synopsis: the day it finally happens, zoro is a anxious mess. though... it isn't long before things devolve into a mess of their own.
cw: nsfw (the most i've ever written acc), zoro is emotionally constipated, reader's a sweetheart, zoro is so adorable i physically cant, awkward zoro > confident zoro imo
a/n: if you've been wondering where i've been, here's your answer. sorry it's super late. i don't think i ever want to write prose ever again. this shit is a long asf (a little over 14k)
The day it finally happened, you were getting further and further away from the Sunny with Zoro following right behind you; the frenzied shouts and zealous laughter of the crew soon replaced by the calm of the summer breeze.
For the first time, the two of you remained silent as you strolled through the forest—though his silence was unsettling.
He sensed there was something different in the air, so he would be struggling with the uncertainty of what to do or say.
However, to you, it wasn't uncomfortable in the slightest.
You let yourself indulge in the moment, silent satisfaction that was soon disrupted by a thought.
A thought that left you pondering.
His hand—you glanced down at it, and so questions, curiosities began to cloud your mind.
How would that hand fit in yours?
Was it cold, or warm?
Would it be rough, or would it be soft?
Would his hand be able to envelop yours in full?
For the first time, you were struggling with reluctancy.
You couldn't stop paying glances at it, feeling the mighty urge to hold it.
Your teeth pressed against your lower lip, as you tried to convince yourself to do it once and for all.
Too much thinking was your worst enemy, it would shut you down rather than encourage you.
Longing heaving in your chest, you took your hand to intertwine with yours in front of your lap, trying to mimic what it would feel like.
When your gaze flickered to his own for the second time, your heart jumped as if in encouragement, as if telling you to do it with its frantic thumping against your ribcage.
Unable to ignore its wishes, you tried to tell your heart you would grant its wish as you inhaled deeply, trying to bring it some ease, but it still insisted—and would keep on insisting until you did as told.
Moreover, if you did not do it, you would go home wondering what could have happened and you knew there was nothing worse than to be left with a what if in your head.
So your hand began to seek his: first, falling to your side.
Then, checking whether he was looking—which he was not, luckily—and then, with a push of your heart, you took his hand.
Your fingers first brushed against his, allowing you to sense his faintly rough skin—product of years of relentless training, training that had shaped him into one of the strongest swordsmen the New World had ever seen.
Your palm ended up touching his, intertwining your fingers with his own.
Large, rough, warm—you internalized those features and engraved them not only in your mind, but in your heart as well.
You believed you would feel way more nervous than you did right now, but truth be told, a sudden, warm peace coated every inch of you.
Like his hand was made to fit yours.
Like they fit as two pieces of a puzzle.
"I like spending time with you," you confessed ever so softly after having taken his hand, tilting your gaze up in the slightest.
Zoro flinched at this, but never dared let go, even if his legs had come to a stop.
He was looking at you as if it was not obvious, as if the fact surprised him; overt as it was, though, someone opening up this way felt so foreign to him still, even more after such a long silence.
"I... do, too..." in bits and pieces came his mumbled response, the heat on his cheeks burning unbearably; it made you distract yourself from your racing heart, making you giggle because of nothing but the utter tenderness he caused in you.
God, Zoro was dying of thirst.
His mouth went drier and drier with every breathless word you would draw from his throat; bits of disjointed words and low mumbles.
It was evident, you could take everything you wanted from him, but the sun was shining brightly today, and the warmth you made arise in him was dehydrating him.
Every heartbeat took a bit more of reason out of him as he looked at you, body screaming to him to go for you, to make his move.
It was a torturing yearning, a yearning that transformed you into an oasis in the middle of the desert and he wanted no more than to reach you.
He wanted nothing more than to reach you and, fuck, did it burn when the water was so close and one was dying for just a sip.
Of your lips.
Of your body.
Of you.
The wind blew harder after that, but still never disrupting its gentleness overall.
The sound of the leaves swaying a bit more intensely danced into your ears, and so your gaze softened as you gazed up at him.
Zoro couldn't help but get lost in you, and unsure of what to do, or on how to proceed, his hand was the symptom of his anxiety beginning to rise, evident in the way that it squeezed yours.
Zoro's appearance is deceiving, you thought to yourself as you reached up on the tips of your toes to place the back of your hand against his cheek.
Your knuckle traced part of his scar, and you noted the skin is somehow softer compared to the rest.
"Your scar... I like it..." you admitted as your knuckle softly traced it, the smile in your lips spreading just the slightest.
It is not that he recoiled, but again this kind of affection was foreign to him.
You hesitated, nevertheless, and pulled your hand away from his face.
"I-I'm sorry, I—"
Seeking to apologize, you stumbled with your words, yet somehow Zoro found in him the strength to make you stay, holding your hand with his free one, guiding it back to him.
"It's... okay," he hummed softly, feeling his cheeks heat up once again, bashful, "I don't mind."
But he could not go further than that.
He didn't want to let you go, and he wanted everything—he wished he was not being a coward over it, over you, but gosh, you were just something else.
So, once again, it was up to you to make the move.
"Can I...?" your gaze seeked his own, and Zoro couldn't help but to inhale sharply.
The sun merged with the color of your irises and he found himself being enamored by the result—as if it had turned into his favorite color.
His lips parted, but no response came out—the words could only die in his throat, so again a nod escaped him.
His gaze was drawn to your lips for a moment, and by reflex he found himself licking his own.
You turned into a mirror of his own actions, your gaze flickered to his lips, then back at him.
Where to begin?
You suddenly lost your course, being distracted by the thrumming inside your chest and the blooming sensation in your stomach when your gaze fell on his.
Part of you wanted to take your time, part of you wanted to say to hell with it, but both parts converged in the desire of you to make this moment perfect.
But his hands outran you, as they cradled the sides of your head with each palm ever so carefully, as if he was afraid he would break you, as if afraid that you would run away—funny how you feared the same just a few moments ago, right?
So your hands seeked his shoulders—broad, muscular, stiff.
Light squeeze, and you used him as your leverage to lean up and in.
His heart also drummed in his chest, his gaze could only focus on your lips, your glossy lips.
Questions came to his mind but all of them were left unanswered, as his attention was drawn by the loud throb of his heartbeat against his ears, as if telling him to concentrate on this moment.
Your name slipped off his lips and he seemed to not be aware of it, as his gaze was ever so lost in yours while he inched closer to you.
Little by little, your breaths first intertwined, and as you looked up at him, and he looked down at you, your eyes would merge together, as if pretending to play cyclops.
But in the end, you knew a kiss was not a kiss if the eyes were open, so as your eyelids fluttered close, there was only room for the eyes of the heart to open, and that is when you truly saw him, and he truly saw you—right in the moment where your lips finally met each other, when all the distance between you and him had been cut.
You remember feeling Zoro inhaling sharp as soon as it happened, only to feel his gentle, warm exhale against you whenever he tilted his head to the side, not able to hold back anymore.
Zoro was careful, more careful than ever—yet in that bewareness you sensed there was fear, or reluctance.
When you cut the kiss right there, and looked up at him, his eyes took a moment to open; and when they did, his hands were ready to fall and return to himself.
"Fuck— I-I'm sorr—"
Yet before he could even manage to apologize, you just placed a finger to his now humid lips, a shush barely slipping from your lips.
"It wasn't," you retorted, smiling to him ever so sweetly, "I just..."
You leaned in once again, almost touching the index you had placed on his lips.
"I just don't want you to hold back..." you breathed, "... Please..."
Your finger fell gradually, and so eventually there was nothing that stood in between you and him.
"Kiss me again." Came your request.
And so then what once had been hesitation, now had turned into something else.
You pecked him again, and his once curling fists relaxed, little by little seeking to wrap you around his strong arms and bring you close to him—you aided him every single time.
Where his hands would place themselves, you made sure to let him know that you were alright with it, and with your own, you pressed his large ones against the small of your back.
Only then did you return to his shoulders, but slowly your hands escalated more; soon enough, your fingers were entangled with his scruffy, green locks.
You brought him even closer to you, tilting your head to the side to part your lips a fraction just to let your tongue go and ask his lower lip for permission.
You sensed that from Zoro a shaky gasp fled, and also just how his muscles clenched the slightest, which made you smile against his mouth.
When he parted his lips, your tongue slipped past and began to glide against his own, as if inviting him to do the same.
The last barriers were beginning to crumble down and it took you by surprise (yet what a sweet surprise this was) when he pressed you even further against him, and one of his hands roamed up to bring you closer from the back of your head.
He mimicked your prior movements, tilting his head to let his tongue enter.
Such was your surprise, that you could not prevent yourself from letting a pleased mewl against him, and that mewl was just the vocalized effect of what he was doing to you, of the effect that he was taking on your body.
The limit between summer heat and the heat of your bodies was blurred, to the point that you were no longer sure whether it was you, or if it indeed was hot.
And hence the need to take his hands and lead them up to the collar of your gear.
The lack of oxygen forced you apart from him eventually, as you stepped back in the slightest to let him watch as he undressed you.
And the sole idea to have you gaze ever so intensely at him while he did was enough to make the breath hitch in his throat.
Zoro's hands were nervous, but never rushing.
They were mindful, even a whisper of anxiety made them tremble as, button by button, he undid your shirt, until it was wide open and your cleavage was visible to him.
From his lips, parted while his gaze was hopelessly fixed on you, came a shaky sigh, while he slid the piece of clothing down your shoulders.
When his hands stopped the moment your shirt touched the floor, it was your turn to make your way to his red sash, a whisper of a tug at the fabric of his clothes.
At this, his gaze was inevitably drawn downwards, and his response was to place his hands on yours, aiding you in stripping him out of the outer piece of clothing, until he was left in his robe before you.
"I want to see you."
You were always clear and overt with your wishes, and Zoro could just not say no to you—not when straightforwardness dripped like honey into your tone and blended into such a needy implore.
And so he complied.
At first, he was so lost in you that he did not realize just how sexy of him it was to look up at you while he took off his clothes; realization unfortunately hitting him, his gaze was peeled from you all of the sudden as embarrassedly he looked down at his robe.
This inevitably brought a smile to your lips, biting your lower one in the slightest as you felt a wave of butterflies blooming in your stomach.
He finally reached the last fasten, and his stomach began to peek from underneath, and you could not just deprive his muscles of your attention—the muscles of his abdomen contracted with every breath he took.
Scars of different sizes and colors littered his body completely, and there was just a strong urge for you to trace one with your finger.
The sun kissed each and every single one; the pad of your digit placed itself ever so delicately on one of the most recent scars he had gotten.
This one was on his chest—near his ribcage, specifically—almost at the same level as his heart.
Red-ish with the warmth that irradiated from him, you remained oblivious to the fact that the most recent scars were the most sensitive, and you did not notice until he flinched underneath your touch.
"Sorry..."
"It's okay..." he breathed his answer, almost in a hum.
"Did you...Did you get this one recently?" you asked, your finger resting now near the mark.
"That? Yeah..." he admitted, looking down at the mark, "Got sloppy... caught me off guard.."
It was not easy to take the Pirate Hunter off guard, whatsoever.
A jeering sense of shame took over him, he was supposed to be on guard.
He was not supposed to be thinking of his crush as if he was a lovesick fool that did not know better.
Jeering because it was something that he was supposed to prevent.
Jeering because he could just feel the stupidity mocking him in his head, at the unreal, hypothetical scenario where he told you exactly how and why it happened.
So instead he opted for silence.
"Did it hurt you?" your question touched him just as softly as your fingers had just done.
Zoro did not expect it, he did not expect your preoccupation to slip in such a way that caused his heart to stir in his chest.
Of course it did, but how could that matter now?
Murmuring smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and so he wrapped his hand around your wrist, his gaze meeting your own as he brought your hand back against his scar.
"It didn't," he said.
"Then I'm glad," you hummed, dulcet warmth colored your gleaming irises, as did to the ginger smile that, little by little, sneaked into plain view.
"Just be more careful next time, okay?"
And so your fingers traced his scar, from his axis outwards; your gaze laid upon his once again, only to flicker downwards to the fresh mark, only then your eyelids fluttered close in the slightest.
His cheeks could only burn the moment that your lips inched closer, pressing themselves against the sensitive scar tissue.
This caused his skin to curl into tiny, numerous goosebumps, his chest rising as a shiver roamed down his spine.
And, as if it was not enough to make his heart pick up its pace at almost an inhuman speed, you finished him off with your next words.
If Zoro thought he could not fall more in love with you, once again you proved him wrong.
"I couldn't bear you getting hurt."
Just how many ways of saying those three words were there?
How many ways to surrender yourself to the one who you had given your heart long ago were there?
Love is just not a verb, but the way you look at the other person.
What you say, what you do not say.
Love transcends language, love transcends literacy—Sometimes it is all showing and not telling.
Sometimes it was all about hiding little pieces of one's heart behind other words, behind actions, and hope that it works.
His heart fluttered, but no movement came from him.
It was as if he had found gold mines in your lines, realizing just how much you could mean by saying so little.
It was like a covert confession, yet somehow you had managed to make it ever so overt to him.
Whenever your eyelids fluttered open and you backed away from the scar, there was a silent request that came out of your eyes, and Zoro was not oblivious to it.
His breathing became uneven, his senses flooded with desire and growing lust that bubbled up to the tips of his fingers.
You nodded at him and took his hands in yours, silently telling him it was okay.
"Touch me, Zo..." you exhaled your plea, guiding his hand to your exposed chest, making his large fingers wrap themselves around your breasts, squeezing them in the slightest.
