Zoro sat on the deck of the Sunny, back leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. He watched you from his spot, as Sanji—that damned curly-browed cook—was chatting with you, practically foaming at the mouth as he spoke.
“How pathetic,” Zoro scoffed.
His eyebrows knitted together in disgust as he watched Sanji handed something to you—some bit of food, something that looked intricate and time-consuming and overly fussy; how typical of the cook, Zoro thought, to spend hours in the kitchen, working away at something so ornate that’s meant to be eaten in one bite anyway. Zoro felt an angry heat rising in his cheeks and a churning in his stomach as you grinned and giggled at the gift, placing a bite in your mouth and seemingly bestowing some sort of compliment on the pervert cook; he couldn’t hear the words from where he sat, but he knew Sanji must be unequivocally basking in your accolades, taking in every word like a drowning man gulps for air.
Zoro closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, trying to shut out the image of you smiling at that stupid cook. He didn’t concern himself with the run of the mill creeps in the towns you visited: the ones who stared at you lecherously from across the tavern, the ones who tried to buy you drinks or beg for a dance, not even the ones who dared to put their hands on you. With one look, one quick threat to pull a gleaming sword out of its hilt, they’d scatter like roaches, and you would lean in to kiss him on the cheek while you ran your fingers over his flexed bicep, whispering sweet words of appreciation and affection for being your hero always.
But this was different.
Sanji was no nameless stranger in a tavern or garden-variety deviant on the street. No, Sanji was a professional pervert, and knew all your favorite things down the smallest detail—he knew every single food and drink preference of yours, knew your dress size, your favorite color, what makeup you wore, even what flower and gems corresponded with your birth month. He lavished you in words of praise, spoke sweet nothings to you in French, and found a myriad of ways to compliment you that the average person would probably never dream of. Sanji practically carried romance in the palm of his hand, and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, Zoro had to wonder if one day it might just be enough to lure you away from him.
He tried not to give it much thought, but sometimes it still plagued him—what did you even see in him that made you love him so? What was it that made you confess that one night, as you were both warm from alcohol and food, pressed against each other in the back booth of some tavern while you watched the rest of the crew dance with the locals?
He remembered it so clearly, the way you started to fidget in your seat, nervously biting your lip, and finally reached over and placed your warm, trembling hand on his.
“Is this…okay?” you’d asked, staring up at him anxiously.
“Sure,” he’d said, “why wouldn’t it be?”
“I dunno,” you shrugged as your fingers interlaced with his. “Because.”
He took a sip of his drink and glanced down and found himself smiling at the sight of your warm, perspiring palm pressed against his, your thumb absentmindedly stroking the contours of his hand. You felt like home somehow, in a way he couldn’t quite parse; it felt like you were always meant to have your hand in his. He sighed and leaned his head against the wall, intending to watch the crew having their fun, but he found his gaze continuing to drift back to you, watching the expressions on your face shift and change as the moments passed, your eyes occasionally flitting up to meet his before you’d smile shyly and shift your attention back to the room.
“Hey Zoro?” you eventually asked in a voice almost too low to hear over the din of the tavern.
“Hm?”
“I, uh…I really like you.”
“I like you too.” He hesitated for a moment before he added, “You’re good to have around, you know. On the ship.” He cringed internally at his words, but he was trying not to seem too eager or too receptive—what if you meant it innocently? What if he misinterpreted your words and ruined whatever it was the two of you had shared until now?
“No, not just like that,” you exhaled, squeezing his hand. “I like you, like you.”
He turned to you, eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”
You stared at the table, making patterns in the wood grain with your fingertip. “I mean, like in the way where I wanna kiss you.”
He swallowed hard, the words starting to catch in his throat. “You wanna kiss me?”
“Well, yeah,” you smiled softly at him. “If you’d like that, too.”
“R-right now?” Zoro felt his face burn and his limbs tingle, felt his heart thrum in his chest in a way he wasn’t expecting.
“I meant in general,” you chuckled as you turned your body towards him, “but yeah sure, right now is good too.”
There’d been no more hesitation, no further need for clarification—Zoro quickly wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into him, pressing his needy mouth to yours, tasting the sweetness of your fruity drink that lingered on your lips. You were soft, softer than he ever dared to dream, and your plush body felt like heaven pressed into his powerful frame. If he were a less patient man, he would have told he loved you right then and there, but he thought better of it as you pulled away from him, a dreamy smile on your face; he got the impression he would have many, many more chances to tell you how he’d be yours for as long as you’d let him.
“Hey, handsome.”
The sweetness of your voice pulled Zoro from the depths of his ruminations, back into his spot on the deck, back to the reality of watching that damned cook fawn all over you. Before he could speak, you dropped into his lap, straddling his thighs.
“Whatcha been up to all by your lonesome?” you asked as you draped your arms over his muscled shoulders, your fingers lightly running over his neck.
