Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Awe, isn’t he adorable?”

               “What a sweet omega-pup.”

               “Hmm, bit small.”

               “He’ll grow to be strong, I’m certain of it. Besides, look at how pretty he is! Can you imagine? We might have great-grandpups with golden hair!”

               “Mother, please.”

               Zoro looked from his moon-eyed granddam, Shimotsuki Furiko, to his analytical grandsire standing beside her. Roronoa Pinzoro—for whom he’d been named—was a big, weathered alpha crosshatched with battles scars and a heavy, scowling brow. Zoro’s sire, Roronoa Arashi, resembled Pinzoro in his mighty stature and prowess, but less in temperament. He stood straight-backed and proud ahead of Zoro, with his big hands folded casually into his kimono sleeves as he watched the Germa Kingdom’s procession. Directly behind Zoro stood his dam, Terra, who nudged the back of his shin with her shoe. He glanced back and caught her eye: Stop fidgeting! Zoro huffed and lifted his chin, trying to stand as straight and still as his predecessors.

               The Vinsmoke pack looked like a tapestry as they approached. All of them had golden hair that shone in the sunlight, fair, flushed skin, and wore clothes of the richest, finest fabrics Zoro had ever seen. The foreign style of their garments cut close to the body and made them look tall, but very thin; much smaller than his own clan-members. The omega-pup whom Furiko was cooing at looked especially fragile.

               I bet he doesn’t wrestle, hunt, or box, he thought critically. I bet he’s never held a sword in his life.

               In Shimotsuki Village, alpha and omega-pups were instructed in basic self-defence and swordsmanship. His grand-uncle, Shimotsuki Ushimaru—Master Swordsman of the clan—had said once: “Clan-members without swords can still die by them,” and both sexes had learnt combat ever since.

               Zoro caught Kuina’s eye, then glanced at the Vinsmoke omega-pup and rolled his eyes. She giggled, until her sire tapped her head with his fan in reprimand.

               Finally, Vinsmoke Judge arrived at the pavilion, towing his omega-mate and pups behind him. He wasn’t as small up close, but the rest of them were dwarfed by Zoro’s pack, even the alphas.

               One, two, three, four alphas, he counted the colourful pups. And only one omega. The smallest, most golden one, of course.

               Introductions were made:

               Vinsmoke Judge, King of the Germa Kingdom; his omega-mate, Queen Sora; and their pups in descending order of birth: Reiju, Ichiji, Niji, Sanji, and Yonji.

               Roronoa Arashi, High Alpha of Shimotsuki Village; his omega-mate, Terra; and their only alpha-pup, Zoro.

               The first Vinsmoke alpha-male snickered, pointing a pampered finger at Zoro’s rude attire. The second made a pinched face at the simple pavilion and whispered to the fourth, who shuddered in mockery. Zoro sneered right back at them, knowing he could best any of these foreign pups in a fight, which was all that mattered.

               Later, during the feast, he overheard the princes teasing their omega litter-mate:

               “You’re going to have to live in this dump someday, Sanji, and sleep in the dirt with your mate!”

               “Did you see his clothes? What is that, a potato sack?”

               “I heard they do nothing but fight here. Like dogs.”

               “I heard they do nothing but eat, sleep, fight, and fuck.”

               “What’s fuck?”

               “I don’t know. But if they do it, probably something gross and dirty.”

               Zoro clenched his fists on his knees and growled, lips pulled back to reveal his teeth.

               “Stop that,” Terra scolded. “They are our guests.”

               “But, Mom, they’re so stupid!”

               “Yes,” she agreed, and he could see her fists clenched as well, “but they are still our guests. Do not dishonour our clan. Self-control, Zoro. That is the difference between a warrior and a beast.”

               So, Zoro sucked in a deep, meditative breath and held it until his cheeks went red. Then he breathed out all of his anger, like his great-uncle had taught. When he opened his eyes again, the little omega-pup was watching him.

               He was kind of pretty in a skinny, fragile way. Like a flower. Zoro hadn’t known omegas could look like that. He had never seen anyone with such blue eyes.

               Sanji.

               When he noticed Zoro staring at him, Sanji smiled a little, shy and hopeful. Zoro’s insides flip-flopped and he replied with a growl. He didn’t trust any of the spoiled Vinsmoke pups. He didn’t know why they were here.

               Sanji’s smile fell into an ugly scowl and he stuck his prim little nose in the air, turning away.

               Pft, snob.

               He said as much to Kuina after the feast, but rather than agree, she snorted.

               “Zoro,” she said, taking pleasure in his disdain, “don’t you know why they’re here?”

               He frowned at her. “No—?”

               She snorted again, shaking her head. “You really are dumb. The Germa Kingdom want to be our allies.”

               “Allies, for what?”

               “I don’t know. But I heard my sire talking to your sire about it, and he said King Judge wants us to train his army. The Shimotsuki are the best swordsmen in the world, after all. And the Roronoa, too, I guess,” she added as an afterthought.

               “So, what? I’m supposed to train that omega-pup?”

               This time, Kuina barked in laughter. “No!” Her black eyes twinkled gleefully. “You have to marry him.”

               “What?” Zoro recoiled, as if he’d been slapped. “No, I don’t!”

               “Yes, you do! That’s the alliance! You have to marry Vinsmoke Sanji someday. If you don’t believe me, go ask your sire.”

               So, Zoro did.

               “Dad! I don’t have to marry that omega-pup, do I? Kuina said I do, but she’s lying, right?”

               Arashi looked at Koushirou, who shrugged and hid a smile behind his fan. “Come, Zoro. Let’s take a walk.”

               “Dad?” said Zoro, panicked, now, as he followed Arashi into the forest. “Kuina’s lying, right—?”

               “You know how alliances work, don’t you, Zoro? It’s an exchange of skills, goods, intelligence, and promises. Sometimes it’s an exchange of people, too. The Germa Kingdom is going to be our ally. They’re going to give us trade opportunities and tech we don’t have, and in exchange we’re going to share our skills as swordsmen. More or less,” he said with a head-bob.

               “Kuina said we’re going to train their army.”

               “Yes.”

               “But why? We don’t need them. We’re the strongest—”

               “The world is a big place, Zoro. A very big place.”

               Zoro waited for his sire to elaborate, but he didn’t. “I don’t want to marry Sanji.”

               “No?” Arashi looked down at him, a hint of bemusement in his grey eyes. “Don’t you think he’s pretty?”

               “No!” Zoro lied.

               Arashi chuckled. “Well, you might change your mind someday. If you’re not careful, you might accidentally fall in love with him. That’s how love works. It sneaks up on you,” he teased, poking the pup’s scowl. “For now, just try to be civil, okay? For the clan.”

               He placed his big, strong hand on Zoro’s shoulder and squeezed.

               “Okay,” Zoro huffed, crossing his arms. “For the clan. But I don’t love him and I don’t think he’s pretty.”

               “Okay,” said Arashi, who chuckled again.

Stay here every summer? But Mom—!”

               “Oh, Sanji, darling, you’ll have a wonderful time,” said Sora kindly. “Some time, err… independent of your litter-mates. Won’t that be nice? I’ll bet the Roronoa will let you use their kitchen.”

               “Stay here… all by myself…” Sanji’s brow creased with worry; his eyes burned with tears and he whimpered. “Mom, please… can’t I go home with you?”

               Sora pursed her lips. “Your sire, the king, thinks it’s best if you stay here. He wants you to acquaint yourself with your… betrothed.”

               “But I don’t want to marry him! I want to marry someone I love!”

               “You might fall in love with Zoro someday—”

               “No, I won’t!” Sanji stomped. “Did you see him? He looks so conceited!”

               “Sanji—”

               “He growled at me!”

               Sora sighed. “I’m sure he’s just as surprised by you as you are by him. You’ll feel differently once you get to know him better.”

               “Did you?”

               Sanji knew that his dam had been betrothed to his sire, too, a long time ago. That she hadn’t had a choice.

               Her smile was tight when she answered: “Of course, darling. Marriage is wonderful, you’ll see. But not for a very long time.”

               Sanji crossed his arms sulkily. “It had better be a very, very, very, very long time. And he had better turn into someone really nice and really handsome by then.”

               “Oh? You don’t think Zoro’s already a handsome alpha?”

               Sanji blushed. “What? Mom, no!”

               She laughed and stroked a lock of his golden hair. “I love you, my omega-pup. I’m going to miss having you home this summer, but you’ll be safe here. Safe from… well. The Roronoa and Shimotsuki clans are good, honourable people. I trust them. And Terra has promised me that you will be treated just like their own pups.”

               “Oh, joy,” said Sanji sarcastically.

               It was then that Judge stuck his head into the plain, panelled chamber that would be Sanji’s bedroom for the next three months. “It’s time. Bring him,” he ordered, then disappeared again.

               Sanji clung to Sora’s hand as they proceeded to the pavilion for the Vinsmoke clan’s farewell. The path—dirt and cobbled, unkempt and uneven—was lined with big, brutish-looking clan-members that made Sanji nervous. They looked like warriors, not like the sterile, uniformed soldiers he was used to. And they didn’t live communally in a barracks, but in individual homes; low, narrow buildings with courtyards open to the forest. They lived with their family. (Were soldiers allowed to have families here?) Sanji spotted dozens of pups, who stood as still and unyielding as their parents; little warriors-in-training, all of them dark-haired and sun-kissed and dressed in shades of green and black. Sanji was going to stand out like a canary amongst crows in this place. Everything about Shimotsuki Village was just so different. He was lucky they spoke the same language.

               “Their clothes are weird,” he whispered to Sora.

               “I think you’ll look lovely in a kimono, darling.”

               Sanji tried again: “Their food is weird, too.”

               “A wonderful opportunity for you to try new cuisines and maybe cook some, too.” She winked down at him.

               That’s true, he thought. But he still felt overdressed.

               When he saw Zoro waiting for him, he stiffened, but Judge grabbed his forearm and yanked him forward to formally meet his alpha-to-be.

               I’d rather get chicken-pox, he thought sourly. What he said was: “I’m so happy to be here.”

               Zoro didn’t move until his dam prodded him, making him stumble forward. “I’m so happy you could come…” he muttered unhappily. “I promise to love and protect you forever, Sanji…”

               “I promise to love and take care of you always, Zoro…” Sanji miserably replied.