And it felt good—you arched your back a fraction against his hand, breathing in through your nose, as if encouraging him to go further.
The thought of anyone coming near you or seeing you resonated in the back of your head, but if you were honest, you could not care, thus you ended up ignoring it.
The magic, the perfection of this moment was just too much for you, getting you lost in it; it made it impossible to focus on anything else—and he was narrowly touching you.
Your expression, contorted, caused Zoro's cock to stir awake in his pants at the sight of your bitten lip and your shut eyes, and the sound of your soft breath escaping your lips.
There was resistance in these restraints, and there was nothing he wished more than to free himself at this moment.
Furthermore, there was a question living in his mind, wondering how it would feel if your hand—soft as velvet—wrapped itself around him, stroking it the way he would on several, numerous lonesome nights.
Nights where he yearned for your company, where his desire shot itself out of him ever so violently, with the same intensity as his love for you.
He had not noticed the way his thumb brushed continuously against your now hardened nipple at the thought of it, your once soft exhales turning into needy whimpers.
When he shifted his gaze up to your eyes, he could see the keenness growing in you—it was as if he was looking into a mirror.
Impatience, ergo the rebellion of hands that wander in search of exploring what was unknown, yet deeply yearned.
Your body pressed itself closer to his, and you could feel him.
The thought of his hardening cock pressing against your lower abdomen was enough to send a wet, warm wave of arousal out of you and onto your panties; there was an urge to satisfy with friction of your thighs a building pressure that had your clit throbbing and engorging with every beat.
In the same way, there was an urge to satisfy with friction the ache of a stiffness, stiffness that had his cock twitching irregularly but persistently against his pants.
Shit—he could not stop to reflect upon his actions when he lifted you up.
He could not stop to reflect upon his actions when you had wrapped your legs around his waist and he made your back rest against the nearest tree.
He could not stop to reflect upon his actions when his lips latched onto your neck, as if your scent had drawn him like a bee to pollen—your most sensitive spot, he found it upon the first lick.
With a deep breath, you placed your hand at the back of his head, bringing him closer.
His name escaped your lips once again in a breathless manner, your hips arched and your clothed sex met his in a slow grind that made his lips detach from your skin briefly only to let out a shuddery, soft moan.
He could feel the warmth of your clothed arousal graze and seep through his pants and onto his cock.
He could feel you taking the hand that rested on your breast, and guided it where you needed him the most, shaping his hand so he could touch you, stretch you—make you snap.
"O-Oh, god—!" came your whimper when his calloused index entered you.
He could not believe it: From head to toe, he was as red as a beetroot; His breath had hitched in his throat and it felt as though his heart had stopped for a second.
Your insides, so warm, so soft; but also so tight, so narrow.
God, just how far up into you could he reach with just a finger?
Slowly, he slid it out of you, his glance flickering down from your lust coated expression to his finger, and he could not help but to bite his lip at the sight of how his digit glistened with your slick.
He could not help but to feel himself twitch, having to comply with the need to swallow hard.
So he slipped it back in, hearing how your wetness clicked as he pushed his digit in; hearing how that pattern of irregular humid sounds eventually turned rapid—sloppier, but rapid at last.
Until it was not enough.
Until you wanted more.
Until your walls began to pulsate with the crave for more friction.
Until you whimpered out your plea to him, and another pang of electricity dissipated through his body—he could not deny your request.
And so he added his middle finger; difficult to make it fit, when he could, you were so thankful.
And again, once again, you rewarded him with those eager, honey-like moans that drove him mad.
"Feels so good... K-Keep going, p-please!"
And again, you were feeling the bundle of nerves at the top of your cunt twitch with ecstasy, ecstasy that translated into the swordsman's fingers gliding faster against your walls, curling whenever, by accident, he learned that there was a spot that you found yourself buckling your hips at, moaning louder for him.
Learning fast, he only needed to hear you once—hear you once, learn forever.
For you, all for you.
"Okay..." he inhaled, "Yeah..." — Exhale.
Zoro was in trance, a lovesick expression on his features and he gazed at you with the utmost enamour, as if watching you was addiction, an addiction ever so curing for this sickness that was being so in love with you, fed just by the crumbs of heaven you gave him and, god, he was in a limbo.
Limbo between reality and dream, where you looked so surreal, where everything was surreal—but you were there.
He was there.
You were there together and together you were making out of this the sweetest dream in life.
Zoro was caught in a trance that, with a quiver, was shaken up; your walls made their best to hold onto him, to grab onto his fingers and not let go.
The cacophony of your pleasured sounds colored the air and danced like music to his ears, until it became a warning—but you did not want to yet.
"I don't wanna— n-not yet..." you breathed, holding onto his wrist.
Your message was hard to decipher, and for a moment he would have begun to freak out—if it was not for what you did afterwards.
He could only give in to your intentions, and so you removed his fingers from you, a wet sound following whenever his fingers finally parted.
Your chest heaved with the slowly diminishing build up for your climax; your eyes, clouded with lust, and your seary cheeks.
Puffs of breath were coming erratically out from your lips mixed with his own, reverberating louder than they really were in your ears.
You began to take his hand upwards and towards you; His gaze followed each of your movements inebriated with lust but also expectantly, his breath getting ragged and more ragged as his fingers approached your lips, as if he could anticipate himself.
The hot air from the sigh you let out grazed his wet fingers and, by reflex, he inhaled sharply.
Your gaze flickered from his hand upwards to meet his own; that was the moment in which he noticed the tips of his fingers entering your mouth, only then gaining awareness of the warmth of it.
The look of you on him caused his jaw to finally drop, a shaky breath followed, plus the—inevitable at this point—twitch of his painfully hard dick, now almost completely hard, which could not be helped—even less when your tongue swirled over his large, rough phalanges, licking yourself off him.
Unintentionally nasty—Zoro could barely breathe at the sight of your gaze, laid upon him with such tenderness, pupils dilated with such ecstasy and compliance while the licks of your tongue made his mind go everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
To see you this way before him was just breathtaking.
To see you this way before him made him want to snap, to lose himself at last, to make you his.
What he wouldn't give to have you this way every day?
Lust blown, suddenly there arose a need taking over him, deeming impossible to ignore—his free hand roamed up from your hip, his fingers twitching with fervor until his large palm finally came to rest atop yours.
His sight pleaded, as if he would only proceed had you granted him permission.
No need for words, whatsoever, you said yes to him; so his hand tugged gently at your own that beheld his other one, his half-hooded gaze never averting from yours as it reached his lips.
Immediately, you could perceive just how wide his eyes went, black holes in the center of his irises widening to the point that a thin barrier of gray separated them from the sclera.
A groan vibrated on his fingers, and the relish made him want, crave for more.
His tongue swirled around his fingers, making sure to capture every single hint of you on his tongue.
All this time, you could just watch, feeling how your cunt would throb at such a tantalizing scene.
If you were wet, now you got entirely soaked.
Your walls missed him—oh, how much they missed those substantial fingers pulling into you; how badly you wanted them to be within you again.
As if you were almost regretting making him stop before you could reach your climax.
When there was no more of you to taste, he popped his fingers out of his mouth just to abduct his middle and index, licking the remainings completely, as if he was not willing to let a single drop of your nectar go to waste.
"Never had something like this before..." he slurred in all the sultriness, the trance causing his voice to downgrade in a few semitones.
Even after swallowing, the taste of you echoed in his palate, in his tongue, in his mouth overall.
He needed more.
"G-gen— yes, yes... please," you breathed out, and so he cupped your cheeks; for the first time ever, Zoro was the first one to lean in and claim your lips instead.
His kiss would have meant to be gentler, but when greed intoxicated his body and his gaze crashed against yours, his lips could only land on your own with just as much force.
He held you in place, parted your lips with just a lick against your lower one; he let you taste yourself on his tongue, now brushing against yours thoroughly, as if there was no place he wanted to leave unexplored.
A wet smack came after whenever he parted at last to gather his breath (and let you catch yours, too.)
"Fuck... I'm going crazy..."
He was not aware that he was thinking out loud when his words came off in a puff of hot breath fanning against your lips.
Breath ragged, heart racing—his body was stuck against yours, the bulge in his pants unignorable at this point as it pressed hard against your sex.
Your head lolled from side to side, at this point bedazzled and dazed by his actions, by his heat—by everything in him, in short.
Only his name could dance off your lips in breathless mewls, because that was just how you were at that moment.
And his name dancing off your lips in breathless mewls just added to the fire—his fire.
When he could put a brief end to his train of thoughts, he turned to your now plump lips and, drawn like a magnet, he pecked them; once, twice, until he parted with a last deep kiss.
Decided that he wanted to taste more of you, more than where it came from, he began to kiss his way down: first, from your lips, down to your neck, down to your chest, kneeling until he was facing your breasts; until his hands could not help themselves as he cupped them, your perk buds spilling from in between his thumbs and indexes as he massaged them before, with a last brush of his thumbs over your nipples, he parted to travel even more southwards.
Now you could feel the roughness of his hands slide down your sides until they stopped at your waist, while his lips were sloppily kissing your abdomen.
Every time, his hands would squeeze, as if kneading your skin; unbeknownst to him, intemperance leaked through his hands, the thrill of coming nearer and nearer made the feeling just barely containable.
It felt like, in a matter of just a breath, he was now planting the last kiss on your mons.
Kneeling before you, now his hands slid downwards to your hips, thumbs resting on the place where your iliac crests lay.
Up to this point, impulse had taken the lead but, for some reason, at this moment, he could not avoid just tilting up to meet your gaze, seeking permission in your eyes.
As if he did not claim he was going crazy just a moment ago.
Maybe because, even in this state, it was important to him to still make sure that you wanted this, that you wanted him.
Your response—reaching for him just to thread your fingers into his hair.
Enough for him to continue.
Impulse and passion were taking the lead and Zoro was no longer holding back.
Salivating at the mere sight of moist nether lips, he found himself swallowing hard as he gazed ever so entranced, ever so hypnotized.
Lips parted, he inched close and, governed by anything except for rationale, his face buried itself into your cunt.
The contact of his tongue, the feeling of the muscle parting your lips, and the tip dragging itself in between, licking a strap vertically, were enough to make you scream—someone would have surely noticed had you not clamped a hand over your mouth.
Your essence had become even more intense, compared to what he had licked off his fingers right before.
If it was comparable to honey, yours tasted just as sweet and twice as addicting.
And just as sweet and addictive as you were, you managed to draw a groan straight out of him, which rumbled against your lips.
More licks followed after, his tongue tracing your labia upwards, downwards, then sucking on them as wanting to suck your wetness out of them.
Zoro was dying of thirst, and you were like his only source of water, as if he was tasting it for the first time in forever and he did not just want to stop drinking.
"Shit, you taste so good..."
And you observed.
And your breath was already unsteady, feeling the tingling sensation roaming all over your sex as he kept on tracing his tongue on you.
You felt a pressure, tons of pleasure without measure and you could barely get a hold of yourself.
Likewise, he could not get a hold of himself either—his palms squeezed your cheeks underneath your skirt, bringing you impossibly close against his mouth.
Yet, as great as it felt, his tongue was always circling near the place where you wanted him the most, you had yet to feel him where you craved him the most.
Nearer and nearer, his tongue barely grazed your engorged, throbbing bundle of nerves.
You were quivering with the need, pulsating with the unbearable crave of wanting him to send you over the edge.
Your grip on his locks tightened the slightest; he could not ignore your call when your voice was filled with need and frustration.
There could not be more of a beautifully salacious view than the one of you, with your bare chest rising and falling with heavy huffs, glossy half hooded eyes and parted lips.
"Somethin' wrong?" he asked, his voice raspy, "Is... it not good?"
"N-no, it is! I just...I j-just... want..." you stammered, trying to reassure him, yet you also found yourself struggling to find the right words to tell him how you wanted him.
"Tell me..." he swallowed the saliva that had quickly pooled in his mouth, "...Tell me what you want."
Zoro would do it, anything you wanted.
No matter what.
There was a strong will of his to give himself completely to you, to make you feel what no one else could.
He wanted to make you feel the way you deserved and, whatever was on his hand (and even what was not, still) he would do it.
"I want you..." you reassured, both of your hands traveling to his parietals to cup them gently, and he let you coax him closer to your palpitating nub, "...H-here. I need... need you right here."
His gaze flickered from you down to your clit and, upon the last here, the gap between his lips and your bundle of nerves finally closed.
His lips wrapped around it instantly, and you could feel his tongue licking a vertical stripe, causing it to be flicked.
Your body began to tremble with the euphoria: Zoro could feel your thighs trembling with pleasure, and the mere sound of your delighted cries, plus the inability for you to hold them back any longer was enough to have him trembling as well, in due course.
"Oh my god, right there, please!"
His tongue began to grind against your sensitizing clit, and his lips began to suck more on it.
You cried, you moaned, you held tightly onto him, inevitably making him start to let out grunts and groans that vibrated against your tingling folds, tingling folds that puffed up with the buildup of an overwhelming climax.
"More... o-oh, more..." you supplicated, moving your hips as you held onto the back of his head, hoping to get in some way more pleasure, even more despite being experiencing a surreal amount at that very same moment.
Again, how could he ever ignore your wishes?
You could not help but to yelp at the brief unsteadiness caused by him bringing your hips forward by pushing your cheeks, nevertheless feeling the very same pang in your abdomen in anticipation, your breath quickening even more (as if it had not already turned ragged enough).
