zoro-sremedy

[zoro-sremedy]

yayy!! 500 followers!! even though i feel like you should have more than that!

may i ask for the floofy "i hate everyone but you" with my fav dilf toji?

awww thank you, I started writing like in May? So I'm very surprised how fast the following count is going (I'm nearing 600 just since i said i had 500 wooo) I'm very happy, and also my work is getting a lot of track so i'm amazed and thankful to everyone who comments, reblogs, or just likes my work. It means everything to me <3

p.s: great choice on the trope! i loved this one

Risk assessment rated T+. Fluffiness, Toji is an old grump in love, bit of angst if you squeeze, deep domestic vibes, emotional vulnerability.

FUSHIGURO TOJI—"I DON'T LIKE PEOPLE. BUT I LIKE YOU."

The first time Toji hears you laugh—really laugh, like your whole body's in it, like the sound surprises even you—he stares a second too long.

You're across the room, on the phone with someone. He doesn't know who. Doesn't care. But you're smiling, all easy and open, and it irritates something in him.

Not because he hates your laugh. But because he doesn't hear it enough

—

You're too soft for this world. You talk to people like they haven't already disappointed you. You give them the benefit of the doubt. You help stray animals. You give him a second chance.

And for some damn reason, you've made space for him in your life like it's the most natural thing in the world.

A man like him. Who's doing things. Seen things. Been reduced to a paycheck and a curse.

You curl into his chest at night like his arms are home.

It terrifies him.

He doesn't say "I love you."

He doesn't even say "I like you."

But he does carry you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. He makes sure your doors are locked, that you don't walk alone, that your phone is charged. He cooks. He stays. He watches you breathe sometimes—quiet, late at night—like he's making sure you're still here.

He lets you in. Piece by piece.

—

One morning, he's grumbling in the kitchen because you left your keys in the fridge again.

You shuffle out, sleepy, and mumble: "Don't be mad at me, grump."

He turns, tired and narrowing. "I'm always mad. That's my baseline."

You snort, kiss his bare shoulder, and go for the coffee.

Then—halfway to the sink—you pause. You feel it. That slow, lingering weight of his stare on your back.

"What?" you ask.

A beat passes.

"I don't like people," he mutters.

You raise a brow. "Yes, baby. I'm aware."

"No," he says, voice lower this time. "I don't like people. I don't trust them. I don’t talk to them. I don’t want to be around them. Ever."

You blink. Turn.

He's looking at you now—tired and rough and a little unsure, like the words feel strange in his mouth.

"But I like you."

It's quiet.

You walk up to him slow. Slide your arms under his shirt. "Yeah?"

"I like yo more than I want to," he says softly. "More than I should."

Your chest aches.

"I don't care what you should or shouldn't do," you murmur. "I'm just glad you do."

—

That night, you curl into his chest like always, and his hand slides around your back without hesitation.

"Sleep," he grumbles.

"You holding me?"

He exhales into your hair.

"I always do."

[zoro-sremedy]

One day I woke up and everybody knew what a labubu was

[zoro-sremedy]

trope 8 with Choso or Kento.. Definitely angst to smutt?

Imma be honest, i've never tried to write for Choso but i tried my best, he might sound a little OC if I'm honest...

#8 Bandaging them up... Carefully... Too carefully. / Choso/ Nanami.

Risk assessment rated R18+. Sex without protection and making out post injury, making out, angsty, idk man i tried.

CHOSO KAMO—"STAY STILL"

The door shuts too quietly behind you. That’s the first sign something’s wrong.

The second is the silence.

And then—

“Sit.”

You glance up. Choso is already halfway across the room, his jaw clenched tight, his voice low. His eyes aren’t on your face—they’re on the blood at your temple, the way your jacket sticks to your side.

“Choso—”

“I said sit.”

You do, slowly, every bone in your body screaming as you drop onto the edge of the couch.

He kneels in front of you, pulling the med kit from under the table, and when he opens it, his hands tremble.

You try to smile, soften him. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” he murmurs, grabbing gauze and disinfectant. “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I know.” His voice breaks. “That’s what scares me.”

The bottle cap clicks open. The pad soaks red before it even reaches your skin.

“You should’ve called me,” he mutters. “I would’ve come.”

You flinch. You don’t tell him that someone else did come. That someone else is dead now. You don’t want that guilt on his shoulders too.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

Choso pauses. Slowly—very slowly—he looks up at you. The look in his eyes is something like heartbreak and rage trapped in a trembling cage.

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“You almost did. I can smell it on you. Death. It touched you.”

His voice isn’t loud, but it sinks into you like teeth.

You try to say something—anything—but all that comes out is a shaky breath.

He doesn’t speak again. Not when he presses the alcohol to your skin and you hiss. Not when he tears the edge of your shirt to reach your ribs. Not when he sees the deep purple bruises blooming across your stomach.

But he touches you like he’s memorizing every inch. Too carefully. Too reverently. His hands keep brushing over you—more than necessary. Not cleaning. Not bandaging.

Just... touching.

“I’m here,” you whisper, hand curling around his wrist. “Let me be here.”

That’s all it takes.

—

The kiss starts like a crack splitting through the silence.

He pulls you into him, lips clashing against yours like he's afraid you'll slip away if he doesn't feel you—really feel you. Your hands tangled in his hair as you pull him closer, gasping as his tongue finds yours, as his teeth catch your bottom lip.

He lifts you—strong arms wrapping around your waist, injured or not—he lays you back on the couch.

"You should rest," he murmurs against your throat.

"I will," you breathe. "After this. After you."

He kisses down your body, hands moving slowly, as if he's trying to undo the bruises. His mouth his hot and open as it presses against scrape and bloodied line.

"You're alive," he whispers, almost to him. "You're really alive."

"Choso…" Your voice cracks. "Please. I need—"

"I know." He looks up at your from between your legs, eyes burning. "Let me take care of you."

His hands drag your pants down, slow and reverent. You're sore, raw, aching all over—and yet the way he touches you is enough to make you throb. Not from lust alone, but want. That need to feel wanted, to feel safe, to live in his hands.

He leans in, warm breath over your core. "I need to taste you. I need to remind myself."

And gods, when his mouth touches you—it's devotion. He licks slow, patient stripes through your folds, groaning against you when your hips jerk. His tongue curls inside you and you moan, the sound hoarse from exhaustion and relief.

Your hands grip his hair like lifelines.

"Choso—fuck—please—"

"Say it," he pants, voice dark. "Say you're mine. Say you came back to me."

You don't hesitate. "I'm yours. I came home to you."

That's when he breaks.

He pulls his clothes off, fast and messy—doesn't care when they land. He spreads your legs with hands that shake and lines himself up.

"Don't look away," you beg.

He presses his forehead to yours. "I never do."

When he pushes inside, it's not rough—but it's deep. Too deep. You cry out, legs locking around his waist, clinging to him as if you're still scared of being torn apart.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheeks, you're eyelids. He murmurs things you don't fully hear—maybe prayers. Maybe pleas.

He thrusts slowly at first. Controlled. Focused.

But it doesn’t stay that way.

You feel him lose it, gradually—hips grinding harder, the rhythm slipping from reverence to something needy. Like he fucks you hard enough, he can erase what almost happened. He can rewrite it.

You mean into his mouth, and he groans into yours, and together it all crumbles into gasping and sweat and clutching fingers and bodies that are sore and scare but still here.

When  you come, it rips through you like a sob.

When he does, it's with your name on his lips like a vow.

Afterwards, he stays on top of you, arms wrapped tight around your sides. Still inside you. Still holding you like a fragile thing he refuses to let go of.

"You wait for me next time," he whispers into your hair.

"I will," you promise, still breathless. "Next time… I come home to you."

Always.

NANAMI KENTO—"YOU SHOULDN'T BE THE ONE BLEEDING"

You barely make it through the door before you’re collapsing onto the couch.

Blood loss. Fractured ribs. A deep gash along your side that you didn’t have time to seal.

You hear his footsteps before you see him. Heavy, calm, deliberate.

“Kento…”

He doesn’t speak. Not at first.

You look up—and his eyes are dark. Quietly furious. And for once, it’s not at the system.

It’s not about duty.

It’s about you.

“You’re injured,” he says, already moving, already reaching for the medical kit. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You try to laugh. It comes out shaky. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

Nanami kneels in front of you.

And he says—quietly, flatly—

“I was already worried. I just didn’t know why yet.”

—

He unbuttons your shirt with fingers that move too carefully. When he peels the fabric back and sees the wound—a deep, ugly slash across your side—his breath hitches.

“Who did this to you?”

You shake your head. “Handled. Barely.”

His jaw tightens. “You shouldn’t be the one bleeding.”

You smile weakly. “Someone had to. You were busy saving lives. I saved mine.”

The silence is heavy. His hands are steady as he cleans the wound, but his eyes don’t leave your skin. You watch his brow furrow with concentration, watch the way he dabs around the gash instead of on it—because he doesn’t want to hurt you, even now.

“Kento,” you whisper.

His gaze flickers up.

“I’m okay. I lived.”

“You could have died,” he says, voice low and tense. “And I wasn’t there.”

“But I’m here now.”

He says nothing.

So you touch his wrist. Your fingers wrap around it, light but certain.

“I’m here,” you say again. “Touch me like I’m not a ghost.”

The shift is subtle, but undeniable.

His mouth finds yours like it’s breathing you in. Like you’re proof he’s not in a dream or a nightmare. You part your lips for him, soft and aching and sore all over, but he doesn’t push—he just melts into you.

When he lays you back, it’s not with urgency.

It’s with grief.

And want.

And something you can’t name except to say he missed you—and not just for the hours you were gone, but for the seconds he feared you wouldn’t return.

“You should be resting,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles over your cheek.

“I will,” you whisper. “Let me have this first.”

He nods. Slowly. Like he understands this isn’t about sex—it’s about survival. About feeling. About still being here.

His hands skim your skin with reverence. No rushing. No pulling. He undresses you like every motion is sacred—like every part of you, even bruised and bloodied, is holy.

When he slides your underwear off, his hands pause. His lips brush your inner thigh.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“I’m scared it’ll fade,” you admit. “This. You. Everything.”

He kisses you slowly.

“I won’t let it.”

When he enters you, it’s not with heat—it’s with worship. He fills you in one deep, slow thrust, and the groan he lets out is almost pained.

You cling to him, arms wrapped around his back, breath caught in your throat.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice wrecked.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, Kento.”

He moves gently at first—deep, slow rolls of his hips, like he’s trying not to let go. But the longer it goes, the more his restraint frays.

