TW: slight violence. Jeff is a jerk and Sanji kicks him out... literally. Peter is an angel.
AN: Sorry this took so long to get out! Holiday, Family, Kids field trips, unplanned.. everything. Of course it all happens at once lol. There *will* be a part 3. Thank you so much for all of the love on part one, it really brings me so much joy to know you guys love them as much as I do.
<<part one part three>>
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Morning comes sooner than you wished it to, earning a soft groan as you roll yourself out of bed. The far too close cry of your neighbor's rooster, who you've found often decides to scream whenever it pleases, startles you as it stands outside of your window as it does every morning. Yelping, you slip from the side, landing painfully on your butt as your blankets fumble to the floor around you.
For a moment, there is silence as he peers in the window, eyes locked on you as you stare back, eyes heavy with sleep.
“Can I not have one morning of peace?” you growl out, narrowing your eyes. At this, the creature squawks at you before bounding off from the ledge. As if congratulating itself on a job well done, you can hear it babbling to itself all the way back to its coop. Huffing, you push yourself to your feet slowly, tossing your blankets back onto the bed before moving to get your day started.
It isn't long before you are standing before the bakery, keys in your hand, limbs heavy with the sleep you wish you had gotten. The warm night does nothing to aid in waking your sleeping thoughts, your body moving purely on auto pilot.
“Good morning,” you hum to the body waiting for you by the door as you approach. “You’re on time.” you can't say you aren't surprised. This is an ungodly hour to most on a good day, but you had stayed up entirely too late the night before, conspiring with the strawhats on how this will play out, and what the plan will be.
He seems almost offended that you expected him to be late, but sighs.
“I get up this early every day,” he grouches a bit, pressing the door open once you unlock it, motioning for you to go in first as he holds it open. You pause, offering him a small, sleepy smile.
“Thank you.” your voice is barely above a whisper, but you know he can hear you. He nods with a small smile of his own.
“You’re welcome,” he says quietly back as you both wander into the bakery. You automatically start into your morning chores – sweeping, placing the chairs down from the table tops, wiping down the countertops. Sanji falls into step around you, helping you settle the heavier things properly, even if you didn't need the help. He just waved off your protests on being able to do it yourself with a smile.
“Just because you can do it by yourself, doesn't mean that you should.” he stated clearly after Angie had left for the morning, as if it had been the most obvious thing in the world. Without another word, he moves to wipe down the various panes of glass around the shop, muttering about dirty pirates leaving scuff marks.
As the morning drags on, his quiet quips continue, each one earning a huff from you as you work to keep your laughter to yourself. Though, the shake of your shoulders gives you away each time.
You don't catch the way his eyes light up at the motion until later.
Sanji is, of course, wonderful in the kitchen. You had hoped as much after learning about his culinary roots. This, of course, caused a slight problem for you both as you had to utter a sentence you never thought you'd have to say as you eye the way Marines continue to hover outside your door.
“Ruin the pastry, Rudy,” you hiss quietly at him when a few patrons come barreling through the doors. Sanji looked how you felt – scandalized. It hurts your heart to think of the wasted dough, but you have already put entirely too much into this bit. The unfortunate truth being, you can't let his own talent ruin it. He is still standing at his post in the kitchen, dumb founded, when you are whisked away to fill more orders.
“Hello!” you sing everytime. “Welcome in.”
You can feel his eyes on you, though you ignore the sensation. On more than one occasion, he has meekly brought you a ruined platter, eyes large and upset. You know he is upset at having to ruin a dish, something he never thought he would aim to do in his wildest dreams. In fact, it seems he is currently living his worst nightmare. Yet, he sells it well, whispering apologies when he “thinks” the current patron isn't paying attention.
“What did I do wrong on this one?” he sighs, knowing full well what went wrong.
Sabotage.
The customer before you is quick to assure him with a smile. “It takes time, young man,” she states clearly, her smile turning teasing as her eyes turn to you. “You should have witnessed the dishes this one was turning out when she first started.” flushing, you wave her off with a pout.
“We don't talk about my apprentice days,” you huff, looking down at the pastry. Sanji does his best to keep the amusement from his expression. “I'll meet you in the kitchen here in just a moment and we can figure it out together” you offer patiently. He just nods, ducking back into the kitchen with one final glance at you that you don't catch, but your customer does.
“But of course,” she muses, eyes twinkling in the bright morning light. “He’d perhaps make fewer mistakes if he could keep his eyes on what he is doing.” you raise an eyebrow at her as you finish wrapping her pastries.
“Hm?” she just snickers.
“It’d take a blind man to miss how he looks at you dear,” she hums delightedly. “And dare I say, you could do so much worse.” her tone turns almost sour as Jeff walks through the door, earning an amused huff from you as you hand her the wrapped package.
“Thank you, Marie. It is always a pleasure to see you,” you say softly as she places a hand over yours with a wink and a nudge towards the kitchen before she turns to glower at the tall man standing behind her attempting to earn your attention through his normal antics. The huffs and whines do little but irritate you as he continues to wait impatiently, scuffing his boots on the panels that Sanji had painstakingly cleaned that morning.
Oh he was going to hate that.
Marie stalls as long as she can, a mischievous smile stretched across her face as she listens to Jeff’s attempts to gather your attention to him grow louder and more frequent. You continue to answer her questions, your own amusement sparkling in your eyes as you watch her enjoy herself in irritating the man.
