Chapter Text
“Sanji, I am hungry.”
Luffy entered the galley as usual, eager and hungry.
Sanji turned at his captain’s voice, already gearing up to ask for five more minutes. Just enough to make fries to go with the meat, but one look at him and Sanji melted, caving instantly. “Okay,” he conceded with a fond sigh, “You can have some now. I’ll bring in the fries and the rest for others in a moment.” Luffy beamed, and launched himself onto the deck, towards his favorite spot. His two stretched arms already snagging two plates full before Sanji could think of scolding him.
And instead of his usual rebukes, Sanji lingered a moment longer watching him go, a small grin tugging at his lips. Ever since Whole Cake Island, something had changed in him; his respect for Luffy had settled into quiet gratitude, layered with affection. Luffy had never spoken of the betrayal, never acted differently, just remained himself, smiling, carefree. Watching him, Sanji felt lighter, the spark of hope still stirring, and he treasured his captain for it.
Then a familiar, feminine laugh reached him, tugging him out of his thoughts, and Sanji’s eyes fell on Nami chatting with Usopp and Robin on the deck. He had not heard that melodious sound around him for weeks. She was smiling freely now, her voice light, her eyes crinkling in a way that had always been his favourite thing to watch. But lately this smile dimmed in his presence – almost … cautious. His throat tightened and his chest ached at the thought. Nami had never been cruel; her careful presence around him now reminded him of how she had turned after the chaos of Whole Cake Island. At least, that was what he had begun to notice. Everyone trusted her, especially him, yet he knew better. Some part of him reminded him that his angel’s consideration for him existed only for Luffy’s sake. After all, she had every reason to keep her distance. She had stood there and witnessed everything he had done to their captain, each strike a lash of his own pain - if you could even call that a fight. If enduring that distance was what it took for her acceptance, Sanji would gladly bear it willingly.
To Sanji’s immense relief, the slight friction between the two thankfully did not bring much attention to the crew. There were some oblivious (Chopper, Franky); some who chose to be oblivious (Brook, Jinbei, Usopp); those who stayed silently observant (Robin, Zoro) and then there was their captain who chose to trust his crewmates to sort it among themselves, making nothing of it. Because it was nothing, Sanji reminded himself sternly.
Sanji was not sure if the others had ever recounted the details of his mishap to the remaining crew. If they had, he was grateful that no one mentioned it. Still, he was certain that his obliging crew must have purposefully refrained from telling Zoro in particular; because if the man probed, he knew someone would eventually cave, and then it would be over for him. Not that Zoro could throw him out, mind you, but Zoro would likely step away from the crew first and – Sanji really could not bear to put Luffy in that spot, not again.
The entirety of that arc had been a disastrous nightmare, another source of his greatest shame for his actions despite his best intentions.
His lips quivered slightly and Sanji cursed himself for being weak. He had been feeling much more sentimental lately – much more than he could stand. Especially after leaving Wano; now that everything settled to a relative calm, it had to be his pheromones acting up, even though his heat was due next month or so. Thank God for suppressants that everyone on the crew took, unasked. Well, except for Franky and Brook for obvious reasons.
His hand twitched toward his cigarettes out of reflex, but he was still cooking. He caught himself as he clenched his fist and then loosened it again, forcing the tension out slowly. At least he was alone in the galley, away from prying eyes, however well-meaning they might be.
He blinked, but it was too late. A lone tear slipped free anyway, and Sanji made a low frustrated sound, annoyed that his emotions still managed to slip through, getting the better of him. His breath stuttered once, shoulders shuddering as the last of the tension bled out of him. He then turned back to the stove with deliberate focus, setting himself to work. He still had to finish those fries before someone came barging. Or worse before Luffy returned grinning and demanding second rounds. Sanji realised, distantly, that he barely refused anyone anything demanded of him these days. Out of sheer guilt and his… omegan nature.
The very nature that he would rather bear with a smile than lean onto. He had all his childhood to have understood his worth as a failure and a male omega. In fact, he would have gladly ignored all his heats drowsed in perpetual cycles of suppressants, had Chopper not taken a keen eye to his destructive patterns regarding his heat. Then Sanji had yielded, reluctantly. It was often worse when Robin (or Luffy) got roped into ‘talking’ to him, and it was thankfully, a topic that Zoro never needled him about.
