Work Text:
So quiet.
Quiet moments on the Merry were rare. And so, they were cherished.
The window cast a panel of sunlight across the oakwood boards of the floor—one that caught the tips of Sanji’s hair. It wasn’t the vivid glare of the sun, but… gentle. Softly floating dust swayed through the rocking of the Merry. It wasn’t very hard to understand why Usopp loved her so much. Of course, the same was true for all of the Strawhats.
Luffy lay on his hammock, his crinkly straw hat placed atop his face, as it always was when he was sleeping. A stray meat bone on the floor occasionally rolled a silent, thunk-thunk. After he’d eaten Sanji’s classic meat-on-the-bone, he slumped off to his hammock. Sanji huffed a laugh at the thought.
Chopper’s chin rested on his open textbook. The little guy had tried to read—he was going on and on about how the new remedies his new book offered were really very interesting. But it seemed that sleep had gotten the better of the reindeer.
Usopp was off tinkering with Nami’s Clima-Tact. Apparently, it was a “quiet job,” or so the sniper claimed. Though the faint booms every now and then suggested otherwise. Either way, it was quiet here. And Sanji was grateful for that.
Nami was laying on her foldout chair on the deck, by her tangerine bushes. She was likely flipping a page of her magazine, the paper sounding softly against the winds that played with her vivid orange hair. She’d glance at the Log Pose once in a while—and then return to chuckling over the news and throwing her head back in the midst of the peacock blue day.
Robin was probably somewhere in the girls’ cabin, her face serene as the archeologist learned more about the history of the world. And she was… well, they didn’t actually know any other interest of hers. The Strawhats as a whole weren’t very informed of Robin’s past, but her deep passion for dusting off the ancient story of the world was very apparent. And it honestly didn’t matter—that they didn’t know about her all that much. She was a crewmember, through and through—and that was enough.
Sanji himself was just sitting here, below the deck—and, well… thinking about all the Strawhats. About how he was here. He sighed against the soothing atmosphere, the smoke from his freshly lit cigarette curling up in the air.
That was everyone.
.
.
.
Sanji blinked.
Ah, and… Zoro. He wasn’t sure where that stupid moss-head was. And frankly, as long as things stayed the way they were, he didn’t care.
.
.
.
Sanji peeked at the rope ladder. Where was that damn Marimo?
.
.
.
Sanji’s eyebrows pulled together the slightest bit before looking away. He didn’t know. And he didn’t care.
.
.
.
Zoro was most likely doing very… Zoro-things. Like training his ass off. Yeah, he’d do that. Show-off.
Sanji set his cigarette down, placing his hands behind him to stare up at the light grey smoke he exhaled. Well that was just fine. He himself had plenty of training—he'd guard the kitchen from Luffy every day. It’d be hard to top that.
Thump, thump, thump…
It was dim—but the room was so quiet, Sanji could hear it, if he strained.
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump…
It was consistent. It wasn’t erratic. It crescendoed—almost like it was getting closer.
Sanji narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t Usopp…
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.
It was as though it were… footsteps.
And damn it, Sanji had this absolutely vague idea of who it could be, but he didn’t want to think about the worst-case scenario, alright?!
Black shoes descended down the ladder—followed by a white shirt bordered with green, and certain moss-shaded hair.
“Don’t you dare make a sound, Marimo.”
Sanji’s shoulders tensed up as he glared at the swordsman who’d turned to face him.
.
.
.
Zoro wasn’t planning on causing a ruckus, anyway. He wanted some water, that’s all. Thousand-rep sword swinging followed by multi-ton weight lifting called for good hydration. That shitty cook was going off on nothing.
Now that he was here, he most definitely didn’t want to make a sound.
He thinks Luffy is sleeping. He could shoot a glance over his shoulder to confirm the straw hat on his face, but he wouldn’t move from where he was. Chopper was probably sleeping too, his small body moving with his hushed breathing. He saw Usopp sitting with a burnt face on his way here, so that was that. And yeah, Nami was probably doing witch-things. If she wasn’t doing them now, she was going to do them soon enough. He doesn’t know where Robin is.
And Sanji was sitting down on the couch, his entire face screwed up in his retaliation for Zoro’s presence.
The stream of sunlight painted the wood a light glow—one that cast a similar light on Sanji’s pale face. Zoro could see the feeble pink across his face, highlighted by the cook’s simmering annoyance. His swirled eyebrows curled up with his scowl, accented with the set of his locked jaw. His frown was small and packed with frustration—and the swordsman officially classified it as a pout. Sanji was pouting.
.
.
.
Water could wait.
