Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The longer the battle, the longer the celebration, Luffy had half exclaimed, half demanded. After twenty sobering years under Orochi and Kaido’s thumbs, it didn’t take any coaxing for the people of Wano to get on board. Besides, the Fire Matsuri already had all the necessary accoutrements for celebrating. And celebrate everyone did. They were nearing the end of the third consecutive day of festivities, and Luffy showed no signs of wearing out. So long as there was meat, there would be a Luffy happy to celebrate.

Sanji could tell Nami was getting antsy though, and she had every right to be. Brook and Robin told them about the CP0 agents that tried to take Robin away from them again. It wouldn’t be long before the rest of the World Government found out exactly what happened at Onigashima, and when they did they would surely come in droves. It would be nice, Sanji thought to himself as he stubbed out his cigarette, if they could leave an island at a leisurely pace for once, rather than being chased out. He knew that, with the captain he had, it was a foolish wish.

If he were being honest, Sanji was over celebrating by the first night. He didn’t mind so much all the extra mouths he had to feed. In fact, he appreciated the distraction. But it had been a physically and emotionally taxing few days. He still didn’t have enough emotional bandwidth to process everything that had happened at Whole Cake. Let alone his fight with Queen. Let alone… well, everything with that stupid moss-ball.

He shook his head, as if he could physically dispel all those fucking thoughts. He took a giant swig of ale from his tankard for good measure, frowning at it when he realized he reached the dregs. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Great, he thought, now I’m even acting like that stupid oaf. Despite his internal criticism, he did exactly what that stupid oaf would have done, and flagged down the bartender for another drink.

He wasn’t drinking to forget. He was drinking to dull himself, to dowse the live wire that his nerves had become. If he could just, for a single moment, tame his body so that it felt like his own again, maybe then he could function above a menial level. Maybe he could gain some control over his life, his sonorous emotions, his sense of identity.

It seemed like everywhere he went these days, he left a part of himself behind. A perfectly, painstakingly crafted part of himself. After Whole Cake, he no longer had the ability to control his narrative or his carefully manicured persona. After using his raid suit, he no longer had control over his mutant body. His fight with Queen made him question if he really had the ability to uphold his values. Everything about him felt like it was changing, all at once.

And now the last, secret, shameful part of himself he did such a damn good job hiding from the rest of his crew, Zoro was demanding he tell.

By his firmly cemented position at the open-air bar, the whole drinking thing obviously wasn’t going to plan. He thanked the bartender who finally brought his next drink with a polite smile, and then turned to watch his crew mates hooting and hollering, enveloped in the dancing and singing mass gathered around a bonfire. It eased the ache in his heart a little, seeing them so happy. Even if he wasn’t participating in the festivities, his friends’ joy was his joy. That was the beauty of nakama.

His eyes flickered across each of his crewmate’s faces, all while trying to not admit to himself he was searching for green. He hid the blossoming of his disappointed frown behind his tankard and drank deep. While still searching from corner of his eye, he spotted a shock of red hair. The air turned acrid with the scent of metal. Kid had taken up a seat at the bar. Though they were technically comrades only a few days ago, neither acknowledged the other. Something about Kid always set Sanji on edge anyway. The faster he and his crew got from allies to rivals, the better, Sanji thought.

Kid downed his drink in nearly one go. Sanji couldn’t help but roll his eyes in disgust.

“Didn’t think of you to be someone to drink alone, Black Leg” Kid said casually, his eyes cast down, more interested in his drink than Sanji.

Sanji clicked his tongue and lit up a cigarette, the itch for nicotine overcoming his want to drink himself numb.

“Need a breather, away from people. Right now.” He made the last part pointed, as a warning.

“Fair enough,” Kid started downing his second drink. “Can’t wait to get away from you fucks myself. Just gonna stock up on the cheap booze, then I’m out first thing in the morning.”

“If you drink us dry, Kid,” a scowling Zoro growled, suddenly emerging from the undulating crowd, “I’ll kill you myself.”

Sanji’s heart leapt when he saw Zoro. He almost choked on his cigarette with his sudden giddiness. He rubbed at the back of his neck, willing his body to calm the fuck down.

“Wouldn’t dare, Roronoa,” Kid snickered as he finished his second tankard.                                                                           

Zoro leaned himself against the bar counter, his broad back and shoulders completely eclipsing Kid from his view. Sanji was thankful for this interruption. The festival lights dappled Zoro’s bronzed skin, softer where a sheen of sweat coated him. For someone who nearly escaped hell, he looked positively divine, Sanji thought.

“Oi, Cook,” Zoro said gruffly, “you avoiding us or something?”

Sanji sighed, scrubbing at his face. “No, I’m just—thinking. And overwhelmed. And I needed some time alone.”

Zoro snorted. “It’s never a good thing when you try to figure shit out on your own. It pisses me off when you do shit like that.”

“Everything I do pisses you off,” Sanji shot back, more defensively than he would have liked. “How’d you even know I was here? Or did you just follow the smell of booze and just so happen to find me here?”

He grinned. “It was a happy coincidence, at least.” He craned his neck toward Sanji, cupping the other’s face to bring it closer to his. Sanji’s entire body gave a jolt, and his hand flew between his and Zoro’s mouth, Zoro’s lips pressing into the soft flesh of his palm.

“Zoro!” Sanji choked out, barely above a whisper.

Zoro didn’t move for a moment. His head hung low, the weight of it pressing into Sanji’s palm. The shadows cast over his face became molten. Slowly he drew himself back, and crossed his arms heavily over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji whispered. “Not here. Not yet.”

“What happened to not keeping it on the downlow anymore?” Zoro growled beneath his breath.

“I know...” Sanji twisted his fingers through his hair, near the scalp. The pressure and the twinge of pain it caused kept him grounded. “I know. I’m not going to. I just need time, please? I have to figure out what I’m supposed to tell the rest of the crew…”

“Why do you have to say anything? Just show up on my arm. They’ll get it.”

“I don’t want them thinking differently of me.”

“Shit, have you even met the rest of our crew? You’re insulting them.” He sighed. “They won’t give a fuck. Why do you always gotta make things more complicated than they are?”

“Not everything can be as simple as your moss-ball for a brain.”

Zoro grunted and rubbed his temples, as if to ward off a headache.

“You know, I’m really over this ‘being your dirty little secret’ business. Shit’s tiring.”

Sanji grabbed Zoro’s hand and gave it a squeeze, desperately trying to reassure him. He kept their hands low enough that no one could see them touch.

“No, I don’t think of you like that.”

“Then why is it so difficult?”

Sanji let out a shaky breath. “I guess… I just have some things I haven’t unpacked yet. From when I was young. Stuff I haven’t been able to tell you yet, since it’s been so goddamn chaotic around here.”

Zoro tilted his head quizzically. Despite how gruff his demeanor was, Sanji always thought he looked like a puppy when he did that. “Trauma?” he asked bluntly.

Sanji winced at the word. He didn’t like using it. He thought it revealed too much of his weakness. And Zoro loved strength—he couldn’t let the other know how truly pathetic he was. Zoro needed an equal. He needed someone that could stand toe-to-toe with him. Even if he wasn’t, Sanji needed to figure out how to match up to him. He couldn’t bear to not meet someone else’s expectations again.

But... Zoro also treasured honesty. Sanji didn’t want Zoro’s trust in him to waver any more than it had, especially after vanishing to Whole Cake like he had. So, despite his fear, Sanji nodded softly.

“I’m working on it, though,” he followed up quickly. “It’s stupid. I’ll get over it. and I’ll keep my promise. I know I’m frustrating, and complicated, but please… I just need a little more time, and some patience…”

Finally, Zoro relented, and squeezed Sanji’s hand back. “Fill me in later then.” It was a demand. No more secrets, was what Sanji knew he meant.

“Of course,” Sanji’s eyes shifted around, scanning the area for prying eyes, before pressing a kiss into Zoro’s wrist. “I can do even more than that, if you like.”

Zoro cracked a wolfish smile. “What, didn’t I fuck you good enough last night, or are you just that greedy?”

“Mmm,” Sanji hummed against Zoro’s skin, “just making up for lost time. What, don’t think you have it in you? So much for your stamina.”

“Watch it, Curls,” Zoro admonished playfully. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Punishment?”

Zoro didn’t answer, only flashed a toothy smile, before snatching Sanji’s tankard from his hand.

“Hey!” Sanji glowered. “You brute!”

“What? I’m taking this as compensation.”

“For what!?”

“For putting up with your sorry ass.”