“Well,” she finally calls slightly louder than she had been talking, after killing another five or so minutes asking various questions about the cooking processes and local yields. “You have been so hospitable, dear.” she hums happily, listening to Jeff grunt behind her in irritation. Even he wouldn't be rude enough to cut the woman off, being one of the few local elders left on the island. “Thank you for indulging an old lady.”
You smile brightly, nodding to her, laughing softly.
“You are always welcome, Marie.” you state softly. “Any of your curiosities, I am always happy to indulge in.”
Jeff, surprisingly, waits until she is out of the door before approaching the counter. His face is contorted somewhere between elation and mild annoyance, his smile twisting slightly as he says nothing at first.
When you don't move to grab anything, he huffs.
“Are you not going to get my order?” you raise an eyebrow at his tone, rough and harsher than usual as his smile twists down slightly.
“You haven't ordered anything yet,” you answer, voice tight. You're proud of yourself when you manage to keep the smile on your face.
“I order the same thing every time,” he insists, the elation falling from his face as the annoyance twists at his brows.
“I figured you wanted to try something new after not even touching the tart I fed you yesterday.” you raise an eyebrow. He may irritate you, but you haven't ever done more than turn down his advances and do your job. Perhaps it is your own restlessness of the situation you have put yourself in, the exhaustion from your late night, or the fact that he has spent the better part of the last 10 minutes acting like a spoiled child, but you can't seem to find it in you to placate his feelings at the moment. You watch as his jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing for a moment in thought.
That would be a fair assessment for any other person, he deems. But you should know better.
And to be fair, you do. But you can't find it in you to care.
“My normal,” he grouches, setting the coins on the counter top this time. The piles leave his hand, only half of them stacking into the nice piles he normally leaves while the rest skitter across the glass top. “Please.” he adds almost as an afterthought as he turns to settle into his seat next to the window.
Without much more thought, you move to fill his order – a cup of coffee and a strawberry tartlet.
The movements are almost routine, fluid in a way that is born out of years of repeated motion and muscle memory. Like every other day, you can feel his eyes on you, tracing your every move. Swallowing your urge to wretch, like you do every time, you turn with a small smile, moving to his side, placing his order before him.
“Here you go,” you state, immediately moving to turn and walk away. Instead, like many times before, his fingers wrap around your wrist, keeping you from leaving his side.
“When are you going to stop playing hard to get?” his earlier irritation bleeds through, though much more pronounced. The sting of being ignored and your general lack of excitement to see him finally coming to a head in his mind. When you move to pull your hand from his hold, his fingers tighten painfully, earning a small yelp. The noise startles him enough that his grip loosens just enough for you to snatch it from his hold, cradling it to your chest.
“That hurt,” you hiss, rubbing the tender muscles there. The noise, unfortunately, caught the attention of the blond in the kitchen because he is coming out of the doors, concerned words dying on his lips, as Jeff is starting in on his response.
“It's your own fault,” he snarls, reaching for you again. “If you'd just stop with your games, I would have already had you in my bed.” This time, his hand is knocked away as Sanji wedges himself between the two of you.
“That is no way to talk to a lady,” the taller man growls, the timbre reverberating in his chest as he simultaneously presses closer to Jeff and gently pushes you further behind him, the heat of his glare making you shudder. Jeff is halfway to his feet when he recognizes the man before him, though sanji doesn't seem to care about that fact at the moment. If looks could kill, Jeff would have been obliterated several times over, seared into the earth with nothing more than ash left to be whisked away by the wind accompanied by the memory of his existence.
“I refuse to take advice from a pirate,” he spits the word, tone dripping with poison. “This matter doesn't concern you.”
“Not a pirate,” you grouse, trying in your own stupor to keep up the charade.
“You made it my business when you hurt her,” Sanji’s voice is steady, the chill of his words seeming to lower the temperature of the building, making you shiver. Nose to nose, neither man seems to want to back down. And you are quite certain of who would win, given it became physical.
“Rudy,” you rasp, tugging at his arm lightly. “He isn't worth it.” you can already feel the emotions bubbling up. The pain in your wrist is little more than a dull throb, but you find it doesn't bother you nearly as much as the thought of the man in front of you getting hurt, or worse, killed, because of the trust fund man-baby before him.
He allows you to tug him back, his eyes never straying from Jeff’s as he steps back enough to allow the man passage towards the door. Jeff snorts a laugh, lips tugging up in a mocking smirk.
“Listening to a woman,” he huffs, shaking his head. “How pathetic.”
“Not nearly as pathetic as being unable to take the word no the first time,” Sanji bites back, lips curling into a smile, though it reads much more as a warning. His snarl hardens the gesture far too much for it to be anything but a threat. “At least I don't need to lay hands on a woman to prove I'm a man.”
Slowly, then all at once.
You almost don't see the way Jeff’s arm raises, his fist making contact with Sanji’s chin, a snarl on his lips. Automatically, you swing between them, a hand coming to rest on each of their chests in a weak attempt to separate them. Sanji does nothing to push past you, but Jeff tries to lunge forward again. His weight agitates your injured wrist, a resounding yelp tearing through the otherwise silent space. Without warning, you are moved. Sanji’s arm wraps around your shoulders as he brings you securely into his side.
