#opla fanfic

[halfvalid]

pretty in that

ABOUT

rating: general audiences

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!monkey d. luffy | live action!nami

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

description: you have a hard time picking a dress for dinner whilst in kaya's mansion. zoro (sort of) helps!

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, fluff, kissing, confessions, no use of "y/n", special straw hat appearances (nami & luffy), soft zoro

author's note: i'm a sucker for dress-up scenes so i KNEW i was gonna write smth like this once that ep3 scene started playing. reader chooses a dress at the end; dress is non-described so you can imagine your ideal dress!

You were on Nami and Zoro’s side when it came to whatever was going on in Syrup Village. Kaya’s mansion made you feel vaguely unsettled, and stepping into the building made your heart pound quicker than you would like to admit. But if there was one thing that piqued your interest, it was the order of changing clothes for dinner. You’d been stuck in the same few outfits for weeks now, and the promise of something new—and formal—was nearly exciting, although you’d never admit it in front of Nami and her disapproving gaze. 

Kaya’s kindness combined with the private guest room and bath you were treated to helped soothe your nerves. Soon you found yourself being led to the giant closet the rest of the Straw Hats were already in—Nami was trying on various different pieces, and Zoro seemed to have something in hand too. 

“Ah, there you are!” Luffy said, swiveling on his heel and giving you a big grin as you entered the room. You stared in disbelief at all of the racks around you. Hell, there were even clothes hanging from the ceiling. 

“Well, we certainly have a lot of options,” you said, skimming a hand over a nearby rack. There were a variety of different fabrics, but they all felt expensive: silk and velvet, damasks and brocades. “I don’t even know where to start.” 

“I’m just trying on anything,” Nami called from where she was, before stepping out from the room divider she’d been changing behind. She wore an emerald dress with a plunging neckline, the patterned silk clinging to her curves, and did a little spin. “What do you think?” 

Luffy shrugged. Zoro wrinkled his nose, barely glancing up from the armchair he was lounging on. “I think it looks nice,” you offered, but Nami still seemed dissuaded. 

“Ugh, these two are impossible. What are you going to wear?” 

“Uh, I’m getting there,” you said with a little laugh. “It’s a bit overwhelming; I’d rather help you guys pick first. Luffy, have you found something yet?” You turned towards the man in the center of the room, who nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, I found this!” He raised up a black waistcoat. You frowned at it. 

“Um, Luffy, waistcoats are supposed to be worn with a suit,” you said, then paused, seeing his blank look. “...Never mind.” 

“And I’m wearing black,” Zoro added, despite the piece of clothing slung along his lap definitely not being black. You exchanged a glance with Nami, who just rolled her eyes. They’re stupid, she mouthed, then returned to the rack she was glancing through. She worked quickly, pulling out various numbers that she scrutinized before either setting on the couch beside her or putting back. 

“Okay,” you said slowly. “Need me to find you some pants with that, Cap?” Nami and Zoro let out identical groans as you spoke the pet name, both turning to give you exasperated looks. You suppressed your laugh. 

“Stop calling him that,” Zoro said with a tired sigh. “You’re encouraging him.” 

“Kind of the point, yeah,” you said cheerfully. While Zoro and Nami were both still largely unconvinced about the whole pirate crew thing, you’d joined the bandwagon rather quickly. Zoro rolled his eyes, and you turned towards the racks to find Luffy some slacks. “Assumedly you need something other than that shirt too?” 

“I’ll look later,” Zoro said passively. You watched him out of your peripheral vision. He was outfitted in a patterned kimono, his three swords slung along his lap. He didn’t seem too interested in his surroundings, though what he was doing, you weren’t sure. You let him be, turning to page through the racks of clothes again. Finally you found a pair of slacks that seemed like they’d fit Luffy. 

“Here,” you said, passing them over to him. “And find some shoes while you’re at it.” 

“Why does she even have clothes that don’t fit her?” Zoro murmured, sounding as baffled as he could get. “What, she just casually has clothes in all four of our sizes hanging around?” 

“Rich people own things just to own them,” Nami called. She’d changed again; this dress had a halter neckline and was blush pink. Zoro motioned with a hand at it, and Nami frowned, glancing down at the dress. “You don’t like it?” 

“Eh,” Zoro said. Nami made a face. 

“At this point I think you’re hating just to hate.” She pulled up a few more options, narrowing her eyes as she surveyed them. Luffy was seemingly satisfied with what you’d given him, because he took the pieces off of their hangers and slung them over his shoulder. 

“I’m off,” he announced. “Gonna go change in my room and do some exploring before dinner. Have fun!” With that, he left, and Nami sighed, turning towards you. She held up her final two options—a red cheongsam with delicate gold embroidery and a pastel blue dress with an a-line skirt. You gnawed on your bottom lip as you studied the two.

“I think the blue one might wash you out a bit,” you said eventually; it’d clash with her hair no doubt, and make her skin look even paler. The shade wasn’t a right match with her eyes, either. “I like the cheongsam; I think you should go with that one. It contrasts nicely with your hair.” 

Nami raised up the dress again, inspecting it. “You’re right,” she said, ducking back behind the room divider to change. You started pursuing the racks again; Nami stepped out a few moments later, successfully outfitted in her new dress. “Okay, I’m going to go do my hair in my guest room. Good luck.” 

“Bye,” you called, watching as she left the room. You clicked your tongue, almost alone now and with absolutely zero options of clothing. As much as you liked the idea of new clothes, the abundance of options was starting to seem a little daunting. “Okay, now that Nami’s done, it’s my turn to play dress-up.” 

Zoro laughed from where he sat, and you startled, almost having forgotten he was there. He was watching you attentively, his attention having diverted from whatever it was he’d been thinking about earlier. “You like this kind of thing?” 

“Well, I mean.” You shrugged, peering at a few of the pieces on the rack in front of you. You pulled out a deep green dress, eyeing the lace by the neckline before setting it back. “It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” 

“Not really what I’m into.” 

“You wear jewelry, so clearly you have some fashionable instinct,” you pointed out, bending over to glance at the clothes hiding by your knees. These were all skirts or unreasonably short dresses, with so little fabric you were uncertain they would cover anything at all. “Unless the earrings are for another reason…?”

“Three swords, three earrings.” 

“Makes sense. What are you wearing with your shirt?” You glanced back to see Zoro’s answer, but he merely shrugged. “Do you want me to find you some trousers? A suit?” 

“You don’t need to find clothes for me. I can do that myself.” Still, Zoro made absolutely no move to do so. You rolled your eyes, but turned your attention back on what you’d be wearing for the dinner. Vaguely you wondered how Zoro would look wearing a suit. You flushed almost as soon as the thought popped into your head, shoving it into the very back of your skull and banishing it from seeing the light of day. 

“If you say so,” you said instead, mostly to distract yourself from the beyond inappropriate thoughts starting to run through your head. Honestly, you barely knew your crew mates—the four of you were close to tearing each other’s throats out before you ran into Buggy, after all. And the fact that Zoro was, well, conventionally attractive—and you tried to keep your thoughts on that and that alone, anything emotional was strictly out of the question—shouldn’t be something your mind lingered on. 

You picked out the first dress that looked to be your size. It was dark purple, backless with a tight trumpet skirt. Ducking behind the room divider Nami had used, you stripped off your clothes, donning the dress. There was a mirror along the other side of the divider, and you turned, trying to appraise the dress on your figure. The color didn’t look entirely right, and you were uneasy about the lack of mobility the skirt might have—Kaya’s staff were still extremely suspicious, after all, and you’d rather be safe than sorry. 

“Let me see,” Zoro called from outside. You tugged at the dress, suddenly nervous, but stepped out after you couldn’t find a good enough excuse not to. Zoro’s eyes ran up and down your figure, and you did a slow circle, showing off the dress. The bare skin of your back prickled. 

“You’re not going to be able to move in it,” he eventually said. 

You huffed out a breath, the nervous energy that had accumulated in your chest leaving with the action. Something in your belly stirred; disappointment, maybe, that Zoro had only commented on the practicality of the dress, not how you looked in it. But you pushed those thoughts away with an angry shove. Not the time, and definitely not the person to be thinking those sorts of things about. “Yeah, that’s what I was worried about. Let me find something else.” 

Zoro’s gaze didn’t flicker from your body as you started across the room, ducking between more racks to find something. “You dead-set on a dress?” 

“I haven’t worn a dress in a while,” you answered, picking out a red one before remembering Nami’s choice and setting it back. “Might as well take the opportunity.” The next one you pulled was blue, all shiny and soft. The material looked like some kind of tender silk. You set it aside to try on. “Why?” 

“Haven’t seen either you or Nami in a dress before.” 

“Actually, you have. I’m wearing one right now and Nami tried like five on earlier,” you said, glancing over your shoulder to shoot Zoro an unimpressed look. He scoffed, though there was a smile at the edges of his mouth as he turned his head away. Your next choice was soft pink, and made of tulle that vaguely resembled a puff pastry. You pulled it up. “Think I should try it?” 

“I mean, pick whatever,” Zoro said, though he seemed mildly disgusted by the amount of fabric the skirt had, all bunched up with layers like something a ballerina might wear. “What are you trying to achieve with the dress?” 

“What am I—I’m trying to look nice, Zoro,” you said, stifling your laughter. You set the pink dress back, replacing it with a sage green number instead. “Not everything has ulterior motives.” 

“You always look nice.” 

You froze, a soft chill curling around the back of your neck. Carefully, you straightened up from where’d you been bent over yet another rack of clothes, turning to look Zoro in the eye. His eyes hadn’t moved. “Oh,” you managed out, throat all dry and tongue like sandpaper in your mouth. “Well, thank you.” 

Zoro cleared his throat, a dull noise he made in the hollow of his throat without even parting his lips. His gaze flickered away. “Yeah. Go try those on.” 

Wordlessly, you stepped back behind the room divider and slipped on the blue dress. It had a texture like water—it was some kind of high-end silk, flexible enough that it was near liquid in movement. The dress itself fell to your ankles, and had a simple square neckline. You stepped outside, doing another slow twirl. “Better,” Zoro said. 

“Better how?” 

“You can probably run in it.” 

You twisted your lips, trying to suppress the urge to turn them down into a frown. “Okay. It’s not doing it for me.” You ducked back behind the divider to change yet again; the sage green one was satin, with long sleeves and a neckline you hadn’t anticipated would be that deep. 

Still, upon exiting the divider and turning for Zoro again, he didn’t have any worthwhile feedback. “It’s kind of plain,” he said eventually, not meeting your eyes. 

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest; you had to almost resist stomping over to the racks to find something more, and spent another few minutes gathering dresses and trying them on. 

To your immense disappointment, each one garnered little to no reaction from Zoro. You even shoved on one of the tiny, too-little fabric dresses you’d disapproved of earlier, but all Zoro did was scan you from head to toe and say, rather flatly, “you’d get stabbed pretty easily in that.” 

Frustration bled into your nerves as you hid behind the divider again. You glared at yourself in the mirror—your skin had started flushing with how annoyed you were getting, which might’ve been funny had you not been so ticked off. Men, you thought, irritated. Was it really so hard to tell you that you looked pretty? 

He’s a bounty hunter, you had to remind yourself. He doesn’t care about this kind of thing. Besides, he was the last person you should be setting your sights on anyway. You tugged at the short dress, the hem just barely grazing the tops of your thighs. 

You heard footsteps approaching from outside the divider, suddenly too close as you snapped yourself out of the reverie of thoughts you’d been lost in. Zoro turned the corner, arm propped up against the divider edge as he peered in, brows furrowed. “You stopped coming out,” he said. He was still in his kimono, swords tossed over one shoulder. The shirt he had was, assumedly, left on the couch he’d finally stood up from. 

“I’m frustrated,” you told him blandly. His frown deepened. 

“Because of… clothing?” 

You suppressed the sigh that threatened to escape your lungs. “Never mind. I’m fresh out of ideas.” You pushed past Zoro, opting to stand in the center of the room as if analyzing it from a different view would magically give you more options. Zoro turned to stare, still looking perplexed. “With so many options, it’s hard to make up my mind, that’s all.” 

“Uh huh.” Zoro was still studying you. “Did I do something?” 

“What? No,” you said hastily. Too hastily. The words had ripped out of your throat like a hiccup, and you seriously needed to learn how to lie a bit better because now Zoro’s expression was even more confused. “No. Why would I be mad at you?” 

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” 

“It’s nothing,” you insisted, turning away from Zoro to stare at some of the clothes hanging on the wall above his head. These were too high up to properly look at, and as you stepped back, you glanced through the dresses hanging off the arch of the ceiling. You perused them without too much interest, eyes glancing over the various colors and fabrics until— 

Zoro stepped next to you. “Hey,” he said, and you jolted, head snapping down to look at him. You let out a noise of irritation, then turned your focus back on the ceiling. 

Your gaze flickered through the racks until finally falling on one particular dress hanging by the mouth of the room. It was somewhat hidden, tucked in a little corner beside a few other pieces, but from your vantage point it seemed about your size. 

You took a step closer to it, surveying it with your neck craned. The material looked soft and comfortable but it still retained shape, and the color—even in the dim lighting of the closet—was one of your favorites. The undertone would suit your skin perfectly. And, well, you didn’t want to put all your bets on one dress you hadn’t even touched, but it was certainly promising. 

Zoro stepped past you, barely exerting any effort to reach up and bring the dress down from where it hung up high. “This one, right?” he asked, and you swallowed, some of the annoyances you had towards him dissolving as he extended the dress hanger towards you. You nodded wordlessly, taking it. You stood there for a second before Zoro gestured with his head towards the divider. “Go try it on.” 

You did so, retreating safely behind your wall and stepping out of the little dress. You surveyed the one Zoro had grabbed for you again, heart lodged in your throat. It really was beautiful, and exactly your style; now that you saw it up close, you could safely affirm it was your size too, but nervousness still pulsed through your veins at it. 

Carefully, you slipped it on, adjusting the fabric around your hips and fixing up the neckline to rest evenly on your skin.

Zoro spoke out from the rest of the room. “So why are you mad at me?” 

“I’m not—” you sighed, dropping your arms before returning to fiddle with the dress. “I’m not mad at you.” 

“Is it because I wasn’t being helpful with the clothes? Because I already said that’s not exactly my area of expertise—” 

“It’s not because of the clothes, Zoro,” you said sharply, cutting him off. Zoro clicked his tongue, the sound reverberating around the room and thudding in time with your heartbeat. You turned your attention back onto your reflection. “It’s just me being silly. Don’t worry about it.” 

‘I’m worrying about it,” Zoro deadpanned. You sighed, adjusting the dress one final time before arranging your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror. It fit you perfectly, emphasizing all the right places and hiding all the parts of your body you were more insecure about. “Changed yet?” 

“Yeah,” you said, voice limp. 

“Let me see.” 

You bit your lip, suddenly nervous about how he’d react. Knowing him, it’d be something like it’s okay or the color’s fine; perhaps can you even walk in that? or weird shape if he was feeling a little more critical. Still, you stepped out anyway, not meeting Zoro’s eyes as you spun for him, letting him look at the dress from all angles. When you’d finished posing you glanced up, eyes meeting him tentatively. 

“It’s…” Zoro cleared his throat, ripping his gaze away from the dress on your figure to flicker up to your face. His gaze dropped again nearly as fast, like he couldn’t bear to keep eye contact. “Uh.” 

“It’s what?” you prompted, turning to face the nearest mirror. Your lips twisted into a worried frown, turning to glance at the dress again. Was it really not as perfect as you’d thought originally? “Do you like it? It’s my favorite so far, I think, but if you don’t like it—” 

“You look pretty in that,” Zoro blurted, cutting your rambles off with the strident, too-loud sentence. You froze, eyes flickering to meet him in the mirror. Carefully, he glanced up at you, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. 

“Oh.” 

Zoro coughed, averting his gaze as you slowly turned around to face him. You couldn’t see properly with the less-than-ideal lighting of the room, but his face seemed to have taken on a ruddier complexion. “I like it,” he said, words softer than they’d been before. “It’s the one.” 

There was a little rush of something through your veins, and you felt vaguely lightheaded. “Okay,” you barely managed to squeak out. “Thanks.” You stumbled back behind the divider, sucking in a deep breath and trying to regulate your breathing. God, this was actually shameful at this point. 

You composed yourself quickly, gathering all the dresses you’d tried on and abandoned to return to their proper places. Zoro was still watching you attentively, and you glanced over your shoulder at him. Sparks prickled along your skin as your eyes met. “What?” you asked. 

“You’re acting weird.” 

“Am not.” 

Zoro stood up, rolling back his shoulders and stretching his head from side to side. He glanced through the racks and, without even a minute’s hesitation, plucked a suit jacket and matching pants out from beside him. “Yeah, you are. What’s up?”

“You’re just grabbing those without thinking about it?” you demanded, eager to change the subject. Zoro rolled his eyes.

“I picked them like fifteen minutes ago,” he said. “Just didn’t grab them until you were done your whole… thing. Now spill it. You’re all red again.” 

You swiveled towards the closest mirror, unable to suppress your gape as you saw that your skin had indeed turned a distinctive shade of scarlet, flushed undertones creeping their way up your skin. It was entirely recognizable even in the terrible lighting. Even your skin was treacherous, now. “Nothing,” you muttered, unable to meet Zoro’s eyes as you spit it out. “I was annoyed because you weren’t telling me what you thought of the dresses.” 

“I… did, though?” Zoro said, perplexed. You let out a grating sigh, cheeks flaring even hotter now that he was forcing you to confess the entire extent of your sins. 

“Yeah, like, practically,” you said, wrapping your arms defensively over your chest. “You’ll get stabbed in that so easily. You won’t be able to walk. I just wanted you to tell me that—” you cut yourself off with another groan. “Don’t make me say it.”

Zoro blinked. “I have no idea what you’re edging towards, so you’re going to have to say it.”

“I just wanted you to tell me I looked nice!” you finally burst out, turning so you wouldn’t have to look at Zoro’s face. God, you were going to have to quit the Straw Hats after this. It was so entirely stupid. 

“But—” There was a laugh in Zoro’s voice, and you glared down at the floor, all of your dignity having left you by this point. You had no shame left to feel anymore. “I said ‘you always look nice’. Doesn’t that insinuate—” 

“That’s not the point,” you said hotly, tone almost argumentative now. “I wanted you to think I looked pretty in a dress, Zoro.” 

Zoro didn’t respond for a moment, brows creasing and face taking on a baffled expression. “But why—” Zoro cut himself off, and you turned even redder, holding your breath as he finally connected the dots. A single word fell from his lips, like a soft breath of air as he spoke. “Oh.” 

“Oh,” you muttered under your breath, unable to stop the almost whining tone your voice took on. Zoro stepped closer to you, a hand wrapping around your wrist and forcing you to look up at him. 

“I said you looked pretty in this one.” 

“I know,” you insisted, still all red, “which is why I’m not totally mad at you, but—” 

“You looked pretty in all of them,” Zoro said. He didn’t look bashful, per se—you didn’t think Zoro could get shy—but his voice was low, all hoarse in a more tentative way rather than one of his grating remarks this time. “For the record.” 

Your breath caught. 

“This one’s my favorite, though,” Zoro muttered. And then he was leaning down to kiss you, the ghost of his lips just on the corner of your mouth. You gaped up at him in shock as he averted his gaze, staring at some spot about your head. “Was that—” he started, before clearing his throat and trying again with a little more of his dignity this time. “Was that okay?” 

“Yes,” you blurted fervently, and before you could fix up the moment with something more, well, suitable, your big mouth ruined it for you. “But I think we’re holding up dinner. You should get changed, and I still need to find shoes.” 

You bit your tongue immediately after the words had been said, but it was too late—Zoro coughed, turning away from you. You panicked, and now it was your turn to grab his arm and tug you towards him. “Wait!” 

Zoro glanced down at you, perplexed, and then you leaned up to kiss him square on the mouth. He stumbled back, surprised, but adjusted quickly, hand going to cradle the back of your neck and pressing you right to him before you finally broke apart. 

“You should steal it,” he started. You stared up at him in question. “The dress, I mean. You should steal it.” 

“When am I ever going to need to wear this again?” you asked, perplexed. Zoro shrugged, fingers tugging at the edge of the dress's neckline. 

“Dunno. Just take it. She probably won’t even notice.” 

“You’re adorable,” you teased; Zoro wrinkled his nose but didn’t complain, opting instead to move away and pick up the clothes he still hadn’t changed into. “Go change. See you at dinner.” 

“Yeah,” Zoro said, his eyes not straying from your figure as you ducked out of the room. Before you could fully leave, though, Zoro grabbed your wrist, spinning you around towards him.

You didn’t have enough time to ask what he was doing when he leaned around to kiss you one final time, his hands cradling your face as your lips moved against each other. It was only a moment later that he stepped away, looking rather sheepish but not very apologetic as he finally let you go. 

“You look more than pretty,” he murmured, eyes sinking into yours, and your throat dried, any words you might’ve formed dying away within seconds. “You always look more than pretty. You look gorgeous.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, and then he ducked back inside the closet to change. 

© halfvalid 2023

[undiscovered-horizon]

[The one where Sanji is jealous of the attention you're getting and he takes advantage of the effect he has on you.]

