Chapter Text
Zoro didn’t care when Luffy came back without Sanji.
“Is everyone with you?”
“Yeah, they’re here somewhere— well, everyone but Sanji…”
Zoro had asked the question with the express purpose of just hearing Luffy say “yes.” It was his way of asking about the cook without really asking about him. He’d been so certain that the next time he saw his captain, that swirly-brow would be in tow. But he wasn't.
Despite Zoro's outward doubt when he first got the news, he hadn’t actually made room for the idea of never seeing a member of the crew again without getting to say good-bye, even if it was the most annoying one.
He moved on quickly, though, because he wasn’t about to question Luffy’s decision to let the man go, and he didn’t have so little faith in his former crewmate to question a decision made of his own free will. If he had some business to take care of, another life to live, that was his right. Until Zoro got wind that it was something stupid or petty or that they could fight, he would assume it was the best choice and they both had their reasons.
They could discuss the details later— Zoro would have at least liked an explanation, and he was sure Brook, Franky, Robin and Usopp would as well. But it needed to wait until they were all safe, and together. That time didn’t come until they were back on the Sunny sailing away from Wano.
“I think it’s time to discuss the elephant on the ship,” Franky brought it up first, and that was that, they were finally discussing it and so Zoro would finally get his explanation.
“We don’t have a cook anymore. Some of us here can cook but we need someone who specializes in that,” Franky explained.
“I can’t believe we’re going on without him…” Chopper said, rubbing tears away from his eyes.
“We never did get the story about why he didn’t come back. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead…” Zoro added his two cents now, still wanting to know exactly what had happened to lose him. Luffy would not have left Sanji there without a good reason.
“Zoro! A beloved member of our crew is gone! Don’t be so insensitive!” Usopp attacked, pounding on his shoulder with both his fists, which Zoro had to admit hurt a lot more since he got ripped, but he wasn’t about to let it show.
“He went back for his sister,” Luffy explained, “we had him, we were sailing away, but…” he shrugged, “he said he couldn’t leave her, that he had to find a way to get her out too,” Luffy shifted nervously as he said this, obviously feeling uncertain whether he’d made the right choice.
“We offered to wait, but he said it would take time,” Nami added, “time he knew we didn’t have because of Kaido, and with Big Mom after us…” she sounded especially regretful, as if she blamed herself for his absence.
“So, there’s no way we can go back now and help him?” Usopp offered. “I mean, Kaido’s dead, we don’t have that problem anymore. Are we really just going to get a new cook when we could go wait for Sanji and help him with whatever’s going on? It’s Sanji, no matter what he does he’s one of us.”
“If that’s true, he’ll be back,” Zoro said, satisfied with the explanation, “we should move on for now.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t like him,” Usopp pointed his finger aggressively at Zoro, “but everyone else here does, so—,”
“Don’t decide how I feel,” Zoro boomed, and Usopp squeaked, “I’m just saying that if he wanted us to come back and help him with his sister or whatever the hell, he would have said so. Whatever the problem is it’s not one that Luffy can punch or I can cut. We’d just get in the way.”
“I hate to lose him as much as anyone, but our swordsman has a point,” Robin nodded, “what he’s facing sounds like a personal family issue, it’s not a problem we can solve by fighting.”
“I’m with Zoro and Robin, which brings us back to my original point,” Franky was finally able to continue, “we need someone who can cook. It’s not fair to ask someone on temporarily, so maybe we can find someone who can fight, too, so in case Sanji comes back they’ll still be a valuable—,”
“I don’t want another cook,” Luffy interrupted, and Franky’s jaw snapped shut.
“Luffy…” Chopper tried, voice and face making him appear as if he was on the verge of tears.
“I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense, I just don’t want anyone else,” he picked his had up off his head by the dome and set it back down tilted forward.
“We could hire someone,” Brook suggested gently.
“No way, I’m not paying for that when we could just find someone to join,” Nami objected, “Luffy, don’t be stupid. We can’t keep going without a cook until Sanji comes back, we don’t even know if he’ll come back at all.”