Neither could you anticipate the hand once stimulating you leaving a trail of fire on your skin as it slid from your thigh downwards, until it reached your leg; getting hold of your calf, he lifted your leg and let it rest over his shoulder so that now your sex was exposed to him: your lips, widely spread apart, glistened with a mix of your slick and his drool, and with just a flicker of his gaze, he could get a view of your drooling entrance.
This new angle made his cock strain even more against the fabric of his pants, but the friction, the tightness proved to be somehow fueling the feeling.
He kept on swallowing, but no matter how many times he did, the saliva would gather in his mouth over and over again, like a starved demon in a mighty lust for blood.
He did not think twice, at this point he was but driven madly by his passion.
Passion that led his tongue to caress the dripping of your hole, dripping that led the taste to explode on his overly sensitive taste buds, explosion that led a loud grunt to escape his lips.
Zeal grew out of his uncontrolled pleasure, and guided his tongue into your entrance, eagerly gliding against your walls to get more of your sweet nectar.
A cry, plus the way that your hands pressed his head deeper against you, made him take a large, calloused thumb onto your bundle of nerves, remembering as best as he could to mimic the movement of his tongue.
His thumb rubbed you up and down, side to side, then traced circles on the most sensitive of its spots.
He remembered and longed for the feeling of your walls.
He remembered how your face contorted into the most beautiful love faces as he used his fingers in you.
So one of his hands, once resting on your cheek, circled around and slipped in between him and your body.
Using the tips, he caressed your moistness until he found himself poking at your tightening entrance.
Fuck—the feeling of your warmth once again against his fingers, oversaturated with wetness that trickled down his phalanges, and onto the floor beneath whenever he would pump them out; squelching whenever he led them back once again into you.
"S-So good, too much—!" you could not help yourself, lost in the haze, your hips began to grind over and over against his face, the building pressure became just almost too much to bear, getting so unbearably close to your highest peak of ecstasy, ever so dangerously near that it felt torturing.
Sweet, addicting torture—Not only was it taking a toll on you, but it was taking it on him as well.
Hunger, the ache of a lust that needed to be fed on; Zoro could not have asked for anything more yet, in due course, he felt the thirst begin to take hold of his throat, of his lower abdomen as it stiffened up in irregular contractions; anxiety came in waves at the thought, at the crave, at the anticipation.
He was yearning to taste more of you.
To have your sweetness coat his tongue like honey.
He was barely hanging on: Zoro's grunts and groans resonated even louder, the smacking of his lips and wet sounds of his tongue lapping against your cunt, while he sucked your juices, were uncontrolled, not even remotely blending with the sound of the summer breeze making the branches and their leaves dance, as so poorly did your uncontrolled moaning.
However could you restrain yourselves, though?
His hips were jerking, thrusting against the very same nothing; the way the fabric of his pants with the friction was sending just the right pangs of pleasure through his hard, overly sensitizing shaft, was enough to give out just how feral he was going, and all because of your pussy—all because of you.
Your juices were like the sweet taste of wisteria liquor, inebriating, alluring, addictive.
That addiction could only grow whenever he perceived there was a subtle change in your taste—something that Zoro's tongue alone could sense.
"Z-Zo... Zoro—!"
You were close, you could feel yourself close to your high.
Hyperventilation overtook, caused by your unsteady breathing put you into a deeper haze, a haze that deepened with the tears that were clouding your vision (some of them escaped your lash line, running down your cheeks and you were just so helpless against them.
Well, you could not even think about stopping them, whatsoever.
It had not been long since his fingers were inside you, stimulating you ever so heavenly; your walls, however, were clenching dramatically faster, tightening more and more, fluttering against his tongue which, at this point, struggled to enter you.
He was close, too — the stirring of his cock against his pants had turned into pulsations, the most intense making him hiss at the sensitivity, whenever his tip would brush against the fabric at this.
He felt he was closer and closer to reaching his climax, and the alluring feeling of you being in the same situation, the alluring feeling of finally getting to taste the sweetest of you, was keeping him going.
You could not believe it, your thighs would not stop shaking around him when he lapped at your cunt ever so greedily.
Your moans were just enhancers to his own.
He groaned with a tint of exasperation—he needed to taste you entirely.
The frustration became action; Zoro's large hands were sweaty against your hips when they roamed up to get a hold of them, and he pulled away from your sex, just enough for the air to brush against your folds.
"C'mere..." came his breathless growl, said more to himself than to you.
As if in great timing, your legs happened to give out on you, but Zoro, strong as he was, managed to keep you steady and prevent you from falling.
The grass rustled beneath him as he lay down on his back, bringing you with him.
When you turned down, you could not help but to feel your clit twitch, another wave of fluttering running through your gut washed over you, and all at the sight of his face framed in between your thighs.
His breath this time felt cool against your folds, but as he began to guide your hips towards his lips, the warmth increased the closer and closer he got, approaching your lips.
You remembered feeling one last sigh, Zoro's gaze taking a different gleam as his orbs flickered to your alluring, moist sex once more.
He engulfed it all, and even if you could not see it, you could definitely feel it; his lips enclosing your nether ones, dragging against the sensitive flesh, his tongue running across the common area between your lips, starting downwards, finishing up at the apex of your clit.
And as you watched, your jaw could only fall agape, leaving a free way for all the air in your system to escape your lips through a breathless, high-pitched moan.
However, you felt like you were going to lose it when he began flicking his tongue against your clit—deep strokes, not too fast.
You could not move, your brain felt as if it had shut off, the coil in your abdomen exerting a great deal more pressure than before.
You could not take notice of how harshly his large hands clenched around your hip bones, the edges of his fingernails digging into the plush of your skin, imprinting crescent moons on them—so harshly was he pressing, because he was helpless.
Helpless because he could not hold back.
Helpless because you were so moreish that he could not keep it to himself.
Helpless because he was bound to explode, the seed threatening to shoot out from him as if you could draw it out yourself.
Helpless because the taste of you was a sensation that made him feel like he was experiencing something beyond this world; not even the meditation training he regimented could ever put him in the trance you put him in, so hypnotized, so enthralling.
Unintentionally unforgiving in his pace, his hands rocked you at a fast pace.
And you, unable to handle it, were trembling all over.
Your clit buzzed with increasingly erratic throbs, nurtured by every lick of his tongue, and it was too much for you.
Unconsciously, you tried to bring your thighs together, trying to get a hold of yourself, but all it resulted in was tightening around Zoro's head.
He's so good, he's so good to you—the thought sneaked into reality and it fell on his ears, and so this caused a maddening grunt to resonate against your folds once more.
He could not breathe properly: his cheeks reddened with the warmth and the shortening of oxygen, a thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead as well, with one or two droplets that rolled to the back of his head, disappearing in the tousled green locks of his hair.
Should anyone wonder whether that would stop him, Zoro's hands just dropped to your thighs until they came at the lateral sides of each one.
The way his fingers gripped and nails clawed at the plushy skin could have made anyone conclude he would try to free himself; alternatively, all he did was force your thighs closer, tightening their hold around his face.
Close, beyond close, borderline climax— ou were just about to get there.
The last steps were usually the most painful, the worst; they had you striving to reach the peak, a peak that seemed so hard to reach whenever one was so close.
His breath began to shake.
His arms began to shake.
His grip on you began to shake.
And in that wavering, caused by that rush of overwhelming euphoria running in his veins, he finally lost himself: Trembling uncontrollably, your legs felt as if about to give out on you.
Reaching maximum ecstasy, your climax announced itself as Zoro heard a high-pitched, breathless, moaned version of his name tearing from your throat.
Yet it was not until the sweetest elixir coated his tongue—nothing like your slick, this was different.
If your wetness did make his taste buds explode upon first contact, your release on his tongue made his vision field go white (maybe the responsibility would fall on his eyes rolling to the back of his head by reflex, yet that did not change the fact that he could not think straight.)
His orgasm hit him and caused his hips to stutter, and now the place where his cock was pulsating and twitching violently suddenly became warm, hot—but also wet.
His release had made a mess of his pants, but instead of pulling away, Zoro pressed himself even more against your cunt, lapping even more eagerly at your release, continuing to guide your hips as if to ride out your orgasm, as if he could ride out his own as well.
He licked you clean, until the very last drop of you he had consumed and disappeared after he swallowed.
Still, his tongue relished of you—and as long as it relished of you, he would want more of you.
A tap to your thighs, and you apologized to him between puffs of breath, to which he reassured it was no big deal.
Having spread your legs, Zoro could catch on his breath at last, as you had backed out until you were lying right beside him.
"That was... that was amazing."
There were a million things he would have told you, if it was not for the fact that he was breathless, breath taken by you and what you caused in him.
The afterglow brought a calming haze, a haze that, nevertheless, had a bittersweet taste.
Upon the breeze blowing, Zoro noticed the quenching humid spot in his boxers.
An apology—all he could muster in the afterglow, heat pooling in dusting red all over his cheeks.
Your sweet smile is what he next saw when he finally remembered to blink, having lost himself in the view above, yet never fixated upon anything in particular.
Reaching with your delicate hand—or so he described it, compared to his own—you brushed his green strands of hair away from a forehead that gleamed, coated by a thin layer of sweat.
"For what?" you asked, in all obliviousness.
But Zoro could not just answer your question; the heat could creep up to his cheeks, his gaze could only avert from yours.
Embarrassment—to cum only from eating you out, instead of having pleasured you like you deserved.
You could pick it up, however, or at least, and again Zoro was overt enough to show it.
When you tilted your gaze down, you could see the mild rising in his pants, and as if you were connecting the dots, it dawned on you.
"You... oh."
"Sorry," he could barely mutter, his breath shaky with frustration, but he could not deny it, and the lack of it necessarily meant implicit affirmation.
Judgment—he was afraid of it when it came to you.
All that had just happened, only to crumble away and at his own fault.
Painly enamoured, he was, and there was no one in his eyes that could take your place.
And as enamoured as he was, it pained him to ponder the possibility that even the slightest slip of his fingers—something as dumb as this—could mean the end.
Sometimes love made one act like a fool, think like a fool, feel like a fool—and he was this, nothing but a fool for your love.
A hopeless fool.
Your lips pressed together as you watched him, equally as flustered the heat crept up to your cheeks, but completely the opposite was going through your mind at that very same moment.
Your sudden giggle erupting from your chest took him by surprise; although he was unsure about what your reaction would be, this one was certainly the least he expected.
It made his lower lip curl into a pout, another glimpse of the helplessness in him.
However, to you, it was a sweet view to behold; Zoro was the sweetest, funnily sweetest man that you had ever met.
"Why are you apologizing?" your smile widened, and so you leaned down.
"It's just... I... Damn..."
Your hand on his cheek, you tilted him so as to plant on his lips a sweet peck.
He was spiraling, to say the least.
He could not help but to hold his breath when you kissed him, completely lovestruck by you.
He struggled with words, as if they were stuck in his tongue.
His lips pressed against each other and rolled together by reflex, as if unconsciously tasting you again.
Yet still, that could not help him feel any less embarrassed.
Of course, you knew that.
"Zo..." You cooed at him ever so sweetly, "You worry too much, honey..."
His gaze widened a fraction at the nickname, and his heart began to hopelessly pick up its pace.
But what time did you give him to process such an influx of tenderness?
Nothing.
Your lips were already on his own, by the time that he blinked.
Yet this time, he held onto you.
He closed his eyes, eventually, flowing with the moment.
His tongue began to slowly reciprocate the glide of your own, eventually, melting into your fondness.
His arms found your torso, eventually, and he pulled you close to him.
His head tilted, eventually, deepening the kiss, telling you what words could not, since clearly they would not be on his side.
But you broke apart too soon, he was enjoying it, he was melting into you, you pacified his uneasiness.
But you had better plans.
You were going to help him loosen up, even though by this time, after having eaten you, after having fingered you, after having gotten on his knees for you, maybe by this time, he should have.
But then, maybe all that Zoro needed was an extra push.
Oh, were you more than glad to give it to him.
"Zo, you're so good to me."
It echoed more into his ears than it actually may have; just the words were enough to make the breath struggle to flow into and out of his system with ease, and it was ever so painfully overt the way his body flinched beneath you, his torso stiffening up—again, cute.
He was way bigger than you, but here he was, reduced to a mess, smallened beneath you.
"Why don't you relax for me?"
But, again, Zoro was at a loss of words.
Whether this was an unseen side of you—this day was full of discoveries, apparently—or whether he was even more allured by you, he could not distinguish it.
All he knew was that you were making him go on a craze, that he was so feeble before you, so willingly feeble.
He could not stop you, he could just watch.
He could just nod.
You could just smile.
Your thumb brushed his cheek, and without any further ado, you began your descent: first, from his lips, to the angle of his jaw, kissing it; second, from there to the side of his neck.
In this case, you did not kiss your way down, but just let your breath hover against his skin.
Zoro could only feel how a slow shiver ran up his spine, spreading to all the corners of his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
He shuddered when a small exhale now kissed his skin, before now your lips did.
A gentle pressing of your lips, then you tested a small lick against it, repeating the same until, by trial and error, you found a particularly reactive place.
As if he was blindly following your request and so he began to unwind, as if he was blindly giving in to you.
You smiled against his neck, pleased by this.
Pleased by how he swiftly began to relax; you could feel it underneath you, he was not as tense.
Suddenly, a sting hit his neck and Zoro could not help but to wince in slight pain, "What did you...?"
"Ever heard of love bites?" you retorted, pulling away from his neck, your cheeks heated up mildly, "They're little marks that you can give to someone you love."
His heart raced, he knew what those were.
As surprising as it was, he had seen them on the ero-cook once.
But never, ever, received one himself.
If one gives those marks to the one he loves, then that explains why the right one never came to him.
