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Zoro’s sleeping lightly. Lunch still fills him, and he got a good workout in before it, so he’s got these hours to spare.
Usopp’s on watch too — the best of them, really — and Zoro’s enjoying the peace. Didn’t sleep much at night, in any case.
It smells alright: he shares a vent with the kitchen, up in the crow’s nest, and aromas flow and falter. Soothing, and familiar, and why is there a hand around his wrist.
Zoro frowns, nose crinkling. Robin’s laugh is soft in his ears, and he doesn’t really struggle much.
“Heheh!” Chopper squeals, clapping, and Zoro starts to get suspicious.
“Whuh,” he grumbles, head falling to his shoulder, trying to blink his eye open.
It’s not very tempting, is all. And, quite frankly, he doesn’t mind the hands on his wrists, the gentle threads of rope, the — rope? Zoro stares down his arm. It’s tied to the wall, and he pulls it. “What’re you doing?”
“Rest assured, nothing bad,” Robin’s voice is too happy, and he raises a brow when he looks down at his feet.
“Like a horse,” Sanji chirps, and Zoro huffs.
They’ve tied his feet, too. Arms stretched out, bound to different walls. Legs spread, just enough to keep him slightly imbalanced, unable to pull his legs or arms back in. “This your plan, Pervy cook?”
Sanji sputters, and Zoro grins, opening his mouth to expand on that but, “Zooooooooroooo!” The captain flies into his face before he can utter a breath. “We’re gonna looooooove you!”
His sing-song voice is awful, and Zoro can’t fucking breathe, no arms to pull him off with.
“Oy, Luffy,” Usopp shouts, “be careful!”
Luffy’s laugh bellows in his ears, and Zoro glares and huffs when Luffy leans out, anchored by Zoro’s neck. “But he’s so cute! Zoro’s frowning very cutely right now.”
“Eh?” Zoro tries to scowl harder, still catching his breath, flushed red from lack of air. Sanji stifles a laugh, and Zoro curls his hands around the ropes. “Someone talk quick, or I rip the ropes.”
“No!” Usopp yells — they’re his, the good ones — before Nami speaks,
“Alright, alright, take it easy. We’re just having fun, Zoro.”
“Get to the point, witch.”
She smiles. It’s a dangerous smile, one that warns of debts or schemes to get them higher, and Zoro feels his head start to ache. “It was Sanji’s birthday a few days ago, you know.” Zoro grunts. “And you didn’t hug him.”
Zoro grimaces: obviously, he wouldn’t. It’s the cook .
“And it got me thinking. You don’t really hug often, do you?”
“Sometimes,” Luffy says from where his legs are wrapped around Zoro’s chest, and Zoro’s face is flushing. “Zoro’s always soft and warm, gives great hugs.”
He sputters, and Chopper chimes in, “He is! But, he’s not very good at hugging back.”
“Aiyah, Chopper, if you want more hugs-”
“It got me thinking,” Nami cuts in again, sharp and loud. “You’re not averse to hugs, are you?”
“Huh?”
“We’re gonna hug you, Zoro.” His eye goes a little wide, despite himself. “Every single one of us. Properly hug you.”
Again he sputters, but it’s less sure now, head askew. “Why’d you even wanna —”
“Luffy was first, so I think Franky should go second!”
“Hey, witch, what’s the meaning—ghghnh.”
“Ah, sorry Zoro,” Luffy’s climbing down him, “captain’s order.”
He’s dumbfounded. Franky seems happy enough, and Zoro can’t help but square up, brow raised high in challenge.
“Aye, bro, don’t act like that yeah,” Zoro’s helpless as Franky’s huge, hard, cold body squeezes around him, big robotic arm clapping his back so hard the air is knocked out of him, before the robot grins and leans back to shake up Zoro’s head. “Not so often I got to hug you, no, you gotta take a little.”
Zoro’s just a little, tiny bit dizzy. “This is really fuckin’ weird,” he tells Franky, somewhat relieved when Franky laughs, still clapping his shoulder, still touching but — but it’s cold, and hard, and casual as can be.
