One thing can get Zoro to sweat more than he does in the gym. Well, one person.

When it comes to Pudding, Sanji is happy to be in the palm of her hand. (Or not, as is more often the case.)

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."

None of them called him the "ship's omega." It wasn't... really like that. A lot of ships had omega crewmates whose station was defined by their secondary sex, or at the least who joined up knowing what their job was among a shipful of pirates out to sea for weeks at a time. Zoro was not that. He wasn't a friend with benefits or a glorified servant or even one of the so-called Crewman Os who had their own jobs and stations but lay down and made their bodies available when a crewmate needed it. He was just... Zoro.

Law still remembered his first whiff of the first omega to capture his attention. He was no fool, of course - he was a doctor, and he lived that title - knew that omega meant nothing in the realms of personality and power, no more than woman did. But the combination, so clearly Mugiwara's right hand at his beck and call and just as clearly his own man, was staggering. Confusing. God, it had nearly bowled him over.