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Three things that the Straw Hat’s cook never thought he would hear happened within the span of a single evening which the crew had collectively dubbed, “Usopp-ween.” In retrospect, the term was deceptively lighthearted for the traumatic events it described, but then again, neither of the pirates who were most affected by the occasion had been privy to its naming.
Sanji had gone about his everyday, noticing nothing out of the ordinary as he happily tended to the women of the crew and barked orders at the other ungrateful layabouts, until something distinctly unordinary buried itself in the cook’s memory in the form of a metaphorical sword stroke.
“It’s amazing.”
Those two words silenced everyone and everything in the room. The sounds of clinking dishware, idle (and not so idle) chatter, as well as the final note of Zoro’s compliment, trailed off like the ending to a scandalous song that left the entire audience in dumb astonishment.
“Excuse me?” Sanji demanded stiffly, sure that he must have misheard.
The wavering in his voice was unmistakable, making it embarrassingly obvious that he was legitimately stunned which was no wonder considering the question he just asked and Zoro’s utterly incomprehensible response.
“I…” The swordsman stared down at his plate with the distinct expression of someone who was punched in the face when they weren’t expecting it.
Sanji had just finished dishing out their meals, having patiently waited for them all to dig in before offhandedly explaining, “I learned how to make this from a merchant at the last island. She told me it was an original family recipe, so I tried not to play around with the ingredients too much. How does it taste?”
Zoro heard his own reply amidst the chorus of appreciative noises, and although he hadn’t raised his voice (in fact, he swore he hadn’t meant to speak at all), it was as if he had stood atop the table and screamed it through a megaphone. Everyone was staring at him with nine shades of shock—the shitty cook looked more confused than anybody, and Zoro didn’t blame him.
What the fuck just happened…? the greenhaired man thought dumbly.
“How unusual. Is our taciturn swordsman complimenting the cook’s fine culinary efforts? I don’t think any of us expected that in tonight’s forthcomings,” Robin commented with a pointed look at the swordsman who turned beet red.
“I…didn’t mean to say it,” Zoro said gruffly to mask the fact that he was truly flustered. How the hell could I blurt out something so stupid?! he berated himself while studiously ignoring everyone’s eyes—Sanji’s most of all.
“Speaking of forthcoming,” Chopper chimed in nervously, “Nami and I might have tried a new recipe ourselves—but it was supposed to be for Usopp! I must’ve gotten the plates mixed up. I’m sorry, Zoro,” the little reindeer told him apologetically.
Despite the clear remorse in the young doctor’s tone, Sanji did not reply in kind. His voice cut into the tension that was steadily building throughout the room, making its presence more tangible with the added affect of his words piercing the air like a cold wind.
“What exactly are you saying, Chopper?”
His gaze was hard as he looked to their naïve crewmate who couldn’t possibly detect the change in pressure the way that the swordsman could while watching the blond’s slowly brewing storm of anger.
“Nami thought it would be funny to create a holiday for Usopp where he’s not allowed to lie! I was telling her about some interesting new research I’ve been looking at, and she brought me ingredients from a weird old lady who owns a magic shop!” he began excitedly.
“Obviously there’s no such thing as magic,” Sanji continued in the same serious tone, “so what did our foxy little redhead convince you to slip into my food?”
He turned his penetrating glare, shockingly, on their navigator which marked the moment when the tension became palpable even to the ever-unobservant Luffy. None of them had believed it was possible for such naked disappointment to appear on the cook’s face while talking to a lady.
To her credit, Nami instantly flushed a delicate pink and lowered her eyes with obvious guilt. She fiddled with her hands in her lap for a few seconds before admitting, “It’s…a truth serum.”
Zoro just balked at her in horror. “What—no it isn’t!” he quickly denied.
“We were going to test it on Usopp after Nami tried it because I wasn’t sure if the effects would be the same for different people. It made her really talkative and honest by overwriting the parts of her brain that control inhibition. I’m up to date on the current research involving the different types of inhibition, but I needed something stronger to promote a truly candid response…in other words, to extract the truth.”
“You wouldn’t believe the kinds of medicines that old gypsy had! The herbs she sold me worked exactly as planned when I tried the mixture, but you seem to be less affected by it, Zoro, otherwise you’d be talking a mile-a-minute like I was!” Nami added in a deceptively friendly tone.
It was obvious that she was trying to smooth the whole situation over, and it almost worked. Sanji had turned his gaze on the swordsman who was frozen in his seat with a dumbstruck expression. Before either of them could express the anger that they were feeling, Luffy went ahead and said the worst thing possible.
“So, you were lying about hating Sanji’s cooking?”
“Yes.”
The answers were coming out of the swordsman’s mouth at the exact moment his brain finished processing the questions. His eyes widened as the reality of the situation hit him, and he knew that he had to get out of this room right now before something very, very bad happened.
“That’s not nice. Why would you lie about something so important to Sanji?” Luffy asked him, genuinely curious. Unfortunately, the young captain’s innocence was his own first-mate’s undoing.
