#am i sry for zoro's behavior? no.

[soleilnomoon]

zoro x female reader plss!!! caramel with macaron, fruit tart, konpeitō, milk chocolate, strawberry cake, chocolate mousse, churro, jelly bean, shortbread cookie and cinnamon roll!! and from the special menu.. cake pop, blan manje, oatmeal raisin cookie, ice cream cake, nougat, pop sicle, sugar cookie and brown sugar pound cake. sorry if its too much, i love your blog!! 💘

hi omg so sorry this took so long (i ended up rewriting it a bunch of times); anyway, it really wasn't too much at all 😊💓 thanks so much for hanging around my blog & for being patient 😌anyway, this ended up a bit longer than i meant buttt i had fun writing it <3

3.9k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+, mdni; lots of angst, but also smut to make up for it ofc. zoro is relentless and a menace, reader is in denial over her feelings & a lil bratty abt it; modern au! feat. suppressed feelings, mutual pining, a rogue sanji makes an appearance, fingering, oral (f receiving), choking, biting, public sex/exhibitionism, other stuff i'm sure like alcohol or smth.

corporate parties are not your cup of tea; the higher ups have a tendency of splurging unnecessarily — overpriced, tasteless meals, pretentious centerpieces on each table with floating candles that melt fairly quickly — making their events stuffy and boring. essentially, they’re useless and the bane of your existence; but you can’t get out of them, unfortunately. the only way to get through them is to drink until you can’t think straight. except, you know that if you do get that drunk, you’ll end up saying something you regret — and, you’re not trying to burn any bridges just yet. nails drumming rhythmically along the counter at the bar, you sigh softly and grab another slender champagne flute. it’s your fourth glass for the night, and while you’re definitely tipsy, you’re still relatively clear-headed.

several coworkers pass by the bar with their spouses and friends, so you smile prettily at them, hoping to look pleasant, but aloof — so they won’t bother talking to you.  when they disappear from your line of sight, your smile drops. feigning happiness is a sport that you excel in without trying; you’re not sure why you do it, but you refuse to let them see the real you. one coworker in particular, however, routinely defies your expectations and has an uncanny way of seeing through your facade; of breaking down your barriers without remorse, ripping open your chest to reveal your true feelings on things. and after every single interaction with him, he leaves you to suffer alone, an ache following afterward, making you want to break things and scream.

if you say you hate him enough times, you might actually believe it.

roronoa zoro also hates corporate parties, and only attends because sanji needs a babysitter for the night. at least, that’s what he tells himself initially, and what he continues to tell himself as his eyes drift around the room until he spots you. he watches you without realizing, a frown latching onto his face when he watches how easily you talk with others, how you actually giggle at sanji’s stupid lines, how your dress completely exposes your shoulders — the skin smooth, soft, shimmering under the golden light, highlighting the richness of your brown complexion. he keeps wondering if you bruise easily, if you’d let him see the parts of you that you continue to keep hidden. the compulsion to mark your skin in an attempt to ward off other people makes him clutch the champagne flute in his hand tightly. it nearly breaks when he slams it down onto the table.

it’s not jealousy that prompts him to get up and walk over to you, nor is it jealousy that has him standing very close and gruffly order a drink at the bar. but, maybe, just maybe, it might be something close to jealousy when he shoots sanji a sharp look that has his friend grinning triumphantly in response before asking you to dance.

in the back of your mind, you know you should decline the invitation; sanji is a notorious flirt that gets under zoro’s skin just by breathing — but zoro’s presence brings about a heat to your skin that you need to get rid of quickly. it’s almost as if he’s capable of looking into the deepest parts of you, and you don’t like it — the vulnerability that comes when you talk with him candidly almost always leaves you in a state of confusion. whether it’s annoyance, arousal, or even anger; it’s really all the same. he extracts them from you with ease and is more than smug when you give him the reactions he seeks. tonight, you refuse to play that game with him; you take sanji’s hand in yours and lead him to the dance floor — he babbles about something or another, but you aren’t paying attention.

jaw clenched, teeth harshly grinding against one another, zoro watches sanji twirl you around gracefully, your movements matching the slow tempo of the music playing in the room. you try to avoid zoro’s stare, but you can’t; it’s impossibly magnetic — hypnotizing, even; almost as if you’re the only person in the room that he wants to look at. the thought brings goosebumps to your arms, makes you stumble as you dance with sanji, and when he asks you what’s wrong, you just shake your head to wave off his worries.

