#one piece reader

Oppressive quiet follows the claiming ceremony. Your skin still smarts where they marked you with his brand. You trail his silhouette through halls adorned with gold and into a room filled with flowers resplendent, a sumptuous indoor garden with arched windows and butterflies flitting on perfumed air. There you kneel piously on the soft grass while sunset colors crowd the panes. The sun itself longs to touch Imu’s robes and limn his form with light, just to taste a fraction of his majesty.

You, meanwhile, don’t dare look at him. You just kneel. Waiting. Waiting to be acknowledged, commanded...or, perhaps, condemned.

They say he kills his offerings come morning.

The King of the World doesn’t look at you, either. He probably did so during the ceremony. You wouldn’t know; you kept your gaze on the floor, the vague impression of piercing eyes and curving lips all you dared glean from furtive glances and stolen peeks at the King. You keep your eyes on the grass now, though you see through your lashes the way Imu extends a hand to tempt a butterfly onto his fingertip. These creatures, too, crave the touch of an anointed being.

Held aloft on a fingertip, the captivated creature’s wings flap on silent winds. You swear you can hear them rustle in the hush. They keep time with your frantic heartbeat, pulse throbbing in your chest as Imu’s robe hisses across the grass.

“Amuse me.”

He speaks like a falling blade, all sharp finality and blunt precision forged on the anvil of divine right. He has settled onto a seat (a throne, perhaps, though you don’t quite dare look up to see for certain) and reclined there, legs spread, to look at you. His eyes sting as fiercely as the brand on your skin. You know what he sees: someone finely dressed and afraid, branded and bound, knees pressing into soft soil until their clothes grow damp. There is an expectant quality to his silence. He punctuates it by drumming fingertips upon his thigh. A staccato reminder of what’s expected of you — of what’s required in the scant few hours he’ll grant you before dawn condemns you to death.

They say he kills his offerings come morning.

But you don’t crawl to him on hands and knees as the maids suggested, pleaded, you should. You do not bare yourself to him, or offer pleasure, or plead for your life. Instead, slowly, you work your tongue free from fear and swallow, and you find your voice amid the garden’s oppressive quite.

You say: “May I tell you a story?”

It’s a gamble, a bet, and the prize on the line is your life. But you are damned either way, and thus you choose to roll the dice. Perhaps you are the first to try, because when Imu’s head tilts beneath the shadow of his robe, you swear the motion seems…curious. Like he bears witness to some amusing novelty and not a person’s final, desperate plea for mercy.

He says nothing for a time. You try not to squirm under his stare. You try not to think about your clothes, because they are getting dirty as you kneel, and they are the finest you have ever worn, and they are to be your funerary shroud because he kills his offerings come morning —

Imu shifts upon his throne.

“Go on,” he demands of you.

You begin to speak.

The sun meets the horizon as you recount a tale you know by heart. A long one. The story is famous where you come from. Everyone knows it. You hope Imu does not. You hope the King of the World in his palace in the clouds has not deigned to stoop so low as to hear tall tales from the distant, humble place you call home. He is a god. Stories are for mortals. And when he makes no move to interrupt your yarn, a flare of hope inside your chest ignites.

The Room of Flowers falls into darkness as the sun disappears below the horizon line, but your words illuminate sights unseen, weaving narrative from nothing but the butterfly wing-faint flutter of impossible hope igniting in your heart. Your lips dry. Your throat cracks. Your tongue grows impossibly heavy. But you continue even when you can no longer see the butterflies or flowers and only Imu’s crimson eyes shine in the dark. You don’t dare stop. You do not dare implore him for water or a moment to rest your voice, because to continue is to live, and to stop is to die.

They say he kills his offerings come morning.

Amuse me, Imu had said.

You aren’t sure what will amuse him more: the story you tell, or the way your hands shake as you tell it.

It doesn’t matter either way. You just keep talking.

Even when your voice breaks, you keep talking.

Even when your kneel-numb legs send you slumping sideways, you keep talking.