He gave Sanji’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. He turned on his heel and became lost in the sea of partygoers again, fruitlessly trying to make his way back to their comrades. Sanji smiled to himself, shaking his head as he reached for a cigarette, temporarily forgetting his bender. A part of him felt a little lighter. Zoro wasn’t happy with waiting, it was clear, but he would wait. Because it was for Sanji.

He was startled out of his soft reflection by the scraping of a mug against the tabletop. It was Kid; he had slid a new tankard to Sanji, its contents nearly tipping over when it finally settled. Kid finished nudging the mug in front of the cook as he took up a seat closer to him. His proximity was instantly off-putting.

“Well, fuck, you and Roronoa?”

Sanji pursed his lips around his cigarette, a terse gesture to decline Kid’s offering. “You got nothing better to do, Kid?” Sanji refused to turn his body towards him, and instead watched Kid suspiciously from the corner of his eye. “Didn’t think you had any more business with my crew.”

“Forgive a bloke for being bored.” He pressed on anyway, ignoring Sanji’s obvious attempt to disengage. “Just didn’t know you swing that way, is all.”

Sanji bit his lip, hard enough that he could already feel the smarting pulse of a bruise. These were exactly the kinds of conversations he didn’t want to have. No one questions Zoro, Sanji thought. They just know he is how he is, and leave him be. But with Sanji, there were always questions. Explanations were always demanded of him, and none that he could give were good enough. Because the fact remained that he was never good enough. He was tired of trying to justify himself to a world that already deemed him inadequate. It hurt less to avoid it.

Sanji held the cigarette smoke in his mouth, long enough for his lungs to start burning, before slowly exhaling through his nose. Well, he thought, wouldn’t hurt to practice this conversation, I guess. Kid wasn’t their ally anymore, and he’d be sailing off in the morning. This conversation wouldn’t matter in just a few hours. So why not test the water?

“… Not that it’s any of your business,” he felt the need to clarify, “…but… yes, I can swing that way. I’m… I’m bisexual,” he said, not nearly as confidently as he wanted. The word still felt awkward and heavy in his mouth.

“Well, shit, good for you, Black Leg.” Kid flagged down the bartender who served him up another drink. He held up his new glass to Sanji, gesturing to the tankard he had placed in front of Sanji just a few moments ago so that they could toast to his confession.

Sanji hesitated. This wasn’t at all what he expected. He was prepared to justify, argue, even fight, but not to celebrate. Slowly, Sanji took the cup offered to him, and clinked it to Kid’s. Kid knocked his back so fast, it was as if he were taking a shot instead of a whole mug of ale. Sanji tried to follow his lead, the alcohol warm as it meandered its way through his system, reaching all the way to his fingertips. The relief of this odd acceptance made his heart ache. He wondered why it couldn’t always be that easy.

“Didn’t think Roronoa and I had the same type, either.”

A blush blossomed on Sanji’s cheekbones. He couldn’t tell if it was from the implication of his desirability, or from the alcohol. “Oh?” was all he could muster.

Kid chuckled. “C’mon, you know,” he stroked his chin in the pantomime of a beard, “cute blondes with facial hair?”

“Oh!” Sanji felt stupid for how dull he sounded. The alcohol was hitting him faster than he expected, and all at once. “You mean Killer?”

“Didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for yah.”

“Sorry, you both don’t make it so obvious…”

A shadow flickered across Kid’s face. He rubbed at his jaw as he worked out what to say.

“Yeah, well,” he murmured. “He’s not really, uh… feeling like himself lately. ‘Cuz of that fucking smile fruit and all that shit. He hasn’t been in the mood.”

“Ah,” Sanji answered lamely. “That must be, um… difficult.”

“I don’t blame him. It’s so fucked up. Wish I could have gutted Kaido myself for what he did. But yeah, it’s rough, not getting your needs met.”

“Yeah…” Sanji’s mind drifted off, thinking about how often he himself craved touch, how he latched onto any ounce of affection shown to him.

“So anyway,” Kid said, very much wanting to drop the subject, “are you and Roronoa exclusive yet?”

Sanji felt his blush reach to the tips of his ears. “Um…” To be honest, Sanji wasn’t quite sure himself. He wanted to be. He hadn’t been with anyone since getting together with Zoro, and Sanji hadn’t seen Zoro sneak around with any other men. Hell, Zoro wanted him to come out to the rest of the crew not just as bisexual, but as his lover. But he never thought to ask the question. “I think so,” was all he could say.

“Really? Huh. That’s too bad.” Kid slithered his hand onto Sanji’s thigh. His hand looked big enough to encircle it entirely. “You should find that out, ‘cuz if you wanted I could dick you down real good. Just so you know what good cock is like before you settle down with Roronoa.”

Sanji’s entire body flooded with an inferno. The celebratory alcohol soured in his stomach. He should have kicked Kid so hard he’d end up in the earth’s molten mantle just like Kaido. Sanji stood up abruptly, knocking Kid’s hand away. His knees wobbled slightly beneath him, and he had to brace himself against the bar. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself to stand tall, refusing to admit how much the alcohol had saturated his system.

“Go fuck yourself, Kid.”

Kid held his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, princess. I retract my generous offer.”

“Oh, you’re such a gentleman,” Sanji spat. “Thanks for your help with Big Mom. Safe travels, and good fucking riddance.”

Sanji didn’t wait for Kid to respond. He started to push himself through the throngs of people, determined to find a new harbor where he could lick this new, unexpected wound.

Something was wrong.

Sanji was no stranger to liquor. He couldn’t best Zoro—or Nami, for that fact—in a drinking contest , but he wasn’t a lightweight, either. While he had been at the bar for a while, he had been nursing his drinks. Yet, his limbs felt heavy and his head felt like it was full of cotton. Despite how strong his legs were, he was struggling to keep them beneath him. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion, he told himself. He decided it was better to call it quits. He knew he’d be teased for being the first to return to the Sunny, but he didn’t care. He needed to sleep.

He was trying to push his way through the crowd back to the center of the bonfire where his crewmates were being showered with adoration, hoping he could get Zoro to help him back to the Sunny without raising the suspicions of his other crewmates. He felt like a rock in a stream, being battered by the currents. The undulation of people kept him standing up right, but it made it difficult to direct himself toward his friends. By the time he finally got to them, his body felt ready to collapse. He reached Usopp first, and slung his arm over his shoulder, pretending it was in comradery and not out of necessity.

“Sanji!” they shouted, his crew as boisterous as ever. He usually loved their cacophony, but right now the sound was making his heart pound in his head.

“Where’ve you been, you jerk?” Usopp laughed, punching his shoulder affectionately. “Trying to get one more shot with the Wano girls before we head off?”

“Yeah,” Sanji smiled weakly, trying to play along, “Still no luck. But I'm happy to admire.”

In his periphery he could see Zoro roll his eyes and shift away from him. His heart lurched. He was fucking up again, but he didn’t know what else to do. He just needed to get back to the ship, and he didn’t have the energy to come up with any excuse that wasn’t provided for him.

Chopper, perched on Franky’s shoulder, gave him a strange look. “Are you okay, Sanji? You don’t look so good.”

Sanji forced a smile. He hated making Chopper worry. “Yeah, yeah, just… tired. I think I’m going to head back to the Sunny early.” His tongue felt too big for his mouth. He hoped that the noise of the festival was enough to obscure the slur in his voice.

Luffy and Usopp began booing him, loudly. Chopper, like whenever Luffy and Usopp did something, joined in.

“If I go back to the Sunny early,” he reasoned, “I can get a head start on breakfast.”

With that, Luffy’s and Usopp’s dispositions became all too sunny again.

Robin smiled softly at Sanji. “Would you like someone to walk with you back to the ship, Cook? The walk home after a festival is lonely.”

“Please don’t worry your pretty self, Robin-chan! The people of Wano only get to see your beauty for one more night, and I couldn’t possibly deprive them of that!” he said as brightly as he could muster. He needed the assistance, but even after asking for Robin's help in fighting Black Maria, Sanji found it too difficult to rely yet again on her good graces. He didn't want to make her worry. He didn't want to seem weak. He didn't want to have his worth interrogated again, even if it were only by the critical voices in the back of his head. If someone were to take him back, it had to be Zoro. Zoro would cover for his vulnerability, in the same way Sanji had always covered for his. That's what they did for each other: cover each other's blind spots, defend each other's weak points, help each other appear invulnerable to the rest of the world. They were the wings of the future Pirate King, and they needed to appear as monsters, even to their own crew.

