I've been lurking in the Zosan tag and I'm super in love with the snippets you've been posting! For a prompt, I really enjoy them being soft and taking care of each other after fights? Also love outsider POV if that seems fun to you.
wahshdhdhhs THANK YOU 😭 i’m having so much fun writing them and i had fun writing THIS :)) made it short and sweet and mostly from nami’s pov; soft but also they bicker because. when do they not. enjoy!
Nami huffed as she made her way to the galley, peckish after the battle. Sanji was probably there, but loathe as she was to admit it she’d feel a little bad to ask him to make something; that fight had taken a lot out of all of them, and she’d gotten off easy— The last she’d seen him he’d been wrapping his forearms with his shirt and trying to staunch the bleeding from several wicked slashes.
The door was cracked open when she got there. Strange. Sanji was meticulous about keeping it shut to keep Luffy out, but she supposed if he was to be lax at any time, it would be when he was injured.
That was, until she heard the voices.
“Stop moving, shithead!”
“I’m not moving! The fuck are you—”
She peeked through into the kitchen and almost stopped breathing, hunger forgotten, fatigue banished, grin growing by the second.
“If you don’t stop fucking fidgeting it’s gonna leave a scar,” Zoro warned, tugging Sanji’s hand forward again and rolling his eyes at the cook’s dramatic sigh.
Sanji was perched on the dining table, one arm outstretched as Zoro shoved a needle threaded with fishing line through his skin. He tried to hide his wince at a particularly tender spot, shoulders jumping before they settled at Zoro’s soft sound of apology. Nami took a note at the back of her mind to get Luffy to befriend more doctors.
Still, looking at the arm that Zoro had already finished, the stitches were neater than Zoro would have done on himself; she’d seen the scars that he’d gotten from sewing himself up. They didn’t look like they’d had half this much care put into them.
“You’re lucky they aren’t that deep. The hell’d you go and do this for, shitty cook? You need your hands,” the swordsman mumbled, brows furrowing and actually sounding a little confused, and Nami simultaneously felt sorry for him and like she wanted to clobber the big idiot upside the head.
“Ah, you know me,” Sanji sighed, slouching to the side dramatically but keeping his arm still. “Always the martyr—” Zoro levelled him with an unimpressed stare, cutting a stitch with a dry snip, and he faltered. “Well, I— I don’t know, marimo.” He shrugged, swallowing. His eyes were staring at something on the table. “I saw you there and just moved.”
Nami gathered her context clues and had to stop herself from pumping her fists. It was finally happening. The two idiots had been dancing around each other for ages; She and Usopp had a running bet on who would get their shit together first, but hell, at this point she didn’t even care who won.
Zoro sighed heavily, short and sharp, pushing Sanji’s skin together to finish off the last stitch. “Just— Don’t do it again.”
“The hell do you mean don’t do it again, you ingrate?!” Sanji squawked, outraged and hissing through his teeth when the fishing line was tightened. “I saved your life!”
“I would’ve been fine!”
“You would’ve been hurt—”
Zoro tossed the scissors and needle aside, brandishing a roll of gauze in Sanji’s face. “And what if you couldn’t cook anymore?!”
“Well maybe, just maybe—” The cook snatched the gauze, gripping it in his fist with his eyes ablaze, “Really think about this, now— I care more about you than that, you moss-brained oaf.” He took a measured inhale, jaw working as he looked away. Nami was about to do a victory lap around the deck. “Good God, how long is it gonna take to get it through your thick skull…”
“Curly-brow.”
Sanji remained resolute, face turned to the side even as Zoro stepped closer.
“Oi, cook.”
He wound the gauze between his fingers, looking down.
“Sanji,” Zoro murmured. “Baby. Come here.”
Nami clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as coins. This was a thing. They were already a thing. Oh, Usopp was absolutely going to lose his shit.
Sanji swallowed, unable to escape when Zoro had callused hands on his knees and was dipping down to nose at his cheek. “First you want me to stop moving, now you want me to—” He cut off when Zoro kissed him, simple and sweet, thumb rubbing circles over his kneecap. “…Mm. Right, yes, I suppose that’s… a valid reason.”
“Thank you.” Zoro set his jaw, looking up at Sanji earnestly. “I mean it, curls. I know how much cooking means to you. And you said...”
Nami watched as Sanji’s face softened, his hand coming up to cup the side of Zoro’s face. “Of course, mon chou.”
The swordsman chuckled low in his chest. “Did you just call me a cabbage?”
“Wh— No.”
“Yes, you did.”
“How the hell do you know?”
“Our navigator doesn’t just have maps. Found a French dictionary lying around.”
Shit, she’d been wondering where that had gone. Green-haired bastard.
“Said navigator’s been here since five minutes ago.”
Double shit.
Sanji whipped around with a scandalised noise as she gave up the act and stood in the doorway properly. “Nami!”
“I didn’t see anything!” she cackled, just barely sheepish, hands up in a gesture of peace as she turned and hightailed it out of there. The smart thing to do would be to blackmail the shit out of Zoro—
But she thought of how gently they’d treated each other, the looks in their eyes, and sighed. She’d let them have this.
(But getting her to admit that they were good for each other or that she was happy for them would be harder than pulling teeth, she’d make sure of that.)
*
“Go get me a wet cloth, darling, there’s blood in your hair.”
“You think she’ll snitch?” Zoro asked, running the tap over a clean dishcloth and wringing it out before walking back.
Sanji hummed, non-committal and slightly amused. “Would you mind if she did?” he asked lightly, seemingly unbothered as he wiped at the red drying tacky in Zoro’s hairline from where he’d been whacked over the head.
The swordsman laughed under his breath. He could feel the tension in Sanji from the way he was sitting, spine too straight as he wrapped his arms around the cook’s waist, hipbones pressed into the table’s edge between his thighs. “…Not really, no.”
“Nothing to worry about, then,” Sanji said, cool and composed, but this time he didn’t bother hiding the relief in his smile. “Now.” He pursed his lips, scrubbing the rest of the blood out of Zoro’s eyebrow. “To the showers with you, and then bed.”
Zoro held up the gauze. “Still gotta wrap your stitches.”
Sanji rolled his eyes again, the corners crinkling as he smiled. “Fine. Wrap, shower, bed.”
“Mm,” Zoro hummed, pulling him close and leaning up for one last kiss. “Perfect.”
fin.
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