“I know that, I just…” Luffy mumbled the words, then trailed off, barely getting out just that much, “…forget it, do whatever you want, just don’t expect me to pick someone.”
“That’s going to be a little weird,” Usopp said, scratching his neck, “has anyone besides Luffy ever brought someone on before?”
“Maybe Nami could find someone, do all chefs like girls a whole lot?” Chopper suggested.
“I don’t think that’s the case,” Jinbe said, brow furrowed. “Either way, I could certainly assist, seeing as while I feel for you all, I am less emotionally compromised by his absence.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Franky said, then heaved a breath, “because any I think about how he might be lost to us forever, I just can’t help it, I want to start crying…” a tiny hand shot out of his palm and covered his watery eyes.
“There, there, Franky… we’re all going to miss—,” Usopp got choked up half-way through the sentence, “ah, shit, I just thought about his smoked salmon,” he buried his face in his armband and rubbed his eyes vigorously into it.
“Who’s going to yell at me for stealing?” Luffy started to get choked up as well. “What if we get a new cook and he doesn’t kick me across the kitchen and break a hole in the wall?” The words themselves sounded like they’d be sarcasm but it was obvious he was genuinely mourning the end of such violence against his person. Usopp and Franky, and now Chopper too, all cried louder in response to his woeful lament.
“I’m going to use one of my journals,” Nami hopped up from her seat, “we’re all going to have a page, and we’re all going to write what we’ll miss about Sanji.”
“Can we write what we don’t miss?” Zoro asked, gruffly. Certainly there were things Nami had to say to that effect too, possibly more of them than anyone.
“No, and you have to fill your page too. Anyone who doesn’t incurs a fee of a thousand berries, so you better start coming up with something,” she poked her index finger against his nose as she passed, maintaining her scowl even as it slipped from the tip and jabbed his cheek. He scowled, knowing he’d dug his own grave with that one. If he’d kept his mouth shut, she never would have come up with that little scheme.
Whatever, she didn’t say he couldn’t fill the page with one sentence.
***
“Nope, try again,” Nami said, ripping the page out of the journal that just had the sentence ‘kicking his ass’ scrawled sideways across it in sloppy bold marker, “you have to write on all of the lines like everyone else.”
“Listen, I’m not going to write a goddamn love letter like Usopp, and if Luffy can just write a bunch of one-word misspelled food dishes and also ‘legs’ in the middle of it for some reason, I can do that!” Zoro pointed to the paper that Nami was currently crumpling.
“Luffy at least put some thought into his!” Nami barked. “That was a lot of foods he had to remember the names of! You’re intentionally half-assing this to maintain that macho rivalry you idiots had, and he’s gone so there’s no point! You fought along side him and lived on the same boat with him for months, think of something real!”
Nami turned the journal to another blank page, and handed it back to him.
“If you don’t, it’s three-thousand berries,” she said, no humor in her tone.
“Why did it go up?” Zoro barked, snatching the journal anyway.
“Did it?” Nami asked, innocently cocking her head.
“Fine, fuck, can I at least have some time? It’s going to take a while to think of enough things if I really have to do this."
“Fine,” she shrugged, “everyone else got theirs done in just a few hours, so it’s pretty pathetic, but take all the time you need.”
Zoro stamped away grumbling and resisting the urge to tear the whole journal in half.
***
Fighting.
That was all Zoro had written at the top of the page while he gnawed on the eraser of the pencil Chopper had loaned him.
He could have put food, but it wasn’t like that idiot made the only life-sustaining food on the planet, so what was there to miss? He could eat anything. He’d once eaten a squirrel after chasing off the stray dog that had killed it.
He had to admit that it hadn’t tasted very good, though.
Good food.
It felt a little too much like a compliment, but Zoro was already more than sick of doing this so he chose not to start over and added 'Better than roasted squirrel, at least.'
He filled an entire line with all of that, and decided to call it quits for the day. Only 24 more lines to go, and it would be easier if he remembered to write bigger letters.
