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the thing is- well. the thing is this: zoro won’t stop fucking staring at her nose.
sanji knows she has a big nose. bigger than she wants it to be, anyway, and that’s not even mentioning how crooked and bumpy its slope is from being broken over and over again. it’s worlds away from her mother’s small, delicate button nose. its only saving grace, in her eyes, is an ability to pick out ingredients in a dish by smell alone, and even that could have been learned without a nose the size of a small apricot.
this is all to say that she has a bit of a complex about her nose, and the shit-for-brains mossball staring at it is making her feel mildly homicidal.
“nami-swaaaaaan!!! robin-chwaaaaaan!!! lunch is ready, my dears!!!” sanji calls from the open galley door, putting the finishing touches on their plates. “oi, the rest of you shitheads, food’s up!”
the crew comes crashing in around the table, and sanji takes it as cover to sneak a glance at zoro. she’s already watching her, an unreadable expression on her face. bitch. when zoro notices her looking back, she just smirks before turning to her food. bitch.
it’s been going on for the past few days, sanji thinks angrily as she scrubs at the bottom of a skillet an hour later, chewing on the filter of her cigarette. her rolled up sleeves are falling down her elbows and getting steadily soaked in dishwater. she isn’t even sure if it’s actually her nose that’s being stared at, but the swordsman’s line of sight is below her eyes and she’d never be lucky enough to have her stare at her mouth.
in shock at how pathetic she sounds to herself, sanji drops the pan. the clatter is so loud that it jolts her out of her head, and it’s only then that she realizes that she’s not alone in the kitchen.
“what are you doing here!” she spits out, fighting the urge to clutch at her chest.
zoro just grins at her, lazily and catlike.
“didn’t know i needed an invitation to sit in the galley, curlybrow,” she says, tilting her head. her earrings chime with the movement, and sanji realizes with a start that instead of her usual seat at the table, zoro’s parked herself to sanji’s left. where her face is visible. despite her best efforts, she can feel herself start to flush.
“you do if you’re just here to piss me off,” sanji says. she turns back to the sink and takes a long pull of her cigarette.
“so you don’t want my help with the dishes, then?” zoro asks behind her- very close behind her. instead of asking for the dishtowel like a normal person, zoro leans one hand on the counter by sanji’s hip and crowds behind her to get the towel hanging on the rack with the other. sanji nearly swallows the cigarette.
“i never said that!” she squeaks, and then immediately blushes because of the squeaking.
wordlessly, zoro starts drying the clean dishes, but sanji still feels watched.
the thing is- well. the thing is this: sanji’s had a big fat lezzy crush on their first mate for a while. probably since she saw the idiot get gutted like a fish on the deck of the baratie. but that’s fine. that’s relatively safe , because there is no world in which sanji’s big fat lezzy crush is reciprocated, so there are no real consequences for fantasizing about the marimo. this, though? sanji absolutely cannot deal with this like a normal person if she reads it as interest, so it gets safely categorized as antagonism.
“you’re not getting any booze for this, by the way,” she snips, fingers getting pruney in the dishwater.
zoro grunts at her, like the gorilla she is. “not what i wanted out of doing this, shit-cook.”
“well,” sanji says, floundering. picking a fight about booze normally has a 100% success rate. “w-well, good, because you’re not getting any!”
zoro snorts. “you said that already, curlybrows.” she pauses, and sanji can tell she dries the last dish with deliberate casualness. “don’t wanna know what i want?”
“seems like you want me to want to know what you want, marimo,” she says, nonsensically, like a person with no grasp of the common tongue.
“hah?” zoro says.
“hmm?” sanji says.
zoro blinks at her, then shrugs and turns to leave, dishes dry. she’s banned from putting them back, on account of the fact that she has no idea where they go. sanji thinks she’s in the clear to start prepping for dinner and agonize over every detail of this interaction, but gets stopped short by zoro’s hand in her face.
“what are you-“ she starts, nearly going cross-eyed trying to follow the trajectory of zoro’s hand, when she feels the calloused skin of her index finger dragging down the length of her nose. her finished cigarette slips out of her open mouth and falls to the floor.