Speaking of Chopper, he supposed it was time to ask the doctor for a quick scan, and talk about his suppressants. Sanji was sure Judge had not stopped at modifying his body; his omegan pheromones must have been experimented on too, corrupted in ways that only living through his next heat would reveal. If not during childhood, then perhaps through food doping during his latest stay in Germa. The thought sat like a stone in his stomach. Judge’s handiwork, still coiling under his skin, brought a quiet shame Sanji refused to let anyone see – not until Chopper dragged him into another talk. Until then, he would simply book the heat room, endure a few days behind a locked door, and pretend it did not bother him. Pretend that being locked away from his crew for days did not make him anxious. The accompanying shame made him almost loathe his secondary gender all the same. He exhaled with a tired sigh.
Finally composed, he set out to finalize the dishes, paying extra care to the ladies’ plates. He moved toward the sink to wash his hands and face before anyone noticed anything amiss. Just as he wiped his face, the galley door opened and a rough voice called out, “Oi, Cook. What’s taking so long? Luffy is almost done. We’ll have nothing left.”
Sanji’s defensive instincts instantly fired and his energy channelled into setting the audacious bastard right. “Marimo. I realise all that moss has infused your brain. But. FOOD TAKES TIME. I AM ON MY WAY.”
Zoro bristled with his teeth flashing as his hand tightened on Ichimonji, his calmest sword, ready to respond in kind. Sanji only tapped his shoe, his hands efficiently stacking the plates laden with food. But when one elastic hand nabbed a plate successfully, Sanji pushed a plate into Zoro’s hands and rushed onto the deck, calling the others to gather around for the snacks before they truly vanished.
Zoro watched the cook swagger with his usual grace, but his keen eye missed nothing: the red-rimmed eyes, the pallor on his nakama’s skin, and the cologne barely covering the underlying smell of nicotine and a rare, tantalizing scent of… spiced citrus. His true omegan scent which no one dared pointing out yet, was slowly turning obvious. Sometimes the smell turned acrid and sharp with stress, and the crew would glance at Sanji without meaning to, aware enough to know it came from him even if they couldn’t read the meaning. He would have offered to kindly point this out to the stupid cook, but he had no doubts how well that would be received coming from him, especially as an alpha, so Zoro left it to Chopper to break the news to the already neurotic cook. Zoro sighed and then promptly set out joining the others as he inhaled the food from his plate.
On the deck, Zoro dropped his sword and slumped against the rail of the Sunny. He made sure to keep some distance from Luffy, whose hands still managed to snag a fry or two from everyone’s plates, despite everyone’s shouts. While stuffing himself just as quickly to try to keep up, Zoro’s lone eye looked on at the scene – Luffy’s shameless laughter, the soothing familiar noise, Nami’s angry threats, Chopper’s cries – and Zoro never felt at home as now, as his inner alpha soothed by the familiar chaos.
Until that acrid smell hit him again.
Zoro’s eye snapped to the Cook. Looking at the man, no one would guess something was amiss – not with the way he sported a huge smile, nor the way he stood tall as usual, and certainly not the way he continued smoking with familiar ease. But Zoro’s senses never failed him. He caught the way a few crewmates slowed, casting quick glances at Sanji, who looked adrift, likely again in his own head. Zoro had not imagined it then. But before anyone could catch on with Sanji’s strange behaviour, Luffy’s right arm snagged a meat from Usopp’s plate much to the latter’s chagrin and another wound tightly around Sanji’s lean waist, pulling him snug beside his captain. As he continued stuffing meat in his eager mouth, Luffy exclaimed, “Sanji, sit with us. Don’t miss out. The food’s really tasty.”
Sanji, recovering from the sudden pull onto the floor between Luffy and Robin, said nothing. His throat worked, but no sound came; so he settled for a silent nod. The acrid smell smoothened, shifting into citrus-y before masking itself quickly. But it was enough; enough for everyone else aboard to relax and completely indulge the cook as he started flirting right back at the ladies. Nami groaned in exasperation. Robin giggled. And a blinding smile slid through Sanji’s lips. He already felt lighter.
Luffy’s thoughtfulness kept him grounded. His shoulders loosened and he soaked in the noise and the familiarity. The thought of starting dinner made him almost reluctantly leave the group towards the galley – alone with his thoughts – but the warmth of his nakama kept him grounded, right alongside his captain. He held onto the feeling like a lifeline. It was then, he decided, he would do better. Be worthy of being Luffy’s left man, the third of the monster trio. He would make amends with Nami -san to be the best of his ability.
Zoro‘s derisive snort broke his thoughts. Sanji’s eyes snapped to the swordsman, and annoyed, he called out, “Problem, marimo?”
“Nothing” Zoro replied, his eye lingering a second longer on the cook before he looked away.
In the silence that followed, Sanji scoffed under his breath, pushing away mosshead’s stare in favour of something far more important: his grand plan, his masterplan…