***
Zoro blamed Nami for how much he was thinking about the cook. He grumbled out loud to himself about how her stupid demand for a stupid journal entry was keeping that idiot he’d rather forget in his mind, but internally he knew he was full of shit. He could permit himself to fib out loud as long as he didn’t deny the truth within, which was that he wanted someone to bicker and fight with.
It wasn’t the first time that void needed to be filled, but on Zou, Law had filled the role nicely until they moved to Wano and things got more serious. Zoro found himself trying to start shit with Franky, who took his insults as a compliment and blushed. Then he tried Usopp, who just laughed him off, and vaguely insulted him back but it didn’t have the same bite. Chopper nearly cried, and Zoro had to apologize repeatedly and profusely.
Nami was nearly a winner, until he drew his swords and realized she wouldn’t be able to block if he put even a small percentage of strength into a physical altercation with her. After a strictly verbal argument with her, he was the one who fled with his feelings hurt while she remained calm and collected. Silver lining, he felt at least a little closer to Chopper.
Luffy was certainly an option for a physical fight, and Zoro had no problem defying, arguing with, and getting into altercations with his captain. This just seemed like a sorry excuse to do so, and it felt disrespectful to start shit for the sake of starting shit. He could ask Luffy to spar, but it just wouldn’t have been the same.
Arguing, kicking, insults, being called marimo.
Zoro was tempted to erase the hell out of that last one, but he’d finally filled two more lines, and as long as he could prove to Nami he was trying, she couldn’t charge him. She had said he could take as long as he wanted, after all.
***
Jinbe and Nami found a new cook at the next island, Niri, and at first her presence felt somewhat harrowing. It wasn’t until there was a new body in the kitchen, a tomato-red haired woman with a bowl cut and black make-up around her eyes. As soon as Zoro saw her, he anticipated the damn cook fawning over her so he could start shit with him. Only that wasn’t going to happen, because he wasn’t here. She was his replacement.
Luffy was taking some time to warm up to her, and that was odd for him. But, Luffy had been particularly attached to the old cook, so it made some sense, even though it made the poor woman appear nervous all the time.
Regardless, it was her presence that really cemented the possibility that Sanji may never actually come back, and Zoro knew he needed a new outlet for the empty space he’d left. They'd filled the role of cook, but Sanji had held another role that was only relevant to Zoro.
He tried getting a new punching bag, on which he drew a heart with a swirly eyebrow above it, a slanted line next to that and a frowning mouth underneath. Nami had given him a judgemental look when she saw it, but he didn’t care what she thought. It didn’t matter anyway, because no matter how many times he hit the thing, it never hit back, and that made it a lost cause.
Niri, the new cook’s name was, and despite her bold appearance, she was actually quite sweet and shy. She was strong, too, probably on Robin’s level, which was something he could work with. Zoro had tried to start an argument with her, because she was a cook, and he thought maybe him and cooks just didn’t get along. Maybe he could have the same relationship with this one as the last.
But, when he tried to argue that it usually turned out fine if you ate raw meat that had been left out in the sun if you really had to, she’d just said that perhaps she needed to do more research on the matter, and didn’t even begin to argue with him. Sanji would have tried to punt him across the ship for sharing any differing opinions relating to food.
French kicks, concasse, collier, mouton, flanchet, veau.
Zoro was surprised he remembered so many of the cook’s stupid attacks, but he managed to fill another two lines with them. Five down, twenty to go. He didn't know how he was going to fill the pages like this. Maybe he should have written it in prose like Usopp, but that just would have involved actually writing the words 'I miss…' and it was only their absence that made him capable of listing these things.
He jumped when the journal was snatched from his hands unexpectedly. “Hey, give that—,” he stopped protesting when he realized it had been snatched by its owner, and glared instead.
“At least you’re getting somewhere,” Nami said as she read, “but, are these really things you miss? They read like just random facts.”
Zoro sighed. “What the fuck do you want from me, woman?” He said dangerously.