Even when words rasp in a throat gone dry and sleep claws at your stinging eyes and the brand on your skin sings with vicious pain, you keep talking, talking, talking —

You’re still talking by the time the sun peeks through the windows on the other side of the Room of Flowers. Imu, meanwhile, hasn’t said a word. You talked through the night and he listened all the while in dread-tinged silence. He’s silent now, too, as butterflies wake under the fingers of dawn and stir against night-dark leaves. He doesn’t move as your hoarse voice nears the climax of your tale — the moment you’ve been building toward for hours and hours of desperate articulation. But the King of the World appears unmoved. Unbothered. Not on the edge of his seat, but rather slumped in it, sinking low upon the cushions as though at rest.

Has he heard a single word?

Has the King of the World fallen asleep?

When he rouses from his slumber, will your time at last be up?

Your eyes burn almost as terribly as your throat when you clear it, but Imu does not stir.

Slowly, carefully, you raise your eyes to him — only to find him watching you.

Red eyes. Full lips. Horns curving skyward in elegant sweeps of bone. Skin like dusk, gleaming and smooth. He watches you deliberately, silently, expressionlessly. And you are so transfixed by those crimson eyes that you cease to speak for the first time in hours, shocked to silence by the beauty of the tyrant who holds your life in his ordained palms.

Imu asks in his voice of silken violence: “Why didst thou stop?”

He sounds curious. Perhaps amused? You can’t quite parse his tone. But the words break the spell he holds on you, and your eyes drop to the grass again. They're safer there, you think. And you think quite hard about what to say next, because your answer —

They say he kills his offerings come morning.

“It is late,” you eventually confess, because you must say something and you do not think it wise to keep the King of the World waiting long. “It is late — or rather, it is early.”

The rising sun paints the Room of Flowers in the colors of gilded slaughter. Fingers tap his thigh again, impatient.

“But the story is not yet over,” Imu says.

“No. But...” You swallow thickly. “I am tired.”

It’s a plea for mercy. A request, most humble, for a reprieve. Now is the best time for one, should Imu deign to grant it. The gods of storytelling have blessed you, for your pause came at the perfect moment in the narrative, events poised just on the cusp of the story’s thrilling climax. If you are to stop, now is the moment that will keep the king wanting more. It is the moment that will spare you a day you never thought you’d see, and grant you a sun whose rise you did not expect to witness.

The sun is rising even now, and you are still alive.

Not that that means anything. If Imu commands it of you, you will have to keep speaking. You will have to finish your story. You will have to end your tale, and thus, your life. You talked through the night and exhaustion pulls at you with every breath, but he is the King of the World. He is a god, and you are in his house. What a god wants, a god gets, no matter which deity of story blessed you with their favor when his back was turned.

And so you bow your head, and you wait for Imu’s whim.

“Raise thine eyes to Mu.”

It is the last thing you expect him to say — but you obey. You are helpless to do anything but obey. You look at him, and he looks at you, because he willed it. He stares at you. Watches you. Picks you apart in ways you do not understand, because he is unto a god, and it is not your place to understand gods who walk among men. Your entire body prickles when his head tips to the side, just so. You knew what he saw when he looked at you during the ceremony, but now…

Now, you are not so sure.

But whatever he sees is, somehow, enough.

“Tomorrow night, then,” he tells you.

In three simple words, he has granted you your life...at least for one more sunrise.

Only barely have you realized that he has spared you when he rises from his throne. You sag, hands clammy in the green grass, butterflies in your hair. Finally you remember to breathe as his shadow falls across your face.

Imu says: “Do not disappoint Mu, Offering.”

You nod.

It is a promise, and it is all you can do.

But this, too, is enough for the King of the World. As the whisper of his cloak crosses the Room of Flowers, you repeat the promise you made to Imu — but you do not swear that vow to him. No, instead you vow to yourself that you will not disappoint him. You vow to yourself that you will be enough. You vow to you, and you alone, that you will live to see another sunrise.

You are not the first offering to be bound to Imu.

But, you think as the butterflies halo your bowing head, you might just be the last.