You feel it—the trembling. The aching need. The way he kisses your neck with teeth, the way he gasps your name into your mouth.

“You scared me,” he confesses, breaking rhythm for a moment. “I’ve lost too many people. I can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t,” you promise, holding him tighter. “You won’t.”

He fucks you harder then. Still slow—but intense. Deep. Unrelenting. Each thrust feels like a vow. You gasp against his neck, body curling around his, and he groans when you clench around him.

“Kento—”

“I’ve got you,” he pants. “I’ve got you.”

When you come, it’s like letting go of the fear. When he comes, it’s with a broken moan and his name in your mouth.

After, he holds you to his chest, still deep inside you, not moving, not speaking.

You’re both breathing hard. Still trembling.

“I’m not leaving you again,” he whispers into your hair.

You press a kiss to his throat.

“You better not.”

[zoro-sremedy]

affirmations for writers: i know how to write. i have seen sentences before, and i know how to make one. i can identify up to several words and their meanings. i am not afraid of semicolons.

[zoro-sremedy]

Nanami is the type of husband to start feeding you (yes, this man does the cooking) extra, extra nutrition-rich meals + vitamins + anything else you crave months before he even confesses that he wants to pound you pregnant. 

[zoro-sremedy]

500 FOLLOWERS MILESTONE!

I am SO SO SO grateful to everyone who has supported me! I left this platform a long time ago and came back on a whim, never thought it would mean starting over this beautiful journey as a writer again.

Once again, thank you so much for your support and love, it means everything to me! <3

I never introduced myself, so here's a brief summary of silly little me:

My name is Dex, I am 27 (almost 28) y/o, I am a doctor where I'm from. I've been writing on and off since I was 14 (y'know how it is). My favorites currently are Geto, Sukuna, Nanami, Toji. And my forever fave is obvs in my name Zoro.

Fav tropes? enemies to lover, angst with good ending, bad guy falls in love, etc... the good stuff lmaoo

Maybe one day I'll share a pic, until then. I'm at your service to bring happiness and entertainment to relax from the outside world!

As a gift, i got this:

🎉 500 Followers—Let’s Go Off, JJK Style. 🎉

Choose a trope below + a character from Jujutsu Kaisen and send it to my ask box! Want fluff/romance, angst, or smut? Add a tag: 🌸​❤️ 🔥 (Multiple requests welcome! I’ll write what calls to me 💌)

Pick a trope + a JJK character = I’ll write it (fluff, angst, smut—your choice 💌)

Only One Bed (and they sleep suspiciously close…)

Enemies to Lovers (with gritted teeth and heavy breathing)

Drunk Confessions / Sloppy Kisses (bonus: who pretends not to remember?)

Fake Dating to Piss Someone Off… oops.

Jealousy Sex (or just petty grumpiness + kisses)

Friends with Benefits But Someone Catches Feelings

Caught in the Rain (and no umbrella, of course)

Bandaging Them Up… Carefully… Too Carefully.

"You Call That Flirting?" (they absolutely meant it)

Wearing Their Clothes / Hoodie Scene™

Trapped Together (elevator, mission cave-in, blizzard, etc.)

Accidental Confession (that they try—and fail—to walk back)

Exes Who Still Want Each Other (but won’t say it out loud)

Touch-Starved, But They Don’t Know How to Ask for It

“I Hate Everyone But You” (and they mean it)

[zoro-sremedy]

GOOD MORNING, BABE!

Synopsis. Your morning voice sure does some things!

Including. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Megumi, Nobara, Shoko, Yuji, Sukuna.

Risk assessment rated T. For suggestive, maybe?

a/n: a lil' sum sum so we can get through the week <3 this one is just standalone text lol

[zoro-sremedy]

SOFT LAUNCH BF! GETO SUGURU

“If you know, you know. If you don’t, stay confused.”

Synopsis. Soft launching your boyfriend attracts a lot of attention (and opinions).

Soft launch bf SMAU! Gojo Satoru

[zoro-sremedy]

In the fine print. Six. Time off the clock.

Brief summary:

A merger puts them on opposite sides of the table… and then all over each other. Sex, secrets, and sabotage—falling wasn’t part of the plan, but some deals are made in whispers and signed between the sheets.

Word Count: 11.2k

Risk assessment 18+ mdni, smut and crack, stablished relationship, unprotected sex, riding, oral sex, but of a jealousy moment, semi-public sex, very self-serving my bad.

a/n: thank you everyone who supported this silly little thing of mine, i appreciate ya'll <3

The car ride from the airport felt like a gentle dream—tropical air thick with frangipani, the hum of the cicadas, the occasional distant crash of waves. By the time the SUV pulled up the winding hill, the stars had overtaken the sky, and the soft flow of the villa welcomed you like an exhale.

Perched at the edge of the cliff, the villa looked like it belonged in a postcard. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls revealed an open-air living space framed by teakwood and soft linen drapes dancing in the breeze. A private infinity pool spilled toward the horizon, its edge seemingly kissing the midnight blue ocean below.

Inside, it was quite—intentionally so. The staff had come and gone, leaving soft lighting, chilled fruit, and a handwritten note on the counter: Welcome. No interruptions unless requested. Have a beautiful stay.

Zoro dropped your bags inside the master suite, did a quick sweep of the grounds like he was checking for hidden enemies, then finally let out a satisfied grunt. "Good. No one's breathing near us."

You laughed, toeing off your shoes as you stepped barefoot onto the cool marble floors, already feeling your bones loosen from weeks of nonstop pressure. In this little pocket of paradise—no meetings, no lawsuits, no docks, no sabotage—just the two of you. Alone. At last.

He turned just in time to catch you twirling lazily in the open living space, fingers trailing across gauzy white curtains as you peeked toward the edge of the infinity pool that melted into the sea. The moonlight hit your skin just right, casting you in divine light.

Zoro leaned against the doorframe and watched you like he was starving. Not for sex—though that was always there, simmering—but for this. You. Free and unburdened.

"You know you're acting like you brought me here just to stare at me," you teased, catching his gaze as you walked past him.

"That's exactly what I did," he said without shame. You tried to at least pick the duffel back with the old clothes—you changed on the plane into some oversized fit for comfort—but Zoro, quick as always, just snatched it from the chair and walked up the stairs to the master suit.

"I can help—"

"Nope." Zoro responded, walking ahead without even looking at you. His voice is calm, final. Not because he doesn't trust you—he just wants you to rest now. It's his way of taking care of you.

You follow him, your eyes taking in the beauty of the master room with a balcony looking over the sea. "This is gorgeous," you mutter, mesmerized with the view. Zoro drops the bag near the dresser, then circles back looking for you. "We should take a bath," he came up behind you, circling your waist and dropping a kiss on the nape of your neck.

You hummed, resting against him as you looked at the bedsheets, "this bed looks comfy." Zoro chuckled against your skin. "Bed's not going anywhere. Bath first."

You were tempted to argue, mostly because the bed did look like it could swallow you whole, but his hands were already moving—lifting your hoodie between kisses, you assumed he was trying to coax you out of your comfy clothes. His hands were swift and delicate in undoing your clothes, like he'd done it a hundred times. Maybe he had, in other lives. Maybe in this one he'd make sure he'd do it a hundred more.

"Are you running a bath or watching me strip?" you teased, brushing your nose against his jaw. Zoro's eyes, half-lidded from the long day and the low light, gleamed with something darker. "Multitasking."

The bath was already drawn and beautifully decorated with colorful flower petals by the time you wandered into the bathroom, a sunken tub surrounded by the polished stone and candles flickering softly along the ledge. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and sea salt. You stepped in first, sighing at the heat, letting your head fall back.

Zoro joined a moment later with a quiet groan as the hot water hit his muscles. He pulled you into his lap, your back against his chest, arms wrapping snugly around your waist under the water. He didn't say much—he rarely did when his body spoke louder—but his hands were gentle, soothing, trailing over your thighs, your stomach, your ribs, more worship than touch.

"You planning on behaving?" you asked softly, your voice echoing slightly in the tiled room. "I'm in a bath with you naked on top of me," Zoro said, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. "Define 'behave'."

His hands wandered, but never too far—teasing, exploring, like he wanted to memorize your shape all over again. When he nuzzled your neck, warm lips pressed behind your ear, you shivered despite the water.

"Missed you," he said again, quieter this time. Like a truth he'd only allow to surface here, in the dim candlelight and steam. "I know," you murmured. "I missed you too."

After the bath, your silky, rather slutty nightgown clung to your shape in all the right places—silk against skin, just shy of scandalous. Zoro's eyes raked over you in appreciation as he tugged on a white T-shirt over those grey sweatpants that had no business fitting him that well.

He blinked, taking you in. Paused mid-swipe of his towel through his hair.

"…That wasn't in the duffel bag," he said.

"Nope," you smirked, gliding past him like you hadn't just fried every functioning nerve in his body. "It was in my suitcase. Izo would never." He muttered something that sounded like "evil genius" under his breath and had to sit down for a second while you disappeared to the veranda. "Eyes up, boy."

"You wore that and you want me to stop?" he shot back, letting you lead the way.

The view outside was pure magic—moonlight like spilled silver across the ocean, the sound of waves below filling the silence. You leaned forward on the railing, eyes wide, utterly lost in the beauty. Zoro appeared behind you, arms slipping around your waist again, chin resting on your shoulder. His voice was a quiet rumble. "I've never seen anything like this."

You nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's beautiful."

He didn't clarify when his hands tightened around you and he pressed a kiss to your temple that he wasn't talking about the view. He then dipped his head, kissing you slowly—no rush, no pressure, just that simmering heat between your bodies finally allowed to breathe.

His hands roamed your sides, slipping under the silk robe like it was second nature, fingertips grazing bare skin in a way that had your breath catching. You broke the kiss only long enough to whisper, "You always stare at me like I'm gonna disappear."

"That's 'cause I still can't believe I get to have you," he said, voice husky, forehead pressed to yours. "And I don't plan on wasting a single second."

Another kiss. Deeper this time. You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him closer as his hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly to sit on the balcony ledge—safe in his grip. The moon glowed behind you both, the ocean roared below.

You weren't sure how long you stayed there on the balcony, perched in his arms, his lips trailing slow paths across your collarbone, your jaw, your lips again. Everything about the night felt suspended—moonlight, heat, touch—all wrapped in the kind of quiet that only came with truly being alone.

Then Zoro's stomach growled. Loudly. Rudely.

You blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. His face didn't even flinch.