“too much champagne,” you say, the lie rolling off your tongue with ease. sanji’s eyes narrow slightly at your explanation, but his face softens when he sees how determined you are to convince him. a gentleman through and through, he places a small kiss on the back of your hand before releasing you completely.

zoro knows that sanji’s just baiting him, and he almost falls for it. almost. he lingers by the bar, irritation morphing into something that falls out of the realm of his control, taking a solid hold of his demeanor and vision as he watches you walk over. before he can say anything, you roll your eyes and hold a hand up. “don’t give me that look.” you grab your purse and brush past him, determined to get some fresh air so you won’t continue to choke on the tension brewing between you two. he downs the rest of his whiskey in one go and follows you with swift strides.

of course, his presence bothers you, has you pause in the middle of the corridor to sigh heavily and turn around to properly look at him. maybe if you rephrase your initial statement, he might catch the hint to leave you alone. “whatever bullshit you want to tell me right now, you can save it.” your annoyance reached its peak when you realized that you’d suffocate under his gaze if you continued dancing with sanji — not that you care that the dance was interrupted, but you hate how much of a pull he has on you. “i can’t do this right now,” you say quietly, fussing with your hair, fingers tugging at a stray curl.

“you’re always saying that.” he shoots you a pointed look. it’s more than annoying, to say the least, and drives him to grab onto your arm and tug you over to the restroom in the neighboring corridor. it is every bit as luxurious and expensive looking as the ballroom you left behind; zoro momentarily locks the door behind him, to prevent others from interrupting his conversation with you. because he refuses to continue this back-and-forth nonsense that only serves to frustrate both of you to no end.

you don’t know why you didn’t pull away from him before, you also don’t know why you allowed him to corner you like this — but maybe a part of you wants to see how much further the two of you can push one another before it becomes too much. you’re already at your limit, and you suspect zoro is too, even if he doesn’t say it.

the restroom is startlingly clean, the tiled floors shiny and polished, the counters pristine, almost as if someone periodically comes by to clean every ten minutes. you don’t intend to stay in here long, but it’s refreshing to know that you can talk freely without gagging.

“you can let go of me now,” your voice is barely above a whisper, fingers shaking even when you ball them into fists. “if you have something to say,” you start once he lets go of you, “then say it. i plan on leaving the party early.” the lie is meant to light a fire under his ass, to get him to confess whatever it is that he refuses to say, to finally put you out of your misery so you can move on with your life.

he loosens the tie around his neck and leans against the wall. you try not to stare at his throat when he speaks, but you can’t help it. you curl your fingers again and sink your nails into your palms, desperately suppressing the urge to touch him.

“why do you act differently with everyone else?”

the question hangs languidly in the air, waiting for your delayed response; you open and close your mouth repeatedly, irritation returning in full force, uncomfortably prickling your neck, making it hard to think straight.

it’s purely reactionary, instinctual, when you ask in return, “why do you care?” a heavy silence stifles the air around you, brings a deep chill to your body. “it’s really none of your business, anyway.” while you wanted to keep your distance, to ensure that he wouldn’t charm his way back onto your good side, you end up moving closer to him.

before he can control his mouth, he gruffly blurts out, “says who?” his arrogance clearly knows no bounds, but instead of telling him that, you just sigh in defeat, smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your dress, and walk to the counter so you can fix your hair in the mirror.

if he says what’s really on his mind, there’s a possibility that you might do as you always do: run away. so he swallows it back, tongue struggling to keep the words at bay, especially when you bend over like that. the fabric of your dress stretching tightly over your round ass, reminding him of why he was so intent on being by your side tonight.

already, he can feel his cock grow stiff, painfully pressing against the front of his pants as you continue to tempt him the way you normally do at all hours of the day — even when you’re not near him. and, because he’s lost all semblance of control over himself for the night, he pushes off the wall and stands behind you. rough hands glide down your curves, settle comfortably on your hips before gripping them firmly.

“i can’t tell you why i care,” he says carefully, voice lowering as he presses his hips against your ass, “but i can show you.” which, if anyone were to ask him, is the only thing he can do at this point. he’s terrible with words, even worse with stringing them together to form cohesive and straight-forward sentences when feelings are involved. you catch his eyes in the mirror, swallowing thickly as something prompts you to playfully grind your ass against his bulge. he tries to keep his base needs in check, but inevitably loses that fight as he tugs your dress upward to completely expose your ass. whatever morals you think you have are gone once his hand makes contact with your ass. the slap is loud and hard enough to make you squeal — both from the harshness of the sting and because you like the feeling a little more than you should.