Nami tuts. Zoro glares, and her lips are ticked up, which does not bode well for him. “Franky,” she’s coy, “that wasn’t a very nice hug. Shouldn’t you hug him a little tighter?”
“Huh?” asks Franky, and eager as always to please, he wraps his arms back around Zoro. Both of them, this time. It’s probably not on purpose, the way the bulk of his biceps forces Zoro’s head to turn sideways, cheek against Franky’s massive chest, the tick tick tick of a robotic heart buzzing through his head. It is on purpose when he steps closer, Zoro’s body touching every inch of Franky’s so that he’s dragged up on his tiptoes when Franky’s shoulders raise to hug him. “Like this?”
Zoro isn’t, really, breathing. Squashed, but his airways are free, and there is no excuse for how his lungs fail him.
“What d’ya say, Zoro?” Nami asks, and Zoro opens his mouth. Then he shuts it again, hands tugging at his ropes.
Franky huffs, and it’s fond. His palm, big as before, spreads wide across his back. He expects another clap. He’s ready for a clap. He’s not ready for the warm way it rubs up his back, one big circle, then two, then Franky’s tipping his chin down to nose at Zoro’s hair and Zoro.
He melts.
Warmth from his core, to his fingers and toes, spine losing all its strength, and Franky chuckles warmly, holding him up. “I like your hugs,” he says to Zoro.
Zoro means to hum, but he kind of just inhales, and Franky squeezes his waist, then his shoulder, and then he steps away.
Zoro’s eye blows wide open, cheeks flaring red with alarm.
“My turn!” Chopper yells, bright and sweet, and Zoro forgets to breathe before he’s met with a mouthful of fur.
He hawks and spits, scraping his tongue with his teeth, trembling just a tiny bit. And he gets it. Chopper’s big, big as can be, though Zoro knows he’s more comfy when he’s tiny and curled upon Zoro’s chest. Which means, he’s doing this for Zoro.
So massive Zoro needn’t think about balance at all, fluff so wide Zoro’s fingers can dig into it, warm and soft and familiar. He smells of sweets and sweat, and this is familiar, this is known. Zoro breathes him in gratefully as Chopper wraps around him, giggling bright and loud as he shuffles Zoro side to side, and Zoro gathers himself.
Finds his footing, and decides he’s gonna murder Nami when he gets out of this.
“Alright, alright, my turn,” the witch snarks, and Zoro thinks the thought yet again, huffing as Chopper lets him go with a sigh, ready to scowl and snark and shout.
And then Nami’s arms wrap around him. Tight and hard and quick, slender limbs digging into his back with enough strength to bruise, her body tight against his, and he squeaks.
Nami freezes, and it takes Zoro a second to realise it’s he who made the sound. His breath hitches, too harsh and too quick, ducking his head. She’s so small, pressed close, holding on so tight, and Zoro’s head spins too fast to see how he can’t make himself fit under her chin.
She laughs, soft and witchy, one hand curling through his hair and guiding him to rest on her shoulder, nose towards her neck. “What’s this, Zoro? Are you just a big baby?”
He grunts, angry, but he — he can’t seem to take it in, properly. He’s burning, he thinks. His chest, his face, his eye. He wishes his hands were free, right now, so he could hold her back, hold her still.
“Is that why you never hug, huh? So baby you can’t even handle this?” Her words are taunting, but her voice — it’s soft. Soft, and brittle, hands clenching into his shirt and his hair, and he thinks she gets it. Feels it, somehow, this burning warm emotion that wells up in him, having him try to press just the minutest bit closer, having him whimper, so quiet only she hears, when she presses closer to help him.
She strokes a hand down his back, and he almost wants to protest at how her hold loosens. Apologetic and smiling, so tender, so soft, when she lets him go. Zoro’s sight is blurry.
“Would you look at that,” Robin teases, and Zoro tries to inhale and gather himself, but. The archeologist isn’t looking at him.
Nami waves her hand, flustered. “Jinbe!”
“Zoooro!” Luffy shouts again, throwing himself at his face, and Zoro would’ve fallen if not for the ropes, wheezing, and he can’t even catch his breath before Luffy’s pulling his cheek this direction and that. “I want that face too! I want Zoro like that toooooo, why aren’t you like that!”