               The omega-pup curtsied, the alpha-pup bowed, both wishing that they could run in opposite directions. This meeting, this awkward, forced courtship, this whole marriage alliance, was neither of their idea of fun.

Furiko: “The pups seem to get along quite nicely.”

Arashi: “We’ll join our clans if this arrangement clicks.”

Judge: “Roronoa, that’s my point precisely.”

Sora: “It’s such good parenting.”

Judge: “And politics.”

Arashi: “I’m glad we all agree.”

Judge: “I think we’ve got a deal.”

Terra & Sora: “My pup’s quite a catch!”

All: “This is my idea of a match!”

Chapter Text

Sanji!" Judge snapped, storming into the cabin. “You have kept me waiting long enough!”

               “But Father, I—ah!”

               Sanji yelped when Judge grabbed a cluck of his hair, jerking roughly. A pitiable whimper escaped the omega-pup, who trembled at the alpha’s touch.

               He wished his dam were still alive to temper his unpredictable sire.

               He wished for a lot of things, but none of his wishes ever came true.

               Judge bullied Sanji out of the cabin and into the blistering brightness and heat of summer in East Blue, just like the summer before, and the summer before. His luggage had already been unloaded from the ship and was sitting on the dock below, where alpha clan-members of Shimotsuki Village were milling about. They were still big and loud and liked to brawl, but Sanji knew, now, that none of them would ever harm him. In fact, they reached out for him as Judge propelled him down the gangplank, offering a hand and a bow in welcome. Their hands were so much warmer than his sire’s ever were.

               Before he reached the dock, however, Sanji was swept off his feet by Terra, who smelled like the forest. It was an earthy, leafy, sunshine smell, like the village, itself. Sanji missed her scent when he was away, especially this year.

               “I am so sorry, little one,” she whispered to him, holding him in her arms. “Your dam was my friend and I will miss her very much.”

               Sanji’s eyes flooded with tears and he clutched Terra closer, pressing his nose to the underside of her chin. She rubbed his back, then gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

               “Peace, now. We must be strong and brave for her. She wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.”

               Sanji nodded.

               Terra did not believe in coddling pups, and Sanji—foreign omega, or not—was no exception. Sanji knew this, which is why he appreciated her condolences, but didn’t expect to be pitied or treated any differently. He didn’t mind, though. At home, in the Germa Kingdom, he was always treated differently and kept apart from everyone else, which was very lonely, especially since his dam had died. Roronoa Terra expected more of him, and, although that could be quite intimidating at times, he liked that she had faith in him. So, he didn’t grab for her hand, or expect to be carried like a whelp into the village. Instead, he wiped his tears, took a deep breath, and resolved not to cry for the duration of his three-month stay.

Sanji will be arriving soon. It’s time to stop.”

               Zoro lowered his bokken and glanced briefly at Ushimaru. They stood in the training-grounds, in a circle of rocks and targets.

               “I’m not done practicing yet—” Zoro began, but before he could continue the routine, the Master Swordsman disarmed him with a single swing.

               “You are done when I say you are done.”

               “But—”

               “Your intended omega-mate will be arriving at the pavilion soon. It is disrespectful not to greet him. And you still need to bathe.”

               Zoro grumbled in the back of his throat. “Why does he have to come here every summer, anyway? Why can’t we just wait until we’re twenty-one?”

               Ushimaru lifted a sloping eyebrow. “You’d rather marry a stranger?”

               Zoro kicked a stone. “What difference does it make? I don’t want him here, and he doesn’t want to be here. It isn’t fun for either of us.”

               “Zoro?”

               Zoro waited, then looked curiously up at his great-uncle. “Yea—Ow!” he yelped when Ushimaru cuffed him over the head. He snarled, and snapped: “What was that for?”

               “Idiot,” said Ushimaru unhelpfully. He took the bokken from Zoro and pointed to the bathhouse. “Go. Now.”

This summer was turning out to be the worst one yet.

               Sanji watched from the garden as several of the village pups congregated around Zoro for a game of Hide and Hunt. He acted like the pack-leader, telling everyone what to do; what team they would be on. He would be a terribly bossy High Alpha one day, and Kuina would be just as insufferable as second-in-command. The alpha-female always took Zoro’s side, even when he was wrong—which was always, in Sanji’s opinion. They had told Sanji he couldn’t play with them because he didn’t know the rules, but so what? He had watched the game many times and was much faster than the other pups. Surely that was worth something? So, he plucked-up his courage and walked over.

               “Hey,” he said, sounding braver than he felt. “Which team can I play on?”

               Zoro and Kuina exchanged a look. “Uh, neither?” said Zoro. He made a shooing gesture with his hand.

               One of the other alpha-pups scratched the back of his neck. “Won’t you, like… get hurt? I mean, it’s not like you’re… you know.”

               “Is it because I’m an omega?” asked Sanji defensively.

               “No,” said an omega-pup. “It’s because you’re not like us. You’re… hmm, delicate. You’ll definitely get hurt.”

               Zoro looked smug, pleased to have his pack-mates’ support. Sanji bristled.

               “I’ll be fine. I’m faster than all of you,” he bragged.

               “Pft, no you’re not,” said Zoro.

               “Yes, I am.”

               “No, you’re not.”

               “Fine,” said Sanji. He stomped right up to Zoro and kicked him in the shin. “I’ll prove it to you. Let’s race.”

               Zoro’s jaw clenched. “No.”

               “Because you’re afraid you’ll lose?”

               “No.” The alpha-pup’s hands balled into fists and his throat grumbled in annoyance. “Because you’ll get hurt and then I’ll get in trouble.”

               “Oh my gods!” Sanji flung his hands up in exasperation. “I can run without falling down! But if you’re really so scared of getting in trouble, we’ll race where no adults will see us, okay?”

               Zoro narrowed his eyes. “Where?”

               “There.” Sanji pointed to a forest path, which led into a dry ravine. “We’ll race to the bridge and back.”

               Zoro’s brow creased and he looked at Kuina with something akin to worry, Sanji saw with satisfaction. If he refused to race, now, he would prove Sanji right and lose the respect of the other pups.

               As expected, Kuina merely shrugged.

               Zoro turned to Sanji and snarled: “Fine.”

               Sanji pranced ahead of the group into the forest, taking great delight in Zoro’s unease and milking it for all it was worth. He stretched his arms high overhead, rocked from side-to-side, then stretched his slender legs, kicking off his sandals so he could run barefoot. Finally, he hefted-up the long length of his kimono and tucked it into the sash at his waist, leaving most of his legs bare. He was nearly finished preparing when Zoro looked over at him and balked.

               “What are you doing?”

               Sanji blinked at him. “Tying-up my kimono so I don’t trip. Why?”

               Zoro’s nose scrunched and the tips of his ears went poppy red. “Whatever,” he muttered, turning away.

               Kuina stepped in front of them, looking from Sanji to Zoro. “Ready? Race!”

               Sanji shot forward like a cannonball, heart pounding, legs pumping, leaping over rocks and logs and reveling in the wind of his own momentum. He couldn’t feel, or hear, or smell the alpha-pup anywhere near him and it made him giddy with victory. Zoro was going to regret treating him like an inferior, and all of the pups would want Sanji on their team for Hide and Hunt from now on.

               The bridge loomed ahead of him. It was an old, shattered thing from bygone days before the ravine went dry. Sanji reached it and jumped, grabbing the rails and letting himself swing while he waited for Zoro to catch-up. Zoro was panting as he approached, a look of fury on his face. When he reached the bridge, he lunged for Sanji’s legs, intending to yank him down, but Sanji laughed and kicked his legs up out of reach. Zoro growled and turned to run back, but Sanji wasn’t worried. His speed would overtake Zoro’s easily.

               He was still laughing and swinging when, suddenly, he heard a snap! He saw the shock on Zoro’s face, then the alpha-pup yelled:

               “Look out!”

               Sanji fell. Zoro dove for him. And the bridge collapsed on top of them.

IDIOT!” Arashi roared.

               Sanji winced. The alpha’s anger was palpable, even from three rooms away.

               Kuina had gone for help when she’d heard Zoro’s yell followed by the crash, though Sanji didn’t remember it. He had hit his head, which explained the pounding headache he felt, now. Arashi had rushed Sanji back to the village and put him to bed, where Terra fervently tried to determine whether or not they had just accidentally killed Germa’s only omega prince. Fortunately, they had not. A few bruises and a horrible bump on the head were Sanji’s punishment for his arrogance. He felt woozy, but otherwise fine, so they’d left him to rest—not sleep, they said, until they knew he was safe—and went to deal with their alpha-pup.

               “IDIOT, ZORO! WHAT POSSESSED YOU TO TAKE HIM TO THE RAVINE?”

               Guilt churned in Sanji’s stomach. Carefully, he shimmied out of the futon and into the corridor. He could see Arashi’s shadow stretching out and up the walls, looming big and all-consuming. He peeked into the long common-room and clapped a hand to his mouth when he saw Zoro, kneeling in supplication. His torso was naked, bruised and banged-up, and his head was bowed and bandaged. His dominant left arm was in a sling pressed to his chest. Sanji’s eyes filled with tears at the sight. He looked from Terra to Furiko, seeking mercy from either, but saw it in neither. The former looked stricken, while the later shook her head in regret. Pinzoro stood as silent and statuesque as always, scrutinizing everyone.

               “Tell me the truth,” said Arashi darkly. “Did you push him?”

               Zoro didn’t look up. He stayed in a lopsided kowtow on the floor. “No, Father.”

               “Did you take him there knowing it was dangerous? Knowing he would get hurt?”

               “No, Father.”

               “I’ve had to send a letter to King Judge. I hope you realize what that means.”

               “Yes, Father.”

               “I know you don’t like him, but gods, Zoro! You’re supposed to protect him! You’re an alpha and he’s your future omega-mate! You’re supposed to keep him safe.”

               Zoro took a shuddering breath. Was he—? No. He couldn’t be crying—could he?

               “I’m sorry, Father,” he said quietly.

               Arashi raked a hand through his hair, then exhaled. He signalled for the other adults to follow him, leaving Zoro alone in the hall in penance. Sanji ducked out of sight, then entered when everyone else was gone.

               “Um…” he said softly, cautiously creeping forward.

               Zoro’s head snapped up. His eyes were red and watery; one was swollen and turning an ugly shade of violet. It made Sanji flinch.

               “I-I-I—I’m sorry…” he stuttered.

               Zoro glared at him.

               “Zoro, I—”

               “Don’t.”