Before Jeff is able to make a move again, Sanji growls, kicking his body away from you.
“Get out,” even Jeff is able to read the warning in his words, the unspoken promise lying just underneath, as his body crashes to the floor. He skitters through the door, not bothering to look back. Sanji doesn't move for several moments after the glass stops shaking from the force of the way Jeff had slammed it in his haste. It Isn't until you move to pull away from him that he stops glaring at the door, his arm tightening slightly over your shoulders for a moment before he relaxes enough for you to take a step back.
When you move to reach for his face, the angry mark already beginning to blister purple and blue, he takes your hand gently with a shake of his head.
“I am fine.” he insists, gently tugging your injured wrist into his hand. He cringes when you whimper at his tug, immediately apologizing. His fingers are gentle as he inspects it. “It isn't broken.” he states quietly, thumb rubbing soothing circles just below the blooming bruises of your own.
“That’s something, I suppose,” you sigh, bringing your wrist to your chest again, cradling it there. He nods with a frown, gently ushering you into the seat as he busies himself with going to find the first aid kit he saw in the kitchen earlier that morning. You had barely enough time to fully process that he was gone before he was back, kneeling before you. Flipping the lid open, he rummages around until he finds some wrap he deems sturdy enough.
“May I?”
You don't hesitate to rest your wrist in his hands, watching quietly as he wraps it slowly. He is careful to keep it from being too tight, but tight enough to give the support you need. It's silent for several moments before he speaks up again.
“How long has he been bothering you?” sighing heavily, you lean back in the seat, twisting your arm to inspect his handy work. It's clean, precise, and obviously well practiced. You don't look at him as you trace over the bandages, barely able to even feel the pressure of your fingertips through the wrap.
“Years,” you admit. “Though, this is the first time he has gotten so physical.”
He is silent as you sit there, allowing the moment to swallow you whole. You had never broached the subject with anyone, not even your father. Deep down, you knew it wasn't just Jeff’s forward tendencies or childish ways that made you uncomfortable. Sure, they didn't help, but they weren't the reason for placating the man's feelings for all this time.
There was always a threat, a quiet red flag waving in the distance in the back of your mind when you were alone with him.
Sanji doesn't say anything, he doesn't push where he already knows the answer. Sighing, he offers you a smile, soft and kind – heavy with understanding. And you hate it.
“Perhaps you can help me understand what I did wrong with that pastry now?” he offers, standing slowly, offering you the hand that isn't holding the first aid kit. He is offering you a distraction, a way out of the spiraling thoughts weighing on you. Sighing, you nod.
“Okay.”
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The rest of the day is calm, if not slightly awkward. Customer after customer filing in, seeing both of your states and immediately trying to figure out what happened and who would do such a thing.
Some routine customers, patrons who live on the island, many are pirates who Sanji is heavily debating on if he should feed them Jeff’s name to let them deal with him. You are beloved, more so than you seem to realize as you just file around with a smile.
“Who did it?” one pirate asks, gruff and glowering as his eyes narrow on your wrist. As if sensing the topic, your head whips around, eyes zeroing in on Sanji with a slight pinch to them – a quiet warning that neither man misses. The pirate snorts, taking the neatly wrapped package from Sanji sending the blond man a motion.
Later.
Because of your wrist, Sanji has taken to doing all of the wrapping. And the lifting. And the stirring.
At one point, you find yourself sitting and pouting at the counter like a dejected child. Your regulars chuckle at your antics, watching and admiring how well Sanji seems to have picked up the slack, swirling around you like a one man band.
He's doing the cooking, cleaning, baking – with your careful instruction – and often tending to the customers while you sit and watch. You hate how flawlessly he takes over, turning the quiet, calm atmosphere into something much more lively and brilliant. A change that many seem more than happy to lean into. His energy is quite infectious, despite the deep love for your gentle, quiet, care.
One
He counts to himself as he spins from one table to the other, placing a plate before the patrons with a grin and flourish as he spins away.
Two
He sends a smile and a non-committal wink to the lovely older woman before him, earning a girlish giggle from her. The attention makes her feel the need to smooth her hair back, to check to make sure her appearance is in order. He and her husband chuckle as he sends the man a nod – a silent gesture that he means no harm. The older man just grins.
“Blushing, honey?” The comment deepens her flush, earning a whack and a jovial laugh from the three of them.
Three
He finds himself nearly spinning himself into the wall to keep from toppling on top of the over exuberant body that flings through your door. Laughter echoes around you from the various tables as Sanji sputters to a stop with a confused pinch of his brows, and Peter finally finds himself settled before you with a grin. Laughing along with them, you put your hands out to steady the small body.
“Peter!” you laugh, allowing the boy to fall into your arms happily. “You’re early for lunch” you coo. He tries his best to look sheepish, though it falls short. You don't catch how Sanji softens at your exchange with the small boy, already on your feet to gather the things you had been working on all morning.
It had been the one thing you had been absolutely insistent on that you be the one to work on.
Peter stands there politely, his arms pinned firmly behind his back, though the stance does little to distract from the way his body seems to vibrate from its need for movement. Smiling to himself, Sanji watches him try so hard not to move – to be good. He was always rewarded when he was good. Shifting before the counter, Sanji starts to help pack the items you bring to the front, humming happily.