"Seriously?" you asked, breathless and half-laughing against his mouth. "Man's gotta eat," he muttered, only slightly sheepish.

You rolled your eyes and tapped his shoulder. "Come on, big guy. Let's see what culinary miracles this villa left us."

The soft light from overhead sconces greeted you as you stepped barefoot into the open-concept kitchen. The marble countertop gleamed in the warm light, and there, laid out like a quiet invitation, was spread of grilled fish, jewel-toned fruit, and warm coconut rice. A chilled bottle of white wine and two glasses sat nearby, condensation already forming on the glass.

"Oh," you breathed, delighted. "I think they read your mind."

Zoro reached for a skewer of fish like he'd just been handed treasure. "That's terrifying. My mind's usually just work and you."

"Not necessarily in that order," you teased, siding onto one of the stools. The smooth marble was cool under your thighs as you fixed your nightgown.

Zoro glanced up at you as he poured wine into your glass. "Lately? Definitely you first."

He didn't sit right away. Just stood there for a beat, looking at you from across the counter—your tousled hair, your skin supple and glowing from the bath, the way you looked so soft and content in the warm light. Then he moved around the island tucked himself into the stool beside you, legs brushing.

His voice was low, private. "You look like something I'd dream up on a bad night."

You tilted your head. "And a good one?"

"I don't need to dream a good one." He speared a piece of mango and held it to your lips.

You took the mango with a smirk, biting down slowly just to be dramatic. "Mm. Sweet."

Zoro didn't blink, just leaned in slightly, voice dry. "Don't make me regret feeding you."

"You never regret feeding me," you said, licking a bit of juice from your bottom lip, fully aware of his eyes tracking  the movement. "You love when I'm satisfied."

That got a snort from him, low and amused. He leaned his elbow on the marble counter, wine glass in hand. "You're lucky I'm tired and fed or I'd throw you over my shoulder for that."

"Promises, promises."

He shook his head, but the smile didn't leave his face. For a minute, you both just sat in that rare, perfect stillness—no phones buzzing, no urgent meetings, no interruptions.

Then you glanced sideways at him. "So how bad is the lawsuit situation now?"

Zoro groaned, resting his forehead on your shoulder like he could manifest the stress away. "Still annoying. But manageable. Luffy keeps calling me 'Attorney-at-sword' like that helps."

You choked on your wine. "Please tell me that's not in any official documentation."

"It might be," he muttered, taking a sip. "I stopped reading the memos Ace writes after he started adding memes at the bottom."

You laughed, wiping your mouth. "God. It's a miracle anything gets done."

"That's because you hold everything together," Zoro said simply, without even looking up. "You make it easier for the rest of us to be idiots."

The honesty in it quieted you for a second. You glanced at him and caught him already watching you again—eyes a little softer, a little more often than usual.

"You know," you said after a beat, "if I didn't love what I do, I'd probably quit and open a noodle cart or something."

Zoro raised an eyebrow. "That your dream?"

"No," you said with a small smile. "My dream's being wherever you are. Noodle cart optional."

He blinked. Then looked away like he was trying to pretend that didn't hit him dead in the chest. "…I could be into a noodle cart," he said eventually, scratching the back of his neck. "If we're on a beach somewhere. Maybe have a dojo too, to scare off shitty customers with my sword."

You leaned your cheek into your palm, smiling. "That the plan then? We retire early, sell soba, and raise hell?" Zoro's gaze turned thoughtful. "That—or we keep climbing for now, until we're powerful enough no one can touch us. Then disappear before the world gets boring."

"You sound like you've thought about this."

"I have." He set his glass down and turned toward you fully. "Not the soba part. Just the you and me part."

That sobered you for real. Your heart thudded in your chest, but you didn't break eye contact.

"You're serious."

Zoro nodded. "I'm always serious about you."

A long stretch between you—too much, maybe, for the quiet of the night—but neither of you rushed to fill it. It wasn't heavy. Just real.

The Zoro glanced at your nearly-empty glass and deadpanned. "You gonna finish that wine, or do I need to romance it too?" You laughed, the tension breaking like a wave. "You can try, but I'm a jealous woman. Even over wine."

Zoro leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Good. Jealousy looks good on you." You nudged his shoulders with yours. "So does soft. Keep being sweet and I might have to marry you."

He grinned lazily, elbow still on the counter, like it wasn't his first time thinking about it. "Tell me when. I'll be the one wearing a suit and waiting at the altar."

For a moment, you just stared at him.

"You can't just say that," you mumbled, half-laughing, half-horrified.

Zoro looked unbothered as ever. "Why not? You started it."

"I did not—"

He raised an eyebrow. "You said 'might have to marry you'. Sounds pretty official to me." You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "That was banter, Zo'. Teasing. Flirting."

"You flirt with me about marriage and I'm not supposed to take it seriously?" he asked, leaning in just enough that you felt his smirk against your cheek. "Don't start if you can't handle the follow-through."

You peeked at him through your fingers, cheeks blazing. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Yeah," he said, easily. "I am."

You reached for your wine just to do something, but he gently plucked it from your hand and set it down. Then his fingers intertwined with yours, warm and steady.

"You meant it," he said, not a question.

You met his gaze, heart tripping over itself. Then, softly, "…yeah. I did."

He nodded like that settled something inside him. "Good."

"You really not gonna let me be cool about this, are you?"

"Nope," he said, grinning just a little. "I like you flustered. Makes me feel like I'm doing something right."

You were still trying to recover when he brushed his thumb along your jaw, then leaned in just a breath away.

"Flustered, gorgeous, and mine," Zoro murmured, voice low and steady. "Perfect combo." And then he kissed you—slow, warm, devastating. The kind of kiss that makes you forget what you were doing, where you were sitting, who you were before his mouth touched yours. His hand slid to the back of your neck, anchoring you like he needed you right there, exactly like this.

By the time he pulled away, your fingers were curled in his shirt and your brain had officially shut down.

"Okay," you said softly, dazed.

Zoro smirked, smug but soft. "You done trying to be cool?"

"No promises," you breathed, not moving an inch.

He stood with a stretch, and before you could blink, he hooked an arm around your waist and lifted you off the stool like it was nothing.

"Zoro!" You yelped, gripping his shoulder.

"Bedtime," he said, already carrying you up the stairs. "I'm not sleeping without you."

You melted against his chest, unable to help the grin spreading across your face. "Big baby."

"You love me anyways."

You did.

And when he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, you knew you'd follow him anywhere.

-

You didn't remember falling asleep.

Just the weight of his arm around your waist, the warmth of his body tucked behind yours, and the steady sound of his breathing easing into your dreams.

Now, sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting pale gold lines across the sheets. Outside, the world was quiet—only the sound of waves in the distance, a few birds calling, the rustle of palm fronds swaying lazily.

Zoro's chest rose and fell against your back, his breath warm where it ghosted over your shoulder. His arm was still around you, heavy and protective, and one of his legs had managed to tangle with both of yours sometime during the night. You didn't dare to move.

Not when he was this relaxed. Not when his grip on you tightened instinctively every time you shifted. You tilted your head just enough to look back at him.

His face was buried in your hair, brows smooth, mouth soft. The kind of peace he didn't always allow himself to have. Here, though, with you—he looked young. Open. Like the weight he usually carried was somewhere else for once.

You reached back blindly and brushed your fingertips against his side.

He stirred a little, made a low noise, and tightened his hold. "Mm," he mumbled into your skin. "Where're you going?"

"I wasn't," you whispered, smiling. "Just making sure you're real."

Zoro cracked an eye open, just barely. "You always this sappy in the morning?"

"Only when I wake up to someone stupidly hot and criminally clingy."

His arm flexed around your waist. "Clingy?"

"You're practically fused to me."

He hummed, smug. "Your fault. Shouldn't be this warm and soft."

You laughed into the pillow. "You're ridiculous."

"Marry me then," he said, like he was asking you to pass the salt.

You blinked, brain still catching up. "Zoro."

He didn't move. Just nuzzled into the crook of your neck like he hadn't just casually proposed in his gravelly morning voice.

"I swear to god," you whispered, heart pounding. "You can't just say that when I'm half-asleep and half-naked."

He kissed your shoulder, lazy and unbothered. "You said you liked me soft."

"Soft isn't the word I'd use for what you're doing with your knee right now," you muttered, shifting against the leg slotted firmly between yours. It was a mistake. His breath hitched at the friction, and then—suddenly—his hand was sliding lower.

"You started it," he murmured against your neck, voice darkening. "Woke me up being all warm and pretty, pressing that sweet ass back on me like you wanted this."

"I didn't—" But your protests broke off in a breathy gasp as his fingers dragged up the inside of your thigh. "Liar," he said, voice thick with sleep and something darker. "You were grinding on me in your sleep. Thought I was dreaming it. But you're real, aren’t you, love?"

You writhed under his grip, mouth dry, pulse fluttering as his hand finally slipped between your legs.

"Zoro—"

"You gonna let me take my time with you?" he rasped. "Or do I have to remind you who you belong to again?" You shifted slightly, your ass pressing back into his hips, feeling the line of his cock between your thighs. "Mm," you murmured, glancing at him over your shoulder. "I want you to remind me."

Zoro let out a low, dangerous laugh. "You're gonna regret saying that, sweetheart." Your breath caught as his fingers slipped beneath the edge of your underwear, lazy at first, like he had all the time in the world.

"Two weeks," he murmured against your skin, thumb brushing right where it made you twitch. "Two weeks of meetings, stress, bullshit—and I couldn't touch you how I wanted to."

His tone was still low, still soft, but there was a fire smoldering under every word. His hand slid lower again, fingers slipping between your thighs, stroking through the slick heat with slow, devastating precision.

"I missed this," he rasped against your neck. "Missed being inside you. Missed this pussy so much it hurts."

"You think I didn't?" You breathed, rocking your hips. "I've been aching for you."

You whimpered as he circled your clit, the pads of his fingers drawing lazy, torturous shapes. His mouth still followed the curve of your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin just enough to sting before he soothed it with a kiss.

You could feel his cock, hard and heavy against your ass, grinding in slow, shallow thrusts like he was barely holding back.

Then his fingers slipped inside you—just two at first, curling in that way that made you keep—and his lips found that soft spot behind your ear. "Fuck, you're soaked," he muttered, voice fraying with every movement. "How long you been this wet for me, huh?"

"Since yesterday," you breathed, biting your lip. "Since the car—since you put your hand on my thigh and didn't do shit about it."

Zoro growled low, like the sound rumble from his chest straight through your spine. "You think I didn't want to bend you over right then?"

