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naomihatake · 13 days

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Chaos in Their Bones Ch. 10

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention.

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frenemies to lovers, idiots to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) The smut has arrived.

Words: 10.3k

A/N: Alright y’all. The smut has arrived. Is it any good? Probably fucking not. So I apologize in advance but ya girl tried. Hopefully, as I continue to write intimate scenes for these two idiots, it won’t be such a dumpster fire. That being said, this chapter is a lot more fun, more lighthearted, and (fingers crossed) a good time. Filler chapter part 1 in this series is here and hopefully it’s a good a time as all the rest. And as always: Thank You. For always being so kind and loving my story as much as you do. I hope you all continue to enjoy it 🖤 Much Love, Jenn

p.s. please press play whenever you get to a certain part. You'll know when you get there.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Previous

Warnings: swearing, P in V, unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids), fingering, virginity taking (?) mentions of past trauma, doc being awkward as hell

You weren’t sure what kind of dream you were having in the beginning. It could’ve been a lovely one. It also could’ve been a terrible one, but that was the beauty of sleep. Sometimes it didn’t have to be accompanied by a dream and just be blissful, peaceful, oblivion. You were willing to bet one of Sanji’s orange tarts that you were sleeping in the last category before a violent jolt shifted you awake.

You thought the Merry was capsizing; a wave had come darting over the side and sent her ass over the stern. Instead, it was Roronoa Zoro who stood at the end of your bed, arms crossed, with a booted foot on the bedframe where said foot had shoved the frame back against the wall.

“The fuck-”

“Get up.”

“-are you doing in my room?”

Each word was a grumble. You were positive if your eyes could open up, you’d be giving him a glare so potent that it might kill him. Fortunately for Zoro, your eyes were still battling the glaze of sleep. Unfortunately for you, even with your eyes hooded in the shape of a crescent moon, you were painfully aware that he was wearing a beige kimono-style shirt. It was specifically the one you’d mentioned to Nami a few times since leaving the Conomi Islands that was a particular weakness of yours.

The way the sleeves strained against his biceps - the muscles underneath blatantly on display with his arms crossed. The sinful way the dip of the V-shape exposed your eyes to the tanned chest underneath. A chest you knew very well was as defined as the muscles in his arms.

“Have you been eavesdropping again?”

It was the only solid reason you could think of for seeing him wear that specific shirt - and ones like it - five times now in the last few days. You didn’t even try to hide your irritation, and Zoro didn’t flinch as it carried over to the noticeable pitch in your tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, get up.”

“Of course you don’t,” you mumbled.

You fell back against the softness of the mattress. A hand scrubbed aggressively over your face in an attempt to try and chase away what fatigue remained. This only resulted in his planted boot giving the frame of your bed another violent shake.

“Alright, alright! I’m getting up,” you snapped, hurling a pillow in his direction. It wasn’t a shock to watch Zoro easily dodge it. “Has anyone told you how much of a pain in the ass you are?”

“I’ve been told once or twice. Now - up.”

“I am up!”

“You’re still lying there.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides and it took every ounce of your current self-control not to flail them into the sheets.

“My god, Zoro, what the hell are you even waking me up for?”

Zoro didn’t bother to remove his boot until he watched your body shift under the sheets. Your arm reluctantly threw back the blankets as you started small shuffles to the edge of the bed grumbling the whole way. It wasn’t until your feet were planted on the wood of your cabin floor that Zoro removed his boot off the bed.

The cold blank stare he usually wore plastered carefully on his face. A little too careful if anyone cared to ask you. Like he might be enjoying waking you up like a crazy drill sergeant for the Marines.

As he made his way over to you, he uncrossed his arms and held out his hands for you to take. A pipeline of support that you wanted to smack away because damn him for waking you up when he knew damn well you’d gone to bed late. No matter how childish you wanted to be, however, you couldn’t deny the heat in his eyes made you painfully aware of how close he was. A bed behind you and only a secured upper body wrap holding you together with a pair of shorts were the only things between you.

You weren’t at a hundred percent yet. The damage Arlong and his men subjected you too was extensive - requiring weeks if not months of upcoming healing. It took you a whole week just to be able to look at yourself in the mirror and not hate what you saw. The rawness of a body now molded and shaped with some scars that would fade over time with some that wouldn’t.

You weren’t a vain person but…it was a lot.

There wasn’t any denying the look in Zoro’s eyes but you couldn’t keep your insecurity from flaring to life. It took every fiber of your being not to wrap your middle in a protective hug. Instead, you allowed your hands to slip inside the palm of Zoro’s. He pulled you up quickly, a little too quick, which caused your feet to wobble and your chest to collide with his.

Your hands landed on his chest to try and steady yourself. Zoro’s own hands fell to your waist to either steady you or -

“You did that on purpose.”

Fuck. Did he always look at you this way?

In the past few weeks since you’d come back - after the moment inside the tent - an unspoken bond formed between you. It went past sealed limbs and hands that enveloped possessively around flesh. It was an unseen thing that tethered you both to each other. It felt unexplainable the way you knew he was coming before he’d ever entered the room.

You knew he was behind your door before he’d ever knocked. It was the pause in the shadow under the doorway that gave him away. The sound of a heavy breath shuddering free from a body that was filled with apprehension, which didn’t seem like Zoro at all.

And while he knew you were his - surely he must know - Zoro entered your space with caution, with timid touches and glances that made sure you knew you held all the control. You, the sun, and him the moon hopelessly moving around your orbit, but somehow, he’d filled every space that used to be empty with nothing but him.

One of them being now.

In a room full of drying herbs and flowers that cascaded down one side of your room, a few overhead, it should’ve only smelt just like that. The scents of orange blossoms and wisteria mixed with mint. All the smells you’d come to associate with home now mixed with the heady smell of the sea, metals, and the camellia oil Zoro used to sharpen the Wado Ichimonji.

Your space was as much his as it used to be yours.

Zoro didn't answer you or offer up any explanation. His dark eyes only followed your tongue as it wet your bottom lip. His hands gripping your hips a fraction tighter - pulled you in closer. Zoro’s neck craned down to bring his lips closer and you pushed up on your tiptoes - “You and I are training this morning.”

You were going to kill him.

Your neck was still craned to the side as you scanned his face to see if this was a joke. You waited for a crack in his stern expression to soften with the brightness of his smile. His real one. What you got was that deep gaze that informed you he meant it, and you couldn’t get your eyes to stop blinking back the swear words brewing in your brain.

“Come again?”

“Training. That’s what we are doing this morning. So, get dressed and meet me on the deck in five.”

To send his message home, Zoro gave your ass a slight smack earning him a squawk of surprise. Your hand absentmindedly rushing up to massage the sting he left just as he released you. If you weren’t shellshocked, you would’ve smacked his arm as he turned and headed for the door.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you chuckled in disbelief.

“And I can’t believe I’m in love with a woman who screams like a bird.”

“I beg your pardo -“

“Five minutes, Doc. You make me wait more than that and I’ll come back to get you.”

“That sounds less frightening and more exciting than I think you’re going for, Mosshead.”

Zoro stopped, hand on the door before he turned back just enough for you to spot the smirk that was beginning to chase the darkness from his eyes.

“Five minutes.”

Those were his parting words before he exited your room quietly shutting the door behind him. You stared at where he’d left, your brain trying to make sense of what exactly just took place. One minute, you were blissfully sleeping, and the next you were rubbing out the sting Zoro’s hand left on your ass. Not to mention, you were apparently supposed to train with him in less than five minutes.

You were going to have to make a quick stop at the kitchen before you met him on deck.

“No, absolutely not. Go put that back right now.”

You weren’t sure what you would find when you finally made it up on the deck. Sure, you were pre-warned that you were going to be subjected to some form of training. Mentally, you prepared yourself to see the weights Zoro used daily or ropes to launch with your arms in ever-expanding waves with him yelling to send them higher and higher. Your mind created obstacle courses and brutal regimes that were going to leave you begging for a time out; to come back and try another day.

What you didn’t expect to find was Zoro - your Zoro - shamelessly shirtless.

Gone was his shirt from earlier leaving only the sash that held his sword at his waist, jeans, and his boots. Conveniently, he’d left his bandana wrapped around a bicep that was currently flexed; the hilt of the Wado squeezed tight in his palm as he displayed it at his side.

While you hadn’t been prepared for him to be shirtless, Zoro hadn’t expected you to come out with one of Sanji’s pots.

In your book, that made you even.

You waited until you were only a couple of feet from him before you theatrically lifted it up by the handle and gave it a spin.

“Put it back,” Zoro demanded.

“Absolutely not,” you replied curtly, allowing yourself to spin the pot inside your palm again. “I think you forget how amazing I am with Lucille.”

“Lucille?”

It was cute watching Zoro’s brow raise in apt horror. His eyes watched as you pretended to get ready to throw the pot like a ball.

“Yeah - that’s her name. You know, the same way your sword has a name.”

“This sword was given a name by one of the greatest and most influential families to ever exist - alive or dead. You can’t just go around naming your own weapons.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem fair, and saying things like Lucille doesn’t deserve a name will make her cry.”

“Please stop calling the pot Lucille.”

“Oi! Doc! Is that my cooking pot?”

If it had been any other time, any other place, that Sanji interjected himself into, Zoro would’ve looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon. Annoyance, a badge of honor he seemed to wear constantly whenever Sanji was present. But, it was your first day of training and here you came, pot in hand, and said cook coming out to reclaim it was the savior Zoro didn’t know he needed.

You could practically see his eyes light up with satisfaction as Sanji stomped his way over to you.

“She is no longer a cooking pot, Sanji. She is now affectionately known as Lucille.”

Sanji came to a stop beside you. The sleeves of a powder blue dress shirt rolled up his forearms and a fresh cigarette held between his fingers. The other tucked, as per usual, inside the safety of his trousers. He didn’t try to hide the confusion that etched his brows together and, using his free hand, created a line from you to Zoro.

“Oi, Mosshead, you put her up to this?”

With his free hand, Zoro waved off Sanji’s accusation. His hip cocking as he placed the Wado Ichimonji back inside its sheath. Once he knew it was secure, he used it as a perch for his hands.

You were very aware of the struggle you were having to pay attention to the conversation at hand. It had to do with the pot in your hands that you were no longer fiddling with. Zoro wanted you to put it back, and Sanji was more than happy to remove it from you. That should’ve been your main focus and yet…

Zoro was far more distracting when he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Dangerously distracting. You tried to remind yourself you’d seen him shirtless before. Back at Baratie - when none of you were sure he’d make it another night. You’d exposed his chest to the room, stitched his wounds, and cleaned them.

This was different.

Back then, Zoro was pale from blood loss. There was no life - no color - to his skin. Not like the way the sun darkened his skin and dusted kisses of freckles over his shoulders. Every cord of muscle in said chest flexed around the diagonal scar that ran from the top of his left peck to the top of his sash. A scar meant to be a lesson now appeared to blend into the skin; a warning to those who sought a challenge.

A vision of the willpower he possessed to fight even death itself.

Your gaze was too hungry. You weren’t able to tear your eyes away as he shamelessly flexed the muscles in his forearms that led ever upwards. The way your mouth watered as he turned at his waist, back and forth, to loosen up his back. The movement only put on full display the deep indent that rested between his shoulder blades.

“Why would I tell her to grab a pot from the kitchen?”