“careful,” he warns, his hand massaging your skin, grabbing the fleshier part before slapping it again; this time, you let out a moan that clouds his vision all over again, where the only thing he can see or focus on is you. “you don’t want our coworkers to hear you, do you?” his words make you press your lips together tightly, your thighs rubbing against one another as an intolerable heat lowers through your body. you grip the counter to keep yourself upright, but your legs are on the verge of giving up on you entirely.

shaking your head — because no, of course you don’t want any of your coworkers to hear what you’re up to, despite the small rush that accompanies the thought of someone catching you in there with him — you give zoro a pleading look in the mirror, hoping that he’ll scrape together some semblance of mercy. he tugs on the flimsy fabric of your panties, the lace delicate and captivating — it rips without much resistance, and even though you fuss at him over it, he ignores your words. it’s less about him ripping them and more about him seeing how damp they were. you want to hate the way your body reacts to him but know that the lies you continue to tell yourself throughout the night will only catch up to you in the end.

you almost ask him what he’s done with your ruined panties but get distracted when you feel his hand dip in between your thighs, thick fingers grazing your folds, arousal coating his fingertips immediately. a shudder passes through you, and you do your best to stifle another moan, mouth straining as your lips continue to firmly press together out of spite. you refuse to let him break down your walls any further than he has, and he refuses to let you take the easy way out. his touch is light, exacting — stroking up and down your slit slowly, coaxing more noises out of you, making it increasingly difficult to keep quiet. when you press your thighs together, he grunts in disapproval and pushes your legs apart. his fingers resume their ministrations, lazily rubbing your pussy as your breathing grows uneven; that ache returns in full force, a slow building crescendo that has you gripping the counter even harder.

your pride prevents you from calling out his name, but your body freely reacts to his touch, much to your feigned displeasure. somehow, you forget just how perceptive he is, so when zoro tells you to turn around and sit on the counter, you don’t think much of it. if anything, your body is on autopilot — his proximity brings a haziness that warps your logic, turning you into a marionette that can only be commanded by him. you don’t bother hiding from him — not really, anyway — but you do turn your face, unable to handle the intense way he looks at you. something compels him to bring your hand to his face and he press his lips against your wrist, leaving behind a soft kiss, one that disrupts all of your plans for the night, the ones where you completely deny any and all attraction to the man in front of you.

chest heaving and blinking slowly you watch as he runs his hands along your thighs, seemingly admiring the plush skin there. a small shiver travels through you when he pulls you to the edge of the counter, but rather than fight your urges, you grab onto his tie and pull him closer to you. surprise briefly flashes over his face, halting his movements, giving you the opportunity to kiss him without restraint. your lips are soft against his, pliable and inviting when he parts them with his tongue. greed consumes him once he swallows your soft whimpers, silencing them with practiced swipes of his tongue, a possessiveness burning through him as his kisses turn fervent and reckless.

a different kind of haziness surrounds your mind, but you don’t stop kissing him — and have no intention to, until a lightheaded feeling spreads. if he had it his way, he’d kiss you all the time — at work, outside, in private — but he knows that there’s a possibility of you keeping your distance when you realize that you like him as much as he likes you. it’s a powerful thought, really, and you try not to think about it, even when he looks at you tenderly like that, hunger dancing around the edge, guiding him to pull away and kneel in front of you. his lips latch on to the patch of skin near your knee, kissing and licking a dangerous path up along the inner part of your thighs. zoro leaves behind kisses and small bite marks that have you moaning shamelessly; when you realize, you slap a hand over your mouth and grip the counter with your free one.

he tuts under his breath at your insistence, shoots you a cheeky grin, and swipes his tongue against your pussy. your hips jerk forward, and he swears he hears you squeak out something like zoro, please. so he does it again, and again, and again. by the time he’s set an indecent rhythm and pace, his face is buried between your thighs, mouth and tongue feasting on your pussy like it’s the one meal he’s decided to eat for the rest of his life. he’s really not much of a foodie — as that’s sanji’s area of expertise for some reason — but, he will say that he’s never experienced this sort of hunger before. your teeth sink down onto the fleshy part of your palm, your cries muffled but still loud enough for him to hear.

in order to tame that part of you, he slips a thick finger inside of you, plunging it in and out, your pussy clenching around it tightly. he watches the way you fight against your desire, watches how you struggle to keep quiet, and flicks his tongue against your sensitive clit. it’s when he decides to slide an additional finger inside of your needy hole, that he speaks again — voice gravelly and husky, making your toes curl. “don’t cover your mouth, i want to hear you.” his words make you choke, and he goes back to ruining your life in the best way possible, giving your pussy sloppy tongue kisses as he scissors his fingers inside of you. you want to curse and yell at him, want to tell him off for how good he’s making you feel. but when he sucks on your clit roughly, a sinister jolt barrels through you, making you buck your hips wildly and drop your hand from your mouth at last. you use it to grab onto his hair for support, riding his face shamelessly.