Zoro softened his landing—it was like approaching a bomb, approaching Sanji. Straightening his back, he walked over to the cook, until he was right in front of him.
Sanji glared at him even harder. “Moss-for-brains… I swear on the All Blue…”
.
.
.
Zoro eased himself onto the seat next to Sanji’s—under normal circumstances, dropping onto the seat would be fine, but he didn’t want to get the cook all worked up. Not today.
“Gah—what do you think you’re doing?!” Sanji whispered fiercely. Zoro raised an eyebrow, squinting against the suddenly inconvenient sunlight. “Sitting.”
“You—” Sanji exhaled sharply in a desperate attempt to keep the mood of the room tranquil. He turned his head away to pick up a pack and strike a stick against it—only to be all the more dismayed when the practiced movement brought him no flame.
.
.
.
Deep breaths in… deep breaths out…
He said he didn’t want to ruin the mood, but he was really close to doing exactly that.
.
.
.
Sanji was angry.
It was approaching you-stupid-Marimo angry. Nah, that’s too domestic, Zoro corrected himself. Right now, it was approaching… want-to-taste-my-new-recipe-it’s-called-kick-fest angry.
Zoro could recognize that. And Zoro didn’t want Sanji to be angry at the moment—not at all. Zoro didn’t want the damn cook to storm up and away from him. And he sincerely hoped they would keep sitting right there, with that irritating sunlight. Because it was… he could…
He could see Sanji… almost…
.
.
.
E-Exposed? Vulnerable?
Zoro didn’t know. And he didn’t want to… label it. It was what it was. But whatever it was, Zoro wanted it to stay that way. Because… yeah, he liked it. He liked this.
And Sanji’s cheek was right in front of him, stubbornly refusing him a view of the shitty cook’s sea blue eyes. And Zoro wanted him to stay—somehow.
Was it really all that hard to click the pieces together?
Zoro had tried explaining this to Sanji later in the future—the man had demanded it at the time—but damn it, the crappy cook still didn’t get it.
Zoro gripped the other side of Sanji’s face, hard—and quickly pressed his lips to that stupid cheek.
.
.
.
“T-The fuck do you—” Sanji’s voice broke. “Wh-What—”
Zoro kissed him on the cheek fast again, wrapping his arm around his neck for good measure.
Stay.
.
.
.
“What’s—” Now Sanji’s voice was real angry—and loud. Atmosphere? That can go to hell. “W-What—”
The swordsman sighed, irritated. “You’ve always been a bit slow, huh, curly brows?”
“YOU LITTLE—”
Zoro promptly planted another abrupt kiss on his flushed cheek.
.
.
.
The swordsman pulled back carefully, raising an eyebrow.
His evaluation of the cook by his side was of the following: very red; fuming, definitely; completely speechless; and most importantly, quite still. And still meant he wasn’t going anywhere.
A success, in Zoro’s eyes.
.
.
.
“What was—”
Peck.
“W-When did y—“
Peck.
“H-How—”
Peck.
“Who the fuck told y—”
Peck.
“W-W-Why—”
Peck.
“Mmn!”
Sanji braced for the touch of insistent lips. Unfortunately, there were only words for him this time. T-Thankfully, he means. Thankfully, there were only words for him this time.
“Gotta learn, shitty cook,” Zoro grumbled. “You stay.”
.
.
.
“So—”
Those damn lips met his cheek, smothering Sanji’s half-hearted attempt at speaking right.
“Argh!”
Peck.
“M-Mn.”
Peck.
Sanji stayed still, waiting. And he didn’t say a word.
.
.
.
N-No kiss. No kiss?
Sanji cracked an eye open. He glanced next to him, to meet Zoro’s intent, patient gaze.
RULE NUMBER ONE: If Sanji makes no sound, he doesn’t get a kiss.
Great. Great! Sanji just had to stay quiet, and he won’t be caught up in whatever this was…
Every reason to stay very silent.
.
.
.
Sanji sighed.
Peck.
Sanji huffed.
Peck.
Sanji grumbled frustrated nothings.
Peck.
Sanji sighed harder.
Peck.
RULE NUMBER TWO: Sighing harder doesn’t get Sanji two kisses—it’s consecutive.
Peck.
Sanji’s eyes widened . He… hadn’t realized he was muttering out loud…
Peck.
That was the second time! There was no way Sanji subconsciously muttered twice. He hates that, not realizing what he’s saying and what he’s not.
And—and! And what was he doing!? That wasn’t the reason he should have stopped making noises! Whatever, just… Sanji sealed his mouth shut, squeezing his eyes closed.
Argh! He’s done.
.
.
.
Sanji sighed four times as hard. Maybe it was proportional, and two times harder than before meant one kiss more.