His fingers pumped deeper, curling, twisting, making your legs tremble.

"I waited. Let you sleep. Let you rest." He bit at your throat again, then soothed it with his tongue. "But now love—now I'm not holding back."

You were panting now, arching into every touch, chasing the edge. "That's it," he coaxed. "Let me feel you fall apart."

"Yes, fuck—just like that," you panted, grinding down as his thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit. He kept his mouth on your neck, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin before biting down. You clenched around his fingers, body trembling.

"Zoro—oh my god—please—"

"Come," he growled. "Let me have it."

You broke like a wave, hips jerking as pleasure tore through you, crying out his name into the pillow. He didn't stop—not until you were twitching, gasping, legs shaking against his.

"That's it," he whispered, pulling his fingers out and sliding them up to your lips. "Taste what you do to me."

You sucked them in, watching the way his eyes darkened.

"Good girl," he said roughly, voice dripping with devotion. Then he gripped your thigh and dragged your leg over his, opening you up again.

Then he shifted. Reaching down to line himself up, and pushed in with one slow, endless stroke that had both of you gasping. You clutched at the sheets, overwhelmed, but he kept you steady—his arm under your waist, anchoring you as he rolled his hips.

"Fucking tight," he hissed, mouth pressed against your shoulder. "Like you were made for me."

The side angle let him go deep, every thrust brushing against places that made you see stars. His pace was slow but forceful, like he was savoring it—claiming every inch of you from the inside out.

"You like this?" he asked, kissing the hinge of your jaw. "Me inside you like this?"

"Yes—Zoro, please, don't stop—feels so fucking good—"

He groaned, the sound raw and possessive. "Not gonna stop. Gonna fuck you just like this till you scream my name."

Every thrust made you moan loader, your nails digging into his forearm where it cradled you. You were already close again—your body taut, clenching around him.

"I can feel you," he growled. "So fucking tight. You gonna come for me again?"

"Y-Yes—please, I want to, I'm so close—!"

His hand slid down, fingers circling your clit again in time with his thrusts. "Then give it to me."

You came hard, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open in a soundless moan as he fucked you through it, praising you with every breath.

He kissed your shoulder once. Then he pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion, his hands rough as he dragged your hips up. A sharp smack landed on your ass—just enough to sting and make you gasp.

Then he was inside you again, deeper from this angle, rougher now—his hands gripping your hips as he thrust into you like a man possessed. The slap of skin to skin filled the room, your moans muffled by the pillow, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

"Zoro—fuck, yes—"

"That's it, pretty girl," he panted. "Take all of me. Let me fuck you full."

The slap of skin filled the room, his hips snapping against your ass, the rhythm unforgiving. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to arch your back more, to make you feel every inch of him.

You were wrecked—moaning, crying out, clawing at the sheets.

"This what you wanted?" he gritted. "Me fucking you stupid?"

"Y-Yeah—wanted it so bad—wanted you—"

He let out a sharp groan, hips stuttering. "Gonna come—gonna fill this pussy up so good—fuck—"

With one last brutal thrust, he spilled inside you, pulsing deep, his mouth dropping to your shoulder as he groaned your name like a prayer.

Both of you collapsed into the sheets, panting, body slick and trembling. He didn't pull out. Just wrapped his arms around you from behind again, breath hot on your shoulder.

"Mine," he murmured, voice rough and possessive. "All mine."

His breath was still rough against your skin, chest rising and falling as he held you flush against him. His hand smoothed down your thigh, gripping it possessively even as the tension slowly bled from his muscles.

You were both coated in sweat, his come leaking down your thighs, your heart still thudding like it hadn't caught up.

"Can't feel my legs," you mumbled into the pillow, voice hoarse.

Zoro let out a low, smug chuckle. "You're welcome."

You elbowed him weakly. "Cocky bastard."

He bit your shoulder in retaliation—playful, not gentle. "Say that again."

"Cocky," you whispered, twisting just enough to glance at him over your shoulder, "and a bastard."

Zoro's mouth brushed against yours before you could smirk again, kissing you lazily, like he had all the time in the world now that he'd had a taste.

"You're lucky I'm still recovering," he murmured against your lips. "Otherwise I'd have you crying on my cock again already."

"Mmm," you hummed, nipping his bottom lip. "Who says I'd be crying?"

Zoro's hand cupped your jaw, forcing your gaze to his. His eyes were darker now—molten, possessive, hungry all over again.

"Don't tempt me," he growled. "You'll lose." You tilted your chin up, licking into his mouth with a grin. "Then stop stalling."

Well, he couldn't disappoint you, did he?

He rolled you onto your back in one fluid motion, your legs still shaking slightly as he shifted between them. He didn't rush this time—just kissed you, deep and slow, until you were sighing into his mouth, your hands in his hair, pulling him close.

He cupped your breast with one hand, thumbing your nipple as he kissed down your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. You arched into his mouth, moaning softly when his tongue flicked over a sensitive spot.

"You're insatiable," you whispered, breath hitching.

"Only for you," he said, voice thick with heat. "Wanna see your face when I'm inside you this time. Want to feel every fucking twitch, every sound you make."

You didn't get a chance to respond—he was already guiding himself back inside, slow and steady.

The stretch made your mouth fall open in a gasp. He groaned low in his chest, bracing weight on one elbow while the other hand slid to your thigh, pulling it up around his waist.

This time, there was no roughness—just depth. Every stroke was deliberate, angled perfectly, grinding against every sweet spot inside you. The eye contact alone had you unraveling, your hands gripping his back, your mouth soft and open under his.

Zoro dipped his forehead to yours, voice rough. "That's it. Take all of me, baby. Let me make you feel good."

"You already do," you whispered, barely able to think.

"Yeah?" He didn't speed up. He didn't need to. Just a steady, consuming rhythm, his gaze locked to yours, his hand pressed flat against your stomach like he wanted to feel himself inside you from the outside too. "Then show me."

The pressure built fast. Not just between your legs, but behind your ribs—tight and aching, like every second of missing him was crashing back into you all at once.

You tried to blink back. Tried to keep teasing, keep control.

But he knew.

His hand slid up to cradle your jaw. "Don't look away."

"Zoro—" you whispered, voice cracking.

"Let go," he said, softer now. "Don't hold back. Give it to me."

Your eyes flooded, the tears slipping hot and silent down your cheeks as your orgasm hit—blinding, unbearable, perfect. Your body arched into his, shaking, your mouth open in a sob as you clenched around him.

"Oh my god—Zoro—"

He kissed your cheek, your temple, catching the tears as they fell. "That's it. So fucking beautiful. You feel that? How tight you are for me?"

He didn't stop moving until you high crested and fell, until you were clinking to him and trembling from the aftershocks.

Your body was still twitching from the last orgasm, muscles limp and slick with sweat beneath him. Zoro didn’t stop kissing you—slow, heated brushes of his mouth over your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your lips. Like he needed to anchor himself or maybe just remind you that you were his.

You were still catching your breath when he shifted his grip, hooking both your legs up higher against his sides, then folding them back—his strength pressing you in, bending you nearly in half beneath him. The shift made you gasp.

"Zoro—"

"You said you could handle it," he said slowly, lips brushing your temple. "Let's see how many more times I can make you cry."

Your nails dug into his biceps, already trembling again. "You bastard!"

He grinned, utterly calm—completely focused on you like nothing else in the world mattered. "Yeah. Yours, though."

Then he started moving.

It was deep—devastatingly deep—the new angle hitting something that made you jolt, back arching as you cried out his name. Zoro grunted softly, watching your every reaction, his jaw tight with restraint.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured. "So perfect underneath me. So fucking pretty when you fall apart."

He didn't let up—slow and grinding, each stroke purposeful, made to reach places that had you crying and clenching around him. He leaned down, his mouth catching yours again, stealing every moan and whimper you gave.

"You take it so good for me," he praised, voice rough, reverent. "So wet. So tight. Like your body was made for me."

"Zoro—please—" Your voice broke, overwhelmed and close to the edge again.

He didn't stop. Didn't even blink. "One more," he breathed against your lips. "I want one more, baby. Give it to me."

Your vision blurred, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your orgasm slammed into you—shattering and hot, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath him.

Zoro groaned, deep and wrecked, as you clenched tight around him, overwhelmed by the sensitivity. "That's it. Fuck, that's my girl. Cryin' for me."

He held your legs back tighter, pistoning into you just a few more times before the heat in him snapped—his mouth crushing against yours as he came hard, thick and deep, growling your name between kisses as his body locked against yours.

You barely registered the soft groan he let out as he came, hips rocking deep and slow, like he was giving you everything he had left. When he finally stilled, still buried inside you, he didn't move right away—just hovered above you, forehead pressed to yours, his breath warm and shaky against your lips.

Your legs felt numb. Your throat burned. Your whole body trembled from the aftershock.

And Zoro?

The bastard was smiling.

Not wide. Not mocking. Just that smug little curve at the corner of his mouth as he brushed his thumb across your cheek and kissed your temple like he'd just won a long, quiet war.

"Told you," he muttered, voice all gravel and silk. "You don't get to challenge me like that."

You huffed, breath catching. "That wasn't—fuck—you didn't have to break me."

He chuckled, deep and low, still smug as hell. "Didn't hear you complaining."

You covered your face with one hand. "I cried."

"I know," he kissed your shoulder. "So fucking pretty when you cry for me."

"Zoro—"

"Wanna try me again?"

"…Shut up."

He grinned and buried his face in your neck, utterly content.

The air was still warm with the scent of salt and sex when they finally slowed down. Your cheek rested against Zoro's chest, slick with sweat and still rising and falling beneath your ears. His fingers lazily traced patterns along your back, and for a while, neither of you moved—unwilling to break the fragile peace that settled between them like mist on water.

Eventually, it was your stomach that growled first. Loud enough to make Zoro chuckle under his breath.

"Guess that means round four has to wait," he murmured, voice low and warm against her temple. You laughed into his skin. "You menace."

"You started it," he said, completely unapologetic.

The villa kitchen was stocked, thanks to Izo, and you threw one of the oversized hoodies he'd pack for you—navy blue and soft as sin, swallowing your frame. Zoro came out shirtless, black sweatpants riding dangerously low, hair still damp from the quick rinse he took. He looked like every girl's wet dream and absolutely none of their business.

You made coffee while he sliced into tropical fruit with ridiculous precision. Papaya, mango, dragonfruit—everything laid out like it was a damn spa.