Because against all odds, he had not killed his offering come morning.

i'll cross-post to AO3; go leave me a kudo! link here!

note: IDK if imu has his horns unless he’s using his Devil Fruit so this might not be canon to his usual appearance but IDGAF, i like his horns so here we are...also do we want a follow-up? do we??? ALSO THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING IN SECOND PERSON USING “YOU” FOR THE READER AND I’M SO NERVOUS ABOUT ITTTT but it was fun so once more idgaf <3 ("◡‿◡✿)"

EDIT: Chapter 2 happened. Read it here. Chapter 3 is also up!

SERIES MASTERLIST

You’re on your stomach, face pressed into a pillowcase still faintly sun-drenched from the afternoon, hips arched by the wedge of Zoro’s thighs and the casual leverage of his fists anchored around your waist. His hands settle, fingers always seeking new territory—sometimes gentle, sometimes a little too rough, but you crave both, and he’s learned how to toggle between them with an intuition that feels like muscle memory. Tonight, he starts out mechanical, a metronome wound too tight, but the steadiness is deceptive.

Every beat, every friction-burned slide of skin, is a test: how much can you take before you shatter. You feel the sweat tracking down your spine, the way your body braces and then gives, and you know in your marrow that he’s holding back.

He always does at first. Zoro is a man who obsesses, who runs his thumb over the edges of his own boundaries until they’re smooth as river stones, so when he finally lets himself go, it’s never by accident.

You’ve learned to read the signs: the catch in his breath at the base of his throat, the subtle tightening in the hands that have callused themselves against a thousand repetitions of sword and steel but still soften when they touch you. You know what it means when his jaw sets, when his scar twitches, when the air vibrates with the static charge of his need. Sometimes you want to be the one who breaks him first.

Tonight you feel it coming on, the pressure building in waves, and you want more. You need more, need to see him snap the leash. So you twist beneath him, craning your head so he can see your eyes—pinned, pleading, fierce. “Don’t hold back,” you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you expected, like an order you’re both desperate to obey. “Fuck me like you want to.”

The rhythm stutters. For a beat, he hesitates, as if waiting for some unspoken confirmation, but you’re already pushing back, rolling your hips up and into him with all the leverage you can muster. “You heard me,” you insist, biting down on the words because the need is starting to hurt. “Fuck me like you want to.”

It’s like you’ve flipped a breaker inside him. Zoro’s breath hitches—no, it cracks—and the sound he makes is something between a growl and a gasp, not quite human. He drags you up by the hips, shifts his weight, and pins you broadside, the new angle sending a jolt up your spine that’s half pleasure and half pain but all of it necessary. He sets his jaw, lips drawn back in a grin that’s all wolf, and you realize you’re trembling, not from fear but from the anticipation of what’s coming.

“Sure?” he asks, voice ragged, every syllable scraping over you like gravel. His thumbs dig into the tender groove above your ass, and you can feel how close he is to the edge. You know he wants this just as badly as you do.

“Don’t stop,” you manage, breathless. “I want to feel it—I want to feel you lose control.”

He laughs, low and dangerous, and the sound vibrates through his body into yours. He pulls out almost all the way, the emptiness sharp, then slams forward with a force that shocks a sob from your lips. You clench the sheets, white-knuckled, but it’s not enough; you need something else to hang on to. So you grab for the headboard, the wall, anything, and when you can’t reach, you settle for a pillow, crushing it to your face as if you could muffle your own animal sounds.

Zoro finds a new rhythm, not the old measured one, but something wild and unpredictable. His hands chart your body with greedy precision, one slipping to your shoulder to keep you steady, the other palming your flank so hard you know you’ll wear his fingerprints for hours after. Each thrust lands deeper, harder, and you feel yourself shudder with each impact, the soreness blooming inside you in a way that feels holy.

He’s not talking now, not really, just gritting out half-words; the syllables of your name, a string of curses, a running commentary on what it feels like to take you like this. You can only answer in gasps and whimpers, the heat in you building to something unspeakable, something that feels like it’s going to tear you apart if you don’t get more.

But you do get more. Zoro is tireless, relentless, a machine when he wants to be, but tonight he’s something else. A man stripped down to the need for friction, for violence, for the kind of connection that leaves marks. He rears back, hauls you up so your spine bends in an impossible arc, and you feel the sweat-slick heat of his chest flush against your back.