“had some soap on your nose,” zoro says smugly, and then exits the galley without another word, swords clanking.
sanji stares at the cigarette butt on the floor. her nose burns.
what the fuck.
by the time evening rolls around, sanji has resorted to cooking the national dish of every country they’ve seen so far to try to distract herself and get her head on straight. it hasn’t worked, but franky seems very happy to see bigoli in salsa.
“this is SUPER, lil sis,” franky wails.
“mhm, sanji-chan, you’ve really outdone yourself tonight,” nami smiles at her over the koshari, and sanji’s heart tap dances in her chest.
“i’m so happy you like it, mellorine,” sanji trills. across from her, zoro coughs. her cropped hair is dripping onto her shirt, and sanji hopes for everyone’s sake it’s from a bath and not just sweat.
sanji scowls back at her. “problem, mossy?”
“s’good, cook,” she grunts, without interrupting the way she’s shovelling meat and rice into her mouth. sanji can’t believe she’s holding a torch for such a brute. she’s so busy lamenting this fact that she misses the slide of a boot against her own smart oxfords until it hits her bare ankle. the plates rattles from the force of her knees hitting the bottom of the table. as one, everyone looks at her with concern, except for zoro, who just calmly sips her sake like her boot isn’t tracing up and down the length of sanji’s tensed calf. sanji feels an angry blush flooding her face. she’s sure she looks like a boiled lobster.
“are you alright, cook-san?” robin asks.
“fine, my dearest, just- just got chilly for a moment.” either she laughs convincingly enough, or the crew is too used to her neuroticisms to push any further.
the glare sanji shoots across the table is venomous, still glowing like a crimson beacon. zoro crosses her arms, which pushes her tits together in a way that makes sanji’s mouth water. the tip of zoro’s boot trails up to her knee, at which point sanji reflexively snaps her legs together and pins zoro’s foot between her calves. zoro gives a halfhearted tug, like she knows she won’t be able to break free from sanji’s grip. this would normally turn her on, except for the fact that sanji is too distracted by the way zoro is clearly and unashamedly staring at her nose. she resists the childish urge to cover it with her hand, and spends the rest of dinner holding zoro’s foot hostage. the marimo doesn’t look away, her chest starting to heave the way it does before a fight. sanji’s so flustered and confused that she can barely taste the food in front of her.
finally, the last of the plates are cleared away, and sanji pushes back her chair to stalk behind the counter. she knows without looking that zoro hasn’t moved, even as the rest of the crew filters out for the night. as soon as the door clicks shut, she rounds on the swordsman.
“what the fuck is your deal, mosshead? you got something you wanna say?”
zoro smirks at her (it makes sanji’s blood boil). “yeah, actually. anyone ever tell you you got a big nose, curly?”
and well. sanji wasn’t expecting her to just come out and say it like that.
“it’s not any of your fucking business,” she says, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice.
zoro’s expression softens. “aw, c’mon cook, you’re taking it the wrong way.”
“how else am i supposed to take it?” sanji yells, and then finally gives in to the urge to cover her face with her hands.
“i want to ride your face, curly, you have such a nice nose for it. can i?”
and that- what. what?
the thing is- well. the thing is this: sanji’s nose immediately starts bleeding.
“you WHAT?” she shrieks, blood dripping between her fingers.
“you heard me, dartbrow,” zoro says. she’s leaning back on her elbows, and sanji can’t help the way her underwear grows damp at the sight of her bulging biceps. “i’m tired of dancing around it. you want me, i want you, so let’s fuck.”
there’s- so much about that sentence that sanji has to process. “wait, wait, wait.” she scrambles for a cigarette, and once it’s lit takes a long inhale. “what do you mean, you want me? what do you mean i want you? how could you tell? i mean- fuck! wait- shit-“
zoro snickers. “don’t hurt yourself, cook. look, you want to or not? i even showered before dinner and everything.”
sanji takes a shaking breath. i’ve finally cracked from the pressure of feeding luffy , she thinks. i’m hallucinating. “not in the kitchen,” she says.
zoro’s grin is sharp, predatory. without wasting a second, she fists the front of sanji’s shirt and yanks her into the pantry. without bothering to turn on the light, she pins sanji to the door and kisses her.
