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skatingbi · 7 months

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So hear me out on my headcanon guys:

Sanji with heterochromia (i cant spell that fuckin word man..) where one eye is blue and another is brown. He always hides the blue eye.

The first one to notice is Zoro, who is immediantly like "holy shit youre eyes are pretty" and sanji is like "what the FUCK"

Actually fuck it im gonna write about this nobody can stop me.

Sometimes, on lonley nights in the gallery, when Sanji is busy prepping, he looks in the reflection of his knife. Underneath the frizzy mess of a fringe that is part of his hair reveals the blue eye he struggles looking at. He stares, scrutinizing that light blue in the gleam of his knife gripped tightly in his hand. He looks away to force his attention back on prep work. His hands are always slightly unsteady after those moments. He always ends up with a cut on his hand one way or another on those nights.

When Sanji was a kid, his brothers would use his heterochromia as a weapon against him. He was the freak with two colored eyes. They would say his blue eye was creepy, too. Not only was he weak but also too different to be called their brother.

When you're a kid, you take these insults to heart. Eventually, when you're barely into adulthood, they'll still plague you. They become a part of you, just like how Zeff's teachings became a part of Sanji.

Judge looked at his eyes with disgust masked by indifference. It was another reason for Sanji to assume why he was the failure. The outcast. The runt of the litter.

His mother had blue eyes. She always claimed Sanji got his blue eye from her because her father had heterochromia, too. That was the only time little Sanji felt normal. When she died, Sanji started to grow out his hair to hide the only thing he had left of her: her eyes.

Now, Sanji still hides her eyes from view. Realistically, Sanji is fully aware that none of the crew would give a rats ass what he looked like. Regardless, old habits die hard. He feels safe under the mask he made for himself. As he goes about preparing lunch, perhaps grilled sea king again with how luffy is always eager to fight those things, he lets his mind wander to his eyes more. While hands expertly move through his knife like an extension of his body, he thinks about the mess of blond hair that's always in the way. He'd never admit it out loud, but his hair actually bothers him. Since it started growing out, it gets everywhere; his mouth, in his eyes, and tangled in the buttons of his shirt. Is sanji happy with his longer hair? Absolutely. It's a nusiance to leave it down constantly, though.

As he's thinking this, he's blowing the fringe of hair covering his face out of the way every so often so it stops tickling his nose. He continues to evenly slice through a portion of sea king meat until somebody, Nami he realizes immediantly, speaks up.

"Do you need a hair tie, sanji?" Nami asks sweetly. Her smile is radiant, as always, while she looks up from the map shes been studying. Sanji didnt even realize Nami came in and made the kitchen table into a study until now, but he doesnt dwell on it. Nami is welcome in his kitchen, after all.

"Oh no, thank you, Nami-swan! I think I just need a haircut soon," Sanji lies as he's moving through the kitchen. He gives Nami a quick smile before turning back to the meat on the cutting board and avoids Nami's gaze under the disguise of being busy. His lie wasn't as believable as he wanted it to be, especially when he's stumbling over his words while he is usually eloquent with them towards Nami and Robin.

"But until then, you should take one! I probably have hundreds lying around my room anyways," She says. It's a peace offering designed to be in Sanji's language of communication. It secretly says he's getting that hairtie whether he wants it or not, and Sanji is weak enough to accept the offering. He takes the hair tie with a grateful smile, wrapping it around his wrist and going back to his current task. Nami and Sanji work in comfortable silence after that, but the hair tie weighs on his wrist like a weighted bracelet.

A few days pass by. Through every single one, he stares at the hair tie in the morning. He really should tie his hair back. It reaches his shoulders for gods sake, and it keeps getting in his mouth - but that small part of him that clings onto grief like its all that he knows refuses to. He doesn't think he can bring himself to share the only part of himself that he truly loves deep down. What if the crew really thinks it's weird? What if his brothers are right?

These what if's roam in the back of his mind. They lurk just beneath the surface like an unknown predator hidden in murky water. He ignores it along with the anxiety that crawls up his throat every time he looks at his wrist.

Then, a week passes by. Now he's in his kitchen making a simple breakfast for his nakama. Franky, in particular, will enjoy this since his tastes lie within American style food most of the time. He focuses on seasoning the eggs, some of them cooked differently to cater to everyone's tastes. While he goes through the familiar and therapeutic motions of cooking, the door opens to reveal an annoying head of mossy hair and the steady noise of three swords bumping each other at the hip.