“Because I have to hide my real feelings,” Zoro said against his will.
“Why? What do you have to hide from your nakama?” Luffy fired back, oblivious to the sensitive nature of the information he was prying out of the green-haired man.
His speech was too quick for anybody to stop the exchange nor was Zoro able to overcome his initial panic in time to make an escape before it was too late.
“Because it would ruin everything if he knew that I’m in love with him—”
This revelation was interrupted by the sound of the swordsman’s own hands slamming onto the tabletop just as the cook’s glass salad-bowl slipped to the floor, shattering noisily beneath their feet. There was an achingly long silence in which the entire crew held their breaths in anticipation of the chaos they were all certain was coming.
“Uh…” Zoro seemed more than distraught—his muscles were bulging with the strain that he was putting on his arms, hands flat on the table to mask their trembling—but he remained standing until the cook’s undivided attention was on him.
The blond man was nearly as shook as the swordsman, but he met his crewmate’s eyes unflinchingly, the two of them exchanging a wordless gaze that seemed to answer some of the questions hanging between them.
The crew watched on in amazement as Zoro finally broke the silence, straightening out and looking the cook dead in the eyes. He sighed before quietly saying, “I’m sorry, but I can’t finish this meal,” and with that, he slowly turned his back on the table and walked out of the galley.
SLAM!
Everyone jumped at the sound of the door closing behind him, and the eight who were still seated looked expectantly for Sanji’s reaction.
A hideous silence filled the room while the cook moved mechanically to retrieve the broom and dustpan to clean the broken shards of glass off the kitchen floor, aware of the eyes on him and the growing awkwardness but determined to quickly put his kitchen back in order.
His crewmates took the hint and silently finished their plates, washing and drying them in a neat line before returning to their seats. When the mess was dealt with, Sanji did something none of them had seen before—he lit a cigarette in the middle of the galley and began smoking where they ate, waiting for everyone’s attention to be fully on him.
“Raise your hand if you already know what I’m going to say,” the cook said firmly in a voice that made it clear only serious answers were acceptable.
Chopper, ever the good student, raised one of his hooves looking solemn as he patiently waited for Sanji’s gaze to turn to him.
“What we did was wrong,” the little doctor stated with a sad little tremble in his lip.
“Why?” the blond asked immediately.
“We shouldn’t have tampered with your food. It was disrespectful of me to suggest putting anything in a dish you made without asking—”
“Hang on, this wasn’t Chopper’s idea! I was the one asking questions and steering him into trying it,” Nami cut in emphatically. Her brown eyes were shining with unshed tears, and the guilt was clear in her voice though it didn’t have the effect on Sanji she expected.
His tone didn’t change when he addressed her with the same question, nor did he use a polite epithet to show respect when saying her name. “Why do you think it’s wrong, Nami?”
The navigator hesitated only a moment before hanging her head in shame. “I should know better than anyone what it means to take away somebody’s freedom,” she said regretfully, lifting her eyes to meet his. “It wasn’t a good prank—it would have been wrong to trick Usopp into spilling his secrets, and it was a horrible mistake to mix up the plates that ended up hurting you and Zoro—we…I’m sorry.”
“Me too, I’m really sorry, SanjI!” Chopper added tearfully, fully crying fat droplets into his furry cheeks now.
“Apologizing is a lovely gesture, but you know it won’t fix what’s already done. Out of everyone on this crew, you guys accidentally targeted the one who religiously guards himself and made controlling his emotions a main aspect of his personality—the situation seriously couldn’t be more fucked!” the blond raged, losing his grip on the anger he was holding back.
“Don’t yell at them! They know it was a mistake, and being mad won’t solve anything either,” Luffy told his cook in the voice he only reserved for important matters of the crew.
“I have to be mad because I don’t know what else to be right now, okay?! I don’t want to do what I’m about to fucking do, but it has to be done—fuck!” Sanji exclaimed, pulling at the roots of his hair in frustration. “I need you to keep everyone in this room while I deal with this mess.”
“Roger! We won’t interrupt you guys, so go ahead and talk to Zoro,” the captain said more cheerily than the context warranted.
“And you two better apologize to him after he cools off,” the cook reminded Chopper and Nami. “Just give us some space first before bringing it up again.”
He felt a little awkward including himself and Zoro in one breath as an “us” but wanted to make it clear that he would also need consideration—the last thing either the cook or the swordsman needed were a hundred questions from their friends hounding them for answers.
Sanji didn’t even know what kind of conversation he was about to have, but he sure as hell wouldn’t want to be reminded of it anytime soon based on his previous interactions with Zoro. They were already a volatile pair, and now romantic feelings were tangled in the mix? His mind was a miasma of confusion and self-doubt when he thought about the swordsman hiding his true emotions the same way the cook had been for years.