“Your money,” Nami shrugged.
“I don’t have any!” Zoro flailed wildly. He she was lying, because if she really wanted the money she would have given him a time limit and collected when he ran out of time. For some goddamn reason this sea-witch wanted to know what he would write, or just wanted to torture him by making him do it. Nami was smart, she usually made sense, did the right thing, on top of being a little evil sometimes. But this was really starting to piss him off.
“They’re not just facts,” Zoro defended, “I’ve been off my game for a while now with training, sleeping, hell even drinking, because there’s like this urge that’s unfulfilled now. I didn’t realize it while he was here, but that dumb cook’s face and all his bullshit was a good outlet for me, and now he’s gone.”
Nami’s face lit up in response to that, and she closed the journal with a thud.
“So you’re saying you miss him?” She asked.
“No, I’m not saying that,” Zoro grumbled, hoping he’d get his point across well enough.
“Okay, then, this will do,” she said, looking all chipper for some reason. Zoro glared, but he was suddenly even more confused, “also, to help with your “game”, it really just sounds like you need to get laid,” she added as she turned away, very pointedly taking the journal with her.
Zoro scowled as she walked away, but once she was gone he considered her words. It had been a while, but they’d just left the restocking island, and this was the New-fucking-World, it wasn’t like they were going to find another safe, quiet island where he could chat up the locals. He wasn’t really the type, anyway, he didn’t know how to do that well, especially when he was really only interested in men and it was hard to tell if they would be interested back.
Maybe she didn’t mean he needed to sleep with someone else, though. Maybe he just needed to…
He scratched his head, looking down between his legs.
***
It took a lot of effort, and a long time to come.
Even though it had been so long, his head wasn’t really in it when he started. He just wanted to fucking relax, and he knew people said that this could be a path to that end, so it at least seemed like a good place to start. He didn’t have any dirty pictures or books, and it wasn’t like he could conjure up any specific sexy scenario to egg him on. There was a reason he didn’t do this often.
The stroking and focus did get him hard, though, so once he was there he wanted to find a way to see it through. For a while he hoped he could get there with touch alone, letting his head drift off to whatever non-erotic thought it felt like living in. But after too long, he decided he needed to focus, get his head and cock on the same wavelength if he was going to make this happen.
Thinking about sex he’d had in the past got him nowhere, because it was never really very good. There was no one memorable in his history, the closest thing was these two bandits he’d encountered in the woods, who propositioned him after they failed to rob him. Since there were two of them and it was a raunchy forest-fuck among three guys who’d just failed to kill each other, he thought it would be good. But they turned out docile and pathetic, seemed afraid of him after he’d beat them both off. One just laid on the ground and took it while the other ended up just watching while jacking off, and Zoro didn’t get a damn thing out of the memory, even though he tried to spice it up. He didn’t have that kind of imagination, what happened happened.
The rest of his encounters had been even less remarkable. Quick relief with absolutely nothing worth holding onto, so Zoro needed to try a different approach.
He’d always been a little unsettled by the fact that he sometimes got turned on during and after a fight. It was strange, and there was a part of him that didn’t like it and didn’t want to admit it to himself. His fights weren’t about satisfying a primal urge, definitely not a sexual one, they were about winning, getting stronger, furthering his ambition. Yet, he knew the effect they sometimes had on him, he didn’t like it but he wouldn’t deny it.
He started thinking about his battle with King, how close he’d come to losing it— fuck, he always came close to losing, didn’t he? But once he’d figured that bastard out, the smooth sensation of a sharp blade ripping through flesh, fuck… he gasped, and threw his head back.
Before that he’d fought Kaido, the emperor of the sea, a man even Luffy struggled with. He’d not only survived that fight, but he’d also managed to cut that massive, thick-scaled beast. Before that was Pica, Monet, another octopus swordsman, Hody…
…it took a recounting of the majority of his memorable fights since he’d reached the new world, but he finally finished. For as long as it took, it wasn’t by any means a bad orgasm, and he arched his hips up into it when it finally arrived. He rode it to the end, and he didn’t remember much between the end of it, and the moment he fell asleep.