Peck.
RULE NUMBER THREE: RULE NUMBER TWO is very important.
Fine! Fine, Sanji got it—consecutive sighing and all that.
.
.
.
“Marimo.” Sanji sighed. See? Still a consecutive sigh, but paired with his nickname. That ought to do the trick. Sanji closed his eyes in expectation.
Peck. Peck. “What?”
Jackpot. “M-Marimo,” Sanji sighed, trying to mask his satisfaction at the discovery. He added an annoyed huff.
Peck. Peck. Peck—on his other cheek, this time. “What is it?”
RULE NUMBER FOUR: The kisses aren’t proportional, but they follow a consecutive correlation!
Sanji sighed melodramatically, huffed, tsked, and harrumphed—before grumbling, “Marimo.”
Peck. “What the hell is it?”
RULE NUMBER FIVE: Disregard every other rule. Marimo’s a goddamn idiot.
“H-Hey! That’s not—” Sanji growled, scowling at Zoro. “That’s not fair! You’ve got to play by the damn rules, got it, stupid moss-head?!”
Zoro’s face twisted up in confusion, side-eyeing the cook. “The hell?”
“You… You kiss me on the cheek for every time I make a damn sound! You kiss me twice if I make two different sounds, three if three, and when I make five, it’s just one?!”
.
.
.
Sanji wanted to go back to the East Blue, back to getting his ass beat by Zeff, and back to never being seen by this goddamn swordsman ever again.
And he was—he thinks he truly, really was ready to take a hearty jump off the ship, maybe kiss Nami-swan’s hand like the gentleman he is, before pledging to be in her heart for the rest of time.
But see, when his face dropped with the horror of the weight of what he had just done, and he stood up in a dizzy whirl, there was this rough grip on his forearm.
And god, knowing that he’s recalling this moment in his married life, he realizes that… well, it’s romantic.
But damn it, Sanji won’t have that on the record. He always makes it blatantly clear that he’s the one with the roses between his teeth. He was always the more romantic of the both of them! Besides, at the moment, it wasn’t romantic in the slightest. Just… annoying.
“Let—fucking let go!” Sanji pulled—only to be even more panicked when… he couldn’t budge.
Okay, so maybe not so much annoying and more frustrating.
“You might be not-so-shitty when it comes to leg power, but I beat you in arm strength, got that?” Zoro huffed, almost… amused.
Fine, then. It wasn’t as frustrating as it was downright offensive!
“The hell…” Sanji’s eyes murderously darted to Zoro’s. “The hell did you just say?”
Zoro sighed, his grip on Sanji’s arm still strong. “That I’m stronger than you in arm strength.”
RULE NUMBER SIX: Marimo is definitely a goddamn idiot.
Sanji was in front of Zoro in a flash, arms pinning his sides as he growled. “My arm strength is high—do you ever try chopping up onions and balancing ten plates on your head for one person, let alone the rest of the crew?! You may have your cute little swords, but you can’t just—”
Zoro slowly blinked, mindlessly nodding along. Whatever, they had had this conversation hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of times—nothing new, really. He’s memorized it by heart. It’s like a fun little game, actually—no, wait, Zoro knows these next words: Flaunt your stupid-ass arms one more time, and you’ll never see them again.
“And if you flaunt your stupid-ass arms one more time, you’ll be sorry.” Sanji finished, breathing hard. Eh, Zoro’s guess was close enough.
.
.
.
Ah, that was Zoro’s cue. “And how’s that,” he muttered.
.
.
.
Sanji stared at him.
Oh. “Damn cook,” Zoro added half-heartedly. “And how’s that, damn cook.”
.
.
.
Right, the emphasis. Zoro forgot the emphasis on “that.”
“And how’s that, damn cook.”
Because you’d be seeing them on the plate in front of you. Chef’s promise.
“Because you’d be seeing them on the plate in front of you. Chef’s promise,” Sanji huffed a laugh. One more point for Zoro, the swordsman guessed. Sanji seemed proud of himself for that line—Zoro cracked a smile at the thought. Hah. ‘S cute.
“What.” Sanji flatly said. “What’re you… what.”
Crap, Zoro messed up. Zoro blinks, glancing up at Sanji’s suspicious eyes. He hasn’t been replying—it was only one-sided banter so far. And judging from the way Sanji shifted, and that flicker in his eyes, not arguing means Sanji’s gonna run. And knowing the cook, he’d make it all dramatic and shit while he’s at it.
Case summary: not something Zoro wants to deal with.
Zoro grabbed Sanji’s shoulder, shoving him back on the couch. “Means nothing to me, shitty cook. But hell, those rules mean shit to you, and you won’t stop pissing me off otherwise, so let’s get this over with.”