Robin smiled and nodded softly. Sanji could see Zoro edge himself further and further away from him. It felt like every word out of his mouth hit Zoro’s pain points. He felt like the world’s biggest asshole. Not only did he rebuff Zoro’s public display of affection, but here he was flirting with Robin in front of him, and now he was going to ask him for a favor?

Sanji pushed his inner critic to the back of his mind. He had plenty of time to reprimand himself later. But right now, he just desperately needed to collapse into bed. He pushed himself off of Usopp’s shoulder, and clumsily fell his way towards Zoro, trying to pretend it was the crowd that stole his balance. His hands clutched at the collar of Zoro’s robe. He tensed his fists, making it look as if he was holding on to start a fight and not out of necessity. Zoro peered down the bridge of his nose at his boyfriend, his steely eye hardened with disdain for Sanji’s behavior.

“Oh, so you’re touching me in public now?” Zoro hissed under his breath.

“Don’t be difficult,” Sanji murmured.

Zoro cocked an eyebrow. “You think I’m being difficult, princess?”

Sanji groaned. Of course things had to spiral out of his control now. “Come on, Mossy. I need help—”

“I’m sure one of thousands of Wano girls you’ve been drooling over all night can help you plenty fine. Let me drink.”

Sanji clenched his teeth. “Zoro—” he pleaded, but before he could finish his sentence Zoro was shaking him off, which was surprisingly easy to do in Sanji’s weakened state. Zoro wove himself through the crowd which quickly swallowed him up, leaving no way for Sanji to follow.

Panic thrummed its way through his chest for a moment, before Sanji chided himself. It was his own fault for ticking off Zoro like he did. He couldn’t blame the swordsman for being upset with him. Besides, he’d gone through worse alone before. The help was always a nice luxury, but it wasn’t a necessity for Sanji. So, he strengthened his resolve, and decided he would just have to get himself back without help.

Sanji said his goodnight to his nakama, and started the laborious task of weaving his way back through the crowd. Each step felt heavier and heavier. By the time he reached the edge of the crowd, he was tripping over himself with every other step. Slowly and awkwardly he made his way to a tree to brace himself, just about ready to sink to his knees. He closed his eyes and counted his breaths to try and calm the pounding of his head.

He heard a voice behind him, and he groaned.

“Fuck, princess, you’re looking like shit,” Kid snickered as he broke away from the crowd’s periphery.

“Thanks,” Sanji spat. He could barely make himself focus on anything other than not throwing up, so it was hard to muster any willingness to engage with this fool again.

“How fucked up did you get?”

“I d… didn’t...” Sanji murmured, his words coming slow to him like molasses as he bit back bile at the back of his throat.

“Well, something obviously got to you.”

“Thanks… f-for noticing…”

“I was gonna offer you a hand, but if you’re gonna be stuck up about it, you can fuck off.”

Sanji’s breath hitched. The last thing he wanted was help from this prick. But every time he tried to shift his weight back onto his feet, he felt ready to collapse. There wasn’t a chance he could make it back to the Sunny by himself.

“… The h-help… the help would b-be… nice.” Sanji said slowly, as if his tongue and lips and teeth had to learn how to get along again to make the words.

Kid grinned viciously. “Alright, now was that so hard?”

Sanji bit his tongue. Kid would be gone in the morning. He could deal with it until then.

Sanji allowed Kid to maneuver him. At first Kid tried draping Sanji’s arm over his shoulder, but he was too tall and wasn’t about to stoop the entire walk to the harbor. Instead, Kid leaned Sanji against his side and put his arm around Sanji’s shoulders to keep him up right, guiding him slowly and catching him when he stumbled.

Their progress was slow, but Sanji had to admit he was thankful for the help. Thankfully for Sanji, too, Kid was quiet for most of the journey, save the occasional grumbling comment under his breath. Kid had insisted on taking them on a short cut through the forest adjacent to the harbor. To Sanji’s surprise, the short cut did seem to work, and within a half hour of walking at his sluggish pace, he could hear the waves of the great ocean softly lapping Wano’s shores. All he could think of was how excited he was to collapse into his hammock.

Kid halted their progress, causing Sanji to nearly stumble forward.

“Fuck,” Sanji grumbled. “What was that f-for?”

“Mmm,” Kid hummed, looking down with liquid black eyes. He felt like those eyes would swallow him whole. Kid grabbed the wrist that was hanging limp at Sanji’s side with a bruising force. “I figured that, maybe, I should also get some compensation for dealing with your ‘sorry ass’?”

Sanji recoiled, but with his body unable to support his weight, fell back into Kid’s side. “The f-fuck… are you t-talking about…? I don’t… don’t owe you shit.”

Kid clicked his tongue. “You really do have a temper, princess. That’s the welcome I get after rescuing you? I should teach you manners.”

“I’m serious, Kid,” Sanji growled, a deep sound that clawed its way from his throat in desperation. “This isn’t f-funny. Please, just get me-”

“I am serious, Black Leg.” Kid ran one calloused hand over the bark of a nearby tree, and gripped Sanji’s wrist hard enough to bruise. “Assign,” he commanded, and bolts of pinkish-red electricity pulsed from his hands into the tree and Sanji’s wrist. Sanji tried to pull himself away but his body did not comply. Kid lifted him up by the wrist, and hauled him up to the tree. By some unseen force, Sanji’s arm wrenched backwards and slammed into the trunk so hard he couldn’t tell if it was the bark or his bone breaking. His spine collided with the trunk as well, knocking the air so thoroughly from his lungs he couldn’t cry out.

Kid grabbed his other wrist and performed his wicked spell yet again. As soon as he let go the magnetization of the tree claimed Sanji’s other wrist, so that he was strung up completely, his toes barely able to brush the ground.

“I don’t think you’d be going anywhere regardless,” Kid laughed as he tugged on Sanji’s wrists, confirming they were firmly in place. “But you can never be too careful. Besides,” Kid ran his thumb over Sanji’s lips, spreading them apart. “you look really pretty like that.”

Sanji jerked his head away from the touch, but when he did the whole world seemed to spin around him. His pulse pounded in his temples, drowning out all of his thoughts, including any thoughts on how to fight or escape. “Don’t…” was the only sound his mouth could make.

Kid ignored him, loosened his obi, and began to tease apart the overlapping edges of his kimono. The cold air bit into his feverish skin, and it ached. Kid moved down Sanji’s body in a flurry of lips and teeth and tongue, smarting wherever he went, as if his spit were venomous. Kid rolled his hips against the blond, grinding deep and hard. Sanji writhed against the tree, trying to find some leverage to get a kick onto his assailant, but his body wouldn’t cooperate.

Kid loosened Sanji’s obi the rest of the way, the kimono hanging limply from his body like broken wings.

“Please… fuck, Kid, please…” Sanji bit out, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes, as Kid slid his underwear down his legs, letting them drop to the forest floor.

“Please, what?” Kid whispered into his ear, his hands working themselves down Sanji’s unresponsive body. “Fuck you?”

“Don’t… please…” Tears were streaming down his face now. He couldn’t even sob, with his breath caught in his lungs.

Kid growled. His robotic hand struck out like a viper, clamping down around Sanji’s neck. He cried out, but it came out all wrong, all mangled and strained and wounded. Slowly Kid’s hand tightened around his throat, until his lungs burned with the want of oxygen, until his voice became something of a distant memory, until he began to question if he ever had the ability to speak to begin with. He felt the sharp edges of the metal cut deeper and deeper into his skin, until he could see his own blood trickling down the metallic arm.

“Shut the fuck up already. You’re ruining my mood,” Kid growled. Just when the edges of Sanji’s vision started flickering with shadows, he loosened his grip. Finally, Sanji could gasp for air. He felt like his ribs would split open, but his body didn’t care, demanding his lungs to overflow with sweet oxygen. Kid maneuvered Sanji’s legs around his waist and placed his hands on his hips again, rocking more fervently against him. The rough fabric of Kid’s pants rubbed the blond’s skin raw.

“If you’re good,” Kid continued, periodically shivering with the pleasure he was extracting from Sanji’s torment, “I’ll even let you come. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Sanji kept his head slung low. How was he even supposed to respond to that? Every response was the wrong response, because this entire situation was so very wrong. Kid growled again, and pinched Sanji’s face between his thumb and index finger, forcing him to look up.

“I said,” Kid hissed, “doesn’t that sound good?”

Sanji’s mind was blank.  He didn’t know what else to do besides nod, and let his face flush with the humiliation.