He didn’t know how he felt about Zoro—it was too raw, too real and complex to put into words let alone one word, that word—ineffable was the best way to describe it. Certainly there was an unspoken tension between them, but was it platonic? Sexual? Something else entirely? Did they each feel a completely different type of charge, or were they both on their way to realizing it was mutual?
Why was he even entertaining the idea before speaking to the stupid marimo swordsman to make sure he didn’t misunderstand the confession? Perhaps Zoro had meant that he felt a perfectly normal love for Sanji, like they did towards all their nakama, but was too embarrassed to say it about his rival.
“Fuck it all,” the cook muttered, retrieving the last plate which still had the offending food sitting out where the swordsman left it—half a steak cut, mashed potatoes, and barbeque curly fries neatly presented with care.
A weak chorus of “good luck!” sounded behind him as he marched outside and stood in front of the galley door, mentally stealing himself to climb up to the crow’s nest and confront his friend—after years of cohabitation, countless petty battles, and near-constant banter, Sanji finally felt comfortable calling Zoro a friend in the privacy of his own mind.
He stared down at the leftovers and contemplated the reality of having no conversation filter with heavy horror. Was he really about to do this when so many things could go wrong? What if he said something horrible that he could never take back?
Sanji didn’t think he believed most of the crap that he dished at the swordsman on a regular basis, but what if something slipped out that did irreparable damage to their relationship? He simply didn’t trust the darkest corners of his soul not to ruin this.
A wave of mild annoyance washed over the cook as he continued to stand there staring up at the crow’s nest like a fool, lost in his own head—the swordsman’s Haki expressing his impatience when they both knew that Sanji was delaying the inevitable. Neither man was hiding their intentions to talk, but they both didn’t want to be the first one to approach.
“Don’t chicken out. You didn’t do anything to him. You’re just gonna talk. It’ll be fine,” he told himself like a mantra that refused to stick. There’s nothing to worry about. Climb the damn rigging, coward!
Berating himself helped as well as focusing on the oppressive feeling of the swordsman’s Haki bearing down on him, a feeling he didn’t exactly hate but was uncomfortable enough to make him mildly angry. The plan was to barge into Zoro’s space when they were both clearly agitated, have an honest conversation about that utter shit-show of a love confession, and then go their separate ways for the rest of the night.
A fairly nonsensical plan on its own, but there was one unpredictable factor that would determine whether or not it was successful, and that was the truth serum which caused the whole problem in the first place.
Sanji stepped up to the rigging with the plate balanced steadily on one palm, shaking the nerves out of his limbs before quickly climbing the ropes one-handed. He needed to focus because it started raining—of fucking course it had, how dramatic—so there was a real danger of slipping.
Zoro opened the trapdoor for him as he got close, standing aside for the sopping-wet cook to drag himself in like a drowned cat. The swordsman eyed the plate with growing animosity, not understanding why the cook had it with him.
“What the fuck? I know you have your precious never-waste-food motto, but seriously, throw that shit out! I said I won’t eat it—”
“I’m not asking you to, Marimo.”
“Then why did you bring it up here?”
“Because I’m going to eat it, and then you and I are gonna talk,” Sanji announced, producing a fork from inside his suit jacket to snag a piece of meat from the remaining chunk. The cook would never admit it to the swordsman, but he always made the perfect cut even when using simple kitchen utensils.
Zoro interrupted his admiration of the skillful bisection with a tight grip at his wrist preventing him from bringing the food any closer.
“Don’t swallow that, are you crazy?!”
“Are you really in love with me?”
“Yes,” Zoro answered instantly then cursed himself under his breath.
“The truth serum thing is still in effect then.”
“Go fuck yourself!” the swordsman spat out, swiping at the cook’s arm hoping to destabilize the plate and knock it to the ground.
Sanji made a show of dancing out of the other man’s reach while shovelling food down his throat in a much more uncouth manner than he usually would’ve allowed in the presence of company.
“Do you always have to answer me, or only when it’s in the form of a question?”
“Only when it’s in the form of a question I think.”
“You got halfway through this plate, so it didn’t take too long to start working,” Sanji mused, dodging another attempt to steal his plate with the practiced ease of someone who grew up in a bustling kitchen. When the swordsman chose not to say anything, he added, “Wanna kill some time with a spar?”
“No, I want you to leave me alone.”
“Ouch. Tell me how you really feel,” the cook added sarcastically and was surprised when his words still forced an answer from the other man, one that shocked him to his core.
“I wish you wanted to be here, but I know you don’t.”
The words stung in accusation, and Sanji wanted to refute them, but first he had to be sure that the truth serum was in affect for himself. It wasn’t fair to put Zoro in a situation where he was the only one unable to hold back his thoughts, and the blond didn’t want to accidentally demand answers again. Navigating a conversation this way would become fraught with hurt feelings if they weren’t careful.
“I just want to understand,” Sanji explained, hoping it was as true as he believed. “Now fight me so I can digest this shit faster.”
“Hah, you just called your own food shit, Shitty-cook!” the swordsman teased, lighting a fire in the blond.