Zoro pressed his lips to his right cheek—peck—to his left cheek—peck—to his forehead—peck—a little one, on his nose—peck—before the briefest one… on his lips. Peck.
.
.
.
Zoro seated himself next to the dazed cook—staring at him for the longest moment before sharply turning his head away. A stray arm found its way to Sanji’s shoulders, resting there.
“Five annoying-ass sounds, so five…. damn kisses. Deal’s a deal.”
RULE NUMBER SEVEN: …What?
.
.
.
“Your arms can’t beat my legs, either way.”
Zoro peered at Sanji, who seemed to be very interested in the wall to his left.
.
.
.
“That’s a sound. You asking for it?”
RULE NUMBER EIGHT: NEVER GIVE YOURSELF AWAY!
Sanjii immediately tensed up by his side, and right when Zoro thinks that it was a little too soon to crack a joke about that—
“Like you would know the rules. You’re Marimo.”
RULE NUMBER NINE: When in doubt, make fun of moss-head.
.
.
.
Right after Zoro just made it clear that he was paying attention?!
“Hah!” Zoro barked, before giving Sanji’s victimized cheek two haste kisses—peck, peck. “Sure, curly brows. You don’t know half of what your damn Marimo knows!”
.
.
.
RULE NUMBER TEN: Zoro is Sanji’s damn Marimo.
Sanji stared at that very interesting wall to his left.
Your damn Marimo.
Maybe he didn’t want to take that jump off the Merry, anyway.
.
.
.
Sanji’s eyes flit to Zoro—who was… watching…
.
.
.
The swordsman swiftly brushed his lips against Sanji’s nose before immediately pulling back.
RULE NUMBER ELEVEN: At the risk of repeating RULE NUMBER FIVE and SIX; Marimo is, wholeheartedly, a goddamn idiot.
Sanji scoffed, narrowing his eyes in faux anger. “Big talk from the guy who just broke the damn rules again.”
Zoro hums low, staring at Sanji’s nose. “Your nose counts as an annoying sound.”
The cook sputtered, trying to make sense of it—before just giving up, because hey, whether it’s a consecutive correlation or not, he’s getting those pecks.
.
.
.
That sounds like Sanji wants to be kissed by Zoro. Sanji does not want to have his cheeks kissed by Zoro!
.
.
.
“Marimo? Moss-for-brains?” Sanji glanced at the silent swordsman when he felt nothing on his cheek.
Zoro grinned. “You trying to make annoying sounds, now? Because that’s one, right there.”
Sanji scowled for the third time. “Hell no.”
.
.
.
Sanji sighed.
Peck.
~~~
They worked it out.
Zoro wanted to sleep, quote unquote, “While it’s quiet,” though the bastard was fully aware he could sleep anywhere, anytime as long as he put his mind to it! And god knows—not Eneru, not that crazy-ass idiot—that Zoro was asking for a kick in the face at that point!
.
.
.
Sanji’s frustration was pretty evident, to say the least. So they had to compromise.
The swordsman had beckoned the cook to his lap—wrapped his arms around him—and buried his head in Sanji’s neck.
And slept there.
Zoro was satisfied with himself as he dozed off with Sanji’s flustered stammers. His job was done: he wanted the cook to stay, and here the cook was; staying.
.
.
.
Sanji heaved a sigh. No, not for kisses, he—! Sanji groaned at the thought.
.
.
.
Okay, so maybe it was instinct. Or maybe, more logically, he was tired of this nonsense.
Sanji’s convinced it’s number two.
The cook carefully unwound his arms, reaching for the cigarettes—just… right there… argh, stupid Marimo and his death grip…
“Sure that’s a good idea?” Zoro mumbled against his neck. Sanji jumped, immediately stopping.
.
.
.
“I’ll do what I want, Marimo,” Sanji grumbled, finally latching the tips of his strained fingers against the little box. Pulling it towards him, he scoffed a little smugly: “What’d you say before? You’re my damn Marimo, right?”
.
.
.
Zoro’s grip tightened. “That’s a really annoying sound, crappy cook. Might just give you three for that one.”
RULE NUMBER TWELVE: Pissing Zoro off gets Sanji three more kisses.
Sanji’s eyes lit up as he hummed with pleasure. It was completely because of the bright flame at the end of his cigarette, of course.
~~~
Nami yawned, dragging her feet down the ladder to call the boys to wake up—no, not all of them, she liked this rare silence. To call Sanji to wake up, because it was two hours past lunch time. And well, for Sanji, that was pretty… abnormal.