He fed you a piece of mango with his fingers. You bit down slowly, his gaze filling with lust as you stared at him in that devilish way that drove him insane.

"Vacation looks good on you," you quipped. "Could say the same," he replied, eyes skimming down her legs, hoodie be damned.

-

The sun was high by the time they hit the beach. The resort had semi-private access to a long, untouched stretch of coastline, and they made the most of it.

She floated in a bright inflatable ring, big sunglasses over her eyes, one leg lazily trailing in the water. Not a care in the world. Not a meeting. Not a phone call. Just sun, salt, and freedom.

From her perch in the water, she watched Zoro wipe out for the third time on a rented surfboard. The board shit out sideways and he landed with a spectacular splash that had a nearby couple clapping in sympathy.

"You're supposed to stand on it, not fight it!" she called out, shading her eyes.

Zoro emerged from the water with his hair plastered to his forehead, board under one arm, and an expression that could kill. Still, even soaking wet and half-salted, he looked criminally good. Like something out of a sportswear ad. Abs defined, tanned, droplets tracing lines down his chest—and way too smug about it.

He stalked out of the surf, heading straight for your floatie.

"No," you warned, paddling backwards in the water like a lazy turtle. "Don't you dare— Zoro!"

He flipped the float with a grin, dunking her clean into the ocean.

You came up spluttering, half-blinded by seawater and laughter, smacked him on the chest. "You idiot!."

"Totally worth it," he said, brushing your wet hair off her face. His hand lingered just a second too long.

They hadn't even dried off when the couple who had been watching Zoro's surfing misadventures waved them over from the beach net. They looked around their age—honeymooners, maybe. The guy was tall and sunburned in a charming way, clearly American; his partner had a sunhat and killer reflexes, French accent light but noticeable.

"You two want to join?" the woman asked. "Two-on-two?"

Zoro looked at her as you lifted your chin as a challenge. "You're on."

They were chaotic on court. Zoro dove like he was in the Olympics. She trash-talked like it was a barfight. The French woman spiked like she was training for the Olympics, and her husband somehow got sand in his ear and still scored three points.

When ya'll finally won the last round—barely—Zoro lifted you up to sit on his shoulder like a trophy, both of them laughed, flushing from the sun and adrenaline.

You actually got the French lady—Léa— phone number as she invited you both to get some drinks in a bar near the villas and would send you the details later as she picked her sand-filled husband to go get snacks.

Later, both were sprawled on towels under a palm tree, post-swim and sun-warm. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, and the sky burned pink and orange over the horizon. Zoro leaned back on his elbows, beside you, hair drying in unruly spikes, gaze on the endless water.

"This place… quiet," he said. "Too damn peaceful."

You tilted your head toward him, curious. "Too peaceful?"

He shrugged. "It's just… I don't remember the last time I slowed down."

You turned back to the ocean, thinking. "Yeah, I get that. Once you're on your way to the top, it feels wrong to stop."

They lay in comfortable silence for a few beats.

"I think I've always felt like I had to prove something," you said eventually, voice quieter. "Being Pop's daughter. I never wanted to coast on it. Not at work. Not with anyone."

Zoro didn't look at her right away. He just reached over and took her hand, grounding and warm. "I've never seen you do anything that it's not with your own effort," he said. "You're amazing and everyone can fuck off. You have nothing to prove. Not to me."

Your heart fluttered—not in the girlish way, but in that deep, still-water kind of way. Like something meaningful had just been placed between them.

You gave him a warm look. "What about you? What do you want, Roronoa?"

He gave it a real thought, eyes scanning the horizon.

"I don't know yet, I've just been running non stop after we took off," he admitted. "But lately… this," he squeezed your hand, returning your look with one of his own, "feels pretty close to it."

-

After a text from Lea with the info of the rooftop bar, you and Zoro wrap the beach day and go back to the villa for a much needed shower and a change of clothes. It sounded like an easy enough plan if it wasn't for Zoro interfering by eating you out when you were trying to get into your dress.

So, a while much later than you wanted, because Zoro just couldn't keep his hands to himself in the car either, both arrived at the dimly lit bar. A very content albeit smug Zoro and a fucked out you, by extension.

 The rooftop bar sat at the top of a boutique hotel, lantern-lit with string lights and soft ambient music. Palm trees framed the skyline, and the ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and citrus. The kind of place people took pictures just to prove they'd been.

Léa and her husband, Daniel, were already halfway through their first round of drinks, waving you over with bright grins. Léa raised an eyebrow when she saw you, sharp eyes clocking you slightly tousled hair and the way Zoro had a proud hand low on your back.

"You two took your time," she teased, sipping her mojito.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Zoro placed a hand firmly at the small of your back, smug and unrepentant. That alone sends a message. You shot her a look that said don’t even ask.

Daniel stood to pull out a chair. "We weren't sure if you'd make it. Thought maybe the ocean swallowed you." "Almost," Zoro muttered under his breath, earning a pointed elbow from you.

Drinks came quickly—something local and tropical for you, straight whiskey for Zoro, who took a sip and sighed like he hadn't felt that relaxed in years.

Daniel chuckled. "We were starting to think you two were honeymooning. You've got that just-married look."

Your face went warm. "Oh—we're not—"

"We'll get there," Zoro said, without missing a beat. His tone was casual, but the glint in his eye was anything but. Like he liked how that sounded. Like he'd already decided.

You shot him a look, half-flustered, half-melting.

Lea laughed into her drink. "Ah, I see. One of those couples. Dangerous."

Daniel raised his glass. "To future honeymoons, then."

Zoro clinked his whiskey to Daniel's with the ghost of a grin. "Cheers."

The conversation flowed easily. Lea was a travel journalist; Daniel taught scuba diving and made dad jokes at a criminal rate. Zoro mostly observed, making questions here and there about Daniel's job which piqued his interest with an occasional dry comment that had Daniel wheezing, while your laughter mingled with Lea's across the table.

The rooftop bar's soft glow flickered across the dance floor as you and Lea made your way back from the bathroom, laughter still from some story she told about Daniel's failed snorkeling adventure.

Then you saw her.

Some girl—tan, legs for days, and dripping in designer shimmer—was perched too close to Zoro at your table. One hand twirled her hair, the other spread on the table near Zoro's drink. You couldn't hear her over the music, but you didn't need to. The posture said everything.

Zoro, for his part, didn't even pretend to entertain it. He was leaning back, clearly uncomfortable, brow raised in mild irritation as he said something that made the girl freeze slightly, lips tightening. And that was right when you walked up—heels clicking against tile.

"Problem?" you asked, voice sweet as syrup.

Zoro's entire body relaxed when he saw you, like someone had turned down the heat. He slipped an arm around your waist and tugged you close without hesitation. "Not anymore."

The girl blinked at you. "I didn't realize he was—"

"Taken?" you cut in, leaning into Zoro's shoulder as he smirked against your neck. "Yeah, Very. Thoroughly." You let your hand trail teasingly down his chest as if to mark your territory, ending right at his belt loop.

Zoro glanced down at you with lazy amusement. "You done?"

"Not even close," you murmured, smiling back at the other woman like a wolf in sheep clothes.

The girl blinked, flushed with a mix of embarrassment and irritation, then bolted toward the bar. Zoro watched her go, unbothered. Then his gaze slid back to you—slow, heavy, like you'd just set off something in him.

"That was hot," he said, plain and low, eyes dark with amused hunger.

You arched a brow. "The way I put her in her place or the way I touched you?"

He leaned in, mouth brushed your jaw. "Both. Don't stop on my account."

Before he could make good on that smirk, Lea's voice cut through the tension. "Okay, I feel like I just witnessed foreplay and I wasn't emotionally prepared."

Daniel groaned. "I was! And now I need a drink and a therapist."

You and Zoro both laughed as you turned back to your seat, Zoro looping his arm around your waist, fingers tapping a slow beat against your side like he was still thinking about what you said—and how you said it.

As the evening wore on, someone ordered shots. The DJ shifted the playlist to something more upbeat. Lights dimmed. The rooftop crowd thinned, and Lea leaned closer over the table.

"There's dancing inside," she said with a conspiratorial grin. "Come on—don't make me drag you." You rolled your eyes, but stood anyway, tugging Zoro's hand. "Let's go, muscle man."

Zoro gave your hand a skeptical tug. "I don't do clubs."

You arched a brow. "We're not clubbing. We're on a rooftop with overpriced cocktails and a decent DJ." He grunted, eyes narrowing at the soft crowd starting to form near the bar's lounge space. "Still loud."

"You can lift like 400lb without breaking a sweat but you're scared of reggaeton?"

That earned you a faint smirk. "Not scared. Just not my rhythm."

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "They'll probably play something slow in five minutes. Bet you won't even need to try."

His hand found your waist like muscle memory. "I don't try. I just do."

Lea and Daniel disappeared ahead of you into the indoor lounge space, already swaying to the rhythm of the music pulsing through hidden speakers. You tugged Zoro toward the crowd, his steps slower, deliberate—like he was doing this for you, and only you.

Inside, the lights were warmer, dimmer—rich ambers and low reds that kissed every surface like candlelight. The beat thumped low and lazy, something sensual threading through the room like smoke.

You turned to face him, fingers slipping into his belt loops as you started to move, slow and steady. Hips swaying, eyes locked. "See?" you murmured, "not so scary."

Zoro's hands found your hips, grounding you to him. "Still loud."

You laughed, letting your hands glide up his chest. "Still hot."

He smirked, then leaned in���forehead against yours. "You keep looking at me like that, we're leaving early."

You shrugged, brushing your nose against his. "I'm not the one who started something in the shower, the hallway, and the car." He pulled you flush against him, bodies swaying as the music melted into something slower—almost promising.

"I'll finish it," he murmured. "Eventually."

Just as you were starting to lose yourself in the sway, a movement caught your eye—Lea and Daniel in the far corner of the lounge, absolutely devouring each other like teenagers on prom night like no one else was in the room.

You snorted. "Okay. They're not coming back to the table."

Zoro followed your gaze, unimpressed. "Makes sense. He's been eyeing her like dinner all night." You laughed, leaning into his chest. "Guess the horny energy's contagious."

That's when the DJ dipped into a slow, sultry reggae beat—low, bass-heavy, the kind that practically begged you to move with it.

Zoro's hands slid down to your hips, guiding them in time with the rhythm. He turned you around, pulling your back flush against his chest. His breath hit the side of your neck, warm and purposeful. "That's it, pretty girl," he said, voice low.