***
He felt better for a few days after that, but the recharge certainly didn’t last forever. If he didn’t get a real fight soon, there was going to be an issue. The problem was that everyone seemed to have an unspoken agreement to move much more slowly and casually than they had been before, in case there was anyone out there who decided they wanted to catch up with them and get back on the ship.
It was considerably risky, especially because with how fast everything was moving with the red poneglyphs, there were plenty of parties who might have a chance at beating them to the One Piece. But then again, none of those other parties had Nico Robin, so it wasn’t too difficult to convince themselves they had time.
So, given how much down time on the ship they were often left with, Zoro decided to keep jacking off.
He hadn’t realized how much privacy he really had on a day to day basis until he started doing it. No one ever came close to walking in, he took his time, and eventually he’d reach orgasm, even though most of the time it was strained and forced.
He’d long since run out of big, difficult fights, though, and he wasn’t actually psychotic so the many memories of cutting down small fry didn’t do anything at all for him, and actually kind of killed his hardon. It was the challenge, the equal footing, and the victory and every sensation he could recall during that moment that always saw him through. But there were only so many of those, and he needed to go over a few of them to reach the end.
Before long he was reusing the same memories, and they were getting old, he was getting bored. On his most recent attempt, he’d given up and gone soft before reaching the end.
He tried to live with that for a while, thinking maybe he’d done it enough to last now, but after only a few days he was on edge again.
The crew as a whole had finally decided they needed to focus on the task at hand, and stop floating around waiting for a black stick with blond hair to come sky-walking back to the ship. They’d decided it wasn’t going to happen, and Zoro had accepted that end too.
Now, finally, they were on there way to somewhere where something might happen, and the thought was exhilarating, but they were still days away from wherever that was. So, he was in the crows nest again, hand wrapped around himself, mind rather idle this time because he was taking it slow, maybe trying to let something that interested him come naturally.
He’d just happened to be thinking about how the crew had started to accept that the cook wasn’t coming back. The cook, with whom he got into arguments and scuffles with on a daily basis, whose absence was the reason he’d resorted to doing this in the first place.
There had always been something about the feeling of one of those kicks against his blade. The way it could stop him, the fallback after the impact, his shoe digging into the dirt to stop it from pushing him backward. The circumstances were never dire when he fought with that guy, they did it because they annoyed each other so easily, and because it was fun. There was no challenge, no victory, so the thoughts of their fights shouldn’t have been doing it for Zoro.
But they were, and he wasn’t going to argue with it when his cock was standing at full attention, aching and pulsing stronger with every stroke. A barrage of swinging blades meeting a barrage of kicks, the force of his swing when Zoro didn’t draw his swords and caught the ankle in his hand instead. That disdainful look in his eyes, the spewing of random, ridiculous insults that somehow got Zoro’s blood boiling despite how stupid they were. That bastard always got him going, no matter how undignified it was, he just knew how to get under Zoro’s skin. The memory of his voice alone, the things he would say, was enough to piss Zoro off.
Except Zoro wasn’t pissed off, he was jacking off, and nearing the end much faster then usual. He couldn’t settle down, couldn’t control it, each new memory that he brought to mind put him that much closer to the peak. Narrowly avoiding an attack, barely managing to block the next, but finally getting a sword at the right angle under the sole of his shoe, twisting the blade as he threw him back so he’d have a hard time landing on his feet. Watching him try, but stumble, and fall onto his ass, and then following up the attack while he was down, crawling on top of him, between his legs, and—
—Zoro came, and his mind’s eye short-circuited, cutting the thought short as he slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a cry as he came, hard, and fast, and good, spurting up into the air and landing on his stomach, chest, and all around him as it kept on coming.
Once he was finished, once he caught his breath, his eyes popped open at the recollection of the exact thought that had sent him over the edge.