“Shut up,” Zoro grumbles, blood pulsing to his ears, heart thundering too fast for comfort.
“But Zoro’s so good! Nami never gets like that when I hug her, you must be really good!”
Zoro’s tongue trips over itself, and whatever he tries to say becomes unintelligible. Sanji snorts, and Zoro glares over Luffy’s shoulder.
“Hey, Luffy, I want a turn too,” Usopp says. Zoro suspects it’s to get Luffy off of him, and he’s thankful.
Luffy is… a lot. But then. Zoro meets Usopp’s eyes, and they’re determined and fierce. A lot like how they look when he’s taking aim: like this is another shot, and he means to make it perfect. “Make it quick,” Zoro rasps, ignoring how Luffy sulks when he slides off of him.
Usopp huffs, walking forward. “Always tryna sound so scary, well guess what? You won’t scare me now!”
“Huh?”
Usopp flinches. Then he grits his teeth, even more determined, and Zoro’s brows lift with the challenge. “We get it, we get it,” Usopp’s wrapping him up before the sentence finishes, stronger and wider than Zoro would’ve thought, “you’re very strong and very scary, and I am very terrified of you.”
He says it all matter of fact, nosing into Zoro’s neck, his hand on his head keeping him trapped against him, and Zoro’s just a little too aware of how his heart jack-hammers. He’s breathing, he thinks. In, and out, in, and out, everything simmering down to Usopp’s voice, his fingers carding through his hair, the confident way he hugs Zoro to him.
“So you don’t have to act it, you know. You can be scary and strong and let us love you a little bit.”
“Shut up,” Zoro croaks. Too rough, too wet, muffled, and still Usopp’s shoulders hunch. But then, Usopp goes loose against him, like it — like that comforted him. Like Zoro’s way of acting settled him, somehow, and,
“Yeah, yeah,” Usopp murmurs, holding on just as tight. Zoro finds himself cursing the ropes yet again, huffing, trying to think.
“Wrap it up boys,” Nami says, and Zoro shakes his head. Usopp doesn’t let go.
He tries, to think. Tries to say what he means, or pull the ropes just enough to show some type of reciprocation, but the tugging leads him nowhere. Then he huffs, opening his mouth, and stammers, too low, “You as well. Are strong.”
Usopp squeals with joy, grin so wide it’s blinding his periphery, and he walks away with such pep in his step that Zoro doesn’t know how to work.
Logically, he’s aware Jinbe has approached him. Physically, he cannot bring himself to look up at him. Jinbe smiles disarmingly and asks: “May I?”
Zoro opens his mouth, still unable to bring himself to look at him, or anyone, really. His fingers flex, and he shrugs.
“Marimo’s broken,” Sanji tells him, “but that means yeah. Go ahead.”
Jinbe huffs a laugh, and Zoro decides he’s gonna kill Sanji too, along with — no, instead of — Nami. But then Jinbe’s there, soft and warm up against him, with more than enough size for Zoro to feel himself disappear a little, and he can’t say he’s too mad.
Thinks he gets Chopper, a little bit. Thinks he too would curl up on Jinbe’s chest if he could, for a nap or two.
Jinbe claps his shoulder gently, twice, and Zoro’s sagging against the ropes when he lets go. Mad to be let go of, but also sort of just, mindless.
Drowsy, staring up, trying to remember who’s next, if they ever said.
Robin’s in front of him.
That’s alright, then. Robin’s alright. She’s probably used to his antics and weirdness too, won’t be too off-put by how his eye feels wet and embarrassing.
She’s just standing. One hand squeezing the crook of her elbow, brows furrowed, shoulders hunched. His eye grows wider.
She’s hesitating, for sure, staring at his feet. She looks scared , and Zoro knows she’s not scared he’d be mad, knows she’s not — “Let me free,” he says, dead serious.
Her eyes widen too, this spooked look, and Zoro’s heart is turning frenzied, pulse felt in the tips of his fingers, and he tugs.
“Usopp, let me free or so help me G-”
The bindings on his hands slip free, and Zoro does not care for how he stumbles over his own feet as he throws himself forward, over Robin.