               “I didn’t know—”

               “I said don’t!” Zoro snarled. “I don’t need or want your pity.”

               Sanji sucked his bottom lip. For a moment, neither of them spoke and neither of them moved. Then Sanji said:

               “Why didn’t you tell them?”

               Arashi had accused Zoro of trying to hurt Sanji, but he hadn’t. He had tried to save Sanji. And he had gotten hurt because of it.

               He was protecting the omega-pup, even now.

               “Zoro? Why didn’t you tell Arashi that it was my idea—”

               “Just go away!” Zoro snapped. Clumsily, he pushed himself to his feet—wincing—and stood facing Sanji. His eyes looked like thunderclouds and Sanji reflexively took a step back.

               “I just wanted to play,” he said meekly. “I just wanted… for us to try to be friends.”

               “I would never choose you to be my friend.”

               Zoro’s words hit Sanji like a slap and tears stung his eyes.

               “That’s… not fair,” he argued, feeling small and weak; feeling like he was back home with his litter-mates. He had never belonged there, either. Not since his dam…

               But Zoro was unmoved.

               “I don’t care,” he said coldly. His grey eyes flashed like steel. “I will keep you alive, because that’s my job. But I don’t care about you, Vinsmoke Sanji, and I never will. So, just leave me alone.”

Zoro watched Sanji flee into the corridor.

               His insides twisted and his eyes burned, but he didn’t move. He was feeling too many things that he couldn’t name and didn’t understand. His whole body ached, especially his arm, and it was entirely Sanji’s fault.

               If Sanji was a Roronoa or a Shimotsuki, no one would worry about him, because he would be strong. But he wasn’t. He was a Vinsmoke. A precious, pampered North Blue prince, who lived in a floating city protected by walls. A delicate, sweet-tempered (ha!) little omega-pup, whom the clan coddled like a whelp, because he wasn’t like them. Because they didn’t know how stubborn and bossy and proud the little runt was, or how easily he could goad Zoro into a rage. Not even Kuina could do that, but there was something about Sanji that made Zoro’s blood heat. Something that always made him act without thinking.

               If Zoro hadn’t thrown himself on Sanji, the omega-pup would’ve been crushed by the bridge. He might even be dead.

               But now Zoro’s left arm was completely useless, his head throbbed, and it hurt to breathe. Ushimaru would never let him practice swordplay like this. He would be banned from the training-grounds until he was healed, which would take months. He would be lame and useless for the rest of the summer, and Sanji—everyone—would witness it. That was not Zoro’s idea of fun.

               So, despite Sanji’s heartfelt apology; despite the tears on his rosy cheeks, or the plea in his pretty blue eyes; despite the twinge Zoro felt in his chest whenever he looked at him, he was not going to forgive the omega-pup, and he was not going to be his friend. Not now, or ever.

Terra: “Long before they met, Zoro and Sanji were destined to be wedded.”

Arashi: “But anyone can see, the only point on which they do not disagree, is that their summertime is dreaded.”

Chapter Text

Is it just me, or is he starting to smell really good?”

               Zoro trod on Kuina’s foot—“ow!”—and said: “It’s not him, it’s the food. He’s… a good cook.”

               “Uh huh. Is that why we’re spying on him?”

               Zoro snapped his teeth at her. “We’re not spying! We’re just… looking. Guarding!” he amended quickly. Kuina gave him a doubtful look, but didn’t comment.

               Sanji was humming happily to himself, a serene smile on his face as he kneaded dough with long, elegant hands. The kitchen was warm and smelled of milk and honey, cloves and cinnamon, steaming lemon sweet buns, and custard cream, and Zoro didn’t know how much of the mouth-watering aromas were the food, and how much was the omega-pup preparing it.

               “So, what exactly are we guarding him from?” Kuina asked after a moment. She kept her voice low to avoid discovery.

               “Things,” said Zoro vaguely. “All things… and people. You know what he’s like. He can’t be trusted not to cause trouble.”

               “Okay… This wouldn’t have anything to do with his coming-of-age, would it? Do you think he’s had his first Heat yet?”

               Zoro felt his ears get hot. “What? No! I mean… I don’t know, maybe? It’s none of my business!”

               Kuina shrugged. “You’re his intended alpha-mate, Zoro. It will very much be your business one day, because you will have to mate him.”

               “Ugh, Kuina.” He swatted at her. “Don’t make it weirder than it already is.”

               “Do you ever think about it? What being his alpha-mate will be like?”

               “I try not to.”

               “Not ever—?”

               Zoro fidgeted, absently scratching at the glands on his neck. Simultaneously, the alpha-pups looked at the omega-pup, watching his skillful hands do a rolling, rubbing thing to dough that made both of them swallow.

               “You know, he’s not so skinny anymore,” Kuina mused. “He’s, like… slender now. It’s a good shape on him. He’s even kind of pretty.”

               Zoro felt a rush of heat and a growl rolled up his throat. He swallowed it down and clenched his teeth, which had been bothering him—the gums inflamed and aching—since yesterday.

               She said: “You don’t think so? Not even a little? I bet other alphas think he’s pretty,” she teased. “If nothing else, his scent is…” She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes.

               Zoro jabbed her in the ribs. “And that is why we’re guarding him.”

               Kuina huffed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.”

A midsummer festival?” said Sanji curiously. “Why haven’t we ever celebrated it before?”

               “It’s only celebrated once a decade,” came Furiko’s muffled voice. She had disappeared into a long, narrow corridor that smelled of cedar and lavender. A closet, which Sanji had never seen opened before. Eventually, the old matron emerged carrying an impossibly long, glittering garment, which she draped carefully over a table.

               “This was mine a long time ago,” she said proudly. “It came with me all the way from Wano Country.”

               “It’s beautiful,” said Sanji admiringly. Gently, he ran his fingertips along the layers of vibrant silk embedded with pearls. The embroidered design showed a pair of red-gold foxes prowling through a canvas of flamboyant lilies. “Are you going to wear it to the festival?”

               Furiko laughed and touched Sanji’s cheek, endeared. “Of course I’m not. You are.”

               Sanji stared at her. “Me—? But I’m not special enough for this!”

               “Now, who told you that? You’re going to be the High Omega of Shimotsuki Village someday, just like Terra is, now, and I was before her. Are we not special enough either?” she teased.

               Sanji blushed. “I just meant… I’m not old enough. And I’m not…  pretty enough for something like this.”

               He said it quietly, self-consciously, but Furiko heard it and threw her head back in a laugh.

               “Now that is funny!”

               Sanji felt a little offended that she would laugh at him, but he didn’t want to be impolite. Instead, he peered at his reflection in a bronze looking-glass and saw someone who looked unlike everyone else in the village.

               “Stop that,” she said, flicking the furrow between his brows. “And take this off.” She tugged on his kimono. “I want to see how it fits you. You’re about the same height that I was the first time I put it on, though I was a few years older. The pattern should show nicely, and the sleeves—yes, hold your arms at your waist. Lovely! They hang down to just the right length. Foxes have always brought good-luck to the Shimotsuki clan, you know. It’s our patron animal.”

               “Is that why Ushimaru wears a fox pendent?”

               “My brother, yes. Foxes symbolize skill, intelligence, and—” she turned him, made him face the looking-glass once more, “—beauty.”

               Sanji was stunned. He had never looked so elegant before. The softness of the silk, the shimmer of each pearl and long, flowing panels of intricate embroidery. It felt wonderful. Despite all of his official Germa Kingdom regalia—the gold and jewels and fine, heavy fabric—this was the first time he had ever felt like royalty.

               He turned from side-to-side, smiling shyly at himself. “So, what is the Roronoa animal?” he asked absently.

               Furiko’s smile grew sly. “The tiger,” she said. “For strength, endurance, and… virility.”

               Sanji’s whole body blushed from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

Holy mother of heavenly tits!” Kuina gasped. “Is that Sanji?”

               Zoro didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His heart wouldn’t tell his mind to tell his mouth what it should say. All he could do was stare as the omega-pup entered the pavilion through a curtain of hanging wisteria.

               “Zoro?”

               Thud, thud, thud went his heart.

               “Zo-ro—?”

               His teeth ached and his mouth filled with saliva. He felt as though he could taste Sanji’s scent.

               “Zoro!” Kuina jabbed him, because Sanji was walking directly toward them. “Close your mouth!”

               Zoro clamped his mouth shut just as Sanji and Arashi reached him. “Zoro,” said his sire. Zoro lifted his head and stood stiffly at attention. “You’ll be Sanji’s escort for the festival tonight.”

               His pulse quickened. Escort an omega—? But that was something adult alphas did! Zoro and Sanji weren’t adults yet!

               “Zoro, did you hear me?”

               “Yes, sir. Father. Sir. Yes, I heard you.”

               Arashi frowned at him and sniffed, perhaps regretting his decision. Zoro swallowed and tried again:

               “Yes, Father. I will be Sanji’s escort tonight.”

               Arashi nodded and bid Zoro step forward. Then he took Sanji’s smaller hand and tucked it into the curve of Zoro’s arm, making both pups glow cherry blossom pink in embarrassment.

               Zoro felt like he was playing dress-up, play-acting a mated couple as he led Sanji to the marketplace behind his parading parents and grandparents. He accidentally trod on Sanji’s train, causing him to pitch forward, and had to grab him before he face-planted in the street.

               You did that on purpose! Sanji mouthed, glaring at him.

               No, I didn’t! Zoro shot back.

               Sanji turned his face snobbishly away, but his scorned expression soon melted into wonder. The marketplace was aglow with flags and lanterns in colourful patterns. There were food stalls, travelling vendors, street-performers, and a huge bonfire in the village square, where musicians played. Sanji let Zoro guide him through the throng of clan-members, letting the bigger pup steer him between dancers, jugglers, and performative swordfighters, and muscle the other rambunctious pups aside. He seemed to relax as they walked, but Zoro did not. Zoro was growing steadily hotter and more uncomfortable the deeper into the throng they went. He caught himself growling when people bumped or brushed past him, and Sanji scolded him more than once for scratching his neck glands in public.

               “What is wrong with you? I’m not surprised that you’re allergic to nice things,” he said, implying Zoro’s black kimono, “but seriously, your neck is red. Stop clawing at it before you draw blood.”

               Zoro growled at him, uncomfortable and annoyed. He wanted to get Sanji to the bonfire as soon as possible, where he could leave him beneath the High Alpha’s umbrella, but Sanji was not cooperating. He kept stopping to admire the wares on display and wanted to taste everything being cooked.

