Surrender
Surrender
Word count: 4400
Synopsis: You have been feeling tension in your back and neck for several days. You try to manage it on your own, but your captain has other plans and decides to relieve you…
Tags: Kidxf!Reader, not really NSFW, massage, possessive!Kid, soft!Kid, dom!Kid, fluff.
Notes: Just in time before the end of my birthday ^^ I’ve been working on this piece for a long time... I’m happy to share it with you today! @jintaka-hane and @pandora-writes-one-piece, this text is for you. I hope you like it and that I managed to capture the atmosphere well in both English and French. Thank you for everything—for your support, your encouragement, your messages, your comments, your reblogs. You are truly a source of inspiration for me. I love exchanging and sharing with you and rambling about our beloved grumpy Captain with the fiery hair. I love you, girls! English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.
The common room was bathed in a soft, flickering light cast by the lanterns hanging from the dark wooden beams. The steady swaying of the ship added a slight oscillation to the dancing shadows on the walls, making the atmosphere almost hypnotic. An enveloping silence reigned, punctuated only by the gentle creaking of the wood under the pressure of the waves, creating a familiar and reassuring melody. The air was imbued with the salty scent of the sea, mingled with the residual warmth of the day.
With your body heavy and your movements marked by the fatigue of a long and demanding day, you had settled on a high chair near the counter, seeking support that could ease the tension in your back and neck. Shoulders slumped, you absentmindedly brought your fingers to your neck, where a dull, insistent pain throbbed. The tension had taken hold for days, clinging to your muscles like an invisible weight, turning each movement into a nagging reminder of your exhaustion. Despite your efforts to ignore it, the sensation intensified, as if it fed on your will to push it away.
The ambient calm seemed to amplify each breath you took, each tremor of your fingers sliding over your tired skin. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the darkness offer you a brief, albeit fleeting, reprieve from your tumultuous thoughts. The space around you felt both comforting and heavy, filled with that temporary solitude which, paradoxically, made every sensation more palpable and more intense.
Yet, it was not only fatigue that made you tense. There was something else in the air, a far subtler but equally oppressive tension. Kid, your captain, had said almost nothing all day, but you knew he was watching you. You could feel his gaze on you, that piercing and weighty look that made you shiver more than you cared to admit.
For weeks, a sort of change had taken place between the two of you. Something you couldn’t name but felt every time you were near him. This silent bond, this almost tangible electricity hanging between you, like a storm on the verge of breaking. Conversations had become rarer, replaced by long, heavy glances and silences that seemed to stretch far longer than necessary. A silent storm, full of unspoken words and hidden emotions.
You unconsciously bit your lip, trying not to focus on the warmth in your chest that surged every time you thought of him, of his imposing presence. You tried to chase those thoughts away, to push them to the back of your mind, but they were always there, lurking, ready to overwhelm you when a thrill ran down your skin.
And you knew this thrill well.
You slowly opened your eyes, and it was only then that you saw him. Kid was standing in the shadows, leaning against the back wall, his massive silhouette outlined by the flickering lanterns light. In an instant, your breath caught, surprised by his presence that you hadn’t noticed until now. He was unusually silent, arms crossed over his chest, his intense gaze fixed on you.
He had been watching you out of the corner of his eye for several hours, frowning each time you rubbed your neck or stretched your shoulders. You had exchanged more glances than usual without saying a word. The tension between you kept growing day by day, and it had become almost unbearable for you.
Once the surprise passed, you tried to collect yourself, quickly looking away to break the burning connection of his eyes on you. But the silence remained heavy, and the air seemed charged with an indefinable anticipation, as if even the ship held its breath at this unexpected face-to-face.
Kid still didn’t move, his stillness amplifying the effect of his presence. You knew that when he was this calm, it never signaled anything ordinary.
He finally moved, crossing the room with his determined, imposing stride. You followed him with your eyes, thinking he would leave the room and let you be, but you didn’t expect him to stop right next to you. He was imposing, magnetic, and that mere proximity made you shiver.
“Sit properly,” he ordered in a rough voice, without preamble.
You looked up, surprised. “Excuse me?”
“Your back, your neck... You’re going to completely lock up if you keep going like that.” His piercing eyes left no room for argument. “Let me take care of it,” he said, guiding you to adjust your posture and placing his right hand gently on your shoulder.
What?
Your heart skipped a beat. The idea that Kid, the feared captain, was offering... a massage? You didn’t know what to think anymore.
“No, it’s fine, it’s just a little tension. It’ll pass,” you replied, swallowing hard.
A wave of warmth flushed your cheeks, and you could already feel your heartbeat quickening. This exchange was becoming far too intimate.
But Kid wasn’t the type to accept refusal. He moved around the chair, pressing his hand more firmly on your shoulder to keep you from leaving.
“Stop pretending to be strong and let me do this.” Your breath caught in your throat as he positioned himself behind you, imposing, and you felt the weight of his presence overwhelm you. With a confident gesture, he moved his hand up to your neck, his fingers pressing lightly into your tense muscles.
The warmth of his palm radiated instantly through your skin, flooding every inch of your body. You couldn’t decide if it was the contact, his closeness, or the intensity of the moment that made you so nervous, but your whole body reacted. It was like an electric current spreading at an alarming speed. Your skin responded immediately, every fiber sensitive to the slightest movement of his fingers.
He was surprisingly skilled, despite having only one functional hand. Every movement was precise, as if he knew exactly where to press to release the accumulated tension. There was no hesitation in his touch, no doubt.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
“You’re as tense as a bowstring about to snap,” he murmured, almost to himself, continuing the massage with a surprising expertise.
You bit your lip, trying to stifle the sigh of relief that threatened to escape. The pain that had been weighing on you all day gradually dissipated under his fingers. You felt your muscles relaxing, despite yourself. His hand, rough and large, brought an unexpected comfort. He said nothing, focused on his task, but his slow, steady breathing against your bare skin made you shiver.
His fingers pressed slightly into a knot of tension, and you couldn’t suppress a sigh as your body instinctively yielded to the pressure. That warmth... it spread like a slow fire through you, transforming the pain into an unexpected kind of pleasure. Every inch of your skin seemed hypersensitive to his touch, and you struggled to keep your body from betraying the effect he had on you.
No matter how hard you tried to stay calm, every movement of Kid made pushed you further off balance. The warmth of his hand spread through your body, sparking a troubling sensation that mingled with the fatigue and pain you had accumulated. But it was no longer just tension in your muscles; it was something else. Something much deeper, more intimate, that burned softly beneath your skin.
“You really don’t know how to relax,” he breathed softly, his breath brushing against your skin as he leaned slightly closer, his deep voice resonating in the almost oppressive silence of the room.
His fingers began to slide under the strap of your tank top, exploring the tense muscles of your shoulders. The precision of his movements was disconcerting. Despite his imposing stature and reputation as a brute, he massaged you with a gentleness you would have never imagined. Even with just one hand, he made you feel every pressure, every movement as if your entire body belonged to him. You bit your lip discreetly, trying to suppress another sigh that threatened to escape."
His hand moved a bit lower, lingering on a sensitive spot between your shoulder blades, and a shiver ran through your entire body. You closed your eyes, trying to push away the sensation that overwhelmed you, but it was impossible. The way his fingers pressed, the way his warmth spread... It was too much. Too intense, too intoxicating.
'Kid, I...' your voice faltered slightly, unable to find the right words. You wanted to say something, anything, to regain a bit of control. But everything seemed futile against the mastery he displayed."
"Let it go," he replied calmly, but with a firmness that allowed no argument. It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. You felt trapped by that deep voice, by that burning hand wrapping you in a silent embrace. And you no longer had the strength to fight.
Nor the desire.
His hand moved slowly up, caressing the curve of your neck before returning to your shoulder, his thumb gliding with calculated slowness over the tense line of your muscles. You felt your body relax despite yourself, surrendering to his touch. You were no longer in control, and each brush of his skin against yours made you shiver even more.
"You're much more sensitive than you let on," he murmured, an almost audible smile in his voice.
He knew.
He knew what his touch did to you, how you tried to hide the effect he had on you. But he wouldn’t let you escape.
His fingers ventured even lower, lingering on your back, tracing the natural curve of your spine. The heat of his hand only grew, and each slow, precise movement seemed to awaken sensations you had never felt before. It was almost too much. Your breath quickened, and you desperately tried to maintain control, but your body betrayed you.
“Kid…” you tried to protest again, but your voice sounded foreign, muffled by the intensity of the moment.
"Shh," he replied, his deep voice resonating right by your ear. He leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your bare skin, sending a wave of shivers through your body. "Just let it happen."
He was far too close now. You could almost feel the heat of his body against yours, and just the thought of that proximity was enough to make your heart race. His hand, still firm but attentive, continued its exploration as if he knew every corner of your body, every sensitive spot you tried to hide. Every time he pressed a little harder, a sigh escaped your lips despite yourself, and you could no longer control your reactions. He knew it. He felt your body yielding under his touch, surrendering to his movements.
“Let go,” he repeated, this time in a lower, almost husky whisper. His fingers slid gently over the curve of your collarbone, moving up to your neck with an exasperating slowness. And this time, you didn’t even try to resist.
Your breathing became deeper, more ragged, as you lost yourself in the sensations. Each movement of his hand seemed to ignite your skin a little more, each pressure sending shivers racing through you. Your mind wandered, unable to think of anything but that hand on you, the heat enveloping your whole body. Your world had shrunk to this single touch, to this intimacy you had barely dared to dream of.