Weird. He thought to himself, thoroughly satisfied and so he didn’t have much more analysis than that. As he often did after all was said and done, he cleaned himself and the surrounding floorboards up and went to sleep.
***
He tried not to think about it again until he needed to. Over-analysis of the places his brain went when he was trying to get off was a psychological journey he wasn’t remotely interested in. That was where he left it each time the thought rose again.
That was, until he was faced with the urge again.
He didn’t need to do it. Nami had said they’d be at the next island by evening, and evening was only a few hours away. He could have slept them off, in fact he probably would have been able to sleep, especially if he drank a little first. But, after he’d finished training, he quite overpoweringly did not want to sleep. He wanted to do something else.
It wasn’t until he was alone, hand on the front of his pants, rubbing thoughtfully, that he knew he wanted this to be like last time. As good as last time, for it to come as easy as last time, and once he’d gotten just a little hard, he decided he’d break all of his internal rules to reach it. On top of that, it was technically a good opportunity for some internal research into the matter.
Niri was on the deck with Nami and Robin. She didn’t sit out with them a lot at first, having said that her skin was the type that was susceptible to heavy damage from too much sun, but they’d gotten her a massive navy blue umbrella with red flowers on it, and now she’d officially joined their little deck team. If the cook was here, he’d have been dancing around all three of them them, bringing them drinks and snacks, likely overwhelmed by their numbers. Maybe it would be too much and he would die, like with the mermaids.
Anyway, he wasn’t here, and that was the whole point.
The new cook was comfortable on the deck, the old one was gone, the kitchen was empty, and Zoro had an unscrupulous idea. As long as he cleaned up properly, it should be fine, and it was a hands-on way to get to the bottom of the problem in his head that needed addressing.
He stood in the kitchen where the old cook normally stood while he was cooking. Well, he never really stood, he was always moving around, darting from stovetop to oven to sink to countertops and appliances, whisking and flipping and sometimes humming or singing. Zoro had grown so used to it that he’d been tuning it out for months, not bothering to observe. But if that was the case, why could he see it all so clearly in his head?
He walked to one of the cleared countertops, and it was pristine as usual. Niri was trying to make a good impression, so she was over-compensating by cleaning excessively after every meal. The cook did that anyway, because of his unnecessary obsession with hygiene and the state of his kitchen. Either way, the place looked like it always did when it wasn’t in use.
It was empty, too. Private. Zoro took a moment to consider if he was really going to do this, and somewhere in that moment his head drifted, and so did his hand to the center of his hips. As soon as he touched himself, he knew he was in it.
He braced his hand against the edge of the counter and sucked in a deep, sharp breath, committing to the heinous act by yanking his haramaki up and shoving at the front and sides of his pants. He was already sticking straight out, and the introduction to the cool air followed by the wrap of his hand around the shaft was such a relief on its own. He shut his eyes, and let his head run as wild as wanted.
The cook was at the sink, rinsing vegetables or straining something, it didn’t matter. Zoro would come up behind him— and he’d know he was there, his observation haki would see to that, but he’d ask if Zoro wanted some booze, if he was trying to beg for scraps before the meal was finished, or if he wanted to fight. He’d ask all of this in a bored voice without looking at Zoro, viewing his presence as inconsequential.
Zoro could touch him, grab his hips and tug them back to feel that ass against his front, get between it, hump him through his clothes. Or, he could just ask him if he wanted to fuck. The Cook would act shocked and appalled but then end up begging for it, bent over the counter with his pants around his ankles and his shirt pushed up to his armpits, “put it in, please, I need it, just put it in!”
He’d tell him how big he was, how good it felt to be filled, how long he’d wanted him and he’d beg Zoro to come inside him. Zoro would make him wait, listen to him cry out over and over again, leave red handprints on his lily-white ass and then give him exactly what he wanted. After he was filled, he’d tell him not to move, make him stay bent over the counter and watch his cum drip out of his hole, down the inside of his quivering thighs, and Zoro would take his time tugging himself off again to the sight of it.