Sanji hadn’t been prepared for his response. He appeared to consider Zoro’s question while he removed his hand from the pocket of his trousers and motioned for you to hand it over. You wish you could say you handed it over with grace, but instead you placed Lucille behind your back.

“Hand it over, Doc.”

“I’m keeping her.”

“It’s my pot,” Sanji reminded you.

“And she deserves better.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Doc, just hand over the damn pot so we can get started.”

No. Nope. You were not pouting. You most definitely weren’t pouting when you glanced at Zoro. You especially weren’t pouting when you gingerly took Lucille from behind your back and placed her handle inside the palm of Sanji’s waiting hand.

“There. Was that so hard?”

“I’ll come back for you,” you whispered to the shiny metal.

Your words only earned you a worried look of concern from Sanji.

“Should I be locking up my pots and pans now? What in the hell is going on?”

Sanji’s question wasn’t directed at you and, if you weren’t still trying to take back the pot from him, you might have been offended. Instead, you allowed the worry Sanji seemed to have for your mental health to fall away while the sound of Zoro’s heavy footsteps making their way across the deck reminded you of the reason you were there.

“If you’re done messing with the waiter, we have more important things to do.”

You wanted to ask Zoro if he was trying to cause you permanent emotional distress. It had to be the reason he just oh so casually strolled over, still extremely shirtless, very much glistening in the sun with his chest just…out…like that with his wrists resting on the hilt of the Wado. You swore if he so much as tucked a thumb into the sash you were going to combust.

“I can assure you, Mosshead, there is nothing more important to Doc than me.”

“Actually, that would be false,” you cut in around the inhale of breath Zoro was dragging through his teeth. “The most important thing to me is breakfast.”

“I can definitely make a five-star breakfast for one of my favorite girls.“

“We. Are. Training.”

Each syllable knocked against Zoro’s teeth in annoyance. If you didn’t start doing said training soon, you were going to be in the middle of an actual fight. It wouldn’t be the first - or the last - time Sanji and Zoro went at each other with more than just words.

After the first week of each of them testing the waters of whose presence bothered who the most, they’d ended up coming to blows inside the kitchen. Much to Sanji’s very loud displeasure not only had Zoro’s forehead scuffed Sanji’s recently polished boot, but he’d simultaneously ruined dessert.

Now Sanji did whatever he could to agitate Zoro, and Zoro did the same. And Sanji’s favorite way to agitate Zoro? Well, that was to irritate him by using you in practically every available reference.

Because of this, a sharp exhale exited your body as you gently patted a chest you forgot was bare. Very bare.

Ignore it. Move on. We are moving on…

“Alright. Yes, we are about to train. So, let’s…train away. That way.”

You directed Zoro to turn around with your hands secured on his shoulders for extra measure. You waited until you were both far enough away from Sanji before you released Zoro, only to find Sanji now seated on a crate.

Great. Just what you definitely didn’t need - an audience.

“Alright, Sensei,” you said, voice full of apprehension. “Train away.”

This was punishment. It had to be because you couldn’t imagine any sane human being subjecting themselves to doing this for longer than an hour. First, Zoro made you sprint to the front and back of the Merry ten times. While, at the time, ten felt like such an easy, if not silly, number and you’d mentioned it to him.

“How am I supposed to work up a sweat going around only ten times? I’m not a baby.”

As it turns out you were, in fact, a baby.

A giant one by the sounds your lungs audibly made as your legs struggled up a set of stairs. If you’d been smarter and taken the smirk of challenge that rose to his lips as a warning, maybe you would’ve kept your mouth shut. Maybe Zoro would’ve taken pity on you and allowed you a drink of water when you finished, instead of immediately handing you two forearm length pieces of bamboo.

“What the hell is this?”

Each word squeezed between a ragged breath. You were trying to remain stoic; composed. What you ended up with was your head thrown back, your mouth greedily gulping for air, and eyes shut tight against the sun.

“Bamboo sticks.”

God, sometimes Zoro was so matter-of-fact you weren’t sure if he was pulling your leg for shits and giggles or if he’d removed his sense of humor.

“Yes, Mosshead, I see that they are bamboo sticks. No Katana for me?”

“You’re a little clumsy for a Katana -“

“Well, that’s rude,” you mumbled between shifting the weight of one stick in your hand.

“-you don’t hold your balance well. So, I figured Kenpo sticks might serve you better. To be able to hold any weapon for a long period of time, however, you’re going to have to train the muscles in your arms. Whether it’s holding them or swinging them for extended periods of time. That being said, you’re going to swing each stick five hundred times.”

A whistle from the Northern side of the deck cut across your stunned silence. A reminder that while you’d been struggling to run a few laps, you’d gained an audience.

“I don’t know Zoro,” started Usopp, “I myself am pretty well-versed in hand-to-hand combat but even that seems…a lot for someone’s first time.”

Of course, none of you were going to mention that Usopp’s combat consisted of his slingshot or running. You were sure if anyone did, he would’ve chalked it up to being one of the first snipers to ever be able to shoot while running in the East Blue.

Zoro didn’t appear to be moved by Usopp’s words. His shoulders shrugged them off as he moved closer to you, his hands wrapped around the sticks. It was the fifth time held corrected you in over two minutes since you’d started. Not that you were counting or anything.

Fuck, your arms were already starting to burn.

“Pain is weakness leaving the body.”

“If you say, ‘mind over matter,’ next I’m lacing your next dinner with a laxative,” you warned.

Zoro didn’t appear to be the least bit phased by your most recent threat. His eyes drifted back to watching your form and the way you swung the Kenpo sticks. If you didn’t stop at a full ninety-degree angle, he was going to add on another fifty swings to make up for the ones that weren’t right.

“Can we please move on to something else before my arms fall off?”

You didn’t care if you sounded desperate. You felt fucking desperate, at this point in your life. You were pretty sure if you kept this up your arms were just going to refuse to work. You needed your arms. They were very vital in being able to be a person. Like eating food, that your stomach loudly reminded you that you needed.

“It sounds to me like Doc is in need of that breakfast she mentioned earlier,” Sanji called.

“I could definitely take a second breakfast,” Luffy cut in, his arm raised for added effect.

“You’ll take seconds of anything,” Nami quipped, earning her a smile from the Straw Hat pirate.

“And that is why I put a lock on the pantry.”

“There was a lock?”

It was Sanji’s absolute look of horror at Luffy’s confusion that sent you into a giggle fit. One that ended as quickly as it began when Zoro used the covering of the Wado to wack against your thigh. Just like he had that night back at Baratie.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“You dropped your arms. I’ll add another hundred if you don’t resume your position in the next five seconds.”

You felt your eye twitch - you couldn’t make it stop. You were sure it meant you were either going to have a mental breakdown or worse. Zoro didn’t seem to be worried about either option. His eyes expectantly watched to see what your choice was going to be.

Suddenly, you were back in your room being woken up by the very same madman in front of you. All you wanted was to sleep in. Maybe add in a little breakfast with the stuffed French toast Sanji had been spoiling you with the last couple of days.

But no.

No, you were trapped out on the deck with your crazy demon pirate three-sword-wielding boyfriend. To bring this home, your stomach gave another loud growl and your hands went flailing around in front of you.

“Ugh, Doc. What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m fighting ghosts,” you deadpanned. “What does it look like, Usopp?”

“It looks painful. Are you supposed to be breathing that hard?”

Usopp was right. You were breathing hard. Whether it was from your impromptu tantrum or something else, you weren’t sure.

“Are you done?”

And then there was Zoro.

Mr. Composed himself standing there waiting for you to finish. He’d crossed his arms over his chest leaving his perky chest and all his perky muscles on full display. If it wasn’t for your growling stomach it might’ve been enough to distract you.

A low whistle came from your audience drawing Zoro’s attention away from you.

“Who knew Zoro was such a masochist?”

“I am not a masochist!”

“I don’t know, Mosshead. You do seem to be getting off on keeping Doc away from food.”

“I am not.”

“Me doth think the lady protests too much,” Sanji teased, his tongue working around the toothpick he’d placed between his lips.

“And I think the waiter should get back to the kitchen.”

“Okay, okay!” Nami interjected, jumping off the crate she sat on moments ago. “How about a compromise? Doc gets to eat and as soon as she does, Zoro, you can go back to training her until her arms fall off.”

“I’d like to keep my arms and any other future appendages if that’s alright with everyone,” you added.

It was a shot in the dark. One you were grateful to Nami for taking. If anyone stood a chance at letting you get even a smidge of breakfast, it was going to be the ship's resident thief and smooth talker extraordinaire.

But Zoro wasn’t just anyone and he was rarely swayed. Immune to everything on the planet that didn’t come with an alcohol percentage rate.

And just like that, an idea so ingenuous crept up on you that it almost sent you jumping in place.

“Or how about this, Zoro,” you began, “the next time we dock, I’ll not only buy you unlimited drinks at the nearest bar. I’ll also buy you a case of whatever you want.”

You tried to keep the hope out of your voice. Unless it tipped Zoro off how truly desperate you were for Sanji to feed you. Who knew what kind of add-ons he would make to an already painfully expensive offer.

It didn’t take long for you to spot the flare of interest in his eyes. The only tell you needed to know you had him right where you wanted. Your stomach had never been more grateful.

“Unlimited drinks, two cases of whatever I want, and when you finish with breakfast we pick up where you left off.”

“Deal.”

It felt like days had passed while you soaked in the heat of the tub. The world has sped by in a rush of sunlight and the salt air of crashing waves to the overwhelming dusk of night.

You’d stayed so long inside the water your fingers ripened to raisins. Even then, you would’ve continued to stay housed inside the steam and heat until the aches and pains liquified into nothing.

The training with Zoro had been welcome, but unexpected. It felt good to not be treated like fine china. As if the slightest tap or mention of your wounds that seemed to be taking longer to heal would rip you back open. It was starting to drive you mad. You were close to reminding them that you were…different.

The question of just what and who you were unanswered. An unmistakable unanswered question with possibly no answers and then, like magic, Zoro showed up in your room demanding for you to train.

Both of you knew it was a compromise. One that didn’t need explanation. Since his vow in the tent, Zoro had made it very clear he meant every word. While he gave you space (sometimes too much of it) he was never far away from you. If you were tending to Nami’s tangerine trees, he was out on the upper deck, body relaxed and stretched like a cat soaking up the sun. The times he was training, he would stop and see where you were.

No matter where you were on the ship, Zoro was drawn to find you. You weren't exactly sure how it was going to go when the Merry finally docked, but you could only imagine how fun that was going to be.

Zoro taking the time to train you wasn’t meant for you, not really, anyway. It was a way for him to know, without a doubt, if you were ever separated, you would be safe.

“I can’t lose you, Doc.”

The baritone of his voice felt heavier in the space between your rooms. You noticed it in the way his hand gripped the hilt of the Wado just a little too tightly. The muscles in his jaw grinding to a halt against his teeth.

It had been this way since you’d been back on the Merry. The moment in your room a fading memory. You wanted to ask him why he never knocked again - why he never came back inside to finish what Luffy interrupted that day.

Zoro’s lips claimed yours with the intensity of a fire and had left you to burn at their loss.

As the days turned to a week and the week began another, the bruises and wounds began to heal. Some of them leave violent reminders of what you’d endured. The sob that had racked through your body like a great wave of grief echoed through you still as you looked at your back in the mirror. Ugly marks you knew would never fully go away; gnarled patches of flesh that told a story you wish you could forget.