In a flash he was in motion, crossing the short distance between himself and Zoro to land a kick below his ribs, knocking him back a step deliberately closer to his swords. He reached for them instantly and the fight exploded into a contained clash that shook the crow’s nest each time Sanji’s leg met polished steel, Haki singing harmoniously as the exchange heated up the temperature in the room.
The swordsman dropped the sleeves of his cloak, bare-chested and sweating from his earlier workout while the cook shed his top layer as well, cracking a grin in anticipation of a real battle. They had to reign it in, of course, being on the Sunny with only a few inches of wood separating them from their crewmates, but they didn’t necessarily hold back—no, that would be dishonorable.
The cook and the swordsman took to the skies, ignoring the trapdoor and rigging completely in favor of springing out the open window. Zoro landed heavily on deck and launched a series of airborne slashing attacks that were gracefully dodged by Sky Walk. They met at ground level after the blond got tired of playing around—a single nick to his pantleg was enough to convince him to come down and deescalate things before a stray attack took out a sail or the ship’s mast.
Sanji didn’t want to cause too much damage, and his head was starting to feel funny like his thoughts were slipping away into a fog before fully forming. He didn’t have to ask if the truth serum was working—he knew it was when the swordsman offhandedly asked, “What’s that stupid grin for, Cook?” and his answer came out immediately without him deciding to say it.
“I’m having fun, Marimo!”
They really did have fun together—what a novel idea, and he hadn’t been able to keep from sharing it with Zoro whose green eyebrows hopped up in surprise hearing the carefree laughter of the cook.
“Oh, is that so, Curlybrow? What’s so fun about fighting me anyway?”
The question was posed as a tease, but the answer was a serious one though even Sanji himself wasn’t sure of his own meaning when he replied, “I feel the freest when I’m kicking your ass!”
Oddly, it sounded like something Luffy would say. He didn’t want to unpack why those words had formed, throwing himself into the fight with renewed rigor until Zoro was pinned with his back against the mast, unarmed and rubbing his wrists where the cook had kicked to disarm him, with a flaming foot planted on the wood next to the swordsman’s head.
Luckily, the Sunny was built from stronger stuff and wouldn’t even singe under the heat, but the same thing couldn’t be said for Zoro’s mint-green hair.
“Do not light me on fire, Cook—I yield!”
“But you’d look so much better without that moss infecting you.”
“Would I really though?” the swordsman pressed, having caught on to the fact that Sanji was also at a disadvantage being unable to lie.
“No,” the blond said with an annoyed grimace that turned to panic when he was pushed for detail.
“That’s really interesting because you always say how much you hate how my hair is so goddamn ugly—was that a lie?”
“Yes.”
“What do you actually think about my hair?” Zoro fired at him, grinning madly at the rosy glow of embarrassment flooding the blond’s cheeks.
“I think it’s an unusual color, but you’re really handsome and rugged so it suits you—”
Sanji clapped a hand over his mouth to cut off the rest of the sentence, feeling a backlog of words beginning to pile up in his throat that he had no intention of allowing to escape lest he never live it down. Regret didn’t even begin to describe his feelings after putting himself in such a vulnerable position.
“Suddenly, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea to poison yourself, too, huh dumbass?” Zoro asked rhetorically, forcing a curt nod of agreement from the blond. “Doesn’t feel great, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t…I’m sorry,” the cook told him sincerely, earning an eye roll from the other man.
“You don’t have to apologize for something those idiots did,” he scoffed, “and you certainly didn’t have to eat it and share in my misery.”
“A-actually, I meant sorry for calling you ugly,” Sanji explained sheepishly.
The swordsman laughed out loud—a true, honest to goodness laugh that they rarely got to see unless Zoro was drunk—it started as a small rumble in his chest before bursting out when his ribs could no longer contain it, forcing the cook to step back and watch in amusement as his crewmate absolutely lost it cackling to death.
“You look insane,” the cook commented with an aborted giggle of his own.
“I really don’t know you at all, do I?”
Zoro’s question gives him pause because there’s an underlying sadness intrinsic to his words, and even though it’s not a real question, he has no choice but to answer it.
“I don’t know.”
Sanji isn’t even sure if he knows himself.
“Why are you doing this?” Zoro asked, chasing the cook across the deck when he turned abruptly on his heel and started walking briskly in the direction of the men’s dorms.
“I don’t want to be overheard, and the others are still in the galley.”
The swordsman shakes his head and rephrases his question more specifically. “Why are you trying to have a conversation with both of us all fucked up by drugs or whatever the hell they put in the food—?”
“I need to know the truth, okay?!” Sanji yelled while picking up the pace until Zoro was struggling to keep up with the gait of his long legs. “Someone I really care about just confessed their love to me, and I can tell they’re suffering because of it. I don’t know how I feel about them, so I can’t do anything to help until I know.”