Despite the heat of his body, the possessiveness of his grip, what caught you off guard was how well he moved. Strong, sure, but smooth—his hips keeping pace with you effortlessly, guiding you into each sway like it was second nature. Like he actually knew what he was doing.

You turned your head slightly, your breath brushing his cheek. "Wait… you can dance?"

Zoro hummed, nuzzling behind your ear. "I never said I couldn't."

You laughed, breathless, genuinely impressed. "Any other hidden talent I should know about?"

He grinned, cocky now. "Probably not."

You pressed into him, letting the music guide the grind of your hips against his. One of his hands crept up, unhurried, until it rested just below your breasts. The other splayed across your stomach, anchoring you to him.

Across the lounge, you spotted the girl from earlier, whispering something into a friend's ear, casting glances your way.

Zoro saw it too.

He dipped his head, dragging along your throat until he reached the curve of your neck. A kiss. Then a second, open-mouthed and lingering. Then a third, teeth grazing skin.

"You know she's watching," you whispered, not moving away.

"I know," he murmured against your pulse. His hips pressed in harder, his voice a growl against your ear. "Let her."

You gasped softly when his teeth nipped your earlobe, his hands holding you firm against him. "You're mine," he murmured, like there wasn't even an inch of doubt. "Only mine."

Your breath hitched, pleasure and pride surging up in a warm flood.

You didn't know how long the two of you moved like that—connected at every point, every sway, every brush of skin charged heavy like a livewire. But you felt the shift the second Zoro stilled behind you, breath heavy, jaw tight against the nape of your neck.

"This dress is gonna be a problem," he murmured, low and dangerous.

You blinked. "What?"

His grip tightened, not painfully, but with intent. "If we stay here another minute, I'm going to bend you over one of these lounge chairs."

You laughed, breathless, until you realized he wasn't kidding. "Zoro—"

"I'm serious." He stepped back, just enough to turn you around and grip your jaw lightly between his fingers. His eyes burned—wild, hungry, barely holding on. "I tried to behave. I tried. But I can't stand watching other people look at you and think they could get close." His thumb brushed your lower lip. "I need you. Now."

"Zoro—what about the—"

He was already reaching into his pocket, pulling out a folded bill and scrawling something across the back of a napkin from the table nearby. Then he tucked both under Lea and Daniel's drinks before grabbing your hand.

You caught a flash of his handwriting as you were pulled away:

Happy Honeymooning. We're leaving before I cause a scene.

And just like that, Zoro was tugging you out the side door with a pace that dared anyone to stop him. You stumbled after him in your heels, giggling and flushed and wildly turned on, barely able to keep up as he all but dragged you to the elevator.

Once inside, he slammed the button for the ground floor and turned on like a storm breaking. One hand braced beside your head, the other slipping up your thigh as he leaned in close. "I'm gonna ruin you when we get back," he growled, lip brushing yours. "And you're gonna thank me for it."

The elevator doors closed with a soft ding—and you knew you wouldn't make it through the night in one piece.

The tension didn't ease in the car—it thickened.

Zoro drove with one hand tight on the wheel, the other resting high on your thigh. His grip wasn't gentle. His thumb kept stroking up and down, each pass closer to where you wanted him, and he knew exactly what he was doing. The lights from the street played over his face—hard jaw clenched, nostrils flared, eyes fixed on the road like he was second from losing control.

"You keep moving like that, and I'm pulling over," he muttered, voice wrecked.

You bit your lip. "I'm not doing anything."

"You are." He slid his hand just an inch higher. "You're squirming and wet, and I'm stuck here driving like a goddamn monk when all I can think about is bending you over the hood the second we stop."

You pressed your thighs together—he noticed.

"Fuck it."

He cut into the driveway faster than necessary, tires crunching on the gravel. Before you could reach for the door, he was out and rounding the front of the car. He yanked your door open, helped you out, then pressed you up against it.

His mouth crashed into yours, bruising and hungry. His hands were everywhere—sliding up your sides, gripping your ass, pulling you flush. You moaned into him, half-dizzy, your knees threatening to give out.

"Inside," he growled against your lips. "Before I fuck you in the driveway."

You fumbled with the keycard, but Zoro had already snatched it, practically dragging you toward the villa. The second the door shut behind you—he shoved you against it, hard enough to make it rattle.

You gasped, and that sound—that needy, desperate little noise—snapped whatever restraint he had left.

Zoro dropped to his knees.

Your dress was up around your hips in seconds, panties ripped down your thighs before you could even talk. His mouth was on you before you could speak—wet, relentless, his tongue dragging through your folds like he was starved. One thick arm locked around your leg to keep you open, the other palm flat against your stomach, holding you to the door as your back arched and your hand slapped the wood behind you.

"Z-Zoro—"

He groaned like your voice was all he needed to stay alive.

You came with your fingers buried in his hair and your legs shaking around his shoulders.

Then he stood.

Still fully dressed, hard and straining against his pants, he didn't even bother stripping fully. He turned you around, chest to the door now, your hands braced flat against it.

"Don't move."

You heard the buckle. The zip.

Then the stretch of him pressing inside you—slow at first, just enough to let you feel every thick inch. You moaned, trying to push back, but his hand slammed over your lower back.

"I said—don't fucking move."

No teasing. No rhythm. Just raw, brutal need—slamming into you again and again, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other tangled in your hair as he dragged your head back.

"Mine," he growled into your ear. "This—" thrust "—pussy—" thrust "—mine. Say it."

"Yours," you gasped, high and broken.

He kept going. Fucking you like he was trying to brand it into you. The door creaked behind you with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping filled the villa. The only thing louder was your voice—wrecked, breathless, wrecked again.

You came again, walls clenching around him so hard he cursed against your shoulder. He followed a second later with a moan of your name, hips jerking into you one last time before stilling.

For a moment, it was quiet. Just your ragged breaths, your sweat-slicked skin, and his forehead resting against your shoulder.

Then, without pulling out, he pressed a kiss to your spine.

"You keep tightening up on me like that," he murmured, still inside you, "and we're not leaving this villa for the rest of the trip."

You were trembling in his arms, the aftershocks still rippling through her when he finally pulled out, breathing hard against her skin. The door you were pressed against was damp with sweat, didn't move far—just enough to press a kiss to your shoulder, then your jaw, then your mouth as he arched your back to reach, slow and deep like he needed it to live.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice wrecked. "Still not done with you." He manages to pull out, painstakingly slow. You managed a breathless, laugh, dizzy and boneless in his grip. "You just rearranged my guts."

He smirked, lifting her off the door like she weighed nothing. "Yeah, and I'm gonna do it again."

Still half naked, still burning, he carried her through the villa with the hands that wouldn't stop roaming—cupping her ass, teasing between her thighs, thumbing over spots he already knew made her whimper. The warm night air hit her skin as he slid the balcony doors open with one hand, the sound waves below mixing with the heavy rhythm of their breathing.

The moonlight kissed your skin. Below, the infinity pool shimmered, dark and endless. But Zoro didn't stop to admire it.

He dropped onto the lounger, manspreading deliciously and filthy, and pulled you on top of him like he owned you, like it was your place in the universe. His cock was already hard again between them, resting against his shirt, glistening from the mess they'd just made.

"Ride me, pretty girl," he said, voice deep and thick with want.

You raised an eyebrow, lips curling. "Thought you were in control."

"I am," he smirked, gripping your hips. "Now be a good girl and let me show you."

You straddled him slowly, your knees sinking into the lounger on either side of his hips. His hands slid up your thighs, greedy and possessive, but she caught his wrist. "Wait," she whispered, a smug little smile tugging at her lips. "You're still wearing too much."

Zoro raised a brow, breath hitching as she leaned forward and dragged her fingers down the center of his chest. Her hands slipped beneath the hem of his white shirt, pushing it up—unhurried, teasing—exposing the ridged muscles you'd already memorized by touch. She sat back on his thighs and pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it aside carelessly, and then traced a finger down the line of his abs, nails grazing the trail of hair leading lower.

"Better," she said, voice thick with mischief.

"Bossy tonight," he muttered, eyes darkening as you shifted forward, the heat between your thighs brushing against him. "You like pretending you're in charge?"

You didn't answer. Just lined him up with agonizing precision, holding his gaze as you sank down onto him—inch by inch, slow and torturous, until he was buried to the hilt.

"Fuck," he growled, head tipping back. His hands gripped your hips like he was trying not to break you in half. "You're doing that on purpose."

You leaned down, lips grazing his ear. "And what of I am?"

That snapped something in him.

His grip tightened, and in one fluid, punishing movement, he thrusts up hard, making her gasp—then hissed against her mouth, "you wanna play games, love? Then ride it like you mean it. Or I take over and show who this pretty pussy belongs to."

You clenched around him on purpose, hips rolling slow, grinding more than bouncing—refusing to give him what he wanted. Zoro's hands clenched at your waist, his jaw tight. "You tryin' to make me lose my fuckin' mind?"

You just smirked. "Is it working?"

His response was a low growl, one that vibrated through your chest as his grip turned bruising. "You keep riding me like that, I'm gonna flip you over and fuck you so deep you won't walk tomorrow."

You moaned, high and shameless, but didn't speed up. Didn't let him take over.

"Fuckin' tease," he muttered. "You think you're in control, huh?"

Your hips rolled again, painfully slow. "I know I am."

That did it.

Zoro snapped.

One hand flew to your throat—not tight, just enough to make your breath catch—while the other slid down between your thighs, thumb circling your clit with punishing pressure.

"You're only in control," he growled, "because I let you be. You might be on top but remember who this pussy loves."

You cried out, body jerking against him, thighs already shaking. But still—you moved. Still, you rode him. "You feel that?" he hissed, voice breaking. "This cock is so fucking deep inside you, baby. You're soaked. Fuck—look at you."

You did. Head tilted down just enough to see where your bodies met—his cock disappearing inside you over and over again, slick, swollen, obscene.

"Look at this pussy takin' me," he groaned, like he was about to lose it. "Always so greedy for me. Always fuckin' tight. Like she knows who belongs to." You gasped his name, overwhelmed, dizzy, undone—but still, your hips kept moving.

"You're mine", he whispered, and there was reverence in it now. "Fuck—baby, this pussy got me whipped. I can't think straight when I'm inside you."

You leaned down, lips barely brushing his. "That sounds like a you problem."

He laughed—a rough, broken sound—and then grabbed your ass, thrusting up hard, once, twice, three times. You screamed.

"Then fix it," he snarled. "Make me come. Ride me like you own me."

And god, you did.

You didn’t even know when you started moaning his name like a prayer—didn't care. You were already close again, thighs trembling, back arching, hips stuttering.

