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By now, Sanji really should have been more used to being alone.
Tossed to the streets years ago by a royal family who didn’t want him and rejected by townsfolk who shunned him because of the very heritage who disowned him, Sanji was accustomed to having no one. And yet, as he stood on the outskirts of town watching people flutter about, he couldn’t help but long to fit in.
He sighed, lighting up a cigarette as he watched people set up for the festival that was due to take place the next day. This town, being second largest only to the capital, was protected by a particularly powerful god, and the festival in his honour was a big deal every year. It lasted an entire winter weekend, promising an exciting experience of snow, food, and shopping for all in attendance.
Sanji couldn’t help but notice there wasn’t much in relation to the shitty god they were supposedly celebrating. Whatever, they hadn’t been smited yet, so he couldn’t have cared too much.
The stall in particular that Sanji was staring longingly at was a food stall, offering up hot soup and drinks. It wasn’t particularly big but it was always popular, owned by the town’s most famous restaurant, the Baratie. Sanji had been employed there since he was found by the owner eating out of the bins at age nine, and whilst he loved working there more than anything, he still found fitting in pretty much impossible, especially since owner Zeff had died.
He sighed on an exhale, watching the smoke curl through the frosty air. He wished he could join in, help the busy hands in setting up the modest stall, prepare ingredients alongside the other chefs. He could even set up his own little stall to one side, were he allowed – just a little thing, selling simple yaki onigiri and sake to warm passerbys up.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to be a part of the festivities. Hell, he wasn’t really allowed to be out in public at all – if anyone saw him on the edge of the crowds as he was, he’d surely get beaten. But watching everyone get ready together, interacting and preparing food happily…
Even watching from the sidelines like this, something felt just a little warmer in Sanji’s chest. Made him feel a little less lonely, a little more alive.
Finishing up his cigarette, the cook stubbed the embers out on a nearby wall and prepared to head back to the small room he’d been allowed at the restaurant. It would be cold and empty now, what with everyone in the bustling town centre, but Sanji couldn’t really afford to stick around much longer.
He was just about to turn to leave when a scream nearby caught his attention, making him immediately tense and wary. He edged a little closer to the other townsfolk, not quite close enough to be seen but at least near enough to catch a glimpse of what was happening as people crowded in on the scene.
“Get away from me! Don’t touch me, you old pervert!” A young woman screeched, cowering in fear away from a stooped figure before her. A few men were immediately at her back, including the town mayor, glaring at the hooded figure and quelling Sanji’s protective instinct to rush to the young woman’s side.
“Please, some water, some bread. It’s all I ask,” the figure croaked out through a clearly dry throat, reaching out with a trembling hand. The mayor was between the pair in an instant, looming threateningly over the hooded figure.
“We don’t take kindly to beggars here, sir. Now leave, before we’re forced to take action.”
“None of you will help a starving old man in need?” The figure asked, turning to stare at the crowd that had formed around them. Sanji caught a glimpse of dull brown eyes and immediately felt a sort of kinship towards this strange old man. Were he more naive, he’d wonder if it could really be that nobody was willing to help; unfortunately, he knew this town and its people far too well to be surprised.
Apparently, the man had lingered in place for too long. Sanji couldn’t help his flinch at the punch the mayor threw, knocking the poor old man to the ground. Two more men came forward, grabbing the old man by his too-thin shoulders and dragging him out of the crowds to the other end of the town square.
Ah, time for Sanji to get out of sight, then. As bad as he felt for this old guy, he had to put his own survival first. If he wanted to be able to sneak out again tomorrow to enjoy the festival from a distance, he couldn’t get caught and beaten today.
Barely two strides out of sight and Sanji already found himself faltering. He bit his lip, wondering what would become of that old man. Would they leave him on the edge of town to fend for himself, forcing him to make the several day trek to the nearest town? Would they beat him to the brink of unconsciousness and leave him to die in the woods?
Was there any chance the poor guy would survive?
Cursing his bleeding heart, Sanji spun on his heel and made his way back towards town, following the men at a distance. The journey was quiet and quick, ending at the treeline at the very end of town. The old man was dropped unceremoniously to crumple on the ground in a pile of old robes.
“And don’t even think of coming back,” one of the townsmen spat, glaring at the groaning pile in disgust. Sanji scowled, lighting up another cigarette as he watched them walk away and leave the old man to fend for himself.
The old man made a pained noise, struggling to get his feet back under himself. The cook watched from the shadows for a moment as the man shook and eventually fell back into a heap on the ground. Cursing under his breath, Sanji stepped forwards and knelt down beside the man, silently offering a hand.
The old man stared up at him in disbelief, dull eyes wide in shock. Sanji gave him a gentle smile, careful to blow his cigarette smoke away from his face. He took a small, wrinkled hand in his own, gently but firmly helping the old man to stand.
“You were asking for food earlier, right?” Sanji asked quietly, watching as something bright and golden glimmered in the old man’s eyes before it was gone in an instant.
“Yes, I am starving. All I ask for is a little bread and some water, and I’ll be on my way.” The cook scoffed at the request, at the way the old man’s hands still trembled in his grip, at his frail frame that looked like a strong gust of wind would snap it in two.
“I live in a restaurant nearby. You can stay for a little while, eat and drink and rest,” Sanji offered instead, smiling gently to hide his brewing rage.
“Are you sure? You don’t look like you have much to your name yourself.” He still took Sanji’s offered arm after a moment, gripping on tightly as the cook slowly led them towards the Baratie.
“I don’t, really,” Sanji admitted, grinning down at the man, “but everyone’s busy preparing for the festival right now. I’m sure no one will notice a few ingredients going missing.”
