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Zoro’s POV…
The first time it happened, Zoro was peacefully snoring in his bunk. Sanji had woken him up, shaking his shoulder with less and less gentle hands. Zoro had been ready to cut the cook into pieces for disturbing him, but the anxious expression he wore had sat up the swordsman in no time. The cook had hesitated, visibly second guessing whatever it was he wanted to say. His eyes were darting everywhere around the room, breaths uneven and close to panicked. But Zoro had locked his gaze into Sanji's, and squeezed his arm for encouragement.
“Did you eat properly today ?” Sanji had whispered. Zoro could tell it was an irrational question, hearing how edged with trouble the cook’s tone was. “You need to eat more, Marimo. I don’t…” His eyes were shining in the dark room, wet from whatever thoughts were ruining his night. His fingers twitched at his sides as if resisting the urge to reach out. “I don’t want you to starve.”
Zoro could have brushed him off. Tell him he was just fine, put him to bed. The cook was a mistery to him, always overthinking each and every thing. He was very different to Zoro in this sense. But Sanji had mentioned before his utter fear of the crew getting hungry at sea. Something linked to what they’d gone through a long time ago, him and his old man. That’s why Zoro had offered.
“Would you like to feed me something ?” Sanji had gasped hopefully at that, before vigorously nodding.
It turned out to calm the cook’s anxiety like a charm. Sanji would stuff the swordsman with food he deemed filling : rice, proteins, urging him to drink a lot of water to keep hydrated. He kept going until he came back to reason. They never spoke properly about it. But whenever he was overwhelmed with panic, they would repeat the new found ritual, like a silent understanding between them, and everything was fine again.
Zoro did notice he was putting on some weight, and he couldn’t be surprised. Sanji was feeding him an extra copious meal on top of everything he’d already eaten. But he deemed it to be worth it. In the grand scheme of things, what was a layer of fat if it meant easing Sanji’s mind ?
But it did get out of control, and it awakened in him something unexpected.
Naturally, the increase of daily intakes made Zoro’s appetite grow, and he generally ate more food, on top of Sanji’s occasional stuffing. He caught himself missing them sometimes, when the cook didn’t need it for a few days in a row. He would compensate, demanding snacks.
The swordsman only noticed how gluttonous he had allowed himself to be when he outgrew his clothes. His haramaki was too tight, and he was scared the fabric would stretch if he wore it. But this morning, the most concerning were his pants. He had developed love handles, sticking out of them. They refused to button up at the front, even if he sucked his belly in.
Even after becoming self-aware, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Zoro guessed he had put on a solid 40 pounds, if not more. His movements did feel heavier, maybe sluggish, but he caught himself thinking as long as he could move, he wanted to keep eating. The thought of helping Sanji out was encouraging, sure, but watching himself grow larger and larger everyday was pleasurable.
He was busy devouring an ovened chicken he had asked the cook to make for him when a few thoughts occured. The latter was silently tidying his kitchen, not minding the swordsman’s gluttony.
“Why aren’t you stopping me ?” Zoro asked. His words halted Sanji in his tracks, and their eyes met.
“What do you mean ?”
Zoro leaned back against the back of his chair. As to make a point, his shirt rolled up his stomach. “I look like I’m about to burst,” the swordsman added. “I was expecting you to bother me about it.”
Sanji bit on his cigarette. He muttered something under his breath, and the swordsman insisted that he repeated. “It’s oddly comforting,” the cook huffed louder. “Seeing you visibly fat is the perfect indicator that you’re not going hungry.”
Zoro gave his stomach a rub, feeling the last barriers keeping him from accomplishing his fantasy collapse. “So, if I told you I wanted to be even fatter, would you help me ?”
Sanji didn’t answer, and the swordsman interpreted it as a yes.
A few weeks, relentlessly copious meals and 50 pounds later, Zoro found himself in the kitchen. Despite Nami and Chopper’s protests, he happily had spent the day doing nothing but eating. His gut was stuffed, round with a heavy hang at the bottom, forcing his laps to spread. The cook and everyone else had gone to sleep, but he wanted to feel fuller. It was worth mentioning he was pleasantly drunk, having just finished a third bottle of cheap red wine.
Zoro was lovingly watching his gut widen and shrink back with every breath he took. It squeezed for the frequent burps he let out. They pissed Nami off, but now, with the kitchen empty, he could freely let them out. He was certain he could fit in some more.