You hated your mind for telling you this was why Zoro never came back. Who would want to touch a broken thing?

“You can never lose me, Zoro.” Your reply was hushed, spoken to the space between your shoes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But I almost lost you. Didn’t I?” There it was. The anger. The heat of an old fear that burned its way into something feral. “A few minutes longer, midwife too short, and you wouldn’t be here and I would know a loss greater than any damn gods could fix.”

The memory of that moment trapped between your bedroom doors played on repeat in your mind as you stepped out of the bath. Your hands quickly grab a towel to wrap around yourself and make sure it was secure.

You weren’t worried when you stepped out from behind the bathroom door if you would run into anyone. Dinner had long since been served, the late-night conversations all but died, and the quiet lap of water against the Merry was the only sound to greet you. Still, you couldn’t help but look both ways down the hallway before you made your way towards your room.

You’d just made it to your door, hand on your doorknob, when the sudden cold air of a door - Zoro’s door - whooshing open made your body freeze in place.

“It took you seventeen minutes longer than usual to get back to your room tonight. What’s going on?”

Never mind the fact that you were standing exposed in just a towel in the middle of the hallway. You could even disregard - maybe - the fact that Zoro was standing in the doorway to his room with his arm against the frame, shirtless (my god did he run out of clean shirts?!) with his usual carefully maintained hair looking like his fingers ran through it more than a few times.

“I’m sorry,” your voice quipped on the word, “but have you been timing me?”

“Answer the question.”

“You answer my question first! And why are you just standing like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like -,” you waved a hand from his feet to his head for added emphasis, “- that.”

Zoro watched your hand as it flew around like a rather large fly on crack. If you were a gambling person, you might have placed a bet on the fact he found you very amusing right now. More amusing than you would’ve liked.

“What does that even mean? How do you want me to stand?”

“Not like that!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is me standing like this bothering you?”

You could practically feel your eyes narrowed to slits when he leaned deeper against the arm on the doorframe. The action making the muscles in his stomach become more pronounced and his pants sling lower against the deep V of his hips -

“You absolutely did that on purpose,” you seethed.

You weren’t expecting him to take a step out from the safety of his door frame. That one step was all Zoro needed to completely take up the small space in the hallway leaving you with only two options: move back or stand your ground. Your body was screaming for you to pick the first option, but Naan didn’t raise a coward. So, when Zoro’s arm reached behind you to brace himself on your door, completely closing the space between you, you tried your absolute best to act like you were fine.

You were very much aware you were only in a towel and Zoro was casually standing there in only a hastily thrown-on pair of pants. His face mere inches away from yours. You wouldn’t be surprised if he caught the sound of your heart thundering wildly in your chest or heard the very prominent, Fuck, that was bouncing through your head in time with your nerves.

The desire Zoro stirred in you, that you’d buried down the last few weeks, came roaring back to the surface with a vengeance. You - he - was playing with fire and with every inch his body took into your space, you weren’t sure you’d have the strength to not plead for him to stay. Every second his body drew closer to yours, every cell in yours came to life with a need so violent it almost buckled you at the knees.

“You’re cute when you blush.” The whispered words hovered between you. His chest now pressed against the hand that clutched at the towel while he opened the door behind you. “Get inside.”

You couldn’t make your body move. You wanted to stay there enveloped in the heat of his body for just a few seconds more. The rising smirk in the corner of his mouth informing you that Zoro was very aware of this.

“I’m not blushing.”

“Sure, you always walk around with a pink tint to your cheeks, Snowdrop,” he hummed. “Now get in.”

The use of your new pet name was what sent you walking back inside your room. It was different than when he called you by your nickname. His tone unbothered, as if he could be talking to anyone. It wasn’t as intimate as when he spoke your real name. The way his voice deepened and rolled your name off his tongue like it was his greatest sin.

No. Snowdrop was soft. Innocent. Private. Just for him.

You expected him to tell you good night before he shut the door. It was the nightly routine you’d come to expect. Zoro waiting in the purgatory between both of your rooms. Always present, but never crossing. You held your breath, waiting to hear the richness of his voice cascade down your spine as intimately as if he’d touched you. You watched him while you took a few more steps inside the safety of your room; eyes never wavering off him as your fist curled against the fabric of your towel.

It wasn’t until he’d stepped inside, the door firmly closing behind him, that you realized this time was different. The only thing that helped quiet your racing heart was the uncertainty that laced itself into the crease of his brow. His eyes roaming over your towel-clothed figure as if he just realized it was all you wore.

You wanted to go back to earlier this morning when you considered maiming him with a pillow. When Zoro was in the middle of being his usual strong silent type self who was ordering you around. You preferred it over a room that suddenly felt too small and unspoken words that left so much longing to hammer against your chest.

Zoro ran a hand through his hair, somehow making it messier than it was a second ago, before tucking his hands into the safety of his pockets. Any other time it would’ve been innocent. At the weight of his fists, however, the stretch band at the waist gave way dipping lower to show the beginning peak of moss-green hair.

Your body seemed to forget how to swallow. The action caused you to cough around a ball of spit that got caught in your throat.

“Where do you keep the Alderberry?”

How could he ask questions right now? How could Zoro be so composed? You felt like you were three seconds away from combusting.

“Why?”

The sound of his bare feet taking a cautious step forward sent your pulse spiking against your neck. Gods, please, don’t let him notice.

But he was Roronoa Zoro. The Demon Pirate Hunter and soon to be the Greatest Swordsman who ever lived. Of course, he noticed.

“I know Nami usually helps you put it on at night. You were in the bath so long she went to sleep.”

Damn. Just how long had you been hiding in the bath?

Nami usually did help you every night. Her hands were the only ones you trusted to rub in the Alderberry ointment on the places you couldn’t reach. Your back being the biggest target area. There was a comfort in knowing only one person aboard the ship took inventory of every wound currently healing on your body. The way Nami teased how Zoro was probably seething in a jealous fit across the way knowing she was seeing more of you than he did.

It was easy to take her playfulness and meet it with a dismissive one. Easy to pretend around the comfort of being in her presence that deep down you believe the opposite.

And now here Zoro stood encapsulated in the darkness of your room. The only light came from the window of moonlight that cascaded like a kaleidoscope across his face and shoulders. All his usual carefully crafted composure, the ‘I don’t give a fuck,’ bravado that rolled off him in waves was stripped away.

Here inside your room, Roronoa Zoro wasn’t the three-sword fighting style demon who terrified dozens of pirates.

In your room, he was just a boy who looked at you like you’d hung the stars.

“Oh,” you huffed out in a shaky breath, “Yeah, uhm, it’s over there on the middle shelf to the left.”

Zoro didn’t wait to see where you pointed. His feet padded over to one of the many shelves that lined the small room his eyes scooping out the shelf until they spotted a small circular tin. You’d painted a cluster of tiny Alderberries on the lid, and just that small detail alone sent a ghost of a smile to arch the corner of Zoro’s lips.

“You know, you’re the only doctor I know who categorizes all of their medicine with pictures instead of labels.”

His voice barely registered as he spoke. The richness of his voice only seemed to grow deeper, gruffer, when he talked in hushed tones. You hated how your body reacted to the intimacy of the sound. Your eyes helplessly watched as he moved towards you, his fingertips slowly moving the cylinder of ointment between them.

“I prefer my drawings to ugly labels.”

“But what if someone comes in and grabs the wrong one?”

“Well, I guess they better learn how to ask first before taking anything,” you chided.

You tried your best to sound like Naan. The way she would scold you for trying to sneak sweets before dinner. It appeared that your attempt at sounding like an ornery old woman only succeeded in making him smile so big his teeth showed. Immediately, Zoro ducked his chin down towards his chest to try and hide it.

It took every ounce of strength you had not to reach out to grab ahold of his chin and force him to give it back.

“Alright, Snowdrop. Turn around for me.”

At the mention of showing him your back, your body went rigid. You hoped he didn’t notice, but it was Zoro. Of course, he noticed.

And of course, he took it the wrong way.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s probably easier having Nami -“

“No, it’s fine,” you quickly cut in.

You tried to wave away his apologetic words. He had nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t his fault you ended up with wounds like this, and it wasn’t his job to heal you. It just came down to the fear of rejection, the looks of pity or disgust, that kept you hostage inside your own head.

With a shaky breath, you steeled yourself, turning to expose your back to him. Well, as exposed as it could be with the towel covering up past your shoulders. You waited in the heavy silence of the room with apprehension threatening to eat you alive as your eyes roamed the room. You examined every shelf, every strand of hanging flowers as if it was the first time you’d ever seen its contents.

It felt like you were waiting forever for him to do something, anything, that you felt your nerves begin to buckle. At any minute, you would turn around and tell him nevermind. It was a kind gesture but maybe this was a mistake. You were in the middle of formulating a good enough excuse to give him when the warm pad of his palm on your shoulder sent you jumping out of your skin.

A chuckle rolled from deep in his chest, and you wanted to turn around and punch him.

“You did that on purpose.”

“I seem to be doing a lot of things on purpose today.”

“If the shoe fits,” you grumbled.

You were prepared this time when his fingers touched down on your skin. Every nerve helplessly followed the path they took as they brushed the drying strands of wet hair out of the way. The calloused pads of his fingertips dipped underneath the fabric of the towel and gave it a small tug.

“Relax.”

Fuck.

He breathed the word against your ear and you couldn’t keep the soft gasp from escaping from between your lips. You prayed the moonlight from your window didn’t show him the goosebumps that one word had elicited across your skin. Your body was a traitor who answered the roaming pads of his hands with a heat that pooled low in the pit of your stomach.

There was no denying your pulse was thundering beneath your skin, and you wondered if Zoro could see it. If the tips of his fingers felt it as they mapped down from your throat and moved to push the towel low, and lower until he had the cloth down to the middle of your back. His index and middle fingers ran down the length of your spine and your body involuntarily shuddered against him.

No longer did you care about ointments or salves. You wanted - needed - him to touch you. If Zoro needed to hear you plead and beg, if it was enough for him to release the growing pressure that was building between your legs, you would gladly do it.

It wasn’t until you heard the sharp whistle of air sliding between his teeth that you remembered what it was he was looking at. You tried to draw the towel back up, to turn back around to face him, but Zoro’s strong hand on your shoulders kept you rooted in place.

“What are you doing?”

“You don’t have to do this. I appreciate it, but I know it can be a lot - “

“- Doc.”

“I can go a night without the ointment. Really, Zoro, it's fine.”

“Will you shut up for one second and just talk to me?”

If he could see your face right now he would know you were more than a little confused on how to go about answering that question.

“Ugh, how am I supposed to simultaneously talk and shut up at the same time?”

He let out a sigh and you felt his forehead drop between your shoulder blades.

“Poor choice of words,” he groaned.

“I would have to agree.”

“Doc -“

“Zoro?”

Yes, you knew you were being a pain in the ass but, to be incredibly fair, so was he. At the feeling of his teeth nipping at the skin of your back, you tried to swing an elbow back and was rewarded with him simply holding you in place.

“Be good.”

“Says the one that just bit me.”

Another sigh and his forehead found a home between your shoulders. As if you were the only pain in the ass in this relationship.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

No.