“Festival?” The man questioned, frowning. Sanji hummed, guiding him around a corner.
“Yeah, our town is blessed by the Tiger Lord Roronoa.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the title. “Tomorrow is His birthday, so everyone’s preparing a big celebration.”
“Roronoa?” The man said thoughtfully, looking up at Sanji in confusion. “Wait, is this Shimotsuki? I thought it was Germa; no wonder I couldn’t find the castle. I thought it had just moved again.”
“Moved?” Sanji wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but the old man sounded very wise and serious whilst saying it. “Wait, how did you end up here whilst looking for Germa? This is the opposite side of the kingdom.”
The old man hummed, glancing around as if seeing the town with new eyes. “I suppose the roads must have moved to lead me here. I thought my heart was under Luffy’s domain.”
Ah, maybe the poor man was just senile. Sanji patted his arm gently, leading him across a road towards the huge building that was the Baratie. “Your heart, huh? You looking for an old flame in Germa city?”
“I’m searching for the other half of my soul,” he said, his eyes flickering gold for a moment in what must have been a trick of the light. The way he said it, so serious and confident, made the romantic part of Sanji feel warm.
“Well then, let’s get you inside. Once you’re a little stronger, I’m sure you’ll find them in no time,” the cook assured him, pushing open the grand front door to reveal the empty dining room.
The old man paused in the doorway, staring at Sanji for a beat too long. He then smiled toothily, revealing countless smile lines around his mouth and eyes. “I’m sure I will.”
Sanji helped him slowly walk across the dining area, past the tables and chairs and towards the kitchens at the back. He got the old man a chair so he could sit by the counter as the cook got to work. He handed the man a glass of water to start, watching him greedily gulp down the cool liquid.
“Thank you for your kindness,” he said, bowing his head low. Sanji shook his head as he tied an apron around his waist.
“No, not at all. This is the least I could do,” he insisted, taking back the glass from the man and refilling it with more water. “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to cook? We have plenty of ingredients here for practically anything you’d like, and I’m experienced enough as a chef to cook more than our limited menu.”
“Anything? Then I suppose I can ask for my favourite,” the man said, his smile wide, “onigiri and sake, please.”
Sanji smiled back, hands already reaching for the cupboards. “Coming right up!”
He worked quickly and quietly, the way he often preferred. The movements were familiar and comforting, his hands working effortlessly to cut sea king meat and shape the balls of rice. He felt the man’s eyes on him the entire time, but it didn’t make him feel nervous – rather, he felt strangely comforted by the presence. It was nice, he supposed, to have someone to keep him company whilst he cooked.
Before long, Sanji was carefully plating up three perfectly shaped onigiri filled with sea king meat. He set the plate on the counter along with a ceramic bottle of warm sake and turned to the old man with a smile, feeling far calmer having been able to cook.
“It’s not much, but I have my own room at the back too. If you want, you can eat there, get some rest too?” He offered, and the man nodded.
“You’re too kind, sir. I’d appreciate it, yes.”
“Right this way then.” Sanji offered his arm again, leaving behind the food for now as he guided the man back to his room. It really wasn’t much – barely a box with a bed, a desk, and a chest of drawers – but it was his.
The man sat down shakily at the desk, taking down the hood of his cloak and sighing in the warmth of the room. Seeing as looked more warm and relaxed now, less curled in on himself, Sanji quickly left to grab the plate of food and the bottle of sake along with two cups. He returned to the room, shutting the door behind him with one foot and setting the food and drink out in front of the man.
“Itadakimasu,” the old man said, then proceeded to waste no time in eating his food. Sanji felt something in his chest simultaneously soften and burn in anger at the sight of just how starving this man was.
Trying not to think about dark nights scouring through bins to try to find something, anything , to eat, Sanji poured out two cups of sake, pushing one towards the man before taking a sip of his own. He’d only been allowed one chair in his room, so he sat on the ground cross-legged beside the old man.
“You don’t hail from this town, I can tell,” the old man eventually said, startling Sanji somewhat. He hummed in question, looking up at the man as he drank his sake. “These people, this town… It feels bitter to the core. Your kindness does not match the people around you.”
“I suppose,” Sanji murmured, looking down into his cup. “You’re right, I’m not from here. I grew up in Germa until I was eight.”
“May I ask why?”
“The people I used to call family didn’t… they didn’t want me,” Sanji admitted, feeling strangely small. He never talked about this, so he didn’t know why he was starting to now, but he felt like he wanted to for once. “It was very hard at the time, but I now realise it was a blessing in disguise. The people in Shimotsuki may be apathetic and harsh, but they’re nowhere near as cruel and unfeeling as my so-called family.”
There was a long pause, a silence settling over them like a blanket. Staring at his reflection in the sake, Sanji almost forgot the old man was even there until he spoke up again, his voice low and dark. “The people here do not deserve your brightness.”
“Yeah, I suppose not.” The cook huffed out a small laugh, getting to his feet. He poured himself and the old man another cup of sake before settling again at his feet.
“I should soon head out,” the old man said, taking a long drink. “I must find my heart.”
Sanji frowned, concerned. With the way the old man had been before, he could hardly stand unaided, let alone walk. If he was headed to Germa on foot, he’d need supplies, and at least a little sleep. At this rate, he’d never make it there alive.
“Please, I insist you at least try to get some rest first. Get some sleep, and once you wake I can give you some food and basic supplies for your journey,” he insisted, praying to Roronoa that the man would listen. He’d never believed in the powers of the gods really, not considering how little they’d ever helped him, but he could at least try on the behalf of such a doomed old man.