This isn’t happening, he thought in a continuous loop, a mantra of denial. This couldn’t be happening, for fuck’s sake! He had brought down opponents much tougher than Kid before. Hell, he just claimed victory against Queen, a lead performer of the strongest pirate crew, just a few days ago. And yet, right here, right now, he couldn’t do anything except nod his head and writhe in a mockery of fighting back. How did he get himself into such a mess?

“Because you’re a failure”, he heard his father’s voice in the back of his head, and he flinched. “Because you’re weak.”

How can it not be true?, Sanji thought to himself, as he watched despondently while Kid began to disrobe. He got into this mess because he trusted the wrong person, because he had once called him an ‘ally’, as if that meant shit. Because he had opened his fucking mouth about something that should have been kept very, very secret. Because he was weak and loved a man the wrong way. Because he needed to be loved and wanted and touched. To need things—anything—was to have a weakness, and he was stupid for thinking someone wouldn’t take advantage of that.

By the time Kid was slicking his fingers with spit, Sanji was gone, lost somewhere in his own mind. Kid slid his hand down between his legs. Without any gentleness or care or affection, Kid pushed a finger inside of Sanji. He began pumping in and out slowly, before agonizingly adding another finger, and then a third, scissoring his fingers to work Sanji open. Sanji gritted his teeth. He had taken more before, but having only spit for lube made it so much worse.

Kid crooked his fingers, hitting a spot that sent white-hot heat down Sanji’s spine, eliciting a treacherous gasp of pleasure from his lips. Sanji’s face burned with humiliation at how willingly his body reacted. His body was betraying him, yet again. Kid smiled devilishly when he heard the sound, becoming more aggressive with his tempo, pumping so hard Sanji could feel the tree bark cut into his skin with every thrust. Just as he would grow numb to the new tempo, Kid would twist and arch his fingers again, ripping another masochistically pleasurable moan from his throat.

“See,’ Kid grinned, “I knew you’d like it.”

Sanji kept his head down and tried not to think of anything at all. Not the fingers spreading him open, not the sickening stench of steel and sweat rolling off the body arching above him like a cage, not the humiliation seeping through his entire body in an infernal blush. None of this is real, his mind repeated it thought, turning it over and over again, until it was true. None of it was real, not even his body.

When Kid deemed Sanji sufficiently open, Kid undid his belt. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his pants and boxers, coaxing them until they fell to his ankles.

Sanji went pale. Kid was big. Monstrously so. Zoro was a well-endowed man himself, and it was difficult at first for Sanji to take him fully. It took a lot of preparation, and a lot of patience. But this... this was something else entirely. Even for a man with Kid’s ghastly 6’8”, it was excessive--bestial.

Kid spat in his hand again, and then started to work his hand over himself. His cock twitched with satisfaction when he saw dread dilate Sanji’s pupils. He gave himself a few more strokes for good measure, treating himself to a very indulgent swipe of his thumb over his head, before bracing himself against Sanji’s thighs. Sanji thought to reason one more time, say anything to get him to stop, when any possible plea forming in his mouth mutated into a heart-wrenching cry as Kid plunged into him.

It took a couple of forceful pumps before Kid managed to bury himself fully in the blond, and when he did he made sure to linger and enjoy the hot pressure around him, kissing praises against Sanji’s neck.

“You feel amazing, Princess,” he murmured, his teeth caressing Sanji’s skin when he spoke. “You make a perfect little fuck-toy.”

With that, Kid lost any restraint, and pumped into his 'toy' with reckless abandon. With each thrust Sanji was convinced he’d be split in two. At least then this nightmare would be over. He became so convinced that it could be a nightmare, in fact, that he just… stopped. Entirely. Stopped crying, stopped cursing, stopped breathing, stopped thinking.

Kid started moving his hand over Sanji’s cock, timing each stroke with his violent thrusts. Sanji was dizzied by the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure. Every sound out of his mouth was an abomination of a cry for help and a pathetic, pleasured moan. Kid, finding it amusing, redoubled his efforts to completely drown Sanji in sensation.

Kid took his sweet time, doing what he could to last as long as possible. He decided to make Sanji come first, finding just the right pressure and speed to make him tick. Falling into that rhythm, it didn’t take long for him to take the blond apart with just his hand, despite his protests. When Sanji’s orgasm took him, it was too much for Kid—the way Sanji’s heels dug into his back, the way his objection came out as a strangled, high-pitched squeak, the way he looked with his own cum on his stomach, the way he tightened around his swollen cock as he came—it all pushed Kid over the edge. He cursed as he spilled himself in the cook, filling him up so good that his cum started leaking out before he even pulled out, Sanji's hole still fluttering with the remnants of orgasm.

He collapsed over Sanji in a sweaty heap. They remained like that for what felt like an eternity. The forest was silent, like in the aftermath of a storm. The only sound that remained was the labored breathing of Kid’s after glow.

Finally, Kid pulled out, eliciting only a small whimper from Sanji. It was finally over, and yet he still trembled with the aftershock. His entire body throbbed with phantom pains. He wished everything would just… be still. Forever.

Kid, exhausted from using his awakened power and from this physical exertion, released Sanji from his magnetism, allowing him to crumble to the forest floor. Sanji didn’t stir. He didn’t pick himself up. He didn’t try to cloth himself again. He might as well have been just another leaf that fell from the tree.

Kid nudged Sanji’s crumpled form with the toe of his boot. No response.

He groaned, having the nerve to be disappointed.

“Oi, Black Leg,” he spat, “thought you were tougher than that. You’re acting like I beat you within an inch of your life. I only fucked you.”

No response.

Kid kicked dirt at him. Nothing.

“You’re so boring,” he growled. “Where’d your fire go, you pussy? How’re you gonna keep up with Roronoa if you’re a puddle on the ground just ‘cuz someone fucked you?”

No response.

Frustrated, Kid twisted his fingers through Sanji’s hair, lifted his head up, and then slammed it back on the ground. No response, other than maybe a slight whimper. Curious now, Kid lifted Sanji’s head back up slowly, and checked to see if Sanji was still even conscious. Sanji’s eyes were still open, although half-lidded, and still blinking. But his eyes didn’t waver from the far-off place they were transfixed on, no matter what Kid did or said.

“Shit, I broke you,” Kid laughed. “Fuck, I was just tryna have some fun, princess.” He lifted Sanji’s head up again, this time by lifting his chin with false affection. “Can I still have fun with you, my little toy?”

No response. So, Kid decided for Sanji, that he meant ‘yes’.

Kid took Sanji twice more before he called it quits. At that point the sun was already on the cusp of rising, and he figured he should get back to his crew to sail off before any of the other Super Novas did. He decided it would eat up too much of his time to finish walking Sanji back, and besides, he already got his use out of the blond.

So he left Sanji there, laid bare on his back against the cold ground.

He laid there for a while, just blinking up at the sky. The first rays of daybreak pierced the melancholic blue of the dawn before he gradually came back to himself. He wished he didn’t.

He sat himself up. He brushed himself off. He wrapped his ruined body in his kimono. Every action was performed like an automaton.

Whatever illness troubled him to need help in the first place had subsided. He planted his feet firmly on the ground. He couldn’t help but feel it pointless now. In the punitively revealing first light of the morning, he limped what was left of himself back to the ship, a silent prayer on his lips that he’d still be the first back.

Chapter Text

Sanji’s prayers went unanswered; He was far from the first Straw Hat back from the festivities. But it didn’t matter—everyone had gone to bed, despite his conspicuous absence. No one had questioned why he wasn’t the first one home. This was fine, he told himself. Better, actually. They probably thought he had met a girl and ended up a tavern for a night, or got caught up talking to another chef, or found an underrated hole-in-the-wall restaurant he had to try. Either way, the crew didn’t worry for his safety because they knew he could fend for himself even if something happened. Because the crew believed in him and his strength, and that was a good thing.

He ignored the pang in his chest and the sting in his eyes, knowing no one was looking for him.

He couldn’t let the crew see him like this. He managed to limp himself to the showers without making too much noise. The door of the boys’ bath hadn’t even closed by the time he was ripping his robe away from his skin. He wished it were his skin. He cranked the heat as high as it would go, until the air was thick with steam.

Just before climbing in, he saw a glimpse of his reflection, and his heart sank.

His body looked like a crime scene. It seemed his ‘mutations’ were good for some things--fractured bones, internal injuries--but even that couldn’t erase the evidence of what Kid had done. Jagged, red lacerations laced across his throat. Inky purple bruises blossomed like corsages at his wrists. Bite marks littered his skin. Blood—and other substances Sanji dared not think about—caked the inside of his legs. He couldn’t get himself quickly enough into the searing water.