“That’s why you fucking poisoned yourself?! Cook, this is crazy—”
“Get in,” Sanji cut him off, ushering the swordsman into the empty bedroom.
“Listen, I know it’s awkward, but I’m fine with just forgetting that any of this ever happened. I don’t need your help—”
“Shut up, Marimo! You’re making this so much harder, just—get inside!”
Zoro gave up and let himself be manhandled, concerned by his friend’s frantic energy and the reality of being alone in a room with him when they were both out of sound mind. He flicked on the lights to at least provide some sense of normalcy and followed Sanji to the couches though the cook seemed too keyed-up to sit still, choosing to stand in the middle of the room and pace back and forth across the small decorative carpet instead.
“Okay…yeah…okay, we’re doing this right now, Marimo. Let’s go,” the blond said as if to pump himself up for another fight.
“Doing what?”
“Well, re-doing it—the confession. Come on, I wasn’t ready the first time.”
“You were never supposed to hear it at all!” Zoro exclaimed, flabbergasted by the direction this was going. “I’m not fucking doing that. Why are you being an asshole about this?! Just forget it!”
“I’m not trying to be an asshole, really, I want to give you an honest answer—”
“Gee, thanks, but I don’t really want to put myself through that again just to be told to get fucked—”
“I’m not gonna tell you to get fucked—”
“How do you know?!” the swordsman shouted. “Do you have any idea how many shitty things you’ve said to me over the years? I don’t need to find out which ones are true to understand how you feel.”
“Why do you think you can understand something that even I don’t? You’re right, I can’t predict what I’m going to say, but that’s exactly why I’m trying to talk about it because all that shit I threw at you was a front! We started acting childish too long ago to change without something drastic—”
“I don’t want anything to change!” Zoro practically screamed, his one eye going wide. “I like being your friend, Curly. We don’t have to do this—it’s enough.”
The reassuring words had the opposite effect, kickstarting a flood of tears so unexpected that the swordsman physically reeled back a few steps. He had never seen the cook truly cry for as long as he’d known him, so the sight was almost impossible for his brain to comprehend.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, moving to hesitantly approach the crying man before realizing that he couldn’t do anything to comfort him.
“Nothing,” Sanji responded quickly, wiping the wet mess off his face with his own sleeve which was uncharacteristically sloppy for him. “I’m glad you think of me as a friend. You’ve never said it before.”
“Of course I do.”
“And I like the way things are, too…but I still want to give you a proper answer.”
Zoro tried and failed to hide his grimace, sighing at the other man’s predictable stubbornness. He really fucking loved this neurotic, complicated man, so if he had to suffer through rejection so that Sanji could have closure, it would be worth it.
“Alright then, lemme have it. Might as well get this over with,” he said with mild dread.
“You have to ask me directly,” the cook reminded him, “Hurry, before it wears off!”
“Fine, but this was your idea, and I want it on the record that I am against this.”
“Are you in love with me, Zoro?”
“Yes. Are you in love with me, Sanji?”
The blond froze, eyes wide at the sound of his name being spoken in the swordsman’s deep voice. Even laced with playful mocking, it was a sound that he would remember for the rest of his life as a precious gift from the man who was always at his side.
He felt a swell of emotion rising in his chest and welcomed the flurry of intrusive thoughts reorganizing themselves into an answer. It was obvious from the strength of feeling flooding his senses that it wouldn’t be a simple yes or no, but he couldn’t have predicted the words if he tried.
“I’m not sure how I feel because I don’t know what love is. I’ve always known that I love women—I love Nami and Robin, my sister and my mom—I love my crew, too, Zeff and the other cooks at the Baratie, and I love feeding people. I thought I knew the difference between platonic and romantic love, but when you said you were in love with me, I realized that I don’t actually know what it means.”
Sanji paused to take a breath, amazed at how light he felt getting the words out—words he hadn’t even known were hiding in his heart. It was freeing in a way he didn’t expect it to be despite still being terrifying, and Zoro was listening patiently, enraptured by the cook opening up to him like he never had before.
“I’ve thought about it before,” the blond admitted shyly, turning his face to hide his blush behind a curtain of hair. “I remember wondering after your fight with Mihawk—the most recent one, I mean—if maybe the way I was feeling in that moment, watching you achieve your dream after all those years, was because I loved you…in a different way than I thought, but I—I pushed it aside.”
“Why?” Zoro asked simply. It was incredible enough hearing that Sanji had put any amount of thought into their relationship let alone contemplated the possibility of having romantic feelings for the swordsman.
“I was scared to be right,” Sanji told him shamefully. “I didn’t want to think about what it would mean for me.”
“Because I’m a man?” the swordsman guessed.
The cook shook his head and cracked the smallest of smiles at that. “Surprisingly, no.”
“Okay, then if not gay panic, what were you so afraid for?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“Try me.”
“Did Luffy or the others ever tell you about my father?”
“They mentioned his name—Vinsmoke Judge—and also that he had a raging case of assholery. Nami’s words.”