The man cracked a small smile, pushing himself to stand and bowing shallowly to Sanji. “I appreciate your kindness, sir. I’ll rest for a little while then.”
“Great,” the cook said, smiling. He gestured to the small bed, putting down his cup of sake on the desk with his free hand. “Please, take as long as you need. I’ll stay here in case you need anything, feel free to ask me.”
He helped the old man into bed, pulling the covers over his frail frame. The old man thanked him once more before falling asleep the instant his head hit the pillows. Sanji snorted at the sight, turning back to sit at his desk and finish off his cup of sake. He’d need to clean up the kitchen area he’d used soon, but for now he wanted to stay in the room in case the old man needed something.
So Sanji settled down comfortably and started drafting a new recipe in his book, detailing his thought process and alterations in loopy script. Although this was an activity the cook often found calming and fun, for once it was making him feel all too tired. It was only about mid afternoon when he left the town centre, and yet he now felt as though it was the earliest hours of the morning.
His eyes slid blearily across the pages of his notebook, his own handwriting melting into something entirely illegible. He groaned, glancing back at his occupied bed, and considered just how bad his back would be if he had a nap at his desk.
Probably not too bad , a treacherous voice whispered at the back of Sanji’s mind as exhaustion threatened to take over. Yawning wide, he gave in, resting his head in his folded arms over his recipe book. He’d have a nap for maybe an hour or two, then get back to writing down recipes.
He just needed to slip off into the dreamworld for… just a little while…
[ ♡ ]
Sanji awoke to a hand carding reverently through his hair. He blinked open his eyes slowly at the unfamiliar sensation, turning to dislodge the fingers and find the culprit. He stared up at the owner of the hand, then blinked again. The image didn’t disappear.
Ah, right. Must be dreaming then .
And what a dream it was! Sanji stared at the man sat beside him, drinking in his image. He was strangely familiar, his strong jaw and the sharp angles of his face reminding him of the marble statues of the gods that lined the entrance hall to the Germa castle. The effect was softened somewhat by the adoring smile stretching his thin lips, the raw emotion in his one molten gold eye that wasn’t scarred shut. He tilted his head to one side, resting his cheek on the palm that wasn’t running through Sanji’s hair like magic. Three gold earrings decorated one ear, resting down to brush against the strong column of his neck, the gold colour complimenting his tan skin well.
Oh , Sanji thought, staring helplessly at his face; he’s handsome .
And oh, Sanji realised, just now noticing the mossy green hair and regal emerald kimono and bright gold eye; He’s a God.
“It’s really you,” the God said, His smile wide and His tone revenant. “I found you.”
“You were looking for me?” Sanji asked weakly, sitting up straighter and accidentally knocking the hand away from his hair again. This time, the God didn’t put His hand back.
“Desperately,” He said, still smiling dopily. “Love, I’ve been searching for you my entire life.”
Sanji didn’t quite know how to respond to that, really. How did someone talk to a God anyway? Was he supposed to follow some sort of code? Offer a sacrifice? Pledge his undying loyalty?
For Roronoa’s sake, why was he so anxious even within a dream?
“Please, don’t worry so much, my heart. I know you’ve been suffering, and ’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from it sooner,” the God assured him, making Sanji feel a little uncomfortable.
“It’s okay, I don’t need protecting, my Lord,” he said awkwardly, bowing his head. Was he supposed to be bowing lower right now? Maybe throwing himself at the God’s feet?
“I know, love,” He said fondly, resting His free arm on the sword at His waist. Sanji paled at the action, his mind working into overdrive. Could he die within a dream if he pissed off a God? “I still wanna offer you an escape from this cruel world. You’ve been mistreated by those inferior to you for far too long.”
“Are You going to kill me?” Sanji asked in a small voice, his eyes still trained on the sword. The God recoiled in what seemed like horror, staring at the cook with his one eye wide.
“No! Fuck, no, why would I do that? Don’t you know who you are to me?” Sanji just shook his head, feeling a bit stupid. Was he supposed to just know? “You’re the other half of my soul, my equal, my heart.” The God paused, smiling gently. “Sanji, you’re my soulmate.”
Sanji blinked, staring into the molten gold depths of the God’s eye. “I’m sorry, my Lord, I don’t think I understand?”
“Please, none of that ‘my Lord’ crap.” The God rolled his eye, pushing his face off of his palm. “You of all people don’t need to bother with those formalities.”
“Then… what should I call You, Sir?” Sanji asked, immediately cringing. Sir, really? As if that was going to cut it.
“You can just call me by my name, heart.” The cook just stared at Him blankly. “Oh, you don’t know my name yet, do you! ’M sorry, my name’s Tiger Lord Roronoa Zoro, God of Pride, Fire, and Blades, former Protector of Shimotsuki.”
“Holy shit, You’re my town’s God?” Sanji exclaimed, wide-eyed. Roronoa Zoro scowled, and the cook’s heart sank – he’d been too damn casual, hadn’t he?
“Not anymore I’m not. They were mean to you, I’m turning my back on them. The minute I can convince Luffy, we’re all turning our back on Germa kingdom as a whole.”
“All because they were mean… to me?” That couldn’t be the reason, Sanji wasn’t important enough for that.
“I mean, they’ve also become bitter and cruel and have lost their respect for us gods. But even if they hadn’t failed my test, I would take your side over theirs in a heartbeat, my love.” Roronoa Zoro assured him, His expression entirely serious and a certain conviction in His voice.