Maybe because he had not experienced love until he experienced you.
"Will you be mine, Zo?"
The question echoed ever so eloquently in Zoro, in his chest, causing his heart to skip a beat.
Yours...
Yours.
"Yes... Fuck—" the curse fell from his lips, "—yes..."
Totally inebriated, without a second thought.
This, again, made you smile as you gazed deeply into his eyes.
Expectant, he lifted his head, never missing any of your movements as you moved.
His robe remained wide open, untouched since you had opened it up for him just a while ago.
His chest inflated and fell with every rapid, shallow breath of his.
Littered with scars, you kissed each as you continued to move downwards.
Slow motioned, gentle, sweetly—taking your time, never once rushing.
It is all part of the same; You wanted to make from this a perfect moment—to take your time; your pledge.
To make sure to drink in every single detail of his, every single reaction, every single sound he made—it was all part of getting caught in the moment.
You were about to shift, so that you could reach his lower abdomen; However, it had been too much for Zoro to stand, apparently.
At least, he could not stand just laying while you did all the work.
So, abruptly, he stood up, while you remained where you were.
"Zo?"
But soon, you would learn that to stop you was the least of his intentions.
Rising to your knees, you accommodate yourself.
In this position, your eye level met his lower abdomen.
When he looked down at you, and you up at him, Zoro could not control the way such a view brought a titillating pang of heat inside him, pang of heat that caused his once again hardening cock to twitch.
The mess—he recalled.
Fleetingly, he had let slip the reason for his apology, the reason for his embarrassment.
But by the time he tried to stop you, you were already kissing his lower abdomen, the buckle of his belt long from undone, and his pants halfway worked down.
Panic began to rise, of course, and as much as Zoro found his skin twitching at the closeness, as much as he found himself not wanting to stop, this was embarrassing.
Your fingers, hooked on the waistband of his underwear, were just tugging down at it when his hand took a hold of your wrist.
This caused your gaze to tilt up, and in confusion you gazed at him.
"Wait..." he blurted out.
"Why?"
Well, what sort of explanation was he supposed to give, how was he supposed to tell you what had happened to him?
Whenever his sight averted from yours, the feeling was there again.
Cute.
A sigh you let out brought a smile to your face then, and so he turned back his gaze on you whenever he felt the warmth of your hand on his own—the same way as he would have at that moment.
Reassurance—your fingers interlaced with his, and you led it to cup your cheek.
Zoro worried too much, as you would have told him at that moment.
He could only swallow, his jaw could only clench.
But he nodded.
Until you laid your sight upon the half hardness, sticky and partially wet with still leaking, still warm seed.
Your jaw fell agape after it bounced whenever you finally uncovered him.
"O-oh..." fell from your lips; to be honest, it was quite a sight to be speechless at.
The sight from you, staring ever so frozen up at his girth.
As if red cheeks were not already flaring up, this sight made even the tips of his ears burn, yet there was no satisfaction behind it; you did not show any sign of being pleased, and where silence governed, there was place for uncertainty; where there was place for uncertainty, there was indeed place for uneasiness.
"For—" words tripped in your tongue, and you had to make a pause in order to swallow, a pause to process everything.
"All of this... because of me?"
"I didn't mean to... I..."
What could he say?
How could he explain?
That he did not make it as far as to hold it in before he could actually please you like you deserved?
You felt his hand flinch on your face, and upon the slightest sign of it pulling away, you were quickly to, once again, place your hand on top of his.
Tilting up, your gazes met again yet, this time, he noted that yours held a different tint: He noted that your orbs seemed to glow with a different tint between half-hooded lids, the color of your irises blending with the sun's mid-afternoon rays, that you felt warmer against the hand resting on your cheek than just a second ago, as well as the way your lower lip spilled from your biting it with your upper teeth.
In his state, there was no way in which he could note the way your arousal tingled, or the way that you began to press your thighs together, already in the need for pressure, or any kind of friction.
In other words, he did not note that what you actually meant was the opposite.
Your hand departed from his own, only to wrap itself around his girth.
You took your time and, finger by finger, you softly circled him until he was completely in your grasp—gentle, tender was your touch, never otherwise.
Underneath, you could feel the wetness of bits of his cum, mildly lukewarm by now.
"I feel praised," you admitted in a wholehearted purr while your gaze softened, your eyes softly wrinkling; as your thumb reached up to his completely damp, now leaking with precum head—tracing his shaft all the way with your pad, almost in a ghost like manner, your gaze departed from his own, your head tilting down so that now your complete and undivided attention was set on the girth before you.
"All this for me..." you repeated, your gaze followed every single one of your movements as your wrist skilfully, slowly, gave his shaft a stroke.
There was a wet sound that resonated in the air as you did (product of his precum clicking as you dragged your hand over his dick), repeating the action a couple of times—all this time, looking at him in the deepest infatuation.
"I thought about this a lot..." you confessed, "of us..." you breathed, and you felt the urge to close your eyes, biting down a mewl as you grinded against your own clenching thighs at the same slow pace you stroked his cock.
"You surprised me..." you confessed, and to be honest this surprise was not in only one way, "you're so..."
Zoro could not believe what was happening.
Zoro could not even breathe properly.
Zoro could not even avert his gaze, nor pull his hand away from you; in counterpart—and once again this was his body speaking for him—his hand traveled from your cheek to the back of your head, his fingers unavoidably threading in between your locks in the process.
Smitten, absolute love struck—if he was doing badly before, now it was way worse.
Impatience took over him, while you pledged to take your time; because, perfection is achieved through the threading of many little processes, many actions, many words.
It was not a matter of teasing, but a matter of making out of this the most.
In all your actions, you vowed for every part of you—every heartbeat, every thought, every ounce of love you held for him—to bleed into them.
"...great," came the word, at last, after getting, for a bit, deeply lost in your actions, in his reactions, in his gestures, as if you were thinking of the right word.
You had begun to inch closer to his shaft.
Your grip lessened as your thumb began to smear in deep, circular motions, slicky precum oozing out of his head.
His grip tightened on your hair, and you heard him breathe in sharply, so you inched closer.
"So big..." your breathed words kissed his head.
So responsive he was, that you felt him twitch within your grip, hard.
"I'm not wrong, right?"
So your gaze, once again, flickered up to meet his, but only for a moment, before your attention you posed onto his length once more.
He was aware that he was different.
His size sometimes made him self conscious as, had an inconvenience occurred to him, it would be painfully obvious—and for that, there would be no haori that could conceal something like that.
Managing himself barely, he could use his repetition tactics to try and bring himself to focus elsewhere and, hopefully, bring himself to relax.
Just as there were times that he could not, and the ache would be so noticeable that he would have to excuse himself, and that would lead you to linger on his mind, the lewdest version of you deployed in his fantasies as he succumbed to his hand on restless nights, imagining it was you bouncing on top of him, imagining you were letting out pleasured cries for him, imagining with deep, ardent intrigue what his name moaned from your lips would taste like.
You were mischievous in your own way—angelic, innocent—and that drove him crazy.
Craziness that spiraled, triggered by the way that your breath fanned against one of the sides of his shaft (the one onto which a prominent vein rested and protruded.
"It's pretty," you confessed and, kissing the most prominent vein, his abdomen tensed.
"I like this vein," you brushed it with the base of your fingers, "...and these," releasing your grip for the tips of your fingers to brush against the smaller ones.
Eventually, you reached the base, and you once again wrapped your hand around the shaft.
"S'so long..." your praise came as a slurred purr this time as you felt a warm wave of arousal make your cunt throb once, feeling how your thighs began to soak up.
Now your fingers circled his girth once more, and you brought your hand towards the tip, stopping at the base of this one.
"The way it curves is so lovely," you smiled, owing to the curve to the right it took, tracing it as you led your hand backwards in a deep stroke.
"...it's so thick," you breathed, this time your lips hovered over it.
It twitched again, impatience and frustration bubbled up in his being, yet even so, he would never dare get in the way of your actions.
You had to stop and swallow, for the drool threatened to escape the corner of your lips.
"And it's a mess..." you mewled, this time your gaze connected to his as your tongue stroked a vertical stripe through the underside of it, sighing in pleasure with a gaped jaw whenever you reached the tip.
Salty, gently, not so much, it was pleasant.
"I'll clean it up for you, okay?"
The angelic lewdness with which you were enthralling him, something never imaginable for him, it hit him ever so unexpectedly.
His breath hitched in his throat after a sharp inhale, air that could only be released by force after your lips finally wrapped themselves around his tip.
"F-fuck—!" came a choked growl from his lips, as his fingers enclosed a fistful of your hair, as if by that he could relieve the tension.
He could feel himself burn at the cheeks and even the tips of his ears, while the coil in his lower abdomen began to exert such a pressure that he had to do his best to keep himself together; this time, he could not let himself commit the same mistake, this time he would endure.
It was slow how you took him—patiently, one inch at a time.
He was way bigger than you had calculated, judging by the grip of your hand on his shaft.
His girth forced you to make an effort, your jaw falling a bit more slack.
It was lewd, how you stopped every now and then to rest, only for his cock to reach an inch deeper into your mouth, the salty flavor and the typical consistency of his cum dancing in your tongue with more intensity the more you took him in.
Overachiever as you were, as stubborn as you were, he eventually fitted almost all the way into you (and, whatever did not fit, you could rely on your hand.)
To say Zoro felt the weakness take over his knees was the least.
Sensitivity and infatuation had mixed together and, to see the way in which you took him made him helpless.
Perfection—you had decided it.
He deserved being treated well.
He decided to be taken care of, just like he had done with you previously.
Zoro felt the pressure envelop his cock, and the wet swirling of your tongue as you backed away, as if dragging it with you.
Fuck—you could not be looking at him with such an innocent glint on your irises as you did what you were doing—you were going to make him cum on spot.
"Ah..." you barely pulled away when, with a wet popping of your lips against his head, you released him.
It came off as a sighed moan, your glossy eyes, iris highlighted by the gentle reddening of your scleras as you blinked a few tears off.
"I love how you taste..." you told him in a soft breath, your tongue peeking from in between your lips to lick the remains, as your free hand crept up to wipe the fresh drool that, naturally, had escaped through the corner of your mouth once gathered again in you.
One praise after the other—there was determination in you, to make him feel how much you liked him.
Through every action, through every word, through everything, never once did you waver with your honey-like tone, sweet by nature and soft spoken.
He called your name, choked in a deep hiss, as if trying to tell you this was way too much for him to handle, as if he wanted to tell you he needed you more.
"...Makes me want more," you giggled, "...I can't wait."
At the sight of no objections on his behalf, you decided to continue, as if the hunger of seeing him pleased was an almighty crave in you.
As if pleasing him was your way to tell him, to make him understand.
"I'll stop whenever you want, okay?" you told him, your lips loitering once again a breath away from his pulsating length.
You took his hand, guided it to your lips as you turned the slightest to your side, only for your lips to kiss a prominent knuckle of his, "I just think you deserve to feel good."
You added, before you guided it to your hair, prompting him to pull your hair back so that he could take a look of what you meant.
Heavy breathing, body heating, arrhythmic heart beating—he was reduced to being nothing but shambles.
Here you were now, admiring it for yourself, touching him and he would not have the willpower to stop you, but instead observe and melt into each word, each action, each moment.
Even if it felt rare for such feelings of devotion and love to bloom at such a scene, it was something inevitable.
Your words, each and every single, had hit him from up close.
Who would ever treat him with such kindness?
Who would ever do this for him?
It all felt sincere.
Maybe in another context, if he had not been as smitten, as besotted as he was with you, he would have snapped and told you not to say such things while doing something so dirty like this.
This, however, was different.
He began to give in, and as he began to give in, once shut in grunts turned louder, and so grunts turned into moans—it was hard to keep them behind gritted teeth at first, but soon enough he found himself loosening up.
His hips began to roll against your mouth, and you were smart to follow him along, creating a pace in which your nose almost met your hips.
Gagging was inevitable, you were resolved to take him all the way in, eventually, and it was impossible for tears not to gather at your lash line as a result of his tip almost hitting the back of your throat.
He was twitching, irregular flinches of his shaft made it shake in your mouth; that, his pleased sounds, your gazes connected through the haze, the piercing connection passing through the curtain of tears, your moans and mewls vibrating in his cock, the erratic breathing, his salty taste coating your tongue, the rubbing of your thighs against each other and the grinding of your hips to possibly pacify this need for friction—
It was too much.
His cock slid off you with a wet pop, his head grazing the corner of your lips, rapid huffing now echoed in the air and it came from both of you.
Only when the colder air grazed his humid shaft did he blink himself out of it.
Passion fogged gaze laid itself upon you, and only then you became aware that the sunlight had taken a more golden tint.
The crew was probably on their way back to the Sunny by now.
"Do we have to go back?" you asked, your voice having taken a sultry, slightly hoarse tone.
Your eyes were curved in disappointment, in need—both corporally, but also pitiful; whenever something is so magic, it tended to happen so fast, its evanescence being a motive to mourn it when you realized how ethereal things were, as if having slipped from your hands like sand between your hands.
You deemed yourself selfish for wanting this to last just a while longer.
You found yourself longing for him.
Longing to satiate this thirst that, no matter whatever you did, it continued to grow—and that could only be quenched by him and only him.
And, with every fiber of your being, you wished this would last forever.
It felt like an eternity until you blinked and noticed Zoro was kneeling at your eye level, until you felt the warmth of those fingers, from that same hand that held your head moments ago, taking in them your chin.
"No, it's not. Let's stay a bit longer."