She gasps, stumbles with his weight, but she’s strong. Strong enough to catch him, even as he slips on the floor, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Zoro,” she says, surprised.
“You too,” he says, simply, squeezing, as hard as he can, confident she can take it. And she does, with a laugh. Arms gentle, closing around his back, hooking her chin over his shoulder.
“Alright,” she says, light and airy, like it’s nothing. And Zoro huffs, presses his own face into her shoulder, and tries to squeeze harder just to make it stick. You too, you too, you too, always you too .
“Stop choking the lady, moss.” Sanji chides, and Robin huffs another sweet laugh, just slightly teasing.
“You’ve gotta let go at some point, Zoro,” Nami adds as well, but her voice is soft, and Zoro doesn’t want to.
Robin’s nails are sharp and cold, making his skin tingle where they scratch over the cuff of his shirt, her hand clenching into it. “It’s alright,” she says, soft and low. “I got you.”
He wonders if he’s trembling, or if it’s her, or if it’s just his skin vibrating out of place trying to contain all the fuzzy warmth filling him up.
“Yohoho, I hate to break you up but-” Zoro hates him too, a little bit.
“That’s alright,” Robin sounds so sweet, so kind, and Zoro’s not quite sure she knows it. “He’s not going anywhere.” And neither is she , goes unsaid, but Zoro relaxes all the same.
And then he’s got an armful of skeleton. Brook kinda just snuck his way in to replace her shape, lean enough — or, well, bare enough — to match her size, but he’s got none of the softness, not the warmth.
“Yohoho, Zoro’s warm! Very hot and good, yoho. Ah, I can’t feel it though.”
Zoro scoffs, and just. Keeps his eye shut. He’s hooking his fingers under Brook’s ribs — “Yohohohoh, ah, that tickles!” — and pressing his forehead into solid bones, and it’s cold. Cold, and harsh, but Brook’s fingers are splaying over his back, and it’s warming, somehow.
“Ah, Zoro, you’re gonna break me,” he whispers, and Zoro’s not sure it’s true or not, but the idea of letting go makes him wanna die too a little bit and so he doesn’t.
This is the last one, after all. And then they’re gonna leave, and he’s gonna sit with all of this, and there’s nowhere for it to go and he’ll be too embarrassed to face any of them ever again, except perhaps Robin, and —
“Oy, Brook, let the mosshead go.”
— and that’s Sanji. Zoro freezes. Oh, he’s gonna hear it now. No time to sit with it, Sanji’s gonna let him know it all upfront.
“Green-brain, release your grip,” Sanji’s fingers slide over his own, and Zoro’s breath stutters. Long, warm fingers wrap around him, and then. Crack.
“Ow!” he yells, pinky pulsing with pain as Brook twists away, shaking his hand. “What the fuck-?”
“Shut up, marimo-baby,” Sanji mocks, before pulling him into his chest.
Zoro’s pressed into the swell of his pecs, the skin hot, felt through his shirt. His lips part, on a complaint, but the shirt is soft and Sanji’s warm and Zoro’s shoulders huddle.
The cook’s hands run down his shoulders, smoothing out his shirt. Touch barely there, light as can be. Zoro can hear his heartbeat, a steady badump, badump, badump , and Sanji’s hands run down his arms with an annoyed sigh.
“Who knew you’d be so weepy,” he complains, and Zoro huffs. Means to huff, but it’s too high, and too soft, and it sort of just sounds like a weepy whimper. “Goddamn bother,” Sanji grumbles, curling his hands around Zoro’s own, once more. He settles them on his own waist, over his suit.
Zoro feels it, for a second. The expensive fabric against his fingertips, Sanji’s hands cupping his own, keeping them trapped. Then he grasps on, and stifles another gasp as he tugs Sanji closer, back to where he’s got balance, forehead pressed against his chest, no doubt leaving a wet mark on his shirt.
Sanji huffs, and settles his arms loosely over his shoulders. Zoro’s got the feeling he’s gonna step away at any point.
“Hey, say, is the show over?” Luffy asks, and Nami tsks as Robin laughs.