A dream, definitely then. But a fucking great dream where an otherworldly handsome God decided Sanji was His other half and would go to such lengths just on his behalf. Yeah, Sanji could definitely get behind a dream like this.
“Okay then,” he said quietly, smiling at Roronoa Zoro. “Then… I guess I’m glad to be your soulmate.”
Roronoa Zoro broke out a devastating smile, his face going all fond and soft again. He reached out and gently took Sanji’s hand, clasping it between his like it was a precious treasure. “Me too love. I still can’t quite believe you’re here.”
Sanji let the god gently play with his fingers, watching him stare in awe at the simple act. His heart fluttered at the careful way Roronoa Zoro treated his hands, as if he knew how much the cook treasured and took care of them. It was everything he’d hardly dared to dream of in a partner, that care and love in every tiny gesture.
“Hey, Roronoa Zoro?” He asked softly, his heart pounding and his cheeks feeling far too hot. The god hummed inquisitively, looking up to meet Sanji’s gaze. “Could you play with my hair again? It felt nice.”
“Of course, my heart. Can I hold you, too? We don’t have much time here, and I want to be as close to you as possible.”
“Y-Yeah, sure,” the cook said, unable to stay looking at Roronoa Zoro’s affectionate eye much longer. The god grinned, standing up and offering a hand down to him. Sanji took it, finally noticing where they were.
They had been seated at a low table in the centre of a grand bedroom, fit for a king – or for a god. Directly in front of them was a large ornate bookshelf with very few books, mostly filled instead with various little knick-knacks. Gaping, Sanji turned, fully taking in the sheer size of the room. On another wall was a huge roaring fireplace, the wall otherwise decorated sporadically with a dozen hooks containing sheathed katanas.
The God of Fire and Blades, indeed, Sanji thought, feeling almost delirious.
Another half turn, and this wall had a huge king sized bed pressed up against it, one of the four posters fancy ones that Sanji had seen a couple of times at Germa castle. One side of the bed looked well loved, the sheets rumpled and the bedside table decorated with more trinkets and an open book. The other side looked for all intents and purposes as if it had never been slept in before.
“Where is this place?” He asked breathlessly, though he was fairly certain he knew the answer. Roronoa Zoro chuckled lowly, wrapping his arms around Sanji’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.
“It’s my bedroom, love. Yours too, if you’ll have me,” he said directly into Sanji’s ear, making him go bright red. He melted back into the god’s embrace, relishing in the feeling of being held in such strong arms. The god was surprisingly about the same height as him, but he was significantly wider with thick muscle, which was perfectly squishy for hugs.
“Okay,” Sanji said breathlessly, smiling in disbelief. He held on to Roronoa Zoro’s strong forearms, rubbing his thumbs mindlessly against the tan skin. “C’mon, I want pets and cuddles.”
“Anything for you, my heart,” Roronoa Zoro said, laughing. He didn’t let go, instead walking awkwardly with Sanji over to the bed and flopping the two back first onto it. The cook laughed freely at him, wriggling around until he was face first on the god’s stomach and resting his cheek on his pecs.
Just when Sanji thought things couldn’t get better, when he already was wrapped in a warm embrace with his face pressed into possibly the best rack he’d ever seen, Roronoa Zoro started petting his hair again. It felt like magic, and Sanji nearly started drooling right there and then.
“Best dream ever,” he mumbled into Roronoa Zoro’s chest, getting a soft laugh in response.
“I can’t wait to make it reality, love. I’ll come get you for real soon,” Roronoa Zoro promised, pressing a soft kiss to Sanji’s hair.
“Wanna stay like this forever,” the cook complained, staring up at the god through his fringe. “You said we didn’t have long here, right?”
Roronoa Zoro hummed sadly. “Unfortunately not, love. I’ll have to go by dawn to raise the sun and prepare for tomorrow’s festival. You’re welcome to stay here until you wake up, though; the longer you sleep, the less time you have to spend on the mortal plane waiting for me to come find you again.”
“Hey, Roronoa Zoro?” Sanji asked, pressing a soft kiss to the skin in the gap of the god’s kimono before looking up at him.
“You can just call me Zoro,” he said, pushing the cook’s fringe out of his eyes and pressing a kiss between his eyebrows.
“Hey, Zoro?”
“Yes, Sanji?”
“Is it selfish that I never want dawn to come?” The god groaned, the sound absolutely devastating this close to Sanji’s ear.
“I want the same, love, I really do. I’ll hopefully be able to reach town before midday. I’ll come get you, then cut ties with Shimotsuki,” Zoro vowed, kissing Sanji between the eyebrows again. He squirmed at the feeling, choosing to believe Zoro’s promise for now.
“Oi, quit that, feels funny,” Sanji complained, pouting up at the god. Zoro chuckled, letting the cook’s fringe flop back down to cover his eye.
“Sorry, love. Can’t help it, your swirly eyebrows are too cute.” Sanji felt like he was actually, literally on fire with how hard he was blushing right now. He hid his face fully in the broad chest beneath him and refused to move.
“Shitty idiot mosshead, don’t make fun of me,” he complained into Zoro’s chest. The god just laughed, moving his hands to rest on Sanji’s lower back in a loose embrace.
“Not making fun, ’m just telling the truth, Curly,” he teased, and Sanji raised his head just enough to level him with a glare. The god gave him the cutest eye smile, his mouth stretched wide into a grin, and Sanji promptly decided he was in love.
“Fucking marimo bastard,” he said, no heat to his words. He pushed himself up off of Zoro’s chest, moving upwards just enough to kiss the god on the lips. Zoro was seemingly caught off guard by the move by the way he froze, but before Sanji could second guess himself, he was melting into the kiss too.