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The banquet has been going on for a good few hours now. All of the Straw Hats were surprisingly infallible in playing their roles to infiltrate the creme de la creme of pirates: Usopp and Nami, dressed as waiters, could befriend anyone into telling them something interesting. Luffy is taken for much stupider and thus less dangerous than he really is and some looser lips aren't afraid to spill a secret or two around him. Zoro and you are just supposed to be in the in the background, watching and listening. So far so good.

Sanji's mission is to listen in to the gossip that drunk sailors often like to exchange with bartenders but he has found himself in a terrible situation. On one hand, he couldn't blow his cover and start a fight. On the other, he is beyond done with the unsavoury comments about you the men drinking by the bar are exchanging. The only thing that curbs his burning jealousy is the knowledge that he's the only one to know the answers to their questions and speculations about your prowess in several private matters. Despite his fury, he can't really blame them. His own thoughts are escaping his grasp whenever he glances at your seemingly disinterested exterior, made all the more enticing in a long, red dress that belongs more to opera houses than bars frequented by pirates.

He's been scrubbing this one glass for a good five minutes. If he tightens his grip even just a little, the dish is bound to break into a thousand little pieces. Finally, he sets the champagne flute down and makes his way to the chattering men.

"Hate to be the joykiller, gentlemen," he speaks up casually, never giving away even a hint of his anger, "but she is not interested in you."

The three men look him up and down. Either they are ignorant to the concept of hygiene and sunscreen or they really are old enough to be your father. One of them gives him a contemptuous grin, uncovering a row of gold teeth.

"And what do you know, bar boy?" the pirate asks in a hoarse voice.

Sanji leans against the bar counter on his arms. "That rum you're drinking, Cruzan 9?" he nods his head towards the glasses with unfinished drinks. "She's more of a Caroni girl. A couple more zeros on the price tag, longer in the barrel, a rich bouquet of oak, caramel and berries." A charming, almost not arrogant, smile enters his face as he looks at the pirates with a look of superiority in his blue eyes. "Sophisticated palate for a sophisticated woman."

"Is that so?" The pirate leans towards Sanji. He's about to say something else but one of his drinking buddies stops him by putting an arm on his shoulder in a meaningful manner.

"How can you tell?" the other man asks. His voice is bright, filled with genuine curiosity. He hopes to learn something interesting about the mysterious beauty in red.

But Sanji isn't willing to share his secrets. "Comes with experience," he says in an interested voice. Then, to the pirates' dismay, he winks at them and goes back to wiping down his workplace.

"Gentlemen."

A familiar voice makes Sanji immediately look up from the counter he's been cleaning. With grace that only befits someone confident, you politely nod at the three men by the bar and make your way to Sanji. The pirates' eyes linger on you like the perceptive eyes of predators.

His hands move quickly and swiftly as he makes you a drink, knowing exactly what you opt for in similar circumstances - fake "bougie" parties that are insufferable while sober.

"King's Jubilee for my one true queen," he announces while sliding the cocktail glass towards you.

Looking at the drink, you purse your lips having noticed something.

"It's missing the cherry," you point out.

With faux humility, he places a hand over his heart. The heavy rings on his fingers shine slightly in the twilight of the open-air bar. "My most sincere apologies. If I may redeem myself, madam." He bows his head.

"Madam?" you repeat in confusion. "I thought I was a queen?"

Sanji chuckles in a low voice. Your wit and humour are only making you more beautiful in his eyes, always keeping up with his suave words and innuendos.

"I am but a humble servant, Your Highness," he drones the title.

The men sitting by the bar watch the scene with jealousy and fascination. It's beyond them how a bartender could one-up the most notorious of pirates but at the same time, they can't just look away from your flirtatious grin and the clear desire shining in your eyes.

Sanji takes one maraschino cherry out of the jar behind the counter and, holding it by the stem, offers the sweet treat to you. Leaning over the bar, you grab the dessert fruit with your teeth and pluck it from the stem, all the while studying Sanji's dark expression. He's thinking about something obscene, that's for sure.

Taking advantage of the short distance between you, he leans in to whisper something into your ear. The envious voyeurs can't hear his words over the loud music and laughter but they do see your sudden bashfulness. Your eyes momentarily cast down. Whatever that bartending boy has said, it made even a woman of your poise flustered.

Your breath hitches in your throat when Sanji places a soft kiss right below your ear, letting his warm lips brush against your jaw. Then, with weak knees and fuzzy thoughts, you take the drink and go back to your corner to continue meticulous observation of the more interesting guests.

Sanji meets the angered eyes of the proud, envious pirates. He doesn't seem to mind their hurt egos and the doom that it foretells. With a self-assured grin on his face, he asks them:

"Another round, my good gentlemen?"

[phntmeii]

Those breeding kink fics are so good..... might as well have the full set? Sanji with a breeding kink please!!

Vinsmoke Sanji and Breeding ♡

[NSFW + AFAB Terms ]

NSFW Warnings: Breeding Kink, Established Relationship, Praise, Possessive!Sanji, Dumbification if you squint

A/N: Back with these because how can I not? Sanji in this scenario makes me absolutely feral. Slightly longer since I've been gone as well <3 (Hopefully this in the tags now)

Sanji dreamed of filling you up so full for so goddamn long. Having kids was something for the future, when he knew he was ready and mature but he can't resist pumping into you now.

Watching you become a fucked-out mess was all too fulfilling.

Sanji's hands never left your body, gripping each part with a squeeze just to enjoy how soft your body was underneath him.

Each thrust into you was slow and methodical. His hips knew exactly how to roll into you to hit every good fucking spot.

Sanji's eyes just stared down at you, watching you squirm. His lips were covered in wetness because he was just so fucking pussy-drunk earlier that he couldn't not eat you out on end first.

He had such a shit-eating grin as he watched you moan out from all he was doing to you at such a teasingly, slow pace.

He's in worship every time that he's fucking you because to him, there is no greater prospect than to have you moaning out his name.

"Mon amour... Keep your eyes on me, hm? Let me see those eyes roll back for me. That's it... Good girl."

But, it wasn't long before Sanji was increasing his pacing to really fuck you. It was hard to resist and he was trying so hard to make it last but the way your tits bounced and your pussy squeezed his cock, it was just impossible.

Sanji held your jaw as he pounded into you. He always loved to watch your reactions. To know what felt so good for you. Ever a pleaser.

The sounds of slapping skin filled the room while his hands dug into your thighs, holding him into the moment.

Sanji becomes whiny when he's about to cum, stuttering and stumbling on his words. It's just a jumbled mess of "fuck"s and "love you/love you s'much".

With one last hard thrust, his cum poured into you, feeling that ever-familiar heat spread through you.

His hair was a mess, stuck to his forehead and over his eye with sweat. As he's catching his breath, he placed several sloppy kisses on your lips and at your jaw.

Pulling out, he softly chuckled as he watched his cum pour back out of you. He wanted to do it every single night. He wanted to keep you so full of him that your brain couldn't think of anything else when he was done with you.

"You're too perfect... Beautiful and all for me. And this...?" He whispered against your lips while he gently stuck his finger inside, fucking the cum back into you, eliciting a whimper from you. "Mmf- This is all mine, love."

[tinkerbelle05]

Sanji please 🙏🏽 🩷

His Accent

Characters: Sanji x Fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: (Requested) After Sanji realizes how much of an effect his accent has on you, he abuses it.

Warning: none :) Thanks for the request, and so sorry it's like months late.... 👨‍🍳

-

Sanji had an accent. You knew this, it was one of the very first things you noticed about him when you met him.

That and his smooth talking skills.

Slowly but surely Sanji had created a space for himself in your life as your lover and you wouldn't have had it any other way. At this point in your relationship, you were used to his casual but over the top flirting and rather bold hand placement, and can proudly say that those actions don’t make you blush like a fool anymore.

But the way that certain words go through his teeth and roll of his tongue still gets to you. His accent still makes you smile uncontrollably. You still repeat the words you like he says in your head over and over again.

His accent was absolutely beautiful.

“Love did you hear me?” You faintly heard Sanji asked.

“Huh?” You asked, you were completely spaced out. “Uh, repeat that for me?” You asked as you moved around the kitchen with him. You were just prepping the vegetables. Nothing major, but you wanted to help Sanji in anyway you can.

“Can you pass me 8 onions please, love?” he asked again.

Like the way he said 8. It hot, plain and simple. You nodded, a bit flustered and handed him his items.

“Did I say something funny?” Sanji asked with a confused look on his face.

“Huh? Why do you asked?” You asked with a confused look on your face now. Where did he get that idea from?

He snickered, “Well you had that pretty smile I know and love on. So I thought I did something to make you laugh.”

You shake your head, “No, you didn’t.” You wouldn’t dare tell Sanji how his accent had an affect on you. You knew he’d never let you live that down.

And afterwards, there was a comfortable quietness between you two. You were staring at the window, looking at the miles of ocean while Sanji continued cutting the vegetables. You were lost in thought again until Sanji lifted your chin to meet his eyes.

“Love, are you okay?” He asked.

Your eyes slightly widen in shock but you shook your head, “Yea, no I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look the least bit convinced with your lousy lie. He gives you an unimpressed stare at you, “Okay whatever you say, Dove.”

That turned you bright red and you quickly ducked so he wouldn’t see you. But the damaged was already done. He’d seen your reaction.

Soft, deep laughs fill the space as you tried to escape him but it doesn’t work. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you towards him.

“Ohh, I get it now. You like my accent, don’t you? Is that why you’ve been acting like this.” Sanji said while laughing, his breath tickling the back of your neck.

“What?! No!” You denied the accusation.

This only made him laugh harder and he peppers short kisses all over the side of your neck, “You do find it attractive.”

“How dare you assume—”

“Sweets, you’re smiling uncontrollably. Your voice is high, and you can’t look me in the eye at all. I know you, you’re turned on by my voice, huh? It’s my accent, isn’t it?” He pressed on, a teasing smirk plastered on his face.

That bastard…..

You were still going to deny it. He was still going to pester you about it for weeks to come.

He’ll come over to you while you were doing some menial task and talk your ear off.

“How’s your day going, lovely?” He’d whisper into your ear. And he would purposefully overemphasize certain words to make his accent more noticeable.

And to make you blush even more.

You avoided eye contact with him while you swabbed the deck, “Why are you speaking like that?”

He grabbed your waist and slot his chin in the crock of your neck, “Speaking like what, love? I’ve always spoken like this.” While smiling like a fool.

You gave him look and turned back to your work. Trying desperately to hide the smile that’s forming on your lips from him. That would just give him more ammunition to continue.

This never ends for you. Even months later, when you foolishly think he has forgotten. He’ll smile at you and talk in an exasperated accent that gets worst with each word.

-

I don’t really like the ending but it’s been a while since I’ve gotten this req. As always, likes, comments, and reposts are appreciated but not obligated.

Tags: @abree234, @louissolovely, @randomhoex, @marceesworld, @dragonqueenfk, @puff-hugs, @childofhecate108, @msmisasoup, @localcowboyd, @thatgothic-nerd, @charliepoopyfart, @rotin0, @nikolaevna-art, @0picels0, @tayharrper, @cielitoot7, @borkbarnes, @simpingmyassoff, @ramielll, @villainouspotential, @poketrainer2270, @hopester08, @avatarkanemi, @dimplewonie, @fandomsunited, @don-tuna,

Taglist & Masterlist & Reqs Info

[revasserium]

butterfly lovers opla zoro screaming crying throwing up

butterfly lovers

opla!zoro; 7,106 words; fluff, kind of childhood friends to lovers, slowburn af, nsfw, pron with TOO MUCH plot, opla!canon divergence, ships doctor!reader, fem!reader, riding, "good girl", emotional sex

summary: yours and zoro's story, from two different perspectives.

a/n: @halfvalid this is ur fault. take responsibility pls. also the smut is literally just one part of a larger story, but it does actually get explicit so. do with that info what u will u__u.

false start.

most good stories, scholars and storytellers would both agree, have a beginning, a middle, and an end. though, famously, not necessarily in that order. and this particular story — well, it has several places one might call the beginning. and one of them is here — in shimotsuki village, in a patch of rich green forest that always smelled of cedar and moss and earth.

it would be a lie to say that the story begins here, at a doujou where eight year old boys and nine year old girls swing wooden swords hundreds of thousands of times each day. where you’d seen zoro for the very first time.

the story could have started here, but alas, it did not.

because you see, you’d never been great, or even particularly good at swordsmanship. and zoro — zoro was one of the best. even from the beginning, his raw, unfettered talent was a force to be reckoned with. but the reckoning came in the form of the doujou sensei’s blue-haired daughter, and you were no more part of zoro’s story then than a drop of ink in a midnight ocean — lost to the tumultuous waves of childhood tedium, of sword practice and sparring, of warm up laps and cool down stretches.

but you’d known him then, watched him as he grew, as he got better and better and better. bigger, stronger, quicker, sharper. and beside him was kuina, steady as the shifting tides, relentless in her efficacy, tireless in her craft. he was good, but she was better.

until one day, when very suddenly, she wasn’t.

the story, as it is, does not start here, because you’d made the solemn walk to kuina’s funeral altar with the rest of the students at the doujou in complete silence, had knelt there in equal silence and watched as sensei had bestowed the wadou ichimonji upon zoro, watched as he had gripped the sword with both hands, his knuckles going white as the sword’s moon-washed sheath, and bowed his head in acceptance.

it does not start here because later, instead of following the same, silent procession of kids back to the doujou’s main compound, you’d slipped away, silent as a shadow, and sprinted through the wide, cedar forest to a secret, open patch of grass where the sun bled from a stretch of endless sky blue enough to sting, and tiny little white-petaled flowers had sprung from the still-damp earth, turning their faces towards the coming spring.

you’d run, screaming through the field till you’d run out of breath to scream with, and collapsed among the tiny white flowers, panting and staring up at the endless blue sky, feeling the helplessness pulse through your veins. because even though kuina hadn’t been your friend — you’d exchanged perhaps a handful of words in all the years you’d spent here — she’d been a constant presence in your life. and now, she was gone. and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

you laid there for longer than you can remember, and then, as the sun finally dipped beyond the far horizon and the darkness grew longer than the sea was wide, you got up and trudged towards the clearing’s edge. only to find a small creature huddled against the trunk of a thin sapling tree — it looked like nothing more than a bundle of white-spotted fur, and it took you a long moment to realize that it was a fawn, curled into a pile of gnarled roots, shivering, eye wet and wide and terrified.

you blinked, staring at it for a few seconds before you’d noticed the gash on it’s hind leg, jutting out at an uncomfortable angle. your heart had stuttered inside your chest, and you’d dropped down to your hands and knees, cooing softly as you slowly approached the creature, trying to look as unmenacing as possible.

“hey there… are you hurt?” you’d said, crawling towards it, trying very hard to make your movements as slow and smooth as possible.

the fawn shivered as it stares at you, apparently caught between sheer terror and curiosity. you tried to smile, before digging into your pockets and pulling out a handful of peanuts, offering them to the fawn on an open palm.

“c’mon, i’m not gonna hurt you… i just wanna take a look… at that leg of yours, can i do that?” you’d asked, inching in closer and closer until the fawn’s warm, wet nose dug into your palm, it’s smooth-edged teeth grazing your skin as it crunched through the peanuts. you took the chance to glance down at it’s injured leg — it wasn’t a deep wound, but judging by the angle, it was a bit dislocated and would need to be set back right if the fawn was ever going to walk again.

slowly, you reached out a free hand to gently stroke at the fawns haunches, feeling it’s muscles tense up beneath you, even as it continues to snuffle against your palm, eager for any remnants of the peanut shells. you ran your hand along it’s leg and quick as a flash, you pressed against the odd jutting of bone, even as it snapped back into place with a satisfying crack.

the fawn made a shrill, screeching noise, jerking to its feet, but a moment later, it seemed to realize that it’s leg was no longer hurting. you held up both your hands in what you hoped was a calming gesture before tugging out a few more peanuts holding it out as an offering.

the fawn blinks it’s dark, watery eyes at you a few times before limping forward to dig its nose once more into your palm. you allowed yourself a smile then, and a soft relieved laugh as the fawn limped forward a few more steps, testing the weight of it’s body on its newly repaired leg. it looked more confident now, seemingly realizing that the wound was somewhat fixed, and it gave you one last, lingering look before it bounded off back into the sunset forest, leaving you with nothing more than a handful of peanut shells and a tightness in your chest you can’t quite seem to put your finger on.

you’d snuck back into the doujou that evening, smelling of mud and moss and cedar, and you’d lain in your futon, staring up at the high slatted ceilings, streaked with moonlight, wondering where on earth you truly belonged.

the next morning, everyone woke to neatly a folded futon and a wooden training katana, the hilt carved with your name, laid across your pillow.

so you see, the story could have started here. but it didn’t. and perhaps we should be thankful for that.

the cost of ambition.

the story, as we know it, starts then at the baratie, on the morning after a meal was eaten and not properly paid for, after an ill-fated duel between a boy with a mouthful of ambitions and a man who’d forgotten what it felt like to be truly surprised. well, he was surprised that morning, watching the boy fall back with a gash the size of the world spurting blood across the docks.

“grow strong,” he’d said, “and come find me.”

and it starts, when a pirate in a straw hat comes crashing into the baratie’s kitchen, shouting about a dying friend.

“help! help! zoro… zoro needs a doctor!”

“whoa, whoa, slow down, chore boy — i can’t understand a word you’re saying,” zeff holds up a hand to stem luffy’s panicked rambling.

“my friend is dying…”

“the nearest doctor’s on the conomi islands —”

“wait, no —” sanji frowns, cutting zeff off, “lemme look at the reservations from last night —” he hurries off to the front desk and returns with a thick leather bound volume, flipping it open to scan through the seating chart for the night before.

“i knew it!” he says, pointing at a name written in deep, ocean blue ink, “there — her! i’ve heard of her — she’s the best ship’s doctor in the east blue, and if i’m not much mistaken, her ride’s not due to leave till this afternoon.”

“great! c’mon — we haven’t got time to lose!” luffy says as he rushes out of the kitchens, leaving sanji and zeff to exchange an exasperated look before following after.

they find you on the loading docks, your nose buried in a notebook, your hand flying across the page, ink smudging your unrolling sleeve.

“please! we need a doctor! my friend — zoro — he’s dying!”

you jerk up from your notes, the name ringing in your ears like an alarm bell, rocking through your body like the base boom of a signal flare. zoro? here?

you look around even as luffy makes his way to you, pressing in too close, a hand on top of his head to keep his hat from flying away, the other curling around your upper arm.

“w-wait — what’s going on? did you say someone was dying?”

“yes! my friend! he got into a fight with this warlord guy and now he’s bleeding from everywhere —”

“show me,” you say, lurching to your feet and shouldering your leather knapsack, pursing your lips as your vision threatens to tunnel ahead of you. zoro. it’s been such a long time since you’d heard that name. sure, you’d heard of his exploits in the east blue. how could you not have?

demon, bounty, pirate hunter. hunter, hunter, hunter —

you take a deep breath as luffy leads you onto the deck of the going merry and ducks below, motioning for you to follow.

when you step into the room, you don’t notice the orange-haired girl or the long-nosed boy, instead, your eyes are drawn to the body on the kitchen table as a magnet would a compass rose. his shirt torn into barely more than ribbons, a large red gash oozing blood, bisecting his torso like some unbridgeable canyon in miniature, his skin paler than you’d ever remembered it being, sweat beading his flickering brow —

oh, zoro…

you resist the urge to press your hand to your mouth. so instead, you swallow back your heart and try to assess the damage. massive blood loss, possible head trauma, and who knows what else?

“you said a warlord with a giant sword did this?” you ask, hurrying to the table and frowning down at the gaping wound.

“y-yeah — he — he had a big hat with a white feather on it —” luffy starts.

“mihawk. his name was dracule mihawk,” the orange-haired girl cuts in, her voice sharp and a bit too forced to be steady, “he told zoro to get stronger, and that… it wasn’t his time to die yet.”

you grimace, chewing on your bottom lip as you dump your supplies unceremoniously onto the countertop next to him, digging out the necessities.

“well, he wasn’t lying — the cut’s clean and judging by the size… he could’ve cut much deeper. but he didn’t,” you sigh, absently rolling up your sleeves as you pull out a hooked suture needle and a length of thread.

they watch you work in silence, first cleaning the wound, and then slowly, painstakingly pinching and stitching him back together. by the end of it, you’re nearly dizzy with exhaustion, and the sky outside has already turned a deep, bruising purple.

you sigh, wiping down your hands.

“can someone go and ask the waiter for a fish? any fish’ll do, but the fresher, the better. oh, and a bottle of scotch.”

“got it!” the boy with the long nose bolts up and is gone in a flash.

you slump down into a nearby chair and let your head loll back. a moment later, you feel someone pressing a glass into your hand and open your eyes to find the orange-haired girl holding a glass of water.

“here… you looked like you could use it.”

“thanks,” you say, taking a grateful gulp.

“i’m nami, by the way… thanks for —” she waves at the shape of zoro still on the kitchen table, “and that one over there is luffy. the guy that just left is usopp and —” her breath catches as her eyes fall back onto zoro’s form.

“i know who he is,” you say, your voice quiet as you look down at the glass clutched in your hands.

“you know zoro?” luffy’s voice is loud, but not unpleasantly so.

you glance up and feel the truth pulsing against the back of your throat like a heartbeat. then, you shake your head with a soft smile.