sanji’s head is spinning. zoro’s mouth is wet and warm and firm where it opens against hers, the hand not twisting the front of her blouse holding her waist so tightly she thinks it’ll bruise. god, she hopes it’ll bruise. she can’t help the soft noises coming out of her mouth, or the way her heart is beating so fast she feels lightheaded, or the deperate way she grips zoro’s stupidly jacked arms.
the thing is this: sanji has barely ever kissed anyone with tongue before, let alone had sex. but the anxiety of keeping up takes a back seat to the heat that travels through her when zoro slots a thigh between her legs and encourages her to start grinding with a roll of her hips.
“oh, fuck.” sanji gasps. her head thuds against the door as zoro’s mouth travels down her jaw and starts sucking bruises onto her neck.
“yeah?” zoro chuckles. “feel good, princess?”
“fuck- ngh - fuck y-you, marimo,” she pants. she’s going to have to wash these panties twice to get them useable again.
“that’s the idea,” zoro says, and starts pawing at the buttons on her shirt. sanji’s pretty gone, but not too far gone to let zoro shred her clothes. she pushes the other woman away just enough to let her fingers fly to unbutton her blouse before she can get self-conscious about it. zoro takes the opportunity to whip her shirt off and toss it somewhere by the canned goods, and it’s at this point that sanji loses all higher brain function.
“fuck , zoro, your fucking tits ,” she groans. the nosebleed she stemmed a few minutes ago makes its reappearance.
something hungry enters zoro’s eyes as she shoves the blouse off sanji’s shoulders. she lets out a low whistle. “look at these pretty things.” she snaps the strap of blush pink lace covering sanji’s chest.
sanji just pants and looks at zoro through her bangs. now that the momentum of the kiss has broken, she’s not sure what to do with her hands. what she wants to do is grope zoro’s massive chest with her face buried in it, but for once sanji feels too out of her depth to fight zoro to take the lead.
“they’re- i know they’re small, you don’t have to pretend,” she says, tugging nervously at her hair.
zoro’s gaze snaps up to her. “are you kidding me, cook? you’re probably sensitive as shit. mine are so big i can’t feel anything.”
when sanji neither confirms nor denies it, zoro frowns at her. “has no one played with your tits before?”
sanji looks away. she’s starting to get cold, the heat of the moment fading.
“cook. hey, cook. look at me.”
unbidden, a whine escapes the back of her throat and she lets zoro’s hand around her chin turn her head. “i’ve never done…this before,” sanji whispers, and zoro’s face drops.
“shit, you mean-“
“no, i’ve kissed before! just the once though…”
“fuck, curly, you should have said something,” zoro says, stepping back. that won’t do at all, though, so sanji reaches for her and pulls her back by the shoulders.
“no, i want this!” sanji still can’t look zoro in the eyes, but making eye contact with her tits is significantly helping her mood. “who knows when the next time you bathe will be,” she jokes, and smiles for real when zoro laughs.
“seriously though, if you’re not up for-“
“what? you saying i’m scared or something?”
whatever zoro sees in her expression puts the heat back in her gaze. “why don’t you prove you’re not, princess?” she pinches sanji’s nipples through the lace of her bralette, and a lightning bolt of arousal shoots through her. zoro laughs at her moan, saying, “i’m gonna take my time with these pretty little tits after i’m done.”
with that, sanji’s shoved unceremoniously onto a pile of empty burlap sacks. her complaint gets caught in her throat when she sees zoro stepping out of her trousers, entirely bare underneath. of course she’s going commando, the fucking classless wonder. drool pools in her mouth at the sight of the thick patch of green hair between her legs, already glistening with slick. she licks her lips and tastes blood.
finally totally naked, zoro settles on her knees above sanji’s chest, tits swaying with the movement. the hard lines of her body would be totally at odds with the soft fullness of her breasts if not for the scar nearly bisecting one of them, her dark brown nipples hard. sanji sighs a little dreamily.