Sanji did his best not to smile into the kiss and ruin it, instead moving his lips softly against Zoro’s. The god’s arms tightened around his waist, one hand trailing up to rest on his upper back and hold him closer. Zoro’s lips worked open his mouth and hesitantly Sanji met the god’s tongue with his own. He licked into his mouth, flushing at the feel of Zoro’s tongue, of the wet warmth of his mouth.
Holding up his bodyweight with one hand and Zoro’s strong embrace, Sanji allowed his now free hand to trail down to the god’s chest and slip into the opening of his kimono. He curiously groped at one firm pec, squeezing the muscle and loving the feel under his palms. Leaning into the kiss with more vigour than before, Sanji brushed his thumb over Zoro’s nipple, earning a hot moan directly into his mouth.
One hand crept up the cook’s back until it was cupping his neck, tilting his head into the kiss as Zoro’s tongue moved with more purpose. Sanji tried desperately to match the pace, feeling a little out of his depth and a lot out of breath. He leaned his head back to breathe and Zoro caught his lower lip between his teeth, making the pull back burn with a delicious sort of pain that sent sparks shooting down low into Sanji’s belly.
“You alright there, my love?” The god asked, his tone full of mirth and a smile on his lips. Sanji just panted softly, resting his forehead against Zoro’s as he got his breath back.
“Not a bad first kiss, yeah,” he said softly, watching as Zoro’s eye turned dark and his pupil blew wide.
“I’m your first?” Sanji just nodded, unable to find words to match that low, reverent tone. “Can I make your second kiss even better?”
“Please,” he said, and that was all the permission Zoro needed to flip their position entirely. The cook blinked, now on his back with Zoro’s arms protectively caging him in. With one forearm resting against the bed by Sanji’s head and the other hand rubbing small circles into his waist, Zoro leaned down and kissed him again.
It was more heated from the start this time, with Sanji’s mouth immediately opening to kiss with tongue. In this position he was hyper aware of Zoro’s thigh between his legs, of how close it was to him. Grabbing a fistful of short green hair, Sanji experimentally rolled his hips up into Zoro’s thigh, moaning filthily at the feeling.
“Fuck, Sanji ,” the god moaned into his mouth like his name was a prayer. He pressed his thigh lower into Sanji’s crotch, the pressure feeling electric. The cook cried out, his head dropping back onto the pillows as he broke the kiss to pant heavily.
Zoro moved his head down the column of Sanji’s neck, pressing little kisses and bites to the skin there. Sanji felt like he was on fire, incapable of doing anything except writhe in place and grip the god’s hair as he moaned helplessly. When Zoro clamped his lips in a spot underneath his jaw and began to suck , Sanji damn near screamed.
The feeling didn’t last long though as Zoro cursed, pulling his head out of the cook’s grip and sitting upright. Through a kiss-drunk haze, Sanji looked up at him and asked where he was going.
“’M sorry heart, it’s dawn already. I have to go,” Zoro said regretfully, leaning down to press a kiss to the cook’s forehead. Sanji stared at him with wide eyes and pouted, looping his arms around the god’s neck.
“It can’t be dawn already, it’s too soon,” he whined, playing with the short green hairs at the nape of Zoro’s neck. “I want more kisses.”
Zoro made a choked noise, peppering Sanji’s face with cute little kisses that made him laugh. He finished with one chaste kiss to the lips before drawing back completely, ducking out of the cook’s arms. “I’ll be back for you as soon as I can, Curly. Gotta go do some boring god stuff or the sun won’t rise.”
Zoro shifted off the bed at that, adjusting his kimono and giving the cook another forlorn look. Sanji tried his best to look extra pitiful and lonely, hoping to get just one more kiss. He was sure that once Zoro left, the dream would be over and he’d be left cold and alone in his tiny room in the Baratie again.
Like he could see where Sanji’s thoughts were going, Zoro pressed another soft, lingering kiss to his lips, holding him softly by the chin. “I’ll see you again soon, my heart. If you stay sleeping here long enough I’ll be able to wake you up.”
“Fine,” Sanji grumbled, pecking him chastely on the lips again, knowing it would be his last chance to do so. “Go do your dumb god duties. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Before midday,” Zoro promised, pulling back. He gave Sanji one last smile, then disappeared.
Staring at the place the god once was, Sanji sighed. He glanced about the room, a part of him wanting to explore it more whilst another part of him just wanted to sink into the bed and wallow forever.
What was even the point of wandering around the dream room when he’d soon wake, never to see it again? He could already feel the world around him fading to nothingness as he began to wake up – he always had been an early riser, even before he had to start getting up ridiculously early to complete the Baratie’s meal prep.
Huffing, Sanji flopped back down onto Zoro’s side of the bed and wrapped himself up in the blanket. He cuddled up to the pillow, squishing it tight and closing his eyes. He tried his hardest to cling to the memory of Zoro, desperately imagining the way it felt to be held by him so he could keep the memories in the morning.
He closed his eyes, breathing in Zoro’s steely scent from the pillow…
[ ♡ ]
…And he opened his eyes to the sight of his own forearms, numb from being his pillow all night.
Sanji groaned, raising his head and clicking his neck and back from where they’d stiffened overnight. Gods, why had he even slept at his desk last night? He froze where he was stretching, suddenly remembering the old man he’d taken in who was resting in his bed.
He twisted in his chair to face the bed, but the man was long gone. He’d made the bed before he left, even, making it seem as if he’d never been there at all. He hadn’t, however, done the dishes, and suddenly Sanji was glad he’d woken up close to sunup.