How could you? It felt like too much and yet, not enough all at once. You didn’t want to tell him that the minute you’d heard him suck in a breath, no doubt from looking at your exposed back, it felt like all your worst fears were real. Zoro finally took one look at some of the damage - damage that replayed throughout your body - and thought the same thing as you.

You were ruined.

You knew you were still healing. Wounds like these…they took time. No ointment, herb, treatment, or the magic that was scattered across the whole wide ocean would fix you up in a matter of days. So, why did you feel so ugly? So undeserving?

How did you tell anyone that, when you looked in the mirror, you no longer saw yourself but the monster Arlong created.

“I know it’s a lot to…look at. I appreciate you wanting to do this for me, Zoro, but I understand if it’s too much. If it’s too ugly.”

You anticipated the feeling of his body removing itself from yours. You counted the seconds and prepared your heart to be ready for the rejection you already thought was coming. It was too much to ask, to look at someone so damaged, and love them like they were whole.

His answer came with the press of his lips against the hollow of your throat. A sound between a moan and gasp left you. Your mind trying to make sense of the sensation as he gently left another a few inches lower.

You both stood trapped and unmoving in place. Your back facing him with his mouth hovering over your skin. His breath ghosted over your skin causing you to shiver against his chest. A hand held on to your waist, while the other held you at your shoulder. His thumb worked its way between the towel and your skin, slowly getting you to release the tight hold you kept on the fabric.

The hushed sound of your name - reverent and full of sin - brushed against your ear. You tried to fight off a shiver but felt your body shake in his hands. The anticipation brought to life an all too familiar ache for his touch. You’d become accustomed to that specific need since the moment you’d met.

To be coveted the way he coveted his swords; an extension of who he was.

You didn’t fight him as his fingers gently worked the towel back down. You didn’t try and hide again as his fingers caressed down the exposed skin and stopped at the median of your back. Zoro’s fingers delicately worked over the indents of healing flesh; traced over jagged lines of cuts that zigzag up and at odd angles. He touched them like he was committing each slight against your flesh to memory.

“Doc,” his lips pressed against your throat. “You’re perfect.”

You bit down on your lip to contain a sob. Your chest heaved as his fingers found their way up to the place you hated the most. Where Arlong branded you and, where later, he’d branded you again with fire and metal.

“What’s this?”

You didn’t have to see him to know Zoro’s brow had creased together in curiosity. If he’d seen it before the molten poker that’d been placed across your skin, he’d know what the tattoo originally was.

“It was a brand from Arlong to show ownership - that I was part of the crew. I belonged to him.” Zoro’s hand grew still as you spoke. The hand on your hip gripping you so tight you were sure there would be bruises. “That’s what it was until they…they took something metal - a poker or something - to my back.”

A few moments passed before you felt his thumb gently move over the healing skin. You followed the path they took, inching upwards, closer and closer to what was there now.

“This looks like…”

Zoro didn’t finish his sentence. His words edged with a softness until they faded between you. The realization of what it was now stilled his thumb from tracing over it again.

“Like a snowdrop,” you finished for him. “It is. After - after everything, Nojiko came by the hut. She told me she fixed Nami’s tattoo and offered to fix mine. I didn’t know what else to pick so…”

His thumb traced the outline of the flower across your skin. A shiver rippled through you but it wasn’t from the cold. Your room suddenly felt too quiet and it left you feeling exposed. Surely, Zoro knew the only reason why you picked it. A good memory to try and wash out all the bad.

The silence was becoming unbearable. You didn’t know what to say next to fix it, but you had to say - do - something or else you would go mad.

“Zoro -“

All words, all thought, ceased the minute the hand that had gripped your hip pushed you back against him. Gone were the small inches of distance Zoro created at your back. The desire that had been building, that you tried to ignore, flared to life between you.

A hunger like you never experienced before washed over your skin. It only grew more ravenous as Zoro gave one final, violent tug on the towel, ripping it free from your hands and tossed it to the floor. It left you open, exposed, to the room.

To him.

He didn’t give you time to try and recover any modesty.

Zoro’s hand that was at your waist snaked up to wrap an arm around your middle keeping you pinned against him. The other that had traced the outline of your snowdrop tattoo drifted up to grab a hold of your chin. Gently, he used it to crane your neck to the side leading your mouth to his.

Zoro’s lips brushed against yours tentatively, with caution, as if he applied too much pressure you might run. It only earned him a needy breath that dipped in your chest. The motion causes the fingertips of the hand at your waist to skim the soft skin.

It was such a light touch - innocent - except it wasn’t.

A moan rushed past your lips, and all that careful restraint Zoro prided himself for evaporated along with his control.

The gentle fingers that cupped your chin now pressed firmly against your throat, craning your head back to rest against his shoulder. The angle allowed him to place a bruising kiss on your lips. His tongue broke the soft seal your lips created between you to stroke across yours; coaxing you to deepen the kiss and devour you from the mouth down.

One minute the hand at your throat was there, commanding, keeping you where he wanted and the next it glided down your chest. The pads of his fingers skimmed over a breast, teasing your nipple before he trapped it between his thumb and index finger. You pressed yourself back against him, your body grinding, straining, for any sort of friction to relieve the growing ache he made between your legs.

Gods, you could barely think past the wanton sob that crawled its way up your throat. The sound hummed against your shared kiss in a plea against Zoro’s mouth. He answered with a growl that seared his ownership across your skin.

Your senses were flooded with him. His touch was electric and overwhelming and you found yourself clutching onto him like a woman drowning. You laced your fingers in his hair to try and anchor yourself, but when a digit of his own slid between your folds your knees buckled.

Zoro held you firmly to him. Easily holding up your weight as the pad of his finger rubbed a lazy slow circle over your clit. A moan tore your lips apart as you rocked against him. You barely registered the soft nip of his teeth on your shoulder when that finger, slick with your arousal, pushed itself inside you.

Another throaty moan filled your room. The sound echoed relentlessly off the walls with each thrust of his wrist. You scrambled to find an anchor - to find something to keep you present. But the desire that crushed you, made you open your legs wider for him, to fuck you deeper, spread you wider, refused to be held down. Your nails dig into his forearm in a weak attempt to keep yourself grounded.

You never felt so wanton before - so ravenous. Your hips beginning to move on their own. Hungrily meeting each thrust of his fingers with a rock of your hips pushing the digit deeper inside you.

“My good girl,” Zoro purred against your ear. “You can take another finger for me, can’t you?”

You weren’t sure if you could trust your voice. Your tongue wetting your lips as you gave him a nod. Zoro didn’t wait for you to do anything else. On the next thrust, you felt a sear of pain, just enough to rend a gasp from your throat that transformed into a moan.

You felt so full. So incredibly full as his fingers moved against your walls, pushing deeper, curling, and reaching until they found something that turned your next moan into a stuttering breath. Zoro felt it too. The way your walls tightened around him. The muscles in your legs struggled to keep from buckling. His thumb moved circles around your clit and you tried to be quiet. Truly, you did.

But the pressure was building. The heat low in your belly expanding - threatening to explode.

“Zoro,” you panted out his name.

A plea. Praise. Worship. All or none of it you weren’t sure. But he answered his name with his teeth claiming the skin of your shoulder and biting down just enough that the pain blended in with the pleasure.

“Come for me,” he demanded. Your name left his mouth like a man in rapture. “Be my good girl and come for me.”

With another flick of his thumb - a stroke of his fingers - you felt that molten heat that’d been growing between your legs erupt. An explosion of white behind your eyes as you bucked back against him. His arm held you steady until your orgasm began to subside.

Slowly, Zoro removed his fingers from between your thighs - fingers and hand slick. With his arm still securely wrapped around your waist, he moved you towards the bed. When your knees touched down on the mattress, you turned to look up at him. Your hands went grabbing at the hem of his jeans.

“We don’t have to -“ he started.

The hand not coated in your arousal grabbed at your wrist to stop you. You kept your eyes on him as your fingers undid a button and moved on to the zipper.

“Please.” Your voice was raw. Overused. But you would use it to beg him if it got you what you wanted. “I need to feel you inside me, Zoro. I -“

Zoro didn’t give you a chance to finish. His answer came in the form of a growl. His hands pushed you down onto the mattress as he finished removing himself of his jeans. He braced one knee on the frame of the bed. A hand beside your head as he moved himself between your legs.

His hand hooked itself beneath your knee and brought your thigh to rest against his hip. You could feel the weight of his cock - warm and heavy - on your stomach. The apprehension of the unknown - would it hurt? - weighed heavy in your thoughts for a moment. A searing kiss from Zoro quickly tore it away as he easily moved further up the bed. Your thigh still held tightly to his hip.

Zoro reached down between the length of your bodies, his hand grabbing his cock to align with your entrance. He dragged the tip of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your orgasm, and teasing your swollen clit. A moan tore your lips and, at this moment, Zoro pushed inside you.

The sear of pain was immediate as your cunt stretched to accommodate him. Zoro was thick - so impossibly thick. With each thrust, the feeling of fullness grew. His hips worked slowly - in and out - coating his length, inch by aching inch with your arousal.

“You okay?”

You hadn’t realized you’d screwed your eyes shut tight until he’d spoken. When you opened them it took you a second to tell he’d stopped. His body suspended above you, eyes searching your face, waiting for you to tell him what to do.

Your head was already shaking before you found your voice. A soft, “yes,” fills the intimate space between you. You reached up to place your hand on his cheek, your thumb tracing over his lips as he’d done with your tattoo, before saying it again.

“Don’t stop.”

You pulled him down into a kiss as he pulled out just enough to slide back in. Another moan vibrated across your lips, but neither of you pulled away. With one final thrust, you felt him bottom out inside you. It was Zoro this time who broke his lips away from yours. A guttural moan, half-desperate, collapsed from his chest.

And then he was a man undone. His hips recklessly fucking into you. His fingers in your hair. His lips pressed half-breathed kisses along your jaw. Slowly, with each thrust of his hips, the pain ebbed away and all that was left was the fullness. His cock stroking your walls and fingers bruising your thighs as he found a relentless rhythm.

Soon, the earlier pressure you’d felt began to build again. Zoro’s own breathing growing ragged as he fucked up into you. With each stroke of his cock, the pressure built and built until you forgot how to breathe. Your walls clenching tight around him.

Zoro’s hand reached up, lashing out violently, to grab the headboard. You heard the faint sound of wood splinting but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Your muscles were shaking, tightening, and with the next stroke that sent your body scooting up the bed, you came undone beneath him. Zoro spilling inside you as your cunt squeezed around him.His own breathing hoarse, jagged, and fingers tightening with a bruising force into your hip.

Zoro collapsed on top of you and you were reminded of how heavy he was. Like an avalanche crumbled around you in the form of a moss-haired oaf.

So much for the afterglow.

“Zoro,” you wheezed, your hand tapping his shoulder frantically. “Zoro, you - you gotta move. You're heavy.”

You were aware he was still sheathed inside you - that he didn’t seem to be moving any time soon. A grumble came at your neck tickling the skin. It earned him another smack to his shoulder as you rasped, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop talking into my neck.”

“Is it uncomfortable?”

“It tickles.”

Silence followed your admission. You weren’t sure what kind of…etiquette came after…being intimate. Were you supposed to rub his back? Pat it? No, that felt too much like telling someone, ‘Good game’. What you settled on felt worse. You drummed your fingers on his shoulder.

“Doc.”

“Yeah?”

“Relax.”