He stood there for a while, just letting the water roll over him and staring blankly at the white tile of the bathroom floor. He had hoped the shower would help him feel even a little better, a little more like himself. Unfortunately, no amount of heat, no amount of water, could purify how dirty his body felt.

When he finally gathered the willpower to move and breathe and think again, to ape the motions of being a live person, he was careful not to catch another glimpse of himself while climbing out of the shower. The cold air against his wet skin reminded him how naked he was. It made him feel ill. He wrapped his towel tight around himself and limped his way to his locker.

Nothing he typically wore felt right. He tried on a couple of his button ups, but they fit so close to his back and arms and chest. It felt too vulnerable. He tried covering up more with some suit jackets, but they were too tailored as well, hugging too closely to the small of his back. Everything he put on his skin felt suffocating and too exposed at the same time.

There were more clothes on the floor than in his locker now, and no progress was made. Sanji felt tears begin to well in the corners of his eyes. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his hands. He refused to cry over something as stupid as clothes.

At the very back of his wardrobe, he found a large turtleneck sweater. It was at least two sizes too big for him, so he had no idea why he had purchased it to begin with. Maybe he bought it in the hopes that he could clean Zoro up for once and go out to a nice restaurant or something, though that was very wistful thinking. He didn’t care at that point why. It was baggy, covered his battered neck and bruised arms, and it only barely reminded him that he had a body. He stole a pair of pants from Zoro’s locker for good measure. He had to cinch them tight at the waist to keep them from falling down, but he finally felt at ease within their bulk.

He brushed his hair quickly, but didn’t preen in the mirror as he usually did. The less reminders about his body, the better.

The sun had fully perched on the lip of the horizon by now. He was late for making breakfast. He didn’t have time to process any of this--he had a job to do. And it was his fault putting himself in a spot where he jeopardized that job. Jeopardized his usefulness to the crew. And that was just one thought too many for him to handle at the moment. He’d have to whip something up fast. He kicked himself for taking so much time panicking over stupid, stupid clothes.

He scurried to the kitchen, his body protesting with an ache. He was running through all the options he could think of for food that was quick to make, when he nearly tripped over Zoro.

He was sleeping, his head cradled by his hands behind him, his back pressed against the cabinets beneath the sink. Was he waiting for me?, Sanji thought, and his heart ached. Did he make Zoro worry? And why should Zoro worry about him? He had other crewmates to worry about.

Unless Zoro didn’t think Sanji could handle himself anymore?

Sanji bit his lip, and turned away from the sleeping oaf. He needed to focus. He blindly grabbed pots and pans from the cupboards, not even sure yet of what he was about to make.

Zoro cracked his eye open and squinted at Sanji. He had the nerve to frown at his sleep’s disturbance, when obviously he was the one invading Sanji’s space.

“Cook,” he murmured, still half-drunk off sleep.

“What?” Sanji murmured back. He set himself to autopilot, his hands working simply on muscle memory alone. “I’m trying to cook here. Can’t you sleep somewhere else?”

“You didn’t come back last night.”

Sanji froze, his fingers trembling as he tried to light the stove.

“Yeah,” was all he could manage to say.

Zoro searched him, looking for some kind of answer. Sanji wasn’t ready to tell anyone anything, especially not Zoro. How would Zoro ever be able to trust him again to have his back in battle, when Sanji couldn’t even protect himself? How would he ever be able to love him again when the things that made Sanji himself were so blatantly false?  So easily disprovable? And how would Zoro ever, ever want to touch him again, when another man could just…?

Sanji raked his finger nails through his hair, digging into his scalp, using the sharp pain to get his thoughts to mercifully stop.

Zoro’s eye was still on him. “And people say I’m bad with directions. Did you get that lost?”

Zoro was trying to bait him. On a normal day, Sanji would have gladly risen to it. But he was too exhausted to let himself feel anything but the heavy numbness blossoming in his chest. Not even the fake rage of their play-fights.

“Didn’t… I didn’t mean to be out so long…” was all he could think to say.

“So you can’t read a map or a clock?” Zoro tried again, feeling around for Sanji’s trigger that was usually so easily accessible to him.

Sanji really did try to play along. He wanted to be as normal as he could. But his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. Quietly, Sanji spooned the pancake batter he had pre-made a few days ago into a pan, and started chopping onions and crushing garlic.

Zoro pushed himself to his feet and leaned against the countertop. He crossed his arms across his chest, determined to remain in Sanji’s peripheral vision. Zoro took a full look at Sanji, cocking an eyebrow at his attire.

“The fuck are you wearing?”

Sanji winced. He was really hoping Zoro would at least have a little more tact.

“I’m just cold,” Sanji murmured.

Zoro tugged at the fabric of Sanji’s pants. “Are those mine?”

Sanji couldn’t ignore the amusement in Zoro’s voice.

“If you wanted to get in my pants so bad you coulda just asked,” Zoro smirked.

Sanji felt the back of his neck flush. He forgot what he was doing for a moment, causing the bottom of the pancakes he was making to char while the top remained completely raw. He cursed at himself and tried his best to salvage what he could.

Zoro pressed his lips into a line. He’d never seen Sanji mess up a dish before. It was like watching a fish drown—unnatural. It weirded him out.

“… Weren’t you supposed to fill me in on stuff last night? Before you turned in early.” This was the closest Zoro could bring himself to asking if Sanji was okay.

Sanji scrubbed at his face. “Yeah… sorry…”

“Y’know, along with fucking. That was implied, too.”

Sanji’s stomach twisted. He didn’t want to think about sex right now—or ever again. He felt like if anyone tried to touch him he’d combust.

“I’m sorry,” was all that Sanji could manage to say.

Zoro gave up trying to be flirty and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“... Are you mad at me for ditching you last night?” Zoro ran his hand down Sanji’s back, resting at the small of waist. Sanji felt nearly ready to jump out of his skin. He had to force himself to stay still under Zoro’s touch, to pretend everything was normal. “... Sorry, Curls. It just… really pisses me off when you do that in front of me.”

“I know,” tears were clawing their way up Sanji’s throat. “I know. I’m a bad boyfriend.”

Zoro blinked at him. “... You’re not a bad boyfriend. You’re an insufferable asshole. Somehow way over self-confident AND self-loathing. And repressed as shit. But you’re not a bad boyfriend.”

Sanji shrugged, trying his best to end the conversation. He couldn’t do this right now. Gods, he couldn’t do this right now. He wasn’t mad at Zoro for not walking him back. He didn’t want an apology. Zoro had every right to be annoyed with him that night. But Gods, he had wanted Zoro to see the need in his eyes when he had gone to him. To just forget his anger for a moment--even if it were justified--just so he could see how much Sanji needed him. None of this was Zoro’s fault, but there was still a part of Sanji’s chest that ached with hurt. Zoro was the protector of the crew, but apparently Sanji wasn’t included in that. It was a pain Sanji couldn’t even touch, or it would consume him whole as a flame does paper.

Zoro frowned at him, his lack of reaction to his provocation eerie to the swordsman.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…”

“C’mon, Curls. Don’t lie to me. You’re off. What’s up?”

Sanji bit his lip to distract himself from the tears welling in his eyes. He could hardly see in front of him, which only made him more frustrated and teary.

“You're that upset with me? Won’t even talk to me?”

“No, I’m not! I’m not mad at you at all!” Sanji pinched the bridge of his nose, trying his best to remain calm and not just fall apart right there. “I just… had… I had a long night, and I didn’t get to sleep, and now I have to make breakfast, but I’m fucking that up too, and I just… don’t have the energy… for any of this…”

“Did something happen?”

Don’t ask that!, Sanji screamed internally. It made it so much worse. He turned his face away from Zoro, so that the other couldn’t see the tears that stubbornly escaped him. He took a deep breath, and held it long enough that he felt his lungs burn.

“… Nothing happened,” he said very slowly, very deliberately, echoing back Zoro’s own words all those years ago. He tried to make the message clear.

Zoro’s words stopped in his throat. Fuck, that wasn’t fair, he thought. This was different. Zoro didn’t know what the fuck was going on. At least back then, Sanji knew. There was a silent understanding to not talk about it. But still, Sanji had known.

This was different. They were the wings. Sometimes they had to keep secrets from the rest of the crew to protect them, but not from each other. It was why it was so infuriating to Zoro when Sanji would go off and do things on his own. Why it pissed him off so much that Sanji so willingly gave himself up to his family at Whole Cake. It was all unfair.