“And did they tell you he’s the leader of the evil Germa Kingdom, and that they have a fuckton of weapons, an army of genetically engineered clones, super-soldier children who follow his every order, the whole nine yards?”
“I got the gist,” Zoro told him flatly, “but I don’t see what they have to do with us.”
“Like I said, it’s complicated…I’m not sure how to say this exactly.”
“Give it your best shot.”
“You remind me of my brothers.”
The swordsman flinched like the words were weapons, and he was actually struck speechless because Sanji’s brothers were monsters. Nami told him all about those assholes, and even if they were born and raised that way and not in control of their lack of emotions, Zoro refused to forgive them for the torment they put the cook through. Needless to say, he didn’t have to know the gritty details to be hurt by the unflattering comparison.
Luckily, Sanji continued before the statement could be misunderstood. “When we first met, you made quite a spectacle getting sliced open over your dream, and then you kept fighting with those crazy injuries and made a huge mess at Arlong Park. Joining up with Luffy put me right in the thick of things, but for most of my life I’d been trying to forget my past and live for my old man who saved me—I turned my back on my biological father, rejected my family name, and found a new family in the Straw Hats. I didn’t expect to find someone to rival me the way you did, to push me as far as I’ve come, but you were always there, and you were everything my father wanted me to be that I wasn’t.”
“Like your brothers…” Zoro realized slowly, trying to understand and not be offended.
“I think I reacted so aggressively towards you in the beginning because I was used to being the weakest, the runt who couldn’t measure up as a warrior, and I saw you as the kind of man I always rejected—physically strong, weapon trained, battle-hungry—you’d have been the perfect son for Judge Vinsmoke.”
“…”
“The things that my father hated about me…I didn’t see them in you, and I think I was jealous. Competing with you became second nature, and for a while I didn’t really see myself as someone who could stay at your level. When you won the title of the World’s Greatest Swordsman, I still hadn’t found the All Blue. I was so happy for you, but when I let myself feel the emotions from that day, they were spoiled by my own insecurities. I remember thinking that it would be fucking pathetic to fall in love with someone so far out of my league.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous, Cook. Do you really think I’m out of your league because I cut down an old man with a big sword?!”
“Well not anymore, but at the time I was questioning if my feelings for you were normal or some fucked consequence of my upbringing—I didn’t understand why I’m attracted to a man who represented everything I tried so hard to run away from or why I built you up in my head like that in the first place, it’s confusing!”
“You’re attracted to me?!” Zoro blurted out, feeling his cheeks heat up to match the cook’s own flaming face.
“Yes,” he answered instantly, following it with an embarrassed groan and hiding behind his hands.
“That’s kind of adorable,” the swordsman couldn’t help but comment. Seeing Sanji so flustered was a rarity he didn’t want to miss a second of, and there was no way to help staring—he really was too cute.
“You’re such a fucking dick! Don’t ask me embarrassing questions like that!” the cook complained with an adorable huff which was accompanied by an even more adorable childish stomp.
“If you’re attracted to me, and I’m attracted to you then what’s the actual problem here?”
“The problem is that there isn’t one, and I’m running out of excuses!” Sanji told him wildly.
“Then just kiss me you big, stupid idiot—!”
The cook surged forward and mashed their mouths together, fisting one hand in Zoro’s cloak and the other at the nape of the swordsman’s neck to pull him in close. He could taste the salt from Sanji’s tears on the soft skin of his lips and felt the desperation oozing out, his Haki folding around them like a cocoon of frantic desire.
It was hot in every sense of the word—sweltering in the men’s cabin, sweat beading on their brows, they fell into a back and forth as Zoro held him to his chest, kissing passionately. Everything Sanji did was passionate, and there was nothing holding him back from showing it while they were free from all inhibitions.
The swordsman didn’t hold back either, letting his hands roam a little and explore the planes of the cook’s face, his warm shoulders and back, the dips in his narrow waist that acted as perfect handholds, and every inch of his delicious mouth—the same mouth that scolded him and tested the temperature of his food before it was served, grinned wickedly when he got one over on Zoro in a bet, sucked endlessly on cigarettes and swore like a sailor—that mouth was on him right now, and it wasn’t a dream this time.
Sanji’s skin felt so good under the swordsman’s palms, and the little noises he was making were highly encouraging. A hand began creeping into the gap in his robe to feel up his chest, and Zoro felt something inside him snap after years of behaving, not touching when he wanted to touch, feigning indifference and constantly ripping his gaze away before it lingered too long.
He lifted the cook straight off the ground by his waist just to feel the other man’s weight in his arms, head spinning at the sound of his name in Sanji’s breathless voice asking him to move to the bunks. Two thick thighs clamped down on the swordsman’s sides as the legs he fantasized about every night wrapped around and locked ankles at his back.