Peter is silent as he watches you both work together, a fact that you nearly comment on until he opens his mouth. His eyes flit between sanji and yourself before he speaks, a frown on his face, as if he is concentrating too hard.
“Are you her husband?” The question startles you both, and earns sharp laughter from the older couples lingering at the tables. Both of you are gapping at him, trying to find your answers to such a simple question.
“No, He’s-” you begin.
“I’m not-” Sanji starts, both of you fumbling over the quick denials. Peter doesn't concern himself with your obviously flustered states, eyes zeroing in on your wrist and Sanji’s jaw.
“Who hurt you?” he asks bluntly. “Do I need to put a wanted poster back up?” The comment earns a harsh snort from Sanji, who in reality would love to make sure a poster for the overly confident, and abusive, merchant. But you won't let him, for whatever reason. He watches you retrieve a tartlet that you had set aside earlier, choosing to ignore Peter’s insistent gaze and his very blunt line of questioning.
“Here.” you grumble, shoving the sweet thing into his hands.
Almost immediately, he seems to drop the line of questioning, eager to shove his reward in his mouth, strawberry filling being smeared against his cheek. Laughing softly, you reach up to swipe the mess from his cheek, wiping it on your apron.
“Messy boy,” you hum sweetly, earning a blinding smile from Peter, and unbeknownst to you, Sanji. “Come now,” you state, clapping your hands to your thighs to gather his attention again when it drifts to the pirate standing beside the counter. “I am sure your mother is hungry, as well.” Peter just grins, nodding quickly.
“She loves your food.” he agrees, lifting his hand to present some berry to you. The same berry he has been trying to bully into your hands everyday for the last year, judging by the familiar tears. Shaking your head, you curl his fingers back around the money, ruffling his hair with love.
“No,” you state simply, handing him the bag. He pouts a bit, shoving it back in his pocket.
“Tomorrow,” he huffs. You laugh, ignoring the pointed looks from those around you. Repeat customers know better, their eyes downcast though they do nothing to hide their smiles. Newer groups do little to hide their curious gazes.
“We will see, little one. Now, off you go.” he just nods, taking off out of the door, though more carefully as to keep from spilling any of the food. In silence, you watch him go, smiling as he disappears into his mother’s shop.
“You feed them,” Sanji comments softly after a moment. Blinking, you shrug, turning to take the remainder of what couldnt fit in the pack back to the kitchen. Sanji glances around, ensuring that everyone is cared for. No one seems to want to rock the gentle bubble created.
They loved your gentle loving care.
Without thought, he follows you into the kitchen, your voice barely reaching his ears as you busy yourself with tidying up.
“Sometimes,” you agree. He watches you, Peter’s last comment echoing in his mind.
Tomorrow.
“Daily,” he corrects you, his tone gentle. You pause, nose twitching, eyes narrowing – immediately on the defensive.
“Listen,” you grouch, turning to glare at him, your ire catching him off guard. His hands lift quickly, hoping to show you that he means no harm, but you continue ranting though your irritation seems to fade. “If you're going to lecture me about business practices, making money or anything else – save it.” you sigh.
“I didn't intend to do any such thing,” he assures you slowly, moving to take the knife from your hand, setting it back in the sink. You turn to face him more, arms crossed as you lean back against the counter. He doesn't force himself any closer, in fact, he backs off some, resting his hips to the other counter across from you.
“What is your point, then, Rudy?” he snorts, his smile easing some of the tension in your shoulders.
“How long?” he asks after a moment. You pause.
“A year,” you sigh. “Maybe longer, at this point. I'm not sure.” he just nods. You expect many things, many questions. Why? What's the point? Why not make more money? Sell it at a discount. Poor business strategy.
You weren't expecting the softness in his eyes, nor the gentleness of his touch when his hands settle on your shoulders, a quiet intensity burning in his eyes as he bends to maintain eye contact as he speaks.
“What you're doing for them,” he starts slowly, as if trying to find the right words to convey how he feels. He struggles to find the words he wants – his large vocabulary, the flowery words he peppers into every conversation, the seemingly endless stream of compliments. They all seem too small, too insignificant for how he's feeling, so he settles on, “it matters.” The sincerity behind the words startles you.
Swallowing the emotion building in your chest, you force a smile, hand moving to rest over his as your head thumps to rest against his chest. You find yourself unable to take staring into the depths of his eyes any longer. The emotions swimming there crashing like a storm at sea, washing over you with their intensity.
“It doesn't feel like it's enough,” you whisper, words thick as you hold back your tears, clutching at his shirt, an anchor in your storm. His arms shift from your shoulders to wind around your waist, tugging you deeper into his warmth, his chin coming to rest on top of your head.
“I assure you,” he murmurs, flashes of Zeff and that blasted rock flickering behind his eyelids, a distant memory fading to various shades of gray where it had once been so vibrant. The only thing still flickering in color is Zeff before him, like a scene from an old movie. “It's everything.”
A/N: Not beta'd... well, not fully. dying on this hill lol thank you @stray-kaz and @sordidmusings for listening to me ramble about this and helping me find some direction with it, considering I sat down to write with "baker" and a vibe. You're amazing.
Early mornings were always your favorite.
