#hell yeaahhhh

Gods and deities are only a portion of the things Zoro considers fake and nonsensical. They are but an escape—an excuse people use whenever something goes either wrong or well.

Misfortunes? Blessings? Fate?

Why would one drag someone, or something, that only exists in people's mind? Something that only appeared because of whoever's idea one day after realizing, "Oh, maybe someone somewhere is bringing us all these things because we did a good thing?" or "I cannot believe these are all happening to me. Someone must be giving me a punishment for being a bad guy."

"I never once prayed to God." Zoro told his crewmate during the time they were up against a so-called god, who was never really a god to begin with.

With all his blasphemous remarks, the swordsman would most probably end up in hell if such figures really do exist. Would he care? No, not at all for he believes that people are responsible for things happening to them. He knows in himself that whether he wins or loses, it is because of his skills and power, not some figure up in the sky.

However, Zoro has a secret—something not known to anyone but one.

"You are mine. Your body, your soul... all of you belongs to me." The locks of the only being who deserves to be called god would dance in every shift of his head, the blond hues dyeing every strand of his hair dazzled before the gleaming illumination of mere candles. His voice is a temptation one would let themselves be allured into, and Zoro would not hesitate to be enticed.

If he will be thrown deep down in the hottest pits of hell after death, then he will gladly serve for the rite of worship befitting his god. The hands of the divine man are his guide, his blood is his wine, his lips are his bread, and his body is his temple. The only heaven he will be sent to was with him alone.

"Sanji..." The swordsman would call for the name of his one and only deity as he knelt before him, daring to let his sinful lips touch every inch of his god's porcelain skin to show his devotion—the veneration of the cook.

"Hold me in your arms, Zoro." Even with his flushed face, he looked perfect begging for his faithful swordsman. In every shift of the greenhead's force, the cook would ask for more. He needed more of Zoro's worshipping, and the latter would without a doubt provide him with what he asked. Like a dog following his master's order.

All the lies darted at each other in their every spat reveals its true intent during their sacred mass. The crow's nest serving as the shrine of their sacrosanct union—the church that takes them to the heaven they have always desired.

Even death would not kill Zoro's reverence for Sanji. He would even offer himself up for the cook: to protect and to serve him.

"Faster... more..."

If scars on the back are a swordsman's shame, the nails digging on the greenhead's back were honors he received from Sanji. With the flickering lights from the candles surrounding them, fire pooled low down their abdomen as they reached salvation—a salvation for offering themselves to each other and acknowledging the innocence of their sins.

Lips over lips, sweat over sweat, groans and moans, and a grotto for a pagan.

Zoro has a secret—something not known to anyone but Sanji. He is in fact a follower of god, the god he worships in the bedroom.

Perhaps fate was true after all.