“i mean, he’s got quite the reputation.”

luffy lets out a laugh, “yeah! he sure does — he’s a great fighter! probably one of the best i’ve ever seen!”

you nod, staring at the sloshing liquid in the bottom of your glass.

a few moments later, usopp returns with sanji in tow, holding a bottle of scotch in one hand and a dead fish in the other.

“you’d better have a good reason for this,” he says, his expression grim, “zeff’s not gonna be happy when he finds these gone.”

you force a smile, “well, i can promise that at least one of those things’ll be put to good use — can you just skin the fish for me, please?”

sanji frowns, “and the scotch?”

you glance around before shrugging, “i don’t know about you guys but… i think we could all use a drink.”

the cliche of the morning after.

when zoro wakes up the first time, it’s to a world-muffling quiet. he coughs, uncertain of where he is, his head throbbing, his chest feeling too light and too heavy all at once.

“oh! you’re awake — here… have some water. you’ll need it.”

he hears the voice, both familiar and foreign, and then, he feels the cool press of a glass against his lips.

he gulps down the water greedily before pain rockets through him and he lets out a loud groan.

“i… i had a dream…” he says, his head spinning, the words slurring from him, and for a second, he wonders if he’d just been fed alcohol instead of water, but the pain seizes him again and he can’t stop talking.

“yeah? what did you dream about?” the familiar, foreign voice asks, soothing, as a cold palm presses against his forehead.

“shimotsuki village… i — i made a promise. i told her — i’d be the greatest… swordsman…”

his voice is fading, and the world is fading with it.

“yeah… you did, huh? and i’m sure you’ll fulfill it, one day…”

zoro sighs, sinking gratefully into the warm, welcoming arms of darkness once more.

“but not today,” you say, reaching out to wipe the sweat from zoro’s brow, your voice so soft that you’re sure no one else can hear, “today… you just need to keep on living. and that’s the greatest promise you could ever make to me.”

smooth sailing.

when he wakes up proper, you aren’t there to greet him. but he doesn’t miss the shape of you as they all pile onto the merry to go looking for nami. he doesn’t miss sanji’s too-wide grin or the unpleasant, burning itch that shoots through his healing wound as he watches the cook ask you about your favorite foods.

he keeps quiet for the most part, but you find him still, and you ask him how he’s doing with a ship’s doctor’s professionalism and efficiency.

“how’re you healing?”

“fine.”

“any tenderness?” you ask, your brows knitting as he tugs open his shirt and lets you peel the bandages away.

“not really,” he lies, because the the tenderness is not skin deep. he feels it in the labyrinthine galleys of his soul and he can’t quite figure out why you, of all people, might make him feel this way.

you run a surgical hand along the stretch of puckered skin and he sucks in a long breath, feeling his cheeks flood with inexplicable heat.

you smell of cedar and moss and freshly turned earth and for the life of him, he can’t remember why it makes his entire body go soft with memory. it reminds him of… something.

something, something, something.

“i hear you, y’know,” you say, and he jerks back to the present, with you absently rolling up your shirtsleeves before tugging at a fresh piece of gauze to wrap him back up.

“don’t know what you mean.” he looks away, willing himself to stay still as you daub a pungent cream against his chest before applying the layers of bandage. he lifts his arm to give you more room even as you shoot him a disbelieving look.

“sword practice, in the middle of the night. i told you that you need to rest — you’ll only prolong your own healing if you keep on pushing yourself like this. rest is it’s own brand of practice.”

zoro narrows his eyes. because he’d heard that from someone, somewhere before.

“your bodies need time to repair,” his sensei used to say as they all gathered after dinner at the doujou for evening meditation, “and a disciplined mind leads to a disciplined body. don’t forget that rest is it’s own brand of practice.”

zoro had never been good at it, but over the years, he’d managed to endure.

“there. all done.”

you lean back to admire your handiwork, unaware of zoro’s eyes as they scan over the shape of you, taking in the length of your hair, the bright of your eyes, the limber, spider-quick thinness of your hands and fingers.

“thanks,” he says, slipping off the kitchen table, pausing as he notices how still you’ve gone, your eyes wide as you blink at the planes of his chest, inches from your nose. a second later, you stumble back, clearing your throat, a sweet dawning pink dusts the high of your cheeks as he cocks his head to watch you, fascinated by your reaction.

he almost grins, letting his stomach flex as he takes his time in doing up the buttons of his shirt, before grabbing his swords and slipping from the room, leaving you to clean up your medical supplies, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

zoro wonders, just briefly, how it might feel to catch your lips between his own teeth instead.

ink, skin, and bullets.

it’s you who bandages nami’s self-inflicted wounds, you who spends four meticulous hours tattooing over the sawfish curl with a pinwheel spiral that curves into a tangerine’s plumpness. you, who soothes eucalyptus balm over nami’s arm before wrapping it up in a fresh roll of gauze, waving away her hiccupped thanks.

and it’s you, who gets a shotgun pressed into your palms by a stony-faced nojiko as you all prepare to march on arlong park.

“if i can’t go with you… then at least, i can give you the tools,” nojiko says as she wraps your fingers around the butt of the gun.

zoro narrows his eyes as he watches the way your fingers shake as you weigh the shotgun in your palms.

“i don’t like it,” he says.

“yeah, you shouldn’t come with us — we’ll need you to patch us up after,” sanji agrees with a wink, much to zoro’s displeasure.

but you shake your head, a steely light in your eyes as you clutch the shotgun to your chest, “no, i — i want to come. i mean — like luffy said… it’s our fight, after all.”

arlong park.

the flurry of battle is as it always has been. you use the shotgun more as a blunt instrument than as a projectile carrier, but it seems to work just as well. you’re small, and quick, and your knowledge of anatomy (yes, even fishman anatomy) allows you to maneuver the head of the shotgun into the softest, most venerable places on a fishman’s body as you all fight your way through arlong park.

but zoro is never far off, keeping close to you as he fends off the worst of the snarling fishmen, his sword flashing like fish scales in the midday sun.

there comes a moment when he slices an oncoming fishman right through the jugular that you let out a long breath, wincing as the fishman’s body hits the ground with a dull thud, and zoro sighs, turning towards you. but a second later, he freezes as you grab the hilt of his sword and shove it backwards.

he feels it resting against thick, bullet-proof flesh and he hears the loud panting of something next to his ear as he sees in the reflection of your eyes — a fishman standing behind him, frozen against the tip of his blade, the hilt clutched in your shaking, shivering hands.

“d-don’t — i’ll kill you —” you say, your voice a forceful, fractured thing.

zoro searches your eyes before clasping his hands over yours and slowly tugging the sword from your gasp.

“hey…” he says, deliberately drawing your gaze away from the fishman before he jerks his sword back and feels, with a satisfying shink, the weight of the blade sinking into unforgiving flesh. he feels your fingers trembling beneath his as he pulls the sword away, and the fishman behind him sinks to his knees before falling sideways with the dull thunk of a no longer animate body.

you try to tug away, but zoro holds you steady, running his thumb in soothing circles along the backs of your hands.

“s-sorry — i — i couldn’t —”

zoro shakes his head, pulling you up by your elbow.

“it’s okay — don’t apologize.” he whips his swords around and catches another fishman in the stomach, dropping him with a flicker of silver and a splash of red.

“you never have to apologize…” he says, as he reaches for your hands and curls them in the warmth of his own, callused palms.

finding neverland.

you kiss for the first time after a brutal battle. after the deck has been washed of blood and the railings have been hung with the remnants of the tattered sails.

repairs are much needed, but zoro had saved you yet again. you pull him to you in the darkness of the midnight deck, the crow’s nest empty because, well, he’s supposed to be up there, keeping watch. but you’d caught him instead, curling your fingers into the soft linen of his shirt, your mouth seeking out his in the relative dark.

“mnph —”

he grunts as his hands find purchase against your shoulders, pressing you back and back and back, till you’re pushed flush against the thick totem of the main mast, and your panting breaths are all he can taste against his desperate lips.

“s-sorry…” you let out a helpless laugh as he pushes forward, his teeth clacking against yours.

“quit that,” he says, his voice nothing more than a panting breath on the open sea air.

“hm?” you blink, lashes fluttering in the moonless night, your lips kiss-swollen and delectable even as zoro forces himself to pull back, studying you with an accusatory eye.

“you’re always saying sorry,” he says as he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek. above you, the main sail whoomps, catching an evening wind.

“i’m not… i don’t…” you look away, embarrassed to be caught. zoro reaches down to grab your chin, forcing your head back towards him.

“yeah, you do,” he says, his voice gentle, even as he cups your cheek.

“you don’t ever, ever, have to apologize for just... being you. got it?” and there’s a burning ember in the spark of his voice as he twists your face up towards him, his lips hot and hungry as he brands you with this promise, and you’re powerless to do else but accept it.

you find your fingers in the short hairs at the nape of his neck, his breath cascading over your lips even as you press in close, close, closer. a helpless whine twists its way up the back of your throat as zoro hoists you up, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs.

“z-zoro… please,” there’s something broken in the tenor of your voice that breaks him more completely than he has the words to describe, so he settles for holding you tighter over his hips and carrying you to his room. it takes a bit of finagling to get you comfortably situated in his hanging bed, but once he does, he can’t help the soft sigh that escapes him as he looks over the length of your body.

from your pink-flushed cheeks to the loose, crumpled material of your button up shirt, all the way down to the hem of your skirt as it brushes up along the skin of your thighs. he leans own to press an indulgent kiss into the dip of your collarbone.

“'please' though… i like a little bit more,” he says, reaching down to pop the top button of your shirt, to revel in the way you hiccup as he teases a line down your chest, his lips following his fingers as he undoes your buttons one by one.

“i — ah —” your fingers curl into the soft moss of his hair and he groans, long and lush into the creamy expanse of skin above the waist of your miniskirt.

“again…” zoro says, whispering the word against you, tugging on the elastic of your skirt, pulling them down the length of your legs.

“z-zoro, please!”

your head tips back as you feel his tongue flick over the hot button of your clit, his fingers digging into your hips, the pads of his forefingers tracing gentle circles around your hip bones as he holds you to his mouth and moans.

there’s a fumbling of fingers and a clashing of teeth as he wrenches himself up from between your legs to mouth at your lips. you taste yourself on his tongue and shiver at the indecency. still, the coals of desire burn in the pit of your stomach as his fingers press into your spit-slicked folds and you feel your whole body arch up in response.

he has always been quiet, but none more so than when he’s working three digits into your fluttering core, his eyes dark and fixed as they watch his own fingers pull out of you and push back in, slick and shiny with the evidence of your arousal.

“fuck…” he whispers the word like a prayer, slipping passed his lips like some holy thing. you can hear the near reverence in his voice as he slowly removes his hand and presses them to his lips for a taste. the lewdness of it makes the hot coil in the pit of your stomach twist all the tighter. and this time, when he drags himself up the length of your body to kiss you, you whine against his mouth, tasting your own tang on the heat of his tongue.

“ngh — fuck —!” you echo, as he flips onto his back and tugs you over his hips in one, fluid moment, his palms helping you grind your sodden folds over the length of his cock, the friction all-consuming and dizzying. a thin string of arousal connecting the tip of his cock to the seam of your cunt and zoro is helpless to do much else but moan thickly at the sight.

“shit.”

you whimper softly as he teases at your entrance, your palms splayed against his chest for support, your thighs shaking on either side of his hips as he eases you down inch by slow, excruciating inch, ontohis thick, throbbing cock. you toss your head back as he pushes into you, the fit of him fiery-tight and stretching you in ways you’d never thought was possible.

you feel him pulsing against your walls, and you wish briefly that you could’ve tasted him as he’d tasted you, before he sheathed himself inside you. how would he taste, you wondered, and you feel your mouth water at the thought of his heavy, salty weight on your tongue.

“n-ngh!” your voice cracks as he rocks his hips experimentally against yours, the drag of him inside you driving you to near incoherence.

“good girl,” he whispers, the words falling from him like second nature. you keen beneath his praise, bracing yourself as he plants his feet on the bed and jack hammers up into you, his stomach tensing in deep breaths of tight, sinewy muscle, his arms flexing as he helps you rock down above him.

“pretty… fucking… girl…” he intersperses his heavy groans of pleasure with soft exclamations, fucking you now to the light, rhythmic rocking of the ship, even though there’s nothing light about the way his cock bullies it’s way into your cunt again and again, forcing you to clamp down around him on each and every thrust.

there’s nothing gentle about the way he digs his nails into the flushed skin of your hips, how he leans up to latch his greedy mouth onto one of your pert nipples, moaning as he savors in the way you arch against him, pushing your chest more fully into his mouth.

“r-right — right there —”

“yeah?” he asks, half-smirking as he looks up at you, his warm gaze betraying the hard, teasing edge behind his voice, “where do you want me?”

you keen, whining as you drag your hands down your own body to press against your stomach, grabbing his hand to push it against you as well, his palm hot and flat as it lays along your tummy.

“r-right here —”

“fuck — that’s right —” he jerks up into you, burying his face in your chest with a clipped moan as he quickens his pace, his one hand pressing against your stomach as you feel him pushing up farther into you than you’d ever imagined possible.

the pleasure is intense, an other-worldly feeling as he finally pushes you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he feels you clench around him, your arms winding around his torso, to act as both tether and tide as he holds you to him, grounding you to this feeling while simultaneously casting you against the rough edges of this most selfless and selfish pleasure.

“h-holy… fuck me…” you breathe out, clutching at zoro’s back, digging ruddy red grooves into his shoulder blades as he rolls over to fucks down into you, relentless in his chase of his own climax, groaning deep and throaty as he finally spills into you.

you hiss as you feel the heat of him pooling inside. and it’s not till a few minutes later that he picks his head up from where his face had been buried in your neck to shoot you a wide, lopsided grin.

“yeah, pretty sure that’s what i just did,” he says, rolling onto his side and letting out a deep, soul-steadying breath.

you roll your eyes before turning to look at him, only to find him watching you with a gentle, anchoring softness. and like this, it’s hard to see him as the battle-hardened warrior. like this, it’s hard to imagine that he’d ever made such a promise as to become the greatest swordsman in the whole, entire world.

like this, he just looks like a lovestruck boy, forced to grow up much too soon, searching for any remnants of pleasure he might have left to hold on to.

an irony of hands.

it’s never easy, the night after enemy raids, the deck pooling with bodies and blood, the sea the color of a scabbing wound, flotsam and jetsam like bloated body parts floating on the dark, inky waves.

you’re helping usopp push some of the dead bodies overboard, but then you find one man with three deep gashes on his torso and blood bubbling on his lips.

“… gonna… gonna report — never… escape…”

you nearly yell as you see the tiny den den mushi in his hands, his fingers quivering as he tries to dial the emergency line. you smack it from his hand and press your tiny, surgeon’s scalpel to his throat. it’s sweet, polished silver gleams wicked beneath the moonless night.

“don’t you fucking dare,” you say, even though your voice shakes, and there are perhaps a million other ways of taking care of him more easily. but you know that if you throw him overboard now, he’d bob, half-drowning and helpless, for a few hours, or maybe even days before he’d finally succumb to the terrible, patient drag of the ocean (and most likely, dehydration).

“no,” a voice says, steady and firm, as a long, rough-fingered hands enter your vision and carefully tug your hands way from the man’s throat.

you look up to find zoro, his hand still clutched around yours, an unspoken sweetness flickering behind his eyes.

“i — if we toss him over — he'll just —” you swallow thickly, tearing your gaze away from zoro’s face as his expression shifts into something of the unreadable and soft. you hate to let him see you like this, so hesitant, so incompetent.

“let me do it,” zoro says, giving your hands a light shove before, with one swift arc of his blade, he severs the man’s carotid, leaving him slumped and bleeding on the blood-stained deck.

“oh… oh god…” you press your shaking fingers to your lips, the silver scalpel falling with a loud clatter.

“c’mere,” zoro says, tugging you up and leading you down to the hallway below decks. he slows as the pair of you enter the darkest part of the hallway, and he turns to hold you at arms length, his fingers tight on your arms as you feel his eyes scanning you over, and over, and over.

“you’re not hurt?” he asks, voice quiet and clipped.

“no,” you shake your head.

“not even a little?”

you shake your head again, pursing your lips this time to keep the sob from pouring through.

still, he sees it, and he pulls you to him, cradling your head in his large, warm palm, the other arm wrapping around your middle.

“stupid girl,” he murmurs, light, into your cheek even as you let out a bitten off sob against his chest.

you hiccup, curling your fingers into the material of his shirt, "i — i couldn’t do it,” you say, squeezing your eyes as he holds you to him and lets you cry.

“i — i couldn’t kill him.”

zoro sighs, pulling back to smooth a hand over your hair, bringing it down to cup your now tear-stained cheek.

“yeah, i know. but that’s not what your hands are made for,” he says, letting his own hands trail down and down and down, till he’s got both of your palms cupped in his like a wishbone.

“don’t you get it?” he asks, staring down at your palms, upturned against his, “these hands were never made for taking lives…” he looks up, his eyes too bright in this borrowed darkness. and then, he smiles.

“they were made for saving lives instead.”

confessions, part i.

you stare at him for a full ten seconds before letting your body fall laxed into a soft, bubbling fit of champagne-colored laughter.

“i love you,” you say, the words tumbling from you, more truth than any story or poem or legend or myth either of you have ever heard.

“i love you, zoro,” you say again, tasting the words on your tongue like fireworks, like pop-rock candies, like the first, stinging breath of autumn after the hazy veil of summer has finally lifted. and slowly, in the clarity and truth of your declaration, you think you can see his lips as they lift up in an open-heart smile, as he too tastes the words you’ve just so recently mustered the courage to say.

confessions, part ii.

zoro stares back, and or a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. then, for too long. and you think you’d made a mistake, telling him how you feel. but then, he smiles — a true smile, a smile that lights up his face and erases all the grooves and lines that should’ve been worn there by the weathers and weights of hardship.

and still, listening to your words, he smiles — a smile that makes him nothing short of incandescent.

he nods, squeezing your hands in his.

“i love you too.”

false start (redux).

every story as a beginning, a middle, and an end. though not necessarily in that order. and, looking back, roronoa zoro knows that if he had to pick, his story probably begins here — at the ripe age of eight, in a doujou nestled next to a forest that always smelled of cedar and moss and freshly turned earth.

it probably starts with an endless parade of sword practice and sparring, of warm up laps and cool down stretches.

its true — it could be said that his story starts with kuina, the doujou sensei’s blue-haired daughter, who was better at swordcraft than zoro thought he ever might be. and to some, this is a good enough kind of beginning to latch on to.

but no, zoro knows, because he knows himself now, and he knows that stories, just like swordsmanship, is an art that requires a certain amount of tempering. a certain degree of trimming and tailoring. a certain kind of articulation.

so he’s certain that it starts here, when he’d seen you for the very first time. and it’s true, you’d seemed like nothing special then, just another quiet little girl who’d been forced into the doujou by some faceless set of rigid, expectant parents, and you’d worked just as hard as you could have, given your natural inclination for anything but sword play.

he’d known that you’d never be great shakes at swordsmanship, but still, he’d found himself drawn by and to you, as a magnet would a compass rose, as one might find their destiny, or their soulmate. he had found his eyes tracking you whenever you weren’t looking, found himself watching as you’d patter around after sparring practice to ask everyone how they were feeling, to dig your tiny fingers (strong and dexterous as they already were) into a knot here, an aching muscle there, a pinched nerve that might’ve been really bad if not found here, and left to fester in that vast, horrible elsewhere.

but he’d been a shy, quiet, kind of boy, absorbed by his sport. and kuina’s skill was more than enough for one growing, teenage boy to contend with without worrying about the strange attraction he had towards perhaps the least “swordsy” person in the entire class. and so, he’d never plucked up the courage to talk to you, never questioned when you’d kept away from his side of the classroom after sparring practice, when all the other girls would flutter around him like a flock of unwelcome pigeons, asking if he wanted to be their stretching partner.

then, the morning came when shimotsuki-sensei had informed him in not so many words that kuina was gone. and the funeral had slipped by in a hazy blur of bodies and incense, and the next thing he knew, he was holding the wadou ichimonji, and sensei was saying something about keeping kuina’s dream alive.

he’d seen you flit from the funeral march of black-clad children, shadow-dark and raven-quick, right off into the thicket of trees. and he’d followed you, because he couldn’t think of a place he’d like to be less than back in that suffocating practice room with all his fellow classmates, half of them casting him curious looks, the other half avoiding his gaze like the literal plague.

he’d followed you to the clearing, and watched as you’d sprinted, screaming around the field of tiny, white-petaled flowers until you slumped down, panting with your face upturned to a sea-breeze sky. he caught himself before he could burst out laughing (or crying, he wasn’t quite sure which he wanted to do more at that moment), and he’d forced himself to sit still behind the trunk of a large tree and watch as you pushed yourself up. the light of the dying sun washed your figure in a great, dream-like ream of orange and gold.

then, just as it seemed like you were going to head back, he spotted you spot the injured fawn, curled into the gnarled roots of a sapling cypress tree. and he’d watched still as you slowly approached the creature with a handful of peanuts before distracting it and crack — he’d heard it clear across the clearing — the sound of a bone being set back into place.

the fawn had screeched and bolted to it’s feet.

but you were just as fearless as you always were, holding out your palm with more peanuts, and zoro had watched, with a mounting fascination coiling in the base of his stomach, as the fawn dug its nose into the palm of your hand.

he’d seen the brilliance behind your eyes, heard the bell-toll sound of your soft, everlasting laughter.

and he vowed, then and there, to become the greatest swordsman he could be, the greatest swordsman in the world, if only to protect you from those who might hurt you. from those who might threaten to take away the light — the life — that thrummed, ever present, in the palms of your very own hands.

a/n: i know, i know, there was an authors note before. but i feel like i can explain this better now that you've read the fic -- to me, the story of "butterfly lovers" is and always has been as story of someone pretending to be someone they're not, right? so in that sense, you/reader was just trying to fit into a mold that wasn't quite made for her before discovering her true calling as a doctor. and the fluff and romance was that, unbeknownst to her, zoro's known that this entire fucking time. u__u anyways. i hope you enjoyed. bless up and simp zoro, fam.

opla!zoro requests are open!