“It’s not a show, Luffy. We’re just giving Zoro hugs.”
“But everyone’s staring,” Luffy says, quite accurately, and Zoro’s shoulders hunch with embarrassment.
“Oy oy, captain, careful,” Sanji drawls, and Zoro hears the flick of his lighter. “Mossy’s extra soggy right now, you’re making him self-conscious.”
Luffy laughs, and Zoro feels the heat of the smoke against his ear. “But we made him like that! It’s a good thing! I think.”
“I don’t know about good ,” Sanji grumbles, and he kicks Zoro’s shins — gentle, barely a nudge, just for show.
“ Very good!” Luffy corrects, and Sanji’s lighter drops to the floor. Then — then his hand, with those long, deft fingers, lands on Zoro’s head, picking at a strand of hair, and Zoro shudders.
“Yeah yeah,” Sanji answers, “keep praising him and he’s gonna combust, and I’m not cleaning up the moss blood.”
Robin laughs, and even Franky stifles a chuckle. Zoro pulls loose a jacket button, and Sanji slaps at his hand. “Can’t hide in there,” he chides. Zoro gapes to speak, and then shuts his mouth, burrowing closer. Fuck, Sanji’s hand tightens, scrunching up in his hair, and the cook is easily malleable.
Sanji’s body moves with him, moving back where Zoro pushes forward. Not away, not leaving him, but moulding himself to how Zoro pushes, letting his body be moved like clay to encompass him completely.
“Don’t let Luffy into the kitchen,” Sanji demands, and someone shouts their affirmation. Then Sanji’s face turns, rough with wiry hairs, warm with smoke, into Zoro’s neck. He breathes out, and the smoke splits under Zoro’s jaw, tickling his skin. “Don’t tear the jacket, marimo,” he murmurs.
Zoro’s fingers clench even tighter, trying to rip the coat in defiance, and Sanji sighs. The door to the crow’s nest shuts, and Sanji’s chin rakes up to his ear, sending his mind tumbling.
“God, you’re a mess. Soggy algae stuck to the ship again.” Sanji’s free hand slides down his back, freeing his hair — he misses the tug immediately — to cinch Zoro’s waist with an arm. “On my toes, algae.”
“Huh?”
“Fuck it,” Sanji swings him down towards the ground, and Zoro shrieks, throwing an arm around Sanji’s neck as his pulse sky rockets. Sanji puffs a laugh against his skin, grinning down, hovering Zoro just above the floor. Like this, Zoro sees all the gleaming amusement in those blazing blues, sees the teasing material for years to come, and he dreads knowing Sanji sees him too.
He fears his eye is redrimmed, face no doubt smeared with the same drool he’s left with Sanji’s shirt, and it must be hideous.
“Nice reflex,” Sanji praises, waggling one unsightly swirled brow, and Zoro wishes he had the state of mind to insult it. Then the rope on his foot slips loose, and he realises what Sanji’s done.
“Hey,” he stammers, “wait a sec- ah!”
Sanji rises and bends just as quick to the other side, leaving Zoro swinging towards the ground in duress, now with a free leg swinging with him. “Hang on, Princess.”
Zoro scoffs, using his grip around Sanji’s neck to pull himself up, second hand kindly plastering to his throat, “You-”
The second foot is set free, and Zoro slips. Sanji’s laughing when he slides him back up, back into himself, and Zoro’s red and breathless. “You’re funnier like this.”
“Shut up.”
“Gonna let go?” Sanji asks, and Zoro stares up at him.
Fuck, that’s not right, he’s not supposed to be doing that. They’re face-to-face, normally. But Sanji’s arm is tight around him, keeping him down, and Zoro’s knees are quite weak. Slumped against Sanji, he can’t help but have to look up. It’s too much, staring is too much, and Zoro can’t. Knocks his head against Sanji’s chest in lieu of an answer.
“Pathetic,” Sanji breathes, and then his other hand is on Zoro too. Cupping his head, keeping him steady. “But what can you do, eh, mold likes to grow on people.”
Zoro huffs, and slams his head against Sanji, but it’s not very hard at all, cushioned between a gentle palm and soft pecs.