               “Do you have to stop and look at everything?” Zoro groaned.

               “Yes,” said Sanji primly. “Because I’m finally having fun. Oh, look at this!”

               He took something from a display and shoved it in Zoro’s face. It was a large glass jar of water, with a fluffy green moss ball floating inside. “It’s your long lost twin, moss-head!”

               Zoro frowned and pushed the jar away, but Sanji giggled and clutched it to his chest. “I’d like to buy this,” he told the seller, passing him a coin.

               “What are you even going to do with that thing?” Zoro asked.

               “I’m going to take it home and put it on my bedside table and think of you whenever I see it.”

               Zoro stopped and stared at Sanji, and only then did Sanji realize what his joke implied.

               “I mean—! Like, because it’s a ball of algae and so are you!”

               “Right...” said Zoro, feeling more thoughtful than awkward. Sanji’s flustered blush really was pretty. It made his eyes look impossibly blue. And his outfit tonight was… good. Very good. Zoro felt suddenly compelled to touch the omega-pup; to pull him close, away from everyone else.

               Instead, he poked Sanji between the curling eyebrows, and said: “Dart-brow.”

               Sanji opened his mouth to protest, but Zoro grabbed his hand and tugged him onward.

               Eventually, the crowd began to migrate toward the mirror-black lake for a climactic fireworks display. It was something Zoro really wanted to see, since he had only been four-years-old for the last midsummer festival and didn’t remember it, but Sanji was lollygagging.

               “Come on!” he urged, but the more he pulled, the more Sanji stubbornly dug in his heels.

               “Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t—ah!”

               Zoro tugged and Sanji’s foot slipped out of his sandal, making him trip. This time, he did face-plant—

               —right into an alpha’s chest.

               “Oh, Prince Sanji,” he said, placing hands on Sanji to support him. “Are you alright?”

               Zoro recognized the alpha as one of Ushimaru’s most respectable students, a couple of years older than Zoro, himself. A few years ago, he had been one of the bolder alpha-pups who didn’t want Sanji to play with them. Now, his hands lingered, sliding down Sanji’s arms from shoulder to elbow and standing improperly close.

               “Wow, you look beautiful,” he said with an indulgent smile. He let his eyes rove Sanji from head-to-toe and his scent flared in interest.

               Pft. Zoro stood back and waited for Sanji’s temper, but, to his shock, it didn’t come. Instead, the omega-pup ducked his head bashfully and accepted the compliment with a mewling: “Thank-you.

               “You look very nice, too,” he added, coyly touching the alpha’s sleeve.

               Zoro frowned. The other alpha—a Roronoa cousin, he thought—was wearing a kimono identical to his, with thin orange and silver lines threaded through jet-black to look like tiger stripes.

               The kimono pulled taut as the alpha puffed-up his chest with pride. “Why thank-you, Prince Sanji.” He lifted Sanji’s hand and kissed it.

               “Oh, it’s just Sanji. I mean, you can call me just Sanji.”

               “Okay, just Sanji.”

               Sanji giggled.

               Zoro’s head pounded, and he thought: What the hell is happening?

               He was feverishly hot, now, and a churlish growl clawed its way up his throat. His chest rumbled in warning, his fists clenched, and he bared his canines, unafraid of the older alpha and eager to fight for—

               What? Sanji?

               “Oh.”

               Zoro tasted blood as his gums swelled and his head continued to pound. It made everything sound like it was happening underwater, but he saw the other alpha cautiously raise his hands.

               “Zoro—? I think you need to leave the party.”

               Zoro growled and snapped his teeth. Sweat beaded his skin and saliva filled his mouth.

               “Zoro,” said the alpha sternly. He lowered his voice for privacy. “I think you’re experiencing a Rut. You need to leave.”

               Rut? What? Rut was a mating-thing, wasn’t it? It wasn’t a fighting-thing—right? This couldn’t be Zoro’s first Rut! Not here. Not in front of Sanji. Not because of Sanji. No, no, no—!

               The other alpha reached for him, intending to help, and Zoro lashed-out and bit him.

               “Ah! Fuck!” He punched Zoro in the mouth and, to Zoro’s horror, hurriedly pulled Sanji away.

               “Master Ushimaru—!” he called, shoving the omega-pup protectively behind him. “The alpha-pup, he’s—!”

               Zoro was fully attacking, now. He lunged and punched and snapped his slathering teeth in a fury. If he’d had his swords, the other alpha would be dead. He felt like a wild animal, but couldn’t ignore the instinct to fight this rival and take the omega—his omega! Sanji belonged to him! Everyone said so! His insides burned, his vision blurred, and suddenly he could smell everything, including the omega-pup, who smelled like lust mixed fear. It pulled Zoro toward him, wanting—needing—to retrieve him—to rescue him—from the rival alpha. Needing more strongly than anything to scent him, and touch him, and take him, and bite him—

               A fist slammed into Zoro’s temple from behind and he collapsed.

Sanji barely felt Terra gather him into her arms. He was trembling and whimpering and couldn’t look away from Zoro lying dazed on the ground, surrounded by Arashi, Ushimaru, and Koushirou. Not until the High Omega placed a hand over his eyes, and said firmly: “Don’t look.

               “It’s okay, Sanji, I’ve got you. Zoro can’t hurt you now.”

               Hurt me—?

               Sanji was confused. He was flushed and breathing hard; his insides felt fluttery, but he wasn’t afraid of Zoro. In fact, he had actually been enjoying Zoro’s company while they explored the marketplace. The alpha-pup looked so handsome dressed in formal clothes, and his scent had become so strong. Sanji’s skin tingled where Zoro’s hand held his and he had felt himself instinctively drawn to the warmth of his body. Sanji had felt good and happy and safe with Zoro, and then, suddenly, he had been afraid. Not of Zoro, but for him. Because Sanji had never seen him lose control and attack like that before, especially not one of his own clan-members. It had been startling and unpredictable, but he hadn’t felt afraid until the other alpha had pulled him away from Zoro…

               “Come,” said Terra, herding Sanji back to the house.

               “But Zoro—”

               “Arashi will take him far away from you, don’t worry,” she said in misunderstanding. “Come now, before—”

               A loud bang! crackled overhead and Sanji flinched and covered his head. It was followed by another and the sky lit with glittering, debilitating colour. It was too much for the overstimulated omega-pup, who cried-out in alarm.

               Zoro stirred and howled weakly, but Arashi held him down.

               Terra said: “Sanji, let’s go.”

               She held him close to her body as she led him away from the party, back to the dark safety of his bedroom. There, she helped him undress to his sleep-clothes and wrapped him in a heavy blanket scented with lavender. She lit a heater, but not the lights, then left him there to recover alone while the festivities carried on without him, because they all thought him too fragile and afraid to participate. Maybe he was. He felt so incredibly strange and anxious. But being left behind—left in the literal dark about what was happening—wasn’t exactly his idea of fun. His thoughts and feelings circled Zoro for one hour, then two. The thought of the alpha-pup suffering all alone made him ache, and the desperate want to feel Zoro, to be with him, to coddle and comfort him, was terribly confusing.

               “Sanji,” said Terra, “I’m leaving a friend to guard your door. It’s not a punishment, it’s just to prevent anyone coming in so that you can recover in peace. If you need anything, just ask.”

               “O-okay,” he replied. What else could he say?

               She closed and locked the door, then gave orders to the omega swordsman posted there. Despite her hushed tone, Sanji’s omega ears were keen enough to hear every word:

               “Zoro’s Rut was unexpected, but if Sanji goes into Heat now it’ll be trouble. They’re both still so young. Arashi is writing to Judge, now. Until we know what to do with him, this door stays closed. No one goes in, and he doesn’t come out.”

               “Yes, ma’am,” said the guard.

               Sanji curled into a trembling ball in his futon and clapped his hands over his ears. He couldn’t feel like this whole thing wasn’t his fault; that he hadn’t caused Zoro’s reaction somehow. Arashi and Terra might not blame him for it, but Judge would, and he wouldn’t be pleased.

               Omegas are trouble. When you’re old enough to cause trouble, you’ll have to be locked-up.

               Sanji didn’t know what he had done, or what he should do. He wanted more than anything to know that Zoro was okay. He wanted to apologise to Zoro, to Terra, to everyone, but he couldn’t. All he could do was curl into a ball of confused self-loathing and cry.

               It wasn’t until later, after they told him that Zoro was locked away in a Rut-cabin in the woods; after they had written to request Sanji’s immediate departure from Shimotsuki Village; after it was confirmed that he would be going back to the Germa Kingdom early to spend the rest of the summer with his four litter-mates… Only then did he realize that he had dropped his moss ball in the marketplace and would not be bringing it home.

Arashi: “It’s one setback after another. What if Sanji doesn’t agree to this union?”

Judge: “Force him!”

Chapter Text

Zoro waited at the docks with Kuina beside him.

               “So, you haven’t written to him at all?” she asked as they watched the Germa ships approach. “Do you think he’s still mad at you?”

               “I don’t know.”

               “He left early last year. Do you think he didn’t want to come back?”

               “I don’t know.”

               “What are you going to say when you see him?”

               “I don’t know.”

               Kuina sighed and stretched her arms, then crossed them behind her head. “Do you think he’s still afraid of you? I mean, he must know by now that you had no control over it; that every alpha goes into Rut once a quarter. That it’s a sign of strength and health. Someone must’ve told him that, right? So, it’s not really your fault what happened.”

               Zoro’s gaze was glued to the Vinsmoke flagship, which carried Sanji steadily closer.

               “I don’t know,” he said.

Sanji paced his cabin nervously. He had thought about Zoro a lot this past year. A lot more than usual, which was very unusual, because usually Sanji didn’t think of him at all. Or, he hadn’t… He never used to, but now the very thought of the alpha-pup gave him butterflies.

               He had thought about Zoro’s Rut during some very private moments this year, and the thought of anyone knowing that made him want to die from embarrassment.

               Heats were awful, he’d decided. Absolutely awful, uncomfortable, and humiliating. But at least he now knew why Zoro had gone feral at the festival last midsummer, and why his own body had reacted so strangely to it. It had all since been explained to him in stark, clinical detail.

               It was natural, they said.

               It was normal, they said.

               Heats were not something that omegas could control, but that didn’t make them any less embarrassing! And it didn’t make his sire blame him any less.