Just the thought of it had him nearly finished in his hand. He played different parts of the scene over and over, changed little details, the setting, the position, the desperate, wanton things Sanji cried out. Zoro knew the cook didn’t want him, but he never knew what a drug it would be to imagine that he did. He never let himself imagine it, even though a dismissible inkling of attraction may have been there, he knew what he and Sanji were. More importantly, he knew what Sanji was, and that was quite prominently someone who’d never want him like this.
But now that he was gone, it was hard for Zoro to see the consequences to this. Even if someone walked in on him they couldn’t know what he was thinking, and he’d never have to look the man himself in the eye again.
He came, managing to point his head downward to make sure it only got on the floor so it’d be easier to clean up quickly. It was hard to maintain that control as he boiled over, crying out because he couldn’t stop himself as the best orgasm he’d had in months ripped through him, splattering on ground and also the lower cupboards as he lost control, a mess of moans chasing every last drop of that high until it was over.
It wasn’t until he was finished, and had managed to catch his breath, that he made the mistake for just a moment, of wishing Sanji was still with them. Just for a second before he thought better of it, he wished he was here, so the fantasy he’d just got off on could have had a chance at reality.
But it didn’t. That was the point. Sanji had been something to Zoro while he was here, he could admit that now. But in memory, he’d become something else entirely. Those two versions of him could never overlap.
***
The constant danger and turmoil that had constituted most of their lives on the sea returned with landfall on the next island. Niri not only proved herself valuable in a fight, but also as someone who knew their strength, their limits, what she could handle, and who would push past it when she absolutely needed to. Luffy was finally starting to look at her directly and talk to her like a friend instead of side-eyeing her like she was an imposter and he wished she’d go away. She seemed to appreciate that.
Zoro saw something else in Luffy’s acceptance, though. Even though it came much later than it normally would have with him, it did come, and that same phenomenon had already taken place for her with the rest of them. They’d all accepted her, Zoro included, so she was one of them now. The new cook of the strawhat pirates.
The old one wasn’t forgotten, he was still out there somewhere and maybe they’d see him again. But not for a while, most likely, not until their journey was over, maybe even not until some of them were dead. For now, despite all of the combative action he was finally seeing, a specific version of the old cook still lived in Zoro’s head.
He’d gotten so used to it that he didn’t stop going back, even after a massive battle, which should have been more than enough of an outlet, he anticipated the next respite wherein he’d have enough time and privacy to beat one off. The purpose had shifted, and maybe it had shifted from a necessary release to make up for an absence, to a separate desire all together. Either way, he didn’t stop doing it for the same reason he didn’t stop drinking. It calmed him, made him feel good, and thus far, the consequences were minimal.
They ended up on another little island to restock, and Zoro had plans to figure out where the booze was, grab some, and find some unique scenery for his fun new habit. They all had some money from their last ordeal, even him, and there was no use trying to save it with Nami around. He’d learned a long time ago that it was best to spend it on things she had no interest in before she had a chance to wring it out of him.
He doubted anyone would question why he didn’t return that night, they would probably assume he’d shacked up with someone. A hotel room would cost him a pretty penny, but he had enough to spare, and the easiest way outside of that to blow money was an overcrowded bar with overpriced booze, open all night so he could drink himself to oblivion until nothing remained in his wallet but lint.
He’d already bought a stockpile for the road, and Niri had not only permitted him to store it all in the pantry, but had even assisted him in making room for it. She was so nice, he liked her a lot.
He couldn’t wait to get back to his hotel room, thoroughly drunk, and tug himself off lewd thoughts of that other cook, who in his head, had been made an extremely lewd person. It wasn’t hard to picture him that way, of course, given how he was with women. Getting him all horny and desperate in a fantasy wasn’t that hard when he was at his core, horny and desperate in real life.
This is what Zoro was thinking about when someone sat down next to him, too close, bumping his shoulder and nearly spilling the drink that was in his hand. A flash of yellow from beside him triggered a well of pent-up rage that had been ignored for too long.