The gentle risings paired with the lingering silence in the streets as you wander towards the building resting in center square. Though silent, you're not alone. Wandering shadows linger in groups as the various vendors trickle into the square to begin their daily set up just as the sun begins to kiss the horizon.
Your family has long since owned many of the buildings in the square. Before the last revolution on the island, your grandparents ruled it with an iron fist. You have since taken over the duties, your grandparents being some of the few taken in the onslaught, your father left with permanent injuries that keep him from working any longer.
You often feel as if these things should trouble you, the knowledge of what happened. The passing shadows flickering in your peripheral should bring you some sort of unease, even as one darts towards you as you turn the key to your shop. Instead, you turn towards the small body, quickly accompanied by that of his mother, a smile hiding the exhaustion on your face as they call your name.
“Yes?” stopping abruptly before you, Peter moves to shove a small sack into your hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He is excited, firm in the knowledge that he is often treated to a fresh pastry from your ovens if he behaves. His mother pauses behind him, hand resting on his shoulder as she attempts to hide her unease.
“Our rent,” she states softly. You nod, but she continues. “I understand it is two days late…” she sounds winded, panicked. “I will earn the rest today, I swear.” Slowly, your smile slides from your face as you shove the door open, motioning to the young boy to hurry in.
“You know where you may go,” you state softly. He takes off like a bullet into the darkness, easily able to navigate the layout by now. You wait until he is out of earshot before you turn back to the woman before you, softening.
“You owe me no more,” you assure her. She moves to dispute it, but you raise a hand, the glistening light of the dawn making the whole world around you dusty, hazy. “No late fees, no worries.” you assure her. It has only been a year, and still the fear seems to have settled firmly in the hearts of those around you. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she forces a kind smile on her son as he comes barreling back out of the shop, arms full of loaves of bread.
“Peter,” she warns, gently. “That is too much. You are allowed a snack.” Again, you wave her off.
“They were going to be fed to the birds anyhow.” you assure her. “Day-old bread doesn't sell as well.” she pauses before nodding.
“Thank you”
Watching as they wander away, you can't help but sigh. Golden rays filter over the open sea, casting the island in brilliant hues of pinks and purples as it chases away the last of the shadows. Steadily, more bodies clamber into the square, limbs clumsy with sleep. The ever lingering scent of salt mixing with the warmth of fresh bread coming from inside the shop.
Taking a deep breath, you swing around, heading into the building with a smile.
“Angie!” you call with laughter in your tone as the short red head appears before you. She smiles brightly at you, her normal lopsided smile fading with sleep, her face and hands covered in various spots of flour.
“You’re late,” she accuses, scrunching her nose to chide at you playfully. Shrugging slightly, you smile apologetically, nodding at the door.
“Sorry,” you start with a hum, lifting the bag that Peter had shoved into your hands. “I got stopped.” she just nods with a laugh.
“I saw,” she hums. “Little thing scared me, I thought another dog got in.”
“Nope, just Peter.” you muse as you go to put the berry away. “Though, I can't say there is much difference.” you both laugh when you catch a glimpse of the cabinet you keep stocked with your day-old goods.
He didn't clear it out, you notice, softening. Angie follows your eyes, smiling softly.
“I still don't know why you dont sell those.” she hums. “They won't earn as much, but more than giving them away for free.” you shrug, settling on the floor, looking at the remnants as you try to plan what lunches you can make with what is left.
“We make enough, Ang,” you say softly. “And there are people who go hungry. The island is still healing.”
She doesn't push. She knows of your guilt, even if there is nothing for you personally to feel guilty of. Your family has done a lot of damage, and she can't find fault in you wanting to fix as much of it as you can.
“They are doing well,” she assures you, hand resting on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Now if you don't mind,” she grins, winking down at you. “My shift is over. I would love to get some sleep.” laughing softly at her, you nod.
“You've helped me so much, I appreciate you.” you say softly, standing to see her off. She just nods, wiping her hands to rid herself of as much of the white gloop as possible, heading towards the door.
“Yeah, yeah,” she calls. “Love you, too. There is a new batch in the oven, don't forget them. I'll beat you if you ruin my work!” she states as the door slides shut behind her. Huffing a laugh, you start loading the fresh pastries and breads into the displays’ as the sun lifts higher in the sky. It won't be long until the market is filled with locals and guests alike. Pirates and marines looking to stock their ships and merchants trying to sell their wares to the locals.
By the time you finish stocking the first of the pastries, the door dings as it swings open. The distant hum of life swarming the market makes you smile as you rise to greet your first customer. Jeff, your biggest regular, and an unfortunate thorn in your side, strolls in with a large grin. You can't help the slight twinge to your smile, threatening to twist into a scowl.
“Jeff!” you call as evenly as you're able. “You’re early.”
His laughter echoes strangely in the small area as he settles into “his” spot next to the window, shifting to rest his heels on the opposite chair as he leans back. Far too used to getting his will, either by throwing money at it or with sweetened words dripping with honey, you have found the man incapable of accepting your favorite two lettered word. His ways may get him places with those of the odd house wife who married much too young in fear of being alone, but you can't help but feel sick when he turns his charms on you. Still, you could do worse, as far as your father is concerned. He is hoping to settle you into a life of luxury, free of having to work yourself to the bone.
You'd rather work yourself to death than allow him to rest a ring on your hand, though.
A prize, you realized long ago, is all he views you as. You own land, and by marriage, it would become his own.