               Suddenly, the cabin door banged open to reveal Judge. He started to speak, then stopped and sniffed.

               “Oh, for gods’ sake,” he growled unhappily. “Are you still upset about all that nonsense? You need to stop it, you smell overripe.”

               Sanji flushed in shame. “I’m sorry, Father. I can’t control it…”

               Judge harrumphed in dismissal.

               “It’s time for you to get off my ship,” he said. “Maybe then my soldiers will be able to concentrate. Little slut,” he muttered in farewell.

               The door banged shut again, leaving Sanji alone with his fears, because what if Zoro thought the same? What if the entire village blamed him for what had happened, too? What if he wasn’t Sanji anymore, but simply: the omega?

Sanji was surprised to find Zoro on the dock waiting for him.

               “Hey,” he said bluntly.

               “Hi,” Sanji replied.

               A long, uncomfortable minute passed between them, in which Sanji’s heart redoubled its pace. He was about to blurt a promise, or apology, or… something, when Zoro said:

               “Only one trunk this year?” He hefted the large, heavy box onto his shoulder without waiting for an answer.

               Sanji said: “Um, yeah. Thanks.”

               They started walking.

               “So, um. Did you have a good winter?”

               Zoro shrugged. “Same as always.”

               “You got bigger again.”

               And stronger. And even better-looking…

               “Yeah. You didn’t. Don’t they feed you?”

               Sanji flinched. Zoro couldn’t know about his life in the Germa Kingdom, could he?

               “Sorry,” said the alpha-pup awkwardly. “That was a joke.”

               “Oh.”

               “You look fine.”

               “Uh, thanks—? You look fine, too, I guess.”

               The smallest hint of a smile curled the corner of Zoro’s mouth.

               “Come on,” he urged, walking faster. “There’s a welcome feast for you at the pavilion.”

               Sanji smiled a little, too, in relief, and said: “There always is.”

Again,” ordered Ushimaru, taking a fighting stance. Zoro clenched his swords and complied with gusto, because Sanji was watching.

               A lot of people were watching, actually, but none of the other pack-members mattered. They had watched his swordsmanship improve all year. Sanji, however, was seeing it for the first time since he was ten-years-old, when he’d last taken a passing interest in what Ushimaru’s students were doing. Back then, Zoro had practised with one katana, as was customary, and was a good swordfighter, but not the best in class. (That title had been Kuina’s for longer than Zoro wanted to acknowledge.) Then Zoro had broken his dominant left arm and blamed Sanji for it. Hated Sanji for it, in fact, because Ushimaru had refused to teach him for nearly six months until he was healed. But that, too, had been a blessing in disguise. Stubborn to his core, ten-year-old Zoro had practised with his right arm instead and spent the summer developing ambidexterity, until he could fight just as skillfully with either hand. It was that talent which had led him to using two swords in combat, and eventually three.

               “Where would the third sword even go?” Kuina had criticized, then recoiled in disbelief when Zoro had put a sword handle between his teeth. “You’re crazy!” she’d said.

               “No,” he’d replied, finally disarming and defeating her, “I’m the greatest swordsman in the world!”

               Or, he would be someday. He just had to keep practising and pushing himself further than anyone else.

               “Yield!” Ushimaru yelled, now. He held the point of his sword over Zoro’s heart. “Don’t be an idiot, pup. You can’t—”

               Zoro tried to dodge the point and scissor his own two blades to slice at Ushimaru’s stomach, but the Master Swordsman deflected and Zoro’s recklessness earned him a cut across the chest.

               There was a collective gasp from the crowd, but it was a high-pitched cry that caught Zoro’s attention. When he looked, Sanji had both hands clapped to his mouth.

               “Focus!” said Ushimaru. He attacked again and Zoro parried with milliseconds to spare. “This is a duel. This is life or death. Do not let yourself be distracted by—”

               “Are you serious?”

               Sanji, again.

               Sanji, marching into the training-grounds and planting himself in front of Ushimaru. Small and golden and glaring up at the adult alpha. There was that temper Zoro remembered.

               “He’s bleeding!” the omega-pup scolded the Master Swordsman. “What if he faints? What if it gets infected? No,” he said sternly, when Zoro tried to interrupt. “Don’t you start. If you don’t get that treated, it’ll leave a big, ugly scar.”

               That said, Sanji grabbed Zoro’s wrist and turned on his heel, dragging the alpha-pup away from the training-grounds, leaving a befuddled Master Swordsman and a bemused audience behind.

               Zoro, too, was thoroughly at a loss as Sanji ushered him into the house and made him sit. He almost jumped in surprise when the omega-pup ferociously chucked a drying-cloth at him, ordered: “Put pressure on that,” then left in a hurry, seeking medical supplies. Zoro barely had time to feel indignant before a warmer feeling overtook it. Sanji could be a bossy little bitch sometimes, but it came from a place of honest concern for his fellows. It had taken Zoro a while to figure out—Sanji’s emotions were explosive and often unreadable—but he had finally realized that the omega-pup really cared for people and felt obligated to help, if he could.

               He would do it for anyone, Zoro knew. So, why did it make him feel so special when Sanji returned with linen and medicine and began fussing at the alpha-pup to remove his kimono?

               Zoro slumped as the fabric bunched at his waist, trying to convey a lack of urgency, but Sanji winced when he saw the wound.

               “It’s just a lot of blood. It happens all the time—” Zoro explained, but Sanji shushed him.

               He took a cloth, soaked it in hot, sterile water, then knelt in front of Zoro and set to work cleaning the wound from collarbone to sternum. “Stupid, reckless alphas…” he muttered. Zoro bit his cheek to keep from smiling. But he couldn’t prevent that warm, content feeling from filling him. It didn’t hurt when Sanji began to meticulously sew the wound closed, but Zoro’s heartbeat quickened just the same, because the omega-pup had planted a hand on Zoro’s chest to hold him still—right over his pectoral—finger just grazing his nipple. So focused, and with his head bowed in concentration, Sanji was oblivious to Zoro’s sudden intake of breath. Which was the wrong thing to do, because with it came a face-full of the omega-pup’s enticing scent.

               Uh oh…

               Zoro’s heart thrummed in panic as heat pooled south of his hips. He swallowed, held his breath, but Sanji’s scent and touch was making it very, very… hard to focus on anything else.

               Think of something else, he forced himself. Think of granddam. Pretend it’s grand-dam patching you up, like a million times before.

               Granddam.

               Granddam.

               Granddam…

               “Sorry,” said Sanji. Zoro’s eyes snapped open. “Is it that painful?”

               “Uh… yeah. It’s painful,” Zoro lied.

               “I’m almost done,” Sanji said, snipping the thread. “I can’t believe Ushimaru actually cut you,” he added, as he carefully applied a bandage.

               “It’s better that he does.”

               “What? Why?”

               “It’s better to know what real combat and real consequences feel like. I’m not training for fun, you know.”

               Sanji cocked an eyebrow at him. Zoro shrugged.

               “Okay, I do think it’s fun. But I’m training so that I can protect the village, my pack, my mate—”

               The word was out before Zoro could stop it. He had only been parroting what Ushimaru and Arashi had told him a hundred times before, but the implication did not go unnoticed.

               “O-Oh,” said Sanji, bowing his head. A bashful blush coloured his cheekbones. “That’s, um… valiant of you. But—” he added, before awkwardness could settle in, “maybe your mate would prefer an alpha without hideous scars all over his body. Did you ever think of that?”

               “Pft, no.”

               Sanji rolled his eyes and began cleaning-up. Zoro waited a minute, then self-consciousness ebbed out pride.

               “Do you really think its hideous?”

               Sanji glanced at Zoro’s bandaged chest and pursed his lips; tucked back a lock of hair that fell forward almost immediately. “No. I just… don’t want to see you make stupid mistakes. Not when your life is at risk.”

               “Everyone makes mistakes. Remember when we were younger and you couldn’t find any lettuce, so you put raw cabbage on everyone’s sandwich?”

               Sanji snorted. “Yes. And you’re the only one who ate it.”

               “Hey, you were always making foreign things I’d never had before. I didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to taste like that. And I was hungry!”

               This time, Sanji laughed. “See?” he said, pointing at Zoro. “Reckless! You’re going to get yourself killed one day and then what will I do?”

               Zoro didn’t have an answer for that. Neither did Sanji, apparently, because the omega-pup shrank back, as if he wished he hadn’t said it at all.

               In a small, sorrowful voice, he said: “Don’t get killed, Zoro. If you do, I can’t stay in Shimotsuki Village. I like it here…” Gently, his finger brushed Zoro’s knuckle. “I want to live here someday.”

               Zoro swelled with determination. “I won’t get killed,” he said firmly.

               “Not ever—?”

               “Not ever.”

               Sanji relaxed a little, though Zoro still felt the lingering worry as Sanji hooked his pinky-finger around his and squeezed. “Promise,” he said. “I’ll live here someday.”

               Zoro squeezed back. “I promise.”

A tropical, torrential storm kept everyone inside for one week, then two. It washed-out the footpaths and battered the window shutters and uprooted trees from the ground; rain lashing, wind howling like a chorus of wolves. At first, the clan-members drank to the storm—daring, fatalistic warriors that they were. Then they told ghost stories and played tricks on each other. Then they began to curse the storm’s longevity when it exceeded three weeks. Then finally, the fighting began.

               Sanji was in the pavilion when an alpha’s temper overtook common-sense and he lunged at a comrade. The other yelled in outrage and drew a knife. A third joined in defence of the first, and a fourth joined in just for fun. Soon, it was pandemonium and a storm of cabin-crazy alphas raged within while the rainstorm raged without. Sanji ducked and clapped his hands to his ears, because the whole hall rang with cacophonous growls and howls, snarls and shouts, barks and the bloody beating of skin. But the scent was so much worse. The air was dense with the salty, sinister scent of anger, fear, pride, and lust. It was pure, undiluted alpha adrenaline and it was making the omega-pup’s head spin.

               An alpha crashed into him, landed on him, and squeezed a startled cry out of him. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs and the physical contact sent a shudder down his spine. The alpha’s body was hot and hard and slick with sweat. He looked down at Sanji, who lay flattened beneath him, leant in, and sniffed. Sanji squirmed and tried to shove him away, but the adult alpha was too big and too strong. His pupils were dilated and he licked his lips, canines wet and wanting to bite. He leant down—

               —and got body-slammed so hard, he rolled sideways and hit the wall.