And from your lips, through your fallen ajar jaw broke out a breathless sigh, heavy as if you were holding your breath somehow, and immediately relaxation hugged every corner of your body, giving place then for the building, burning desire to keep on burning within you.
Flaring up from your lower abdomen, then growing towards your throat, and likewise irradiating to your core.
You could not help yourself, completely infatuated, completely dependent on him.
Far gone, you were, you had to throw yourself, your arms finding shelter around his neck, and from your lips melded into his own came the greed that you would just not hold back anymore.
He was quick to reciprocate—from his lips he let out the very same eagerness, from his tongue gliding with yours as well, and tasting himself in you.
Zoro and you were dying of thirst, and you were each others' water.
"I want you... Want you to make love to me..." fell the plea off your lips, at last, your lips brushing against his as you spoke, returning quickly to kiss him; you could not break away from him, not even for a second.
The heat was heavy in the air, and if it was already hot, now it was even more—almost scorching, but it burnt so good.
Lust clouded eyes focused on yours, and the words he uttered—the way he said them—made your heart skip a beat.
He huffed out your name, completely taken aback as if you were not doing any of this in the first place.
"Fuck... C'mere," he repeated, as he would have told you before, "Want you too. Need you so much."
His tone had grown more confident.
Now more sure than before, the words did not stumble in his tongue, and the resolve was clear as water in his eyes.
The need was irresistible.
It was irresistible.
Fuck, he needed you, fuck you were going to make him lose his mind.
His hands a step ahead from him, and he pulled away, a haziness taking over him, as if his body was about to enter a trance, an ecstatic one.
There was a mix of hands as you both peeled the clothes off each other, unable to hold yourselves back anymore—only his pants remained halfway undone, however.
It was then that his arms encircled your waist; just like that, he had easily picked you up; Your legs hugged his hips close, and your lips were on each other's, as if there was no time to waste and he led you both against the trunk of the tree, until your back was laid against the rough surface.
It did not bother you in the slightest, how the rugosity would scratch your back—your attention, your devotion, all of you, it was on him.
Love and lust blended, you wanted to give him everything, and that was where those two concepts converged.
He wanted to give you everything, and that was where those two concepts converged.
Where those two concepts, born and raised in two different bodies, seeped out of your bodies and converged.
Give, give, give.
That was all he wanted; that was all you wanted.
There was more than just conversations, glances, aspects—ever since you had met him, you knew he was something else.
That he had something, something waiting to be noticed, something waiting for you to see it, something waiting for you to take it. You were both waiting for each other.
You were both waiting for this moment.
Bless the day Robin talked Zoro into you and, likewise, bless the day Nami talked you into him.
Because now Zoro was all yours.
And you were all his.
And both of you were about to give yourselves to each other.
"Do it," the slight difference in temperature made the haze of his train of thoughts and feelings come to a pause, and so he became aware of the length that throbbed with need around his hand—hand that, absentmindedly, had begun to move in deep strokes as he thought, as he looked, as he touched—as he felt.
"Please..." your implore came from both your words, and your lips blending with his in a needy kiss; from the movement of your hips seeking for some friction that only he could give you, to the frustrated whimpers that would leave your bodies, as you pretended to rush, rush until you could feel him within you, only to then take it slow.
Zoro so complied.
He wanted you.
No doubt, no hesitation, his body moved to the beat of the desires of the deepest of his core, and where desire outweighed reason, there was no point of return.
Zoro found himself guiding his cock to your entrance, wet and heating up with expectation, with eagerness.
Painful need.
Patience out of courtesy, Zoro waited for you to nod at him, to press his tip deeper, consistent pressure applied until he managed to push it in.
Curses mindlessly fell from his lips—respect was hard to keep when he finally got what he so deeply had been craving for all this time, daydreaming night and day that someday this moment would come, and finally his thirst would be eased.
"Y-you're so big...!" you could not stop yourself from pointing the obvious out, whimpering as he prodded against your entrance—even a hand as big as his could barely wrap itself around his girth.
Veins adorned it and roamed from the tip that was red with ardor, disappearing towards the base a great deal of centimeters later. Whether it was your lack of sexual encounters in a while, or whether it was not, he was objectively special.
"Y-You're small..." in the same way, he let out a sharp gasp, the strain of the size difference becoming evident in the way that he pushed into you, "So- s'tight—!"
A gasp ended up taking over him, and you could see his eyes threatening to the back of his head at a quiver of your walls.
Slow, a bit at the time—he had to work on his reminder ever so hardly.
Reminders that were hard to keep in mind when he was slowly burying himself into you, when those walls that struggled to stretch, to take him in—those walls that stung, and that the sting crept up to your then glossy eyes—but that, at the same time, kept sucking him in, as if, selfishly, wanted him to stay and never go.
But he stopped upon seeing your expression contorting in what seemed like pain, to him.
Zoro opted to distract you as, with little pushes of his hips his cock buried itself further into you; so tender kisses began to litter your skin with kisses, from your shoulder to your neck, from your neck to your cheek.
"You're doin' so well... almost there," his praise came with strain, the tightness becoming overwhelming to every single one of his senses, causing his eyes to almost roll to the back of his head, and so he could not avoid the need to let his forehead fall onto your shoulder.
"Fuck, feels s'good..."
It was your chest that heaved, they were your puffs of breath reverberating on the woods that became even more irregular as he pushed another inch inside you.
Your gaze, fixed on the place where his dick was almost through disappearing whole inside you, got clouded with lust, and as his shaft grazed in its way a sensitive place in you, you could not help but to flutter your lids close; the pleasure, so intense, threatened to escape your body and so it made your back arch, your chest inflate with air as a high pitched gasp seeped in.
And so he was finally fully inside you.
All that effort, leaving you both breathless from a race that you did not even run yet.
You both gazed into each other's eyes, but Zoro was the one seeking your silent permission for him to move—permission that came with a kiss.
Your lips place themselves on his own, blending quickly but smoothly in a deep kiss.
Tongues glide on each other with more confidence, with just as much yearn, and so the unsaid is left said through actions: Adoration, enamour, ardor, passion, promises.
In a last peck to his now humid lips, you pull away just enough to place your forehead against his, just enough to have your lips brushing against his.
And so the unsaid is left said, and you confessed what you have been itching to hear from your lips ever since you came around with your feelings over him.
"I love you, Zoro."
And so it was sealed.
Zoro felt as if the air left his system with the deep exhale he took, eyes filled with emotions as his irises flickered with the awe you had caused in him.
"...I love you," he retorted, as soon as he breathed in.
There were no second thoughts, he felt it.
Amongst all the uncertainties that could cloud his vision, there was something clear and that was the love he held for you.
He kissed you, as soon as those words left his lips, with twice, thrice as much passion as you had done just before.
He began to move, as soon as his lips claimed yours.
He drank in your moans, as soon as his tip began to hit the sweetest of the spots inside you.
Zoro's appearance was deceiving—for a man who was rough looking and with such a massive size, he made love to you with such a care that would be deemed as unfit for someone of such a presence like his own.
His muscles clenched each time he pounded into you, the effort evident in every inch of his body; the ultimate proof of how much he did love you.
It just would irradiate from his pores, it was nothing that he could consciously help.
It would irradiate from his voice, from his breath.
It would irradiate from the way his hands would hold onto the skin of your glutes, in the way in which his nails would dig crescent moons into the plush of your skin out of ecstasy.
It would irradiate from the pores of his skin which twisted into goosebumps, all over his body.
It would irradiate from the way his abdomen contracted with each push of his hips against your thighs.
Your eyes would keep on widening as the feeling of pressure with pleasure began to mix together, until it became a mix of pressure, pleasure and growing tightness.
Growing tightness, clenching walls and erratic throbbing.
Far gone, you were so far gone, that being heard as a result of your loudening moans and cries was, at this point, the least of your concerns.
Zoro did nothing to stop you, as he could not stop himself either.
You straightened your back against the trunk of the tree you were lying against, your nails digging into his shoulders.
It was at this moment that you realized just how much closer you wanted him.
So your hands snaked around him, from his shoulders to his back, and you pressed your torso against his.
Close to him beyond possible, that is where you wanted to be, how you wanted to be.
You could not bear it, vibrating along the waves of pleasure that rumbled from your spot towards the coil tightening, resting on your lower abdomen.
Your lips ended up in front of his ear when you intended to press your cheek against his, and some tears falling from your clouded sight stained his cheek.
"Oh, god— Z-Zo, I'm so close..." you whimpered, and just that whimper was enough to set himself on fire, "T-touch me,"
And so he did; a hand slid in between your bodies, the rough pad of his digit began to swipe at your engorged, pulsating clit—sloppy, fast.
He needed you, he was close, and he needed to bring you there with him.
It was a curse that fell from his lips behind gritted teeth.
Zoro was at this point a few last thrusts away from losing himself, losing himself within you.
Your walls continued to hold him in, to have such a vice grip on him that could only tighten more and more.
Your insides drooled with passion, the wet sounds resonated, they could only get louder and louder as you quenched your thirst.
You got so caught in the moment; ecstasy made eternity to grow smaller in range, and eternity was now reduced to these woods, where time seemed to have stopped and where the last breath seemed to be the longest, the longest before he told you corporally that he loves you so fucking much, and poured all that love inside you, to call you his forever.
synopsis: chained up, you thought back on your weakness, what brought you here in the first place, and the devastation personified that was your swordsman... but, just as things look bleak, devastation swoops in to save you (and tries not to make an ass of himself in the process)
cw: 4/4 or 5?, fluffy fluff, comfort, angst if you squint. zoro is ADORABLE, zoro is a gentleman
The rocking of the ship was steady, cruelly calm compared to the storm inside your chest.
Your arms ached where the iron shackles cut into your skin, suspending you above the damp floor of the holding cell.
Shoulders burning, wrists raw, you let your head hang, sweat-slick strands of hair sticking to your face.
Your eyes narrowed into your reflection in a shallow puddle beneath you—glaring daggers at yourself.
Pathetic.
Weak.
First Mate of the Kuja Pirates, one of Amazon Lily’s fiercest warriors—reduced to this.
Shackled, silent, sold like some common trinket for amusement.
And all because of him.
Your jaw clenched, teeth grinding as you replayed it again and again in your head.
If you hadn’t been so distracted, if you hadn’t let yourself get wrapped up in the haze of green hair, sharp steel, and that rare, devastating smirk…
You wouldn’t be here now.
It was humiliating.
Downright embarrassing.
A warrior of your caliber, a woman who could send entire armies falling with a single wink—utterly idiotic, undone by the thought of one swordsman.
But no matter how you fought it, no matter how furiously you cursed yourself, he wouldn’t leave you.
Zoro.
The name throbbed in your chest like a wound.
Every thought, every dream, every moment of rest since the day you left Gloom Island—his face haunted you.
That steady voice, the unshakable honor in his gaze, the rare warmth that slipped through when you least expected it.
You could almost feel the press of his lips if you closed your eyes.
You’d spent your life sneering at men, breaking them down with a smile, reducing them to groveling fools.
You could have had any man in the world on his knees in a heartbeat.
And yet... Zoro was the one who had dragged something raw, carnal, new out of you.
Desire.
It was foreign.
It was dangerous.
And you hated how much you loved it.
The sharp creak of the iron door ripped you from your spiral.
Your head snapped up instantly, eyes flashing like blades.
Three guards entered, their faces set in stone.
Heavy boots echoed against the floor as they moved toward you with cruel precision.
Without a word, they grabbed your shackles, unlocking you from the wall but leaving your wrists bound.
You snarled, the fire in your chest exploding outward.
The moment your feet hit the floor, you lashed out.
Your knee rammed into one man’s gut, doubling him over with a wheeze.
Another earned a sharp kick to the side of the head, his jaw snapping sideways with a sickening crack.
The third tried to hold you back, but you jerked your bound arms upward, the iron chains biting into his throat as you whipped them across his face.
Blood spurted instantly.
Shouts erupted outside, the door banging open as more guards flooded in.
Five.
Six.
Ten.
You twisted, fought, bit and clawed, your body a weapon even with your wrists shackled.
One fell clutching his ribs, another staggered back with blood running from a broken nose.
But numbers overcame strength.
Rough hands gripped your arms, boots struck your legs, slamming you into the cold floor as sheer weight pressed down.
You writhed and roared, curses ripping from your throat as they pinned you.
“Get her up!” one barked, breathless.
The guards yanked you upright, dragging you out of the cell despite the trail of bruised and bloodied bodies you’d already left behind.
Their hands were bruising, cruel, but your glare stayed sharp, refusing to waver.
The branding room loomed ahead—its iron stench already crawling into your lungs.
Your heart hammered.
The heavy iron door slammed behind you, the clang echoing like a death knell in your ears.
Two Celestial Dragons stood waiting inside the branding chamber, their grotesque figures dressed in ostentatious suits, heads adorned with their infamous glass bubbles.
They leered at you like children presented with a new toy.
“She’s perfect,” one of them hissed, grin stretching unnaturally wide. “A prize like this doesn’t come often. Shall we decide who gets the first turn?”
The other let out a high-pitched giggle, his fat fingers twitching with anticipation, “Of course, brother! We’ll share her. A treasure like this should be savored, don’t you think?”
Your eyes went wide, breath catching.
You knew exactly what they meant.
Rage and panic collided in your chest as you thrashed against the guards dragging you forward.
“Get your filthy hands off me!” you snarled, snapping one guard’s nose with a brutal headbutt before another slammed a knee into your ribs.
Twelve men piled onto you, pinning your arms, forcing you to your knees.