Your fingers stilled at his words. You didn’t know where else to look except up. The ceiling wasn’t really brimming with things to help keep you occupied either, which is how you ended up humming a tune. You were midway through the chorus when a gust of hot air hit your neck.

Zoro grumbled as he moved his arms beside you, slowly lifting himself up until he was hovering over you. Gods, you didn’t know what came over you, but you couldn’t stop the sheepish smile from curling your lips as your finger waved a, “Hello,” at him.

Zoro shook his head, maybe to hide the smile you won at your antics, but also because you were being, well, you. He unsheathed himself from between your legs (was it supposed to immediately ache like this?) and settled down beside you.

Lifting up his arm, Zoro waited for you to scoot closer before settling it across your shoulders, pulling you in close to his chest. You wanted to inform him that he was a very firm pillow. You wanted to say a lot of things. A part of you not knowing if it was anxiety that was making you overthink or -

There was no mistaking the heavy sigh that came a few seconds later. With your chin planted on his chest, you glanced up and noticed that Zoro’s eyes were closed, or they were, that is until they opened.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

You turned to face his stomach, your cheek resting on an incredibly perky chest and tried to pretend your teeth weren’t worrying away at your lip.

“Doc -“

“Okay, fine,” you huffed, rising up on your elbow. “I was just wondering: can we have sex? Again?”

The high sound of his laugh, rich and innocent and joyful bounced around the room. You wished you could bottle this moment forever and live inside it.

“When?”

“Now would be nice. Unless, you know, you’re too tired.”

You tried to appear innocent as you looked up at him. By the way, his eyes narrowed in on your face, you probably looked anything but innocent.

“Oh, I’ll be just fine. It’s you I’ll be worried about.”

“And why is that?”

“We have training bright and early in the morning.”

“Absolutely no- !”

You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence before Zoro rolled you over. His hips settled between your thighs, and with one swift thrust had your argument dying with a moan from your lips.

As always, thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

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naomihatake · 14 days

Note

do you right series/multiple parts for zoro opla X reader. If you do could you write something angsty n maybe reader was a part the butlers crew before n stuff. A lot of angst but also fluff n cute zoro X reader moments. Thxxx

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

catch.

opla!zoro; 9,224 words; fem!reader, no "y/n", slowburn, disgruntled companions?? to lovers, fluff and banter, so much banter, nicknames ("kitten", "pretty boy"), semi canon-compliant, tiny bit post!opla, more plot than not

summary: zoro calls reader "kitten", reader calls him "pretty boy" back. story ensues.

a/n: ha. i have no excuses for this... it's not a series/multipart, but i do hope that the sheer length of it kinda makes up for that lol; tagging @dira333 and @bby-deerling

The first time he sees you, it is over daggers and bared teeth, a hiss working up your throat as you glare at him from the balcony of Kaya’s expansive estate.

“You’re gonna need a lot more than that, kitten.” Zoro’s smirk goes slanted as you leap off the thin railings to land noiselessly before him, your curved daggers striking against the edge of his swords with a metallic spray of sparks.

His smirk fades after that, replaced by a wild, jagged grin as he swings both swords around his body in a wide arc — but you’re backflipping up, too high in the air to be fully natural, your feet landing perfectly on the backs of his blades before you’re kicking off again, forcing the blades down and throwing him off balance.

“I highly doubt it,” you bite out, skimming by his cheek with a savage smile as he jerks to the side just in time to avoid having his face split open. But you whip back around and it’s all he can do to parry your blow.

The discordant clang of metal on metal rings out in the otherwise silent room as you both flicker around each other, him as steady as the tide, you as quick as the flutter of a sparrow’s wing.

“Where was that fake butler hiding you, kitten? You’re much better than those other two —” Zoro grunts as he narrows his eyes, digging in his heels as he parries another flurry of your quicksilver blows. Your lips curl in contempt as you swipe for his stomach and catch on the edge of his white-hilted blade.

“He wasn’t hiding me anywhere —”

The world blurs in a whirlwind of flashing metal — it ends with you hissing as you find you and Zoro on opposite ends of the cavernous room, amidst wood splinters and slivers of shredded upholstery. There’s a thin slash oozing blood down the side of his face and a long gash along your arm where his sword had nicked your bicep.

“Then why’re you with him?” Zoro asks, grimacing as he wipes blood from his cheek.

“Because, pretty boy,” you smirk at the way his eyes narrow, “the old tomcat owes me something. And I never forget a debt.”

Zoro’s eyebrow quirks, and for a single second, you can see the cogs turning behind his darkened eyes, “So… you’re only with him until he pays you.”

You grin, Cheshire wide, and a second later, you’re right in front of him, pressing up into his personal space with a finger trailing up the length of his neck. Zoro’s breath catches, and he’s acutely aware of just how open he’d been, how easily you might’ve decided to end his life had you replaced your finger with the tip of one of your curve-bellied daggers.

“That… and I happen to enjoy slicing things up, y’see…” your voice is syrup sweet and sharp as poison even as he jerks away from you, instinct thrusting his swords forward before he can stop himself. But you’re already dancing away with a soft, ringing laugh, shaking your head.

“Gonna have to be faster than that if you wanna catch me… pretty boy.”

You slink into the shadows, giggling even as Zoro grimaces and tries to chase after you, slashing at whispers and shapes in the dark. He makes it all the way down the hallway before Luffy’s voice catches his attention and he doubles back with a final look over his shoulder, an unsatisfied knot tied tight in his stomach.

The second time you meet, it’s over a barrel of dried sardines.

“We pick up another stray?” Zoro asks, frowning as you grin cheekily down at him from the bow of the Merry. He could imagine the way your ears might flick if you had them, the way your invisible tail might twitch from side to side, snide and all too satisfied.

“Yeah! Didn’t I tell you? She’s coming with us!” Luffy grins wide as he climbs up onto their new ship, giving you a hard pat on the back, “Welcome to the Straw Hat Crew!”

“Thanks, Cap!” you smile, slipping off the railings to help with the extra supplies.

Nami sighs as she joins Zoro on the docks, “Sad, desperate souls, like I said — but hey, at least she helped us escape.”

Zoro frowns, “She did?”

Nami rolls her eyes, “Who do you think undid all those locks on the metal shutters from the outside? Geez…”

Zoro grunts, catching another barrel of dried food as Nami tosses it up toward him.

After that, things… do not get better. You’re too quiet, too quick, and Zoro can never quite tell when you mean what you say or if you ever say what you mean. Your laughter sends shivers down his back, and he finds himself watching you, even when he doesn’t mean to.

By the time you’ve all reached the Baratie, it’s become second nature for him to keep his eyes trained on you, to take stock of where you are, to seek you out the first thing after he wakes and the last thing before he sleeps.

“Ah — apologies madam I didn’t see you there —” Sanji smarms as Nami’s eyebrows inch up her forehead. You bite back a grin as Zoro scoffs to your right.

“And… for you?” when Sanji finally turns his eyes onto you, you’re ready for him, leaning forward, your tongue slipping languorously across your bottom lip as you peer up at him from beneath your thick lashes.

“Got any Déesse? Ah, but you must have — an establishment as fine as this?”

Sanji takes a long breath; Zoro feels the air turn sour in his lungs.

“Of course we do — a woman of taste, hm? And… for the rest of you?” Sanji’s voice flatlines as he looks over the rest of the crew.

Zoro snorts, rolling his eyes, “A beer for me and… a few for my friends.”

Sanji shoots a curt nod his way before recounting the table’s orders, “A few beers, a milk —” he dips his head in Luffy’s direction, “a normal water in a normal glass,” a smile at Nami, “and… a bottle of Déesse — any preference on year, miss?” He twinkles in your direction.

“Oh… surprise me.”

Sanji sweeps into a theatrical bow, “Right away,” before gliding away from the table.

Everyone starts talking all at once —

“Why’re you ‘miss’ but I’m ‘madam?’”

“Great fighter, that guy — did you see him roundhouse that other guy in the face —”

“Wow… don’t tell me that worked on you?” Zoro scoffs as he turns to look at you.

You shrug, “Sometimes, it pays to meet people on their level, hm?” Then, your smile turns saccharine as you tilt your head, eyes flickering towards the triplet of swords caught in the small gap between the plush seats and the pillar to Zoro’s right.

“Right. Whatever.” His lip curls. Nami sighs, leaning her head back against the studded velvet seat backs.

“The two of you are gonna be the death of us…” she muses, laughing as you curl back into your seat with an exaggerated pout and Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, feeling heat crest up into his cheeks.

And later, it’s you who tries the hardest to talk him out of his duel with Mihawk, a dull, feline glint to your eyes as you glare at him from across the wide kitchen counter —

“You couldn’t even beat me in single combat — what makes you think you’d be able to best Dracule Mihawk, huh?!”

Zoro snarls as he rounds on you, “It’s not like I was really trying.”

“Seemed like you were doing a lot more than trying to me!”

“You were the one who ran away.”

“Yeah, because I didn’t have a death wish!”

“So you admit that you would’ve lost to me.”

Your eyes narrow into slits as you hiss, “Yes, just like you’ll lose if you go through with this.”

A muscle feathers in Zoro’s jaw as he slowly peels his eyes away from you and turns back to the methodical work of polishing his swords.

Later that night, you find him sitting in the Merry’s kitchen with his eyes closed, arms crossed, his swords lined up just so on the suspended table in front of him.

“You can stop sulking. I know you’re there.” He opens a single eye to peer at you as you melt out of the shadows near the door, your own arms knitted tight across your chest.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I’m meditating.” His eyes slip back closed.

You leap deftly onto the table and cross your legs, looking down at his row of swords.

“You’ll need more than a good meditation session to beat that old hawk.”

Zoro’s eyes snap open, his words taking on a hard, metallic edge, “What would you know about it?”

Your grin is crescent moon sharp as you tilt your head; you reach forward as if to tap a finger against the sheath of one of his swords. There’s a dull thump as Zoro makes to tug the sword away, but a second later, you’ve got his wrist pinned to the table’s marred surface. Your face is half an inch away from his and he can taste the heat of your breath on his lips.

“See? Not nearly fast enough,” you tut, still grinning as Zoro yanks his arm away.

“If you’re trying to change my mind, you’re doin’ a shit job.”

“No,” you sigh, jumping off the table, your feet eerily silent as always. You make it all the way to the door before turning to glance at Zoro over your shoulder. There’s an inscrutable look on his face as he watches you, and you allow him one last, little smile.

“I just… thought you should be well-rested for your own execution.”

The next morning dawns too bright, too early, the sky too blue and perfect. It’s a blood-hungry day, so your grandmother used to say, the kind of day that aches for disaster. You shiver as you walk silently behind Usopp and Luffy, trailing in Zoro’s shadow as he makes his solemn way to the docks to face Mihawk.

There’s a quick exchange of words before Mihawk’s eyes slide onto you; the faint upward tick of his eyebrow is the only indication you get that he recognizes you. But then, he’s cocking his head, and musing aloud —

“They say it’s good luck to have a cat on a pirate ship, but I’m afraid this one won’t do you any good today, Roronoa Zoro.”

“Oh god… he’s really doing this, isn’t he?” Nami’s hand slips into yours, squeezing tight, her voice nothing more than a terrified whisper.

You give a brief nod, squeezing back. On your other side, Usopp swallows hard, but Luffy doesn’t seem all that worried.