" Oi, go to sleep in your own bunk. I dont need you stinkin' up my kitchen while im trying to work." He utters without looking up from the stove.

"Why can't I just sleep here shit cook?" Zoro grunts. Sanji hears him shuffle around on the gallery's couch behind him. He's probably lying down, or maybe he'll sleep sitting up again, or maybe he'll watch Sanji cook. That's the most irritating one, which usually ends up with them fighting out on the deck one way or another.

"Because youre fuckin' annoying, get out."

"The hell I am, I'm taking a nap here."

"Oh my - You know what?" Sanji whips around to glare at Zoro, making sure the knife he was using is now in his hand to point at the source of his ire, "Fine, but if I hear a single snore out of you I'm kicking you into the ocean!" He threatens and turns around to finish up with breakfast. By now, all he has left is pancakes. The batter was prepped earlier, so now it's just focusing on pouring evenly. It's task that's menial but still important to him regardless.

His hair is covering his face too much. He tries to shake his head to flip it to the side. It falls back to where it was before he can pick the bowl of batter back up. He brushes it over his shoulder, and it simply flows back over it. He blows his hair out of the way, a classic move, but not even that works and he's slamming the bowl down on the counter before he can even stop himself and walks away from his work to grab the hairtie from around his wrist. In a few fluid motions, he ties his hair back haphazardly into a poor attempt at a low bun, but it's out of his face, and now he can focus.

He's too deep in concentration to even remember that he has heterochromia in the first place. Cooking lowers his guard unlike anything else in the world. The gallery acts like a safe space and cooking is his comfort. He still forgets, too, while calling for Zoro to get his lazy ass up to help since he's decided to loiter in his kitchen.

"Hey moss, if you're gonna laze around my kitchen, set the table for me." His request demand is met with a middle finger, which Sanji gladly returns as he walks over to the couch to kick Zoro on the stomach. The half asleep annoyance is now suddenly alert and glares at Sanji for a moment before it's quickly replaced with a look Sanji has yet to add to his mental notes he likes to call "Marimo Dictionary". Zoro's eyebrows are slightly raised, and his eyes glitter with something Sanji rarely sees. He's never been able to place a name on that look. Now he's confused. "What? Dont give me that youre tired crap youre not fuckin 10." He says.

Zoro is still looking at him, though, and now Sanji looks back with confusion because what the fuck is he-

Oh. His eyes.

Shit.

Sanji rips the hairtie out of his hair at light speed, probably pulling a few strands out by accident in the process but he could honestly care less when theres something more important. Like whatever the fuck just happened.

Before he can turn away and go set the table himself to distance himself from the marimo, Zoro's hand moves suddenly to grab his wrist, stopping him from running away.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Zoro pleads. And what the fuck. Zoro has never said anything like that and its fucking with Sanji's head because what the fuck. "You...uh." He continues in his signature graceless way. "Your eyes..." He pauses after that, sitting up and looking at Sanji, but not just looking, he's looking.

"Marimo," Sanji's own voice is riddled with anxiety with how shaky it is now. "Let me go dumbass," He demands but it could have been mistaken for him begging with how much he's struggling to keep himself together.

He's anticipating the worst. He knows what he's expecting. Sanji has experienced it countless times before, and he's aware he will again right now while a pancake is probably burning on the pan for all he knows.

It doesnt.

Zoro is looking at him still, maintaining eye contact but also darting between both eyes. He's looking at him like those golden eyes are looking into his soul and its too much.

It's too much because Zoro's response is uncharacteristically soft in so many ways. Zoro speaks to him like he's speaking with reverence, "Your eyes are beautiful."

Sanji shatters on the gallery floor there. His soul is bare for Zoro to see suddenly and that terrifies Sanji. Nobody has ever told him he's beautiful. Especially his eyes. He yanks his wrist from Zoro's grasp and speed walks to the stove to turn it off and remove the burnt pancake from the pan. He doesnt respond. He cant, not when his heart flutters when it should have been anchored down by rejection.

Then, Sanji walks up to Zoro, grabs onto both his shoulders, pushes him out the gallery door with surprisingly little resistance, and slams it shut. He leans against the door, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor with his head tucked between his knees. His face is burning and his face is probably red like a tomato right now. He stares at the ground with wide eyes and a weirdly giddy feeling in his chest and stomach nearly akin to happiness but also dangerously close to feeling freaked the hell out.