He briefly stretched out his aching back again, standing tall on his toes and reaching for the ceiling, then collected the plate and cups from the previous day. He silently made his way into the kitchen – there was no way anyone else was around this early, but Sanji had learned long ago to be cautious.
Thankfully, onigiri was an easy task to clean up, and Sanji was staring down a spotless kitchen before he knew it. It was still pretty early, but the festival started relatively soon and Sanji had a lot of work to do. He sighed and tied his apron around his waist, mentally listing off his tasks for meal prep.
Most of the fun tasks had already been done the day before, leaving Sanji with the super fun and thankless task of peeling and dicing potatoes, and lots of them. He wasted no time in grabbing the first sack and getting to work, mindlessly doing the job he was so used to.
As he got into a rhythm, Sanji allowed his thoughts to wander. He surprisingly remembered his previous night’s dream in vivid detail, including the steamy kisses he shared with his god. And Roronoa, was that blasphemy, to think of the town’s God in such a light.
Sanji blushed as he recalled some of the things his dream god had told him. He’d made his dream tell him he’d turn his back on the second biggest town in the Germa kingdom, get the other Gods to turn Their backs too, practically just for him. He’d called him stupid nicknames, spoken to him too casually, made him call Sanji sickly sweet names like love and heart .
If the real Roronoa could see his dreams, he’d be screwed. If there was any valid reason for the Gods to smite someone, Sanji’s dreams were it.
Fuck, if the stupid words he’d made his dream say weren’t enough, the way they’d kissed passionately certainly would be. He’d licked desperately into the god’s mouth, grinded his hardness against Zoro’s holy body, intended to rut against his thigh until…
“Shit,” Sanji cursed, nicking his thumb on the edge of the knife in a rookie error he hadn’t made in years. Scowling, he rushed to stick his hand under cold water until the bleeding stopped.
That was enough fantasising, he supposed.
He let his mind wander away, doing his very best not to think about the dream. Instead, Sanji spared a thought to the old man he’d helped the previous day, sent him a mental prayer as if Roronoa were actually real (Gods he hoped He wasn’t). With a new plaster wrapped around his thumb and the cleaned knife back in hand, Sanji turned to the potatoes and got back to work.
He lost himself in the repetitive motions, daydreaming about this and that until all three sacks of potatoes were peeled and sliced evenly and the kitchen became busier with early rising chefs. Before long, everything was ready to go for the festival; after all, most of the prep had been completed the previous day whilst they got their stall set up.
“Commis-cook!” One of the sous-chefs yelled, the nickname grating on Sanji’s ears. After working in the damn kitchens for over a decade and surpassing the skills of even the head chef, they still refused to promote him above a commis chef. Typical.
“Yes, chef?” He responded, not bothering to raise his voice as kitchen etiquette demanded. The only reason he wasn’t blowing smoke in the asshole’s face was because he didn’t want to ruin the food with the lingering scent.
“You’re on clean-up. We’re heading to the centre now, so make sure this damn kitchen is sparkling by the time we get back, okay Vinsmoke?”
“Yes, chef,” Sanji bit out through gritted teeth, glaring icily at his superior. And oh, what he would have given to kick the asshole in his smug face right now for calling him by that name of all things. Instead, he grabbed a rag from by the sink and got to work cleaning the counters, knowing he’d get shit for it if he didn’t start immediately.
As the other chefs around him all chatted and laughed, making sure they had everything for the festival, Sanji silently fumed. He felt like Cinderella, forced to do shitty menial chores whilst all his peers got to go have fun all day. Well, unlike the fairytale, Sanji didn’t need a fairy godmother to go to the ball. If he wanted to go to the festival, then he’d sneak his way into the damn festival whether the line cooks wanted him to or not.
It didn’t take long for the chefs to all file out, laughing and joking and resolutely ignoring Sanji the whole time. And it didn’t take that much longer for Sanji to finish cleaning the kitchen until it was practically spotless, well enough to pass the head chef’s inspection for sure. Tired and finished, Sanji allowed himself a smoke break, gratefully inhaling the much-needed nicotine.
With everything said and done, it was probably about ten in the morning now. That only left a couple of hours until midday, by which point he’d be swept off his feet and carried off into the sunset by his dream god… Yeah, right.
Sanji scoffed at his dream, ignoring the way his heart ached at the prospect of being whisked away by some powerful God. He couldn’t deny he wanted it (by Roronoa, of course he wanted it, he’d wanted to just run away and escape his whole damn life) but saying it was unrealistic was putting it lightly. Sure, it sounded nice, but Sanji knew there was no real escape from Germa kingdom. The limited freedom and apathy of Shimotsuki was the best he would ever get, and he knew it.
He was no Cinderella, and he was no dream!Sanji either. No fairy godmother or omnipotent God was coming to save him; he had to save himself by living each day in spite of those who wanted to hurt him. And part of his little rebellion was going to the damn festival himself.
Still, there was no harm in making sure he looked good whilst in town – if his god did turn up, which he wouldn’t, Sanji would prefer to look his best.
So he took the time to first shower and groom his attempt of a goatee before he got changed into the nicest suit he owned, the black double breasted piece he’d saved up for years to get tailored that was was still practically brand new, paired with a pale green shirt, a darker green tie, and a pocket square to match. Because he felt like wearing green in honour of the God the festival was in honour of. No other reason.
Sanji adjusted his tie in the bathroom mirror and groaned, forcing himself to stop fiddling. Zoro wasn’t going to show up! It was a dream! He just needed to go to the festival and prove it for himself.