It’s a quick, brutal, and decisive fight, but you watch as Mihawk pulls back at the last second, Yoru slicing through the air, much slower and softer than you knew it could. Nevertheless, Zoro’s blood splatters the creaking wood beams below as he collapses. You feel your lungs slowly calcifying as everyone rushes to Zoro’s side but you stand there, frozen, the world tunneling around you, the wild thumping of your heart echoing in your ears as Mihawk slates you a single look before turning and strolling off back toward the Baratie.

You slip away in the chaos of everyone trying to get Zoro back onto the ship.

“Come to seek revenge for your little boyfriend?” Mihawk asks, casually leaning up against the near-empty bar in the Baratie’s mouth.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you reply, voice clipped. Your fingers are curled into fists at your side, nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Mihawk gives you a single once-over before tutting.

“I see you’ve been sharpening your claws.”

“I see you haven’t,” you bite back. Mihawk rolls his eyes.

“Dear, dear — if even you’ve noticed something then I really am getting rusty. Though it has been hard to find a good sparring partner ever since Shanks lost his arm. Careless man.”

“Why’d you really let him live?”

Mihawk pauses in his rather thorough inspection of his nails to look up at you, lips twitching.

“I meant what I said — the world needs a few more wildcards and… I have a feeling he’ll be coming to find me soon enough.”

“You don’t take on students.” You don’t quite manage to keep the bitterness from your voice even as Mihawk shrugs.

“Just because I haven’t before, doesn’t mean I won’t ever. Now run along — I think your little swordsman friend might need some help, hm?”

You open your mouth to argue, but you hear the distinct sounds of Luffy’s voice echoing out from the kitchen, high and desperate, followed by the base rumble of Zeff’s voice. You slink into the kitchen between the flapping doors, watching as Sanji scrambles to gather Zeff’s knives.

“I’ll get the fish,” you offer, making nearly everyone jump as you reach for the freezer box.

No one has the time to ask any more questions as Luffy leads the way back to the Merry.

Nami’s eyes are wide and over-bright when you set the yellowtail on the table next to Zeff, and the whole room watches with bated breath as the old chef starts to work. Wordlessly, you tug out the large curved needles and place them at his elbow. He spares you a grateful grunt as he grabs them.

You take three steps back, letting out a long breath as you press your back to the cool wood of the doorframe, watching as Zeff stitches Zoro back together.

You spend the next two and a half days curled up in the small chair next to Nami’s bed, dozing every so often, at other times humming, or keeping still as Nami, Usopp, and Luffy take their turns next to Zoro’s sleeping form as well. You’re reciting a childhood nursery rhyme when Zoro finally wakes up.

“I thought cats were supposed to be quiet…”

“— and all the king's horses and all the king’s men — oh… you’re awake.”

“What about the king’s horses and men?” Zoro’s voice is thick and gravelly from disuse, but there’s that familiar twist to his mouth as he turns slightly to blink blearily up at you.

“It… it doesn’t matter — I should go tell Luffy —”

“No, finish the story, kitten.”

Your voice catches in your chest, and after a second, you sigh, dropping back into your seat with a resigned little laugh.

“All the king’s horses and all the king’s men… couldn’t put Humpty back together again.”

Zoro hums, “Wow, cheerful little kitten, aren’t you? You always pick such nice things to say at a sick person’s bedside?”

“No, just the ones that really deserve it.”

Zoro laughs, the sound a base rumble that makes him wince, his hand shooting up to clutch at his chest. You lurch forward, catching yourself before you actually touch him, hovering there as Zoro opens his eyes and a strained sort of silence thickens in the air around you.

Like this, you’re acutely aware of the heat rising off of Zoro’s skin, the fact that his shirt is still pulled open to accommodate the thick bandages wrapped around his torso, the taut skin of his stomach, flexing as he takes in shallow breaths. Like this, you can count the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and see the pinprick black holes threatening to take over his eyes as they dilate.

It isn’t till you both hear the clatter of footsteps and Usopp flings himself into the room that you jerk back, blinking as Usopp gasps for breath, gesticulating wildly, rambling about Luffy and fishmen and a fight that’s broken out at the Baratie.

You glance down at Zoro, who sighs, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Go.”

“You stay put.”

“Right, like I’m goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

Zoro grunts, and you spare him one more sharp look before following after Usopp.

Three days later finds you all back at sea, with a newly minted member in tow, chasing after Nami’s shadow.

It does not take long to track her down, and when you do, the fight is — if not quick, then at least decisive. You’re not the only one who notices the stiffness in Zoro’s limbs as everyone eats and drinks their way through a whole night of merry-making.

“Back for seconds — must’ve liked it!” Sanji crows, slapping another spoonful of food onto Zoro’s plate.

“It was okay.”

“That plate says different.”

“Not hungry?” you jump slightly at Nami’s voice, and you lift your eyes just in time to see her eyebrows kick up. She cocks them at you before settling down by your side.

“Not often that you’re caught off guard — something must really be bothering you.” You can hear the edge of forced lightness in her voice, and your eyes flicker to the fresh bandage on right arm.

Events of the past few days flash behind your eyes and you cast her a small grin.

“Just thinking…”

“Sounds like trouble.”

“It does seem to follow me around, doesn’t it?”

Nami regards you with a curious look before scoffing, “Don’t you mean ‘us’?”

You frown, turning towards her. She slates you a glance before darting her eyes back to the party.

“In case you haven’t noticed… ‘Trouble’s kind of our middle name. If you don’t like it, then…”

Her voice trails off then, and the playful smile flickers like a flame caught in a sudden gust of wind. You press your lips.

“Never said I don’t like it.” You return her smile and see her firelight catch again.

“C’mon then — no more sitting around —” you let yourself be pulled to your feet, the pair of you stumbling towards the large bonfire where several of the villagers are strumming at battered instruments, though the music they make is no less brilliant for it.

“Ah, now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” Sanji says, tapping a bit of ash off a freshly lit cigarette as Zoro scrapes the final bites of food from his plate.

“Hn.” But his gaze lingers on the light-caught shape of you, a black dress hugging the curves of your waist and the bend of your hip, cascading out as you spin beneath Nami’s arm. There’s a softness about you he’s never seen before — something more than the damnable feline grace with which you fought or the steel-lined quickness and skill that forever nipped at his heels like a hungry dog, reminding him that he still had so much more to master, to learn — no, this is something else entirely.

Something lissome and light, something tantantalizing and sweet.

Something… lovely.

And it stirs something inside him too — something not at all sweet and light, though… no less tantalizing.

A semi-inebriated Nojiko manages to pull Sanji into the fray, and a moment later, you glance over to meet his eyes. A line catches then, hooked from the center of his chest to the dark, mesmerizing flash of your eyes, Zoro feels himself tipping forward.

Until he actually is, and there’s a bottle being pressed into his hand by a stranger he doesn’t even glance at.

He finds himself at your side, somehow, everyone spinning around the bonfire like marionettes on a massive stage, his limbs loose and a smile tugging wide his lips. At some point, he thinks he might’ve felt your hands in his, but then again, waking up the next morning face down in a pile of hay, a headache pounding behind his eyes, he thinks it’s probably just his imagination.

They set course for the Grand Line proper then, and everyone settles into a kind of routine. Though despite everyone’s initial protests, Zoro can be seen at the bow of the ship every sunrise and sundown, running through katas, grunting and wincing occasionally when his wound threatens to reopen, at which point you’d appear like a vague, disgruntled shadow, and shoo him back to bed.

“I’ll never best Mihawk if I don’t get better —”

“Exactly.” You pin him with a hard look; he can almost see your hackles rising as he huffs and slumps down into his hammock. You relax slightly, perched atop a rather precarious pile of barrels, but Zoro knows better than to doubt your balance.

“You’ll never beat him if you don’t get better first,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes as Zoro scoffs, pointedly twisting to face the other way. The ship rocks the hammock to and fro, and after a while, Zoro feels himself drifting off into that ever-familiar limbo of half-sleep, his mind wandering through the avenues of his memories, images coming in watercolor flashes, seeping into his vision.

“Tell me something,” he says, his voice low, his eyes still closed.

“Hm?” you barely make a noise, but he feels your presence in the corner of his room, has memorized the specific size and shape and weight of you such that he could pick you out of a moving crowd with his eyes closed, his face turned the other way.

“What do you want to know?”

“You had plenty of stories when I was unconscious — don’t you have more?”

For a moment, you don’t speak, and the silence is filled by the rhythmic creaking of wood, the soft splash of water against the ship’s hull, the occasional cry of seabirds, and the dull, muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from above deck.

“Once upon a time, a kitten was left by the roadside in a tiny village by her mother, who was sick and didn’t have enough milk to feed all her children, but it just so happens that a great big hawk was soaring overhead and took a liking to the kitten. The hawk picked her up in his great talons and brought her to a castle on an island, surrounded by thorns and briars and the most beautiful roses the kitten had ever seen. There, the hawk set her the task of hunting down mice so he himself could go after bigger, juicier prey — for you see, the hawk had long dreamed of becoming the greatest hunter in the whole wide world.”

At this, Zoro shifts to turn back towards you, peering open one eye to watch as you leaned back against the wall of the small storeroom he’d claimed as his own, one of your knees propped up, your arm hanging loosely over it, your other leg dangling down over the side of your barrel, your heel occasionally knocking against the wood with gentle little thumps.

You take a deep breath and glance down at him, a sad, faraway look in your eyes as you continue —

“Eventually, the kitten got very good at catching mice — she grew faster, stealthier, learned to sharpen her claws and teeth, learned to hide amongst the beautiful roses in the garden until the mice grew complacent before she struck. But no matter how much she begged, the hawk would never let her hunt bigger things. And then one day… the hawk took her up in his giant claws again and tossed her onto the beach — told her that there was nothing more he could teach her, and that she ought to find her own way in the world.”

You sigh, shaking your head, “What a liar…” you murmur, almost to yourself as you lower your eyes to your hands, “he never really taught me anything…”

And this time, it’s Zoro who remains silent, letting the quiet seep through the floorboards like the thick, morning mists, rising off of the water’s surface before the sun bakes it all away.

Then, he swings himself off the hammock and makes for the door. Before he can reach it, you’re in front of him, blocking his path with a bright glint in your eyes and a challenge in your smile.

“I’ve rested,” he says, plainly, taking half a step back.

“You’ll never get better like this —”

“Exactly,” he throws the word back in your face before sighing and looking away, “so… help me.”

You blink, staring up at him as he stares right back at you.

“Help you how?” You resist the urge to look away, swallow down the bitterness crawling up the back of your throat — I can’t even help myself —

“Mihawk trained you —”

“No,” you spit out, your shoulders tensing as you glare up at Zoro, “he didn’t — he did everything in his power not to —”

“Tch — you lived with him on that island and he trusted you with keeping the — the mice away —” a vein ticks in Zoro’s jaw as you watch him stare down at you, your heart thumping warm and wild in your chest, “just because he didn’t personally hold your hand and teach you his technique… doesn’t mean he wasn’t training you in his own way.”

You swallow hard.

“So what? It’s not like I can ever beat him.”

“You might. Or I might. If we help each other.”

You ball your fingers into fists, “What makes you think either of us stands a chance against him?”

At this, Zoro’s smile goes slanted — a raw, wild, blood-beat thing.

“Because I’ve seen you fight and I think you’re good. And… I know I’m good. Or at least, I know I’ll get there.”