Zoro grabbed Sanji’s forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured. “Spit it out, Cook.”

Sanji ripped his arm away. He had set the heat too high on the stove. The pancakes were charcoal at this point. Sanji grabbed a plate and scraped the remains onto it. He already decided he would eat the charred mistake to not let it go to waste. He rubbed his face in the crook of his arm to wipe away the tears.

“I’m serious, Zoro. I’m fine. I just need to finish this, and then I’ll get some sleep. Then I’ll be fine, okay?”

Zoro wanted to argue, but he could see that Sanji was shut down. He could only hope—trust—that Sanji would tell him later.

He left without another word.

Sanji’s body let go then, and he wept.

Sanji made it through breakfast, but barely. He stayed long enough to make sure everyone was served, albeit without his traditional fanfare, before collapsing in his hammock. He knew he would have to be back in the kitchen in about an hour, but he needed to close his eyes, even for a moment.

The attempt proved futile when he heard his captain loudly arguing right outside his window. Sanji groaned and wrapped his pillow around his head to try and drown out the sound, to no avail. After twenty minutes of fighting to shut out Luffy’s voice, Sanji sighed and gave up. At least he could still relax by having a cigarette out on the deck. Maybe the nicotine would be enough to get him through the rest of the day. He hoped to the Gods it would.

When he crawled out on the deck, he was thankful that no one else was there. He lit up, and took a long drag off of his cigarette. The unattractive habit did bring him some comfort, he hated to admit. It made his body feel a little less alien to him, a little bit more his.

He could hear Luffy more clearly in the open air. He sounded annoyed, but in the childish way he could be. Sanji took another peaceful drag off his cigarette and peered over the Sunny’s banister, to see what all the fuss was about.

His blood ran cold.

Luffy was crouched in the animalistic way he does, perched on the balls of his feet, his lips nearly curled in a feral growl. He was in the middle of what seemed to be an argument with Law.

And Kid.

Sanji went numb. He wouldn’t have noticed he was shaking if it weren’t for the ash falling off his cigarette. The other Straw Hats were down there, too. Usopp and Nami looked as if they were trying to reason with their Captain, to get him to back down from whatever bull-headed idea he had. A shiver ran down Sanji’s spine, seeing how close they were to Kid. It felt like his crew were standing next to a landmine. But if he tried to do anything, everyone would look at him as if he were crazy

He tried shrinking away from the banister, but it was too late. Luffy had seen him, and was calling him down to the shore.

The last thing he wanted to do was be anywhere near Kid, but Luffy was insistent that Sanji come down and weigh in on the matter. Sanji’s legs felt like jelly as he descended the latter. He wished the beach would just become quicksand and swallow him up. He kept his eyes on the ground when he passed by Kid. He could feel that monster’s gaze on him as he joined his circle of friends. Unbidden memories of the night before flickered in his periphery like ghosts, lurking. Kid’s heavy hands all over him, touching him from the inside out, not a part of him spared. The feeling of his teeth sinking into his flesh. The hot, achy pain radiating through his entire core. And worse, the words whispered into his ear, “you’re such a whore, a perfect little slut”, “you were made for this, princess”, “you wanted this, I can tell”, “this is all you’re good for”.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin.

“Sanji!” Luffy whined, snapping him out of his daze. “Law and Kid are tryna leave at the same time as us. But we should head out first, right? I got the highest bounty.”

“And the lowest brain cell count,” Law sniped back.

Luffy seemingly didn’t notice that Law’s comment was an insult. He just stared at Sanji, eyes wide and brows furrowed, as if he was trying to telepathically control Sanji’s answer.

Sanji sighed. This shouldn’t have been a problem. Kid was supposed to leave early in the morning. Then Sanji could have started putting this nightmare behind him. Yet, here Kid was, still wreaking havoc on Sanji’s psyche.

Sanji was pissed. Or was it hurt? Or was it devastated? He didn’t care at this point. The only thing that mattered was putting as much distance between him and Kid as possible.

“… We’re still waiting for Momo and Kin’emon to say goodbye. Who knows how long that’ll take. Kid should go first, then Law. I’m sure Kin and Momo would want to say goodbye to Law too, anyway.” Luffy started protesting, but Sanji cut him off. “Besides, you know it’s common courtesy to give the losers a head start.”

A slight twinge of satisfaction raced through his fast-beating heart, seeing the shade of red Kid turned, almost as deep as his hair. It felt good to finally hit Kid, even if it was only with a snide comment. It sure as hell felt better than the helplessness he felt earlier.

“I’d shut your pretty mouth, Black Leg,” Kid hissed, before his mouth twisted into a haunting smile, “before someone fucks it.”

With that, Sanji’s modicum of confidence crumbled again. His words stuck in his throat. His shoulders became heavy, causing his spine to collapse in on itself. His face flushed with shame as images of the night prior returned with a vengeance. And worse, the fact that Kid could just so casually reference this horrid secret Sanji now had in front of the crew, reminded him how little control he really had. Kid could tell the rest of the Straw Hats any moment he wanted to, and Sanji was powerless to stop him. The implication was clear: shut up or I’ll destroy you. Sanji gripped at the skin of his forearm with enough pressure to bruise. It helped a little. He felt like he couldn’t do anything but hold his breath, as if it would make time stand still.

Zoro, who had little interest in this conversation up until now, furrowed his brow. He didn’t understand why Sanji wasn’t quipping back. Sanji always had a silver tongue. Whenever an insult left Zoro’s lips, he never had the chance to take another breath before Sanji was volleying back at him with his own barrage of insults. And Sanji, as paradoxical as it was with his crippling self-loathing, also had too much pride to let a comment like that go unpunished.

So why was he just standing there, wide-eyed?

Zoro saddled up alongside Sanji. Not close enough to wound Sanji’s ego by implying he needed backup, but close enough to let his presence be known.

“If you’re gonna get beat so often, Kid, you should learn how to do it gracefully. If you’re in such a hurry to leave, stop bitchin’ and just go already.”

“I don’t take orders from an inferior pirate’s subordinate,” Kid growled.

“Oi oi, Eustass-ya, you finally get what you want and you’re causing a ruckus about that too,” Law grumbled.

“Then we’ll go first!” Luffy said triumphantly, obliviously to tension building between his former allies and his crew.

That got Kid to stand to his feet immediately. “Killer!” he called out. “Gather the crew! We’re setting sail! Now!”

Within the half hour, Kid’s ship was heading towards the horizon. It wasn’t until it was out of sight that Sanji felt like he could breathe again.

Chapter Text

Zoro’s lips moved over Sanji’s like a man starved. It felt like no matter what he did, he couldn’t get enough out of his partner, like he couldn’t reach him. His tongue darted in and out of Sanji’s mouth, begging him to push back and offer some playful resistance. He sucked a bruise into his lower lip, expecting at least a nip back in return but getting nothing. He raked his hands through the blond’s hair, giving it a slight tug to tilt his head back and expose a bit more of his neck that had been so annoyingly covered by high-collared shirts and turtlenecks recently. Whispers of pink scars poked out of the soft knit. Zoro furrowed his brow, wondering why he’d never noticed them before, but he didn’t mention it. He was trying really hard to trust that Sanji would tell him about whatever happened--if something happened, he corrected his thoughts hastily. He kissed down Sanji’s jaw, the soft spot right beneath his ear, toward his neck, trying to elicit even the hint of a pleasurable sigh from the other. He might have heard a slight hitch in his breath, but he couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing.

Zoro sighed against the cook’s skin. Fuck, he thought, what the fuck is with him? It had been a couple weeks since they sailed out from Wano. Despite Sanji’s promise, he was in fact, not fine after taking a rest after breakfast when they first set sail. In fact, he had only gotten worse since. The only time he slept was when his body gave out from exhaustion. When Zoro did see Sanji finally collapse into his cot, it wouldn’t take long for Sanji to tangle himself in his blankets from fitful tossing and turning and twitching.

At all other times Sanji would barricade himself in the kitchen. It was great for their perpetually hungry captain, as there was always a barrage of new dishes and appetizing snacks pouring out of the galley. But it didn’t even take long for Luffy to pout about Sanji not spending enough time with everyone. Sanji would leave the kitchen long enough to make sure everyone got a helping of what he cooked up, give a tired smile, and scurry back to his culinary hovel. There was no more excessive fanfare with heart-eyes while handing Nami or Robin their drinks while they sunbathed on the deck. No more smoke breaks on the Sunny’s upper deck. No more nightcaps in the aquarium bar. No more reading stories to Chopper, quipping back and forth with Usopp, smiling softly while Franky talked to him about new spice rubs for barbecuing that he wanted to try. Not even fighting with Zoro.

