#this stems entirely from a brainworm i had with @redgitanako

[inoreuct]

alternate universe where zoro isn't a swordsman or an actor but in fact a secret third thing (A LULULEMON AMBASSADOR)

okay maybe not lululemon specifically but if it was it’d be hilarious. any athleisure brand, honestly; sanji’s there as a leggings model and there’s talk of a new sports bra model coming in for their next shoot and he’s like oh!! a lovely lady!! that’s wonderful!! and he makes his best chewy chocolate chip cookies (with 60% cacao because he’s cultured) and brings them to the studio— but the new model happens to be late, so sanji’s wandering around on break with his cookies and hoping to be the first one to welcome them before he turns a corner and someone SLAMS into him.

he’s nearly knocked off his feet and he barely manages to keep the container of cookies from going flying because it feels like he just collided with a brick wall. the person grabs his waist to steady him, one hand on his hip and the other around his back, and he feels his tupperware bump against their jaw as his hands scrabble to find purchase on their shoulders.

once his brain's realised that he, in fact, isn't falling and eating shit, sanji looks up and freezes.

grey eyes and green hair and tan skin, long, long lashes, a strong nose and low-set brows and oh, he's so close. sanji's breath catches as fingertips press gently into the side of his ribcage—

and he squawks as he's dropped unceremoniously to the floor, whipping his head around so furiously his neck cracks as the guy just steps over his legs and keeps on walking.

"hey!" sanji shouts, climbing to his feet as he tries to ignore the way he's flushing with anger and something-else-he-will-not-name-please-fuck-off. "who the hell do you think you are?!"

the guy turns back, looking almost bored as he drones, "an employee."

"what, they hired you to haul equipment?" sanji scoffs, and his stomach sinks when the guy flashes him a grin that's sharp enough around the edges to look dangerous.

"no. i'm modelling the new sports bra collection."

and oh. sanji has to put a hand on the wall so he doesn't sit right back down as the guy walks out of view. this can't be happening. he's gonna jump right off the fucking roof.

he stress-eats all his cookies, fuming mad and pacing a groove into the floor, and he’s still licking crumbs off the corners of his mouth as he storms back onto the set. zoro’s already standing there, sports bra on and arms up as the staff fuss around him, making adjustments and asking him about the fit, and sanji’s eye is twitching. that is not a lovely lady. that is an OGRE.

(who just so happens to have muscles for days and the nicest chest sanji’s ever seen in his life BUT THAT IS BESIDES THE POINT.)

and of course they start bickering almost immediately.

this guy’s an athlete, not a model. he’s stiff and stubborn and coarse and sanji learns his name is roronoa zoro, some hotshot kendo champion who’s only here because my sister signed me up, so you can blame her for ruining your day, your majesty, and ooooooh. sanji wants to kick him. sanji wants to kick him so bad.

zoro thinks sanji’s some sort of spoiled pompous brat (honestly at the moment he’s acting like one, he is self-aware, but it’s his defense mechanism okay??) and sanji can’t stand all the snide under-breath snark that zoro’s slipping him after every sentence. they have to film zoro running to prove that the sports bra actually works and sanji pretends to trip and faceplant so he has an excuse for his nosebleed.

they pause the shoot for the day after that; sanji’s off like a rocket and clearly avoiding people so why is the mosshead following him. he speedwalks to the carpark with zoro stuck right to his side and gets progressively faster until he can hop on his bike and pedal away and then zoro starts RUNNING next to him?? and sanji’s like HOW ARE YOU KEEPING UP. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU and he’s pedalling as fast as he can and at this point even zoro’s a little out of breath and he gasps “GO OUT WITH ME” and sanji jams on the breaks so hard he nearly flies off his damn bicycle.

“what.” it’s the first thing that’s out of his mouth. they’ve skidded to a stop in the middle of some small side street; zoro’s earrings are chiming against each other, and the thought that they sound surprisingly sweet crosses sanji’s mind. “what.”

“go out with me,” zoro repeats, hands on his hips as his chest heaves.

sanji blinks. “why?” they’ve been nothing but animous towards each other thus far, and he likes to think that most of his dates actually like him.

the green-haired man shrugs a shoulder. “dunno. i’ve got a good feeling.”

“a good feeling,” sanji echoes, caught between disbelief and some sort of alarmingly fond disdain. “guess everybody’s gotta depend on something, huh, algae-brain?”

zoro just stares at him and says nothing.

“…oh, alright, fine!” sanji yells, throwing his hands into the air. “unbelievable. i can’t believe i’m doing this. seven o’clock, makino’s pizza, and do not,” he hisses, leaning in as he jabs a finger into zoro’s sternum, “be late.”

(zoro is late. sanji refuses to admit he’s disappointed for the entire thirty-seven (not that he'd been counting) minutes he waits, poking unenthusiastically at his milkshake and cursing this stupid guy for playing what was probably a stupid mean joke on him and cursing himself for falling for it.)

(at minute thirty-eight, zoro bursts through the door red-faced, rain-soaked, gripping a bottle of wine by the neck and raking his sodden hair off his forehead. the bell's not even done ringing before he's found sanji and is sliding into the opposite side of the booth seat.)

"sorry," he breathes, leaning against the backrest as he catches his breath. “i got lost.”

sanji’s too warm with the relief rushing through him to ream him out. “is that wine?”

“uh, yeah.” zoro sets the bottle on the table and turns it so the label faces away. “my dad owns a vineyard.”

sanji reads the thin cursive font, looks up at zoro as his eyes go wide, and reads it again. “your dad’s dracule mihawk? he’s one of zeff’s oldest suppliers, how did i never…”

the other man huffs a laugh. “adoptive, which explains the the lack of family resemblance. both me and my sister perona.”