Straightening his jacket one last time, Sanji finally headed out to the festival. He didn’t plan on staying long since he couldn’t exactly mingle with the crowds and partake in any of the activities, but he wanted to check everything out and maybe buy something from a stall somewhere, if he could find one that would sell to him. No, he really wouldn’t linger, he’d just stay until about one in the afternoon, until midday had well and truly passed.
Sanji wanted to tear his damn hair out from thinking about his stupid dream. Why couldn’t he just forget it, let it fade into hazy half-memories like all his other good dreams?
He just needed to keep busy, he supposed, to take his mind off of things. Walking into town he was immediately greeted by a group of teens sprinting through a surprisingly quiet street, baskets of fruits and wines in hand. Sanji frowned at the empty stalls, wondering what was going on that even the vendors had abandoned their wares. Maybe there was an event scheduled that he just didn’t know about?
There was only one way to find out, so Sanji followed the path the teenagers had just run down to the main town square. As soon as he got closer, he could hear a commotion as what sounded like the entire town squabbled and spoke all at once.
“You’re not listening to me,” a commanding and heart-stoppingly familiar voice said, stopping Sanji in his tracks right before he could turn onto the square. “I don’t care for your offerings of goodwill. I am here for my heart.”
Swallowing, Sanji forced his pounding heart to calm down, sternly telling himself not to get his hopes up just yet. He slowly rounded the corner, feeling a little light headed as he took in the scene. The townsfolk clamoured around the centre of the square, all trying to offer their goods (or themselves) to the figure in the middle of them all. And right in the centre, sat atop a midnight blue horse with three swords at his hip and a look of sheer disdain on his face, was Roronoa Zoro.
He was dressed in the same regal white kimono as the last time Sanji saw him, except now he wore a crown of thorns in his messy green hair. He seemed taller somehow too, his very aura filling up extra space and making him look so much bigger than the people at his feet. His one molten gold eye scanned the crowd apathetically until it landed on Sanji and softened, his lips twitching into a tiny smile.
“There you are, love,” he said warmly, ignoring the townsfolk as he encouraged his horse to trot over to Sanji. The people stared in shock as their God stopped at the cook’s side and looked at him like he was the only man in the world. “D’you want help getting on?”
“I can manage,” Sanji replied, easily swinging himself onto the horse behind Zoro as he recalled his old lessons back in Germa castle. His god grinned, letting the cook get settled with his arms around his waist before turning his steed back to the crowd.
“My lord, please! We still have many wares in Shimotsuki that we can offer You, including men and women of a much higher calibre than that thing,” the town mayor spoke up, not noticing how Zoro went cold and tense at his words. “I beg that You allow us another chance to appease You with our goods so that You might hold us in higher regard.”
“It’s funny,” Zoro said icily whilst Sanji absently rubbed calming circles into his side, “I thought you didn’t take kindly to beggars here.” Sanji was the one to freeze up now, and Zoro passed the reins into one hand so he could use the newly freed one to gently squeeze Sanji’s hand.
What the fuck?
“Does it not interest you, my heart, that in this form the people flock to me, offering countless worthless gifts?” Zoro continued, addressing Sanji but speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “And yet just yesterday I was shunned by the very same people when they thought me poor and old and starving?”
What the fuck?
“Very interesting, darling,” Sanji replied, his confident purr of a voice at odds with the way his heart was pounding so hard against his ribcage that Zoro could surely feel it on his back. His god squeezed his hand again, flashing a small smile back at him before he turned to face the crowd again with that icy stare.
“Your Highness, we didn’t know!” The mayor insisted, kneeling down before them. The other townsfolk soon followed suit, kneeling and bowing before Zoro and by proxy Sanji too. “Had we been aware, we would have offered You anything You would have liked – food, water, shelter, even the Vinsmoke boy if that’s really–”
In a flash Zoro had unsheathed his famous white sword, the blade swinging in a swift arc to point at the mayor’s throat. Zoro’s arm was steady but his jaw was tense, his golden eye quite literally burning like magma. The mayor was immediately silent, staring at the tip of the blade in pure unadulterated fear.
“Don’t you ever call him that again,” Zoro commanded, his voice quiet and dark and leaving no room for argument. He raised his eye to survey the rest of the crowd, glaring them all down. “That goes for everyone. No one is to ever call my heart Vinsmoke, or ‘that thing’, or any other demeaning names. You will call Him Roronoa Sanji, and you will respect His name!”
The square was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, as if people were afraid to even breathe too loud lest they incur the wrath of the Tiger Lord. Sanji tilted his head, staring at the back of Zoro’s head with emotions he couldn’t name turning in his stomach.
“Roronoa Sanji, huh?” He eventually managed to mutter near his ear, watching the god’s cheeks darken slightly in an unfairly cute blush.
“I was gonna propose when we got back home. ’M sorry,” Zoro admitted gruffly, making Sanji laugh loud enough to break the eerie quiet.
“Ask me properly when we get back and maybe I’ll forgive you,” he whispered, pressing his cheek to Zoro’s back and closing his eyes with a serene smile. No matter what happened in town today, he realised he didn’t really care. He had his soulmate right here, he could already tell, and he was leaving this hell – what more could he ask for?
“It has become clear to me that the people of Shimotsuki have allowed themselves to become cruel and bitter, and now forget the principles of the Gods who protect them. It seems you no longer deserve the protection I provide; therefore I now denounce this town and turn my back to you all!” Zoro declared, sounding only a little bit like he was reading from a script. He followed his words by ignoring the cries and protests of the people, literally turning his horse so his back was facing them all.