Shackles bit into your skin as you growled and roared, your voice nearly drowned out by their jeers.
“No use resisting!” one spat, shoving your face down.
Shrriiip!
Your back was exposed to the room.
Cold air hit your skin a second before one of the brothers cackled, his pudgy hands tearing your shirt away.
The other, giddy with excitement, picked up the brand resting in a bed of glowing coals.
The iron seared red, radiating waves of blistering heat that crawled over your spine.
He giggled, lifting it higher, bringing it closer with each passing heartbeat.
You screamed, your voice raw, but their laughter swallowed it.
Your chest heaved.
Your eyes blurred with tears.
Images of everything you were leaving behind cascaded through your mind—your sisters, your family, your home.
And him.
Zoro.
The thought of never telling him how much he consumed your heart, how he had awakened something inside you no man ever had, was agony.
You closed your eyes, the heat nearly kissing your skin.
Then—
BOOM!
The entire door ripped off its hinges, splintering into the wall.
A blur of green shot inside like a storm given flesh.
Steel sang.
In less than a breath, fourteen slashes tore through the chamber, blades carving merciless arcs.
The guards never had the chance to scream.
The two Celestial Dragons barely turned before steel cut them down where they stood, their grotesque laughter dying in their throats.
Bodies collapsed around you, blood splattering across the chamber floor.
The crushing weight on your shoulders vanished.
Shackles clattered uselessly against the ground.
You gasped, snapping your eyes open.
Heart hammering, you whipped around.
And there he was.
Zoro stood among the corpses, chest heaving, swords dripping crimson.
His bandana was tied tight across his head, giving his one visible eye a deadly, dark glint.
His robe hung loose, sleeves tossed aside, baring his scarred chest, now streaked with blood.
His blades gleamed wickedly in the shaft of light spilling through the broken doorway.
Your heart flipped violently.
Heat rushed to your cheeks.
Even drenched in blood, maybe especially drenched in blood—he was devastating.
“Zoro!” you gasped, relief breaking your voice.
He turned, sharp glare softening instantly when it landed on you., “You alri—?”
But then his gaze froze...
Square on your exposed chest.
His face turned scarlet.
His eye snapped shut so fast you thought something had flown in it.
He jerked his head away, nearly stumbling over a corpse in his scramble to look anywhere but at you.
“Jeez,” he muttered, flustered beyond belief, thrusting his haramaki in your direction without even looking. “Here. Cover yourself.”
Despite everything, a warm smile touched your lips as you took it, “Thank you.”
Pulling it on, you sighed in relief, savoring the lingering heat of the fabric.
“How did you find me?”
Still refusing to face you directly, he grunted, “Nami. She spotted the ship. Once we moored, I… ran ahead.”
He didn’t mention the rest—that he’d torn through Law’s entire carefully laid plan without hesitation, or that he was fully prepared for and expecting to take on an Admiral in order to get you back.
His chest still rose and fell heavily from the sheer intensity of the rage that had driven him here.
Before you could press further, explosions rattled the ship.
Shouts rang out from above deck—chaos had erupted.
Zoro’s eye narrowed, jaw set, “That’s the others.”
He wiped his blades clean with a flick before sheathing them in one smooth motion.
Then, without a word, he bent and scooped you into his arms bridal-style.
“Hold on tight,” he ordered firmly, voice leaving no room for argument.
Your arms looped around his neck before you could think, head dropping against his shoulder.
A smile bloomed on your face—relieved, content, utterly love-struck.
“I could get used to this.”
His heart pounded so violently he thought you might hear it.
His face burned hotter than the brand meant for your back.
He kept his gaze forward, teeth gritted, trying desperately to focus on the path ahead instead of the memory of your bare chest seared into his brain.
And worse—the unfamiliar heat stirring low in his gut that he had no idea how to smother.
But still, his arms tightened around you, carrying you through blood, fire, and smoke like he’d been born for it.
Because there was no force in the world—Celestial Dragon, Admiral, or otherwise—that was going to take you from him.
do y'all want another part? if yes, what do you want in it cause i'm a bit stumped.
Oo do you think reader could get love sickness for zoro??🤨🤨
(Referring to the last two posts)
⛥ﾟ・。 sickness
synopsis: you've been kidnapped from the sunny right under zoro's nose, though he swears to get you back by any means necessary... and a little flashback reveals the real reason why the kuja pirates were sailing that day.
cw: 3/4, i added an extra part, comfort, angst of you squint, zoro is emotionally constipated, hancock really loves you like a sister, reader is down bad
a/n: i'll proofread later.
The sun had barely crept above the horizon when a shriek ripped through the morning air.
“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Every pirate who’d passed out on the Sunny’s deck bolted upright.
Weapons were drawn in an instant.
Zoro’s swords hissed free, Killer’s scythes gleamed, Kid’s metal arm clanked to life, and Luffy's eye peeked open.
Even Brook, Franky, Heat, and Wire had dropped into battle stances, bleary-eyed but sharp, their expressions carved into furrows of confusion.
“What the hell?!” Kid barked, clutching his head. “Who’s screaming at this hour?!”
“Tch…” Law’s voice was hoarse with irritation as he emerged from the cabin, rubbing his temple. “Can’t even get one decent night of sleep with this circus.”
Kuja warriors sprinted across both ships, their voices shrill and panicked.
“She’s gone! Big Sis (y/n) is gone!”
“They took her! They took her!”
“Where’s our sister?!”
Their cries shook the air like alarm bells.
The Strawhats gaped, the Kid and Heart Pirates looked lost, and Zoro—
Zoro’s heart plummeted into his gut.
His eye widened, a flash of raw panic breaking through his usual iron mask.
“... What?” he muttered, his grip tightening on Wado Ichimonji.
“Hey,” Luffy tilted his head, scratching at his hat, confused as ever. “What’re you talking about? Who took (y/n)?”
The answer came in the form of Boa Hancock, stumbling forward with tears streaming down her porcelain face.
Her hands trembled as she cupped a small carton against her chest.
The Kuja parted for her like waves, their sobs doubling as their Empress reached the gathered crews.
“Th-this… this was all we found…” Hancock’s voice cracked, and she opened her hands.
Nestled in her palms was a familiar, sleek carton of special Amazon Lily cigarettes.
Zoro’s chest clenched.
He knew damn well you never went anywhere without those.
“She never leaves them behind,” Hancock sobbed, her body trembling. “Not ever! If she did… it means something truly awful has happened!”
Usopp waved a dismissive hand, trying to keep his knees from shaking, “C’mon, don’t freak out! She’s probably just… I dunno, napping somewhere on board! Maybe she just forgot ‘em!”
WHAM!
Usopp’s face met Hancock’s heel in one swift, brutal kick.
“You insolent fool!” she shrieked, towering over his twitching body. “Do you dare claim to know her better than I, her sister?! Foolish man!”
And just as fast, her wrath dissolved back into grief.
She collapsed against Luffy’s chest, clutching the carton as her tears soaked his vest.
“Th-this has happened before…” she wept, voice breaking. “She’s been taken by those wretched Celestial Dragons… to be sold!”
The Kuja wailed in unison, some collapsing to their knees in despair.
“WHAT?!” Sanji dropped to the deck, clutching his chest as he fell to the ground. “MY GODDESS… SOLD?!”
Kid sneered, but his brows knitted tighter. “Figures they would pull somethin' like this.”
“Tch. This isn’t my fight,” Law grumbled from the sidelines, though his crew shot nervous glances at him.
Luffy’s face had gone dead serious, eyes locked on Hancock’s.
She met his gaze with a knowing, tear-soaked nod.
“Luffy…” she whispered.
“Don’t worry,” he said simply, his fists clenching. “She’s our friend. There’s no way I’m leaving (y/n) with jerks like them.”
The Strawhats let out a chorus of “Yeah!” in support, but Luffy wasn’t done.
His wide eyes swung toward the other two captains.
“Traffy! Jaggy! You scared or something?”
Both bristled instantly.
“The hell did you just say?!” Kid snapped, his crew already shouting things like “We can’t let her stay kidnapped!” and “Cpatain, we gotta do something!”
Law’s jaw ticked, “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Their men refused to let them bow out—the alliance was decided whether they liked it or not.
But Zoro wasn’t hearing any of it.
His head was buzzing, his body coiled tight as his emotions tore him apart.
Fear.
Rage.
Worry.
Fury.
They all crashed into him at once, burning hotter than the bonfire embers from last night.
The thought of what those bastards could be doing to you was enough to make his blood boil, his teeth grit, his hands twitch against his swords.
Without hesitation, he ripped the black bandana from his arm and tied it tight around his head.
Luffy grinned wide, pumping his fist, “Alright! Then it’s decided! We'll work together!”
"WE DIDN'T AGREE TO THAT!" Kid and Law shouted.
He punched the air, his voice booming across the deck.
“LET’S GO SAVE (Y/N)!”
A thunderous roar erupted from every crew present, the promise echoing across the sea.
And in Zoro’s chest, one vow repeated louder than all the others:
I’ll bring her back... no matter what.
The air in your chamber had been thick with the scent of herbs and seawater.
Outside, cicadas shrieked against the humid evening, but inside, all was quiet save for your strained, shallow breaths.
Your skin burned hot, sweat beading along your forehead and slicking your hair against your cheeks.
Every muscle in your body ached as if you’d fought a hundred battles at once, yet you hadn’t set foot off your bed in days.
At your bedside stood Boa Hancock, her elegant frame stiff with distress.
Sandersonia and Marigold flanked her, brows furrowed in deep worry.
Granny Nyon—Gloriosa—sat closest, old hands steady as she dabbed a cool cloth across your flushed skin.
“It’s just as I feared…” she muttered, her weathered face heavy with resignation.
“That’s impossible!” Hancock snapped immediately, her voice ringing through the chamber like a whip.
Her expression was uncharacteristically fragile, eyes shining with panic even as her lips pulled tight in denial.
“She's has done nothing but battle anything that moves! There’s no way she would…” Hancock trailed off, throat tightening.
Marigold shook her head firmly, her voice sharp as a blade, “She has a distinct hatred for men, Granny Nyon. Falling in love? That is completely out of the question.”
Gloriosa sighed, the sound heavy, as though it carried the weight of a thousand years.
She pushed a few damp strands of hair from your face, eyes soft with sympathy.
“Love,” she said simply, “rarely makes sense. And our dear (y/n)… seems to be suffering from Love Sickness.”
The words struck like a cannonball.
The sisters froze, eyes wide.
Hancock staggered back a step, the very name of the ailment tightening her chest.
“No… it can’t be...” she barked, though her trembling hands betrayed her.
But the truth sat right in front of them.
It was Love Sickness.
After that week you’d spent on Gloom Island—training, sparring, laughing with him—you’d finally ended your rebellious wanderings and returned home.
Yet instead of finding peace, you’d been consumed.
Morning, noon, and night, his image haunted you.
The way his single eye burned with determination.
His quiet gruffness, the rare but sharp humor that had left you smiling long after parting.
You’d dealt with men before—sleazy, arrogant men who ogled you, underestimated you, treated you like a trophy to win.
But Zoro… Zoro was different.
He’d fought you with respect.
He’d spoken to you like an equal.
He hadn’t cared about your beauty, only your strength, your will.
He was honorable.
Steadfast.
Handsome beyond words.
Utterly perfect.
And now, you could barely breathe without your heart clenching, without your thoughts drifting back to him.
The weight of that love had reduced you to this bedridden state.
“(y/n)…” Hancock whispered, her voice wavering as she dropped to her knees beside you.
Her fingers, cool and delicate, slipped into yours.
“Tell me… are you… in love?”
You turned your head weakly, eyes hazy but locked on hers.
The pounding in your chest thundered louder than any war drum.
Images of Zoro filled you—his rough voice, the glint of his swords, the warmth hidden beneath his walls.
With great effort, you gathered what little strength you had left.
And with a whisper, breathless but certain, you said:
“Yes.”
The word struck like lightning.
For a moment, Hancock’s face faltered—anguish, disbelief, and grief all twisting in her gaze.
But then she rose, tall and commanding once more.
Her face hardened into stone, her eyes sharp and glistening with unshed tears.
“Sister…?” Sandersonia asked, worry bleeding into her tone.
“Prepare the ship,” Hancock ordered, her voice low but resolute. Her back was turned, but her hands were clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. “At first light, (y/n) and I will set sail.”
Marigold blinked, startled. “Sister, where—”
“To find this man.”
The chamber fell silent, the sisters exchanging wide-eyed glances.
Hancock’s voice cracked only once as she continued: “I will not allow her to waste away like this. If it is a man that causes this sickness… then we will confront him.”
Gloriosa sighed, shaking her head. “You’re walking straight into trouble, girl…”
But Hancock was already striding toward the door, cloak billowing.
“Then let trouble come,” she declared, carefully sliding her hand in yours. “We will face it together.”
Beside her, you lay weak and breathless, heart hammering in your chest at the mere thought of the swordsman whose touch you hadn't yet known—but who already had a claim on your heart.
synopsis: you strike up a conversation with zoro during the party... and despite his best efforts, he ends up a flustered mess.
cw: 2/3, fluff, comfort, reader's a baddie, zoro is awkward, zoro is begrudgingly obsessed, reader is very cheeky abut it
The banquet was a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and music that seemed to rattle the very planks of the Sunny.
Sanji’s food was already legendary, but tonight he had outdone himself—platters of sizzling meats, steaming bowls of noodles, desserts piled high, and enough booze to drown even the most seasoned pirate.