“you ready, twirly?” zoro asks, looking down at her from her perch.
sanji can’t deal with the anticipation any longer. she’s still in her trousers and shoes, her open shirt half tucked in, but she can’t fucking wait any longer. “just sit on my fucking face, marimo,” she snarls, and grabs greedy handfuls of zoro’s ass to drag her into place. the immediate wall of warm skin against her face and neck and the smell of zoro’s arousal and sweat and the weight of zoro’s body on her chest and the tickle of her pubic hair on her nose and cheeks makes sanji groan so loudly she worries for a moment they’re going to be found out.
she takes a deep inhale, which makes zoro moan out, “you’re such a fucking freak,” but she doesn’t seem put off by it. if anything, her thighs clench a little, which makes sanji’s thighs clench a lot. she wastes no more time and licks a fat stripe up zoro’s cunt with the flat of her tongue.
“fuuuuuuuuck, curly, that’s it,” zoro sighs, running her fingers through sanji’s hair. it pushes her bangs off her forehead, exposing both eyes, and the expression on zoro’s face makes her lick her again. she gets zoro’s clit on the upstroke this time, peeking out of the hood, and the swordsman clenches her fists into her bobbed hair. the sting is so good- sanji moans into zoro’s cunt, her pussy throbs in her tailored slacks.
she loses herself in the sensation, sucks on zoro’s labia like she’s kissing her mouth, slurps up the slick pouring from her hole, laves on her hard clit. zoro grunts and moans above her, hands still tight in her hair, and sanji’s losing her mind with how good it is.
“fuck, baby, fuck,” zoro chokes out. the pet name drags a whine out of her, and her hands clench harder on zoro’s ass. “you’re doing so good, princess, i’m gonna ride you for real.”
zoro starts rolling her hips. her weight shifts, and suddenly her clit is grinding on sanji’s nose, back and forth, soaking her face. sanji’s eyes roll back in her head as she obediently sticks her tongue out for zoro to ride- she gets it now. oh, does she get it now.
“ yeeeeeeeeeess ,” zoro moans, picking up the pace. sanji feels like a toy, utterly used, and it’s this blissful feeling of utility that finally sees her scrambling to unbutton her slacks with one hand. she shoves her hand down her ruined panties and sobs into zoro’s wet heat at the relief.
“it’s- hng- it’s so good, you’re so good, i’m gonna- i’m gonna- sanji- “ zoro’s hips start jerking erratically and sanji can’t breathe but she’s never wanted to less in her life. she realizes she’s closed her eyes at some point. unacceptable- she wrenches them open and sees zoro staring down at where her clit is brushing up against her nose, her brow pinched in what looks like agony. her face is ruddy and shining with sweat, her mouth is open and panting, her pupils are so dilated her eyes look black, and sanji comes like it’s wrenched out of her.
the noises spilling out of her feel more obscene than the slick, wet sounds of her mouth against zoro’s cunt. her body shakes and splays out in ecstasy, toes curling.
“did you just-“ zoro starts, before sanji’s frantic nod pushes her over the edge. a flood of cum drenches sanji’s face. zoro’s thighs have clamped shut over her head as she rides out the wave of her orgasm, heightening the aftershocks of her own. finally, zoro clambers off her face and flops onto her back, chest heaving with exertion. sanji sucks in huge lungfuls of air with one hand on her chest and the other still stuck down her pants.
“holy shit,” she breathes, and then starts giggling like a maniac. she covers her sticky face with her hands and giggles and giggles and giggles.
“did i break you?” zoro asks. she pries sanji’s hands off her face and kisses her deeply, running her thumb over the slick coating her jaw. sanji moans into it helplessly. she rolls onto her side to hook her leg over zoro’s hip.
“like you could,” she says. the punch-drunk smile on zoro’s face lights a fire in sanji’s chest, so she leans in to kiss her again. at the last second, zoro tilts her head up and presses a kiss to the prominent bridge of sanji’s nose. she blushes.
“we should get cleaned up,” she says, making no move to get up.
“what are you talking about, swirlybrow?” zoro grins. “i told you i was gonna take my time with you after.”
sanji gulps.
the thing is this: zoro won’t stop staring at her nose. sanji doesn’t mind, though, since she knows it’s her girlfriend’s favourite seat.