               Sanji peeked through his hands and saw Zoro’s back. The alpha-pup was standing over him, a sword in each hand and one in his mouth.

               “Go,” he ordered, glancing back.

               Sanji blinked, but everything was foggy.

               “Sanji, go!”

               “It’s too much…” Sanji murmured. He was panting, now. And trembling. “I can’t… It’s too much!” He whined and covered his head with his arms.

               Zoro made a noise; half-growl, half-groan. Then Sanji was yanked up, up, up into Zoro’s arms and Zoro was retreating from the hall as fast as he could. It was a clumsy, bumpy ride and it didn’t last long before the alpha-pup dumped him on the floor. “Stay here,” he said, then left again, shutting the door behind him. Sanji had no intention of rejoining the fight, so he obeyed, feeling small and helpless and so very, very frightened. Shaking, he pulled his legs to his chest and buried his head.

               If he stayed still and silent, the alphas might not find him.

               They might not tease him or touch him.

               They might not hurt him or humiliate him.

               If he didn’t speak, if he didn’t fight back, if he pretended not to exist at all, then maybe, this time, they’d leave him alone…

Zoro rubbed blood off his nose as he surveyed the damage. The hall was in shambles and beer swamped the floor, but no one had been seriously injured, and most were cajoling and comparing cuts now that their tempers had been sated. Satisfied, he sheathed his steel swords and returned to the kitchen to tell Sanji the danger was passed.

               Once again, he had acted impulsively in jumping to Sanji’s defence, but the omega-pup had been paralyzed. Zoro had never seen him like that before, as if he’d completely lost the will to fight, or move, or even speak. He had taken Sanji to the kitchen, because a) it was the closest refuge, and b) it was Sanji’s happy place. A place Zoro thought he would feel safest, but a happy, secure omega is not what he saw when he opened the door.

               Sanji was sitting on the floor in front of a bank of cupboards, curled in on himself, shaking and sobbing. He didn’t seem to see Zoro, or even know whom he was. He just kept whimpering:

               “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t, I’m sorry…”

               “Sanji?”

               No response.

               “Sanji?” Zoro knelt in front of him and grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face.

               Sanji yelped. “I’m sorry! I’ll be good, I promise! Please—Please don’t—!”

               Zoro let go in shock.

               The omega-pup’s scent was overripe with anxiety, sickeningly sweet. It pulled at the alpha-pup’s protective instincts, and, suddenly, without conscious volition, Zoro was reaching forward again.

               He didn’t even know why he was doing it, as he pulled Sanji into his arms. He had never voluntarily touched the omega-pup before, but he knew in his bones, in his heart, that it was the right thing to do. He knew to hold Sanji against his chest, tight and secure, and to rub the glands at the base of his neck. He knew to guide Sanji’s nose to his own neck for scenting, and to communicate through scent that he was safe; that Zoro would keep him safe. He knew that the omega-pup needed dark and quiet to soothe his overstimulated body and brain, and that the rhythmic rumble that rolled-up from Zoro’s chest would help him calm down.

               Zoro didn’t know how he knew any of this, but it seemed to be working—Sanji seemed to cease crying—so he didn’t stop. He sat on the kitchen floor and held the traumatized omega-pup, until he felt the shivering stop and Sanji slowly deflated, sinking into Zoro’s embrace in exhaustion. Then, gently, he lifted Sanji up once more and took him to bed. Or, he was going to, until—

               “No—!”

               Sanji clutched his shoulders.

               “Don’t…” he took a deep breath, tickling Zoro’s neck with his eyelashes, “…leave me.”

               Zoro stopped, feeling torn. He didn’t want to leave Sanji alone either, but they would both get into trouble if they went to bed together. There would be no hiding the alpha-pup’s scent if he stayed in Sanji’s bedroom, and it was too dangerous to take Sanji to his. The omega-pup needed the familiarity and security of his nest, not an alpha’s den.

               “No, don’t leave me alone,” Sanji pleaded as they entered his bedroom. This time, he clutched Zoro’s sleeve as Zoro lowered him onto the futon.

               “I’ll be right back,” he said.

               Sanji’s face was flushed with worry; it made his eyes look incredibly blue. But he must’ve trusted what he saw in Zoro’s eyes, because he let go.

               Zoro went to his bedroom, retrieved what he wanted, and returned before Sanji had even crawled beneath the blanket. When Sanji saw it, he gasped.

               “That’s my—!”

               Zoro nodded and placed the jar on the floor beside him. The sea-green moss ball inside was fluffy with health and bobbed gently until the water stilled.

               “You kept it for me,” said Sanji in awe.

               Zoro nodded. “Now, you won’t be alone.”

               The omega-pup looked like he was going to cry again, but didn’t. Instead, a soft smile stole across his face.

               Zoro felt heat creep up his neck to his ears. He cleared his throat. “Are you, err… going to be okay?”

               Sanji took the jar and held it in his lap. “Mm hmm.”

               “Do you, err… want to, err… talk about what happened?”

               Why you didn’t know where you were, or why you thought I was going to hurt you?

               “No.”

               “Okay. Good,” he added, which made Sanji frown. “I mean, if you want to—”

               “I don’t.”

               “Okay.”

               Zoro waited for a moment; a moment too long, perhaps. Then he backed away. “I’m going to go,” he said. “If you’re okay.”

               “I’m okay.” Pause. “Zoro—?”

               “Yeah?”

               Sanji looked up at him through a fan of golden lashes. He hugged the jar to his chest. “Thank-you.”

               Zoro nodded and left before he changed his mind.

Shimotsuki Village: “Soon there’ll be a royal wedding.”

Germa Kingdom: “I’d love to be invited.”

Shimotsuki Village: “At least we’ll get a holiday to rest our ploughs and axes.”

Germa Kingdom: “Someday those two will marry.”

Shimotsuki Village: “Two clans will be united.”

Both: “And with some luck their marriage may result in lower taxes!”

Chapter Text

Zoro was eighteen when he defeated Ushimaru in combat and became the strongest swordsman in Shimotsuki Village.

               In victory, he received a respectful, yielding bow from the Master Swordsman, an enthusiastic thump on the back from Arashi, and a shallow nod of approval from Pinzoro. “Well done,” they said, then shoved him toward a pack of fumbling, tumbling pups still soft with baby-fat and told him that he would be the instructor, now.

               Zoro was doubtful at first. The squishy, squeaky little rolls of fluff could barely walk and he was supposed to teach them swordsmanship? But it only took a couple of lessons for him to realize two things. Firstly, that combat was in their blood. They were not articulate, nor graceful pups, but all of them could hold a sword—or rather, a very light, very blunt rod wrapped in linen. And secondly, that he secretly really liked pups, and the more that he played with—ahem—instructed them, the more he wanted one of his own.

               And just when he was thinking that, of course—holding two squabbling alpha-pups apart—Sanji inevitably appeared.

               “Oi, wait—!” Zoro called as the pups took off without being dismissed. They flocked to Sanji, chattering at him and encircling him as he delivered a trey stacked high with rice balls.

               “One at a time!” he said, trying fruitlessly to instill manners. “There’s plenty for everyone. And if not, I’ll just make more. Stop growling.

               “Little barbarians,” Sanji huffed, extricating himself. “My pups will be much better behaved.”

               Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Your pups—?”

               Sanji shrugged without looking at him.

               After, once the feeding frenzy was over and sires and dams had come to collect their rambunctious offspring, Zoro returned to the training-grounds and put himself through a very difficult, physically-demanding routine. By the time he was finished, his kimono was knotted at his waist and his torso was flush and slick with sweat, but he didn’t stop. Sanji had returned and was waiting quietly in the shadow of an ancient tree weeping wisteria. He held the trey in his hands, as if that’s what he’d come back for, but got distracted watching Zoro. It sent an excited thrill up the alpha’s spine and he pushed himself further, to be faster and stronger and braver and better for the omega. Sanji’s attention made Zoro want to posture and prove himself, and his blatant interest made him glow with pride.

               Finally, it became obvious that Zoro knew Sanji was watching and the omega turned to leave.

               “Wait!”

               Sanji froze. Zoro did, too. He hadn’t meant to shout.

               “Err… is there anything left to eat?”

               Sanji nodded, then left. He was gone long enough for Zoro to wonder if he was coming back, then returned with a trey of fresh rice balls and a jar of saké.

               Zoro loved rice balls—and saké—and Sanji made the best rice balls he had ever tasted.

               The omega stood beneath the whispering wisteria, painted in shades of pink and violet by the sunset. His golden hair shone and his blue eyes twinkled as he extended the trey. The prettiest omega in the whole gods’ damned world offering him the best food in the whole gods’ damned world.

               It took every ounce of discipline Zoro had not to grin, because he suddenly felt like the luckiest alpha in the whole gods’ damned world.

               For the first time in his life, he thought: This is my mate. My omega-mate. Not someone’s else’s: Mine.

               It felt like they were moving in slow-motion as Zoro closed the distance between them to take the trey. Sanji didn’t look away as he approached, not even when their fingers brushed. The saké jar wobbled and fell, landing in the grass, and Zoro and Sanji bumped foreheads as they both knelt to retrieve it.

               “Ow,” said Sanji, rubbing his head.

               He looked at Zoro, who was so close, now, kneeling in the grass. His lips quivered, curling up against his will, his shoulders trembled, and then the omega was laughing.

               It made the alpha laugh, too, feeling giddy. He laughed so hard, he had to set down the trey.

               And then, inexplicably, he was leaning in toward Sanji, and Sanji was leaning toward him, both helpless to the pull and promise of the other’s lips—

               “Ro-ro,” came a small, squeaky voice.

               Zoro and Sanji leapt apart. Seconds later, an omega-pup waddled into view.

               “Ro-ro, this for you,” he said, holding a crumpled, misshapen paper-crane out proudly.

               Zoro glanced at Sanji, who covered his smile with a hand. “For me?” he asked, kneeling in front of the pup.

               He nodded. “For teaching swords. I’m gonna be—um, the bestest one! Better than all the alphas!”

               “You have to practise to be the best,” Zoro said, accepting the gift. “Every single day.”

               The omega-pup lifted his chin, a little indignant. “I know that!”

               Zoro stood and nodded: the picture of a stern-faced instructor, just like Ushimaru before him. He wondered if Ushimaru had ever had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, too.

