhere while you were thinking and is now holding out an apron for you to take.

“Washing.” You slip the apron on and roll up your sleeves.

Nobody bothers you or Sanji as you start working. You use a generous amount of soap, let the water heat up until it almost scalds your skin, and scrub each plate and bowl and utensil and glass until they’re better than new. Then you hand it off to Sanji, who carefully dries each item and puts them aside.

Eventually, you find your voice again.

“Sorry you had to come over and get me. I thought I could handle it.”

“No, I should’ve been there before it got too bad. I’m sorry.” Sanji meets your eyes, and his gaze softens into something sad. “What happened?”

Your shrug is so small you almost don’t feel it. “I was fine when he was yelling at me. But when he grabbed me by the collar, I just – I dunno. It surprised me real bad.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. Just wrinkled my shirt.” You bend your knee, feeling the stiffness of dried blood on your slacks, and pout. “And stained my pants.”

“He didn’t even land a hit, at the very least,” Sanji says. A corner of his mouth tilts up. “I’ve got to say, I’m quite impressed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really? I impressed Black Leg Sanji by kneeing a customer in the face?”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you fight a customer. You usually calm them right down.”

“Well, this one was a real shitbag. I’m surprised I haven’t had to do it sooner, to be honest.”

He shakes his head. “It shouldn’t be something you should ever have to do,” he tells you. “Not while I’m here. If I ever see that bastard again, I swear I’ll kill him.”

“My hero,” you say with a smile, kicking up one foot.

Sanji winks at you and, with towel and dish in hand, leans over slightly to kiss the side of your head. It’s an innocent and playful thing he’s started doing as of late, and it certainly has no underlying meaning whatsoever, so you make a show of scrunching up your face like you always do. You swear that your face only feels hot because of the steam.

“Until my dying breath,” he says softly.

Oh. It’s not so funny anymore.

You flick bubbles at him and resume washing the dishes. Sanji grins and resumes drying, and if you scoot closer until you feel his arm brush yours with every movement, well – that’s nobody’s business but yours.

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #i've never worked at a restaurant rip #but to be fair the baratie lets the staff beat up terrible customers so accuracy doesn't have to be a priority here right ??#live chef reaction while sanji and reader wash dishes lol

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angelic-muse · 6 months

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unforgettable

a/n: i couldn't not write anything for his special day, so enjoy, and happiest of birthdays to my silly mosshead man. this was written with both anime and opla zoro in mind so feel free to interpret it as either.

pairing: roronoa zoro x gn!reader

warnings: just fluff, not proofread

summary: it's your lover's birthday, and what better way to start the celebration than to stay awake and surprise him at midnight?

...that is, if you can stay awake.

must stay awake... must stay awake.

the sentence replayed itself in your groggy head like a mantra, a broken record stuck on repeat, a toy train running in slow circles around your brain as you fought the urge to tip over the line between wakefulness and sleep.

zoro deserved more than that.

"my birthday? never really done anything for it," he'd grunted the day before after you'd brought it up. the swordsman had frowned, scratched his head. "kinda forgot it was tomorrow, actually."

and it was then that you decided to make this birthday — and all his next ones, for that matter — unforgettable.

so after some pleading with nami that then lead to careful rearrangement of night watch schedules (despite the crew's grumbling), zoro would be set to finish his shift at midnight — exactly midnight.

and what would he find when he returned to his room? you, of course, waiting for the moment he stepped through the door to shower him in love and birthday wishes, followed by a day of celebrations just for him.

well, that was your plan.

but the actual staying awake hadn't been part of it.

since your shift for night watch was the last one, just before sunrise, you were lucky enough to be able to sleep soundly all night till then. which meant you were not at all used to being awake at this time and your body was slowly but surely losing the fight to fall unconscious.

you yawned, blinking heavy eyelids as you turned to squint at the sky, the gentle moonlight washing the deck of the going merry in its milky glow. it wasn't quite yet at its highest point — still not midnight.

surely a little lay down before zoro returned couldn't hurt, right?

don't fall asleep, you promised yourself one last time as you settled into his own hammock, breathing in the lingering scent of him with a sigh. don't fall asleep...

zoro muttered angrily as he stomped across the ship back to his room, not bothering to soften the loud thumping of his boots against the planks, swords clanking noisily at his hip.