Zoro felt it. He always did.

His thumb never let up on your clit, slick with you, circling fast and brutal as his cock dragged deep inside.

"Fuck—yeah, that's it," he groaned, watching your face contort with pleasure. "Every time I praise this pussy, she sings for me. That right, baby? She likes hearing how good she takes me?"

You could barely nod, couldn't speak—not with the way your orgasm slammed into you seconds later. You cried out, loud and sharp, hips jerking as your walls fluttered around him.

Zoro cursed hard, his grip locking down.

"Shit—don't do that," he hissed, head falling back for a second. "You keep squeezin' me like that, I'm gonna—"

But it was too late.

You barely had time to come down before he moved.

Still buried inside you, still rock hard, Zoro sat up, his chest pressed to yours. Then he wrapped an arm around your waist and thrust—hard, deep, perfect.

Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth.

"Round three," he muttered against your lips. "Let's see how much more this pretty cunt can take."

You were already too far gone to argue.

The lounger rocked beneath you with every punishing thrust, your slick sounds echoing into the humid night. Somewhere down below, music drifted from the beach bars, but it was faint compared to the slap of skin and the broken sounds tearing from your throat.

And then—Zoro chuckled, faint and breathless.

"Y'know we're still outside, right?" he said, voice wicked in your ear. "Wide open, baby. Anyone could see you—bouncin' on my cock, begging for more."

You shivered. Not from shame—from want.

He felt it, too. Smirked against your neck. "God, you like that. You fuckin' love the idea of getting caught, huh?"

Zoro groaned, grip tightening, his other hand slipping between your legs again, fingers ruthless. "You're such a filthy fuckin' girl," he murmured. "And this pussy? Fuck—every time I tell her how good she is, she damn near sings. What am I supposed to do, huh? Not worship you?"

He was close. You both were.

"You gonna come again for me?" he panted. "One more. Give me one more and I'll fill you up so deep, you'll feel me all fuckin' night."

You melted around him, sobbing his name into his shoulder as your orgasm took you—violent and raw, your body seizing around him.

Zoro cursed, hips jerking once, twice—and then buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a hoarse, wrecked groan.

You both stilled, bodies trembling, tangled together in the humid Bali night.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, lips against your temple. "You keep lettin' me fuck you outside like this," he muttered, "and I'm gonna buy a house with glass fuckin' walls."

Your legs refused to work.

Collapsed on top of him, skin dewy and breath still shaky, you clung to Zoro like you weren't sure you remembered how to breathe without him.

He didn't seem in any rush.

One hand rubbed gentle, slow circles into your back while the other traced lazy lines up your thigh, brushing the sensitive skin with feather-light touch that made you twitch.

"Baby, you good?" he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

You groaned against his shoulder. "Zho'-ro."

Zoro chuckled—low, smug, and stupidly fond. "Guess I did okay then."

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him, though your lips were twitching. "Okay?"

"Mm." He grinned, eyes soft even as he smirked. "I dunno, babe. I didn't hear any full sentences, just lotta 'Zoro, fuck, yes' and some gasping. Not a very thorough review."

You dropped your forehead to his chest with a soft whine. "You're such an asshole."

"Mmhmm. Your asshole, though."

The silence that followed was warm and easy. The soft night breeze curled around you, cooling your skin, and you could hear the faint rustle of the waves beyond the pool.

Zoro's heartbeat thudded slowly and steady beneath your ear.

Then he shifted, gently cupping the back of your head. "C'mon," he said, voice quieter now. "Let's get you cleaned up."

You tried to protest—you really did—but he was already moving. He sat up with you cradled against his chest, lifting you with the ease of someone who knew her body by heart. You made a halfhearted noise, pressing your face into his neck.

"Stop being a showoff"

"Too late," he said, grinning. "You keep lettin' me fuck you stupid, I gotta carry you everywhere now. That's the rule."

He walked the short distance inside to the master suit, the villa bathed in soft amber light. With practiced ease, Zoro grabbed one of the fresh towels from the nearby chair, knelt with you on the edge of the massive sunken tub, and soaked in warm water.

Then gentle as anything, he cleaned you up.

Not a single complaint. Not even a smirk. Just quiet focus, a soft brow crease, and the occasional murmured, "Okay?" when you flinched. When he was done, he kissed the inside of your thigh, then helped you into one of his hoodies—oversized, cozy, still faintly smelling like him.

You didn't even remember making it to the bed.

Zoro slid behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. One hand cupped your hip. The other buried itself in your hair, slow strokes lulling you toward sleep.

Right before you drifted off, you heard him murmur into the crook of your neck: "Gonna marry you someday."

You smiled, sleep-heavy and sore in the best way.

"You better."

He laughed once—soft and real—then kissed your shoulder like a promise.

They spent the last days of their getaway in a blur of sun, sweat and comfy sheets. Lazy mornings bled into sunset lunches, their limbs tangled more often than not. Zoro cooked once—shirtless, naturally—and you nearly burned your tongue pretending you didn't want to meet him instead. He let you win at the pool exactly once and then made you pay for it by bending you over the balcony railing while the ocean tangled in your hair.

Nights were softer. Slower. Your head on his chest, his fingers stroking lazy patterns into your back as both talked about nothing—favorite movies, dumb childhood stories, the worst clients they've ever had. He kissed her more during those moments than during sex, as if memorizing the shape of her.

Their last morning was quiet, a slow unraveling of paradise. You packed while wearing his T-shirt, the same one he'd peeled off the first night. Zoro moved around the villa shirtless, towel slung around his neck, still damp from the shower. He handed you his comfiest hoodie and dropped a kiss to her shoulder.

"You're lucky I didn't do the packing," he said, eyeing your legs. "You'd be flying back just like that." You smirked, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. A new message lit up the screen.

Hiyori:

Hope your little island escape was worth it. You'll want to see this. 🤍

[link attached]

She blinked, more curious than concerned. "Weird," you muttered, tapping the link

“Roronoa Zoro and Whitebeard’s Hidden Heiress: Secret Lovers Exposed in Bali Paradise”

A tabloid headline flashed across the screen in bold, all-caps desperation. Paparazzi shots followed—you on Zoro's lap, Zoro shirtless in the pool, a kiss under the moonlight. Grainy but damning. You tilted your head. "Guess someone has a zoom lens and no shame."

But Zoro wasn't looking at the photos. He was staring at the sender ID on her screen, jaw tight.

"…That's Hiyori," he said, voice clipped.

Your brow rose. "Hiyori?"

He nodded once. "We went to college together. She's… Wano corporate. Obsessed, last I checked.

You stared at him for a moment, then back at the phone. "… And she got my number, how?" Zoro dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. "That's the part I'm not happy about."

But instead of panic, you just sat on the bed and zipped up your suitcase. "Pops already knows about us. He's been waiting to stage a 'family' meeting since we left, I guarantee it."

Zoro gave a low huff of laughter. "You're not even mad?"

She smiled, calculated and sharp. "We're not hiding. Let her play her games—I've got the real thing."

He stepped over, grabbed your waist, and pulled you for a kiss that ended with you laughing into his mouth. "Say less, big boss."

You nodded, rising on your toes to kiss him back—softly and certain. Ready.

End.

one two tree four five six

[zoro-sremedy]

SOFT LAUNCH BF! GETO SUGURU

“If you know, you know. If you don’t, stay confused.”

Synopsis. Soft launching your boyfriend attracts a lot of attention (and opinions).

Soft launch bf SMAU! Gojo Satoru

[zoro-sremedy]

Hi uhh I just wanted to pop in and say that I have been LOVING your smau’s with the accompanying drabbles.

First of all, the content right up my alley. And having both pieces of the fic together does a great job of putting me into the moment you created.

Aaaanyways, thanks for sharing your work, I really love your writing style and just had to tell you.

Have a great day and drink some water ♥️

IM IN TEARS 🥹🥹🥹🥹 thank you sososososo much, i love you!!!! Hope you have the most amazing, loveliest day ok??? And have the tastiest snack ever!!!

[zoro-sremedy]

alrighty so if all is good, the sched is:

There's a room where the light won't find you/ you love me? i don't understand

Suguru's bf soft launch

The fine print final chapter

Bonus surprise if i do finish it: sukuna's wife drabble-ish

[zoro-sremedy]

THERE'S A ROOM WHERE THE LIGHT WON'T FIND YOU

Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down When they do, I'll be right behind you

Synopsis. It is inconceivable that you love them. How? Why? Please, don't stop.

Including. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Shiu, Sukuna, Yuuji and Megumi.

Risk assessment rated T. Make out and kissing, some teasing, some strong language.

a/n: per usual, the text thread that prompts these drabbles is down here:

YOU LOVE ME? I DON'T UNDERSTAND

GOJO SATORU— "LET ME LOVE YOU ANYWAY"

His voice is muffled when you let yourself in—barely audible behind the cracked door of his room, just a whisper to himself.

"She said she loves me," he mutters, like it's a dream. Like it's something he has to turn over in his mouth, test on his tongue, because he's never sure what it's supposed to taste like.

You push open the door gently.

Satoru's sitting on the edge of his bed, hair tousled from running his fingers through it, the tips of his ears pink. He startles when he sees you—not because you're here, but because he didn't expect to be heard.

You kneel in front of him. Place your hands on his knees, feel the tremble of restraint in his thighs like he's holding himself back from reaching for you.

"I mean it," you say softly.

He looks at you like it hurts to be seen. "You shouldn't. I'm—"

"Stop." You crawl into his lap, straddling him with care. "You don't have to earn it. You don't have to make sense of it. It's not a calculation."

He exhales, ragged. His fingers hover at your waist, unsure.

"You think you're too much 'Toru," you whisper against his cheek, "but all I see is someone who's had to carry too much alone."

"I'm scared," he admits, like he's never said it out loud before. "If I let you love me… what if I mess it up?"

"Then I'll still love you," you say simply. "Because it's not about being perfect. It's about you. Just you."

You press a kiss to his temple. His jaw. His lips—slow and lingering, like you're giving him all the time in the world to believe it.

And when his trembling hands finally grab onto you, holding you like he's terrified to let go? It's not rough. It's not cocky. It's not the Satoru he shows to the world.

It's just him. Yours. Needy, tender, breaking apart in your arms because someone finally stayed just because, with no hidden agenda, or trophy tag to put on him.

You stayed just because you loved him.

GETO SUGURU—"THE PIECES OF YOU"

There's a silence in the room that speaks louder than either of you.