               “Very good,” he said in approval. Then he held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

               The omega-pup’s hand disappeared inside Zoro’s and he began to purr, feeling safe and happy with his alpha instructor, and rather pleased with himself, too.

               Zoro cast a glance back at Sanji, lifting his shoulders in an apologetic shrug, but Sanji shook his head with a smile and shooed him off.

               Next time, he thought. When no one is around, when we won’t be interrupted…

The next time that Zoro and Sanji found themselves alone together it was in Sanji’s sphere of influence, not Zoro’s.

               The kitchen was alive with boiling, broiling pots; sizzling, sautéed woks of meat; baked breads; simmering soups; whipped creams and iced cakes; and the constant chop, chop, chop of fruits and vegetables. Sanji was grating ginger root into a pot when Zoro sauntered in, drawn by the scent and the growl of his stomach.

               “Is it just you in here?” he asked, surveying the controlled chaos.

               “Yes,” said Sanji, without looking up. He slid the pot onto a brazier, flipped the ginger, and left it to cook. But he didn’t stop. He grabbed a rope of garlic, a bundle of leeks, and a clean chef’s knife, and flitted back to the cutting-board, his heels barely touching the floor as he moved. “Did you need something?” he asked, still without looking up.

               “You don’t have to cook for everyone, you know,” said Zoro.

               “I know. But I like cooking. And I’m the best cook on the island.”

               Zoro snorted, but it wasn’t a brag and it wasn’t a lie, so he didn’t comment. What he did say shocked Sanji more than any insult or compliment ever had:

               “Do you need help?”

               “No,” said Sanji automatically. Then—finally—he paused enough to look up. Zoro was standing in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by things he didn’t understand, looking completely, utterly overwhelmed by the steaming, simmering, sizzling activity going on all around him. “I don’t need help,” he reiterated firmly, “but… I wouldn’t mind a little help, if you’re offering.”

               “I’m offering.”

               “Good.” Sanji pointed to the washtub and the stack of dishes piled there. “You can do those.”

               He fully expected Zoro to scoff and retract his offer, but he didn’t. Instead, he went outside to the well, drew up enough water to fill the washtub, lathered it with soap, and set to work.

               Later, once the Roronoa and Shimotsuki warriors had all been fed, Sanji returned to find Zoro still scrubbing without complaint.

               “Here,” he said, putting a plate down on the table. “You haven’t eaten yet.”

               “Neither have you.”

               “I sample everything as I cook it. And I’m not that hungry anyway—”

               Zoro slapped two pairs of chopsticks down on the table and slid the plate toward Sanji, so that it sat between them.

               Sanji blinked at him. Share?

               Zoro nodded and waited for Sanji to take his chopsticks before swiping his own and starting to eat.

               They ate in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was—dare he say—companionable. Maybe even a teeny-tiny bit romantic as the sunset filled the room.

               When they were finished, Zoro went back to the washtub, and Sanji boiled fresh water and joined him. Still, neither of them spoke as the omega plunged his hands into the sudsy tub alongside the alpha’s. It was a menial chore, but the significance of it wasn’t lost on Sanji. This was the first time that he and Zoro had ever worked together. The first time they had ever helped each other, without the threat of danger. The first time they had ever shared a task to lessen the burden and make the other’s life a little better.

               Sanji’s heart skipped a beat when his fingers brushed Zoro’s underwater. Both of them stopped, but neither pulled away. Instead, Sanji felt Zoro let go of the washcloth and slide his hand over Sanji’s, twining their fingers and squeezing gently. And all of Sanji’s reservations and apprehension melted. That warmth and strong, solid touch made him feel wanted for the first time in his life. As if this right here—on an island he loved, in the kitchen they had given him, submerged to the elbows in soapy, greasy water—was exactly where he was supposed to be.

               He turned his head to meet Zoro’s, sea-blue eyes gazing questioningly—hopefully—into steel-grey, and saw in them the same hope, as well as another offer. One that Sanji accepted.

               His eyelids lowered as he leant in, ready and willing to put private fantasy into practice—

               The kitchen door banged open and a jolly, red-cheeked Arashi barged in.

               “Zoro-pup, there you are!” he boomed drunkenly. “Koushirou thinks his alpha-pup can drink more than my alpha-pup! Can you believe it?” He guffawed in scornful amusement. “Come quickly! We must prove him wrong! The honour of our bloodline depends on it!”

               That said, he took Zoro by the shoulders and marched him out the door.

A week later, the entire village attended a shotgun wedding for two Roronoa clan-members. Sanji had never seen any couple happier, or less embarrassed by the bulge of the omega’s pregnant belly. She positively glowed with joy, as did her new alpha-mate and all of their relations. Sanji was pleased by the support, but incredulous. There was no shame, or scolding, or ostracizing of the newlyweds and their family. There was nothing but celebration and congratulations and it lifted Sanji’s heart to see it.

               “No one cares,” he said to Zoro. “No one cares that they broke the rules.”

               “The rules?”

               “You know,” said Sanji, subtly indicating her belly. “No one is… disappointed. No one thinks badly of them.”

               Zoro frowned at Sanji in confusion. “What’s there to be disappointed about? She’s got a pup, not a disease. Aren’t pups a good thing where you come from?”

               “Well, yes…” Sanji admitted, thinking of his dam and her forced union with his sire; her whole life traded for the sake of breeding pups, “…but only if you follow the rules.”

               Zoro seemed to sense Sanji’s sudden melancholy, because he said: “Let’s go for a walk.”

Zoro started walking, expecting Sanji to follow, which he did. He didn’t know what he wanted to say to Sanji; he didn’t have a plan. But the fear had returned for some reason. A fear the omega had carried with him all of his life, weighing down every interaction and dictating every decision. As strong and skillful and stubborn as Sanji was, Zoro had never known him not to be afraid, even when he was perfectly safe; even at a celebration full of joy and affection. The omega would smile and laugh and dance with everyone else, but that cautious, haunted look in his eyes never left. Sanji had never said why, but it didn’t matter. Zoro didn’t care about the why; only about how he could kill it for good.

               They walked along the beach for a while. Zoro let Sanji relax in the quiet of lapping waves, enjoying the silver moonbeams reflected off the water’s surface. The omega didn’t protest when the alpha took his hand, walking side-by-side, nor did he argue when the alpha’s haori was put on his shoulders. It was a cool night for late-summer and Sanji hugged the garment around himself and breathed in Zoro’s scent unabashed.

               “Are you afraid of me?” Zoro asked.

               “No,” Sanji said.

               “Are you afraid of this place?”

               “No.”

               “Are you afraid of going back to Germa?”

               Sanji pursed his lips; tears sprang to his eyes. He turned his head away, gold hair falling to curtain his face.

               Zoro stopped walking, making Sanji stop, too. He stepped in front of Sanji, blocking his path; encircling the omega with his presence. Then he lifted a hand and brushed that golden hair aside.

               “Don’t go back,” he said with quiet determination. “Don’t ever go back to them. Stay here with us.”

               Sanji’s head lifted. “I’m not allowed,” he said softly. “It’s against the rules—”

               “Fuck the rules.”

               Despite Zoro’s brashness, Sanji smiled.

               “I want to stay,” he admitted, resting his hands on Zoro’s shoulders. “I wish I could… But it’s not our choice.”

               Zoro cupped Sanji’s cheek. “You are my choice,” he said.  

               And then they were kissing. Soft and tentative, just a chaste touch of tender lips, but it sent a shock through Zoro’s whole body and made his heartbeat pound. He didn’t know who had moved first, or what the consequences would be, but he didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to keep kissing and touching and holding and hugging the omega. He didn’t want to let Sanji go ever again.

               So, he was disappointed when he pressed closer and Sanji pulled away, but not in rejection. No, the omega was looking up at him with a tenderness Zoro had never seen before. Without a word, he touched a soft, pale hand to Zoro’s cheek and opened his mouth to speak—

               “Zoro? Are you out here?”

               Sanji jerked away at the sound of Kuina’s voice. Clutching Zoro’s haori as if it would hide him, he turned on his heel and fled the beach. Zoro was still staring at the place he’d been when Kuina found him.

               “Oh, there you are. Have you seen Sanji?”

               “No,” Zoro lied.

               Kuina frowned and sniffed at him, like she didn’t believe him.

               “A letter’s just arrived from the Germa Kingdom,” she said. “Arashi’s not happy about it. You’d better come.”

Summoned?” said Sanji in disbelief. “But—why? I don’t want to go yet!”

               Terra shook her head, clearly agitated. “I don’t know,” she said. “But Arashi can’t ignore a summons from the King of Germa demanding the return of his pup.”

               “But—”

               “Do not argue, Sanji. There is nothing we can do.”

               Sanji flinched at Terra’s tone. He had never seen her so tense.

               Perhaps she realized it, too, because her sharpness blunted a little when she said: “You don’t belong to us yet. You are still a prince of the Germa Kingdom and must obey your king. Now, hurry and pack your belongings. The ship is docking as we speak.”

               Before she could leave, he blurted: “Where’s Zoro?” and he thought he saw her flinch.

               “I don’t know. He left the pavilion and I haven’t seen him since.”

               Sanji packed slowly, waiting for Zoro to come. He folded his futon and changed back into his Germa clothes, hanging his kimono so it wouldn’t wrinkle. He danced his fingertips across the moss ball’s jar, wanting to take it, but deciding to leave it. If his litter-mates discovered it—discovered how special it was to him—they’d smash it and pull it apart. He watched sunbeams dance upon the water’s surface, reflecting like crystals in the clean, panelled room. He watched and waited at the window for as long as he could, until Judge’s soldiers came to fetch him. He was marched from the house, past the pavilion, and down the path to the docks. If this were a normal departure, the paths would be lined with Shimotsuki villagers gathered to bid him farewell, but today it was empty, and Sanji felt like he were fleeing like a thief in the night.

               Terra hugged him inordinately tight, and Furiko shed a tear. Even Pinzoro placed a big, weathered hand on Sanji’s head, which made him nervous.

               Why had Judge summoned him? And why was Arashi letting him go?

               Desperately, he scanned the stark, shadowed faces at the docks. He spotted Kuina standing with Koushirou; she looked haunted and guilty. But he didn’t see Zoro.

               “Thank-you for taking care of me,” Sanji bowed weakly to his hosts. He said it every autumn. “I’ll see you all next summer.”

               He offered a hopeful smile, but no one smiled back.