“I couldn't wait to see you again,” he coos, his whole body seeming to lean into his wink as your false smile tugs down at the corners. “I've been gone, haven't you missed me?” he calls loudly. As if you couldn't hear a whisper or the drop of a pin. His boisterous voice makes you cringe. Sighing, you prepare him his regular – a strawberry tartlet and a cup of coffee.
“I miss the peace.” you grouch to yourself, back turned to him. Even turned away, you can feel his eyes on you, raking down your form.
You don't have to check to know that the exact amount is already waiting for you on the table top, resting in neat piles. Setting his order before him, you go to pull away to grab the money when his fingers slide over your palm to grab your wrist. Clenching your teeth, you bite back your knee jerk reaction to slap him.
“When are you going to let me put a ring on that pretty finger, hm?” he asks, leaning forward, his hooded eyes in resemblance of what he believes to be a sultry look. Just as you're about to open your mouth to respond with your sentiments – over your dead body – the door dings again. Immediately, you take the opportunity to pull your hand from his grasp, turning to send the newest patron a relieved smile.
“Hello,” you call, almost a little too cheerful. “Welcome in.”
You watch in amusement as three bodies all try to enter at the same time, shoulders getting stuck in the frame. There is a bicker and a whine before one of them pulls back to allow the other two to stumble in unceremoniously.
“What was that for, stupid cook?” The taller, green-haired man snaps at the blond who had stepped back, his hand wrapped into the back of the third man's shirt, keeping him from trying to lunge forward at the array of goodies before him.
“We couldn't all fit through the door, Mosshead.” The blond states as if it should be obvious. It should be, you felt, but their bickering brings a smile to your face as you place yourself behind the counter again. And far away from Jeff.
They look ready to continue to bicker, so you call out to them again, hoping to catch their attention. “How can I help you today?” they all pause, looking towards you and your expectant look. You smile as the woman that had been forced behind their shenanigans pushes her way through, coming to stand before you.
“Your pastries are fresh?” you nod, motioning to them.
“Made not even an hour ago,” you promise. Three of the other four come to join her at the counter, looking over the variety of pastries, breads and other baked goods you have come to offer. The green haired man stares intently, only moving when the smaller brunette beside him nudges him to the side.
It doesn't take much to recognize them, their faces lie plastered on every bulletin on every island across the seas at this point. Luffy and his signature hat being the biggest tip off, shortly followed by the famed demon hunter shifting his swords at his side to keep from hitting the display. You appreciate the gesture.
You've never been in the habit of turning pirates in, not unless necessary. They bring more revenue in than the entirety of the marine fleets that seemed to stay docked in port.
“See anything you'd like?” you offer after what seemed like several minutes of silence. Out of habit, your eyes trail up to keep tabs on the other body lingering back. You may not make a habit of turning them in, but you know the lot. Oftentimes they are entirely too focused on their own gain and what they can get away with when they think you aren't paying attention.
You almost expect his eyes to be lingering along your wares or the walls, seeing what they think they can steal without being caught. What you certainly didn't expect was for his eyes to be plastered to your face, a bashful, boyish look to him as he seems to try and shrink back and away from your gaze. Blinking, you feel the warmth of your flush touch your ears as your attention is brought back to Luffy as he nearly salivates over the counter, his eyes locked on the pastries.
“Can I get one of everything?” he asks excitedly. Your eyes flick back to the blond man still hovering back from the others as you nod, moving to start pulling everything out.
“Of course,” you say kindly, quietly cheering your ability to keep your voice even. “What about the rest of you?” Their voices ring out as they quickly order before their captain is able to try and swipe the remaining food. Once their orders are pulled, wrapped and packaged, you stand straight, cringing at the twinge that pinches your lower back in retaliation for staying bent over for too long.
“Anything for your friend?” you ask quietly, nodding to Sanji. Breaking from whatever spell he seemed to be under, he strides forward. Nami stares at him oddly when his voice comes out entirely too soft.
“Is there anything you recommend?” He asks slowly, eyes flickering back from you to the food before him. “Anything, of course, that my dear captain has not yet swiped.” He amends, earning a laugh from you, emboldening him. "As long as it is as sweet as you" His words start out strong, but taper off shyly when his eyes catch yours. You can almost see how he is kicking himself, the confused pinch in his brow and how he sends Nami a glare when he catches her curious look.
“My special, coming right up.” you hum, trying to dismiss the flickering gazes of the two in silent conversation. His eyes linger longer, trailing along your skin. You hand each of them their orders, huffing in amusement when Zoro takes Luffy’s order without a word. Last in line is Sanji, his hesitation evident as he reaches out to take the neatly wrapped package from you.
“Thank you,” he smiles, the warmth of it making you squirm slightly. It’s entirely too genuine for a pirate, you decide. Instead of shying away from it, you smile back, unable to help the warmth pooling on your cheeks.
“You'll come tell me what you think of it?” you request, shuffling on your feet, mentally kicking yourself. Evidently, all it takes is a shy look and a pretty smile and you're suddenly unable to keep your composure. He pauses at the door, sending you another smile.
“Nothing would bring me more joy.”
It's not until you look around, reveling in the silence that their departure left, that you realize that the shop is empty. Jeff is nowhere to be seen, his coffee half gone and his tartlet untouched. Huffing, you shift around the counter to clean up his mess, deciding to give the tart to Peter when he comes to visit at lunch time.