Brook’s electric guitar wove seamlessly with the Kuja’s war drums, while the Heart Pirates brought out a strange but oddly catchy harmonica tune.
Even Kid, begrudging as he was, had a mug in his hand, his crew roaring drunk around him.
And Law, though silent, sat with a small smirk on his face, allowing himself—for once—to look almost relaxed.
But Zoro stayed on the edge of the revelry, sitting cross-legged in the shadows near the railing, a massive bottle of sake resting against his shoulder.
His one eye scanned the festivities, but his mind wasn’t really on the party.
It was on you.
Damn it.
He tipped the sake back, the burn in his throat grounding him as the memory of your first meeting came creeping in like an ambush.
It had been during the two years apart, when he’d gone off training and you had slipped away from Amazon Lily to chase your own kind of freedom—you were having a bit of a rebellious streak.
The two of you had crossed paths on Gloom Island, weapons drawn when you mistook him for a bounty hunter.
The fight had been fast, electric, and ended in laughter once you realized he wasn’t an enemy.
After that, you’d sparred a few more times, both testing your limits.
And it wasn’t just your strength that left its mark—it was how damn grounded you were.
You never talked about your looks, never considered yourself better than anyone else, never obsessed over proving you were the most beautiful woman alive.
You joked.
You cursed.
You fought hard and laughed harder.
You had values and fought fiercely for what you believed in.
And for a swordsman who lived and breathed for his goal, that meant something.
Maybe too much.
Because the more he thought about it, and the more he saw, the more he realized how much he was just like the rest of them.
The way your eyes gleamed when you talked, that sly wink you always shot him when you met his gaze, the fierce spark in you that defied all that stood in your way.
To say admire was an understatement.
He damn near adored you—in his own, Zoro-ish way.
His jaw clenched as he poured more sake into his mouth, his thoughts turning sharp.
He had a goal to reach.
Romance was a distraction.
And even if it wasn’t—hell, you had armies of men falling over themselves at your feet, and he refused to be just another one of them.
“This seat taken?” you voice cut through the haze.
Zoro froze.
You stood there, radiant even in the dim lantern light, a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other, smoke curling lazily around you.
That smile—the one you flashed so effortlessly—hit him like a cannonball.
It was devastating.
It was unfair.
Zoro jerked his chin at the empty spot beside him, a grunt leaving his throat.
The sound was short, gruff, but it was as close to an invitation as he’d ever give.
Though, just as you lowered yourself onto the bench, a sudden stampede of footsteps rattled across the deck.
“(y/n)! Do you need another drink?!”
“More food, perhaps?!”
“Please, let me fetch you a softer seat!”
“I’ll polish your shoes, my goddess!”
A dozen men from across the crews were tripping over each other, practically piling onto the floor at your feet in their frantic attempts to please you.
Your lips curved into a pout as you looked at them, head tilting playfully, “Boys… could you give me just a few moments alone?”
They all collapsed at once, clutching their chests as though they’d been struck by Cupid’s arrows, chorusing “OF COURSE!” before sprinting off in a lovestruck frenzy.
Zoro grimaced, shaking his head, “Tch. Is that what you deal with all the time?”
You let out a silvery laugh, smoke curling from your cigarette as you sat beside him, “Mhm. I’m used to it by now. Most don’t mean any harm.”
His brow lifted, “And the ones that do?”
Your smirk sharpened as you tapped ash into an empty cup.
“Oh, they’re met with harm too.”
That earned a grin from him, a real one, tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Good.”
A beat of quiet stretched between you, the din of the party filling the space until he shifted, glancing sideways at you.
“You alright?”
Your head tilted, faintly confused, “Why?”
“I read in a paper a while back…” he trailed, looking faintly uncomfortable. “Said you were sick. Bad.”
Your chuckle was low and knowing.
“I was... before I set sail with Hancock again," you turned to him then, a teasing gleam in your eyes. “And it was all your fault.”
He blinked, taken aback, “The hell are you talking about?”
You exhaled a long drag, leaning back, “Tell me, Zoro... are you like Luffy?”
His brow furrowed, “What do you mean?”
“Unaffected by me,” you said smoothly, lips quirking. “One of the rare ones.”
He shrugged, “Yeah. So?”
“So,” you leaned forward, voice softening into something far more dangerous, “that makes you different. Special.”
Zoro’s breath caught, his grip tightening around his sake bottle.
He opened his mouth—only for you to strike again.
“Zoro... do you find me attractive?”
The timing couldn’t have been crueler—he’d just taken a long gulp of sake.
He sputtered violently, spraying the drink forward as his face ignited red.
Your laugh rang out, melodic and merciless.
“Y-you—!” he stammered, scrambling to compose himself. “What kinda question is that?!”
With a smile softening your sharpness, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your serpent-shaped earrings glinting in the lantern light.
“Indulge me.”
He faltered, visibly warring with himself before finally choking out, “...Yeah. You’re… attractive.”
The faint blush that bloomed on your cheeks was a surprise even to you, and you smiled brightly, warmth in your eyes.
The sight alone made Zoro’s chest constrict, his own blush deepening until he looked about ready to combust.
Sliding closer, you caught his gaze with a fire of your own, voice low and honey-smooth.
“And... do you feel anything else about me?”
Zoro froze, utterly defenseless.
His throat bobbed as he opened his mouth, but no words came out—just a strangled sound, his composure breaking under your stare.
And then—
“(y/n)!”
A rubbery arm snapped around your waist, yanking you up from the bench as you were hauled effortlessly across the deck.
“Come party with me!” Luffy beamed, dragging you toward the bonfire without a shred of hesitation.
Hancock’s shriek tore through the night as she collapsed to her knees, clutching her chest as if mortally wounded. “Betrayal most cruel! (y/n)! How could you do this to me?!”
The Kuja scrambled to fan her dramatically, while the men on deck howled at your sudden reappearance at the party, rejoiced by your presence.
But even as you were pulled away, laughter spilling from your lips, your eyes stayed locked on Zoro.
His face was still flushed, his jaw tight, and you swore you saw his fingers twitch toward his swords, as though fighting something inside him harder than any battle.
He'd had the opportunity... and he said nothing.
He stammered like an idiot, like the countless droves of imbeciles you had encountered in your travels.
Embarrassed, he groaned, slumping against the tree his back rested on.
He'd always convinced himself he was better that the rest of them, especially since he'd spent a significant amount of time away from your pretty face—your wanted poster hidden in the crow's nest didn't count.
But now it was clearly evident that he was no better, and maybe even worse.
Lifting his gaze, he watched as you twirled and whined around the fire with Nami and Luffy, incapacitating all the nearby men—Killer had to give Kid the Heimlich maneuver when you ticked your hips like a belly dancer and made his food go down the wrong pipe.
Meeting Zoro's eye, you sent him yet another wink, hair swishing over your back as you turned, the sight sending a flurry of butterflies careening through his stomach.
A pit fell through his chest as he squirmed, well aware that you were playing him like a goddamn fiddle.
And he loved it.
With a sigh, he closed his eye, gingerly taking a swig of his sake gourd.
After only about a handful of meetings with Amazon Lily's resident golden girl, Zoro had found himself hopelessly... unintentionally... irrevocably...
maybe amazon lily reader which is soulmates with zoro? lol I would love to see this but obv no pressure! i hope you liked this request 🫶🏾🫶🏾
⛥ﾟ・。 first mate
synopsis: being first mate of the kuja pirates often meant going along with hancock's luffy-induced shenanigans... though you didn't exactly mind when it forced you to cross paths with a certain moss-haired swordsman.
cw: 1/3, will go way more in depth next part, fluffy fluff, comfort, totally "NOT" inspired by the recent chapters, you rival hancock in beauty, you're a badass, zoro pining (waaay more in next part, wanted to establish first), sanji is sanji, heart and kid pirates are there too.
The air over the Kuja Pirate's ship was heavy with salt and warmth, the breeze carrying the scent of sun-warmed wood and the jungle spices stored below deck.
Across the deck, warriors of Amazon Lily moved with disciplined ease, their eyes inevitably following the swaying figure of their beloved captain.
Boa Hancock, the infamous Pirate Empress, strode like a goddess made real, her long raven hair cascading behind her like a silken banner.
Her crew, as ever, could not help but gaze upon her with awe—some sighing softly, others nearly weeping at the privilege of her mere presence.
"She's unbearably beautiful! I'm in love!"
"Her radiance is making my mind go blank!"
"My heart can't afford to beat this hard!"
“Snake Princess!” a young cabin girl—barely past sixteen—hurried at her side, clutching a parchment that fluttered in the sea breeze.
Her name was Sanfa, bright-eyed and eager, though a little breathless from trying to keep pace with her princess's languid stride.
“We’ve updated the supply logs, and there are matters concerning the next port. The menagerie on Green Isle has been stripped clean after our raid, and—”
Hancock, without breaking stride, tilted her head just enough to glance down imperiously.
“Where is (y/n)? Surely she should be the one wasting her breath on such… trivialities," her brow arched in disdain, her lips curving faintly as though the weight of responsibility was beneath her divine self.
Sanfa faltered.
“L-Lady (y/n)? She, uh… she said she was taking a smoke break.”
At that, Hancock’s dark eyes narrowed, and her porcelain cheeks puffed with an almost childish huff.
“Hmph! That woman… Always abandoning me the instant tedium rears its ugly head. Leaving me to endure such monotony is truly unforgivable…”
She trailed into a faint grumble, her voice soft and low, though her crew still sighed at how beautiful even her complaints sounded.
Just then, the sharp voice of a lookout rang out from the crow’s nest.
“Snake Princess! A ship is fast approaching!”
Heads turned, boots thudded on the deck as warriors shifted to ready positions.
Hancock’s gaze lifted, sharp as a hawk’s, until the familiar outline of a lion-headed figurehead came into focus.
The Thousand Sunny.
Before anyone else could speak, a voice—booming, impossibly loud and carrying across the waves—shattered the sea air:
“HAAAAANCOCK!!!”
Monkey D. Luffy, grinning ear to ear, was waving with wild enthusiasm from atop the Sunny’s deck.
His laughter rang out across the tides.
The Empress froze.
Her breath hitched, cheeks flooding crimson in an instant.
Her hands flew to her cheeks as though to contain the unseemly gasp that escaped her.
“L-Luffy…” she breathed, her legs seeming to weaken beneath her, the once imperious stance of a Warlord now melting into trembling adoration.
In a heartbeat she recovered—or at least pretended to—snapping upright and flicking her hair back with a violent toss.
“Everyone! Prepare the lines at once! Lower the gangplank! Make haste and moor us to the Strawhat ship!”
The Kuja Pirates scrambled without hesitation, barking acknowledgments as they rushed to carry out her orders.
Hancock turned back to the ship, shifting slightly so no one would see the dream-struck gleam in her eyes.
“Luffy… he called my name… from across the endless sea…”
Her voice was barely a whisper, lost beneath the din of the crew rushing to obey.
The Thousand Sunny rocked lightly on the waves, the deck crowded with far more pirates than usual.
The Strawhats were hosting not only their own crew but also the Kid Pirates and the Heart Pirates, Luffy having insisted they all hitch a ride back to the nearest port where their ships were docked.
Of course, not everyone shared his enthusiasm.
“Oi, Strawhat,” Kid growled, arms crossed as he loomed near the mast. “Don’t think this makes us friends. The second I get my ship back, we’re parting ways.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Luffy waved him off, grinning ear to ear. “But it’s more fun this way!”
Law, sitting cross-legged against the base of the Sunny’s tree, gave a long-suffering sigh, “Tch. What a waste of time.”
His gaze flicked upward, indifferent—until the sight of the approaching Kuja ship made several of the men around him explode in commotion.
“Th-The Kuja Pirates?!” Usopp’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “They’re headed right for us!”
“YOHOHOHOHOHO! The Pirate Empress returns!” Brook twirled, a hand on his afro, his eye sockets sparkling. “What a vision! Or she would be if I had any eyes to see her with! YOHOHOHO!”
“SUPER!” Franky flexed, practically trembling with excitement.
Sanji, of course, was already spinning in giddy circles, hands clasped, hearts exploding in his eyes.
“OH, MY ANGELIC EMPRESS! FATE HAS BROUGHT US TOGETHER ONCE MORE!!”
Even Law's crew couldn’t hide their excitement.
Penguin elbowed Shachi, both of them gawking like schoolboys.
Shachi nodded dumbly, eyes wide, “I thought it was all rumors, man. But, holy crap, Strawhat, you know the Pirate Empress?!”
Luffy laughed loudly, scratching the back of his neck, “Yeah, Hancock’s great! She’s my friend!”
The reactions around him were instant and explosive—Penguin and Shachi nearly fainting,
Sanji twirling even harder, Brook’s jaw literally clattering to the floor.
Heat, who’d been leaning against the railing, whistled low, “I heard stories ‘bout her. Said she’s so beautiful men can’t even breathe around her.”
Wire, lurking nearby, chimed in with a sharp laugh, “That’s old news. The real talk now is about one of her crew. Supposedly, the First Mate puts her to shame. Said she’s a hundred times more beautiful.”
The deck went dead silent for a half-beat.
From his napping spot beneath the tree, Zoro cracked an eye open.
He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, but the subtle way his brow lifted betrayed his interest.
Luffy, oblivious to the shift, grinned wide, “That’s (y/n)! She’s super tough.”
“(Y/N)-SWAAAAAAN!” Sanji practically launched himself into the air, his heart-shaped pupils vibrating. “MY SOUL IS NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO ENDURE ALL THIS DIVINE BEAUTY! HAAAAH!”