               “Farewell, Prince Sanji,” was all Arashi said.

               It happened fast after that. The soldiers dragged Sanji onto the flagship and set sail, bound for North Blue. He knew in his heart that he would not be returning to Shimotsuki Village, and they hadn’t even let him say goodbye.

               “Zoro…” he whispered, touching a finger to his lips.

               Then the heartbroken omega hung his head and cried.

Zoro threw himself against the walls of the Rut-cabin, but to no avail.

               He wasn’t in Rut, so why had they locked him in here? The only place on the whole island that could hold a raging adult alpha.

               Sanji. Sanji—!

               His instincts pulled at him, screamed at him. Something wasn’t right. He had to find Sanji. He had to get out of here!

               He punched and kicked and clawed at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. If he’d had his swords he could cut his way out, but all three had been taken from him.

               Why?

               “WHY?” he yelled when the door finally opened. Arashi faced him, looking as hard and haggard as a column of stone. “Where is he?” Zoro demanded. He grabbed his sire’s kimono and shook him. “What have you done?”

               Arashi let himself be shook and snarled at, but he didn’t speak. Instead, to Zoro’s great shock and horror, his sire pulled him roughly into a hug, and whispered:

               “I’m sorry.”

Zoro: “For as long as I remember, we’ve been told we’d someday wed.”

Arashi: “Judge is a coward who’d have us surrender. The marriage alliance is finally dead.”

Zoro: “I’m not going to leave him.”

Terra: “You don’t get to choose.”

Zoro: “I’ll fight if I have to.”

Arashi: “Fight and you’ll lose.”

Terra: “Zoro, come back here! You don’t know the way!”

Arashi: “It’s hopeless to follow, he’s been taken away!”

Terra: “Zoro, be careful!”

Arashi: “Zoro, endure!”

Zoro: “I’ll hunt down the traitors and save him for sure!”

Chapter Text

Sanji shivered in the cell and watched a mouse skitter across the stone. He was cold and hungry and so very alone, and had been for nearly a year. Occasionally, Reiju took pity on him, but her visits were brief and she didn’t have anything positive to say. Still, it was better than the more frequent visits from Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji, who took pleasure in tormenting their only omega litter-mate, as if he were nothing but a toy for their twisted amusement. Of course, their abuse was nothing new; he’d been suffering it for years. The only difference, now, was that Sanji couldn’t run away.

               He rubbed his hands up-and-down his arms, trying to imagine the East Blue sun and hot, lazy afternoons in Shimotsuki Village, but it was getting harder and harder to remember. The cold of the stone and wicked North Blue sea had seeped into his bones, chilling him right to his core. He winced at the fingerprint bruises that braceletted his arms and legs and other, more tender places. He hadn’t been warm or whole or happy since last summer. Not since the last time he’d seen Zoro’s face.

               Sanji touched his lips for the ten-thousandth time, regretting and wanting and wishing he had kissed Zoro properly instead of pulling away. If he’d told Zoro the truth, then maybe the alpha would’ve fought for him, or at the very least come to say goodbye. But he hadn’t told the truth. He had failed at that, too.

               Failure.

               Failure.

               Omega-slut, you failed in the one thing you were supposed to do! Roronoa Arashi has rejected the alliance and it’s all your fault, because you couldn’t do the only thing omegas are good for!

               Sanji wouldn’t believe that Arashi only wanted him for breeding. The Roronoa had always treated him like pack, like their own omega-pup. Whatever the reason Arashi had broken the contract, it wasn’t because Sanji had failed to seduce Zoro. It couldn’t be. It must have been Judge who betrayed the Roronoa. The King of Germa was a scheming, conniving sort, who desperately wanted power, not friendship. Arashi’s swordsmen must have discovered the truth about the Germa soldiers when they had arrived as instructors last year, and Arashi had promptly cut ties. Sanji didn’t blame him for it. The Roronoa and Shimotsuki were honest, honourable clans, who wouldn’t engage in underhanded tactics. He only wished that they had kept him instead of letting him go.

               Maybe I really was just a pawn, he thought miserably. He pulled his knees to his chest, letting long, uneven locks of unwashed hair curtain his face. Maybe I never belonged with them, either.

               Maybe it’s time to stop hoping.

               It had been nearly a year, after all. If Zoro did want Sanji, he would’ve come for him long ago.

It had been nearly a year, but finally Zoro had found the North Blue.

               Arashi had been right all those years ago: the world really was a big place. And who knew how lost a person could get by taking one—two, three, four—wrong turns?

               But all of those long, lonely nights of waiting and wandering had been worth it, because the Germa Kingdom was finally within reach. He could see its spires shooting up like spikes past the horizon, its massive motors churning the sea into a frothy white foam.

               “Are you certain about this?” asked the captain. He had refused to take his own humble vessel any closer to the gnashing machine that was Germa, but agreed to loan Zoro a longboat and wait—at least a little while—for him to return. “Are you certain this omega is worth going in there?”

               Zoro didn’t answer. He had never been more certain of anything in his life.

               He simply said: “I’ll be right back.”

               “If you’re not back in an hour, we’re leaving,” the captain warned.

               “I’ll be back,” he repeated. “And I’ll have my omega-mate with me.”

Sanji jolted when a siren awoke him from a fitful sleep.

               He had only ever heard that wailing siren in practice, because it warned of an intruder, and no one had ever infiltrated the Germa Kingdom before. It was impossible. That’s what his sire and litter-mates said. Theirs was a high-walled, floating battalion armed with hundreds of canons and guarded by thousands of soldiers. It would be suicide to attack directly. The attacker would be shot before they could even get close. No one was that stupid, and yet—

               The siren echoed across the sea, proving everyone wrong.

               Sanji wished he could see, or hear what was happening outside, but his cell was located deep in the fortress’ belly.

               Are we under attack? he wondered. And then: Will anyone remember I’m down here if the fortress sinks?

               Would anyone even care?

               Eventually, the siren ceased and Sanji laid back down, disappointed that nothing had changed—

               CLANG.

               CLANG.

               Sha—ring! CLANG.

               Suddenly, the prison’s metal door crashed open, forced off its hinges and a big, armed alpha stepped inside.

               His tall, broad figure was freckled with blood and his shirt was slashed down the centre. He smelled of blood and sweat and salt and adrenaline, and a growl ripped past his bared canines and echoed in the empty darkness. Then a lantern was lit and the silver gleam of his eyes reflected the flash of his three gorgeous swords.

               Sanji would know those swords, those eyes, that scent anywhere, but he didn’t move, because he didn’t trust it was real.

               It’s happened… he thought, frightened of himself. I’ve finally gone mad...

               Zoro sniffed, sourcing Sanji by scent, then stalked to the omega’s cage. With a menacing growl, he sliced the bars to ribbons of coiling metal, then stood in the hole and extended his hand.

               “Sanji,” was all he said, but it broke the spell.

               Sanji sobbed in disbelief and with a clumsy, starving lurch flung himself across the cell into Zoro’s arms.

               “I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you wouldn’t come…”

               “Idiot,” Zoro soothed, scooping Sanji off his feet. He squeezed him and scented him, rubbing his cheek to the omega’s temple. “Why wouldn’t I come?”

               “I thought…” Sanji buried his face, “…you didn’t want me.”

               “I do want you.”

               “I thought you didn’t like me.”

               “I do like you. I think—No, I know,” he said with certainty, “I love you.”

               Sanji’s heart ballooned with joy. “You do—?”

               “Yes,” said Zoro. “I’m going to love you and protect you and marry you, just like I promised.”

               Sanji smiled at him. “You made that promise under duress.”

               “It’s still a promise, and I’m not a liar.”

               “Good.” Sanji lent in and kissed him, soft and sweet and lingering. This time he didn’t pull back and he didn’t let go.

               “I love you, too,” he said into the heat of the alpha’s lips. “And I’m not a liar, either. I’ll love and take care of you forever, Zoro. Now take me home and make me your mate.”

Two years later, the Germa Kingdom came to Shimotsuki Village seeking Sanji, and Sanji couldn’t decide if he should feel insulted or relieved that it had taken them so long.

               Arashi advised that Sanji wait inside, but Sanji refused. He wanted—needed—to be the one to tell Judge to leave the island and never come back.

               Judge didn’t take kindly to the omega’s order. He seethed in rage and spat at his pup, whom he called many cruel, derogatory names. Zoro growled and bared his teeth, but, this time, Sanji didn’t flinch. This time, he stood firm and held his head high, as strong and proud as every High Omega before him. For the first time in his life, he was not afraid of his sire. In fact, he pitied the alpha, who had no one to love him and loved none in return. He pitied his litter-mates, who didn’t know what love was. And he grieved for his dam, who’d been taken too soon.

               “You’re a traitor to your blood!” Judge spat in outrage.

               “But not to my family,” said Sanji, surrounded by the Roronoa and Shimotsuki. When he looked at Zoro, all of his fears and doubts disappeared, as if they’d never existed at all.

               If someone told him fifteen years ago that he would accidentally fall in love with Zoro, he’d have laughed—or maybe spit—in their face, but now he couldn’t imagine a life without his alpha-mate, because that was a life he’d never known. Zoro and Sanji had been each other’s constant since puphood; since the moment their parents pushed them together and made them promise to love and protect and cherish each other. He had thought it stupid and unbearably embarrassing back then, but he didn’t, now. Now, he looked at Zoro, and Zoro looked at him, and the unspoken promise between them said: It’s always been you, and it always will be.

               It wasn’t until Judge ordered his soldiers forward that Zoro stepped in front of Sanji. Arashi, Pinzoro, Kuina, Koushirou, and Ushimaru followed, and Terra and Furiko flanked him on either side. Every single one of them held a sword—or three—and every single one of them glared in warning.

               “I dare you,” said Zoro menacingly, “to challenge the greatest swordsmen in the world.”

               Judge hesitated, shaking in rage—or, was it fear?

               “I am the King of the Germa Kingdom!” he snapped, even as he backed away. “Vinsmoke Sanji is mine!”

               “There is no Vinsmoke Sanji here,” said Zoro proudly, with absolute certainty. He took Sanji’s ringed hand and squeezed it. “Only Roronoa Sanji. And he belongs with us.”

Sanji: “So happy to be here.”

Zoro: “Until now, I never knew.”

Both: “It’s you I’ve been dreaming of.”

Sanji: “This is my idea—”

Zoro: “This is my idea—”

Both: “Of love.”

THE END

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