[lawsvalentine]

Let’s Discuss: Tugging on Usopp’s Dreads During Sex (18+)

Opla!Usopp

CW: explicit sexual content, oral (f recieving), sex, reader tugging on his dreads during sex and dats it

Cee’s Note: This is 100% me self indulging rn and I had to alright 😭 nobody else was providing opla usopp content 😔

[minors do NOT interact; explicit content ahead]

Your favorite thing to do was run your fingers through Usopp’s locs

Whether it was when you both were chilling on the ship and your hand would absentmindedly play with his hair while you two cuddled or while you two were having a heated makeout session your hands would once again be laced through his hair.

So it’s no surprise to Usopp to feel your fingertips once again in his scalp only this time his face was burried between your legs, tongue lapping at your dripping core. Everytime he heard a gasp come out your lips, your grip would tighten in his hair.

But he didn’t mind it

It turned him on so much when you did it

Every time you would slightly tug from the pleasure, you could faintly hear his moans against your pussy.

“F-Fuck, baby, feels so good”

With every flick, swirl, and lap at your cunt your cries were getting louder and grip tighter as you pushed his face further in your cunt.

You could feel your orgasm approaching but you wanted to feel more than just his tongue prodding at your entrance.

So with the same hand that was forcing him closer to your sex you pulled his head back to stop him. You couldn’t help but smirk at the slick dripping down his chin and the dazed look in his eyes.

Mans was pussy drunk sgshdh

“I want to feel you…all of you”

You didn’t care how needy you sounded you just wanted him and he was just as desperate for it to. So before you knew it you were on your back, legs wrapped around his waist as his hips rolled against yours.

Your fingers were back gripping his locs the other hand clutching his shoulders as he continues his slow deep strokes.

His head is buried in the crook of your neck trying to hide his moans against your skin.

“Ah, go deeper baby”

With that, he grips your thighs pushing them further back against your chest and angles himself to where his thrusts deeper inside you

Your moans increase as you feel your orgasm approaching and he is not far behind you

Your eyes roll back, fingers clutching for dear life around his hair, as your orgasm hits you causing your legs to tremble with pleasure

“Oh-oh shit, y/n, I’m cumming”

And with one final thrust, he empties his load inside you

As you both came down from your highs, you feel his weight roll off you and lay beside you, his chest heaving trying to catch his breath

As you two lay facing each other, your hand pushes a fallen loc from his face and he has his dopey grin as he gazes at you

He’s so damn cute for his own good

Your fingers softly playing with his hair drifts him to sleep and you as well not too long after him.

[preciouslandmermaid]

of songbirds, swords, and spice

pairing: Opla!Zoro x Opla!Sanji x Fem! Reader (no use of Y/N or L/N)

tags: slow burn, friends-to-lovers, trauma, eventual smut, angst, humor, canon-typical violence, found family, polyamory, falling in love, POV multiple, reader-insert, action/adventure, past abuse, eventual romance, touch starved, PTSD, mentions of slavery/forced labor, battle couple, devil fruit user reader, hurt/comfort, mulit-chapter fic (other tags to be added)

🏴‍☠️ read on AO3 🏴‍☠️ Masterpost

summary: You've performed at Le Cupidon Doré, your "grandmother" Estella's business, for the past four years. Every full moon, you step onto stage and enchant the patrons and collect their hard earned berry. Tonight is no different. It isn't.

Until you realize another devil-fruit eater is in the crowd. Fate, as you've learned, has a bad habit of mucking things up just when you were starting to get comfortable.

You closed your eyes as Kinari brushed makeup across your face in delicate, teasing strokes that threatened to illicit an ill-timed sneeze. Backstage was a mess of feathers, and perfumes, and cluttered vanity tables, shining bulbs of light to illuminate every stroke, every line, every dust of color. The other performers moved like fish swimming through the iridescent streams of fabric. The chaotic, yet organized energy was familiar. Almost comforting. Everyone gets like this before a show, your lips twisted wryly, it’s as if we don’t do this night after night! There were a few amateurs backstage, but Estella wouldn’t let them perform because the full moon show was reserved for the best of the best.

“You’re too kind, Kinari.” You reached for the earplugs on your vanity and pass them to her. “Don’t forget to wear these tonight.”

“You’re too kind, Kinari.” You reached for the earplugs on your vanity and pass them to her. “Don’t forget to wear these tonight.”

“You’re too kind, Kinari.” You reached for the earplugs on your vanity and pass them to her. “Don’t forget to wear these tonight.”

“I won’t,” she replied, sing-song and light. She selected two outfits from the rack and held them aloft for you.

“Whoo-hoo! Look at this place!” Luffy threw his arms into the air, “it’s got a buffet!”

There’s nothing Zoro could say to stop his captain from barreling toward the buffet and heaping food onto his plate. He glanced around the finely decorated establishment. Nightingale Island wasn’t much to look at, but the locals talked highly of ‘Le Cupidon Doré’. When Luffy heard ‘all you can eat’, well – there wasn’t much argument to be had about where the crew was going next since they were officially resupplied.

“Tacky,” Nami said, pointing her fork at the smiling cherubs decorating the pillars, “and probably not real gold.”

Zoro rested his elbow on the back of booth and ordered a drink. The booze was cheap here and that’s decent enough for him.

“It’s no Baratie, but it has its charms…” Sanji said.

His blue eyes scanned the guests and staff. The waiters and waitresses were dressed in gold and white and wore elaborate headpieces that ranged from spokes covering half their heads to intricate swooping designs that appeared like twisted halos. Their cheeks shone with glitter. They bobbed and weaved, a practiced ease and gracefulness to their movements that reminded Zoro of sword fighting.

The tables created a half-moon around the circular stage. But two rows of chairs clustered next to the stage were without tables and labeled ‘VIP’. They were completely packed and he doubted even Luffy could fit between the bodies.

“Your drink, sir.” The waiter dropped his head low and Zoro noticed something inside the waiter’s ear. Why are they wearing earplugs? He frowned, brought his glass to his lips, and abruptly stood.

Luffy dropped his stacked plate onto the table and its’ weight upset their drinks. “Where are you going?”

“Gotta check something.”

He circuited the dining room, dodging Usopp carrying his full-plate, and confirmed his suspicions. All the waiters are wearing earplugs. Weird. Why would a place that caters to nightly performances have staff wearing earplugs? The establishment wasn’t large so it’s easy to find their table again.

Luffy tore into a drumstick and looked up at Zoro. “Find anything cool?” He asked, chewing.

“Something’s weird,” he said, “all the waiters are wearing earplugs.”

Luffy shrugged, unconcerned. “Maybe this place gets really crazy!” His dark eyes brightened.

But Zoro wasn’t mollified by Luffy’s response. Their luck fluctuated from bad, to shitty, to worse with a few good days peppered in. They were on a winning streak with the grand line map in their possession and a functioning ship, but how long would that last?

“Maybe all the singers suck and we wasted berry by paying the door fee,” said Nami and Zoro tilted his chin in consideration.

“Aw, come on!” Usopp wiped grease from his mouth. “Look at this place. It’s packed. There’s no way the show is bad. It’ll be fun.”

The lights flashed, signaling the start of the show, and Zoro leaned into the cushions. He hoped Nami was right. He hoped this was a terrible show and that was why the waiters wore earplugs. Maybe he could rip pieces of the tablecloth and stuff his ears too.

An elderly woman rolled her wheelchair onto the stage.

“Tonight is the full moon,” she said, her voice as clear and bright as icicles, “and as our regulars know, we have a special performer on nights such as these.” The crowd muttered in agreement and clapped. Luffy joined them, hollering alongside the eager guests, although Zoro couldn’t understand why he bothered. This show wasn’t going to be anymore special because it was performed on the full moon.

Sanji sat up straighter. “Should we try to get closer? I’d hate to miss anything.”

“We’re not getting closer.” Zoro scowled.

He replied, “I wasn’t talking to you.” Sanji looked longingly at Nami. “Did you want to get closer?”

Nami gave him a thin smile. “I’m good.”

“Listen closely and open your hearts,” the elderly woman said, “and enjoy!”

Her wheelchair edged backward into the darkness and a shower of white petals fell onto the stage. A chrous of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ rose above the din of clinking plates and silverware. A woman stepped onto the stage and Zoro refilled his sake. He didn’t get why this was such a big deal. It’s stupid, he thought, scowling, all this excitement for one woman? He glanced at the stage. The performer was wearing a long, flowing dark blue robe and skirt. The details on the flowing sleeves, robe, and skirt depicted a semi-translucent white stag alongside large pale lilies, petals, and clouds of mist.

“She’s beautiful,” Sanji mutters.

The sleeves billowed and moved like the rolling ocean waves as the performer gripped the microphone. Zoro looked away, uninterested.

You closed your eyes, preparing yourself, before the first lines of the song spilled like honey from your lips. No music accompanied your voice. There was no need for it. You opened your eyes to the dazed and captivated crowd. The VIP section was practically falling out of their seats and onto their knees before you.

You sang a beautiful and entrancing melody, a song of soft and gorgeous serenity. The lyrics weren’t as important as the rhythm and intention. A fast-paced, intense song often inspired anger or excitement. A slower, dreamier song like this one lulled the crowd into complicity and adoration. You spent nine years perfecting your craft and the last four running this business alongside Estella. You knew what worked and what didn’t.

“Sanji!” someone yelled from a table, “you’re gonna drool on my plate.”

Another devil-fruit eater. You squinted toward the table, though it was hard to see due to the spotlight blanketing everywhere, except for the VIP section, in shadow. For whatever reason your voice didn’t affect other devil-fruit eaters like yourself. Luckily, it didn’t matter for tonight. The boy in the straw hat was safe. Only the VIP section was targeted by Estella’s staff to have their pockets checked and liberate them of extra berry.

“Hey, wait a minute--” straw hat leapt to his feet. “What’re you guys doing?” The waiter holding a man’s wallet froze. Shit. He’s noticed. You stepped from the stage and your flowing robes dragged behind you like silk water. The spotlight followed you as you approached the dining table.

Your gaze slid over their astonished faces. A tangerine haired woman dropped her fork onto her plate. A well-dressed blonde man had one hand pressed to his chest – as if you struck him in the heart.

“Wow…” a lean man with a chestnut bandanna rested his chin in his hands. “You’re incredible.”

“Usopp?” Straw hat waved his hand in front of the man’s face. “Blink, Usopp! Blink!”

A moss-haired swordsman held the rim of his sake cup against his lips, but wasn’t drinking, like he’s frozen in time.

The front doors burst, “show’s over!” A pirate wearing an outfit of scarlet and dark crimson stood in the doorway with his pistols drawn. “The bloody bandits are here for their due.”

masterpost // > > next chapter

[hhighkey]

Decode // Chapter Two, Seeing Red

Dracule Mihawk (opla) x OC (female)

Rating: mature

Story Contains: live action characters, related and non-related one piece plots, unspecified religion, OC is a nun on sabbatical, trauma, violence, age gap (40 v 23), insecurities and self doubts, possessive / protective behavior, kidnapping, true loves, eventual smut

Masterlist

-

Her fingers trembled as they ran along the dusty ensemble from the bottom of her trunk. What possessed her that morning to pull the once forgotten fabric out was beyond her. Her habit felt like it weighed a ton as her hand desperately patted the ivory dressings to get wrinkles out, letting woolen fabric rhetorically burn her skin. Like words were printed out in bold that made her grow ill- duty.

Nami had left, bag in hand. As Sabine awoke with heavy eyes just before sunrise, she'd seen the girl sneaking out on tiptoes and hushed whispers— Nami's actions only further cemented the danger of the upcoming situation as Sabine couldn't stop her.

For a moment Sabine doesn't recognize herself as she glanced in a passing mirror. Was she putting on her habit out of her duty as a nun? As the oldest person on the ship? Towards the fact Zoro might not survive? Or that she truly felt her faith guiding her to remain strong?

Questions. They swirled. Hurled at her as she dressed for the coming duel, as if it were a mournful occasion. Ringing. High pitched vibrations lived in her ear canals as she exited the quarters of the ship, feeling the morning sun bore upon her clothed figure.

Maybe she'd always been too emotional— too empathetic for her own good letting those around her will her very life. Maybe it was how years of sermons and tears made her heart lurch closer to The Father as her empath state grew impressionable and easily moved. So it explained the tears that misted her eyes. Explained how her fingers fidgeted and welcomed the pain as her nails dug into part of her skin. She cared for Zoro in a short matter of time, cared for the entirety of the Straw Hats like the nurturing nature of the burdened oldest sister.

Oh seeing him again in all his glory- it took her breath away. His proud stance with the larger than life sword on his back. Mihawk stood on the other side of the dock; making her heart skip with anticipation as they drew closer. A stratus field of tension, of a tractor beam like air— one whirlwind pushing her feet forward as her fingers went numb. The sound of footsteps on the wood reverberated like the boom of soldiers marching.

Sabine placed herself behind Luffy and Usopp, with a false hope their bodies would protect her from his gaze. Because his golden eyes were glued to her, uncaring towards the boy he'd be dueling as if he only agreed to duel to see Sabine once more. Chills went down her spine as she left her mind retreat into itself, to black out the coming bloodshed. The scene around her soon blurred from the sound of Zoro's swords unsheathed...

The azure sky above was fitted with puffy white clouds- the sea calm in contrast to the blood that seeped onto Baratie's front dock. How Nami and Usopp raced behind their captain to Zoro's side. How Luffy's cries for their bloodied crew mate to live, were deafening. And how Sabine stood firm as if stuck in cement, fingers turning white from the grip on her rosary.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Blood rushed to her head blurring her vision with black spots. And an incessant ringing echoed in her ears.

Time felt frozen as she watched him glide to her, his heavy footsteps creaking on the dock. Closer. And closer. She couldn't move, not with the way tears pricked her waterline and bile rose in her throat. Eyes flickering between the two swordsman as a frigid breeze of alarm made her entire body shiver.

"My dear," Mihawk spoke calmly, as if he hadn't just struck down Zoro in a battle he needn't break a sweat. Only inches from her, Mihawk removed his hat, holding it over his heart as his mouth ran dry. His eyes ate her petit figure up and his stomach lurched from how her beauty struck him. Everything from last night came rushing back and if he'd known a simple conversation would be life changing, he'd have not let her walk away.

Sabine opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She craned to look up at him. In daylight she was captivated by him. Last night, at the bar, hadn't done him justice. How the air was robbed from her lungs as all she could do was shake her head hearing his timbre voice, "why.."

Mihawk had no answer as he re-situated his hat back upon his head, then running a hand to brush along her headpiece down to her veil. She flinched in return as his large fingers caressed her shoulder, "Sister Mary Sabine, last night you changed my trajectory for better and for worse. And I'm a man who knows what he wants, then gets it."

"I don't understand," she squeaked out, their surroundings blocking out. Yells of her friends as they carried Zoro to the boat, how she should have been with them tossed to the back of her mind. The panicked looks as they saw how close Mihawk was to Sabine, someone with no ability to fight an enemy off. But trust was left that Mihawk had no business with a nun as they carried the green haired swordsman out of sight. She was alone- with him.

Mihawk showed no change in emotion, only an unsettling and uncommon softness to his gaze, "however I am not cruel. I understand your situation, so I'll tell you this- after your sabbatical I will come find you. And I'll respect either decision you make, but I plan to make you mine if you choose to leave the sisterhood."

An inhuman gasp stifled in her throat, her eyes widened, "M-Mihawk."

In a slick motion, Mihawk removed the thick cross branded (Mihawk centric branded) ring he adorned. Suddenly grasping her dainty wrist he forced the piece of jewelry into her palm, "so a piece of me is with you. Think of me until we meet again in many months time, little one."

"You can't- you can't just say that! You- Zoro might die because of you!" Anger finally bubbled over. Sabine snapped from her trance as her fist tightened around the ring, she took a step closer to him before he could turn away.

"You felt it last night, no?"

His question took her aback. Just as quick as she found a confidence to get mad, it subsided as her shoulders dropped. Because she felt it. She'd told herself last night as she laid in bed tipsy from the wine, that if that was how true love felt, she'd never want anyone else. She'd want him. But that was before Zoro challenged him- Before Zoro was struck down with such ease.

"Answer me my dove,"

"Yes.. I did," she whispered as tears brimmed her eyes, "I felt it. But- you're a warlord of the sea- one of the strongest- it doesn't matter what I felt." words stumbling one over the other as she struggled to articulate emotions, "Walk away."

"Oh? You really want me to?" a low chuckle from the deep of his throat tickled her ears. Mihawk felt amused from the deflation of her chest, the whirlpool of emotions in her eyes as she shuffled in place.

"I-" the ring was weighing down her hand. It felt hot as a branding iron fresh out the charcoal, dropping to her side as her nails dug into the skin, "don't know."

The sudden feeling of his fingertips tracing along her jaw, thumb stroking her cheekbone- made her mind go fuzzy. Subconsciously they drew closer. Eyes connected with neither able to break away, further imprinting each other into permanent association.

"I don't know you." Sabine mumbled as her loins burned, a dizzying heat creeping up her skin. A lightheadedness began to prod at her as a thick hand grasped her shoulder to steady her.

Suddenly, Mihawk swooped down and pressed a light yet chaste kiss on her forehead. The heat of her skin numbing as he pulled away to ardently beam down at her, masking any inch of excitement from Sabine to see, keeping it for himself to feel.

A shuddered breath left Sabine's lips, eyes closing as a shiver blew through her extremities from the electricity colliding with her. Every nerve alit, lightning striking over and over just from the ghostly feeling lingering on her forehead. A cruel twisting awake in her stomach that had her nauseas and on cloud nine all at once, a feathery painful tickle inside her skull as she lulled in place.

"Take care of yourself Sabine, until next time." Mihawk bade a gentle goodbye- as much of one as he was capable of.

"But.." Sabine whimpered, forced to stare at the large sword strapped to his back as he turned away. She wanted to chase after him, to flag him down and shove the ring back onto his finger. Yet all she could do was stand there dumbfounded, gaze soon downcast to stare at the jewelry in her hand. A gorgeous gold ring with intricate designs, well worn too. "How will you find me?" but Mihawk was too far to hear her question, confusion replacing her shocked self.

Silence. Then lulling waves knocked anchored boats against the dock to and fro. Then scattered voices dragged her back to back to reality as all her senses kicked back in. Salty sea water air, thick, coating her insides to where it suffocated her breaths.

Sabine struggled as she shoved the ring into her under-dress's pocket. The sudden emptiness in her hand was momentous in a way she couldn't comprehend the weight it would bear on her.

Wherever her feet took her she went. Stumbling over the dock as her heart raced, gasping for breath as she pushed through a door into Baratie. Needed to get away. Needed to breathe air that Mihawk hadn't. The ring left an imprint, her palm red and indented with a thick circle at the center.

Crumpling to her knees inside a lone hallway meant for staff of the floating restaurant. Back flush against a plank wall with peeling forest green wallpaper, water damage causing it to bubble at dingy corners. The world felt as if she were viewing it from another person the way her thoughts raced making her vision streak. Head fell to her hands. Deep breaths. Guilt wracking her. Sabine wanted to think about Zoro and how she should be by his side offering a prayer. Selfishness, something no good nun was supposed to have, was taking over.

"I cast this circle of flowers round, in calling for a love meant for me, to find me."

She hadn't thought of that night in about three years,  not since the unruly Deacon traipsed through her life. While it'd all been fun and games at sixteen- a harmless little game that now had come back to haunt her for the second time.

Flashes of a scene— four giggling girls with stolen communion wine, special flowers scattered on the tiled floor.

"Forever will my true love bind,"

Sabine felt an intense pounding in her chest, as if her heart was about to beat out her ribcage and splinter the thin bones through her chest.

Oh she'd done it now. More specifically her sixteen year old self had. It was foolish to think the chicken scratch chant they found in an old book was anything but real. Because with an existence of devil fruits and sea monsters, was anything too far out the realm of existence?

Heavy tears slid down her cheeks as she sucked ragged breaths in. Sabine knew what this was. It was obvious. Not a ridiculous love at first sight story, Mihawk was her person as she'd set the stage for him to find her all those years ago. He had to be! Or else she believed too firmly in sudden happenstances of the butterfly effect. All this was, was sudden infatuation, an ironic suddenness happening during her sabbatical. Of course.

Sabine's fingers shook as she went to grip her rosary, head bent down as her lips moved, no words escaping.

-

posted : oct 26 2023

taglist : @zzbloody-animezz @honeybeezgobzzzzz @mythical-goth @iraaiitz @moonmaiden1996

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 4

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

Tagging: @gg-trini, @commanderfreethatdust, @canthebest1, @shakysif, @i-am-vita. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the future chapters, feel free to drop me a comment!