Or fucking, the swordsman thought in the shame-shadowed recesses of the his mind.

They hadn’t fucked since that night in Wano, two nights before they left. In fact, since then Sanji had barely tolerated Zoro touching him in any way, even if Zoro was just pushing on his shoulders to move the other out of his way. He was trying not to take it personally. He complained about it once to Nami, who quickly pointed out to him that Sanji was being that way with everyone. He’d even flinch away from Luffy’s enthusiastic hugs. The cook had always been flighty, but this was something else entirely.

There was one particularly jarring time when Chopper was spooked and hugged onto one of Sanji’s legs from behind, and Sanji nearly jumped out of his skin, causing all the dishes he was carrying to clatter to the ground. When he came back to his senses he was quick to gather Chopper up into a hug and apologize for scaring him further. It alarmed everyone, but no one said anything. What were they supposed to say, when all of their concerned questioning was met with ‘I’m okay, I’m just tired’?

Zoro was getting used to the tight feeling in his chest, watching Chopper hesitate to hug Sanji like he used to.

He’s probably just now processing seeing his family again on Whole Cake. Or the shock of discovering his genetic… abnormalities, Robin had tried to reassure Zoro, as well as herself. Zoro agreed with the plausibility, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that it wasn’t. The Cook seemed relatively fine--as fine as anyone could be after seeing their abusive family again--in the couple days leading up to the raid on Onigashima. And if it were his genetics come back to haunt him, Sanji would have told him by now. He didn’t hesitate to call Zoro when he actually was worried about it while fighting Queen. So why would he hesitate now? Something had to have happened the night before they left. He hated not knowing what though.

Zoro inhaled sharply through his nose, and tried to rally himself from his thoughts. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Sanji’s neck, trying to push more of the fabric off of him to get even one more inch of perpetually hidden skin. He missed the warmth of Sanji’s skin, the scent of the cologne he would dab behind his ears welcoming him to kiss him and keep kissing him. The cook had been so stubbornly covered up as of late. He had always dressed in layers, but at least they were well-tailored layers. Recently, it had just been bulky sweaters and turtlenecks and everything else that could infuriatingly deny Zoro access to his skin. He once half-jokingly told Sanji he should wear the kimono he brought back from Wano since it was so easy to take off, and Sanji instantly snapped at him to fuck off, and not in the tone of banter they usually sported. So Zoro dropped it.

He knew he was pressing his luck right now, but he was desperate for some kind of reaction from the cook, for any little indication that he was into this. He was so used to Sanji relenting to his touch like putty, to instantly turning into a wanton puddle of desire. It was embarrassing how hard he was working for it now. Zoro placed a hand on Sanji’s hip to pull him closer. He slipped a hand beneath the hem of Sanji’s sweater, letting his fingers walk up his side and find a nipple to play with. He tried to ignore how he was starting to feel more bone than muscle as he worked his way up. He wondered when the last time he saw the blond eat was, but didn’t ask. He’s tried the line of questioning before, and he was a sure-fire way to get the cook to withdraw into himself, if he didn’t leave altogether.

He moved his other hand down between the cook’s legs. He was pleased—relieved, erally—to feel Sanji’s half-hard dick, vindicated that he was at least somewhat interested, even if he was being shy about it. Slowly Zoro began to move his hand, massaging Sanji through his pants, waiting to hear the soft curses and gasps of pleasure he’d become so insanely addicted to.

Instead, Zoro only heard himself groan.

He felt Sanji become rigid beneath his touch, every inch of him frozen except for his rapid heartbeat that rattled through him. Sanji’s visible eye was wide and transfixed on a point that seemed a million miles away. Zoro gave up, and let his hands fall away limply.

“Okay, I get it, it’s fine,” he murmured, going as far as to shuffle a few inches back on the aquarium couch.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji whispered, his gaze still somewhere else entirely. Zoro could hardly hear him over the sound of the sound of the cook’s erratic heartbeat.

“I’ll just go jerk off in the shower again.” He meant it as an out for the cook, but the words came out sharper than he wanted them to, whittled to a point by the frustration and the anxiety gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

Sanji winced. Zoro didn’t mean to sound as annoyed as he did. Usually he had better control of his emotions than this, but he was just so frustrated with whatever situation they were in right now.

“We can keep going,” Sanji sounded desperate, but not in the way that Zoro usually found mind-numbingly hot. He sounded like a child about to be abandoned.

“Not interested in fucking someone who doesn’t wanna be fucked.”

“I do…”

Zoro rubbed at his temples with his thumbs. He concentrated hard on not letting his frustration leak into his tone. “It’s fine, Curls.”

Sanji pressed his lips into a line, and wordlessly climbed off the couch and onto his knees in front of the swordsman. Instinctually hot desire pooled into the pit of Zoro’s stomach, seeing Sanji framed by his knees, looking up at him expectantly. Sanji ran his hands up Zoro’s splayed thighs and worked his way up to his crotch which had become shamelessly hard at the mere sight of Sanji so submissive.

“I could…” Sanji started, but Zoro cut him off, knocking his hands away. He wanted him, but not like this.

“I said it’s fine. Knock it off.”

Sanji sat back on his heels, his hands clutched so hard in his lap that his knuckles turned white.

“Sorry…”

“Fuck, cook, just… stop. You don’t gotta apologize. It’s just…” Zoro rubbed at the back of his neck as if he could massage away his agitation. “We haven’t fucked in weeks. Which is... fine. It's just... different. We used to fuck every chance we got. Now… I hardly see you, when I do you’re always making yourself busy with cooking or cleaning, and then in the few minutes we finally get alone, as soon as I even try to touch you, you… I dunno, freeze?”

Sanji started rubbing at his arm, pushing his sleeve up just enough so that he could start digging his nails into his skin. There were a lot of little crescent moon marks there, scabbing.

This wasn’t the first time Zoro tried to push this conversation, but he knew with Sanji’s stubbornness it wouldn’t be his last. It was exhausting.

“I don’t know… Just haven’t been in the right mindset, I guess…” was all Sanji could offer.

“Is it because I asked to not be on the downlow anymore?”

Sanji shook his head. “No…”

“Is it the thing with the raid suit?”

“No, Zoro…”

“Then what?”

Sanji fell despondent again.

Zoro sighed, his entire body slumping, a pose of defeat his body wasn’t used to making. “Come on, Curls. It’s been weeks. Just tell me already. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, as a team. As a crew. I promise. But you can’t just keep it to yourself.”

Sanji hung his head low, but not fast enough that Zoro couldn’t see the tears welling in his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake Zoro, I don’t want you to know how fucking…! Gods…” Sanji’s words caught in his throat again. He started pulling at his hair, one of the many unfortunate habits Zoro noticed Sanji leaned on whenever his emotions got too much for him. Sanji tried again, with what limited language his dissociated mind had access to. “… If I told you, you’d never want to touch me again,” he whispered.

Zoro’s chest caved on itself. He reached for Sanji’s hand to pull it away from his abused scalp, but the blond flinched away. Zoro’s ribs ached.

Still, Zoro forced a laugh, as if it could provide any reassurance in the wrecked state that Sanji was in. “Don’t be stupid. You know I can barely keep my hands to myself when you’re around. That’s never gonna change.”

Sanji said nothing. He just leaned himself back against the aquarium bar’s couch, hugged his knees to his chest, and buried his face.

Zoro was at a loss. This was all foreign territory to him; he wasn’t the comforting type. His crew came to him when they needed a shield to hide behind, an enemy slashed, or just some extra muscle. The cook is the one they'd go to if they needed a hug, or reassurance, or a confidence boost. But more than that, he was used to being able to communicate with Sanji on a level beyond words. He felt like the world was turning upside down and all he could do was sit there and watch powerlessly.

“… Please?” Zoro didn’t know if he’d ever used that word in his life outside asking Mihawk to train him. He hated the sense of helplessness he felt then, and he hated that he felt that way now.

“I’m handling it.”

“Obviously not well.”

Sanji clicked his tongue. “Zoro…”

Zoro knew then that Sanji was done with the conversation. Again. It always ended the same way. Zoro clenched his jaw. Sanji was so fucking frustrating. He could be drowning and he’d still say ‘the water’s fine’. He could be lit on fire and say ‘he prefers it warm’. Anything to not be an inconvenience, anything not to show weakness, anything to push people away. Zoro was tough, and prone to shrugging off help, but that was because he believed in his strength, and in the promise he made to his captain to never lose again. But Sanji… Sanji shouldered pain not because he thought he could take it, but because he thought he deserved it, and deserved it alone. And it pissed Zoro off, seeing the cook do this to himself again and again and again, no matter how many times Zoro had begged for him to stop.