Above the pathetic pleas for him to not go, to protect them, one voice cried out. “It’s that disgusting child of Vinsmoke! He’s controlling the Great Lord, poisoning his mind! If we take him out, then–”
Whatever the man was going to suggest was cut short in one sharp swing of Zoro’s supposedly cursed red sword. Zoro was sheathing the sword before the man had even fallen to the floor, choking on his own blood. With their backs still to the crowd, Sanji couldn’t see what Zoro had done, but it didn’t sound pretty.
Silence reigned in the square once more. This time, Zoro was the one to break it.
“Prove me wrong. Relearn your values. Only then will I return.” With that, Zoro encouraged his horse to start moving, carrying them out of the square and leaving behind the people of Shimotsuki for good.
As soon as they had left sight, both Zoro and Sanji relaxed significantly. The god sighed, calling forward a swirling portal before them with one raised hand. “Come on, my heart, let’s go home.”
“Wait!” Sanji called before Zoro could lead them away for good. “Can we stop by the Baratie first? I want to get my recipe book before we leave.”
“Yosh, we’ll go pick it up now then,” Zoro said, vanishing the portal and leading his horse forward in a trot. He promptly turned the wrong corner, leading them in the opposite direction of the restaurant.
“Marimo, you’re leading us the wrong way,” Sanji pointed out, rolling his eyes at the god. The back of Zoro’s neck flushed darker in a blush.
“Right, I knew that.” He turned the horse to face the right direction, guiding them forward gruffly. “...Which way is the right way?”
Sanji laughed, squeezing Zoro’s waist tight. “Just keep going straight on for now. I’ll let you know when and where to turn.”
“Okay. There anything else you wanna keep from here, love?”
“Nah, not really,” Sanji admitted, not really needing to think about it. “That recipe book and my lighter is everything I have left that’s important to me.”
Zoro hummed, his shoulders tensing up again. “I’m no God of Vengeance or Revenge. I was just gonna leave this place to their own devices, let them struggle through harsh winters and bandit invasions without my help until they learned their lesson. Now I’m reconsidering just razing this town to the ground for you after all.”
“I’m glad that you’d do that for me, but you don’t need to. Just getting me away from Germa kingdom is more than I could have ever dreamed to ask,” Sanji told him, pressing a kiss to the base of his neck. “It’s a left here.”
He watched in disbelief as Zoro turned right, confidently heading back towards the town centre. “I said left darling mossy, the other way.”
“Are all my nicknames going to be moss-related?” Zoro asked, amused as he led them the right way.
“Maybe not all of them, my idiot swordsman,” he teased, snuggling closer to Zoro’s broad back. The god heaved a put upon sigh, somehow turning the horse in a half circle to face the opposite direction despite the one way street they were down.
“As long as I’m yours, I s’pose it’s fine,” he said, and Sanji would have melted on the spot were it not for how baffled he was by the god’s sense of direction.
“We’re facing the wrong way again darling, do you want me to lead?” Sanji mocked, watching that pretty flush creep up Zoro’s neck again.
“No, I got this! I know where ’m goin’!” He protested, making Sanji break into peals of laughter. Who knew a God would be so easy to tease and bully?
True to his word, Zoro did have it – sort of. He got them turned around two more times on the way and managed to take a five minute detour without Sanji even realising it, but they arrived at the Baratie soon enough. Zoro tied his horse – Kuina, her name was – to a post outside then accompanied the cook inside. He held onto Sanji’s arm like he did whilst in the shape of a frail old man, but this time rested his cheek on Sanji’s shoulder where he kept pressing tiny kisses to his neck and ears.
With Zoro clinging to him in a back hug the second they stepped into Sanji’s room and refusing to let go, it took longer than expected for the cook to grab his recipe book and get ready to go. And then there was the fact that when he was ready to leave, he made the mistake of turning in Zoro’s arms, finding himself face to face with the god and far closer than expected.
“Hello,” Zoro rumbled, his chest vibrating against Sanji’s.
“Hi,” the cook responded, and then they were kissing.
Sanji hummed into the kiss, looping his arms behind Zoro’s neck to pull him in closer than seemed possible. The god made a noise as if in agreement, tilting his head to a better angle and slipping Sanji a little tongue. The cook enjoyed the feeling for a little while, but broke away when he felt Zoro’s hands straying below his waist.
“Not here, darling,” he murmured against Zoro’s lips, not quite willing to move back yet. “Let’s go home and you can ravage me on our bed.”
“I can?” Zoro asked, his eye bright with glee. Sanji grinned salaciously against his mouth, carding a hand through cropped green hair and knocking the thorny crown off-kilter.
“If you’re good, I’ll let you,” he purred, scratching his nails lightly against Zoro’s skull. This was all new territory for Sanji, but something about Zoro felt so comfortable and familiar that he felt he could be confident about these things. The confidence was warranted it seemed from the gutteral noise Zoro made low in his chest.
“Let’s go now, then. There’s no time to waste,” Zoro declared seriously, breaking the mood somewhat. Sanji laughed good-naturedly, pecking Zoro’s lips one more time before stepping out of his arms and grabbing him by the hand instead.
“Come on then, marimo. Take me home.”
[ ♡ ]
Later, they’d arrive home, too busy in each other’s hands and mouths and bodies to remember the romantic dinner and ringbox Zoro had planned out.
Later, they’d eat the extravagant buffet cold, teasing each other and throwing food.
Later, Zoro would slip a silver band onto Sanji’s finger, the look in his eye reverent.
Later still would come the much-needed discussions, the fights, the late night conversations, the wedding, and the happily ever after.