Then, slowly, Kid leaned even closer. His chest almost brushed against your back, his burning breath caressing the back of your neck. The tension between you was unbearable, and yet, you had never wanted something so intensely. The closeness, the heat, that hand capable of controlling everything... You were swept away, lost in this wave of sensations.
"I know how you feel," he purred close to your ear, his deep voice piercing right through you.
An uncontrollable shiver ran through you. His words were a promise, an invitation to relinquish that last shred of control. And at that moment, you knew there was no escape. Kid had taken over, not just your body, but every thought, every sensation. All that was left was to surrender.
And he was going to make it happen.
Your mind was in turmoil. Kid’s words echoed within you, striking every thought, breaking down the barriers you had tried so hard to maintain. He was too close, his warm hand still on your neck, sliding slowly down your back with disconcerting expertise. Your breathing quickened, each breath harder than the last, as the proximity of his body and the heat of his breath overwhelmed you.
"Don't hide from me what you want," he had murmured, his voice resonating in your ear like an invitation impossible to ignore.
You wanted to protest, to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. You were trapped by your own emotions, by the heat consuming you, by the tension that kept building between you. Your throat tightened, your skin burned under his fingers, and despite yourself, you felt incapable of resisting any longer.
"I know you feel it too," he whispered again, his deep voice making you shiver. His fingers brushed against your skin with such slowness that you thought your heart might explode from the intensity of that simple touch. "This tension... it won't disappear if we ignore it."
His words hit the mark. The tension between you had never dissipated. For weeks, it had only grown, weaving into every glance, every gesture, until now, when it had become unbearable. You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but you were already too far gone to turn back.
"Kid..." you breathed, your voice trembling. It wasn’t a protest, nor a request. It was just his name, slipping from your lips like a plea for help, but also a surrender.
"Do you really think you can still resist me, lass?" he murmured, his warm breath caressing your face.
His eyes traced the line of your neck and lingered on your hair, neatly braided, a detail that stirred something within him.
Slowly, he let his fingers slide down to the base of the first braid, his touch light at first, almost hesitant, before becoming more assured. With calculated precision, he took hold of the elastic holding the braid, sliding it off slowly, unhurriedly. His grip, usually firm and rough, was surprisingly delicate here. The simple contact of his fingers against your hair felt searing, sending a shiver down your spine.
" You won't need it now," he murmured in a deep, rough voice, his warm breath brushing against your neck.
You felt your throat tighten at his touch, a gentle yet intense heat spreading throughout your body. Kid began to undo the braid, strand by strand, each of his movements slow and meticulous. He let his fingers glide over each lock, seeming to savor the moment, as if he wanted every action to remind you that you were under his control, at his mercy.
When he finished undoing the first braid, he slowly ran his hand through your hair, pushing it aside and letting it fall freely over your shoulders.
His hand lingered for a moment on your neck, brushing your skin with an almost possessive touch. The contrast between the gentleness of his touch and the force of his presence left you defenseless, each brush of his fingers sending shivers through you that you could no longer suppress.
He moved to the second braid, repeating the same ritual with an exasperating slowness, undoing each strand with measured precision. Occasionally, he let his fingers sink gently into your hair, caressing your scalp in a way that sparked electric sensations overwhelming you. You could no longer stifle your moans, and Kid smirked, satisfied with the effect he was having on you.
When the second braid was undone, he ran his hand through your loose hair, gently separating it to let it fall around your face.
He then tugged lightly on your locks, just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck further. His hand in your hair didn’t loosen its grip, and you felt a wave of intense heat wash over you, as if this simple act plunged you into an abyss of sensations you had never known. His hold wasn’t rough, but it kept you firmly anchored, grounding you in the moment.
Then, without warning, his metal hand gently settled around your throat. The coldness of his touch contrasted with the burning heat of his skin, and you felt your breath catch as the metallic fingers encircled your neck. He didn’t squeeze. He just held you, a gesture that was both incredibly tender and intensely possessive.
His metal thumb traced softly along the line of your jaw, and you felt your chest rise with the burning desire that surged within you. You were trapped in this moment, unable to move, yet every fiber of your being craved more.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured in a husky voice, his warm breath brushing your ear as his fingers tightened slightly around your throat, never harming you. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. A declaration of quiet, yet infinite dominance.
The combination of his two hands – the warmth of his skin in your hair and the cold metal around your neck – overwhelmed you with sensation. And in that moment, you knew you no longer wanted to escape. You surrendered completely to his will, your body responding to every movement, every touch, every brush.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered close to your ear, his deep, rough voice sending a shockwave through you.
His metal hand slid softly, tracing your neck, lingering just enough for you to feel that possessive presence. You were completely at his mercy, every fiber of your body instinctively reacting to this silent yet total domination. And as you tried to maintain control, Kid moved closer, pressing his chest against your back, his warmth engulfing you entirely.
He gently tugged at your hair, tilting your head back further until it rested on his shoulder, his metal fingers now brushing your collarbone before slowly moving down along your chest. The coldness of the metal contrasted with the heat of his body, each touch drawing you deeper into this intensity. Kid didn’t loosen his grip. On the contrary, he enveloped you fully with his presence, his body against yours, holding you firmly under his control.
“I know what you feel,” he repeated, his voice deeper, slower, as if savoring every moment. “You don’t need to hide anymore.”
His lips grazed the back of your neck, leaving light but searing kisses as his flesh hand, still buried in your hair, applied a delicate yet unyielding pressure, holding you in place. His metal hand, meanwhile, slid lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your neckline with an unbearable slowness, each touch awakening uncontrollable shivers within you. He didn’t go further, but just the fact that he held you like this, at his mercy, was enough to overwhelm you.
“Someone could come in…” you tried to murmur, your voice betraying your unease. But you knew your words were futile. Kid had already thought of everything, orchestrated everything.
“No one will come in unless I decide it,” he replied simply, his metal fingers tracing new lines on your skin, pulling more uncontrollable shivers from you. “And even if they did, it wouldn’t change anything. You are mine, here and now.”
“I control everything here… just as I control you.”
He tightened his grip slightly on your throat, forcing your head to tilt back even more, exposing your neck to his insistent gaze. “Look at me,” he ordered, his deep, commanding voice resonating in the silence.
You obeyed without thinking, your eyes meeting his. His gaze was intense, filled with that relentless domination that made you tremble. Kid gently tugged on a strand of your hair, his expression showing a mix of satisfaction and desire, and he let his fingers slide slowly down your neck, brushing your skin with a surprising yet possessive gentleness.
“Know one thing,” he whispered, his eyes holding yours. “From now on… you are mine. And I won’t let anyone or anything change that. I want you completely at my mercy,” he murmured, his rough, low voice making you shiver to your fingertips. “Every breath, every shiver, belongs to me.”
Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his lips to your throat, placing a slow, burning kiss at the exact spot where he could feel your pulse racing. The touch of his lips, so close to that sensitive point, made you lose control of your breathing. Each breath became shorter, more ragged, as if your body struggled to contain everything you were feeling. Your throat tightened slightly under his kisses, and you felt an intense shiver run from your neck to the tips of your fingers.
Your lips trembled slightly, and you felt your cheeks flush with heat. You tried to regain control of your breath, but it was a losing battle.
He felt your body tense, desperately seeking an anchor. That drew a slight smile to his lips. Kid relished this sense of control, this soft yet relentless dominance he exerted over you. He could feel how hard you fought to maintain your composure, but each movement, each tremble of your body showed him that you were yielding to him completely, that you no longer had the strength to resist.
His lips continued to travel across your throat, his kisses becoming deeper, more demanding. He wanted to feel you completely let go, to reach that moment where you would abandon all resistance. Kid loved this game, this slow build-up of tension where he made you surrender, forcing you to accept each touch, each caress as proof of his domination. He tightened his hand slightly on your neck, holding you firmly in place, savoring the sensation of your body trembling against his.
Despite his brute strength and reputation as a ruthless pirate, Kid showed remarkable control over himself at this moment. He wasn’t rushing. He knew that pushing you gently, slowly, into this state of submission made the moment even more intense. He delighted in every reaction you offered him, every shiver he provoked in you. Your ragged breath, your moans, the tremors that coursed through your body—all of it fed him, filled him with a satisfaction he couldn’t hide.
His eyes darkened as he looked at you, his lips grazing your skin, his warm breath brushing your throat. “You’re mine,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, his rough voice full of absolute certainty. He could feel your body tense under that declaration, but instead of giving you an escape, he held you firmly, letting his fingers trace slowly down your stomach, savoring every movement, every response of your body.
He loved the idea that no one else could make you feel what he made you feel.
The constant pressure of his metal hand on your throat, combined with the softness of his lips, plunged you into total confusion. Your body responded with both uncontrollable shivers and tremors that coursed through you with each moment. You felt your muscles tense with each kiss, each caress, your stomach tightening almost painfully under the burning desire consuming you.
Kid slightly loosened his grip around your throat, just enough to turn you toward him, forcing you to meet his smoldering gaze. Your muscles tensed, every fiber of your being seeking to resist, but his hands applied a gentle yet unyielding pressure, letting you know that there would be no escape. His hard, possessive gaze captured every emotion playing across your face, and he savored this moment, this vulnerability he saw in you.