"What the fuck."

#Bro...I will make this a series on god #like man...writing the second half of this was SO FUCKIN FUN #Anyways sanji has heterochromia supremacy #zosan #one piece #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji being called beautiful is his gay awakening #and he's late preparing breakfast after that #he'll probably smoke an entire pack of cigs after that too #somebody help this poor disaster #Sanji has Heterochromia

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

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admonish ; sanji x zoro.

1.5k words, angst (bc i'm trash), nsfw-ish or whatever

summary (of sorts): a modern au, college/uni type of fic. typical boyfriend woes; zoro's an idiot and sanji is high-maintenance. they're both too stubborn to communicate properly.

cw: smoking/cigarettes. a fic for @strawhatsoraya who has waited so patiently, ily.

it’s on an eerily quiet thursday night that sanji discovers just how obtuse his boyfriend is. he stares up at the ceiling in his dorm room, moonlight slipping inside, its ethereal glow caressing whatever’s in its path. he’s smoking again, a habit he swore to break—surprisingly at the urging of said obtuse boyfriend, whose only goal in life is to stay fit until he dies—yet there he is. his window is cracked open, wide enough to filter the remnants of the smoke. he’s done it enough times to know exactly how long he can keep his cigarette lit before the smoke detector snitches to the entire building.

not that it matters to him, anyway.

as the slim cigarette dangles in between his lips, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, fingers tapping on the smooth screen until he pulls up the messaging thread between him and—

“this…idiot,” he says suddenly, voice even despite his rising annoyance; he sits up while his eyebrow twitches underneath his delicately coiffed, golden strands of hair. “i bet he didn’t even read any of what i wrote.” why he bothers using such an advanced means of communicating with such a seemingly geriatric man is beyond him; robin teases him incessantly about it, often remarking that she finds it tragically adorable the way sanji simply cannot be on the same wavelength as him no matter how hard he tries. and he hates how right she is about it—especially now.

it’s only 8:49 p.m., but his boyfriend is late.

which shouldn’t come as a surprise to him as timeliness is not one of zoro’s strong suits—but still, sanji hated waiting like this. the feeling of not being good enough cuts through him deeply, his chest aching, memories that were hidden long ago resurface with a vengeance. his heart is a pitiful, helpless thing that does more harm than good for him these days. not a thing can remedy this level of foolishness. and yet—something inside of him wishes otherwise.

he finishes the cigarette faster than he means to, hopping off of his bed to put the rest of it out. his hands rest comfortably on the desk before him, fingers drumming along the surface, a deep exhale expunging his lungs of the rest of the smoke.

there’s really no need for him to react like this, but zoro is absurdly popular—not that he cares about it; which only makes him that much popular. sanji hates it—hates him, even.

“no,” he says out loud, “that’s a lie, i don’t hate him.”

couldn’t hate him, even if he tried. and, yes, he has tried. on more than one occasion at that.

and while he’s busy overanalyzing everything, busy tearing himself apart from the inside, busy doubting, a voice from behind startles him into silence.

“what a relief,” the voice from behind him says teasingly, “you don’t hate me.” there is only one person on the entire plane whose voice will continue to haunt him even in the afterlife; and that voice belongs to roronoa zoro. it echoes around sanji with a vengeance; a rich, deep, intoxicating sound. he visibly flinches, back ramrod straight, but he relaxes after a moment, sighing while reaching for another cigarette.

“you’re late,” sanji says simply, doing his best to hide his negative feelings for fear of being seen as clingy or unworthy—maybe both. his fingers shake a little, but he manages to grip his lighter just fine, clicking it repeatedly, cursing when the flame refuses to come out.

zoro rolls his eyes and crowds sanji’s space, a flush crawling along his skin at zoro’s proximity. “i don’t need help,” he reminds his meathead of a boyfriend, but does he listen? absolutely not. zoro grabs the lighter from sanji’s lithe fingers, thumb clicking hard and watching the glowing flame burst out. despite wanting to be stubborn and remain put, sanji leans forward a bit, the tip of the flame lighting the cigarette instantly.

with a tilt of his head, zoro studies sanji carefully, dark eyes narrowing slightly before his face relaxes. “tell me what you want me to do,” he mumbles before dropping the lighter onto the desk, beside sanji’s hand.

another sigh escapes his lips. “i shouldn’t have to tell you to not be late.” he’s being petty and callous, he knows that, but—for some reason he can’t explain, zoro brings that out of him. sanji sits on top of the desk, lips pulling against the cigarette again, the smoke sliding out of his mouth smoothly as it flits off to the side. sanji raises a brow when zoro presses closer, stepping in between his legs carelessly and plucking the cigarette from his mouth.