“Hey, who the fuck do you think you are!” Zoro erupted, hating that his happy thoughts had been interrupted.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to— I uh…” the guy’s cheeks were red, and he had a dumb smile on his face despite the fact that Zoro was shouting at him and kind of wanted to cut him to pieces. He didn’t seem to get the hint, which probably meant that he was drunk.
“I just wanted to say hi,” he said, and Zoro did get the hint rather quickly, particularly by the way the guy wasn’t fucking off despite Zoro’s aggression, “you’ve got nice arms,” he pointed.
Zoro looked down at his bicep where the man was pointing, then looked up at the man’s face. He was blond with short scruffy hair, had something close Usopp’s build, light skin and freckles.
Maybe Zoro wouldn’t be getting off alone in his hotel room tonight after all.
***
Zoro wondered, was this what they meant when they said walk of shame?
There were a lot of things that were shameful about it, but the worst by far was that he’d been on what should have been a half-hour walk for hours and was certain he was still going the wrong way. He didn’t have much choice in the matter on that, and at least if anyone asked where he’d been he could just say he overslept. That was better than getting lost, right?
Other shameful factors included that he’d fled the hotel room in the early morning so he didn’t have to interact with the guy he’d fucked the night before. He didn’t remember his name, barely recalled picking him up at all. Just about the only thing he did remember was that he’d used him like an inanimate object, shut his eyes and thought about what he always thought about lately while he was getting off. It had to be some kind of pathetic that there was a real man right in front of him, under him, wrapped around his cock, and he was still thinking about a ghost.
It was that damn blond hair, probably. He should have fucked someone topped with any other color.
Next time. He thought.
Next time he’d seek one out himself, a hot non-blond, learn their name, say it a lot, convince at least the other party that he was thinking of them and only them. That sounded like something the cook would do for a lady.
“Fuck you, fuck you, stop thinking about him,” he muttered to himself as he walked. It was like he could hear that goddamn deep, sexy voice in his head laughing at him and mocking him for his predicament. This shit was going too fucking far, the only thing from that damn cook he should have been hearing in his head were sexy moans begging for his cock.
Zoro wondered, vaguely, if he was dead. Maybe he hadn’t made it, wherever he was, and maybe he’d traveled across the sea like Brook in soul form to haunt Zoro, for some reason, and that’s why Zoro couldn’t get him out of his head.
A flattering thought, at very least, but it was unrealistic for him to think that Sanji would choose bothering him over his other options, like taking up residence in a women’s bathhouse.
This shit was all his own, fucked up head. He started to wish he’d put more effort into that stupid journal Nami had passed around, as Robin had once called it a healthy way to cope with losing a friend. Zoro had certainly developed a thoroughly unhealthy way to cope with it as an alternative, and it seemed to just be getting worse.
He at least had one thing on his side that he was certain of, and that brought him comfort. It had been three months since he last saw the man, and whether he was dead or alive, if he was coming back, he would have been back by now. No matter how long it took Zoro to get passed this new problem he’d readily adopted and now regretted, it would at least be a very long time if he ever had to see the real Sanji again.
It was past noon when he finally saw the Sunny in the distance from a shore he just happened to wander onto. He didn’t let it out of his sight, and made his way there, relieved to be home. The long walk had at least gotten a good amount of his energy out, and when he arrived he could have a drink, and then a nap.
He climbed aboard, yawning once he’d reached the main deck.
“Hey Chopper, hey Shit-Cook,” he greeted the two crewmates he saw on the deck, Chopper’s arms wrapped tightly around the other’s neck for some reason as he cried. Chopper cried a lot, and Zoro decided not to speculate as to what was wrong this time. The cook would take care of it.
He started making his way up to the men’s sleeping quarters, thinking maybe he’d even skip that drink since he was so exhausted.
Then he stopped dead in his tracks, replaying what he’d just said and saw in his head.
“Hey, Marimo,” that voice said, not in his own head, certainly not in a sexy moan begging for his cock, but calm, alive, and present. Visible. He was standing right fucking there.
“Long time no see.”