He was trying to be patient. He was trying to trust the cook. But as the cook had proven time and time again, he'd rather resign himself to suffering than be anything close to an inconvenience. If he were the only casualty, he'd be content to suffer forever. But Zoro's patience wasn't as valiant as Sanji's acceptance of suffering.

Zoro stood and marched over to the door of the aquarium, defeated and enraged by it all. He needed to not be around the cook for a bit.

Before leaving, he turned, his anger surging through the cracks of his thinned patience.

“Either get help, or get over it, for fuck’s sake.”

He slammed the door behind him. He didn’t wait around to hear the aftermath of his words.

Zoro watched his whisky swirl in his glass, the last rays of the day igniting it with a deep amber color as he leaned over the rear banister of the Sunny. He was actually feeling a nice buzz for once, since Sanji had been handing over whatever alcohol he asked for without any argument. Without any words at all. He kept going back hoping that Sanji would say anything to break the tension, but the cook remained tight-lipped, not even looking Zoro in the eye as he passed him bottle after bottle. It didn’t stop the swordsman from trying, though, resulting in his current and rare buzzed state.

He knew he had been harsh, but it was also the truth. Those were the only two paths Zoro saw whenever there was a setback, whenever someone in their crew fell to despair, preacher of tough love that he was. Either way, it was important to get better as quickly as possible, so that things would be okay again.

He needed things to be okay again.

Nami was with him, leaning back in a beach chair as she sipped at an elaborately fruity drink that Sanji made her, the kind that looked delicate but that could knock a grown man on his ass if they were anything but the champion drinker that she and Zoro were. And this was her third one. That was one of the things that first endeared her to Zoro, and not that he would ever tell, but he welcomed having a drinking companion after so many drinks alone.

“I’ve never seen you frown at liquor before,” she laughed behind the lip of her glass.

“Not in the mood,” he barked before knocking back the rest of his drink.

Nami rolled her eyes. “When are you?”

“I’m gonna go get another.”

Nami grabbed his arm while he passed. Zoro grunted in annoyance.

“What?” he spat.

“Let him be,” Nami said softly.

“I’m getting a drink. Cook just happens to be there.”

Nami raised an eyebrow. Zoro sighed. Nami always saw right through him. He sat down on the deck next to Nami’s chair, letting his head be cradled by the posts of the ship’s railings.

“He’s so fucking infuriating,” Zoro finally said after a pronounced silence.

“So are you.”

“Aren’t you annoyed with how he’s acting?”

Nami shook her head. “I’m not annoyed. I’m worried.”

“Why though?” Zoro hissed. “You’re not allowed to be worried about him. He’s made it clear. He keeps saying, ‘I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine’, which clearly he fucking isn’t. So why worry?”

Nami sighed. She pushed her sunglasses onto her head to give a good look at Zoro.

“You know that’s just how he is.”

“Yeah, but… fuck, didn’t he learn his lesson? After leaving like he did? Idiot cook never learns.”

“Some things take a while to unlearn. Sanji’s clearly going through something right now, and he needs us.”

“He won’t let himself need us.”

“He needs us to be patient,” Nami said sharply, the verbal equivalent of knocking Zoro upside the head for his stupidity. “He needs us to be there when he finally is ready to tell us.”

Zoro grumbled something about needing another drink. Nami rolled her eyes, knowing that was his way of relenting and acknowledging that she was right. As compensation for his admission, she handed him the rest of her drink which he took without question.

“… He said that if he told me what happened, that I’d never want to touch him again…” Zoro murmured, his eyes transfixed on the orange-pink gradient of the drink in front of him. He counted the bubbles that started floating to the top to stop thinking about how much his heart ached. Sanji’s words had been haunting him all day. He got a little bit of relief by telling someone else, the only person on the crew he gave himself permission to tell about his and Sanji’s relationship.

Nami pursed her lips, her fingers fluttering to touch her chest. Zoro wondered if those words had the same harmful pull over her heart.

“I don’t even understand what could have happened to make him feel that way. What could be so bad that I wouldn’t want him? Kill a child? Sanji couldn’t do that, ever. Get his ass beat? I’d tease the fuck at of him, and then I’d fuck him. Kill our captain? Pretty sure I’ve seen him kicking around here. I don’t understand.”

Nami slid off of the beach chair to sit next to Zoro. She squeezed his wrist empathetically.

“… Look, Sanji hasn’t told me much of anything. Just little snippets here and there when he actually relaxes a little and he lets something slip out, and then he clams back up again. He said something about a bad drink, and trusting the wrong person. Whatever happened… it made him feel like he’s… dirty… is the word I think he used.”

Zoro was taken aback, not processing the majority of what she was saying in his shock. “… He talked to you?”

“Not really,” Nami emphasized. “Just small things. I just sit with him in the kitchen sometimes while he works, and let him talk when he wants to.”

Zoro scoffed. “Well, fuck. He’ll open up to you, but not me? Fuck.”

“Some things are just easier to talk about with certain people. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready. I promise. But right now… honestly, I think he just feels more comfortable talking to a woman.”

“Why the fuck would that matter?”

Nami pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled sharply. Zoro knew he was being insane right now. He felt insane. But somehow he felt worse knowing that Sanji could open up, just not with him.

“Because it’s Sanji, for fuck’s sake. You know how he is with women. It’s more than attraction—he idolizes them. Like, a woman could literally try to kill him—several have—and he will still trust her with his life. He just feels safe with them. With men, he’s much more closed off. I don’t know, but sometimes the way he talks… I don’t think he thought there could be good men until he met Zeff, to be honest. And he’s still wary of most of them.” Nami hesitated, trying to figure out how to say what she wanted to say with tact. “… And then, I think there are certain… topics, that I think women tend to be a little more, um… empathetic about. And I think he might be struggling with one of those topics right now.”

Zoro narrowed his good eye at her, weary. “Like what?”

Nami’s eyes glazed over with a teary patina. “Come on, Zoro… It’s obvious…”

Dread was thrumming through his stomach, ballooning, making little room for anything else. Of course he had suspicions, but he never had been dark enough to entertain them. It couldn’t have happened. Not to Sanji.

“No,” Zoro said firmly. “Whatever you’re implying, it’s not that.”

“Zoro—”

“It’s not. I’ve seen Sanji take down hundreds of men at the same time. He’s taken down some of the strongest people the Grand Line has to offer. There’s no way… it’s impossible. It couldn’t have happened to him.”

“Anyone can get raped, you dick,” Nami hissed, the word flying off her tongue before she had the chance to stop it. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes bright with surprise. Still, she steeled herself, honoring her anger. She gathered her stuff to leave the deck. “This is probably why Sanji doesn’t want to talk to you, if you’re going to be like that.”

Zoro groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that, Nami...”

“Well, that’s how it came off.”

Nami stomped to the galley and shut the door firmly behind her, putting Zoro on the other end of the door slam now. The message was clear: don’t bother her, and sure as hell don’t bother Sanji.

Zoro growled, and slammed his head back into the railing posts in frustration. Fuck, he really didn’t mean it like that. What he really meant was that it couldn’t have happened to Sanji, because if it did it meant there’s nothing Zoro can do to fix it, and Zoro could not handle the idea of not being able to do anything. If it were the cook’s genetic abnormalities, Zoro had all the faith in the world that the little reindeer they picked as a doctor could reverse the damage done by the raid suit. If it were exhaustion from so many consecutive battles, he knew that Sanji would just need to be forced to get some good rest. If he got into a fight with another pirate, lost a dire bet, made a fool of himself--anything else felt fixable.

But not that. There was nothing Zoro could do if it were that. All the training in the

world, all the new techniques, all the grit, determination, and strength that had become his essence, would be rendered utterly and pathetically useless. Instead, he’d have to live in a reality where his love was committing himself to slowly dying, submitting to the infection of this horrific psychic wound, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Worse still, would be accepting a reality in which he once did have the power to stop it from happening, if only he had put aside his ego to see what was clearly going on in front of him.

He knew that Sanji was wrong when he said that he’d never want to touch the blond again if he knew. Zoro would always, always want him. But the truth that Sanji didn’t know was that Zoro didn’t know if he even deserved to touch the cook ever again.