There’s a certain quicksilver edge to the shape of his words that makes you look up, your eyes meeting his like the colliding cores of two tidally locked stars — something terrible and magnificent, a catastrophe of gravity and inevitability.

Your mind spins and for a second, you can almost see it, that distant future in which Roronoa Zoro becomes the best, better — even — than the best. The greatest in the world. You lean back, your gaze appraising.

“Tell you what — if you get good enough to catch me once… I’ll take you to him.”

Zoro frowns, “What do you mean?”

Your grin quirks and you lilt your head, “Exactly what it sounds like — you get fast enough to catch me, and catch me properly then… I’ll take you to his island.”

Zoro stares. And then, his own grin stretches to match yours.

“Deal.”

Things change after that, the mornings and evenings no longer finding Zoro alone at the bow of the ship, but always with the shape of you flickering around him, the bright, hungry gleam of sun on steel flashing around you.

“Too slow —” you gasp, dodging beneath one of his swipes as he grunts and swings downward, nearly catching the tips of your hair as you spin away.

“But — you’re getting there,” you grin, holding up a hand as you lean back against the side of the Merry, your other hand pressed to your chest.

“Outta breath, kitten?” Zoro asks, smirking as he slowly sheaths his sword, sweat glistening along the planes and grooves of his chest.

“Hardly.” You flick him a disapproving look but there’s a tiny smile that threatens the corner of your mouth as he scoffs, reaching for a rag to dab at his forehead. You can’t help the way your eyes linger on the strong, sturdy ripples of muscles that flex along his back and shoulders as he straightens up either, and when he catches you staring, it’s all you can do to hold his gaze.

You don’t give him a chance to gloat. Instead, you swing your knives around your fingers and cast him a grin.

“Breakfast,” you say.

“Mm,” he agrees, just as Nami comes padding up onto the main deck, stifling a yawn and squinting at you both with a mildly disgusted look on her face.

“How the hell are you guys up so damn early all the time?”

“Ah, they say that cats are diurnal creatures — so they’re most awake at dawn and at dusk. As for the moss-head… I’ve heard that idiots don’t need as much sleep. Not as much brain to rest, y’know?” Sanji remarks, smirking as he brushes by Nami with a wink.

Zoro scoffs, wiping off his blade with a rough cloth, “It’s called bettering yourself. Not that you’d know what it means. All this time and your congee’s still runny as f —”

“Says the guy who can’t tell the difference between sunny side up and scrambled eggs —”

You sigh, ducking around the squabbling pair with a long, sinuous stretch.

“So… how goes the sparring, hm?” Nami asks, her voice dripping with innuendo as she follows you into the kitchen, her sleep-blurred eyes now sharp, her grin moon-sly and teasing.

“It goes,” you say, opening a cupboard and rummaging around for anything that catches your eye.

“I see… and is it going somewhere in particular?” Nami drapes herself across the long couch, her eyes tracking you as you move from cupboard to cupboard, and finally stopping in front of the fridge.

You hoist yourself up onto the suspended table, a glass of milk in your hands, “Depends on where this particular place is.”

Nami shrugs, “Dunno… just seems like Zoro’s spending a lot of time following you around like a lost little puppy these days. When was the last time he’s left you alone for more than say —” Nami makes a show of checking her watch, “15 minutes?”

“We’re just training together — and he doesn’t follow me around all the time —” but even as the words leave your mouth, Zoro ducks into the kitchen, his eyes skipping from you to Nami and back again.

“Waiter said we’re on our own for breakfast.”

“I’m good with milk.” You hold up your glass even as Nami snickers and Zoro nods, rummaging through a few cupboards until he pulls out a bag of jerky. At this, Nami’s eyes slingshot between the pair of you one last time before she sighs dramatically and saunters back out of the room, muttering something about conning Sanji into making proper breakfast.

The quiet twines around your ankles, soft and familiar. Zoro leans against the counter, the small bag of jerky untouched as he watches you sip at your milk. Heat curls along the curve of your spine as you feel the weight of his eyes tracking your lips, the bright pink flash of your tongue.

You swallow.

So does he.

“You’re getting faster.”

“You’re getting stronger.”

Your words overlap like the pages of a book, flipped through too fast.

You blink, and then — laughter. Your’s startled and shy, his soft and… you turn just fast enough to catch him duck his head the other way, shoving his hand into the bag of jerky. He clears his throat.

“Thanks.”

“What for?” you work to press some of your usual purr back into your voice, but it sounds strange and tinny in the wane morning light.

“For…” Zoro hesitates, and for a second, you find yourself leaning into the smooth weight of his voice, as if you might be able to catch his next words in the palm of your hands like bruised fruit.

“Alright — outta my kitchen, mosshead — lovely ladies like these should always start the day with a well-balanced meal.”

Sanji kicks open the door and Zoro glares. You’re already hopping off the counter, quiet as starlight, grinning behind Sanji’s back even as Zoro sighs.

“It’s not your kitchen, waiter. I’ve got as much right to be in here as you do.”

You try to slip away but Nami’s hand darts out to catch your wrist.

“Not so fast… kitten.”

Your entire face flushes at the word.

“I don’t know what you’re —”

Nami’s satisfied smile is more Cheshire than cat but you allow her to drag you up to the bow of the ship, half-concealed by her tangerine trees. Up here, the air tastes briny and sweet with morning air. Up here, you have you squint against the sea’s shattered glass light, cast up towards the dawning sky.

Nami leans against the railing and casts her eyes out towards the distant horizon. There’s always been a sun-kissed quality about her, the brilliant orange of her hair, the darkening patches of freckles scattered across her nose-bridge. You let her press her arm to yours and feel the warmth and soft of her skin.

“So. Zoro, huh?”

You sigh, looking down towards the dark emerald of the waves below. You watch as the water froths against the ship’s hull, peeling away in roils of white lace.

“A little cliche, if you ask me — y’know, the swordsman and the knife-girl? But… I guess it makes sense.” There’s a lightness to her voice that makes you laugh, a solidness to her words that makes you powerless to contest them.

“They say it’s good to have hobbies in common,” you offer, hoping to match the playfulness in her voice. Nami chuckles, making a noise at the back of her throat.

“Oh yeah, I bet ‘bodycount’ means something totally different to the two of you, huh?”

You let a real laugh break though then, your head tipping back and reveling in the sound. The rapidly rising sun casts everything in a dreamy, slant-wise glow — golden hour, you think you’ve heard it called. But you wonder if it’s might just be more amber than gold, standing here, laughing with Nami, you feel for the first time, a weight shift and slip from your shoulders. Like shedding a thick coat after a long day’s travel.

Then, the light shifts, a thin fog of clouds dulling out the sun’s light as Nami fixes you with her too-sharp eyes.

“He’s going after Mihawk, isn’t he?”

You sober as well, wetting your lips. “Eventually, yeah.”

“And… you’re helping him.”

You nod.

Nami sighs, dropping her chin onto a the heel of her hand.

“You… really think he can do it? Beat Mihawk?”

You take your time scanning the horizon. Without the transcendent glow of the rising sun, the waves are cooler, darker, and you know better than most the monsters lurking just beneath the surface.

“Mihawk’s only human,” you say. To which Nami scoffs.

“Right. That makes it loads better.”

You instinctively reach for where you knives would be, the empty loops on your belt like a persistent itch in your fingertips.

“At least it means he bleeds red just like the rest of us.”

Nami nods as you push away from the rails, retracing your steps into the kitchen where you’d left your knives.

Sanji is halfway through grilling mackerel with a steaming pot of miso soup bubbling on the stove. He gives you a wink and a knowing grin as you wander in, jerking his chin towards the hanging table where Zoro is running an oiled cloth along the length of his sword.

“In case you were lookin’ for your knives,” Sanji’s voice is silken tofu smooth as he turns back to his cooking.

Zoro doesn’t look up as you reach for your knives, laid out perfectly, already cleaned and oiled.

“I was doing mine anyway,” Zoro says, by way of an explanation.

You smirk, reaching out to tuck each one into its spot on your belt.

“Thanks, pretty boy, altruism looks good on you.”

You slink from the room before you can hear Sanji’s witty taunt or Zoro’s biting retort, a satisfied heat stirring steady at the base of your stomach.

The languorous days slip into sun-soaked weeks, and though it takes longer than anyone would’ve liked for Zoro’s wound to heal, it does. And the scar, well —

“I think it looks awesome!” Luffy says, clapping Zoro on the shoulder as you tug away the gauze to inspect the long thin strip of puckered skin, a few shades lighter than the rest of Zoro’s chest.

“Yeah, real… manly-like,” Usopp adds, arms folded, leaning against the far wall, fighting an expression between impressed slightly queasy. He backpedals immediately as Zoro casts him a dark look.

“N-not that you’re not real or manly already or anything like that! It just uh — adds to the allure, y’know?”

Nami makes a face, “Yeah, I don’t know about allure…”

Sanji grunts.

“When did this become a museum exhibit?” Zoro snaps, frowning at the entire crew, gathered around him as you unstick the last of the bandages from his now healed stomach.

“We just wanted to make sure you were alright, Zoro!” Luffy says, rummaging around for a snack now that he’s satisfied his first mate is properly healed.

“I’ve been fine for weeks,” Zoro says flatly as Usopp joins Luffy and Sanji wanders towards the window to let out a puff of smoke.

“Can you lean back a bit — I think it’s still not completely healed by your —” you frown as you try to press Zoro back, your palm splaying against his stomach as your free hand traces at the waistband of his pants towards where the large gash tapers into his right hip.

Zoro hisses between his teeth and the room goes deathly quiet.

You look up to find everyone staring, and then half a second later Nami leaps to her feet, talking loudly about a part of the East Blue map she wants to finish, Usopp stuttering after her about checking the knots on the main mast, and Sanji dragging Luffy by the scruff of the neck, insisting that they set up the fishing lines for the day.

The door slams behind Luffy and somehow, the room feels more full than it had been just a few seconds prior. The silence pulses between you, thick and pitched and expanding.

You clear your throat delicately, lowering your eyes back to the task at hand, doing your best to ignore the uncomfortable heat now creeping up the back of your neck.

“Can you —”

Zoro leans back wordlessly, propping his arms against the table, his hips shifting forward to allow you access.

You gently tug down the material of his waistband several inches to reveal the tip of the wound, still a bit raw and red, possibly from the friction of his clothes, or just his general lack of regard for his own recovery.

“Yeah, it’s still not all —” your voice cuts off as you look up to find Zoro staring, and the burgeoning hunger you find there stills your heart in your chest. It’s a strange, base, animal thing, caught in the swirling darkness of his irises, but he holds his breath, and so you do yours —

“Healed…” you swallow hard, reaching for the thick, pungent balm sitting by his left hand.

With slow, methodic movements, you uncap the balm and dip your finger into the sticky surface, reaching forward to run the tip along the soft redness of Zoro’s skin. Thinking back later, you might’ve been thankful for the sharp herbal fragrance of the balm to distract you from the deeper, muskier smell of Zoro’s skin, salted as it always is with sea and sweat, tempered with the unmistakable scent of steel.

But right then, all you can think about is the sharp cut of his hipbone as it slants down, and down, and —

You pull back when you’re done, making to wipe your hand on a piece of washcloth when Zoro catches your wrist in one smooth movement, pulling you up till you’re chest to chest, your body slotted between his spread open legs.

“Zoro, what —”

“Caught you —” His voice is nothing more than a whisper, but you feel it rumbling through his chest to yours.