“Look at me,” he ordered in a deep, husky voice, his tone cutting through you like a blade. “I want to see you surrender… completely.”
Your breath came in uneven gasps, your eyes searching for a momentary escape, but you were held captive by his stare. Your lips parted under the weight of his silent dominance, a slight tremble betraying your state of surrender. The distance between you seemed to dissolve under the intensity of his hold, his gaze piercing you, demanding the total submission you felt was inevitable.
He slid his flesh hand up to your jaw, holding your face with controlled firmness, his fingers exerting a possessive pressure that left no doubt: he had you, and he intended to mark every moment of it. His thumb gently stroked your cheek, tracing burning lines across your skin, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Say it,” he murmured commandingly, his lips mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours. “Tell me that you belong to me.”
Your hands, almost trembling, rested instinctively on his chest to find support, an anchor in this sea of sensations. Your heart pounded so hard that you could feel each beat resonate throughout your entire body, every fiber of you responding to this relentless domination. A whisper escaped your lips, your voice weak, almost broken by the intensity of the moment: “I am… yours.”
A satisfied smile touched his lips. His gaze, filled with an unbridled possessiveness, shone with an intensity that made you shiver. He lowered his lips to your ear, his words reverberating like a promise, dark and undeniable.
Before you could respond, he claimed your lips in an unyielding, demanding kiss.
This kiss was a claim, an assertion of his power over you, and you felt each pressure, each touch of his lips as an indelible mark. Kid controlled every movement, and you let yourself be swept away by this total hold, your body surrendering completely to this silent domination.
His hands roamed your back and neck with calculated precision, alternating between the warmth of his skin and the coolness of steel. You felt your last defenses crumble under this touch, each shiver, each tremble betraying your complete submission. You were his, utterly and without reservation, and he knew it.
When he finally pulled back, his intense gaze remained locked on yours, as if probing every thought, every emotion. He slowly ran his fingers through your disheveled hair, a gesture that was both possessive and tender.
He finally released his hold, but his gaze, filled with that absolute dominance, made it clear that this connection would never fade. Your heart pounded so hard that you felt each beat resonate through your body, and the warmth of his gaze, his voice, his embrace enveloped you entirely. Kid’s eyes bore into yours with that possessive intensity that left no doubt about his intentions.
He observed you for another moment, as if to imprint every detail of your surrender, and his lips brushed yours again, his voice murmuring with unyielding certainty: “From now on… every part of you is mine.”
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Masterlist
More Posts from Bubblyluffy and Others
three hundred sonnets (sanji x reader)
a/n: my first OP x reader fic ever written! :D i’m currently only at the start of the Water 7 arc so this will take place somewhere prior to that :) i hope you enjoy!
big thank you to @chibinasuu for your encouragement in my initial post abt this fic idea! <3 i'm so excited to write more stuff in the future :D
also! i’d really appreciate any requests sent my way :D right now i’ll only write SFW fics/headcanons for Sanji, Zoro, Shanks, Mihawk, Crocodile & Smoker! but they will all be set early in the series/not during any specific arc since i’m still only at ep 200ish :’D
contents: gn reader, zoro is unintentionally an asshole, major insecurity, injury, miscommunication, angst to fluff, hurt/reverse comfort
wc: 3k
—
“if he writes her a few sonnets, he loves her. If he writes her 300 sonnets, he loves sonnets”
i.
it’s no secret that Zoro isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the kitchen drawer— or at least that’s what Sanji thinks, especially now as he stands by the sink scrubbing away at the leftover grime on the used dishes; feeling a tightness in his shoulders he just can’t seem to will away.
”hey, cook,” the inebriated swordsman slurred from across the dining table, a shit-eating grin on his reddened face—a familiar sight to everyone on the straw hat crew, especially when times have been smooth sailing. “i heard somethin’ interesting from the last town’s blacksmith the other day and it reminded me of you.” Zoro continued without waiting to be acknowledged.
”if this is something about my eyebrows again, i swear to god i’ll-”
”he said somethin’ like ‘if he writes her a few sonnets, he loves her. if he writes her three hundred sonnets, he loves sonnets’ and i just thought-” he paused to let out a quick burp, “-you ever consider you might just love cooking more than you love (Y/N)?”
the muffled, happy chatter of his satisfied crewmates from outside the closed kitchen door does nothing to distract Sanji from what even he himself knows is a turbulent mental spiral. he grits his teeth as his fingers grip the sponge even harder, working away at a particularly stubborn stain that strikes him as the final straw that breaks the camel’s back.
Sanji lets out a choked laugh when it dawns on him how ridiculous all this must seem to an outsider: a grown man on the verge of tears as he washes the dishes, overthinking about an off-handed comment said by an extremely drunk friend that was never supposed to mean anything and yet it seems to have shattered everything he thought he knew about himself and his love for the most important person in his life.
ii.
you decide to excuse yourself from the post-dinner drink-and-chat session with the rest of the crew after you realise someone in particular has been missing for a strangely long time.
you ignore Zoro’s slurred request for you to bring back more booze, knowing he’ll be passing out any minute now from how much he’s drunk tonight, and head to the kitchen. ready to drag your beloved to bed for a nice cuddling session, you can’t help the smile that graces your face as you swing open the door to Sanji’s domain.
”hey love, are you done cleaning up?” you chirp as you approach his broad back, hands ready to plop down on his shoulders for a light squeeze—just the way you know he likes it. the sink comes into clearer view as you get closer and the sight of a few dozen sudsy but unwashed plates and bowls answers the question for you.
”oh, i, um-” the way the blond man jolts slightly in response to your touch isn’t lost on you but what took you more by surprise is how Sanji rubs his face against his sleeve before finally turning to look at you from over his shoulder. he smiles before leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead out of habit. “i got a bit distracted but i’ll be done soon, my love.”
”i can help you-”
”no!” you’re sure the way your eyes widen in surprise at his response is mirrored on his face as you both stare blankly at one another for a second. “no, no. i can handle it,” Sanji continues, quick to press a few apologetic kisses on your face, the rapid pounding of his heart calming slightly when he sees how you lean into his affection, seemingly forgetting his odd outburst from just a second ago.
“why don’t you just wash up and wait for me in bed, hmm? i’ll be with you before you know it.”
”are you sure? it’ll be quicker if we do it together.”
oh how his chest aches from how sweetly you look at him, offering him a final chance to take you up on the offer. his reddened and sore fingertips scream for him to say yes, beg him to accept your company not only for their sake but also for his heart’s—
i must prove to you how much i love you.
”it’s quite alright, sweet thing, it’s only the dishes.”
iii.
“it’s just a few thousand berry.”
“it’s only a massage.”
“it’s just mopping the floor.”
“it’s only folding the clothes.”
”it’s a small scratch, nothing to worry your little head about.”
”i can take up your night watch today… nonsense, i insist…”
”…nothing but a sprained ankle, i’ll be fine. all that matters is that you’re okay.”
iv.
”Sanji, love, is something wrong?” your voice shatters the silence that had long since engulfed the two of you sitting alone in the kitchen. the others left to explore the newest island you’ve chanced upon and your beloved’s insistence on watching over Merry all but confirm your suspicion that something, indeed, is not right.
”whatever do you mean?” the chef responds with a slight tilt of his head, his tongue darting out to soothe his dry lips when he catches how worried you look.
please don’t
”well, it’s just that… you know this island’s pretty famous for its produce, right?” you ask before you slowly reach out to grab his hand resting on the table. “are you sure you don’t wanna look around? take a break?”
”a break from what?” he chuckles nervously, shooting you a small smile when he feels your thumb rub against his knuckles.
”it’s just that… you’ve been working really hard this past week, y’know?” you reach out to cup his face with your other hand, a gesture Sanji instinctively welcomes with no hesitation as he nuzzles into the warmth of your palm, his tired eyes fluttering closed for a second.
it’s nothing. nothing at all. as long as it means i can feel this warmth for one day more.
”you should go have some fun with the others, it’s my turn to watch Merry. i’ll be fine for a few hours on my own.” Sanji opens his eyes and is greeted by the familiar sight of your warm smile as you rub the pad of your thumb under his eye, across the dark patch of skin—a result of his insistence on doing your night watches with you alongside his full-time duties as the sole chef of the ship.
turning his head slightly to press his lips against your palm, he shoots you another smile. “i’m not really in the mood to explore, i’d much rather stay here with you.”
because what if you realise how much you don’t need me when i’m gone?
Sanji feels the tightness in his chest loosen up a bit when his honeyed response, spoken in his best imitation of a sane boyfriend with only normal thoughts in his head, seems to work in quelling your concern at least for now.
v.
oh how you wish you’d pressed further back then, dug deeper even if it made him uncomfortable. if you could miraculously go back in time just once in your life, you’d choose to return to that afternoon in the kitchen when you were alone with him. you would’ve seized the opportunity to pry, to force the hard truth out of your beloved chef even if it meant tears shed and bonds broken; because even a scenario like that would be so much more preferable to the one you’re currently in right now.
the entire crew steers clear of the infirmary for the day. even Chopper only shows up to redress Sanji’s wounds every now and then, leaving once he’s done, unable to stay any longer due to how heavy the air feels inside that one tiny room. the other straw hats rely on him for details on how things seem to be going between the crew’s chef and chronicler. otherwise, they elect to give you two some privacy and space, collectively hoping things can return to normal soon.
neither of you say a word for nearly half an hour after Chopper leaves. the stiffness in your neck is starting to bother you but you remain frozen in position, seated by Sanji’s side as he lays resting in bed, his left hand heavily bandaged.
it happened quicker than anyone could have possibly expected.
the enemy pirate’s sword slashing in your direction as you prepare to parry the way Zoro taught you long ago. you were confident in your ability to win the fight, having been in much tougher situations in the past and still emerging victorious. you might not be the best fighter but everyone knew you could stand your ground fairly well.