He could feel the blond’s groin emanating heat, pressed flat against his stomach where the muscles contracted at the contact, and his brain turned to mush. He stumbled to one of the beds carrying Sanji, not caring whose they tumbled into, and called upon his last functioning brain cell to ask, “Are you sure you want to do this?” as he landed awkwardly on his back with the cook perched on his thighs, bracketing the swordsman in with his arms.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Totally certain. I wanna make you feel good,” he muttered with his face buried in the crook of Zoro’s neck.
His attention was torn between the tongue travelling up the curve of his neck, the overwhelming scent of Sanji swirling around him, and the rapidly hardening erections in their pants.
“Where’d all this confidence come from, Cook?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Can I take this damn thing off?” he asked with an impatient tug at the rumpled front of the robe caught on the swordsman’s thick shoulders.
“You can do anything—and I mean literally fucking anything you want,” Zoro groaned, going boneless beneath him.
Sanji raised his head to stare down at his willing captive, face framed by a halo of gold and lips slightly parted in awe. A sound that could only be described as a giggle slipped out, and the cook regarded him playfully for a moment before slowly leaning in to drop a soft kiss on the other man’s slack-jawed expression.
“Do you really want to give me that much power over you?” he asked teasingly, grinning as if to say be careful what you wish for.
“I trust you,” Zoro told him with a fond smile. “Can I?”
He reached towards the cook’s face, skimming his fingers down the blond fringe as he waited for a nod of permission. Another dream was coming true for the swordsman who eagerly tucked the hair behind his ear and drank in the image of Sanji with no obstructions.
His face had squared out a bit without the teenage baby fat though his jaw was still delicate, features perfectly symmetrical and skin flushed with arousal—it darkened his eyes and made his breath quicken as evidenced by the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
Zoro admired the lines of his long torso curving over him, the fabric of his collar coming loose without a tie exposing a pale strip of his throat, and the subtle shapes of his muscles flexing under his own weight. The swordsman thought he wouldn’t mind if he died right here—if the cook reached out with those hands that never hurt and choked the life out of him, he would thank him for sparing the time.
Sanji helped him shuck off his robe, bending down to kiss the hollow of the swordsman’s throat before migrating his lips along his bare sternum, tickling the skin around his belly button when he whispered conspiratorially, “I wanna do something kinda crazy.”
Zoro tensed as the warm breath ghosted over him and the blond moved lower, slipping his fingers into either side of the black waistband on the swordsman’s pants. A wave of panic spurred him into action, and he quickly grabbed the cook’s shoulders to push him back.
“Wait, wait, WAIT—you can’t do that!” he shouted, blushing furiously.
“I thought you said I could do literally anything,” Sanji reminded him with a small pout.
Zoro sucked in a breath through his nose and summoned all the patience he possessed, calmly explaining, “If you take me dick out right now, I will come on your face before you even touch me.”
He had the pleasure of watching the blond’s eyes bulge and his mouth fall open in a perfect O-shape, holding the expression for a full three seconds before bursting into nervous laughter. He actually snorted a little and had to cover his nose with a hand to muffle the sound—a gesture so inelegant the swordsman wondered if he’d imagined it because the cook’s face shifted so quickly back to its previous arousal.
“Maybe you can aim for my mouth at least—spare me the clean up,” he said cutely, eyes sparkling at the horrible shade of crimson that took over the tan of Zoro’s skin.
“Not funny, nope, get off now, Cook. Your make-out privileges have been revoked!”
Sanji dodged the palm he tried to shove in his face, somehow pinning his arms over his head with just enough force to make Zoro’s skin grow hotter, and although the cook didn’t have the upper body strength to immobilize the swordsman, the change in position was a clear message from a petty brat.
You can’t tell me what to do.
God, he loved him so much.
It fucking hurt like a permanent ache in his ribs—stole his breath, made him dizzy and uncoordinated, all his training be damned—like Sanji flipped a switch that made all his systems fire full throttle. He felt out of body half the time when the other man looked at him, floating above-head watching himself act foolishly, always falling for the cook’s bait because any excuse to interact with him was a good one.
“You gonna make me move, Marimo?” he asked, speaking directly into Zoro’s ear.
He couldn’t tell if the truth serum was still in effect or not because there was no reason to deny the other man answers anymore, so they came freely. “I won’t make you do anything.”
“But you just told me to get off,” Sanji said disapprovingly.
“I’m sorry, Cook—you can stay.”
“Fuck…this is pretty fun.”
“Glad you’re enjoying yourself, pervert.”
The blond bit him cheekily on the earlobe to rattle his earrings and deflated like a weighted blanket, stretching out on top with a dramatic sigh. “I have to let the others out of the galley, but I don’t want to move,” he whined.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“You’re so annoying!”
“Uh huh.”
“How could I ever love you?”
“Maybe you can’t,” Zoro replied while lightly stroking the blond’s hair.
“…I don’t like that you think that’s the truth.”
“It is, and I’m okay with it. I’m not asking you for anything,” he said reassuringly.
“Why not?” Sanji demanded unhappily. “Were you really just never going to tell me?!”