Read on AO3

Concerned about losing track of Mihawk as he might return to the Grand Line soon enough, you resolved to embark on a journey towards Loguetown. What you encountered there, however, was a chilling indifference, leading you to believe that the Warlord no longer had any use for you. However, he soon proved your assumptions wrong. Quite emphatically, at that.

Warning: This chapter includes detailed smut! Also, it's LONG!

Another trio of weeks elapsed.

Given your recent near-deadly encounter at a public tavern, you heeded Mihawk's counsel to maintain a low profile for a while. Although his suggestion didn't explicitly call for seclusion, you opted to utilize this period for rest, expanding your knowledge through reading, and documenting your thoughts in your journal.

You found yourself penning about him as well, crafting lines dedicated to the Warlord with a fluidity that surprised even you.

Isaiah, who had granted you permission to stay in his headquarters, observed your intense focus on your writing. On several occasions, he enquired whether a certain man had captured your affections, but you consistently denied his suspicions and deflected the conversation, even as your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Isaiah wasn't easily deceived, grinning knowingly at your denials, yet he refrained from pushing the topic further. Your lack of interest in pursuing a physical relationship with him was apparent, but he accepted the nature of what you shared as purely platonic with a hint of professional dealings.

There was a time when you found it nearly impossible to keep your eyes and hands away from Isaiah. Now, however, whenever he was near you, your mind would replace his image with that of Dracule Mihawk. And you were completely overwhelmed with mortification.

The reality was, you were wrestling with understanding your genuine emotions. The magnetism that had drawn you and Mihawk together that day was indisputable, but while your feelings might run deeper, his cold demeanor following your intimate intercourse left you hollow.

Indeed, there was a glimmer of concern he had shown before departing, cautioning you to be careful in the open. But a part of you couldn't shake off the suspicion that it might have been a courteous way to conclude things with you, once he had received what it seemed every man desired from a woman like yourself.

On numerous occasions, you wished you had reigned in your impulses, choosing patience over the hurried act of ensnaring him in your allure. Even if you weren't the instigator, you had indeed tossed the bait right in front of him. The last thing you wanted was for Mihawk to perceive you as a woman of easy virtue, engaging in fleeting affairs with various men wherever you went. Regrettably, it might already be too late to clarify that misconception.

And yet again, you were clueless about his whereabouts.

Until Isaiah inadvertently let it slip.

"By the way, have you heard about Dracule Mihawk? The word on the street is that he's no longer in the Grand Line and is now hanging around in the East Blue.”

You almost choked on your drink when he casually dropped the Warlord's name into the conversation over dinner one day.

"Is that so?" You queried, clearing your throat. "What could he possibly be doing in the East Blue?”

Isaiah shrugged. "I've got no clue. Though it's pretty remarkable when you think about it, given that returning from the Grand Line is considered practically impossible for most pirates.”

You managed a nervous smile. "I suppose the title of 'strongest swordsman' isn't for nothing.”

"Oh, absolutely. But get this: rumors say that he traverses the seas on a tiny boat, featuring what appears to be a throne on the deck.”

The mental picture this conjured had you internally chuckling. However, it only reaffirmed the majestic aura you had always sensed from him.

"How can a single man possess such strength?" You mused aloud.

"It's quite the mystery. He truly seems to be from another world. Of course, I always take gossip with a pinch of salt, but we've all come to realize that in these waters, anything is possible," Isaiah replied.

You nodded absentmindedly, your thoughts wandering as you pondered the circumstances. Mihawk had originally come to the East Blue to track you down under the orders of the World Government. What could be holding him in the East Blue now, given that his mission to chase you had been disrupted? Was there a specific reason compelling him to remain rather than returning to where he belonged, something completely unrelated to you?

"They say he never lingers in one location for too long, and those who have attempted to monitor his movements have either been defeated or simply lost his trail. That man is inhuman, I tell you," Isaiah added.

There was nothing inhuman about Mihawk, at least not in your perspective. If anything, he was an honorable man, adhering to the code of the swordsman and conducting himself with integrity. He was a living enigma, and for some reason, you were drawn to unravel more.

"By the way, have you heard about Dracule Mihawk? The word on the street is that he's no longer in the Grand Line and is now hanging around in the East Blue.”

You almost choked on your drink when he casually dropped the Warlord's name into the conversation over dinner one day.

"Is that so?" You queried, clearing your throat. "What could he possibly be doing in the East Blue?”

Isaiah shrugged. "I've got no clue. Though it's pretty remarkable when you think about it, given that returning from the Grand Line is considered practically impossible for most pirates.”

You managed a nervous smile. "I suppose the title of 'strongest swordsman' isn't for nothing.”

"Oh, absolutely. But get this: rumors say that he traverses the seas on a tiny boat, featuring what appears to be a throne on the deck.”

The mental picture this conjured had you internally chuckling. However, it only reaffirmed the majestic aura you had always sensed from him.

"How can a single man possess such strength?" You mused aloud.

"It's quite the mystery. He truly seems to be from another world. Of course, I always take gossip with a pinch of salt, but we've all come to realize that in these waters, anything is possible," Isaiah replied.

You nodded absentmindedly, your thoughts wandering as you pondered the circumstances. Mihawk had originally come to the East Blue to track you down under the orders of the World Government. What could be holding him in the East Blue now, given that his mission to chase you had been disrupted? Was there a specific reason compelling him to remain rather than returning to where he belonged, something completely unrelated to you?

"They say he never lingers in one location for too long, and those who have attempted to monitor his movements have either been defeated or simply lost his trail. That man is inhuman, I tell you," Isaiah added.

There was nothing inhuman about Mihawk, at least not in your perspective. If anything, he was an honorable man, adhering to the code of the swordsman and conducting himself with integrity. He was a living enigma, and for some reason, you were drawn to unravel more.

Dodging the truth was pointless, and you ultimately acknowledged to yourself that your intimate experience with him had been truly extraordinary. His muscular physique was firm, his skin smooth yet offset by the rugged texture of his palms. His scent was exotic, his gaze a piercing gold, and his lips flawlessly sculpted. The pleasing contour of his Adam’s apple was particularly captivating.

One would need to exercise restraint in order not to be swept away by those enchanting details.

Not to mention the manner in which his lips gently pressed against yours, the interplay of your tongues, and his dexterous fingers tracing patterns on your body, externally and internally…

Interrupting your suggestive train of thoughts, Isaiah continued. "Apparently, he was sighted in the Polestar Islands a few days ago.”

Your eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Polestar Islands? Isn't that where Loguetown is located?”

"Yes, that's the one. It's a very affluent place, excellent for striking a few deals, especially with all the pirates that dock there to replenish their supplies for the Grand Line.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

He chuckled. "It is indeed. The Marines maintain especially strict surveillance over there," he elaborated. "I've paid a visit to Loguetown a couple of times; it wasn't too bad, but I always felt watched.”

Suddenly, a thought dawned on you. "Polestar is very close to Reverse Mountain, right? If the Warlord is there, it would seem he's about to return home.”

Presuming he hadn't already left…

Your heart seemed to weigh heavy, causing a painful constriction in your chest.

“Perhaps.”

If Mihawk had decided to depart the East Blue, your chances of encountering him again were practically nil, at least in the near future, as long as he stayed in the Grand Line. It was treacherous even for a fully manned crew, navigating it alone would be an impossible feat.

And so, with Isaiah fast asleep in his room that subsequent night, you scrutinized the East Blue map by the light of a lantern. Isaiah's abode was situated near Mirror Ball Island, which meant you were not too far off from Loguetown, though reaching it would still take some time. For all you knew, Mihawk could have already departed and journeyed to the Grand Line, or he could potentially leave long before you managed to get to Polestar.

However, that wasn't the sole issue.

Considering your current predicament, going to a city heavily patrolled by the Marines might not be the wisest course of action. With a large number of pirates docking there simultaneously, they might be too preoccupied to detect your presence if you wore a convincing disguise. But were you truly prepared to gamble with your safety, especially after all the measures you had taken to preserve your life?

While being a wanted pirate put you at risk everywhere you went, Loguetown was the epitome of venturing into the lion's den. What could you possibly hope to achieve by seeking out Dracule Mihawk, especially when he likely only viewed you as a fleeting amusement?

You were bereft of any assurances; there was no guarantee that you would find him there or even if he would show any interest in seeing you.

Yet, by some unfathomable logic, you found yourself incapable of stifling the longing to see him once more. Maybe for the last time before he disappeared into the vast expanse of the Grand Line.

Undoubtedly, it was a seemingly terrible idea, one that could possibly evolve into a wellspring of remorse. But the constant pursuit and hiding had exhausted you, with the ever-present threat of a blade at your throat each time you ventured out. If obtaining strength was the requisite sacrifice for the liberty to journey and endure, then you were prepared to take any measures necessary.

The next day, your sea route was set, the disguise ready and neatly tucked into your bag. You purposely left Isaiah oblivious about your destination, fostering uncertainty about your intended journey's conclusion.

Under a cloudless sky and across a peaceful sea, your ship subtly rocked as you progressed. There was an unmistakable unease within you concerning the endeavor you were embarking on. The risks were great - there was not only the possibility of completely missing Mihawk but also a substantial hazard of being apprehended again, and potentially, confronting execution.

You were gambling everything on a man you had been with only once and knew little about, a man who probably didn't regard you with the same high esteem. So, why were you devoting your time to this undertaking? Why would you expose yourself to such danger just for another chance to see him?

If your family and friends had been aware of what you were doing, they would have berated you for your thoughtless and utterly reckless behavior.

Becoming a wanted criminal meant that you were solely reliant on your own judgment, making your decisions in isolation, devoid of any guidance. Prior to setting sail into the open sea, each of your steps was accompanied by your loved ones. They had been there throughout your growth and maturation process, providing comfort, imparting lessons, and lending support.

You had it all, truly, yet somehow it didn't seem sufficient. It never was. Because you were looking for something more, something capable of disrupting your humdrum existence.

You led a prosperous life, encircled by people you cherished, bustling about in the family tavern. Admiring the glistening sea from a distance frequently felt like one of life's grandest joys, yet it was laced with a touch of sadness. Doing the same tasks repetitively for years had started to feel incredibly stifling, and the tales from customers only fueled your curiosity about the world beyond your homeland. Something was beckoning you, and you felt compelled to heed its call.

You had taught yourself navigation, and even trained to become a competent fighter, using weapons you barely knew how to wield. Despite the hardship of being robbed, seized by the marines, tortured, and pursued, those trials had given you something valuable in return. You had evolved, matured even more, and discovered a wellspring of courage within yourself that you never knew existed.

Although you could hardly recognize the person you had become, there was a sense of pride in what you had achieved.

And now, as you stared at the map unfurled on the table in front of the couch, you couldn't help but laugh at the paradox of your predicament. You had been the one evading Mihawk, and now, you were embarking on a quest to seek him out.

The day your ship docked at Loguetown, your heart pounded so fiercely that it felt difficult to swallow. You slipped into the outfit you had meticulously prepared—baggy trousers, sturdy boots, a couple of leather belts, heavy gloves, and a long-sleeved shirt that was intentionally a bit worn. In an effort to further conceal your feminine features, you wrapped your chest with bandages to suppress the contours of your bust. Your hair was tucked away into a bandana, large enough to envelope your entire head.

Using makeup strategically, you simulated dirt smeared on your face. As your reflection stared back at you from the oval mirror, you felt confident that any observer would perceive you as a young lad.

As long as you sidestepped any potential trouble, maintained a low profile, and kept a considerable distance from the marines, there was a possibility for you to leave Loguetown without any harm done.

For a solid two hours, you practiced the appropriate speeches, and gestures, perfecting the craft of convincingly masquerading as a cabin boy. The moment you entered the city, you let yourself stride forward and absorb its vistas.

Truth be told, as you crossed the threshold under the 'Loguetown' sign, you were seized by a wave of exhilaration. After all, you had arrived at the most renowned place in the entire region, the very spot where the legendary Gold D. Roger met his end. You hadn't been particularly interested in pirates and their storied past, at least not until you left your homeland.

With a bounty now associated with your name, you had to submerge into the role, to a certain extent, emulating their attitude. You held no interest in the pursuit of the One Piece or the allure of reaching the Grand Line, yet you could not deny the captivating charm of the tales spun around these pursuits. They were nothing short of fantastically entertaining.

To say that Loguetown was beautiful would be a gross understatement. Its robust architecture was breathtaking, exhibiting perfect alignment and perpendicularity in its porches. You even managed to visit the very place where the former King of Pirates had been executed, joining a throng of curious tourists staring in awe at the barren scaffold. The plaza was incredibly expansive, far exceeding the scale you had seen in pictures and conjured in your imagination.

As you ambled through the town, you crossed paths with several marines on various streets, but none of them appeared to pay you any heed. You made pit stops at the numerous shops sprinkled throughout the many corners, amassing fresh supplies for your voyage and acquiring a selection of intriguing collectibles as mementos of your visit. You dared not try on the array of gorgeous clothing articles on display, as doing so risked compromising your disguise and revealing your true identity.

Discovering a wall plastered with wanted posters, you promptly identified yours amidst the myriad of other displayed names. Cautiously ensuring you weren't observed, you scanned your surroundings and bided your time for the perfect moment to act. With a quick, practiced movement, you tore off the poster and crammed it into your bag, walking away with your well-rehearsed masculine gait.

As dinner time neared and your stomach issued a growling protest, you decided it was time to treat yourself to a well-deserved break. You secured an open spot at a table beside the window, placing an order for a refreshing beverage and your favored dish. Things were proceeding so seamlessly that you began to wonder when the next hiccup would inevitably surface. Moreover, the primary purpose of your visit to Loguetown had not yet been fully verified.

Just as you were on the brink of giving up, a voice behind you uttered something that instantly perked up your ears.

"I'm tellin' ya lads, that Warlord's gonna lose his precious title sooner than he thinks. And that ain't all.”

Warlord…

His companions let out a robust laugh. "You sure are a brave one, captain.”

"Sure am," the man responded with confidence. "You think I'd skedaddle if I met him face to face? I know he's here, lurking somewhere. And the moment I lay eyes on him, hah! I'll claim the title of the world's strongest swordsman.”

Did he truly think he was strong enough to conquer the formidable Hawk-eye? You didn't need to glance at him to know he was signing his own death warrant.

Your lips spread into a joyful, amused grin. "Good luck with that."

You hadn't meant to provoke him, and indeed, your comment had inadvertently emerged a tad louder than you had intended. You couldn't resist, the compulsion to deride his arrogance coursing through your veins.

Why couldn't you just keep to your own affairs?

"What the hell did you just say?" the man retorted sharply.

Well, it was too late to retract your words now.

Taking a deep breath, you swiveled in your chair, draping your right arm over the backrest and spreading your legs in a casual, masculine posture.

"I wished you luck, mate," you answered, lowering your voice. "We're talking about Dracule Mihawk here. Haven't you heard the tales they spin about him?"

Now that you caught sight of his face, you knew your suspicion was accurate. The sword in his holster paled in comparison to Mihawk's blade.

The pirate's face split into a madman's grin. "Why, are you scared? Can't blame ya, lad. A scrawny runt like you surely has a long journey ahead.”

You arched an eyebrow at the taunting crew, eyeing them all with a hint of pity. "I certainly have no intention of getting bisected prematurely.”

"Aww, did you hear that? The little whelp is playing chicken.”

The more they cackled at your expense, the greater your pride swelled at the success of your disguise.

"Where's your mommy, kiddo? Did you get lost?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, crossing your left ankle over your right knee. "Nah. I'm just sitting here, savoring my meal, and conjuring up the image of your pathetic face at the moment of your defeat. That is, assuming your head will still be attached to your neck.”

Shit.

You had to curb your tongue given the sharpness of your reply, which predictably ignited a flame of anger on the pirate's face. The captain rose menacingly, peering down at you with furrowed brows and eyes ablaze.

It was crucial for you to steer clear of any potential trouble, and baiting that pirate was nothing short of inviting it.

“You little-”

Fortunately, his attention was diverted by another member of his crew who rushed in, hastily murmuring something into his ear. You watched as his expression morphed from one of contempt to satisfaction, his pupils expanding and gleaming in the warm tavern lighting.

"Heh, it's your lucky day," he declared. "Seems like I've got something more important to attend to.”

He gripped the hilt of his sword, still sheathed at his side, and tossed a handful of coins onto the table to cover the crew's drinks. "I've got a Warlord to take down, and a title to seize.”

Upon hearing that, your back stiffened and your eyes widened in surprise. You needed to make your decision promptly, grabbing the chance before it slipped away.

He knew where to find Mihawk, which implied you needed him.

Without allowing yourself a moment to think it over, you too laid down money next to your empty plate and pushed back your chair. Before the pirates could disappear from your sight, you bolted after them through the tavern's door, shouting at the top of your lungs with such force that you could practically feel your throat chafing. Masking your true vocal pitch proved to be harder than anything you had ever done.

“Wait!”

The men stopped and pivoted to face you, the captain examining you with a disinterested look. "What do you want?”

You were stringing together one audacious move after another, and this time, you needed to choose your words cautiously to avoid exacerbating the situation.

"Let me accompany you," you proposed. "I'd like to witness the fight firsthand.”

"And why should I allow you to tag along? Go back to your baby bottle and head to bed," he said dismissively.

Once again, you brushed off the sniggers and jeers from his crew, pressing your lips together and bowing before them.

"My apologies, sir, I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just a cabin boy... I've got a lot to learn.”

Yikes, your performance was so believable that it made you wince.

"The truth is, I aspire to be a formidable pirate one day, just like you," you fabricated. "But they don't let me do much on board, you see. All I do is scrub the deck and serve food. No one takes me seriously.”

If there was one thing you had gleaned about these individuals, it was their love for flattery, as it served to amplify their egos. In fact, the captain appeared notably gratified as you dared to peek up without breaking your bow.

Scratching his stubbled chin and pursing his lips to one side, he mused, "Well, your mommy did teach you some good manners, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, clenching your fists and beginning to feel a dull ache in your back.

"I s'pose I could let you watch. After all, there's no better lesson than witnessing a good combat.”

Ugh, thank the heavens.

"C'mon lad, move that puny backside of yours and keep up. Or else I'll leave ya behind.”

“Yes sir!”

You quickly moved toward the compact group of pirates, placing yourself squarely behind the captain, resting your hands in your trouser pockets. It was all too simple to lose sight of the role you were supposed to play, reason why you exerted every effort to shroud your feminine persona. They were oblivious, giving you friendly pats and sharing unasked-for advice on how to court a lady. The thought of their reactions, should they discover the secret you were disguising beneath your clothes, was something you could only speculate about.

You were uncertain of your destination. The crew ambled through the city, navigating hidden paths and narrow alleys, until urbanity was nearly out of sight. As you ventured further, you neared the second section of the archipelago, a natural enclave encircled by the soothing whisper of the ocean.

This was hardly surprising as Mihawk appeared to be quite a private person, showing no particular affinity for large gatherings.

The captain incessantly voiced his strong desire to claim the Warlord's title for himself. He sought to inspire fear in his adversaries and carry out illicit operations without the nuisance of marine intervention. Should he triumph over Mihawk on the battlefield, he could aspire to usurp his position and negotiate a pact with the world government.

You had to force yourself to hold your tongue to refrain from voicing your rebuttals, as you walked alongside the pirates in silence, harboring a deep-seated conviction that they might not survive this adventure.

Your primary focus was on the path you were treading, committing every twist and turn to memory.

The captain halted so suddenly that you collided with his back, causing a mild pain to shoot through your nose. You rubbed the affected area to alleviate the stinging sensation, your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as you emitted a soft grunt.

And then, the pirate spoke, his voice haughty as he addressed someone who was lying down in the sand some distance away.

"Heh, look at you, lounging so comfortably atop your damn pedestal.”

You shifted to the side, striving to get a clear view of the man's target. True to expectation, Dracule Mihawk was sprawled out in a large, vacant space in front of a rudimentary bonfire. One arm served as a cushion behind his head while the big hat covered his face.

You swallowed, your heart pounding unyieldingly at the mere sight of the man you were looking for. Mihawk appeared unperturbed and relaxed, barely stirring in response to the pirate's words.

"I challenge ya, Warlord. Engage me in combat, and let's determine who truly merits the title of the most formidable swordsman to ever exist!”

Mihawk raised the brim of his hat using his middle and forefinger, offering a sideways glance, his lips pulled into a discernible frown. He let the hat fall back into place, then gracefully elevated himself into a sitting posture.

He didn't even need to utter a word; it was evident that he had been enjoying a peaceful nap, one that the fool had chosen to disrupt.

"Lazing around, are we?" The pirate continued his taunt. "My apologies, princess.”

Your teeth gritted in growing anger, despite none of the vitriol being directed at you.

Slowly, with an elegance that was distinctly threatening, the Warlord rose to his feet, gripping his sword as he did so.

"Another insect aspiring to be crushed, I see.”

You stifled the laugh that instantly bubbled up in your throat, upon hearing Mihawk's casual, calm, yet distinctly derisive tone.

"Wha- I am no insect, you bastard!" The pirate's voice rose several octaves. "And I'm here to prove it!”

You were forced to step back to evade his elbow, which swung dangerously close to your cheekbone as he drew his sword from its scabbard. The entire crew rallied around their captain, and you prudently moved aside, folding your arms and assuming the pose of an intrigued spectator.