Sanji knew that, too. there was no one he believed in more than you, his partner, the love of his life. he knew you would be fine, unscathed, even; and yet his body moved on its own accord anyway. his hands reached forward, contrary to a lifetime of instincts.
i must prove myself to you.
he knows now, looking at the endless stream of tears silently running down your face and the way your jaw is tensed up—your teeth most certainly chewing on your tongue—that he’d fucked up.
”i’m sorry—” your head turns sharply for your eyes to meet his for the first time in a while when he speaks, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Sanji’s bottom lip begins to tremble as he looks away in shame, his own teary eyes glued to his bandaged hand. “i-i won’t be able to cook for you for a while.”
for a minute, you forget how to breathe.
and then, inexplicably, a wave of rage washes over you; a culmination of the past two weeks of concern, confusion and worry over Sanji’s drastic sudden need to do anything and everything for you. his intense desire to display his selflessness all building up to the moment he used his hands to protect you; and even then his only concern is being unable to cook for you?
your own curl into fists on your lap, your nails digging into the meat of your palm, there’s a sudden coppery taste in your mouth as your molars bite down harder onto your tongue. the sheer idea of him willingly giving up his hands of all things to defend you from an opponent you could beat with your eyes closed made you so unbelievably angry at something you couldn’t even quite put your finger on.
sensing a shift in your emotions, Sanji finally tilts his head up to look back at you. his throat threatens to constrict itself and his heart drops when he sees the furious look on your face.
”am i really such a helpless creature to you?”
you regret the words as soon as you say them. the initial fury coursing through your veins dissipating in the blink of an eye when you see how your single sentence instantly breaks something in him.
his mouth opens and closes but no words escape his lips, meanwhile tears flow freely down his faces, one drop after another falling onto the blanket draped over his lap as his uninjured hand grips the fabric for dear life.
no, you could never be helpless you’re perfect you’re the most perfect person in the whole world i don’t deserve to have you and yet you chose me but now i’ve ruined it all—
the endless thoughts racing in his head go abruptly silent when he feels the softness and warmth of your body engulf his. your hand reaches up to hold the back of his head, pulling his face into the crook of your neck as your free arm wraps around his upper back. your knees are planted on the mattress, trapping him in a straddle as you hug him tightly, careful not to agitate his wounds.
for a few seconds, all Sanji does is breathe. in and out. every inhale filled with the scent of your shampoo mixed with the saltiness of your sweat and tears. he feels the hand holding his head run its fingers through his blond hair in a familiar way, it sends pleasant tingles down his spine and for the first time in a while, he’s able to release the tension in his shoulders.
Sanji’s eyes flutter closed as he nuzzles deeper into your neck, pressing a small kiss against your skin before wrapping his own arms around you, returning the much-needed embrace.
”i love you so much, my sweet boy,” you whisper loud enough for him to hear. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean what i said. i know you of all people believe the most in me. i was wrong to accuse you of thinking about me in such a way.” you turn your head to kiss his temple, then his forehead, then the space between his eyes, then the tip of his nose. now face-to-face, your beloved opens his tear-stained eyes to look back into your own.
”are you okay? did something happen?” you ask softly, continuing to caress the back of his head, tangling his golden locks with your fingers. “i’ve been worried about you, the others are too.” he lets out a sniffle but stays silent, so you continue, “i know you’re a selfless person and you love doing things for other people, especially me.” you smile and he returns a small smile back. it, however, falters into an embarrassed grimace when he recalls the conversation that started it all.
how silly it all feels in hindsight, Sanji wonders to himself, as you patiently await his reply, still hugging him closely as your soft breath fans his face. how easily this could all have been resolved if he’d simply talked to you about it once it all started to feel too much.
the hand behind his head travels toward his cheek to cradle his face in the palm of your hand. you run your thumb gently over his cheekbone as he practically purrs and leans even closer into your loving touch.
then, he speaks.
vi.
the cooling sea air circulates the space of your shared room as the Going Merry drifts slowly across the calm waters of the night.
Chopper had given Sanji the OK to rest in his usual bed after redressing his wounds in the evening. After leaving the infirmary, the chef made his way to the kitchen to check up on your progress with dinner. Since he was banned from cooking until his hand was fully recovered, you’d volunteered to take up all kitchen duties temporarily. Seeing how excited you were to now be the one providing for him and the others quelled any worries he had instantly.
”Now I get to make all your favourite food and drinks for you instead,” you’d said, crossing your arms and putting on a faux expression of haughtiness, as though you’d finally won some long-drawn out battle.
”I look forward to it, sweet thing.” was all it took to wipe the look off your face as you felt your entire body warm up at his tender voice.
Smiling at the memory from just a few hours ago, Sanji stood outside the kitchen, ready to enter when he heard two voices come from inside. Curious, he stayed put and listened.
”You need to think before you speak!” you yelled, your raised voice accompanied by the sound of a knife hitting the wooden cutting board in a sharp, rhythmic manner. “I know you were drunk but what even was the point of saying all that to him?”
”Listen, I already apologised, you don’t have to keep—”
”I’m just warning you: pull that shit again and I’ll throw all your booze into the ocean.”
”Alright! Damn! I won’t do it again, I swear—”
Sanji’s snapped out of his reverie when he feels you stir awake beside him. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes before blearily looking up at his face, your hand pressing against his bare chest to prop yourself up slightly from the mattress.
”Can’t sleep?” you ask, running your palm up and down his skin in a gentle manner.
”Mmm, just thinking about how you managed to get mosshead to say sorry to me at dinner,” he replied, wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer. “Still feels like a weird fever dream.”
“I’m just so good with words, y’know?” you chuckle as you pull your hand away from his chest to replace it with the side of your head. You don’t fail to notice how his heartbeat quickens. “Why else would the infamous Straw Hat Pirates take me on as their chronicler?”
”Of course,” Sanji hums before burying his face in your hair, “we accept nothing but the best after all.”
You laugh softly in response, ready to let the conversation meet its natural end in order for the two of you to drift off to sleep. Right before you shut your eyes, though, your lover speaks up once more.
”I’m so lucky to be loved by you.” his sudden confession knocks the wind from your lungs as your heart leaps within the tight confines of your chest.
”luck has nothing to do with it, sweet boy,” you reply, turning to your head slightly to press your lips to his chest. “i love you because you’re you—the kindest, strongest, most talented man i’ve ever met. you’ve ruined other people for me, not to mention the food they make. nothing compares to you.”
Sanji silently thanks the night sky for the darkness enveloping your room as he feels his face practically catch fire. Though, he’s certain you can probably tell how flustered he is from the rapid beating of his heart anyway.
”You’ll still love me even if I can’t cook for you anymore?” he mutters, half-joking.
”i’ll still love you even if you refuse to cook for me for the rest if our lives,” you reply, kind of half-joking. “I’d probably be really sad, though, but i’ll still love you.” In response, you feel a chuckle rumble from his chest as his uninjured arm pulls you closer until you’ve basically melded into one.
”you know fully well the day i refuse to cook for you is the day i die.”
you hum in response, already drifting off to sleep with a contented smile on your face. Sanji presses one last kiss of the night to your forehead before dozing off himself.
😭
halloween island
1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .
Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!
“Hello?”
You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.
He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.
At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.
He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.
It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.
“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”
With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.
“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”
“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.
He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?
“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”
You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.
“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.
You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”
He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.
His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.
You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.
You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.
But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.
“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.
He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.
You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.
When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.
---
“Hello?”
He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.
You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”
You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.
“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.
You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”
He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”
“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.
The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.
Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.
He vents about that, and you hear him out.
“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”
He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.
“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.
“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.
When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.
He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”
Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?
You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.
Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”
This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.
“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.
He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)
“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.
“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”
His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.
“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.
The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.
The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.
After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.
“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.
“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”
You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.
“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.
“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”
“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.
“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”
“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”
He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”
“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”
His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”
“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”
Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”
You laugh again. “How about both?”
“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”
“Mhm.”
“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”
“No way. Really?”
“Yep.”
“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.
“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”
“And what’s going on underneath of those?”
He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”
“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.
He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”
Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.
“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”
“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”
You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.
“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”
Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).
“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”
His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.
There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.
“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”
He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”
He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.
“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”
His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.
You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”
“I would kiss every inch of you.”
Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?
“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.
“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.
Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.
“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.
“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”
“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.
“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.
“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that licking your clit.”
You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.
“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.
He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.
At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.
“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”
You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.
Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.
“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”
His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.
“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”
“How would I know that you liked it?”
“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”
“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”
“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.
“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”
“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”
“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.
“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”
You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.
He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”
“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”
“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”
“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.
Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.
That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.
When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”
You hum in agreement. “Wow.”
He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”
He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”
Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”
You almost instantly regret oversharing, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.
“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”
“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”
While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.
It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.
“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.
“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.