A quick scan of the room briefly surprised her: Chopper was already awake, waving her a whispered, “Hi, Nami!” Luffy was… that straw hat of his was still on his head, so it’s safe to assume that he was still sleeping. Huh, the idiot’s not hungry yet? It was confusing. Well, it wasn’t a problem—again, the silence was welcomed. So the navigator left it alone.
And— Nami glanced to her left—there had to be just one more person left: Sanji…
.
.
.
Nami widened her eyes. Correction: two more people left. Sanji and Zoro.
“Usopp came here, too.”
“WAH—Luffy?!” Chopper yelped the exact same time Nami screamed, “AH!”
.
.
.
“You can’t just scare us like that, Luffy,” The navigator muttered.
The captain stretched, yawning—before deciding to pick his hat off the top of his face, placing it by his side. “Usopp was here… and it didn’t work too well for him, I think…” He spied a stray meat bone on the floor—and if he squinted, there was a sliver of meat still left on it! “Ooh, meat!” Luffy crowed, grabbing it—and he licked it clean of any other pieces of sneaky meat that got past him last time.
Nami wrinkled her nose. “Gross. Chopper, I keep asking you, why won’t you tell him the hundreds of millions of ways it’s unsanitary?! Maybe that’d work!”
“Ah, but—but Nami, you’d never believe it!” Chopper gasped, remembering his amazing find earlier. “I’ve been testing Luffy, and—! It’s like he’s immune or something! His digestive tract is rubber, and apparently, it boosts his—”
“No! You’re telling me years of eating like a pig won’t have any consequences?! He’ll never learn?!” Nami whined.
“Learn what?” Luffy cocked his head to the side.
“Ah… haha… yeah…” Chopper nervously chuckled. “Well, he won't change even after I tell him how unhealthy it is. Last time I did that, he said he’ll take them on in a Davy Back Fight…”
Nami groaned. “How could I ever forget? He’s a moron. I seriously think that afro he wore did something to him…”
Chopper hummed, thinking. “Maybe…”
“I liked that afro! It was cool!” Luffy grumbled in a southern accent.
The navigator and doctor sighed simultaneously.
.
.
.
All three of them stared at the faint smoke that spiraled into the air… down at the heads of green and blond… down, down at the jumble of arms, and finally at the cigarette that had fallen out of Sanji’s mouth and onto the floor.
.
.
.
“So what, uh…” Nami attempted, staring at the arms that wound tight around Sanji. “So what happened to Usopp?”
Luffy shuddered.
.
.
.
“How long were they asleep?” Nami mused. Chopper blinked. “About… two hours. Why? What’s wrong, Nami?”
Ah, she was right—it was two hours. “Nothing,” Nami decided. “Just a little tax, you know.”
The captain and doctor slowly turned around to face the grinning navigator.
“Five hundred thousand Berries for every hour that cigarette isn’t thrown away,” Nami locked eyes with the two. “And twice the amount for anyone in the same room as that cigarette.”
Luffy shuddered again.
“N-Nami, t-think about this!” Chopper faltered. “I—! I was in the middle of this new remedy!”
Nami smiled sweetly at the reindeer, crouching down to his level. “Cool. Take it upstairs.” She narrowed her eyes, whipping her head around to Luffy. “Scram. And be sure to tell Usopp that while you’re at it..”
Luffy didn’t waste any time scrambling up the ladder. He had found something scarier than Usopp’s fate.
Nami turned back to Chopper's horrified face, frowning. “Sorry Chopper, but that means you, too.”
“Okay!” Chopper squeaked, grabbing all his supplies in an armful, stumbling a bit, and dashing up the ladder.
Nami sighed, shaking her head. She glanced at Sanji and Zoro.
.
.
.
Nami smiled. It’s best they’re alone.
The navigator quickly climbed up the rungs of the ladder that seemed to be in high demand. She distantly wonders why everyone ran. What? It’s just a few Berries, that’s all…
To say she “smiled” seems too sweet. “Smirked” is more fitting.
~~~
“‘S she gone? Zoro mumbled. Sanji glimpsed the deserted room before closing his eyes with a sigh. “Yeah.”
“Damn, thought it was all over. Who knew she’d help?” Zoro nuzzled a bit harder into Sanji’s neck.
“Hey!” Sanji snapped. “Nami-swan is a beautiful, intelligent, and incredibly thoughtful woman! You better respe—”
Peck.
~~~
Needless to say, the two were beyond dismayed when the so-called “Cigarette Tax” totaled up to over two million Berries.
What could they say? They’d forgotten the most important rule of all, the one every Strawhat knew by heart:
RULE NUMBER ZERO: Never mess with Nami.