========
The rest of your day, and even the better part of the next is quiet. Patrons coming in and out, the gentle push and pull of business as per usual, marines and pirates alike. Being nothing more than a simple seller of wares, many merchants and marines ignore your presence and often talk freely.
It seems pirates are the only ones who can recognize a person with any semblance of power – though they seem to understand your unspoken rules. The biggest being, don't cause a ruckus and there won't be any trouble.
Instead, they sit simply and enjoy their food with relatively boring conversation in comparison to their marine counterparts who openly speak about the bounties they are looking for. Perhaps they are hoping some young maiden will sweep up with large eyes and tell them where their bounty is hiding, begging them to capture them to keep her safe. Perhaps they are just loud. Either way, you didn't like their newest conversation.
The strawhat crew.
As with every time you hear whispers, you send your favorite errand boy to collect the wanted posters. Peter is more than happy to help, racing around the island to tear down the posters while sneaking past the marines.
They may be famous, and they may be memorable, but you refuse to help them be reminded of who they are looking for.
Panting, Peter returns, thrusting the posters into your hands with a grin. You grin down at him, offering him his favorite tartlet, watching his eyes widen in excitement, though it seems much more mild than usual. His mother will appreciate his energy being spent tonight when she locks up.
“Your payment,” you coo, ruffling his hair gently, earning a happy sigh. You pretend not to notice the stares of several of your patrons eyeing the pile of posters in your hands. In silence, one person from each table is waved out the doors, as slowly and inconspicuously as possible, to check the bulletin boards.
Rule number two – if your poster disappears, so should you.
It isn't two hours later that the distant echo of shouts reaches your door. Frowning, you lean out to see what's going on. Did another pirate try his luck against the marines?
Steadily, the shouts get louder, joined in by the various vendors cursing at the lanky body weaving through their stalls in effort to keep ahead of the slew of marines hot on his trail. Another leap and dodge through the vendor two stalls down and you finally get a good look at the pirate in question – Sanji.
Successfully slowing the marines, he skips half a step to gulp down some air before he is yoinked into your shop by his collar.
Immediately, he is on the defensive, yanking back from you. You let him, glowering up at him. Seeing that it's you, he relaxes some, eyes flickering back towards the door.
“As much as i'd love to give your pastry the glowing review it deserves,” he pants. “I'm a tad busy at the moment.” rolling your eyes, you grab the arm of his jacket, tugging him to the kitchen.
“Make yourself look busy,” you hiss. “Quickly.” he freezes, but only for a moment, as he all but throws his jacket off, quickly tying the apron you shove his way. As he finishes, the door dings. Freezing, you both stare at one another for a moment before you force a smile to your face, reaching up to mess up his perfect hair, motioning to the flour, hoping he'd get the idea before you swing out of the kitchen to greet your guests.
“Hello,” you sing. “Welcome in.”
Standing before you is the same slew of Marines, huffing and puffing. Their hair and uniforms are obviously askew, tugged and pulled from placement in their chase. You can't help but muse at the fact that while they looked a mess, you had to forcibly change the pirate's looks to make him look as haggard as these men look just from chasing him.
“How can I help you?”
“Have you seen this man?” The man in front shoves the poster in your face, his tone less inquisitive, more accusatory. Narrowing your eyes at him, you yank the poster from his grip, pretending to get a good look at it. Truly, you can say you haven't seen this man. The artistry of the image before you is laughable at best. They made his face wider, pudgy and his hair stringy and closer to that of the straw your neighbor feeds his hogs. The nose was completely off, much too narrow and flat.
It seems the only thing about the poster that can even be considered “correct” is the name.
“No, sir.” you state honestly, shrugging before making a show of trying to hand him the poster back. He doesn't take it, so you just set it down before you on the counter. He eyes you suspiciously motioning to two other marines to his right.
“Then you wouldn't oppose us searching the premises?” he asks, a sickly sweet smile twisting his features. “To ensure that he hasn't… snuck in here without your knowledge.” Without waiting for your okay, the two marines immediately make for the kitchen. Huffing, you glare at the man who fancies himself in power.
Before you're able to say anything, or even really move, Sanji comes through the kitchen door pretending to be none the wiser. The apron is properly dirtied, as if he has been trying, and failing, to bake all day. His long bangs are tied back, the tufts on the top of his head reminding you of a pineapple. His face is covered in flour, nose scrunched up as he walks in head down seeming to mutter to himself.
“Why can't I get this – excuse me… oh, I'm sorry” he pauses, reeling at the scene before him, eyes going comically wide as he hugs the bowl and whisk in his hands to his chest. “Am I interrupting?” he asks slowly, frowning. You shake your head slightly, offering him a weak smile.
“No, it seems that the world government has just made it their goal to harass us today, is all.” He snorts, rolling his eyes as the marines all seem to zero in on him.
“I thought you said you haven't seen the man, miss” The leader snarls. Curiously, Sanji looks down at the wanted poster, his whole face scrunching up.
“You couldn't possibly mistake… that… for me.” The distaste, the pure unfiltered dejection rolls off of him before offense kicks in. The marines are not amused, but you are, your laughter bubbling up. The sound brings a slight smile to his lips, forcing a pout.