"serves 'em right if they wake up," he groused, "putting me up there at this time all of a sudden for no fuckin' reason—"

he cut short as he shoved into his room, raising a brow at the sight that met him as he rid himself of swords and shirt. there you were, curled up in his spot, sleeping soundly like a contented cat.

"the hell you doing in my hammock?" he grumbled under his breath, but zoro slid in beside you anyways, throwing an arm over your shoulders and folding the other behind his head. he didn't mind that you were here — he never did. sleeping beside you was nothing out of the ordinary anymore. he liked it, enjoyed the easy comfort and security that came with you tucked against his side; hearts beating in time, every breath shared.

it was right when zoro was beginning to drift off that he felt you stir awake. cracking open one eye, he watched as you sat up, blinking tiredly. "zo... zoro?"

"what got you up?" he murmured as you yawned and stretched your arms overheard. "m'here, get back to sleep." get back to cuddling me.

"the smell of a pirate who hasn't showered in a week," you joked groggily, rubbing at your eyes. then you froze. shit.

shit!

"no, i fell asleep!" you groaned, burying your face in your hands. how could you? you promised yourself you wouldn't, for him, and now... "fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck... i'm sorry." you peeked back up at him, lower lip stuck out.

zoro frowned. "huh? what the hell you apologising for?"

"i was meant to stay up," you said sadly. "to say happy birthday to you. at midnight. that's why i got nami to change your watch..."

rubbing a hand across his face, zoro sat up to look at you properly, blinking sleep away. you went to the trouble of getting his night watch changed and stayed up in his room just to say happy birthday to him? seriously?

he'd be surprised, but really, that was just the kind of stupid, endearing thing you'd do.

and so he laughed.

you blinked at him as his wide shoulders shook with mirth, head tossed back. an embarrassed warmth crept up your neck and you folded your arms, attempting to glare at him even as you fought to hold down a smile. "wh— it's not funny!"

"nah," he grinned at you as his laughter died down. "it's just cute. c'mere."

you yelped in half-protest as zoro grabbed your head to pull into his chest, laying back down with a sigh.

"you don't hafta... stay up until midnight or do shit like that just for me." he uttered after a moment of quiet, brushing his fingers through your hair. "you need your sleep, and i need mine. so just... just wait until morning next year, yeah?"

"i... okay," you sighed, trailing a finger across his chest, drawing mindless patterns over scarred, tawny skin, making him suppress a shiver. "i still have stuff planned for later, though."

"yeah? let's hear it."

"i'm not ruining the surprise, silly. but... i did get you some presents and convinced sanji to bake you a cake. among other things."

zoro snorted. "bet that shitty cook did it for you more than me."

"probably," you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. "don't get jealous that he might love me more than you, it's okay."

the swordsman scoffed, turning you both on your sides with a grunt. "maybe, but he'll never love you as much as i do."

you chuckled, tucking your head into the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent; steel and sweat with an earthier undertone somewhere beneath. "i love you too, even though you still smell like you've never showered."

zoro barked out a laugh, tightening a thick arm around your waist to pull you further into him. "i'll take a shower for your birthday, how's that sound?"

you peered up at him and wrinkled your nose. he grinned.

"you're gross," you muttered with a smile even as you snuggled further into him. he kissed your forehead and you could feel his own smile against your skin.

"and you still love me."

"lucky you, huh?"

zoro exhaled softly, closing his eyes. "yeah, lucky me."

slowly, quiet draped itself over the two of you like the softest blanket, comforting and warm as the sounds of your breathing lulled each other to sleep after gentle whispers of goodnight and wishes of good dreams. and he rocked you in his arms, like how the gentle waves rocked you from below, mother nature's cradle for her sleeping children as they rested in an embrace so tightly woven with nothing but pure love not even the sharpest sword could ever hope to sever it.

and that morning, when zoro awoke to his dear lover smothering his face with kisses as they pulled him from his sleep with the promise of birthday gifts, he knew with clarity, such a deep, resounding clarity it made his heart ache—

that you, on this day and every other, were the greatest gift he could ever ask for.

nia's ask box is open!