“oh my god. the famous paranormal blogger perona.”

“mhm.”

sanji blinks twice before shaking himself out of it, taking a big gulp of his milkshake. “your family’s wild.”

“tell me about it,” zoro chuckles, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. the hems of his pant legs are dripping onto the floor. “how ‘bout you? anybody i’d know in your family tree?”

“well,” sanji begins, thinking. “my dad’s red leg zeff. runs the Baratie?”

“the seafood place? my best friend’s there every week!”

“no.” sanji’s starting to grin as he sits forward. “blinding smile, bottomless stomach, scar on his left cheek—”

“yeah!” zoro exclaims, and it suddenly hits sanji that this guy really does have a dangerous smile because if he keeps laughing like that, well. he doesn’t want to let himself hope quite yet. “damn. how come we’ve never met sooner?”

sanji shrugs eloquently. “wrong timing, maybe.”

it’s quiet for a while after that. they order a pizza to share and a side of cheese fries, and sanji is equal parts impressed and disgusted when zoro manages to shove an entire slice in his mouth at one go by rolling it up. they talk and bicker and joke and sanji ends up laughing so hard he’s rendered mute and slipping off the bench.

when the hiccups die down, he pushes himself up with one hand and sighs. “seriously, though. why?” why are we here? why’d you want to do this?

he doesn’t need to elaborate, though. zoro shifts back against the cracked cushions and tilts his head. “has any ever been able to keep up with you?”

"...no," sanji says quietly, and he can't help the hurt that stings hot and aching in his stomach. the shame that one word carries makes his face warm because he knows, he knows he's a lot sometimes— he’s been told as much by so many exes that he can’t even count them.

he knows zoro clocks the mood shift by the way the other man suddenly looks like he’s floundering a little, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “didn’t mean that in a bad way,” he finally says, the words soft and a little rushed, and he doubles down when sanji flashes him a smile that’s more empty than anything else. “not at all. you’re the only one who’s ever been able to keep up with me.”

and sanji… doesn’t know what to make of that.

he drains the rest of his milkshake and slides out of his seat. “let’s get out of here.”

the park is mostly empty this late, and sanji snags the bottle out of zoro’s hands. cuts the foil with his house keys and works the cork out, moving to stuff it into his coat pocket before zoro gently takes it from him. it’s a red wine, rich and smooth, and it goes down easy; almost too easy. sanji’s home is a walk away and he can drink as much as he damn well wants.

it’s not logical, how he’s feeling right now. zoro had already clarified what he’d meant. and still it simmers in his gut, sour and cold, a feeling that makes him lift the bottle to his lips again. too much. always too much. too much love, too overbearing, how do you expect anybody to keep up, sanji? you’re too much. he goes in for another swig.

zoro’s hand wraps over his. “hey.”

irritation flares behind sanji’s teeth before guilt snuffs it out. the other man’s gnawing at his lip, slowly shifting the bottle down as they stop walking. “i’m sorry. i really didn’t mean to upset you,” zoro mutters, looking genuinely worried, and sanji’s next breath in aches.

“no, it’s— i’m sorry. i’m sorry. this is supposed to be a date,” he laughs weakly, digging his fingers into glass to try and ground himself. “and i’m drinking up all the wine.”

“it’s for you,” zoro rebuts, nudging him with a shoulder. “you’re supposed to be drinking it.”

he doesn’t. they start walking again, the wet cobbled path dappled by light shining through the trees, and sanji tucks the bottle against his front as he loops his arm through zoro’s. “this is a first for me, y’know,” he says, squeezing zoro’s bicep. “i promise i’m not usually this rude.”

“says the man who called me a badly-planted cabbage patch this afternoon,” zoro snorts, and sanji can’t help but laugh. “seriously, though, s’alright. i get it. we all have our sore spots; i just hadn’t gotten the chance to learn about yours.”

sanji pinches his lips together. that, right there— zoro is rough around the edges but he is kind. he stops where it counts. sanji had shown the slightest sign of discomfort and he’d stopped pushing. it’s bold, and crazy, and completely out of line in his own personal rulebook— but zoro doesn’t move away when sanji tips his head onto his shoulder, so sanji swallows to clear his throat.

“do you want it?”

zoro’s lashes cast long shadows on his cheeks as they flutter, and he looks down. “hm?”

“the chance.” it’s a little chilly out; sanji’s coat is enough, but he lets himself curl closer to the warmth radiating through zoro’s padded jacket. it cuts through the dampness that’s still not quite gone. “do you want it?”

zoro’s eyes flick over his face, widening imperceptibly when he realises that sanji’s serious, and the smile that pulls at his mouth is a slow, beautiful thing.

he presses his cheek to sanji’s hair. they’re both smiling when he takes the wine bottle and drinks.

(sanji makes more cookies when they have their next shoot. 70% cacao this time after he learns that zoro can’t stand sweet things, and he teases the shit out of the man about it being relative to both his taste in food and his taste in people.)

(zoro finishes the last crumb, very firmly tells sanji that he is wrong, and kisses him so thoroughly he goes light-headed.)

(and if some of the staff see them canoodling behind the water cooler, well. the chocolate sanji wipes off his mouth is the only evidence.)

#this stems entirely from a brainworm i had with @redgitanako #and then she DREW me zoro in a sports bra and it just spiraled like it always does #zosan #one piece #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #zoro x sanji #sanji #one piece zosan #one piece sanji #one piece zoro #zoro #FOR ONCE IT’S NOT PAST MIDNIGHT #ino writes