“This is my newest apprentice,” You start, motioning to Sanji with a smile.
“That is obviously a pirate.” he states again, your glare falling to him as he forces out the pleasantries that are expected of him. “Ma'am..”
“He is no such thing,” you roll your eyes, looking rather unimpressed. They turn back to Sanji who is just watching them all with a raised brow.
“What is your name, son?” you’re expecting something common, something easy to fake, but perhaps a strong background. You weren't expecting –
“Rudy,” he states with the utmost clarity, not even pausing for a moment to consider the possibilities. The men before you seemed equally as thrown back, perhaps expecting him to waffle for a moment longer in an attempt to catch him in his lie.
“Rudy?” the marine repeats back to him, slowly, eyebrows furrowing. Sanji just nods, giving a noncommittal one armed shrug, making sure to not allow the bowl to tip over.
“It's a family name.”
Before they can try to wiggle themselves any further, you place your hands on the counter, smiling widely at them. “Now, gentlemen, if you have no further business here, you are invited to go harass those who deserve it.” Several of them go to open their mouths to speak up, but close them when your gaze falls to them, daring them to do so.
After several moments of awkward silence, the Marines quietly file out of the door, each offering a mild apology as they duck through it. Waiting until the last of them have left, you march to the door and lock it – nevermind it is still mid-afternoon. With a degree of finality, you flip the open sign before turning back to the tall blond standing behind the display as he finally sets the bowl down onto the counter top.
“Uh,” he starts, clearing his throat. “Thank you.” He can't seem to meet your gaze. If he had, he would see the amusement dancing in your eyes.
“No problem… Rudy.” you jest. He groans pushing the awful wanted poster away from him, watching it as it flutters and flips to the floor.
“It was the first name that popped in my head,” he defends. “Short notice.” His cheeks flush when you giggle, starting towards him with renewed confidence. Stopping just short of him, you press yourself up onto your tiptoes to run your fingertips over the tufts of hair jutting out from his head.
“Cute.”
=========
Night falls surprisingly quickly once you open your doors back up to continue accepting orders. Sanji stays in the kitchen, keeping up the facade of being your newest apprentice as the Marines continue to hover around, lying in wait for him to try and make a break for it.
He doesn't.
Eventually, they retire for the night. This allows for the darkness that's settled over the town to act as a cover, swallowing the hurried shadows as they file into your little bakery through the back door. Angie is less than enthused to be sharing the space while she continues to busy herself with her job.
“You’re kidding,” Nami tries to sound scandalized but her amusement shines through, earning a glare from the cook before her. Sanji is still wearing the apron you had given him, caked in flour and frosting, though his hair was no longer tied back. Despite his attempts to clean up, he still looked a mess. Usopp and Luffy stare at you and Sanji as you rest against the wall beside the door.
“We still need a few more days for repairs, Sanji.” the orange haired girl sighs heavily, flopping into the chair she had dragged in from the dining area. “And you go and catch the attention of Marines. Great. Fantastic.” This earns a defensive look from the tall blond beside you. “I expect this from Luffy or Zoro.” She continues, her hands jut out at the men in question sitting before her.
Luffy does well to look sheepish at the accusation – probably because it's a true statement. The boy can't seem to stay under the radar to save his life. Zoro on the other hand looks so exceptionally bored with the conversation that he could actually be nodding off.
Scratch that.
He is nodding off.
“Well,” you start slowly. “I may be able to buy you that time.” You offer, earning a clear resounding chorus of confused sounds and wary looks from the rest of the crew, minus Zoro, and a nervous look from the cook. Angie pauses in her kneading, watching you in curiosity. It isn't often you break your own rules. Rule five, don't fraternize with pirates. Get the job done and walk away.
Shooting Sanji an apologetic look, you push on, ignoring the amusement in your friends eyes.
“The marines are stupid, but they are consistent in it.” Nami snorts, nodding. “Well, this afternoon was a close one. We were able to convince them that Sanji was not the man they were looking for. We can keep up the story, keep to the bit, and it should allow you to finish your repairs and restock…”
“What do you need?” Luffy asks, leaning forward curiously. You shrug, jutting your finger at the man beside you.
“Just your cook,” you state calmly.
“What’s in it for you?” Usopp asks with a frown.
“I just hate the smug bastards.” You grouch quietly, earning a snort from Angie where she is busying herself at the overs, muttering to herself. That’s an understatement. You try not to glare at the back of her head.
“Dare I ask, what is the con?” Nami asks, bringing your attention back to her as she stands up, moving to settle before the disheveled cook. He frowns, crossing his arms to mimic her own with a scrunch of his nose.
“Guys,” you hum, tugging on Sanji’s sleeve, catching him a bit off balance in his stare down with the navigator. “Meet my new apprentice.”
“So,” a huff comes from the back of the room. “The cooks’ been demoted?” Zoro’s voice rings out in the silence that surrounds the crew, clear amusement lacing every word. Immediately, Sanji moves to jump after the swordsman, growling.
“Shut it, Mosshead.”
Angie snickers to herself, sliding past the ragtag group to continue her duties. Pausing before Sanji, she offers him a pat on the arm, her hands dusted with flour only adding to the several layers already thickening his once nice shirt, mirth dancing in her eyes.
“Welcome to the team, Newbie.”
=========
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