“Nothing much,” he lied. As it were, he had been incredibly busy running through unreasonable scenarios in his head, all ending with you hand-in-hand with someone other than him.
“Is something wrong?” you probed, tilting your head to the side.
“No,” he mumbled, averting your gaze.
“Zoro,” you chided, glaring at him with an intensity he often found impossible to withstand. He could battle a hundred men, handle the pain of countless injuries, but he was always rendered powerless by your quizzical gaze and a certain lilt in your voice.
“Fine,” he groused. “You know I just hate the way he acts around you. Falling all over himself to take care of you, putting you on some sort of pedestal. It’s obnoxious.”
“It’s downright irritating, I can’t stand it when he gets like that,” you griped. “But Sanji knows you hate it, why do you think he does it in front of you?”
“Stupid cook, can’t keep it in his pants even when I’m sitting right here.”
You leaned forward and kissed Zoro’s heated cheek. “It’s not like you have anything to worry about.”
“I know,” he said, staring off to one side.
“Do you?”
Zoro let his gaze meet yours for a moment, and felt some of his fears start to melt away. There was never anything but adoration in your eyes when you looked at him, a feeling of warmth and of desire that he’d never tire of.
“I chose you, Zoro, because I wanted you, not anyone else,” you reassured him, running the pad of your thumb along his jaw as you spoke. “I chose you because I love the way you treat me like an equal. I love how you always laugh at all my stupid jokes. I love how you always protect me, and keep me safer than I’ve ever felt before. I love the way you touch me, and the way you hold me, and the way you f—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” he huffed, a bashful heat taking over the angry one in his cheeks. He wrapped his sinewy arms around your waist and pulled you into him, placing a rough, hasty kiss on your lips in an attempt to keep you from lavishing him with more words of affection (though he certainly didn’t mind them at all).
“You know why I let Sanji do it, though, right? Why I let him treat me the way he does?” you questioned.
“Why?” Zoro asked.
You reached back pulled a napkin out of your pants pocket, and carefully opened it; it was filled with bite-sized pastries.
“Because then I can share all the special treats he makes with you, and really annoy him.” You fed Zoro one of the small bits of cake, your fingertips lingering on his lips. “And I know there are very few things you love more than pissing off that cook. Except for maybe me.”
“You got that right,” Zoro smirked through his bite of dessert. As he chewed another of the carefully crafted bits of cake you delicately fed to him, he glanced over your shoulder to see Sanji standing on the other side of the deck, his teeth gritted, hands balled into fists, face reddened with rage.
“That wasn’t for you!” Sanji mouthed exaggeratedly, pointing sharply into the air.
Zoro grinned deviously and stared Sanji squarely in the eye, making sure Sanji’s gaze was fixed on the two of you. Zoro slid his large hands down from your waist, lingering on your hips for a moment, before letting them drift down the soft curves of your ass. He growled as he squeezed you roughly and pulled you down further into his lap, thrusting his hips up to meet the heat of your core.
“Zoro!” you whimpered as you placed your hands on his broad chest to steady yourself. “What’s got into you?”
“Oh nothing. I just realized you’re right,” Zoro smiled as he buried his face in your neck, looking up for just a moment to see Sanji storming back into the kitchen. “I don’t really have anything to worry about after all.”
Zoro feels his heart drop as he sees you stumbling out of Chopper's office, staggering and holding onto the doorframe, a melancholy expression on your face. He rushes to you and takes you in his steely arms. "Everything okay?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with worry.
You grip his massive chest and gaze up at him, your eyes glimmering with tears. "I'm fine," you utter wistfully, tossing your head to the side and shutting your eyes, "but the doctor said if I don't get kisses and snuggles immediately, I might not make it."
Zoro groans and looks past you to see Chopper, barely hidden in the doorway, shaking from antlers to tail with scarcely-contained laughter.
I just finished a workout that kicked my ass so I give you: a Zoro headcannon that makes me soft.
I feel like he’d be so proud of his partner when he sees them pushing themselves with training! He knows how strong he is (look at the damn size of his dumbbells), but he gets a rush of pride when he sees you lifting weights and getting stronger too. Ultimate hype man at the gym and the biggest freakin softie when you’re sore and need rest. 🥹
Ahh this is so sweet! 💚 Zoro would be the best workout partner. No matter your ability, strength, size, stamina—he’s cheering you on when you’re struggling with the smallest dumbbells the same as when you can leg-press your own body weight. And when you’re tired, he lets you lay on his back while he does push-ups 😌
Zoro with a midwestern football player body. Big, beefy, but all that tightly packed muscle protected under a soft layer of fat. His belly and arms soft to the touch but you can feel the dense core underneath, feel the muscles rippling under the surface as he throws you over his shoulder like it’s nothing.