"Have it your way," Mihawk declared, effortlessly raising his dark blade as if it were weightless.

Everything unfolded so rapidly that your mind struggled to keep up. The captain lunged at his adversary, his blade cutting through the air and missing its mark with every strike, while Mihawk evaded them with ease. The Warlord's sword wasn't even raised; it hung loosely in his hand.

Eventually, Mihawk used the giant sword to parry a strike and thrust the pirate back with such force that the man skidded several feet away. Mihawk had barely moved, and no pressure had been applied to the weapon. It was as though he was wielding a psychic assault.

Yet, the man proved to be quite resilient, adamantly refusing to back down in the face of his obvious disadvantage. He attempted another attack, seeking to outflank Mihawk, only to be tossed aside like a ragdoll, spiraling through the air before landing heavily on his back.

Eventually, the other pirates joined the fray, assisting their captain to his feet and brandishing their own weapons. Guns, rifles, blades of varying lengths. Yet nothing managed to even graze Mihawk as he deftly parried every bullet, every slash, every kick or punch.

You leaned against a tree, a smug expression on your face as you observed the spectacle unfolding before you, anticipating an imminent retreat. One of Mihawk's assailants was launched so high that he was literally propelled off the cliff, his scream reverberating over a considerable distance until the distinct splash indicated his inevitable plunge into the water.

Finally, wearied by the racket and thoroughly bored, Mihawk lifted his sword above his head and struck the ground with such force that the entire area quaked and roared, causing you to stagger on your feet. As comedic as it appeared, the entire crew was sent sprawling in the sand, the sound of cracking bones reverberating in your ears. One by one, they rose on shaky legs, clutching at bleeding noses or broken limbs. As the crewmates began to flee for their lives, the captain mustered the strength to point a trembling finger in Mihawk's direction.

"I-it's not over, Warlord," he stammered out a threat. "Soon, you wretched bastard. Soon, you will be wiped from the face of this earth!”

Mihawk offered no response, merely gazing at the man without a hint of concern, and returning his sword to its place on his back. The pirate, now isolated, whimpered and staggered through the vegetation and rocks, nearly colliding with a tree due to his unsteady footing.

In the end, their conditions were much better than your predictions.

Silence surrounded you as you shifted your attention back to Mihawk, who was evidently studying you thoughtfully now. Your eyes locked, and for a few moments, you found yourselves in a mutual, contemplative stare, enveloped in absolute quiet.

You unfolded your arms, pushing off from the tree and daring to walk toward where he stood. Mihawk watched you, tilting his head slightly to the side, clearly recognizing something familiar about you.

In his presence, there was no need to maintain your false identity. So, you halted before him, mere inches separating your face from his.

Without so much as blinking, he reached for the bandana you were wearing, catching the edge of the cloth above your forehead and pushing it back. Gradually, your hair was set free, cascading down from its restraint.

He looked at you, holding the still-knotted bandana in his closed hand.

"Fancy meeting you here," you declared, a grin spreading across your face.

His lips thinned as he exhaled through his nose, handing you the piece of cloth and stepping back. "What brings you to Loguetown?”

His lack of apparent joy at seeing you caused a painful squeeze in your chest.

"I've made a deal with a merchant in Syrup Village, and I heard that what he's looking for can only be found in this place.”

The speed at which you could fabricate a plausible tale was quite impressive, if you did say so yourself.

"I highly doubt that you'll find anything in this part of the island.”

Right, that wouldn't justify why you arrived there with those pirates. You had to come up with another convincing explanation.

And you did.

"I overheard them talking. That pirate mentioned that he wanted to duel with you, and I thought it would be fun to watch. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Mh.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Should I not?”

“I have no reason to lie.”

Mihawk continued to stare at you, his liquid gold eyes seeming to penetrate your very soul.

"This is not a safe place for you," he stated plainly.

“Hence the disguise.”

"You would need more than that.”

"I've been wandering around for half a day and no one has been the wiser.”

“I have.”

“You don’t count.”

While it was unclear whether he derived any enjoyment from this verbal sparring, you found it quite amusing.

"Why?" He inquired.

"I didn't even try with you. And besides, you are you. They don't bestow the title 'hawk-eyes' on the basis of mere whimsy, do they?”

“Point taken.”

You chuckled, running a hand through your hair to smooth it out. Mihawk cast a glance at the setting sun on the horizon, its beautiful orange hues highlighting the perfect contours of his nose, lips, and chin. In a way, it felt like a recurring scene, a déjà vu, something you found yourself experiencing repeatedly with him.

You undid the bandana's knot and tied it around your wrist for safekeeping. You also took off your gloves, tossing them into your bag, when amidst the multitude of supplies you had acquired, something caught your eye.

The flask of Loguetown's finest wine.

You retrieved the bottle and removed the cap, making yourself comfortable on the sandy terrain, not too far from the cliff's edge to fully appreciate the view. You could feel Mihawk's watchful scrutiny, observing you in silence, yet making no move to join you.

While not entirely surprising, his overt show of indifference was disappointing and difficult to endure.

"I'm genuinely surprised to see you," you confessed, attempting to spark a conversation. "I thought you had returned to the Grand Line by now.”

You heard the sound of his footsteps behind you, his coat rustling in the breeze. He returned to his previous spot by the fire, reclining on one side. "I have a few matters to attend to.”

For a moment, you were gripped by the notion that even your presence there might be immensely bothersome to him.

You took a hearty swig of wine, your jaw tightening. You didn't want to think of him as just another man, playing with your emotions only to cast you aside when you ceased to be useful to him. Was his act of saving your life previously just a ploy to secure adequate compensation for his service?

If that were the case, Mihawk might be a man of honor on the battleground, but as a person, he would be undeserving of any praise.

You did your best to deny it.

"Is that so? Are the marines constantly breathing down your neck?”

You waited, listening to the crackling sound of the fire as he stared into the flames, seemingly entranced.

“Sometimes.”

You could feel your blood boiling, coursing through your veins like lava, corroding your nerves.

"Is this a regular occurrence? Having to fend off pirates who aspire to claim your title?”

Mihawk merely moved his eyes, but within a second, his attention was refocused back to the fire. "More frequently than I'd prefer.”

You had feared this could happen – that he might stop sparing even a single word for you unless absolutely required. But now, with the confirmation of his aloofness towards you, the only thing you wanted to do was to withdraw, overcome by shame.

You were an adult woman, and never before had you succumbed so rapidly and completely to the charm of a man. Not even for Isaiah. How could you have acted so thoughtlessly, so childishly, so incredibly naive?

"I can imagine," you managed to utter, hoping for a reply that might disprove your assumptions. However, your hope transformed into pure dejection when he calmly folded his hands in front of him, demonstrating complete apathy.

You sealed the bottle, stood up from the ground, and dusted the sand off your trousers and boots. In a sudden surge of anger, you tossed the flask towards Mihawk, who caught it with a quick and smooth movement, though evidently taken aback.

You couldn't even pinpoint the motive behind your action, apart from a raw urge to fling something, anything, at him out of pure resentment.

"It's wine," you stated, pulling your hair back and covering it once more with the bandana. You tightened it so much that it almost caused discomfort at the back of your head, but at that moment, you couldn’t have cared less. "You can keep it.”

Mihawk's eyes narrowed, examining your every move, and taking note of the nervous manner in which you pulled your gloves back on.

"What is that?" He questioned.

“What do you mean?”

"You are mad.”

So, it seemed he was still capable of acknowledging your existence after all. But you had already hit your breaking point.

"Am I, really?”

As the sun descended beneath the line of the sea, your face was swallowed by shadow, adopting a gloomy expression that twisted with sudden disdain.

"It's getting late now, I need to leave.”

Grasping the strap of your bag, you spun on your heels, not waiting for his retort. "Safe travels, Warlord.”

A part of you longed for him to call your name, something you realized he had never pronounced aloud. You wished you were mistaken, that you hadn't wasted the past few days traveling for naught, but he didn't halt you. He didn't follow you. He wasn’t interested in making an effort.

In the end, he truly didn't care.

Admittedly, you weren't anticipating him to sweep you off your feet and kiss you the moment he saw you, but you were somewhat hoping for a more gentle consideration.

As difficult as it was to come to terms with, no matter how much your intimate encounter had been a delightful experience for you, it probably didn't leave a lasting impression on Mihawk.

The way he gently traced your scars with his fingertips, a touch that remained etched in your memory, suggested a certain tenderness. He had comforted you, aided you in his own distinct way. Could it all have been an act? Was every move, every utterance, a calculated performance with the sole intention to seduce you?

You couldn't completely rule out that possibility. Because there you were, right in front of him, within his reach, yet all he managed to do was to lie beside the fire, drained and indifferent.

Having to suppress your tears as you made your way back to the center of Loguetown left you feeling feeble, pitiful, and insignificant. How did you come to be so fascinated with such a cold man? What did you even see in him, beyond an attractive physique to derive pleasure from? He used to be your hunter, relentlessly pursuing you. Merely because he chose to let you be, purely out of curiosity about what might become of you in this world, you shouldn't have let your guard down.

Mihawk was playing with you out of boredom, and you had no intention of being a part of his game.

A game he was likely already weary of, in any case.

"A good man, you say?”

“Yes.”

"Don't be naive. I operate by my own rules, at my own pace. I can remove anyone without needing a particular reason, and I won't hesitate to topple those who dare to oppose me.”

In that moment, you couldn't help but think lowly of yourself. Mihawk had deceived you, big time. It wounded you more than you thought it would, but what happened had happened.

You'd be lying though, if you claimed it didn't shatter you.

That night, you spent a solid three hours submerged in the bathtub, chastising yourself for your illogical irrationality. The urge to cut your losses and depart was strong, but you were determined not to let everything be rendered futile because of one intolerable fool.

No, you wouldn't grant him the satisfaction of victory. You would remain in Loguetown for another day, adapting your disguise, perhaps to one that would enable you to procure those clothes you fancied. Your ship was quite nondescript, devoid of any distinguishing signs or flags. It was improbable that anyone would single it out and identify it as yours among the myriad of vessels berthed in the vicinity.

The skin on your hands was starting to prune from the prolonged exposure to water, and the once delicious warmth was now giving way to a more tepid temperature. You stepped out of the tub, inadvertently splashing water onto the floor, and swathed your body in a soft towel. You let it soak up the dampness as you aimlessly wandered around your cabin, simultaneously devising new plans for the upcoming days by making notes and markings on the map.

By then, you were well-acquainted with 98% of the East Blue, keenly aware that your available hideouts were dwindling and the necessity to don a disguise was becoming increasingly frequent. You couldn't rely on Isaiah's hospitality indefinitely, and you were still unable to get in touch with your family or return home.

Venturing into the Calm Belts was not a journey you could undertake solo, given its notorious reputation for harboring dangerous sea creatures. Despite the knowledge you had accumulated through your studies and adventures, your navigational skills weren't as refined as they needed to be, effectively confining you to one region. A few months of travel couldn't hold a candle to years of journeying.

With a worn-out sigh, you moved behind the bar counter to pour a strong glass of rum, potent enough to shake up your senses. It wasn't exactly your preferred beverage, and you only turned to it during the most difficult moments in your life.

You downed it in one swift gulp, experiencing a fiery burn in your throat and esophagus, and a startling effect on your mind. You grunted and gasped for air as you doubled over, hacking a few times, and nearly felt your legs buckle beneath you.

If anything, consuming it only served to intensify your discomfort.

You let the internal fire die down, casting an empty gaze at the couch where you and Mihawk had once sat together. Great, you thought to yourself. Now even your own place was conjuring up memories of the Warlord, precisely when you needed to erase any trace of ever knowing him.

Tightening the towel more securely around your body, you gripped the glass and moved to the sink to wash it. You stayed there a bit longer, letting the coolness of the running jet engulf your hands.

And then, courtesy of your honed instincts and intuition, you felt that something was not quite right.

You stayed motionless, your ears straining to catch any noises, any subtle changes in the air. On the surface, one might assume that everything was proceeding as usual, that all was as it should be. But the more you scrutinized the situation, the stronger your conviction became that you weren't alone in that cabin.

Somehow, goosebumps prickled at the back of your neck, ignited by the eerie perception of being watched by something, or perhaps someone.

You allowed the sink to keep running, while discreetly opening the drawer in front of you to grab the gun you maintained there as a secondary weapon. You released the glass, and with your hands still wet, you whirled around, the pistol loaded and aimed.

Your finger was poised on the trigger, ready to discharge. But the moment your gaze met those unique golden irises, belonging to only one man in the entire world, your heart skipped a beat.

"Mihawk, what the hell!”

You had taken care to secure the cabin door before withdrawing to the washroom. How had he managed to enter so seamlessly without even damaging the handle? As you glanced at it, all seemed to be in perfect order, as if untouched.

Isaiah's theory about Mihawk not being human was starting to seem incredibly plausible. He was something beyond ordinary.

"I could have shot you," you cautioned him, exhaling a long sigh of relief and returning the gun to its place in the drawer.

He was as impassive as ever, not even exhibiting a single twitch. “That remains to be seen.”

"What are you even doing here?" You questioned him, folding your arms in annoyance.

His level of self-control was admirable, considering you stood practically nude before him, clad only in a towel that barely reached your thighs. His gaze steadfastly remained on your face, never once straying lower.

However, you were uncertain if you regarded it as positive, or found it extremely demoralizing.

"I believe our discussion isn't concluded," he stated.

Puzzled, you arched your eyebrows. "Huh?”

"When you departed earlier, there was something you intended to tell me.”

"You’re wasting your time, then. I have nothing to say to you.”

“You are doing it again.”

Pressing your lips together, you waited for the water to taper off until just a few droplets fell, punctuating the silence.

When he didn't add anything else, you took the initiative to speak. "Doing what, exactly?”

You noticed his expression of impatience, despite his exterior of calm and composure. He looked up and tensed his jaw, apparently irritated by something you had done.

"You're employing that tone of arrogance,” he responded.

"So you walked all this way to my ship and broke into my cabin, for what? Just because you noticed I was having a bad day?”

You had no idea how to interpret that at all.

Eventually, he ceased being evasive. "If you have a problem with me, Cutthroat, speak frankly.”

Oh, now he had really done it. Using the appellative from your bounty poster was certainly not the smartest move.

You despised that name. The existence of a bounty on your head was loathsome to you. The label of being a criminal and the constant need to flee was something you abhorred.

"Screw you. That's not my damn name.”

Even though you had bid him goodbye earlier, he hadn't budged an inch. Hours later, he intruded into your private quarters demanding an explanation, and you couldn't decipher whether it was driven purely by self-interest and ego, or if there was genuine concern at play.

Again, he barely blinked, showing no disturbance to your outburst over the nickname he chose to use.

Feeling exhausted, mentally drained, and at a loss for words, you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Look, if you don’t mind, I'd really like to get dressed and go to bed. Can we reschedule this conversation, or whatever it's supposed to be?”

You held the towel firmly with one hand as you moved away from the counter, purposefully bypassing his eyes as you walked past him.

You couldn't even reach the nightwear spread out on your bed because he wouldn't allow it, gripping your upper arm with such force that you were rendered immobile.

"Are you serious right now??”

You tried to extricate yourself from his hold, but it was akin to battling against a boulder. His face was so stern it was almost frightening now, and that only served to stoke your own anger even further.

You wished to keep it to yourself, because what would you gain from admitting that you had hoped for something he couldn't offer you? Yet he persisted, he encroached upon your privacy and even dared to restrain you. What had you left to lose?

"You want to know what my problem is? You are the problem, Mihawk. I was right there with you, yet you made me feel like I was invisible. The thing we had last time, what was that about?”

Now it was he who looked at you with a bewildered expression. "I'm fairly certain that both of us are aware of what transpired.”

You growled in frustration. “Well of course. But the question is, what did it mean to you?”

"What significance are you looking for?”

The lump in your throat resurfaced. "I don't know. We had fun, no doubt, but if you’re under the impression that I'm some sort of plaything, you're seriously mistaken.”

“I never claimed you were.”

“No, but your actions suggested it.”

He paused for a moment, his lips slightly parted. Damn it. Why did they have to be so perfect and inviting…?

"I'm not the type who flits about with men on each island,” you emphasized.

"If you were, I wouldn't be interested. You're making assumptions based on nothing.”

Your arm relaxed under his hold, your shoulders sagging. Had you perhaps grossly misjudged the situation, forming your own conclusion and seen only what your selfishness permitted?

Or were you simply too scared of your own feelings, too lacking in courage to confront him directly?

"I carefully choose my allies, and I don't permit just anyone to hover around me.”

Mihawk had explicitly stated that he operated solely on his own terms and by his own rules, indicating his non-acceptance of any external pressure. His interest in you was genuine, but concurrently, he wanted to be the one holding the reins, the initiator of whatever was brewing between you, whenever and only if he felt so inclined.

You had approached him at the least suitable time, exactly when he was craving a moment of solitude. He wasn't indifferent, he simply needed patience and rest.

"I don't hover around you," you clarified. "I have more important things to do than just latch onto a man.”

His hold on your bicep eased, but not quite enough to let you go. "That's how it should be. Now, have you managed to shake off your sour temper?”

Ugh, he was so exasperating.

"Keep pushing like that and you'll get more than just a sour temper.”

As he raised his head slightly to look at you with a hint of dominance, you noticed his nostrils flaring and his pupils dilating. You felt it again, that potent allure towards him, the physical need that engulfed you from within.

"Get against the wall.”

You blinked once, then twice, followed by a third time in quick succession.

“I’m sorry, wha-”

"Comply with my instructions.”

You swallowed, not from fear, but because of the evident desire detectable in his voice.

Mihawk removed his hat and set it on the counter stool as you retreated, stepping back one foot at a time. He trailed after you, keeping his fingers clasped around your upper arm, until your back came into contact with the wooden wall and a soft gasp escaped from you.

Your faces were so close that you could feel his breath, slow and warm, brushing against your skin. In contrast, your own breathing was turning more rapid and shallow, with your heart hammering fiercely in your chest, the towel adding a bit of tightness.

"I'll say it again," you murmured. "I'm not a diversion, Mihawk.”

“And I’ll repeat it as well: you wouldn’t be worthy of my time if it were any different.”

You recognized that it wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but the realization that he wasn't simply exploiting you, that he had chosen you, and only you, for this shared pursuit, was enough to offer some solace.

And so, you graced him with a content, satisfied smile, before crashing your lips onto his, your fingers weaving into the back of his hair. The kiss was fervent, your tongue instantly seeking entry, the tip engaging with his. Mihawk pressed you more firmly against the wall, at last releasing your arm.

He devoured you, his mouth wide open, skillfully and ardently maneuvering over yours. His taste bore a hint of wine, suggesting that he might have partaken of the one you had given him (or more accurately, hurled at him) back in Loguetown. You didn't put up any resistance when he grabbed your towel, roughly yanking it off you. In an instant, you were totally exposed and available for his gaze, and you reveled in the sensation of his skin under your palms.

His mesmerizing golden eyes held your attention as he gracefully retrieved his sword. With great care, he disengaged it from its resting place on his back and lodged it strategically by the bathroom door.

His coat slid off his shoulders as your hands ascended, but didn't fully drop. Nonetheless, the fact that he never wore a shirt made the sight all the more tantalizing. You were ravenous, desperate for him and his touch. You leaned into Mihawk, pressing your lips to his once more. The coarse texture of his beard gently tickled your chin.

His hands traced a path down your scarred back, finally coming to rest on your hips. There, they clutched a generous portion of your flesh, holding you securely. With every subsequent kiss, your moans magnified in volume, and as he began to rhythmically press his pelvis against your core, his eagerness for you became unmistakably clear.

He was rock-hard, impressively so.

"Mihawk, please," you implored. “Make it quick.”

"You seem rather impatient," he noted.

"Yes, well. Unless you've stashed another sword in your trousers, I'd argue you're in the same boat," you retorted.

In response, he only hummed, a silent admission of your assertion.

"There's no need for another sword when I have Yoru," he declared.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you questioned, "Yoru? You've actually given your blade a name?”

"Yoru is not just any blade."

With a smile, you playfully teased, "Doesn't the saying go that named swords are cursed?”

"That's mere chatter. Nothing but a joke."

He guided his lips down to your neck, gently caressing your skin and sending shivers rippling through your entire form. His right hand meandered down to his belt, leisurely unfastening the buckle holding it in place. At the same time, his tongue darted out to flirt with one of your now perked and overly sensitive nipples, causing your eyes to close involuntarily as your nails dug into his back in a state of ecstatic surrender.

All the while, Mihawk diligently worked his trousers down his legs, just far enough to allow his arousal to spring forth, standing proud and rigid.

Diverting your eyes away from his hardness proved futile as he wrapped his roughened fingers around the flushed and velvety tip. A steady pumping motion was established, the soft sliding sound of skin on skin resonating in your ears. It was an intensely erotic scene, and incredibly beautiful to behold.

He was a masterpiece.

"How much longer is this going to take?" you griped, your tone resembling a child voicing discomfort.

"Come now. You surely don't want to rush through this, do you?" he queried.

He was intent on taking his time, to tantalize you, to revel in the sight of you squirming because of him.

"Careful, my dear. You don't wish for me to go hard on you, trust my word," he warned.

"I beg to differ, because you already are.”

He paused momentarily, looking at you with a "seriously?" expression in response to your less than stellar attempt at humor.