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s…dumb! You’re dumb, Zoro.”
“Pout all you want—you already got your way.”
They fell into a comfortable silence with the blond laying in his arms, face pressed against the swordsman’s chest and legs tangled haphazardly. The urgency of arousal had faded into a glowing ember of desire burning in the background, but the moment couldn’t last forever. They had lives to return to that didn’t revolve around this new romantic entanglement and plenty of time to explore it if they both wished.
“Hey, after this stuff wears off, can I ask you to do something for me?”
“Anything, Cook.”
“I want to hear it again…when you’re ready,” Sanji told him shyly.
I love you.
Could Zoro really say it from the bottom of his heart without fear of upsetting the balance on their crew? If there was even a slight possibility that the cook might say those words back to him someday, he didn’t want to lose the opportunity now that his feelings were out in the open.
“I’ll tell you everything you want to know—all the hows, wheres, whens, and whys,” the swordsman promised. “Now go let our ravenous captain loose before he eats us out of house and home.”
With great reluctance, they untangled themselves and made their clothes look presentable in anticipation for questions from their curious nakama. Sanji seemed especially jumpy at the idea of returning to polite company with a semi hard-on and opted to stop for a bathroom break just so he could splash his burning cheeks with cold water.
The swordsman mastered his poker face long ago, but the cook wore his nervousness like a badge, clearly uncomfortable being in the spotlight. It didn’t help that Luffy immediately accosted them when they returned to the front deck (the others hadn’t managed to keep him inside the kitchen, but at least he held back from bursting in on the two men at an awkward time).
Their naïve captain asked Sanji if he told Zoro he loved him back before Nami knocked him upside the head with her fist of love, shooting apologetic glances at the red-faced cook and the equally crimson swordsman.
“Sorry Sanji! You know we just can’t take him anywhere—don’t mind us, we’re all happy you worked things out!” she told him cheerily. “You did work things out, right? Luffy, take Zoro’s night watch so he can sit down and have a proper dinner.”
“Oi, I haven’t heard an apology, witch.”
“Don’t call Nami-san names!”
“Hey, you guys weren’t forced to answer that time!” Chopper piped in excitedly. “Maybe that means the serum wore off? Come into the infirmary so I can do a check-up—”
“Leave it for tomorrow, Chopper—they’re probably tired from doing…st-stuff…or not…umm…” Usopp trailed off, losing confidence in synch with the angry squint of Sanji’s death-glare.
“Jinbe, you had a question for our cook about today’s cut of steak, did you not?” Robin redirected, tactfully starting an innocent conversation.
“Oh, yes, I thought I recognized the marinade—did you make it with spices from Wano?”
Sanji took the out gratefully, launching into a detailed explanation of how he basted the meat with a handmade recipe mixing culinary arts from Dressrosa and Wano in one dish while the Fishman listened with rapt attention.
The swordsman excused himself politely, promising to come back in a few minutes so that the cook could finish feeding him, and was not surprised when their resident archeologist slipped outside to join him at the ship’s railing looking over the ocean.
They stood in silence for a moment listening to the calming sound of the ocean waves, the distant music from Brook’s guitar as he strummed out a romantic tune, and Franky’s wailing rendition of something called, Love Between Sailors Makes the World Go ‘Round.
“Did Nami really find some creepy old lady selling mysterious ingredients and bring them to Chopper?” Zoro asked point blank—no sense beating around the bush with this woman.
Her smile said it all.
“Damn it, Robin, I told you not to meddle! Chopper never messed up the plates—it was you all along!”
“I’m sorry, Zoro. I didn’t mean for it to get quite so out of hand.”
“You don’t sound sorry at all,” he grouched, ignoring her sly grin when he allowed the touch of a disembodied hand blooming from the railing to pet his short hair.
“You’re such a softie at heart. I really don’t know how our cook didn’t realize sooner—”
“Shut it, Demon-woman.”
“—how madly in love with him you are. Honestly, it was getting difficult to watch, and we were all rooting for you in secret anyway—”
“Shut up, oh my God…”
“Hmm? What was that?” Robin asked, sprouting several ears on Zoro’s shoulders just to give him the ick.
“I said…thank you for the assist.”
His face burned under her knowing gaze, but he secretly appreciated what she’d done since there was no one else who was so fucked up—and cared about his happiness so much—that they would do something this underhanded, going as far as to drug their friends’ food just to force a love confession.
“Don’t forget it because I might need something from you in return one day,” she told him sneakily, always plotting.
“I can’t convince Franky to stop wearing Speedos—I’ve tried!”
“Another favor then. It’s always good to have a strong man owe me one.”
Her cheeky wink didn’t crack Zoro’s stony face an inch, but in his heart the swordsman knew that he really did owe her for putting an end to his cowardice—albeit in a roundabout, morally questionable and highly intrusive way—but that was a brutal truth he would take to his grave. The cook’s flawless image of his precious Robin-chan would remain unsullied.
What Sanji didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
The End <3