because that’s what you are right now; a shameless, pitiful mess.

you could blame him for it, but you’re just as much at fault as he is. zoro doesn’t let up, however, driven by lust and other impractical things; he curls his fingers inside of you and you let out a throaty moan, one that bounces around the solid walls of the restroom. if anyone decides to pass by, they’ll definitely hear you. he smirks at that, pride swelling in his chest as he enjoys the way you fall apart around him. your nearly out of breath by the time your orgasm finds you, hips rolling forward, chasing the high that zoro keeps baiting you with. he pulls his fingers out, swaps them with his tongue and slurps your pussy obnoxiously — loud enough to make your body flush, to make you cry out repeatedly, tears pooling around your eyes. so you yank his hair hard, pull him away, too sensitive to take any more. he laughs at that, at your feeble attempts to gaining the upper hand, but you lost as soon as you let him touch you.

your arousal drips down his lips and chin, his tongue darting out to lick his fingers in front of you.

“oh my god,” you say shakily, voice lowered; you watch him in shock as he stands up again. you know you’ll never hear the end of it, but your hands fly out to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. zoro lets out a quiet groan the moment your hand wraps around his thick length. you’ve always imagined what it would feel like to touch him like this, to have his pre-cum dribble onto your fingers with each stroke of your hand. you pause to lick your fingers, moaning softly before you stroke him again. you grip a little too tight and he narrows his eyes at you, wraps a hand around your throat, and squeezes, fingers digging into your skin roughly.

“behave,” is all he says before you nod and loosen your grip; although, that’s not nearly enough for him. zoro runs his tongue along your lips, teeth grazing as he rubs his cock in between your folds, enjoying the way your slick arousal sticks to his skin. and somewhere in between him giving you open-mouthed kisses — scorching and sensual, bringing you further under his spell — that he slides his cock into your aching hole, slowly filling you up. his name falls off your tongue prettily, legs wrapping around his waist just as he thrusts forward. he keeps his hand around your throat, holding you steady as he pulls out and slams back into you again. the pace he sets has you squeezing around his cock mercilessly, hips snapping against yours as your back arches. you babble incoherently against his lips and each thrust has you grinding your pussy against him, thighs quivering, as sweat trickles down your back.

it must be pure possession that drives him to bury his cock into your puffy cunt aggressively, his moans turning you on even more. he does eventually let go of your neck, his lips kissing the skin there, your inhale sharp, making you pant lightly. all the teasing is a bit much, and when he sucks on the skin right beneath your earlobe, you buck your hips forward, meeting each of his messy thrusts, thoroughly enjoying the way his heavy balls slap against your ass. your fingers thread through his hair, nails clawing at his scalp as you pull him to you for another bruising kiss. his strokes get shorter, his soul nearly leaving through the tip of his cock when you clench around him like that, which invigorates him somehow, making him pound into you and fuck you harder.

“ah, z-zoro, wait, wait,” you try pleading with him as he leaves kisses on your jaw, but he knows why you’re asking him to slow down — because you’re at the precipice again, and you don’t know if you can handle another intense orgasm. so, he does what makes the most sense and keeps his hips close to yours, angling to fuck you deeper, his thrusts hard, almost as if he’s punishing you for being so bratty earlier. not that he’s really complaining, he likes that side of you — likes the way you constantly bump heads with him, likes how you try very hard to not like him. and now look at you: whimpering, tears staining your cheeks, cunt fluttering around him, squeezing hard enough to keep him there permanently.

he bites down on your shoulder, a moan pushing past his lips when you cum again, wetness causing your pussy to squelch loudly, the noise lewd, bringing another flush to your skin. you hate how much you like the sound, and equally hate that zoro’s left noticeable marks on your skin, almost as if he wants to display your salacious behavior for the world to see. the warmth that you thought you stamped out, swirls back in your chest, making you cling to him.

he keeps thrusting into you, chasing his own orgasm that finds him shortly after. before he can let his lust drive him further, zoro pulls out and cums onto your pussy and the inner parts of your thighs. your dress gets stained in the interim and even though you’ll fuss at him for it later, you just ignore it for now. he kisses you a little more gently this time, like you’re something precious — which brings an additional, semi-permanent warmth to your body — and enjoys the feel of your mouth against his, wanting to savor and bottle up the moment to keep him company late at night. eventually, he presses his lips to your ear, whispers something tragically romantic, that startles both you and him, one he’ll possibly deny later — but you know and heard him loud and clear. you’ll hold onto those words, tuck them somewhere safe and far away from your irritating logic, where you can recall them whenever you please.

and maybe, just maybe, one of these days you’ll stop fighting yourself long enough to admit to your feelings.