At that, you simply chuckled, bestowing a gentle peck on his cheek.

"Whatever. You can break me for all I care," you declared defiantly.

As he nipped at your throat, your back reflexively arched, a shiver of anticipation running down your spine, adding another layer of excitement to the already electrifying atmosphere.

"Mh. Hopefully it won't have to come to that.”

His hardness twitched and bobbed as he gave it a final stroke before releasing it. He then grabbed the back of your thighs, hoisting you up from the floor as if you were feather-light. You looped your arms around his neck for support, burrowing your heels into his legs.

"You truly want this," he asserted.

"You don’t say. As if you hadn't been planning this from the start," you shot back.

"You have a sharp tongue,” he commented, his tip grazing your entrance.

"Don't act like you don't enjoy i-ngh!"

Your words were interrupted by a sudden intake of breath. He penetrated you without any prior preparation, stretching you to an almost unimaginable extent and giving you time to adapt to his size. Just like the previous time, he didn't impose himself upon you, nor was he in a hurry to find his own pleasure before you were fully prepared.

In retrospect, it seemed ridiculous. All the negative thoughts you harbored before he came to you, the resentment you felt towards him for his perceived carelessness, were all grounded in a misconception of his true character.

And now, you were beginning to seee him for who he really was.

To him, principles and honor were paramount. It seemed as if the same ethical code he followed as a swordsman was also applied to your intimacy. He was exceptional in all aspects, fueling the certainty that you craved more of his presence in your life.

Praise the day he was dispatched to locate you in the East Blue.

It's fascinating how circumstances can transform within a matter of minutes. One moment you were feeling as low as a crestfallen dog, the next, you found yourself entwined with him, with his manhood embraced by your warmth.

You claimed his lips again, fervently, holding the kiss until he established a rhythm of steady movements. Your back slid up and down the wall, your chest undulating. His pelvis executed precise thrusts, back and forth, repeatedly, the pattern soon enhanced by a swirling motion, hitting just the perfect spot within your walls.

It was overwhelming, all-consuming, and yet, you craved for even more.

Even amidst the physical activity, Mihawk's breathing was remarkably controlled and composed. It gave the impression that he was only showcasing a sliver of his actual strength to you. As you raked your nails down his spine, his coat slid further down his arms. He barely reacted, taking deep breaths and swallowing hard to keep his primal instincts in check.

"I'm not as fragile as you think," you whispered into his ear, teasing the outer edge with your tongue. "Please, don't restrain yourself on my behalf."

If anything, your words prompted Mihawk to slow down the act. He looked at you with a pair of astonished eyes, deep and darkened with hunger.

"You aren't aware of what you're asking for."

In reaction to his words, you gifted him another smile. It was authentic, tender, sweet, and filled with affection - a type of smile he had never truly witnessed before. You cradled the right side of his face in your hand, your thumb gently caressing his cheekbone.

The feeling of his beard against your palm, somehow, imparted a sense of true vitality in you.

“Then let me find out,” you countered.

He hesitated, examining your face for any signs of doubt, yet he found none. With newfound reassurance, he resumed his deep thrusts inside you, amplifying the speed and vigor as he continued. Responding to his movements to the best of your ability, you struggled to keep your legs from wavering. On numerous occasions, he had to lift you higher with his hands and hips, yet you were so deeply immersed in the moment that the knife pendant grazing your skin with its edges barely registered.

They weren't sharp, but the continuous contact and pressure were causing reddened areas on your skin.

The scratches forming did not elude Mihawk's notice. The Warlord briefly took his hands away from you to remove it, letting it fall onto your rumpled towel on the floor before continuing.

"There's no need to be brave," he admonished, "If you're in pain, don't keep it to yourself.”

The level of consideration he was extending to you was genuinely touching and unexpected.

You shook your head in negation. "I assure you, I wasn't in pain. Nothing could compare to what I endured at that Marine base.”

Your expression darkened at the mere mention of your past, but Mihawk didn't allow you to linger on it. Instead, he moved forward again, swiveling his hips, delighting in the moan that escaped your lips as he cupped one of your breasts with his hand.

Time appeared to stand still as Mihawk relentlessly drove in and out of you. You could feel your climax building up in your lower belly, threatening to break free. His low, barely audible groans were utterly intoxicating, and the way he peered into into your eyes with his wild, fervent irises sent shivers of ecstasy coursing through your limbs.

Mihawk was gaining as much pleasure from the act as you were, evident by the way his manhood throbbed inside of you. Your clitoris was pulsating, teetering on the edge of climax. It was tantalized, enticed, but left completely neglected.

It was too much, too exquisite, too fulfilling. No man had ever achieved this level of perfection during lovemaking; none of your past partners had demonstrated such wonderful pelvic rotation or precision.

As though intuiting your needs, Mihawk subtly moistened his lower lip with his tongue, trailing his mouth along your jaw and halting at your earlobe. "Touch yourself," he commanded.

Your heart seemed to leap into your throat and then plummet into your stomach, only to start pounding rapidly and erratically in your chest. His demand was intensely personal, even somewhat embarrassing. But despite the heat spreading across your cheeks, you found your hand instinctively and obediently drawing a path from just below the curve of your breasts, down to your navel.

His thrusts had once again slowed down, allowing him to watch you with complete attentiveness. Your fingers trailed lower, reaching your pubic bone and forming a 'V' shape with your fore and middle fingers. They hovered around the sensitive bud, not directly touching it.

You used your other hand to alter your position, securing a firmer hold around the back of his neck, right at the base of his spine. You manipulated your fingers so that they brushed the sides of your clit, teasing it, but not fully providing the stimulation it craved. You knew you were on the right track when Mihawk's hips gave a sudden jerk, his arousal quivered against your core, and his knuckles turned white around your knee, holding it up.

Eventually, unable to prolong the anticipation any longer, you caressed your clit with the tips of your fingers, using the moisture pooling there to facilitate your ministrations. Mihawk's appreciation was expressed through another low hum. He resumed his thrusts, but his golden irises seemed to be more centered on your spectacle rather than his own nearing release.

"Harder," he instructed, his voice holding a hint of frustration.

A smirk appeared on your lips as you tightened your walls around him. Your fingers quickened their rhythm, propelling you closer and closer to the electrifying climax you were yearning for.

"Just like that," he urged you. "Let me see how good it can be.”

All it took was a final push against your sensitive spot, combined with the ideal stroke from your own fingers on the tiny nerve ending beneath the hood. Your climax was beyond anything imaginable, utterly transcendent, causing you to moan out his name. It made you twitch and claw at his skin anew, projecting a breathtaking vista of a starry sky behind your closed eyelids.

Above everything else, you could assert with certainty that it was the most intense, most earth-shattering orgasm you had ever experienced.

As soon as you descended from your height, Mihawk braced his palm against the wall, supporting you and flexing his legs to deliver a few more forceful pushes into you. He grunted in your ear with the ardor of a lustful beast.

Your muscles were ablaze, your nerves shrieking. But you wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

And when he reached his completion, you found yourself soaring to the pinnacle of bliss for the second time. His eyes remained locked onto yours, unflinching. His lips were parted, teeth nearly gritted but not quite meeting, his neck was strained.

You coupled like there was no tomorrow, akin to two birds of prey in the throes of their mating season.

Wow. Just wow.

As you attempted to disentangle your legs from his waist, he had to sustain you with his arms to keep you upright. You murmured an apology, pressing against his chest and finding it incredibly difficult to extricate yourself from his hold. You expected him to leave you there, collect his belongings, turn away and exit. However, this time, things took a different turn.

He kept looking at you, his gaze entrancing, hypnotic. Your eyes landed on his lips, and when you moved to claim them for one final kiss, he didn't pull away. Your lips connected in a soft, open contact, the tip of his tongue meeting yours midway, tasting it, merging with it.

If anyone had asked you to describe it, you would have found it impossible to put it into words.

You concluded the exchange by capturing his lower lip between yours, softly nibbling on it. With your legs now able to support your weight again, you picked up the towel from the floor, also gathering the cross knife that Mihawk had dropped. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, you draped the towel over your front and handed the weapon back to the Warlord, which he promptly accepted and secured in its place.

As he straightened his coat, you headed for your clothes strewn across the mattress. Mihawk had tactfully turned away to provide you with some room and privacy, and a smile crept onto your face as you shed the towel completely, beginning to dress in your nightwear one piece at a time.

You were incredibly tired by now, stifling a yawn, and unceremoniously flinging yourself onto the bed. Any formalities with him had long since vanished.

"I've got a variety of drinks in there if you'd like something. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

Mihawk swiveled towards you, his customary stoic expression reassembled, observing as you stretched out your arms and comfortably nestled against the pillow. You were so visibly exhausted, fading into sleep, that your mind was starting to switch off.

There was only one thing you wished to express to him, and you aimed to do it before you were too fatigued to string together a comprehensive sentence.

"And Mihawk," you started. "Thank you for seeking me out.”

You didn't know if he had heard you. You couldn't even ascertain if he was still in the room. He was so stealthy and cunning that it wouldn't surprise you if he had already slipped out without you noticing any sound.

Yet there he was, silently observing you as you drifted into peaceful slumber, and the soft lighting highlighted your delicate eyelashes.

And just as he was about to replace his hat and retrieve Yoru before making his departure, something guided his hand in a different direction.

An intuition urged him to remain, at least for a little while longer.

You roused in the middle of the night, discovering the lights in your cabin completely turned off as darkness shrouded everything around you. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, as you rolled to the other side and blinked away the grogginess.

When you noticed a form taking shape beside you, suggestive of someone sleeping next to you, you squinted in confusion. For a moment, sheer panic seized you, worried that a bounty hunter had managed to track you down in Loguetown's harbor and was about to attack you in your vulnerable state. But then, catching sight of that familiar nose, those lips you had tasted time and time again, the distinctive beard with its sharply pointed sideburns, and the cute mole on his left cheekbone, your heart softened and found tranquility.

There was Mihawk, lounging in your bed fully clothed except for his hat, his boots still on and neatly crossed off the mattress. His position was unconventional, more a diagonal slant, but you could sense the warmth radiating from his body, and hear the gentle cadence of his breathing as air flowed in and out of his nostrils. His arms were crossed over his chest, with the golden knife he wore suspended to the left as it hung from his neck.

Had he opted to stay as a form of safeguard given your status, or had he merely decided to rest considering the late hour? Regardless of his reasoning, it was nice to share the presence of another after such a long period of solitude. Isaiah had never had the opportunity to spend an entire night with you, as you would always dress and sneak away as soon as his eyes closed.

Drawing nearer to Mihawk, you scrutinized his features, softly running your hand over his clothed shoulder, until you succumbed to sleep once again.

The next morning, all that remained on the other side of the bed was a note, written in flawless calligraphy, which read: "I'll see you around.”

Evidently, Mihawk wasn't quite ready to return to the Grand Line just yet.

And you couldn't have been more pleased about it.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 5 (coming soon) ->

[cower-inside]

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: One Piece (Live Action TV 2023)

Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji | Roronoa Zoro & Vinsmoke Sanji

Characters: Roronoa Zoro | Vinsmoke Sanji

Additional Tags: Hands | Sexual Tension | Flirting | Banter | Rivalry | Short One Shot | One Shot | Short | Pining | Oblivious | Trans Roronoa Zoro

Language: English

Summary:

Sanji is in charge of redressing Zoro's wound from Mihawk.. as you can imagine he has to quite frequently.

Zoro's thoughts on this are very intelligent

Alternate title: it's NOT gay to appreciate your homies hands every once in a everytime-he-touches-your-chest-tenderly

[milfhawks]

small except from my angsty upcoming mishanks omegaverse fic, of gods and monsters, below the cut ♱

Mihawk wanted to fight, but his own omegan — maternal — instincts told him to back down. If he tried to fight, it would put his unborn child in danger, and he could never do that. The instinct to nurture, to protect the life growing inside of him, was like a physical force he could not overcome.

A slave to his own instincts.

He could’ve retched.

[halfvalid]

nobody but you

ABOUT

alternate title: the jealous character trope is actually kinda fun to write

rating: teen+

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!vinsmoke sanji | live action!straw hats ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

description: sanji flirts endlessly with you while dining at the baratie. zoro is displeased.

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, fluff, kissing, no use of 'y/n', establishment of relationship, flirting, alcohol consumption, pda

author’s note: i got like ~5 requests to write this so here you guys go! this was a popular one lmao. the story is a vague spinoff to my other fic pretty in that, but it doesn't have to be read to understand this one.

You’d volunteered to deal with the docking fees for the Going Merry, locking up the pirate ship as the rest of the crew entered Baratie. You were just five or so minutes late entering after the restaurant the rest of the Straw Hats had gone into. You’d never seen anything like it before—an eatery right in the middle of the ocean, in the shape of a giant fish. 

You stepped into the building cautiously, glancing around the wide expanse of the main room to try and catch a glimpse of your friends. The restaurant was big, with a mezzanine that you’d entered in and stairs leading down to the first floor. The host, a fishman who was standing at the reservation desk, glanced up to take a look at you. 

“Ah, you must be with the pirates,” he said pleasantly. “Right this way, miss.” 

You nodded, wondering how Luffy was intending on paying for the bill of such a place as you scoped out the area. It was far nicer than anything you would’ve expected—but then again, he’d somehow managed to score the Going Merry from Kaya back in Syrup Village, so you figured he’d work something out. 

Finally, you caught a glimpse of the rest of your crew, tucked away in a circular side booth that the fishman led you to. Luffy brightened upon seeing you, waving you over with a hand so excitedly you feared it was about to flop around like rubber. Considering his powers, that was a more than likely situation, actually. 

��Thank you,” you told the host, then turned towards your friends. “No food yet?” 

“You didn’t miss much,” Usopp said, a little snicker in his voice. “Just the waiter getting our drink orders. He was flirting the heck outta Nami.”

“Oh?” you asked, a smile flickering up your lips. The only open space in the table was between Zoro and Nami—you gave Zoro a confused look, and he gestured down to his swords, which were caught in the ledge between the chair and the wall. You snickered. “Ro. You’re such a loser.” 

“Shut up,” Zoro muttered, hand on your waist as you climbed over him to get to the empty seat. It stayed there for a moment longer, even after you’d arranged yourself in the seat, before he finally dropped his hand. Usopp made a face that you pointedly ignored. 

“What’d you guys order?” you asked instead. If there’d been a menu available, the waiter had probably taken it away; still, there wasn’t much variety in the East Blue, so you could expect there’d be a lot of seafood and not much else. 

“One of everything,” Luffy responded brightly. “So we’ll be able to try the whole menu!” 

“You sure that’s a good idea, Cap?” you asked, brows raised. Luffy shrugged. 

“I don’t see why not.”

“Quit it with the nickname,” Zoro muttered. Neither him or Nami had gotten any more receptive to it since you’d first started calling Luffy it. Usopp didn’t seem so keen on it either—if only because he fancied himself Captain Usopp. Luffy liked it, though, and that pleased you enough to keep using it.

“I’ll get you to start saying it eventually,” you teased, nudging Zoro in the arm. He shook his head, but there was a suggestion of a smile on his lips as he glanced away. “Just you wait.” You turned to Nami, eyes sparkling. “What about the waiter, though? Was he cute?” 

Usopp laughed at that, and Nami gave you a disparaging look. “Come on,” she started. “Not you too. Zoro was all—” 

The sound of footsteps cut off her speech, and you glanced up to find a lean, blond man pausing by the lip of your table. He held a silver plate, upon which perched a variety of different drinks—beers, milk, water. “Here are your drinks,” he said, voice lifting with an accent you couldn’t quite place. “And appetizers.” 

He had just finished placing the last of the drinks balancing on his forearm on the table when the waiter glanced up and registered you sitting there. His expression instantly changed, the crease of his mouth softening into a pleasant smile, his previously-dull blue eyes bright and sparkling. “Well, hello there. An addition?” 

“Yeah, sorry I’m late,” you said. The waiter flashed a grin, white ivories shining under the fluorescents.  

“Oh, absolutely no problem. They say those who are late are fashionable, and you, madam, certainly fit the bill,” the waiter said. Your eyes widened, glancing over to Nami to find her shaking her head, but the waiter didn’t stop there. “I’m Sanji. What can I get for you to drink? We’ve got a wide selection of fine wines that might suit your taste.” 

“Oh, um—” you started, glancing at the rest of your crew again. Usopp was hiding his snicker, and Nami was giving you a tired look. Assumedly this had been the man who’d tried it on her, too—to unfortunate ends, probably, considering how Nami was. Not that this would be any more effective on you. Your eye was already captured by a particular green-haired swordsman, after all. “I don’t really have anything in mind.”

Sanji looked pleased about that, clasping his hands together around his platter. “Ah, let me guess, then. A bayberry or red currant wine, perhaps? Fruity, tart, full of flavor.” he winked. “A feisty drink for a feisty girl.” 

“Can’t say I’ve tried it, but sure,” you said, the faintest smile on your lips. “I’ll let you know how I like it.” 

Sanji grinned, looking rather satisfied with that, a delighted little smile on his lips. “One red currant wine, then. I’ll have it right out. And would you also like to order a meal, or…” He glanced over at Luffy, presumably referencing your captain’s more-than-outrageous order. “Are you all set?” 

“I think we’re set, thanks,” you assured, and Sanji nodded. He flashed you another bright smile before turning on his heel back off to the kitchen. 

Usopp finally let out the laughter he’d been keeping in, choked sounds emitting from his throat as he thudded his chest with a fist. You rolled your eyes, but it was good-natured, letting Usopp laugh. 

“Well, at least I’m not being singled out,” Nami said with a sigh, and you exchanged a sympathetic glance with her. She patted your hand comfortingly, then scrutinized the water Sanji had gotten her. “At least he didn’t put it in a flute.” 

“Zoro, you’ve got competition!” Usopp called, still laughing from the entire ordeal. You glanced to your side, to where the swordsman sat. Zoro had stiffened sometime during the conversation, jaw clenched and arms wound tightly across his chest. He hadn’t even touched the beer that Sanji had set in front of him, eyes fixed carefully to a spot beside Luffy’s head and refusing to look over at you. 

“He’s a waiter,” Zoro said crisply. “He buses tables for a living.” With that, he grabbed his bottle, popping the tab and taking a swig. 

“I don’t know, man, did you see the way he took down those pirates?” Usopp turned to you, all excited again. “Oh, you missed this whole thing! Two pirates were fighting over a seat or something, and Sanji just demolished both of them! You would’ve loved it.” 

“He is a really good fighter,” Luffy agreed. Their words did nothing but seem to annoy Zoro further. 

“Can we not talk about the restaurant personnel? Surely you can think of more interesting topics of conversation.” His tone was sharp, and all icy, and you inched your hand closer to his leg to tap his thigh in question. He glanced down at your touch, but didn’t deign to say anything else. He just picked up his beer again, nursing it while the rest of the crew continued on with their conversation. 

Despite Luffy changing the subject, Zoro didn’t speak, and you kept peeking glances over at him in concern. Your feelings for him had just continued developing ever since Syrup Village, although neither of you had reasonably talked about the closet incident since it’d happened. What with the reveal of Kuro and the escape from the marines and all, there hadn’t exactly been time to. But you’d been on good terms, and the actions he made around you—pressing a hand to your waist as you moved past him, turning towards you first mid-conversation, shoving you down when the marines had fired their first cannon at the Going Merry. 

Before you could whisper to him and question what his silence was about, though, Sanji reappeared, carrying two platters filled to the brim with plates. They were laden with different types of meat and vegetables, sauces glinting under the light and hot steam still billowing. 

He set the dishes on the table, somehow managing to arrange them so they all fit on the countertop. Sanji set down the last plate then turned to you, placing a glass and a bottle of dark crimson wine on the table in front of you. He had to lean over Zoro to reach, and Zoro flinched, but still didn’t say anything as Sanji uncorked the bottle and poured you a glass. 

“Tell me what you think,” he said, all smiles again. “I’ll be embarrassed if it isn’t to your liking.”

You picked the glass up, swirling it carefully inside the glass before leaning down into the cup to take in a full sniff. You tilted your head back to take a small sip, moving the liquid around your mouth to fully savor the flavor before finally swallowing. The wine was sweet, light rather than rich with a delicate tartness that burst on your tongue. You glanced up just to see a giant grin had stretched up Sanji’s mouth, brightening his face up considerably. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Not often do I see a patron who knows how to taste wine properly,” Sanji answered with a little duck of his head. “A lady of class, I see. How do you like it?” 

“Not too strong. I like the tartness,” you answered. “A good recommendation. Thank you.” 

Sanji gave you a little bow, hand flourishing to the side as he dipped his head. “I live to serve.” 

“Yeah, well, why don’t you serve me another beer?” Zoro said abruptly. Usopp coughed, and you could see Nami elbow him out of your peripheral vision. Luffy just looked confused. 

Sanji’s face fell almost immediately after Zoro had spoken, his eyes flickering away from yours. “Of course. I’ll be right back,” he said, a tight smile at his lips. He ducked out of the booth, and Zoro let out an irritated noise, tongue flicking against from the roof of his mouth. 

Usopp snorted, fully this time, and you turned to glance over at him—he and Nami were both hiding their gazes, though you could see smiles cracked along their lips. 

Zoro glared at them. “Shut it.” 