“See you later, sweetheart.”
Sanji hangs up the phone.
In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.
But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.
And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.
---
A week passes.
It’s Friday again.
11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.
In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.
As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.
Was last time a mistake?
Ten minutes go by.
Twenty minutes go by.
Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.
You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.
You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.
There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.
Why hadn’t he called you?
You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.
Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?
You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.
It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.
No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.
Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.
---
Sanji does not call you back the next week.
Or the next week.
Or the week after that.
Or the month after that.
You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.
It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.
But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?
When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.
You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.
In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.
But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.
You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.
You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.
But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.
You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?
No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.
That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.
Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?
You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.
---
It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.
You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.
Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).
Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.
Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.
“Hello?”
Your heart stops.
It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.
“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.
“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”
It is Sanji.
Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.
Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.
As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.
“I’m sorry.”
The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.
You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.
He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.
“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”
“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”
He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.
“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”
“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”
You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.
So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.
You pick up the phone. It is.
“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”
“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”
“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”
His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.
“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”
You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.
“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.
He winces. He knew that was coming.
“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”
“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”
“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?
Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?
One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.
“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”
“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”
You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”
You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?
“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.
“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”
“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”
“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”
He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”
“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”
“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”
When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.
You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.
Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).
---
When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.
He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.
It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.
He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.
He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.
Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.
At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.
You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.
And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.
Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.
thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(
here's my masterlist if you're interested!
divider courtesy of @cafekitsune tag list @eggrollforyou
rewatching impel down got me feeling TRANSGENDER and sad. but more importantly TRANSGENDER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
How many dreams to say "I love you"?
Summary: Zoro overhears a private conversation and starts having disturbingly vivid dreams. He can’t figure out why, but as thoughts of you start to take over both his sleeping and waking hours, he realizes that something else must be happening.
Part 1 out of 3 (or 4). ~5k words. CW: Mostly plot. Some explicit/NSFW content, though; minors don't interact. Afab reader w/some gendered language (she/her pronouns). Kissing, fingering, masturbation.
Part 1: A lesson—don't eavesdrop.
Zoro did not think he was capable of romantic love. He’d never desired it, never felt empty about it, in fact, he saw it as an unfortunate distraction from his goals. On top of that, there were some things in his life that he could not and would never compromise on, and he had a feeling that this mindset was simply incompatible with relationships in general.
Sometimes, when he saw couples hang all over each other or make out in public, he cringed. He would roll his eyes when he saw couples holding hands, when he saw them saying “I love you” to each other, and when he saw Sanji act like a love-sick dog.
Zoro would cringe doubly hard when he heard people say, “making love,” he balked at the idea of holding hands or PDA, and felt off put by the whole concept of marriage. Like he could or would tie himself down like that forever. As if.
He never questioned his reaction to (or stances on) these things. He just shrugged it off—to him, PDA was an eyesore, and romantic love was a futile waste of time.
But the underlying reason, the reason he would never admit, was that he felt like it was forever out of reach for him. He felt like he shouldn’t even try, and he convinced himself for years that it would add nothing to his life. Nor had Zoro ever met someone who made him feel like he wanted to access the part of him where his capacity for romantic love was buried (if it existed, that is).
The few times he strained himself to imagine what it would be like to have a partner, what it would feel like to share himself with someone completely, he felt like there was a brick inside of him, literally and physically. There was some weight inside, some opaque block that he couldn’t see past. He knew that he had never experienced romantic love and he felt that at his age, if he hadn’t felt anything like that before, it’d never happen.
There was a lock inside of him and the key did not exist.
It's not like Zoro was insecure or lacked confidence. He was Roronoa Zoro, after all. He knew who he was, and he had no issue with that. It’s not that he didn’t love himself enough, but rather that he didn’t think he was capable of loving someone else.
Romantic love felt completely inaccessible for him. Maybe his insides had curdled at one point. Maybe he had too much pain to plant seeds of love inside of himself and watch them bloom. If the block was already built, he had no intentions of breaking it down. If the lock without a key was there, guarding something, he knew that it would never be opened.
He wasn’t too pressed about it, or so he thought.
One night, you and Nami were having drinks on deck. Zoro was finishing up an extra round of exercises on the upper deck, a little way away. When he was doing his exercises, he couldn’t hear anything. He was in the zone, meditating, heaving air, locked in. But when he finished working out and started stretching, he heard your conversation with Nami clearly.
He just caught the end of the conversation. He was technically eavesdropping—he wasn’t sure either of you realized he was up there, or else you wouldn’t have been so candid, but he couldn’t turn his ears off. When Zoro heard what you were saying he was intrigued. He knew he shouldn’t, but he held still and listened, against his better judgment.
“What do you mean?” He heard Nami ask you. It was the sort of conversation that you could only share with your best friend. It seemed like you were telling her everything on your mind, baring your soul, not holding back.
“Well, you know…” you answered softly, after a pause. “The type of love where you take showers together and shampoo each other’s hair. And when you’re together in public together it feels like no one else is around…”
Nami hummed in agreement, prompting you to continue.
“The type of love where you come home to them after the worst day and one look at them makes it all feel better. Forehead kisses sort of love. When you give them every part of you, and they do the same. I want a love like that. Do you know what I mean?” You asked.
You were blushing. Zoro could hear it in your voice. He had become very familiar with you the past few months. You were good friends, and he paid special attention to you. He watched your every move. Even so, he didn’t think anything of it—so what, he wanted to know you were safe all the time and spent hours studying your face. So what, he remembered every word you’d ever said to him. What’s the big deal? You were friends.
Zoro knew you were pretty, there was no question. If he was honest with himself, he was attracted to you. But being attracted to someone and being in love with someone aren’t the same—and no matter how much he thought you were pretty, it didn’t (and wouldn’t) go farther than that, nor would he be able to.
He thought he just didn’t have the range for a relationship, he could never see himself like that, had never felt those emotions before. Zoro had a fondness for you and told himself that this was normal between friends. Your pretty face and smile were irrelevant to the closeness and strength of your friendship, and he reprimanded himself any time he caught himself staring at your lips or musing on how pretty your fingers were.
But… Zoro would roll his eyes sardonically at Sanji anytime he got a ‘nosebleed’ over you and passed out. Zoro would call him a “fucking idiot.” If Sanji touched you or said something over the line, he’d chew him out. And if someone made one wrong step in your direction, Zoro got protective.
He wouldn’t mince words and would pull his swords out with no hesitation. He saw red one time a guy got handsy with you at a bar without your permission; Zoro caused a scene and thought about it for weeks afterwards. Any time you were injured, he felt worried sick. He told himself that all of this was the case because you were close friends.
The thought never crossed his mind that he didn’t do these things for the other people he called friends.
As he was listening, Nami responded to you. “Have you ever had a love like that?”
There was a moment of silence. Zoro figured you were shaking your head yes or no. He wondered which it was. Had you felt a love like that?
“That’s really sweet.” Nami continued. “I understand. It explains why you’ve been feeling that way recently…” Her pensive voice trailed off.
Zoro heard your voice crack after moment, your breath hitching quietly. It sounded like you were crying. “I know I’ll be fine, but it’s just hard being so lonely when you’re around someone who… who… well, you know. I just feel so empty inside. It’s been hurting really bad recently, Nami. I don’t know what to do.” You sniffled and he could tell that you were frowning.
There was a pause for many seconds. The only thing audible was quiet sobs. He wondered if tears were getting caught in your eyelashes, rolling down your cheeks. He had never seen you cry before.
“Awh, I get it.” Nami answered. She was being kinder than Zoro thought she was capable of. “I’m sure you won’t feel like this for long though, I think he’ll come around eventually. We can all see it. I’m always here for you and will always listen to you. So, don’t get yourself down, okay? Do you want a hug?”
You squeaked out an “mhm” between sniffles. Some quiet moments passed and some shuffling. Nami must have been giving you a hug.
“Let’s wipe those tears away and get you feeling better. How about we get another bottle to distract us, and then maybe we can get Sanji to make us something yummy. I’m sure Usopp and Chopper are doing something silly, too. Does that sound like a good idea?”
He heard you answer her with another sniffle, but it sounded like you were smiling now. “Thanks for listening to me Nami, you’re the best. Yeah, let’s go get another.” Your voices and footsteps retreated inside.
Zoro was stumped for a second. He paused to let his gears turn. He was creating a mental map that looked something like this:
You were talking to Nami about what type of love you wanted.
Nami asked you if you had experienced that before… met with silence.
You were crying—you said it was hard being around someone, and you felt empty inside.
Nami made a comment, “we can all see it.” The ‘all’ in question would presumably be the crewmates… right? What did they see, and why wasn’t he aware of this?
As Zoro pondered this mental map, he was caught up on two things. First, he was surprised to hear that you were lonely. Any time you were around him, you seemed fine. You smiled and laughed every day and had great conversations, so to hear that you were lonely was surprising for him. He wouldn’t have guessed it.
Second, when you described what sort of love you wanted, he felt something. Something shifted inside of him, or maybe it twisted. If Zoro didn’t know any better, he would have said he had butterflies, but that never happened before, and it was never going to happen. Besides, he had no clue what that felt like. So maybe he had like… indigestion or something?
He shrugged that off but was then struck again by the idea that you were lonely. You were so lonely that you started crying about it. He’d never seen that side of you before, and he was rattled. It didn’t feel good to hear you cry. Also, you were such close friends, why hadn’t you talked to him about it? Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell him? He wondered if he hurt your feelings recently or if he did anything wrong to prompt your silence on the matter.
