If Zoro had the conscience to do anything but pant hotly and swallow moans, he might have laughed at the smear of cream on the cook’s nose.

Why can't any food grown in the Grand Line ever be normal? Written for Black Bar Book's birthday to indulge all of her kinks.

There was a hook in the Cook’s galley floor. Zoro should've ignored it but it's not like he's all that good at keeping his mouth shut around Sanji.

Every step Sanji took, he wanted to die. Every step he took, gods, he felt alive. It was strange, odd, uncomfortable, glorious, his mate's arm around his shoulders, all burly muscle, tucking Sanji under impressive biceps and up against just-as-impressive obliques. You'd think Zoro was an alpha to look at him on a normal day. Broad, head high as always - could he have walked any other way if he tried? - dripping confidence, exuding well-earned ego. And his lover, Sanji, so much narrower, several inches shorter with their carefully chosen shoes, head a little ducked as he smoked through a slim little black filter. "I think I'm gonna have a fucking heart attack." "Good thing I'm here to give you mouth to mouth, cutie."