“I’m not standing with you any longer, though.” Zoro’s shoulders hunch, clutching Sanji tighter, but he gets it. He’s just gonna- he’ll- he would- his head doesn’t work. He doesn’t wanna go. “On my toes, marimo. Step up.”
Zoro frowns, and does. Sanji cinches their hips together, and waddles towards the door. Zoro’s ears burn.
“Can’t believe I’m charged with airing out the plant life, ought to have been a botanist for this stuff.” Sanji opens the door, and the air is cool, and then Zoro is dragged down.
He would’ve hurt his knees, if Sanji’s hold on him was any less tight. As is, he simply falls in a heap between Sanji’s spread legs, and Sanji wraps himself around him utterly. Zoro’s fingers rip dents in the threads of his jacket, and Sanji sighs and pulls him in.
“You’re redder than beets right now,” Sanji mocks, pulling at his cheek. His hand is warm, and Zoro follows it, eye shut as he leans into the sting. Sanji inhales, and flattens his hand, so Zoro can melt into the cup of it. “Wine-coloured.”
Yeah, Zoro could use some of that. He raises both brows, and just barely dares peek at Sanji’s expression. He looks smitten. Fond. His neck is pink, as though with warmth, and Zoro tucks himself into it with a stifled whine.
Zoro’s not sure if he naps, or just drifts. One time he blinks his eye open, and Sanji’s frowning at the ocean, smoke in hand. Zoro tries to disentangle himself and get out of his way — he’s clearly got other stuff to worry over — but Sanji pulls him back in and breathes smoke over his shoulder, and Zoro settles down again.
Next time he tries, Sanji is dozing over him, eyes shut and breathing deeply into Zoro’s neck. It’s getting too ridiculous, and so Zoro gently tries to unwrap them now when he can get away with minimal fuzz.
Sanji looks at him. Not asleep, then, but he stares as Zoro disentangles them with this stupidly smug expression, and Zoro huffs and crawls backwards.
“Oy,” Sanji snaps, sharp enough to make Zoro halt, and then there’s a hand on his jaw.
Sanji has leaned forwards, just to cup his cheek, and Zoro finds oxygen hard to come by. Warmth boils through his core, that fuzzy feeling building back up, and he looks up at Sanji with a wide eye.
Sanji’s snickering.
Sanji’s snickering , the bastard, laughing to himself with endless mirth in his eyes.
“Shitty shit cook,” Zoro grumbles, shoving him off, and the low snickers turn to cackles.
“Anytime, weepy,” Sanji calls after him, and Zoro’s way too warm as he hurries down towards the bunks. Robin’s on deck, catching sight of him as he goes, and Zoro’s heart is swelling nauseatingly.
It’s not all in all a horrible event. At least, Zoro’s pretty sure it’s united them even more, somehow, that strange cuddle attack they launched. Nothing else has changed.
Zoro remembers to lay a hand over Chopper now when he comes for a nap, and that’s about it.
Would be it, at least, if Zoro’s own actions were the driving factors of his life. Unfortunately, fiends have infested the Sunny.
“Can’t believe you’re trying to skip snacks,” Sanji chides, keeping Zoro hostage in the galley again.
The smoothie looks great: the weather is way too hot, and Zoro’s the first to admit he’s not fantastic at the whole keeping-hydrated thing. But he sees no reason Sanji has to be sloped over his shoulder while he drinks it, one hand pressed under his shirt to lay flat against his chest. “Get lost.” He cups the glass, and it’s freezing cold. Sanji laughs against his ear.
“Ah, I would, but you seem to be leaning into me a little.”
Zoro’s neck burns brighter with fury, and he tries to straighten back up — it’s just that Sanji had been warm, and he smelled a little nice, and Sanji was the one who’d leaned over him in the first place, and-
“Hey, none of that,” Sanji pulls him back again, and Zoro doesn’t have to peek to know the sinister look on his face right now as Zoro simply melts into him. “The glass, mosshead.”
“Fuck off, Prince,” his voice is thin and haggard, and Sanji’s laugh is a warm puff against his ear.
“Here,” Sanji’s hands form around his own, to cup the glass and bring it closer, and Zoro swallows thickly.