“Not saying anything!” Usopp said, though he half-hid behind Luffy like Zoro was going to lunge over the table to get to him. That didn’t seem… entirely unlikely, actually; Zoro’s right hand rested firmly on the handle of one of his swords, fingers ready to pull the blade at any second. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to say something. But not in front of everyone else. It wouldn’t be appropriate, you decided. 

Eventually your meal wound down to an end. Zoro got less and less tense throughout it, though you were fairly certain that was due to the drinks he was having rather than any actual reassurance. Sanji, thankfully, came back with the bill in the middle of a conversation you really didn’t want to think about—Luffy and his marine grandfather was not something your mind wanted to dwell on—only for him to disappear again. 

Just moments later, a man with a braided mustache came storming out of the kitchen. Luffy did some more of his Luffy nonsense, and, honestly—you were getting too tired about all of this to pay any close attention. You spared a glance over at Zoro again. His face was as blank as ever.  

“Okay,” Usopp said slowly, a few delayed seconds after who’d undoubtedly been the head chef yanked Luffy out of his seat. “I’m ready to check out whatever’s outside. Let’s go.” 

“What about Luffy?” you asked, perplexed. 

“He’ll find his way out of that,” Nami said with a sigh. She stood up, knocking back the rest of her drink. Since she wasn’t exactly wrong, you got up, glancing over your shoulder at the last of the group that remained seated. “Zoro?” 

Zoro was staring into his now-empty bottle of beer. He still seemed off, the line of his mouth creased downwards, jaw set tight. “Yeah,” he said finally, standing to his full height and slipping out of the booth. He offered you a hand, helping you down from your seat, but said nothing more. 

The four of you headed out to the mouth of the Baratie fish, which boasted a bar decorated with neon lights. You found a place to sit by the fish’s bottom lip, and you turned in your seat, staring out at the sea. The water was dark with the night, peaceful ripples moving across the water that sent shimmering waves across the blue. 

“I’m gonna get a drink,” Usopp said. “Come, Nami?” 

“Huh?” Nami glanced up, and you turned to watch the exchange. “Oh, I’m okay, Usopp. Thanks, though.” 

“No,” Usopp insisted, a smile still pasted on his face as he jerked his head, not very discreetly, in your and Zoro’s direction. Nami seemed to realize, then, eyes going wide before she got up from her seat. 

“Actually, on second thought, I’ll join you,” she said, far smoother than Usopp had been. “God knows you don’t have any money to pay for a drink.”

She breezed past him, ignoring the offended gape Usopp left in her wake before he was scrambling to follow her. You turned your attention towards Zoro—he was lounging in the seat across from you, one hand on his swords with his legs crossed. “Hi,” you said carefully. 

He stiffened. “Hey.” 

You pursed your lips, mulling over the ways to go about the conversation before ultimately deciding to spit it out. “What’s wrong?” At his raised brow, you were prompted to continue— “During dinner. You were acting weird.”

Zoro shook his head, dropping his gaze from yours. You could see the faintest trace of freckles spattered along his cheeks, the yellow glow from the lanterns reflecting off his skin. “Nothing’s wrong. Just… the waiter.”

“The waiter,” you repeated. Zoro shifted, legs uncrossing and hand tightening around his swords again. His voice was low the next time he spoke, and you could barely hear him, having to lean forward to catch all of his words.

“He was flirting with you.” 

Your breath hitched, but you tried to keep your tone casual. “He was flirting with Nami too,” you said, glancing up to meet his eyes. Zoro still wouldn’t meet your gaze, staring out into the East Blue behind you. 

“That’s different.” Zoro’s eyes finally lifted, long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks as you met eyes. You shivered, gooseflesh suddenly prickling up everywhere on your skin—the back of your neck, up your spine, down your arms and legs. “I don’t like Nami.” 

You tilted your head to the side, meeting his gaze. The words sent a little rush through you; a rush you got practically every time Zoro looked in your direction, actually, which was only a little bit annoying. The amount of influence a man you’d known for, comparatively, not that long had over you had you rolling your eyes all the time, but… you trusted Zoro at this point, as uncooperative as he and Nami had been throughout your entire journey. 

“You’re jealous of a waiter.” 

“Don’t—” Zoro sighed. “Don’t put it like that.” 

“But it’s true. You’re jealous of a waiter,” you said, unblinking. Zoro rolled his eyes, teeth resting along his lower lip in an almost-bite. You snickered, tone sloping upwards to become more teasing, almost sarcastic. “How the mighty have fallen. From me practically begging you to say I looked nice in a dress to this.” 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Zoro said, uncrossing his legs to lean over and press his hand over your mouth. You laughed, surprised, as he leaned over you, eyes sparkling at the reaction. “Not another word.” 

He removed his hand, giving you a look. You betrayed his trust almost immediately. “Of a waiter.” 

“Do you want me to put the hand back?” Zoro threatened, but you were full-on laughing by now, and he couldn’t do anything but watch. The sounds escaped from your mouth, ringing out in soft, lively hiccups. He shook his head, hand falling to his side as he watched you, a ghost of a smile tugging up the side of his mouth. 

“Sorry, Ro,” you said, unable to suppress your grin even as your laughter died off. “It’s a little funny, you have to admit.” 

“I’d like to hear you talk if someone was flirting with me,” Zoro muttered, so quiet you could barely hear. You had to stifle another laugh. 

“Okay, well, unlike you, I don’t get territorial over people I haven’t even talked about my relationship with, but I appreciate it.” You nudged him. “It’s kinda cute.”

Zoro seemed lost in the first half of your sentence, and you could practically see the cogs whirring in his head. For a moment, you were worried that the closet had been a one-time thing—but no, he’d mentioned just earlier that he liked you, so clearly something else was the matter. 

Your worries were answered in just another moment. “...We’re supposed to talk about our relationship?”

“Zoro.” You gave him a look of disbelief, forced to suppress another laugh, though this time it was out of incredulity. “Yes. Have you ever dated anyone before?” 

Zoro made a face at that. “Keeping that to myself, thanks.” He dropped his chin, glancing down at where you were, still leaning over you so you were forced to crane your neck to stare up at him. He tilted his head to the side. “So what kind of talking are we supposed to be doing?” 

“You know, the establishment of being exclusive; a cementation of our feelings; what the relationship entails; where we want it to go…” You paused, watching as his eyes flickered down your face. Your words were going in one ear and out the other. “You’re not listening at all, huh.” 

“Not really,” Zoro said, not sounding very apologetic about it. His free hand came to cup the underside of your jaw, tilting your head up just so. “Is the talking really that necessary?” 

You shrugged, trying to keep your cool. “Eventually.” 

“Eventually,” he repeated, stretching out the syllables of the word as he quoted you. “So we can do it another day.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. “What were you thinking?”

Zoro was slotting his lips over yours before you could say another word, his fingers digging into the hinge of your jaw to allow him better access. You smiled into the kiss, lips curling upwards and open to let him lick into your mouth. 

It wasn’t too risqué, but Zoro took your breath away all the same, an appreciative murmur low in his throat as he kissed you. One of your hands wrapped around his wrist, tugging him insistently downwards so you could get a better angle at his mouth, sucking gently at his lower lip. He nearly stumbled, losing his center of gravity before steadying himself, one hand coming to rest on your ribcage as the kiss deepened. 

“Guys!” Usopp’s voice came somewhere from the right, high-pitched and excessively scandalized. You felt Zoro scoff into your mouth.

“You realize you’re in public, right?” Nami deadpanned, plopping down in the seat next to you. You nudged Zoro’s head away, his hand still on your jaw, half-craned over your figure. Nami looked unimpressed, eyes flickering from Zoro to you and back again. “Get a room. Go back to the Going Merry for all I care.” She extended a hand, placing a mug of beer on the table before you before handing you a matching one. “I got you drinks. You’re welcome.” 

“Thanks,” you said, leaning up to press one final kiss on Zoro’s lips before turning to take the glass Nami had outstretched. Usopp groaned, covering his eyes with one hand and lifting a giant cup of something with the other. It was so big you wondered how he’d even been able to carry it. You eyed him. “You’re going to pass out drinking that.” 

Usopp made a face at you. You just laughed. 

“Sorted out your issues with the waiter, then?” Nami asked, turning to fix a knowing look on Zoro. He rolled his eyes, effortless as ever as he settled back down into his seat. 

“Still don’t like the waiter.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, and Zoro scoffed, picking up the mug Nami had gotten him. You could see the smile behind the glass rim, though, even as he clearly tried to hide it, and matched it with one of your own. 

Zoro ducked his head to smile into his beer. Usopp made a gagging sound. “God,” Nami muttered, but their criticisms might as well have been deaf to your ears by then. 

All you could see was Zoro. 

© halfvalid 2023

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Sanji finds you crying and pretends to believe your excuses. Is anyone up for slow dancing in the rain?]

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When the time for supper came, Sanji knocked on your door to let you now. He was met with silence, so he naturally assumed you were sleeping. Not much of a problem - he'll set aside a portion for when you wake up hungry.

The problem is, that was around two hours ago.

Sanji knocked on your door again and when silence answered him this time also, he allowed himself to peek inside. Only to discover your bed is empty. He grew suspicious, if not worried, when no one could tell him where you went. It's the middle of the night and the rainstorm doesn't stop. Sanji also noticed how quiet and upset you've been most of the day, making him all the more tense that you are unaccounted for. The thought that you're obediently suffering in silence breaks him more each time he entertains it.

Sanji is scrubbing the cutting board with feverish vigour. The faster he finishes, the faster he can get to making sure you're fine. As though the fish scales knew his thoughts, they simply wouldn't get off the wooden surface.

The steel scrubber escapes his hands. It hits the sink with a quiet clank. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down and looks away from the pile of dishes. That's when he finally sees you through the smudged porthole. The rain outside obscures your silhouette. Nevertheless, Sanji is beyond convinced that it is, in fact, you. Despite the initial relief, he feels his chest tighten. You look like a marble statue, forever frozen still in grief.

Leaving the cutting board in the sink and grabbing his suit jacket, Sanji dashes out the door, making haste to you. What on Earth do you think you're doing out in this weather?

The cold rain hits him like a wall of ice. True, the cool water may feel refreshing after the hot and humid daytime hours but not at this rate of rainfall. Even if the nights in the open sea weren't so dark, it would still be impossible to see anything beyond the ship.

He has to come close to you to see the heartwrenching details of your silhouette. You're hunched over, staring at the turbulent waters below. The clothes you're wearing are absolutely drenched, no dry string in their material. Every now and then, your freezing body shivers violently.

"Love?" he calls out to you in an unsure voice.

But you don't react - at least not in the way he has been expecting you to. Instead of looking at him, you turn your face further away, quickly wiping it with your hands.

Sanji wastes no time. In long strides, he finds himself pressed up against your side and forcing his jacket around your shoulders. Considering the heavy rain it won't do much in the long run but maybe it can keep you warm until he convinces you to go back inside.

"Hey, look at me," he pleads in a soft voice.

Too tired and heartbroken, you let his warm fingers guide your face towards him. As if time suddenly slows down, you notice each wrinkle that appears and disappears when he studies your sorrowful expression. If he was a little less perceptive, Sanji would think your face is just wet from the heavy rainfall. The red veins of your bloodshot, puffy eyes are hardly visible in the darkness of the rainy night but not black enough to remain unseen by Sanji.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying? What happened?" he keeps asking. With each question, he feels the tension in his chest only rising.

"I'm not crying, I'm perfectly fine," you reassure him. Your forced scoff is followed by a pathetic sniffle. "It's just the rain. Saltwater irritated my eyes."

Of course, with your whole "I'm brave and strong and I can manage on my own" facade, you're not going to openly admit to weakness in front of anyone, even if it's painfully obvious. As much as Sanji considers your tough image charming, he wishes you would discard it once in a while - for your own sake.

"How can you be fine with saltwater in your eyes, princess?" Sanji goes along with your poorly constructed lie. His arms engulf you in a warm, albeit drenching wet, hug. "It must burn."

"Yeah, it does," you mumble against his soaking shirt. With a little more light, you would be able to see his bare skin from underneath the wet material. "But it's getting better."

One of Sanji's hands is keeping your head against his shoulder while the other drags up and down your back in a soothing gesture. The jacket he has put around your arms is already drenched, too. He feels your body shaking but can't be sure whether it's because of the "saltwater" or the cold weather. In any case, his heart breaks each time he feels those spasms. His mind panics in search of something that could possibly lift your mood.

The noise of the rainfall is disrupted by a soft, low hum. A melody you vaguely know rumbles inside Sanji's chest. Dean Martin...? Strong arms hold you tightly against his torso as he ever-so-gently sways you to the rhythm of the song.

A quiet giggle escapes your lips as you let yourself sink into the comfort of him. Up until this moment, the cosiness of a loved one's arms confronted with the coldness of a rainstorm, you've thought that scenes like these exist only in sappy novels written for naive young women.

"Slow dancing in the rain," you finally speak up. If it wasn't for the rather unpleasant rain drenching you to every last string of your clothing, yous wear you could fall asleep like this. "Aren't you a hopeless romantic, Sanji?"

"I'm just getting started, love," he murmurs against your hair, still slowly swaying your bodies despite having stopped the humming. You're inclined to believe that his chivalry ventures far beyond dancing in the rain.

"Oh, yes, please."

A low chuckle rumbles inside his chest. It merges into a symphony with the soft thrumming of his steady heartbeat.

"Feeling any better?" he asks in a serious tone.

To Sanji's dissatisfaction, you lean away from him to look at his face. Your eyes are still red but the curious glint he's learned to associate with you has found its way back into them. It seems like your grit, honesty or facade, has returned.

"What will you do if I say no?" you ask back.

As relief washes over him, Sanji smiles down at you. His hand slicks your drenched hair out of your puffy face.

"I should figure something out just for my baby," he answers without missing a beat. His fingers brush along your jaw and chin.

Before you have a chance to inquire, Sanji leans down and lifts you. A yelp of surprise is pulled out of your chest. Without much problem and clearly with a lot of enjoyment, he carries you back inside the lower deck of the ship.

[brainrotcharacters]

OPLA FANFIC WRITERS 👹 GET THE FUCK OVER HERE 👹

hi 👋😊 if I was hypothetically involved in creating an x oc fanfic, who'd thrive more with a sunshine character partner?

[tinkerbelle05]

sanjiiii

How Could You?

Characters: Sanji x Fem!reader

Genre: Angst (Requested) Thanks for the req 🧑‍🍳

Summary: You understand that Sanji is a natural flirt and that’s just how he talks. You are fine with that because that’s his personality but one night he took it too far. You give him the silent treatment as you try to understand your feelings but he keeps pestering you so you snap.

Warnings: Arguments, silent treatments, bad ending, google translations, not edited

Translation: Ma Colombe = My Dove

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You sat in the back of the restaurant, watching Sanji move around the place as a waiter now.

Which meant he probably pissed of Zeff again. The way those two fought and carried on, one would’ve thought they would’ve killed each other by now.

While you felt bad for him because you knew how much he loved cooking and despised waitering, it gave you a good chance to admire him. A chance that often doesn't arise, so of course you didn't waste it.

His beautiful smile, the way he effortlessly slid in between tables, the way he’d make people feel comfortable. In some cases, a bit too comfortable for your liking.

There was this woman, black long hair and sharp green eyes that’s been eyeing Sanji ever since he went to her table. It made you feel a sense of pride that Sanji was so sot after but he’d always return to you at the end of the day.

No matter how much he’d sing their praises, or give out charming smiles. He would also come home to you, and he’d never cross that line.

Until he did. Right in front of you, too.

You were practically seething with anger when you saw how she trailed a finger up his forearm and how he didn’t make a move to stop her. How that same finger traveled up to rest on the back of his neck. They didn’t have to say anything to each other, just the way they looked at each other was enough to have you recoil in absolute disgust and betrayal.

Quickly and quietly you left the restaurant and went to your quarters. It was times like these that made you happy you had a separate bedroom from Sanji. Even though it was mostly used as a storage closet for you stuff, you were still able to sleep and move around comfortablely in it.

Because something told you that you’d be in here for a while after what you just saw.

For sometime, you avoided any and all contact with Sanji. Yes, you knew that it was immature but you didn’t care.

Your heart still hurts when you think about to how he looked at the woman, it was almost lustful. You wondered when was the last time Sanji looked at you like that.

There was a knock on your door, as there always were.

“Darling, please open the door,” Sanji began his daily begging. He’s been at this for a few weeks now.

Everyday after his shift ends, Sanji would rush to your door and begged with everything he had to get you to open the door. To get you to talk to him. There are times when the cracks in his voice makes your resolve falter. Makes you want to open the door and hug him tightly.

But you were still hurting. Still annoyed. Still confused. You had some understanding of how Sanji was. How he’ll use his charm and good lucks to get extra tips, to get people to come back for more. And sometimes, that was just how he was as a person.

So you understood perfectly that most of it was a weird mixture of how he normally acts and was an act in of itself to get more money. You understood perfectly.

Didn’t stop it from hurting though. You felt like someone ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it. You felt like you were being unfair to him. You felt like you were being unfair to yourself. You felt like—

You opened the door. He stood there with his hands in his pockets looking down. Upon hearing the door, he lifted his head.

He’d been crying.

Red, puffy eyes stared back at you. He said nothing, his expression in shock. He quickly sobered up.

“Um,” he scratched the back of his head, “Hello.”

You cleared your throat, “Hi.”

You two stood there at a moment, not saying much of anything. Just staring and waiting. Waiting for someone to say something.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji said suddenly. “I….I’m not sure what I did but—“

“Really?” You gave him an unimpressed look, “You truly don’t know what you did? Why I’m mad at you? You haven’t the slightest clue?”

He swallows nervously and avoids your face. His eyes staring into space, you don’t know what’s going on in his mind. You were about close the door, too tired of this bullshit but he blocks it with his foot.

His hands clenched on the doorframe, he’s leaning towards you, nearly towering over you. Normally, that’ll leave you a blushing mess, and maybe that’s what he’s hoping for, but you just glare up at him. Stepping back a little to create space between you two and he falters.

“Just tell me, already! What did I do? What I have done? Please, ma colombe!” He pressed on.

“How can you not know?! How obtuse do you have to be—", you started to yell but he interrupted you.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake just tell me!” He begged you, his voice cracks. From the way that he's standing, you assumed he'll fall to his knees at any moment.

“You and that woman. The one with black hair, how you were talking to her. Touching her, looking at her. It was…disgusting. You didn’t even have the audacity to be shameful about it.”

He looked confused which quickly transformed into a crude mixture of shock and angry. “Your joking, right? Please, tell me that this is some elaborate prank on me because you can’t seriously be mad at that!”

You glared harder at him, “No! It isn’t a joke. The way you acted hurt me, Sanji. I understand that you act like that, but there are certain lines that you don’t cross.”

“What lines are you—”

“You were about to kiss her! You leaned in and then you stopped yourself. Guess you suddenly remembered you had a girlfriend,” you yelled at him, and the tears were starting to spill again but you had to pull it together.

Sanji stared at you for a while, not saying anything. But the look of realization donned on him and he stepped back.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t think…you saw that,” he fumbled over his words.

You sniffed and looked away from him, you didn't want him to see you crying like this.

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” You questioned him, backing away even more.

He attempt to get closer, you walk backwards until your back is pressed against the wall and you can’t run anymore.

“It didn’t—” he started to say but you stopped him.

“Don’t. Don’t say that you didn’t mean to or that you it was a mistake. I know, I know that you regretted the moment you went close. But….I don’t know. I….I don’t know if I can trust. To not cheat on me. Or have wandering eyes.”

“Ma colombe, I would never. You know all my flirtations are not real. I love you. It’ll always be you, no one else. I swear to you,” he continued to plead with you. He comes closer, until his body pressed against yours and he cups your face so gently. Like your precious jewel to him, he couldn’t afford to break.

But he already broke you.

You looked down instead, you didn’t want to meet his eyes. This was hurting you. This really was. And to say that there was no love between you, would be a lie. But love isn’t enough, not anymore. It can’t fix this. You saw love try to fix your parents’ marriage and that didn’t end well. And you refuse to end up like them.

Your gaze met Sanji’s and you could see the the little hope he had diminished when he saw your expression.

He understood. That is good, it would make this process less painful. He nodded to you and smiled. He kissed you on your lips gently, savoring the taste and feeling one last time. And then he was gone.

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[dreamerwithapen1]

Belladonna Rose + A Tangle of Thorns

Ransom Rose, infamous pirate and captain of the Thorn Crew, was not a man to be taken lightly. All those who sailed the Blue Sea would watch warily for the blood red sails, whispering prayers at the sight of it, begging to whichever deity would listen that the volatile captain would let them go in peace.

It was a rare man that would dare to cross him- a stupid man, many would say- but Roronoa Zoro never did pay much mind to what others said. So when a hefty bounty appears for the one and only son of Captain Rose, Zoro doesn’t hesitate to hunt the pirate down. But when word of his son’s death reaches his ears, Ransom is quick to exact his revenge.

His daughter, Belladonna Rose, is given orders to find the pirate hunter responsible for her brother’s death and kill him- a job she is all too happy to accept. To avenge her brother and protect her younger sister from their father’s wrath, she is willing to do whatever it takes.

But the task grows infinitely more difficult when Belladonna becomes entangled with the Straw Hat Crew. The earnest, happy go lucky captain always willing to lend a helping hand, the grumpy navigator whose eyes reflect a past similar to her own- and the strong willed pirate hunter that left her life in tatters and set her down this path.

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