He slammed his forehead into the deck, nosebleed spraying like a geyser.
Nami, meanwhile, clasped her hands together with a sparkle in her eyes, “Ah! I can’t wait to see her again!”
Robin, ever calm, gave her serene smile, “Mm. She does have a certain charm, doesn’t she?”
Law snorted from his place under the tree.
“Ridiculous. You’re all behaving like idiots over some rumors,” His gaze slid away, unimpressed. “She’s just another pirate.”
Kid’s glare stayed fixed on the Kuja ship as the warriors scrambled, lowering the gangplank.
His arms crossed tighter, his lip curling.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he spat, his tone sharp, though his eyes betrayed curiosity.
The gangplank dropped with a thud, the Kuja Pirates snapping to attention as the Empress prepared to cross.
The gangplank clattered into place, and before anyone could even take a step forward, Hancock was already gliding across, her cape snapping behind her.
With a gasp, she threw herself into Luffy’s arms.
“LUFFY!” she cried, swooning dramatically as her hands cupped his face. “I shall never let you go again!”
“Hancock!” Luffy laughed, entirely oblivious to the hearts bursting in her eyes.
He hugged her back with the same casualness he’d use on anyone else.
The men of the three crews froze in place, jaws nearly dislocating.
“WHAT THE HELL?!” Penguin roared, eyes bugging.
“Unbelievable...” Killer muttered from his spot against the rail, though his eyes lingered longer on her than he’d admit.
Meanwhile, Sanji’s soul practically combusted.
He dropped to his knees, twirling in circles as hearts seemed to burst from nowhere.
“Empress! Seeing you again is like gazing upon the morning sun! A radiance beyond mortal comprehension!!”
Brook strummed his guitar, swooning as well, “Yohohoho! Truly, a goddess of the seas!”
Usopp and Franky clutched each other, blubbering, “She’s too beautiful, man! Too much for the human eye!”
Even Wire and Heat, rough as they were, couldn’t help gawking.
“I didn’t think the rumors did her justice…” Wire muttered.
But as the Kuja warriors trickled onto the Sunny, the awe began to thin.
Yes, they were breathtaking—but the silence in the air held a different anticipation.
Penguin leaned toward Shachi and whispered, “So, uh… where’s the First Mate? The one everyone keeps talking about?”
Shachi shrugged, “Beats me.”
Sanji, having finished his soliloquy to Hancock, froze mid-spin as realization struck.
His expression soured dramatically.
“WAIT! Where is she?! Where is (y/n)?!?” his voice cracked like a lovesick banshee.
He darted around the deck, peering behind barrels and shoving crewmates aside.
“(y/n)-swaaan! Please, grace me with your divine presence! Your one true love awaits!”
Before he could sprint another step, a sharp crack split the air.
A bullet slammed into the deck right where his foot was about to land, splinters scattering.
Sanji skidded, arms flailing, teeth chattering as he leapt back.
“What the—?!” Kid’s crew barked, reaching for weapons.
Every gaze snapped upward.
There you were.
Perched on the roof of the Sunny’s crow’s nest, cigarette dangling from your lips, rifle cradled casually in your hands.
A curl of smoke escaped the barrel as you smirked down at them, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Did you really think,” your voice lilted with amused disdain, “that I’d ever leave my sisters behind for you, curly-brow?”
“BIG SIS (Y/N)!” the Kuja erupted as one, their cheers and tears piercing the sky. “YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL! WE LOVE YOU!!”
With a fluid motion, you leapt down.
The wind caught in your hair as you landed gracefully on the deck, not even stirring the wood beneath your heels.
“IMPOSSIBLE!” Penguin thundered, tears streaming down his face.
Even Law’s sharp composure faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly as if to ground himself.
Killer tilted his head just enough to get a better look, but Kid… Kid was scowling and red-faced, clearly struggling to hide his dumbstruck expression.
Zoro was on his feet now, swords at his hip, but his chest felt strangely tight.
He’d seen you before.
Sparred with you.
Fought alongside you.
But still… still, the sight of you never failed to hit like a sucker punch.
You weren’t just striking.
You were… otherworldly.
Heat whispered hoarsely to Wire, “She’s real…”
Sanji, meanwhile, was already convulsing, blood shooting from his nose as he collapsed into heart-eyed spasms.
“(y/n)-swaaaan! Marry me! Let's run away together!!”
You ignored him.
A smirk tugged at your lips as your gaze slid lazily toward Zoro.
“Must be rough...” you said, voice low enough for him alone. “...Surrounded by idiots.”
He snorted, lips twitching. “You have no idea.”
Your wink was quick but devastating, and Zoro felt the tips of his ears burn.
Damn it.
“(y/n)!”
Nami’s squeal cut through the air as she launched herself at you, arms tight around your waist, “I missed you so much!!”
Robin followed at her own pace, smiling softly, “It has been a while. You look well.”
You chuckled warmly, brushing your fingers through Nami’s hair before flashing Robin a grin.
The men around you collapsed again, hearts pounding at the sight of that smile.
Finally, your eyes slid toward Hancock—still latched onto Luffy like a starved cat.
You tilted your head, smoke curling from your lips.
“I think a banquet is in order?” you asked.
Hancock blinked, then instantly straightened, her prideful mask re-snapping into place.
She raised her chin imperiously, though the blush lingered.
“Yes! A banquet worthy of Luffy’s magnificence!” she declared, voice sharp and regal.
“I’ll do it!!” Sanji wailed, springing to his feet in a blood-soaked frenzy. “Leave it to me, my goddess! I’ll prepare a buffet so divine the heavens themselves will weep!”
He bolted toward the kitchen, tears and hearts trailing in his wake.
The deck dissolved into chaos—cheers, swoons, muttered curses, and one idiot cook trying to peel himself off the floor.
And Zoro?
He just watched you, silent and burning, as the sharpest pangs struck his chest.
how tall is reader in your katakuri series? and are their kids as tall as both of them? 💀
the reader is relative to katakuri's height, though still comparatively shorter than him. while he is 16'8, i imagine she is a solid 11 or 12 feet tall. and her children are the same, their adolescent heights are relative to hers and katakuri's, though they all are still incredibly tall by normal people standards. she's not a giant either, or a member of the long-leg tribe like smoothie, she is simply just a super tall human woman (like aphelandra from amazon lily)
Out of all katakuris and readers kids which ones have his teeth?
soda and mocha are the only ones who have katakuri's teeth. when soda's teeth first came in, katakuri felt awful for passing on one of his "uglier" traits to his son. but when he saw the reader crying tears of joy that her baby's first tooth was a fangy one, it eased him ever so slightly. i know i've stated this in at least one of my fics but soda is THE spitting image of katakuri, like carbon copy. the only honest difference between the two is hair color and katakuri's facial scars. as for mocha, it was pretty much the same story, only difference is that mocha looks more like the reader's mother and mocha was instantly a biter when her teeth first came in (you have the scars to prove it)
this was fun to clarify. if you have any more questions feel free.
guys, i'm really feeling inspired to write for zoro but i have no idea what to write. the last few months my inbox has been filled w katakuri stuff (no hate) feel free to drop whatever in my inbox <3
Since reader and katakuri had an arrainge marriage I would love to see how their official first date would go
⛥ﾟ・。 cranberries
SECRET BONUS/prequel to pocus (after sample and before wedding) -- with your new betrothal, big mom thought it best for you and katakuri to get to know each other on a date... if only you could stomach your terror enough to make it through dinner.
cw: fluff, comfort, katakuri is soo awkward, he means well trust, reader is rightfully scared, murphy's law, tiny bit of protective katakuri, he is twenty-one, you are twenty.
a/n: listen to Glue Song by beabadobee or I Only Have Eyes for You by The Flamingos for FULL experience
"So... do you always eat at places like this?" you asked, quietly, attempting to strike up a conversation.
Slowly, Katakuri glanced up from his menu, the intensity of his eyes—despite his plain expression—sending a sharp jolt down your spine.
He'd barely touched his wine, the rich, red liquid left untouched in its expensive glass.
"No," he answered after a pause. "Brûlée chose it. Said it was... appropriate."
His voice was its usual rumble, deep and graveled, but somehow not harsh.
"Right," you nodded, fingers toying with the hem of your dress as you looked around, desperate to escape the awkward tension. "Appropriate."
His stare lingered a moment too long, the feeling of his sharp gaze only worsening your urge to run away from the table.
You were scared.
And you were doing a pretty shit job at hiding it.
The whole experience was making you feel like a total fish out of water.
From the hazy, golden, and refined atmosphere, to the silverware that probably costed more than your rent.
It was a swanky establishment, where it seemed as if blinking wrong would get you thrown out of the place.
Trying your best, you sat with your hands folded in your lap, attempting to posture yourself like the other high society women in the room.
In a dress that wasn't yours... in makeup someone else applied... in shoes a half-size too tight...
Your spine felt stiff as a board as you sat across from your husband-to-be, who had said no more than a total of six words since he escorted you to the private booth.
"You... don't have to be afraid of me," Katakuri suddenly chimed, snapping you out of your thoughts.
Surprised, your breath hitched, the sight sending a rather sharp pang through the man's heart.
He hated it.
Not you—never you—but your fear.
Your uncertainty.
He had caused it, even if he didn't mean to.
The last time he saw you, you were cracking jokes with Kota while frosting the day's cupcakes.
You had greeted him with a smile and a dash of powder on your cheek, completely unaware that in twenty-four hours, you'd be told you were about to become his wife.
And now you were a stranger, blinking too fast and trying her best not to cry.
"I'm not—"
"You are," he said plainly, without cruelty. "It's not unreasonable."
You blinked, before allowing the tiniest, most nervous laugh to escape your lips.
"That's... not reassuring."
"It's the truth."
A beat of silence passed.
"You don't have to like this... or me," he set the menu down carefully. "But I want to try. I'd like... for you to feel safe with me."
Your throat tightened.
This was the first time he sounded like an actual person.
And he was trying—that much was clear.
But just as you opened your mouth to speak, the waiter tripped, and the entire plate of smoked duck and cranberry glaze went tumbling.
Straight into the general's lap.
A collective gasp sounded off from the nearby tables, the waiter himself nearly crapping his pants as you slapped a hand over your mouth.
Katakuri didn't even flinch.
He slowly looked down at the steaming mess on his stomach, before looking up to the shaking waiter.
"It's fine," he said, voice flat as stone. "It's just sauce."
The man let out an incoherent string of frantic apologies before scurrying off back to the kitchen.
With a sigh, Katakuri leaned forward, grabbing a napkin with all the zeal of an exhausted lion.
"Do things like that happen often?" you asked, quite confused by his reaction.
You were expecting a blowout.
A scream, a shout, something.
He grunted, dabbing his soaked pants, "Not until now."
And at his response, you laughed.
He blinked, looking up with a quirked brow.
It was a real laugh—short, muffled by your hand—but a laugh nonetheless.
And Katakuri couldn't stop the hum of warmth that passed through him at the sound of it.
"Sorry," you apologized with a faint—adorable—snort. "It's just... you're such an intimidating guy and yet you're just... sitting there... being polite with cranberry sauce on your legs."
"It's cranberry?" he muttered, genuinely confused as he sniffed his leather vest.
Once again, you laughed, and something inside him thawed—if only slightly.
Sadly, the awkwardness returned once the replacement meal was brought.
You had began eating with the wrong fork, and in an attempt to correct you, the sommelier leaned over the table, only to knock over Katakuri's untouched wine, which completely flooded the linen tablecloth.
And completely ruined your new dress.
So, a few napkins and a relocation later, and things were back to normal.
The sommelier had returned and tried to pour Katakuri more wine, but your fiance was quick to send him a sharp glare, effectively scaring him off.
Your dinners were eaten in relative silence, only an odd question here and there managing to break up the quiet.
In fact, it wasn't until the two of you had finished and left the restaurant that you said another word to each other.
"I don't want you to be afraid of me," Katakuri suddenly blurted, eyes trained on the space ahead as you two walked back to the Whole Cake Chateau.
It was only a few gingerbread-blocks away, and Big Mom had insisted you stayed there until the wedding was done and over with—partly for convenience, mostly to make sure you didn't run.
Besides, the moon was full and bright, and the night was perfectly clear.
"If I've ever done anything to—"
"You didn't," you assured, quickly. "It's not you. It's just... everything. The arrangement. The family. The suddenness."
You let out an empty chuckle, all the warmth from earlier now gone as you glanced down at the ground.
"It's a lot to take in..."
In an instant, your whole life had been uprooted.
The trajectory of your entire future was laid out before you by someone else's plan, and you had absolutely no say in the matter.
You were marrying into crime, into violence.
Into piracy.
And the cherry on top was that it wasn't even a normal pirate crew, but one of the most infamous, dangerous, and feared crews in the world.
So yeah, all that was enough to make any woman's head spin.
But even still...
You glanced up, your voice quieter, "You don't scare me, Katakuri."
Instantly, his shoulders eased, a faint glimmer of hope flashing across his iris.
At the sight, you cracked a shy smile, a tinge of warmth stinging the apples of your cheeks.
If this was really for the long haul, then silence and fear wasn't going to cut it.
Sure, baby steps would have to be taken, and maybe a few less mishaps, but at the end of the tunnel you could see—if anything—a great friendship blossoming between you two.
"But cranberries?" you teased, giving the man a cheeky bump with your hip. "That's a different story."
At your joke, he gave the smallest of chuckles—a breath, really—but it was just enough to fill your chest with a sense of pride.
dededos
blakekathryn
jacobvanloon
turnnoffyourmind
andulkaphoto