“— You’re losing your touch.”

You narrow your eyes, “Not a chance — I was distracted, that’s not fair —”

You try to tug your wrist away only for him to tighten his grip. A fist-like something clenches inside your stomach along with his fingers. Fire licks at the base of your belly before climbing up your spine.

“Hn. All’s fair.”

You watch in near slow motion as his eyes flick down to your lips and back up again; you’re helpless to do else but mirror the movement. With your wrist still caught in his grasp, it’s almost too easy for him to pull you forward, to tip you into him till you’re nearly spilling over, till you’re scrambling back with half-caught breaths and wide eyes and your other palm pressing firmly to his chest, where you can feel the fluttering beats of his own heart caught just beneath your touch.

“I-if you’re gonna make a move, at least wait till I’ve finished wiping off my hands,” the words come tumbling out, more a reflex than anything else, but it makes Zoro blink and lean back just a few inches. His grip on you eases ever so slightly, and you tug your wrist from his grasp, expecting him to snap to, to jerk away, to blush or apologize, but instead, all he does is watch you mutely wipe at your hands with those dark, hungry eyes.

When you’ve finished, he quirks an eyebrow as if waiting for you to make the next move.

At this, you huff, rolling your eyes, “Come on*,* pretty boy — you can’t expect me to dress your wounds and make the first —”

The kiss is quick and searing and over all too fast, as most first kisses are. The second kiss is more patient, a slow easing in, a teasing of lips and and a testing of tongues. The third is breathless, hedging on urgent. The fourth — well the fourth is cut short by Zoro pressing his forehead to yours, the both of you panting.

“Wh — what the hell was that?” you ask, gulping down great lungfuls of breath as Zoro scoffs.

“C’mon kitten, don’t go gettin’ shy on me now…” Zoro smirks even as you lean forward to try and nip at his bottom lip, eyes flashing. He tilts your mouth back to his, and words are lost for a few more moments before you find them again.

“Who said anything about getting shy? I just wanted an explanation.”

Zoro makes an abortive noise at the back of his throat as you nose into the place under his jaw and graze your teeth along the skin there.

“C-can’t a guy say thanks for someone dressing his wounds?”

You pull back with a soft hiss and a sly smile; it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter.

“Don’t tell me this is how you’ve been thanking all your savoirs. I’ll have to go compare notes with Zeff —”

At this, Zoro grunts, wincing slightly as your belt presses against the inside of his hip where his wound is still raw. You pull away, startled.

“Sorry — I didn’t —”

“Hey.”

Zoro tugs you back with soft hands and an even softer smile, “Not sure I liked having you talk about Zeff while we were…”

You break him off with a helpless laugh and he joins you a second later. And then, before either of you can say more, Usopp’s voice echoes down from above deck.

“Land ho! Land ho!”

You glance back at Zoro, who slips off the table and has the decency to rearrange his clothes. You share a meaningful look before trying to pull away but Zoro once again catches your wrist.

This time, his lips are set and his eyes are just a tad bit harder than before.

“Don’t forget, kitten, you still owe me an island.”

You pause, peering at him beneath half-lidded eyes as your head lists first to one side, and then the other.

His eyes track yours before ticking down to your lips once more, where your tongue traces a path his own had run along not so long ago.

“You should know by now, pretty boy, that I never forget my debts.”

And just like that, your wrist slips from between his fingers, and Zoro’s left with nothing more than the taste of your mouth and the flicker of your shadow as he steps into the dim hallway.

Loguetown is a bustling place, a bleached button pressed into the chest of the East Blue, bright as a Marine’s new uniform. People blow through like fall leaves on the wayward wind and ships of all shapes and sizes dot every bit of tangible coast, their masts foresting the skyline until it’s barely visible from the docks.

“Need new swords,” Zoro announces as the crew all gather on the creaky boardwalk.

“Same. Could do with a few more knives,” you nod.

Nami tuts, rolling her eyes, “Well I’m getting a new wardrobe.”

“I’m gonna get some lunch!” Luffy grins widely as Sanji sighs, digging in his pockets for a fresh light.

“Looks like we’re stuck with the grocery shopping,” he says, nudging Usopp.

“Uh… I was actually gonna go check out some tech shops to find some parts for…” Usopp trails off as Sanji pins him with a look before shrugging, “Or… I mean, I don’t mind doing groceries first and then looking for parts.”

“Good man!” Sanji smiles, clapping him on the back as he frog-marches Usopp towards the market.

“No getting into fights, got it?” Nami looks between you and Zoro, “we need to be discreet.”

You bat your lashes, “Us? Never! We’ll be sweet and soft as kangaroos.”

Nami frowns, “Wait — kangaroos aren’t —”

You laugh, flouncing off towards town, “Never said they were!”

Zoro sighs before following after.

“It’s not your first time here,” he says after a while. It’s not a question, so you don’t provide an answer, contenting yourself with looking around at all the new shop fronts that had popped up since you were last here, and all the old haunts that have been here since what you’re sure is the inception of time itself.

“Where are we going?” he asks after several more minutes of turning down seemingly random streets.

You flash him a grin, “I know a place.”

When you duck into the arms shop, Ipponmatsu glances up from over his bulbous nose before doing a double-take. His eyes narrow to slits.

“You! You nearly robbed me blind the last time you were here! Get —”

Drop a bag of clinking Berry into one of the sword bins with a feline smirk, drawing a long finger against the hilt of some unnamed blade.

“There. That should set us even. And… you did try to swindle me first. Plus, I’m here on proper business today — my friend is in the market for some swords.”

Ipponmatsu’s eyes remain slits, but his fingers twitch as he edges toward the bin, snatching the sack from it and clutching it to his chest.

Zoro glances around at the various blades hung and displayed around the surprisingly spacious shop. The distinct unctuous tone of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by the shopkeeper, but he seems too distracted by the sack of Berry to snipe any further.

“Well,” Ipponmatsu gruffs after a few more seconds, “I’m watchin’ you… oh…” his eyes slide from you to Zoro and then to the Wadou Ichimonji at his side. Zoro almost feels the man’s jaw go slack for a second before he slams it back into place.

“E-esteemed swordsman, sir! That blade — at your side — if I might just take a look —”

You’re perched on the cashier’s counter faster than either of them can blink, one leg crossed over the other, feet hanging idly off the side, a palm pinning Ipponmatsu’s greedy hand to the surface, an almost bored expression on your face as you squint down at his fingers.

“Hm… don’t they say that swordsmen ought to take good care of their hands? I could feed a whole family of mice with the dead skin of your cuticles.”

Ipponmatsu yelps and tries to jerk free but your hold is firm, and Zoro has to fight down the amused grin twitching at the edge of his mouth. He’s felt first hand how strong your grip can be, how unnervingly quick the pressure is there, slicing off circulation with the precision of a blade.

“W-what do you want?!” the shopkeeper looks wildly between the pair of you.

You shrug, “Like I said, we’re in the market for some swords. I’d just like to make sure we keep all the dealings above water, hm?”

Ipponmatsu glares at you for a second longer before all the fight goes out of him and he slumps against the counter.

“Oh, alright alright! Look at the damned swords — it’s just… you’ve got a mighty good blade there. You’d do well not to lose it, ” he jerks his chin towards Zoro’s blade, “or get it stolen,” his eyes flash back to where you’re now cheerfully perusing a collection of knives in the far corner, the space you’d inhabited on the cashier’s counter static with your absence.

Ipponmatsu rubs as his wrist. Zoro nods.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Don’t worry — I’ve got no interest in katana’s. I prefer more subtlety myself.” You swing a pair of serrated claw knives around your fingers as if testing them for weight before putting them back.

All in all, it takes half an hour, a cursed blade, and some groveling on Ipponmatsu’s part before you and Zoro stroll out of the arms shop with two brand new katanas strapped to his side, and a fresh set of throwing needles tucked into your belt.

You take off in a random direction and Zoro follows after. You pass through a wide open square brimming with people and slip into a dark alley between two buildings made of carved marble so white it almost hurts the eyes.

Zoro is quiet as he walks behind you, until he isn’t.

“So, what’s the story?”

“Oh… just something from a past life of mine,” you answer offhandedly, fluttering your fingers through the air.

“Yeah? And how many of those have you got?”

You shoot him a piercing look and a crooked grin, “Some number between one and nine — take your best guess.”

Zoro falls silent again as a pair of drunken sailor careen by, arm in arm, belting a sea shanty.

After a while, you turn, “Hey, how’dyou know there was even story to begin with?”

Zoro ticks up an eyebrow, his hands resting one on top of the other over his newly obtained sword hilts as the pair of you wander through the tributary streets, ducking under awnings and slipping through crowds.

“With you, there’s always a story.”

He feels your eyes on him first, and he lets you watch him for a while, his own eyes slipping from store fronts to shop windows. Occasionally, he lets himself linger on the reflection of you and him — him made of so many solid, hard shapes, and you, soft as water, quick as light, elusive as any shadow.

“Then… how do you think this one ends?” you ask, your eyes meeting his in a reflection of a window across which you can see the a vague Nami-shaped pile of expensive clothes.

“This one?”

“Yeah. Ours.”

Zoro grunts, letting his gaze flick away, “What makes you think it’ll end anytime soon?”

He catches your smile and you let him, “Who said anything about soon?”

He feels the prickle of heat as it crawls up his neck and clears his throat.

“Well then, maybe when I become the World’s Greatest Swordsman.”

You frown, suddenly contemplative.

“So… it’ll end when you beat Mihawk?”

Zoro shrugs, “Might. Or it might not.”

Your frown deepens as you turn to face him proper. Through the glass, Nami catches sight of you and is waving you in, pointing at a rack of clothes glittering in sequins and patched in colors you’ve never imagined putting on your body before today.

“No? Won’t that be when you become the greatest in the world? When you beat him?”

Zoro turns, and there — just there, caught in the light of his eyes, the spark of something as he looks down at you. There’s a smile pressed between his lips that’s part mischief, part hesitancy, and all earnest truth.

“World’s a big place. Might have to check around to make sure there’s not a better swordsman out there, somewhere.” His voice is low, hope twisting beneath its rippling surface.

You feel your heart skittering your chest, the warmth in your stomach crystalizing into something more than simple curiosity and harder than desire.

“Ah… right. That does pose a problem, doesn’t it?”

Zoro makes a consenting noise.

“So,” he says, with a tone of light finality as he turns back toward the window behind which Nami is now twirling in front of a mirror in a truly lurid dress of hot pink.

“So…” you say, feigning an air of defeat as you sigh, “I guess you’re stuck with me for a while yet, pretty boy.”

“Hn.” Zoro, for his part, doesn’t sound too upset with the proclamation.

Just then, Luffy’s voice shouts from behind you both and you turn to find him waving.

“Zoro! You have to come look! There’s a guy at the market selling Sea King Meat!”

Then, Nami finally pokes her head out from inside the clothing store, now sporting a pair of blindingly bright disco pants.

“C’mon! There’s like a million dresses I put aside for you to try!”

You and Zoro turn back to each other in a single, stolen breath. Your eyes collide, and Zoro smiles. A small, brilliant, unguarded thing.

“Go on, kitten. I’ll catch up to you.”

You toss him a wide, lingering grin.

“Right. You’d better.”

Zoro waves as he turns towards Luffy, “Don’t worry. I will.”