He was starting to worry. But a voice of reason came into his mind—that was a private conversation, he told himself, you had no business listening. So keep your trap shut and mind your business.
That would prove more difficult than he imagined.
DREAMS 1 & 2: A weird coincidence
Falling asleep that night took Zoro longer than usual. Your words played in his head like a song on repeat and it was starting to drive him crazy. He remembered that you said, among other things, that you wanted to take a shower with the person you loved and shampoo each other’s hair. He was cursing himself for being so fixated on your words and he tried to force himself to sleep.
He questioned himself—why was he interested in this? What did he think about it? He was borderline pissed off at himself, telling himself to stop being weird about it, and consoled himself with the idea that he could just tell you he overheard the conversation and ask you why you were lonely.
As Zoro drifted in and out of consciousness, finally starting to dream, he found himself in a hot shower. There was someone in the shower with him, but he couldn’t tell who it was because his back was facing them. The shower was so steamy it was hard to see. He realized that the person behind him had their fingers running through his hair, scrubbing—they were washing his hair. It felt like bliss, the soap smelled lovely, and the hot water felt great.
He turned around to see who it was, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew who it was already.
You were standing behind him, suds on your hands from shampoo. Your hair was soaked, and your naked body was glistening wet. You smiled at him, and he could feel his arm reaching out to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer.
When your bodies touched, warm and wet, his hands slid up to squeeze one of your breasts just briefly. You pulled him into a kiss and your fingers crept into his wet and soapy hair. You hummed into his mouth, and his fingers trailed downwards, grabbing handfuls of your skin… It quickly turned into a sex dream.
He felt himself grind his erection onto your wet stomach and thighs, heard you whine into his mouth and smash your lips on his. His hand crept downwards, reaching into that valley where your thighs met. He slipped a finger between your folds, already oozing arousal. His finger explored, reached further, started to slip into you…
Zoro’s heart was pounding so fast it woke him up. He was painfully hard, disoriented, and panting. The dream was so vivid it felt like it just happened in real life. It was like he knew what your skin felt like, and your lips tasted like, as if his fingers actually felt between your thighs and rubbed on your sensitive spots. He felt every moment of it, he had seen you so clearly…
Zoro never had a sex dream with you before this. He didn’t get those dreams a lot, to be fair, and he didn’t know how to feel other than flustered and confused, considering the fact that you were his “friend”. He palmed his cock and grinded his hand over it through the fabric of his underwear briefly before sleep swept him away again. He was out like a light.
Later that night, Zoro dreamed of you again. This time, he was walking down a busy street through an open-air market. It was loud and crowded; music was playing, and it smelled like spices, baking bread, and roasted meat. Zoro was completely lost in the crowd, but he felt like the scene was missing something. His eyes shifted through the sea of faces and pinpointed you looking at him from the other side of the market, eyes riveted on his. You stood out in the crowd, radiant, smiling softly.
As he made his way through the throngs of people, you caught his eye again and waved at him. He was breathless. When Zoro reached you, you slowly slipped your hand into his and entwined your fingers together. Saying nothing, you brought his hand up to your mouth and gave it a kiss, looking right into his eyes. His heart twisted—it was that same feeling from before, one he wasn’t used to.
In this dream it was like he had tunnel vision. There were hundreds of people around him, but the only thing Zoro could see or pay attention to was you. The world melted away; you were the only thing left. He could feel himself place a hand on your waist and pull you closer. He leaned in to kiss you and you dodged, bringing your lips to his ear instead.
“I love you.” You whispered, your voice hushed, and he could feel your breath on his ear so clearly that it gave him goosebumps. Everything about it felt real. He could feel warmth seep into his core; it was like something bloomed inside of him, flowers letting out tendrils of precious petals and buds, enveloping the pair of you. He was intoxicatingly close to you; it was so real.
Zoro could feel himself about to whisper three words back to you before he started to fall—he woke up with a start. It was like one of those dreams where you’re rocketing towards the ground in a free fall, and right before you slam into the ground you wake up, terrified. But instead of scared, he felt distressed and weird.
Why had he dreamed of you for the first time after hearing your conversation with Nami?
Zoro recognized a possible connection immediately. Was it just a coincidence that he had dreamed about the same scenarios you discussed with Nami? Namely, that you wanted the sort of love where you could shower together, or be with them in public and the whole world melts away?
He was disturbed, to say the least. He was quite perplexed by the coincidence, by seeing you naked (at least, it felt like he had seen you), and by that weird twisting feeling in his chest.
More than that, he was distraught at the idea that he felt himself in his dream about to whisper something to you too, too, something which was blatantly and patently false. Why was he going to whisper those words back to you? It was just a dream, right? It was just a dream.
Thoughts nagged in his head—he was thinking about how fucking gorgeous you were, how serene he felt, and how close you had been. In both dreams he felt like you were staring into him, peering through his irises and seeing his soul for what it was. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on in his head.
Zoro usually wasn’t one to dwell, and so he tried to go with that strategy here, too. Just don’t think about it, he told himself. It was just a dream. Go back to sleep.
When the swordsman saw you on deck that morning, his heart did a thumping thing and his body tensed up. He had the irrational fear that you’d go up to him and say, “I know what you dreamed about last night, you perv.” Or something like that. He also had no clue how to interact with you after he had eavesdropped on you and then had two very intimate dreams about you, but he tried to pretend like nothing happened. After all, he couldn’t control what he dreamed about, and you were a friend.
When you walked over to him on deck and smiled at him, he didn’t know what to say to you. “Good morning, Zoro!” There was that charming smile of yours, again. He had seen a lot of it last night.
He responded with a gruff “morning” and waved a hand as he walked upstairs to do some lifts on the upper deck.
A few hours later, you and Nami came out on the lower deck in your swimsuits and started sunbathing. You were lying on two foldy lounge chairs and you had a colorful umbrella over your heads. Sanji whipped up two fruity drinks with maraschino cherries and mini (matching) umbrellas, and it looked like you were having a fun time. There was nothing objectively unusual about this scene, in fact, it must have happened plenty of times before.
Zoro was doing his thing and working out like he usually did. Whenever he did his afternoon routine, sometimes he saw you and sometimes he didn’t. He would smile and wave sometimes when you caught each other’s eyes.
But today, he was preoccupied. He was trying his hardest not to snoop again. He couldn’t hear you at all, other than your giggles and laughs, so that made it easier to ignore you. Your laugh was clear over the crash of waves and his own heavy breaths from exercising. He really liked the way you laughed; it was one of those infectious laughs that bring a smile to other peoples’ faces. He had noticed before that when you laughed, your nose scrunched up a little bit—he thought it was cute.
After hearing bursts of raucous laughter from the pair of you, he snuck a couple glances. This was a bad idea. The view confirmed two things. First, he had a rather superficial reflection—the you from his shower dream and the you in your bathing suit looked very similar. That is to say, he saw your body in a quick glance and had to tell himself to fuck off in his own mind.
The second thing his quick glances confirmed was that something about the conversation he overheard last night changed how he felt about you (hopefully temporarily). He couldn’t put his finger on it… But he spent all day so far thinking about that conversation, trying to break it down and put the pieces back together in a way that made sense.
Why were you lonely? Why did you cry? And who were you referring to when you said it was hard to be lonely around someone? Why didn’t you ever talk about this stuff with him?
You shared so much with him. He knew where you were from, what your family was like, your favorite color, your favorite food, your favorite animal, favorite song, the list went on. But you were lonely? And that’s something you didn’t tell him?
It’s not like you had to tell him every little thing. But this felt like a big thing. And he was mulling over the type of love you wanted. The type of love you told Nami about and the scenarios you listed off were sweet and thoughtful, just like you. Hearing you talk about what sort of love you wanted didn’t make him cringe like he thought it would, given that it was lovey-dovey fluffy stuff.
Zoro couldn’t recall a time when you had a conversation about that sort of thing. Maybe once or twice, drunkenly, but those memories were foggy. Why the fuck couldn’t he get you out of his head? Why did he care so much? He was miffed and puzzled.
Dinner that evening went on as usual. You sat with Nami and Robin, giggling and smiling. Zoro tried to listen to your conversation from the other side of the table (he was being self-indulgent, and he knew he shouldn’t have).
He heard Robin speak about her newest archaeological research, Nami spilled the tea about some recent designer shopping scandal, and when the conversation turned to you, there was a moment of silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see you three exchange some glances, a cocked eyebrow from Nami, a set of flashing eyes from Robin, and a pink flush splayed across your cheeks. He wondered what that was about. Zoro tried to keep inconspicuously observing, but Luffy started shouting about something and Usopp spilled his drink all over the very distracted swordsman.
Sometimes after dinner you helped Sanji do the washing up. Usually everyone would wash their own plates but sometimes no one felt like it, so you gave Sanji a hand. You’d go around and collect the empty plates at the table—and this night, Zoro was still sitting at the table with his empty plate. Chopper was across from him going on and on about some medical incident he witnessed years ago, and Zoro was humoring him. They had the cutest dynamic. Zoro was nodding “uh-huh” and Chopper was enthusiastically gesturing and dramatizing. When you went to collect the dishes, you walked over to them.
“Hi guys, may I take your plates?”