“h-hey, give that back.”

zoro ignores the request, opting to put the cigarette out against the side of the desk, earning a smack on his arm from sanji.

“are you kidding me? that desk was custom made, you… ass.” it isn’t entirely a lie; he’d gotten the desk from the previous tenant, but it was in such good condition that he just let people assume it was.

again, zoro ignores his words, mouth determined as he repeats himself. “tell me,” his voice drops a bit, mouth grazing the shell of sanji’s ear, “what do you want me to do?” he’ll repeat it as many times as sanji needs; besides, he doesn’t have much use for unnecessary words, so this is a lot for him. obviously. his mouth nips on his earlobe, causing sanji to inhale sharply, the cigarette be damned, he might actually forgive zoro if he keeps this up.

“so?” zoro prompts again, uncertainty steadily rising within him. it always feels like he’s walking on eggshells, his words sometimes too rough and raw for his sensitive boyfriend. luffy likes to chime in and say that getting sanji a gift will always help smooth things over—except the gifts that luffy suggests are almost always something that will make sanji snap at him over. so, zoro refrains from listening to him. mostly.

“let me think for a second, damn it,” sanji snaps, but there’s no malice behind his words. at that, zoro drags his mouth down the length of his throat, skin soft and delicate, his tongue darting out to taste him. again, sanji inhales, his heart beating wildly, nearly choking him with the reverberations that pass through his chest. he can barely think, and zoro won’t cut him a break. with his lips pressed together, sanji pretends to be lost in thought, but really he’s trying—very hard, at that—to not let zoro’s mouth distract him anymore than it already has. that is, until he bites him on a spot that’s so sensitive that sanji’s fingers curl into zoro’s shirt tightly, back arching as zoro continues bullying the skin there.

his tongue flicks against the spot, alternating between sucking and licking, as sanji’s muffled moans threaten to escape his mouth. if anything, zoro wants him to actually cut loose, live a little more freely and not worry about what others think of them. zoro presses a few more heated kisses on sanji’s neck, only pulling away once sanji’s fingers grip his hair and tug his head back. both struggle to keep their breathing regulated, and sanji’s face burns under the heat of zoro’s gaze.

“i’m waiting,” zoro manages to say, his arousal quickly influencing his thoughts.

sanji rolls his eyes in an attempt to seem aloof, but of course, zoro sees right through it. he always does. “shut up,” he says resignedly, his forehead gently pressed against zoro’s as he speaks. “shut up and kiss me.” another blush stains his cheeks, something that pleased zoro for some reason. these little things piled up one after the other in his head, making it difficult to focus during the day. sanji occupies more of his thoughts than absolutely necessary, confusing him repeatedly. dealing with physical attraction is one thing, emotions an entirely different beast to conquer.

but, he won’t think about that yet.

he’ll just enjoy this moment and figure something else out later.

a sly smile works its way onto his lips as he brushes them against sanji’s; the latter sighing into his mouth, the taste of spice and cinnamon on his tongue as they kiss. with a quick caress of his tongue, sanji clings onto zoro, breathless and needy, returning each kiss with a feverish kiss of his own. zoro’s hands roam down sanji’s back, diving lower until they settle on his ass, grabbing it impishly, earning a startled whimper from sanji.

despite being overcome with desire, sanji is the first to pull back; his tongue runs along his lower lip as he looks at zoro, eyes half-closed, pulse skyrocketing from his cock straining in his pants. he’s sure zoro’s in a similar predicament—he can feel the bulge press against him, wicked, sinful, giving sanji the sort of rush that might end with his life being ruined.

and surprisingly, he’s okay with it.

“i’m still mad at you,” sanji says weakly, unable to keep his hands off of zoro, long fingers sifting through his short hair—always reminding him of the sea; wild, startling, and mesmerizing.

“i know,” zoro admits without worry, “i’ll make it up to you.”

#*washes my hands of this* it is finally done #one piece imagine #one piece smut #rorona zoro #vinsmoke sanji #zoro x sanji #let them be gay oda damn #fic request #zosan au #it's zosan supremacy all day over here #zosan

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