“Sanji!” Nami bursts through the door, and Zoro shrinks away from Sanji with the glass in hand. Nami’s brows raise high. “Oh, I apologise, I-”
“No worries, Nami dear,” Sanji’s hand slides over Zoro’s neck when he passes, and he shudders. “Can I offer you a drink?”
Nami’s eyes zero in on Zoro, and he gulps. She’s got that evil look again. “Oh, that would be lovely. Would you mind, Zoro?” she asks, and reaches out to squeeze his arm, gentle fingers running up the crook of his elbow. She laughs when he tenses. “I guess I’ll have to have it outside,” she teases, “or the baby will liquefy again.”
“You’re an ass,” Zoro smarts, fingers clenching around his glass.
“Oh, I don’t think he’d mind,” Sanji says with a smile, already preparing a fruity drink for Nami. “Bet he’s aching for it.”
Zoro scoffs, taking a sip now that Sanji’s not hovering above him.
“No, I mean it,” Sanji goes on, to the sound of Nami chuckling, still standing behind him, “if you offered he’d be begging for it.”
“Fuck off, cook.”
“I highly doubt it,” Nami says, ruffling his hair, and Zoro burns.
“Ask him then,” says Sanji.
Nami is quiet. Zoro, should probably say something. The conversation is not leaning in his favour, and he could very easily fix it. Just a word.
“Really?” Nami asks, breathlessly excited.
Zoro swallows thickly, and raises his glass again, trying not to meet Sanji’s gleaming, mocking eyes.
“So you are just a baby!” Nami yells, and then she wraps herself around him, arms crossing over his chest, and he almost spills his drink.
“Watch it!” His voice cracks. She’s grinning above him, he can tell, and he very inconspicuously tries to slide under the table.
Unfortunately she’s holding him tighter than that, and he simply winds up the perfect height for her to rest her head upon his. “You love me, don’t you?” She taunts, and Zoro huffs and lets it be.
Ears blazing, letting go of his drink, accepting his fate.
He’s not fully recovered by the time she finishes her drink, and then Sanji’s yelling the rest of the crew in.
Luffy slingshots his way in yelling, “Food!” And catches himself using Zoro as a pole. He grits his teeth together, and lets it go.
“It smells very nice, chef,” Robin praises, cold fingers gliding up his neck as she passes, and Zoro’s skin feels warmer.
“Yohohoh, what lovely aroma,” Brook sniffs the air in delight, waltzing towards the table, tapping Zoro’s shoulder and then freezing. “Ah, I don’t have a nose though.”
Brook laughs at his own joke, Luffy grins as though it’s funny, and Zoro wonders what corpse has the right to feel so warm against him.
“Aye, looks super!” Franky croons, ruffling Zoro’s hair on his way to his seat. Zoro doesn’t see what face he makes, too busy staring at his own hands.
Jinbe’s entrance is quiet, and Zoro meets his eyes when he sits. He’s smiling, something tender and secret, and Zoro can’t keep his gaze for a second longer.
“Oi, Luffy, don’t take it all!” Usopp bellows, scrambling in the door and halting behind Zoro, shaking his shoulders. “Why’re you letting him- oh.”
Zoro swallows thickly, and Usopp calms, smoothing his palms over his shoulders.
“Well, it can’t be helped,” Usopp says nicely, petting him. “Just make sure you eat some.”
And then he too sits down, and Zoro’s so full he could burst with it, eye way too huge on the table, and hopefully not too glossed.
“Luffy!” Chopper yells, puffing himself up to his muscle form to wade off Luffy’s hand stealing something — Zoro can’t see what, too distracted. “Ah, what a mess, right Zoro,” he chitters, plopping down next to Zoro with a warm arm around his back, starting to fill both their plates.
Zoro hums, not sure what he’s agreeing to, leaning into the fur. And he thinks, at least for the moment, that he might love this crew very much.
“Oi moss, you’re all withered and red,” Sanji points out happily, tapping his plate.
Zoro slumps over the table, glaring at the food as he croaks out a menacing little, “I’ll kill you all,” and Robin laughs delightfully.