Zoro’s heart did that thing again, that flipping twisting thing. Was he developing a heart arrhythmia? What was up with that? He wondered, troubled.
You scooped up both of their plates. When you got Zoro’s plate, you took a moment and smiled at him particularly sweet. He mumbled out a thank you and returned the smile, but it looked more like a grimace. He was having crazy cognitive dissonance—he was feeling weird, his heart was beating funky, and he felt laser focused on you, more so than usual. He told himself that he didn’t care about the conversation last night and that it was no biggie, but his body felt the exact opposite.
Zoro’s eyes followed your frame as you went to wash up the plates next to Sanji. He noted your pretty hands and the way you cleaned the plates, delicately but thoroughly. He saw the way that Sanji slid over to you and put his hand on the small of your back to lean in and whisper a compliment to you. You shied away but smiled and blushed all the same. Zoro felt a twinge of annoyance at Sanji. He’d have to chew him out later for touching you like that. Fucking creep.
Later that night, Zoro was getting ready for bed. He was shirtless, in sweatpants, lying on the bed in his cabin with his hands behind his head. Staring at the ceiling, he contemplated the last 24 hours, trying to process why and in what ways he felt different.
The familiar sounds of your footsteps padded past his open door and he didn’t turn his head to look at you. He had enough for one day, didn’t feel like scrambling his brain anymore. He was ready to go to sleep and forget about the confusion, hopefully it’d all be gone tomorrow. Zoro had just closed his eyes when you backtracked, and he heard a wooden creak as you leaned your body against the doorframe.
“Hi Zoro, how was your day?” You asked, as charming as ever.
His tone was curt, but you could recognize a note of kindness in it, one with which you had become acquainted with in the past few months. You had a short conversation about each other’s days. Before you turned to go back to your room, you wished him “sweet dreams, and good night!”
He scoffed at himself. Sweet dreams, huh? Sure thing. Underneath that urge to push away the confusion, Zoro was tickled that you had come to check up on him. He couldn’t help but notice your pajamas, how cute you looked in them, how beautiful your face was, freshly washed and all ready for bed.
As he fell asleep, he tried to fight off the relentless stream of thoughts that his mind obsessively thew at him. More than anything, he was stuck on this idea that you were lonely, and that it was hard for you to be lonely around someone. Much to his chagrin, he couldn’t help but wonder if that someone was him.
DREAMS 3 & 4: A long day at work
Zoro fell asleep eventually and his extreme agitation, he dreamed about you again.
First, Zoro found himself walking through the doorway of a house. He didn’t see much; all he knew was that this was his house. He felt like shit; he was tired, grumpy, and burnt out. As he opened the door, he heard your voice, loud, clear, and light. “Welcome home, handsome.”
You were standing in the foyer, presumably waiting for him. He threw his work briefcase on the ground (apparently he just came home from work?), and you advanced, putting your arms around his waist and pulling him into a tight hug with your head nestled on his chest. When he wrapped his arms around you, he leaned his head on yours and noticed how soft your hair was.
“I missed you.” You spoke into the crook of neck.
Again, the feeling of something blooming inside of him radiated from his core. Every muscle of his could feel you. He could hear your heartbeat, he noticed when you pulled him closer. When you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss, the negative feelings from his day at “work” melted away.
The whole day was worth it just for this moment. Your hand reached up to cup his cheek, you ran a thumb over his stubble, caressing his face... Zoro kept feeling that twisting, thumping, skipping sensation in his core. He felt it when he thought about you.
Lucid thoughts cut through the dreamscape—would you still feel lonely if he embraced you like this? If he pulled you into his arms and held you tight, would that make you feel better? What was this feeling when he thought about you? If he gave his all to you, would you feel better then? Would you stop feeling lonely if he gave everything to you, even his heart?
The dream faded into thoughts of other things. Swords, battles, weights, stress, more Zoro thoughts, etc. But hours later, in the early morning, another dreamscape with you in it materialized.
It was sickeningly real and strikingly intelligible. This dream was not within the list of scenarios that you described to Nami about the type of love you wanted—Zoro’s brain must have concocted it on its own.
Zoro was in a bed, his bed, and pale morning light trickled through half-shut blinders. He heard a door creak open and shut somewhere in the distance. His eyes were almost completely closed, just the tiniest peek of the bedroom and the muted blue-gray it was bathed in. Soft footsteps treaded over to the bed. A blurry figure crouched down, eye level with him. The dream came into focus more—you were inspecting his face while he was half asleep.
“Good morning baby,” you whispered, barely audible. You brought a hand up to pet his hair. He grumbled something in response, an acknowledgement. After a moment, you leaned in and started to adorn and sprinkle his face with kisses, as soft as possible. You brushed and pressed your lips around his cheeks, forehead, eyelids and chin gingerly. Your lips met his again, briefly, the same moment that Zoro drifted out of sleep.
He was awake now, actually awake. The light in his cabin was the same blue-gray that the room in his dream was shrouded in moments ago. He tried to roll over and go back to sleep but he was unsuccessful. He wondered what it would be like to wake up to you kissing his face like that and petting his head. Would it be the same?
Why did he keep dreaming about you? Surely all this fuss couldn’t be because he just overheard your conversation with Nami.
He felt tortured. If listening to the conversation was the prompt to you appearing in his dreams, then he just shouldn’t have listened to it. Lesson learned.
stay tuned for part 2! perhaps next week?
i know i promised the aphrodisiac fic first, but i lost all progress on it last night and am working from scratch again ;( rip. that's the first time that's happened to me in a long time. sorry everyone, i'll have it out in the next few days~
here's my masterlist! thanks for reading!
RIP Brook, at least you went out with the best joke in the entire series
Welcome to the shitty Restaurant, you wanna make an order? 🌊
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wait. oh god.
i miss him (fictional character)
⛥ﾟ・。 1000 FOLLOWER MILESTONE PT. 1
synopsis: zoro's inexplicable feelings for the crew's newest member leave him a flushed and confused mess. he can't eat, he can't sleep, he can't think... and he can't possibly talk to her.
cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, (nsfw in pt. 2), zoro is emotionally constipated, reader's a sweetheart, girl talk, zoro is so adorable i cant, i love making him awkward
a/n: tried to be a bit more prosey lol <3 literally why i had to split this it would've been entirely too long (pt 2 is gonna be even longer tho sigh)
Zoro's appearance was deceiving.
He was an imposing figure among his fellow members of the Strawhat crew; people would often think twice before approaching him.
Some would claim it was all about his look: his glare—a look that would feel like a stab the moment it settled upon oneself.
Immobilizing, evoking uneasiness, as if in them there was an unforgiving tint that would petrify.
Moreover, the scars littered all over him—one of them rested across his chest, elongated along his clavicle and stretched well past his hip—were not only marks of his chivalry, his bravery, but also marks that warned others about his fierceness, about his staggering strength.
He was threatening to be around, to say the least.
Still, as rough, relentless, and brutal as he could be, even the roughest stones can be smoothed over time.
Yet achieving such a thing is no easy task at all.
Not for everyone, at least.
"You're in love, Zoro." Robin, the ship's archaeologist, had been the first one to point it out to him, the expression of the swordsman contorting into one of surprise.
It did not dawn on him until that very same moment.
"What the hell are you talking about?" He grumbled, turning away from her gaze, whose smile did not waver in the slightest—but instead it deepened.
Frustration took over Zoro as he bit the inside of his cheek—he could not handle himself.
Being in love... it was rare, at some point even displeasing.
This, the fact that he could not deny it, that he could not help the warmth taking over his cheeks, that his heart would do nothing but race in his chest at the sole mention of you.
He blamed himself for acting so helpless, for turning ever-so hazy at the thought of you.
But he couldn't help it, to grow fond of that very same softness.
It was corny, yes, but what could he do against it?
That day, he struggled to sleep throughout the whole night, restlessly gazing up at the ceiling, in consideration to his feelings and the great dilemma of what to do with them.
A thirst that began to become so eloquent that he could no longer turn a blind eye on it—that he could to turn a blind eye on you anymore; because the once glances turned into gazing with undeniable longing and admiration.
Soon enough, you would reign over every minute of his life—in thoughts, in feelings that would dwell in his mind.
Love sickness, one could conclude, but also the impotence of not being able to do anything beyond that because, even if he accepted his feelings for you, the uncertainty of you doing the same was offsetting to him.
Maybe you'd never look at him that way, maybe it is just a silly crush weakening a heart that should only beat with the motivation to fight and protect, and nothing more than that.
But then, again, what is the motivation for protection?
To protect there needed to be a resolution, and the resolution to protect almost always derives from love.
Love is inevitable, love is everywhere.
Love can come in all shapes and colors.
But then again, this is the first time it had ever come to him in this way.
His resolution to fight, once for his dream, once for his friends, soon enough began to include you into the same picture, and even if not at a higher priority, it became his motivation during training, during meditation.
And with that meditation, with deep introspection, he began to reason; if there was a time you would open your heart up, would it be for him?
Would there be any chance?
But then, why would you?
What makes him worthy of you, after all?
But even if he talked himself into you never looking at him, he could never fight the fact that he was so head over heels over you—the feeling did not diminish at the end, but doubled.
And so Zoro began to die of thirst, and the drought could only intensify over the time and, the more he thought about your beauty, your smile, your presence, your voice, he could not help himself—it felt as if his hands were tied, and it was inevitable for him to not just surrender to the feeling.