You find Suguru sitting in the dim light of his apartment, long hair loose around his shoulders, a cup of untouched tea on the table beside him. He doesn't look at you when you enter. He's staring at his hands—the ones that have held too many weapons, too much grief, too many regrets.

"You shouldn't say thinks like that," he says, voice quiet.

You move towards him without hesitation. "Like what?"

"That you love me."

He says it like it's a lie.

You kneel beside him, resting your hands gently over his. "But I do."

He flinches. You can feel it—the twitch of a man who is used to bracing for impact, even in affection.

"Why?" he asks, voice cracked. "You know what I've done. Who I've been."

"I do," you whisper. "And I love you. All the same."

He lifts his gaze to meet yours—and there it is: the storm in his eyes. Years of hiding, years of shouldering loneliness because he believed he didn't deserved to be chosen.

"Say it again," he breathes, like he needs to test the words in your mouth to make sure they're real.

You rise to your knees, cup his face in both hands, and say it like a vow.

"I love you."

His mouth is on yours before the words even finish leaving your lips—desperate, questioning, like he's still not sure if he's allowed to want this.

But you let him take. Let him hold. Let him break just enough to rebuild.

And when you pull away, you press your forehead to his and promise again: "You don't have to earn me. You just have to be here."

He nods slowly. Like he might believe it this time.

NANAMI KENTO—"SLOW BURN, SURE FLAME"

When you enter the kitchen, Nanami is standing at the stove in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. The soft glow of the under-cabinet lights outlines the planes of his back, the quiet steadiness of a man who always does everything with care.

You don't say anything. You just wrap your arms around him from behind and rest your cheek between his shoulder blades. He sighs—not with exasperation, but like he's letting himself exhale for the first time in a long day.

"You always hold me like I matter," he says softly.

"Because you do."

He turns slowly, until you're in front of him. Until his hands rest carefully at your waist, like he still doesn't believe he has the right to touch you too freely.

"You know I'm not…" He hesitates, eyes flicking to yours. "I'm not flashy. I don't come with surprises or grand gestures."

"I don't want surprises," you say. "I want you."

His brow knits, gaze searching your face like he's looking for a catch. A  trick. Some proof that this can't be real—not for a man like him.

"I've always been people someone rely on," he murmurs. "Not someone people love."

Your fingers trace his side of his jaw, thumb brushing over the faint stubble. "Then let me be the first to do both."

For a moment, he says nothing—just looks at you like you've changed the laws of gravity.

Then, finally, he leans in. Kisses you like it's a promise he's been too afraid to make until now—deep, unhurried, adoring. Like you are the rarest thing he's ever been allowed to have.

And for one, he lets himself believe he can.

FUSHIGURO TOJI—"HARD TO LOVE, EASY TO NEED"

The door creaks open with a reluctant groan, and there he is.

Toji stands shirtless in sweatpants, hair still damp from a shower, eyes heavy with something darker than exhaustion. He doesn't step aside right away. Just stares at you like you're a ghost.

"You really came," he mutters.

"I said I would."

He lets you in with a sigh, rubbing a hand over the neck. The apartment is dim, quiet. The air carries the scent of his cologne and something warm from the kitchen—probably food he made and forgot to eat.

"You shouldn't say stuff like that," he says, finally, arms crossed, jaw tight. "That you love me."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll start wanting to believe it."

You walk toward him slowly, like approaching a wounded animal, and press your hand to his chest. "Then believe it."

His laugh is soft, humorless. "You know what kind of a man I am."

"I know you're the man who checks if I locked my door even when you're not staying over. The one who leaves his jacket when I say I'm cold. The one who holds me like I'm the only good thing he's allowed to touch."

His breath stutters.

"Toji…" you say, much gentler now. "You don't have to keep pushing me away just to protect me. I chose you."

He doesn't kiss you right away.

He grabs you—pulls you in like a man who's been starving, desperate, wrecked with longing. It's teeth and lips and breathless need, his hands on your face like he's trying to hold something too fragile, too fleeting.

"Say it again," he growls into your mouth.

"I love you."

"Fuck—" His voice breaks. "You're the one thing I never thought I'd get to have."

"And now?"

His forehead rests against yours. "Now I'll die before I let anyone take it away."

KONG SHIU—"EVEN THE SNAKE CAN BE HELD"

You don't knock.

You never have to. You have a key—a privilege you know he pretends to be annoyed by but secretly hasn't revoked.

Shiu's on the couch when you find him, cigarette dangling between his fingers, ashtray full, TV muted. His hair's still damp from a shower, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and his face is… unreadable.

"Why'd you say that?" he asks, voice low, not even looking at you.

"Because it's true."

"Don't bullshit  me."

You cross the room and take the cigarette from his hand, snuff it out. "I'm not."

He finally looks at you, and the sharp sarcasm he usually hides behind is gone. What's left is… raw. Vulnerable in a you've never seen on him.

"I don't know what the hell to do with love like that."

You kneel between his knees, hands sliding gently up to his thighs until they rest at his hips. "Then let me show you."

He swallows hard. "People don't say that to me. They say I'm cold. Dangerous. They don't love me."

"I'm not people."

His hands ghost over your back, then pull you in—slow, like he's giving himself permission. You straddle his lap, arms wrapping around his neck, your forehead brushing his.

"I love you," you whisper again.

He exhales like you've knocked the wind out of him. "Fuck. That's insane."

You smile. "And yet."

When he kisses you, it's messy, unpracticed in the tenderness of it. But there's fire behind it. The kind that only comes from years of denying himself the possibility of being wanted. He kisses like he's afraid that you'll disappear—and desperate to leave a mark if you do.

He pulls back, breathless. "You really want this?"

You kiss the corner of his mouth. "I want you. Every complicated, prickly, morally gray inch of you."

"… Don't fucking die on me," he mutters, brushing your hair behind your ear with more reverence than you expected.

"I'm not planning to."

He grins. "Then I might just let myself fall."

RYOMEN SUKUNA—"YOU SHOULDN'T, BUT YOU DO"

His throne room is dark when you enter.

Flickering light from the sconces dances across crimson stones, casting long shadows—and there he is, Sukuna, reclined like a god, hand resting on his chin in faux boredom. But the moment he sees you, the sharp cut of his smirk betrays something more: anticipation.

"You really came," he drawls.

"You asked for me."

He stands slowly, muscles shifting under his robes like the promise of a storm. "Say it again."

You blink. "Say what?"

"That ridiculous thing." He stalks toward you. "That blasphemous, insane little sentence."

You meet him halfway. "I love you."

A snarl rips through him—not anger, but disbelief. His hands grip your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. "You're a fucking fool."

"Maybe," you whisper, "but I'm your fool."

He kisses you like it's punishment. Like he's trying to scare the love out of you. Tongue, teeth, a bruising press of want and rage and need. But you don't flinch.

You melt.

And that's what makes him break.

He lifts you—as if you're made of air—and sets you on his throne. He doesn't kneel, not fully. Sukuna doesn't bow. But his hand on your thigh is reverent, his breath hot against your neck as he growls, "You  don't get to run now."

"I wasn't going to."

"Then prove it," he hisses, dragging his fangs against your skin. "Tell me again while I devour you. Say it while I fuck that love into your bones."

You gasp as his mouth descends, voice shaking. "I love you."

And the smirk he gives you is feral.

"You're mine now, foolish girl. Every inch. Every beat of that traitorous little heart."

And you swear—in that dark, ancient chamber, held in his unholy hands—that he's never looked more worshipful.

ITADORI YUJI—"YOU MAKE ME FEEL LUCKY"

You hear the pounding on your door before you even finish setting your phone down. When you open it, Yuji stands there, chest heaving, eyes wide and wild.

"I ran," he says, breatheless. "Full sprint."

You blink. "You… ran?"

"Like, Olympic level. I think I broke a record."

You can't help but laugh, leaning on the doorframe. "All that for a little 'I love you?'"

He stares at you, flustered to hell. "Little? That wasn't little! That was—! That was—!"

He throws his hands up. "Life-changing!"

Your smile softens. "Yuji…"

Before he can spiral again, you pull him inside by the front of his hoodie, and he fumbles until he has you in his arms—hugging you so tight you squeak.

"You really mean it?" he whispers into your hair.

You nod against his chest. "I love you, Itadori Yuji."

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes shine, stunned and overjoyed.

Then he kisses you—sweet, warm, messy with emotion—like he's been dying to do it forever.

His palms frame your face, and you feel him smile mid-kiss. When he pulls away, he whispers, "I'm gonna kiss you every day now. You started this. No take backs."

You giggle. "Deal."

And he kisses you again.

And again.

And again.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI—"AND STILL, YOU CHOOSE ME"

The room is dim, quiet. He's sitting on the edge of the bed when you arrive, arms folded, posture tense—like he's waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under him.

You step closer, but not too fast. "Hey."

His gaze lifts to meet yours. There's something fragile behind it, like he's still waiting for this to be a joke.

"You didn't have to come," he murmurs.

"I wanted to."

"I don't understand," he says quietly. "You could have anyone. Why me?"

You step between his legs, cupping his jaw gently. "Because I see you. Megumi. Because when you're quiet, I hear you anyway. Because I know how good your heart is, even when you don't."

His eyes flutter shut at your touch, as if overwhelmed by how soft you're being.

"That's dangerous," he mutters.

"What is?"

"Letting myself believe you."

"Then let it be dangerous," you whisper, brushing your forehead against his. "I'm not going anywhere."

He breathes in—shaky, deep—then kisses you like he needs you to survive.

It starts tentative. Careful. But the moment you sigh into it, his hands find your waist, pull you closer, grounding himself in your warmth.

When he pulls away, eyes dark with emotion, he whispers, "don't take it back."

"Never," you promise.

He kisses you again.

This time, like he believes you.

[zoro-sremedy]

YOU LOVE ME? I DON'T UNDERSTAND

Synopsis. It is inconceivable that you love them. How? Why? Please, don't stop.

Including. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Shiu, Sukuna, Yuuji and Megumi.

Risk assessment rated T. Make out and kissing, some teasing, some strong language.

a/n: sorry i kind of went mia... life was lifeing i guess, not all fun and games when you got a serious job lmao. anyhooo here's the drabble that follows the the text threads:

THERE'S A ROOM WHERE THE LIGHT WON'T FIND YOU

[zoro-sremedy]

I am not dead (yet) and I will be posting today lol

[zoro-sremedy]

writing isn’t hard it’s just emotionally devastating and time-consuming and requires full body possession by an idea

[zoro-sremedy]

This man….