He got up with a belch, stuffed belly leading the way towards the fridge. The sight of Sanji’s carefully packed left-overs made his mouth water.
Sanji’s POV…
The cook stirred awake from his slumber, bothered by some heavy steps getting closer from his bunk. A loud burp echoed through the room, jolting him in a sitting position. The swordsman was difficultly shuffling towards him, his steps unsure and inhibited unhelped by his weight. He was holding his enormous gut, looked wrecked, painfully and obviously stuffed to the brim.
“Good thing you’re awake,” Zoro slurred in a whisper. His attempts at discretion were no use when his words ended with a loud belch.
“Keep them in !” Sanji hissed, eyes darting around the room for signs of their crewmates awaking.
As much as he wanted to keep scolding, he couldn’t help but feel relief at the sight. Zoro was now probably almost 350 pounds, at least he’d assumed based on the size of his gut. His anxiety for the swordsman to starve to death had almost disappeared. If only the rest of the crew could weigh this much, he would have nothing to worry about.
“Curly, you need to cook for me,” the swordsman asked. “I’m starving.”
He was wrecked by yet another burp. Zoro was obviously utterly stuffed, but it wasn’t Sanji’s style to refuse someone a meal, no matter how late it was in the night.
Sanji got up, thinking the faster they were out of the dorms, the less likely the swordsman's obnoxiously loud belches were to wake up their friends. He entered the kitchen, welcomed by a messy sight. Empty plates, that he recognized to be his own packed left-overs, decorated the dining table. Behind him, the swordsman burped guiltily.
He wasn’t sure for how long Zoro ate. He ended up slipping in a food coma, sauce and rice all over his cheeks. His belly was incredibly swollen and hard, filling the room with digestive noises, needing a well deserved rest.
Seeing the people of Wano preyed on by famine did mess with Sanji’s head. His nights were filled with nightmares of that damn rock he and the geezer stayed on. But he knew he could count on the swordsman. He would usually take himself to Zoro’s bunk, and spend the rest of the night with him. He circled his hands around the other man’s distended waist, letting his palms grab at his lower belly fat, drawing circles on the dome of his stomach. Maybe, occasionally press out a burp or a fart out of his belly, just to make sure he was indeed stuffed and full.
But tonight, it wasn’t enough. Sanji had not slept. He was chain-smoking, bouncing his leg, clueless to how his fidgeting wasn’t bothering the sleeping swordsman beside him. His anxiety was too high to endure.
“Marimo, can I please feed you ?” he had asked in Zoro’s ear.
It took a disastrous amount of food for Sanji to finally get rid of the constant alarm in his brain. He hand fed left-overs, while a pizza cooked in the oven. Filled him with two bottles of alcohol that got him to swell and slosh further. Once his anxiety soothed, it got quickly replaced with guilt, when he realized the mess he’d turned Zoro into. His breaths were interrupted by guttural belches that threw his head back against the couch.
“God, I’m sorry,” Sanji said, rubbing at the poor and stuffed belly hanging from Zoro’s middle.
“Are you kidding ?” Zoro said. “This is the- BRUARURP- this is the best.”
Sanji massaged his friend. He couldn’t tell if Zoro was burping, snoring or breathing, all these sounds now sounding so close to each other. It’s only when Zoro mumbled something out of pocket that he knew he was out of the world.
“I’ll make myself- ghurp! -into a stuffed pig… BORP- and the cook will never have to- buarp! -worry again.”
Sanji couldn’t help but smile.
Zoro POV
Zoro stirred, groggy and sluggish. His belly felt heavy, stretched taut from last night’s indulgence, rising and falling with each deep breath. A familiar hand rested over it, fingers tracing slow, absent-minded circles over its curve..
The cook was curled against him, his breath steady and warm against his shoulder. He was awake—Zoro could tell by the way his fingers moved, kneading the softest parts of his stomach, mapping out the weight he'd helped put there.
Zoro rolled on his back, with the intention to be able to look at the cook’s face. As he did, his belly, still working on digesting the dinner, sloshed. It got a huge belch out of him. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean that one,” he said, ever so slightly out of breath. Sanji snorted in the creak of his neck, and his hand fell back to his tummy.
For a while, neither of them moved, content to soak in the warmth of the early morning. The ship rocked gently beneath them, adding to the drowsy, satisfied haze that settled between them.
Sanji sighed, finally lifting his head to meet Zoro’s gaze. “Breakfast ?”
Zoro’s stomach gurgled before he could answer.