Nami thought all of this was cute to see from the outside—Zoro was just helpless when it came to women: Every time he would be approached, he just couldn't bear the fluster invading every single corner of his body.
In fact, she, as your longest and closest friend on the crew, was the first to notice and tell you.
Fed by the way he behaved towards you, she couldn't stop herself from wanting to give him a push.
In her morning stroll across the Sunny, she spotted you sunbathing on the deck, and decided to join you.
"What's with that smile?" You knew the redhead well enough to know that with that smile came mischief.
"Noooothing..."
But you knew it was written all over her features, and so you raised an eyebrow at her.
She was up to something.
"I don't believe youuuuu..." You sang, mimicking her, which made your friend burst into a giggle.
And that was the moment she told you.
The Strawhat's swordsman was in love with you.
To be honest, Zoro was no more than fellow crewmate to you, even if you deemed him handsome in all his roughness, yet never did feed that thought beyond fantasy.
When Nami told you, she had pointed out a truth that, up to now, had remained unbeknownst to you, mistaking his indeed love for you by shyness of being around women.
"How do you know all of this?" You asked her, heart shaken up at such an unexpected confession.
But Nami just pressed a finger to her lips, giggling and shaking her head.
There was something more important than thinking about the way she found out.
There was a fiber in you that had been moved, something that tingled within you with this information.
You thought about him, but now his image held something more than just being the ship's swordsman.
There was something different now in your perception of him, something that led a wave of fuzziness to bubble in your gut.
"Y-you thinks he likes... me?" You pointed to yourself, blinking in disbelief.
Her eyes sparkled with sincerity—not to say that Nami was a dishonest person.
You knew she would never lie, even more now that she indeed found you two compatible.
"It's obvious!" she retorted, giggling, "Don't you see how he is around you?"
"He's always like that with women. He's... awkward?" you asked, still surprised.
"It's different," she emphasized; she knew for a fact—Robin, another one who rooted for you and the swordsman—that he would ask about you, or do things so his care for you would be implied.
Robin, in all her kindness, saw the goodness in Zoro, and knew that he could be the right one.
Nami agreed with her, claiming that your warmth and your sweetness was one to get easily attached to.
"Besides, he's aaalways looking at you," she nudged you, squealing in excitement. "Always asking about you..."
She trailed off, but by the time you could ask her what she meant by that, she had already dashed away, her excuse being that she had promised to meet up with Usopp.
And ever since that moment, you began to ponder her hypothesis: you became observant, attentive.
You started talking to Robin about it, and all the proof had seemed to turn toward the conjecture of the ship's navigator being true.
So you began glancing more his way, gaining another perspective from the swordsman.
Firstly, with curiosity, then with something more: a feeling that would tingle in your stomach when reciprocating glances that he would break no sooner he realized your sight on his.
To you, seeing the heat spread on his cheeks was absolutely heart-warming, and no matter how much anyone tried to reassure him, Zoro would slur out an excuse and walk away so he could finally breathe.
Adorable—that was what he looked like to you.
And so you began to fall for him.
Yet few were the moments in which you could actually get closer, and you wished it would escalate to more than just stolen glances.
But rescues, training, liberating—a plethora of other circumstances—would always get in the way of you two.
But, even so, no obstacle was as hard to sort as his awkwardness.
Zoro was aware of that, and often wished he could just "grow a pair", as Sanji would tell him and gain the courage to approach you, yet to no avail.
Helpless, it would all end in a what if, something he dreaded, but also something he could do little about.
Knowing this, frustration would take over your chest, an oppression that would become hard to ignore as you watched him turn every time he thought about coming closer.
Watching him had begun to become impossible, to the point that yearning would be unbearable.
A moment with someone you love is always difficult, yes, and even more in this case.
But at the sight of the circumstances, it was up to you to make the first move.
Making a move and praying it worked.
One good day, you woke up feeling lonely; feelings had been escalating to the point that, now, the ardor, the desire for your now favorite swordsman burned in your skin, and you found yourself missing him.
Missing him so much, that not just a glance could calm you, nor the monosyllabic responses of his.
Nami came to wake you up, staring with surprise at the fact you were already long awake before her arrival, given your habit of oversleeping.
There was a wide smile on your face as you finally got to go outside, breakfast having already been served, which you ate fast before before heading off to your chores.
"Think I'll train with Zoro today."
The few stragglers still in the kitchen—Brook, Usopp, and Robin—turned to each other as they wondered whether you were all right; judging by your large grin, and the way you were behaving—shining even brighter than usual.
The answer was obvious:
You were not all right.
And Zoro didn't expect any of this, of course.
He was, like every other day, completing another ruthless training session—starting by endurance training, followed by weight room, finishing with meditation.
Being in a constant state of go often helped him take a break from his insistent, lovesick heart—at least for a moment.
However, as he could not gather any sleep lately, he'd grown even less lenient than usual.
He kept his training harsh, curiously resembling a certain gloomy warlord when practicing his swings, or glaring at interlopers in his count.
Though, a tap to his arm from behind took him by surprise, and when he turned, he swore the air ceased to flow into his lungs.
"Hey."
He could barely stammer a greeting back at you after that; it was the first time—or at least one of the first times—that he was this close to you.
It was the first time that he got to see your beautiful eyes gleaming as you looked right at him; the first time that he got to see your smile spread for him.
It was the first time that he could see you early in the morning, where the sun shone right upon you, highlighting your breathtaking self to the point that his heartbeat turned erratic.
"Training extra hard today, I see..."
Your lips curved upwards in a bright grin while a faint wave of heat crept up your cheeks, you internally praying he didn't see—the swordsman was too busy trying to get his soul to come back to his body to notice, though.
From every single thing that could take him by surprise, this was one of the most unforeseeen to him.
Of course, he would wish and long for just a minute in which he could see you, his gaze often looking for you even if he did not want to.
You were so bright, so...
...Pretty.
Zoro felt as if his throat was closing.
The summer sun felt even more boiling on his stinging face—face that he might have been unaware had turned undeniably red.
Awkwardness immediately took over him, and so he did really forget how to utter a word correctly, without stumbling.
You did not miss any of this; it was obvious—you wanted to believe it was—and that got your heart fluttering.
"Yeah," he blurted, unable to look away from you, when he normally would.
But, how could he even look away, if any time you were around, even if you were unaware, his gaze was always upon you?
It was as if, out of reflex, he had trained himself unconsciously to look in the direction of his heart.
Of course.
"Mind if I join you?"
The question took him aback, and if he had been petrified before, he now stood as stiff as a tower.
Joining him?
You... wanted to join him?
Which meant staying until late afternoon with him?
Which meant staying together, which meant being close to one another—
—Oh, shit.
A nod left him without much of a second thought; it was faint, but overt.
It didn't fail to make you giggle.
You knew you were right to like him, and just how obvious he was with his non-verbal language could only make your heart race.
"All right, then!" you beamed, tugging a hair tie off your wrist and pulling up your hair. "You gonna show me the ropes?"
You turned to Zoro, oblivious to the leverage you had, even more so when your gaze laid ever-so charmingly on the swordsman.
However, before he could respond, some of your crewmates—Usopp, Brook, and Franky—had been unlucky enough to be caught by said swordsman in the middle of their giggling.
Whether at you, or at his helplessness, he was unsure, until his gaze flickered to them—to which they had been quick to turn away.
"What's so damn funny, huh?"
His voice wasn't loud, but it had lowered several octaves to the point that it came across as a deep hiss—needless to say, this was enough of a threat.
You, ever oblivious to what was going on, pressed your lips into a thin line in order to stifle a laugh.
It was indeed cute to see how he could assert such dominance and fear.
Your poor, terrified crewmates were quick to run and begin their chores, since it was known that Roronoa Zoro's threats were not empty ones.
So, while everyone began to scatter, the awkward silence arose once more.
Zoro tried hard to keep his gaze away from you, tried to distract himself with the workout he was supposed to be doing—but even so, you could still sense how tense he was.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?" You spoke up eventually, a while after your training had begun.
There came once again your attempt to break the ice.
At first, it was a strenuous task, his answers coming in single syllables and mumbling until, as the day progressed, he would untense, and allow your conversation to develop into something more fluent, more relaxed.
Zoro eventually found himself being more verbose as you continued.
Whether it was getting used to being near you or just being partially focused on completing his training, he actually felt at ease with you, comfortable.
All of these feelings combined, plus the sight of you laughing—or just being, in general—made the feelings he kept for you bloom even more.
The same could be said about you, as well.
As he spoke, you couldn't help but allow yourself to memorize every one of his details.
The way the tip of his eye scar wrinkled as he talked, or the way he would hold back the desire to look at you—even at times it would be inevitable to do so.
Or the way that whenever he talked, there was a flicker of his eye, going down, then up, then back on you.
Or the way in which, from time to time, his lips would curve upwards into brief smiles that were ever-so heartwarming.
He showed himself genuinely to you, and this made you fall for him even more.
Which only made you want things to escalate more.
Were you nervous? Of course.
But your nervous heart commanded your movements, your actions, your words, forcing bits of excitement to bleed into your voice and make it crack in the slightest as you spoke.
And so, what was first deemed new soon enough turned into regular, and Zoro would even find himself delaying his training for you, waiting so you two could chat together, even go for a walk together.
Just like the day it happened.
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