“Can you take it?” he rasps, and you realize with a shock that you’re crying, tears leaking down your face not from pain, not exactly, but from how fucking intense it is. You nod, unable to articulate anything coherent, just riding the wave of his rhythm and the way his cock splits you open in a way that feels like surrender.

You want to say more, to give him back his own words, but all you can do is offer up the sounds, the proof of your need. He answers with action: a hand fisting in your hair, tugging your head back so you can’t look away from him, so you have to see how lost he is in you, how gone. His other hand brackets around your hip, fingertips digging in with bruising insistence, and the pain is a punctuation mark on the pleasure.

“Good for you?” he growls, and the question is almost rhetorical. He can feel you coming apart around him, can see the way your body arches, desperate for more. “The way an old man fucks you, that what you need?”

“Only you,” you gasp, and it’s the only truth you have left. “Only you can—god—“

He grins, teeth bared, and the rhythm gets ragged, desperate. You hear the mattress groan, the echo of flesh on flesh, and for a moment you’re both unmoored, nothing but sensation and the certainty that you’re going to remember this every time you try to walk tomorrow.

His eye drops to where your bodies meet, glassy and fixed, and he crosses his forearms over your hips to pull you back onto him with each thrust, the new angle making you seize around him involuntarily.

You don’t remember crying out, not at first, but then the echo is everywhere, a raw and shameless sound that ricochets off the walls and back into your open mouth. Zoro’s voice is a jagged counterpoint, low and ruined, so intimate in your ear that for a second you can’t tell if it’s him or you making those noises.

“There.” His breath punches out on the word, all hunger and heat. “Feel that? Feel how much you want it?” There’s a moment, a taut silence, broken only by the filthy, helpless cadence of each meeting of your bodies—something primal, the wet snap of skin and the wetness between, as if you’ve both boiled down to the friction and what it makes of you. Then, voice breaking, he says, “Gonna cum.”

“Inside.” You cut him off, greedy on the edge, thrumming with the need to drag him over with you. “Please—inside—“ It’s not a question, not even a plea; it’s a demand, and he answers as one soldier to another, all discipline fracturing.

He slams home, one last time, and the world swings loose. His rhythm breaks apart, thrusts stuttering and fragmenting, every one deeper, the pressure bright and brutal where your bodies join. You’re convinced it will split you, that you’ll break open and scatter, and then the answering pulse of him inside you snaps everything to white. You shudder, boneless, caught in a detonation of pleasure so blinding you bite your own arm to keep from screaming.

He doesn’t let go. He stays locked to you, both arms bracing your hips as if he could hold you together while the aftershocks roll through. Every twitch of him inside you draws out another spasm, each one lighting you up, and the wet heat pooling where you’re joined is so obscene it feels sacred.

Zoro doesn’t collapse right away; he’s trembling, too, and you feel it through every inch of him pressed to your back. His hips keep rocking, involuntary, like he can’t bear to stop even after he’s emptied himself. In that moment, the idea of separation is unbearable—you want to claw him closer.

His head drops to your shoulder. You can feel his breath cooling the sweat at your nape, the way his chest is heaving, rhythm synced to your own. There’s blood in your mouth, faint copper, from clenching your teeth too hard, and the taste of it grounds you in the aftermath.

“Hey,” you whisper, because you want to make sure he’s still there, not just a graven image fused to your back. He nuzzles your neck in answer, lips and teeth finding the damp place behind your ear, and you shiver again, this time from something softer.

He folds over you, body blanketing yours, and finally goes still. His weight is a comfort, not a crush; you want to live there, in the soft endless press of him, forever. His mouth moves against your skin, a string of nothing sounds that resolve, eventually, into one set of words:

“Good girl.” He’s not joking. His voice is stripped down, reverent, as if you’ve done something holy. He kisses the sweat-salt from your jaw, the red imprint on your shoulder left by your own teeth. “Give me a few minutes. and we’ll go again.”

a/n: a surprise because this anime has a chokehold on me rn! also, because i’m trying to distract myself and what better way than with unrestricted smut. i also had these stockpiled, so if you see another smutty op one shot (luffy, usopp, nami x reader) that's what happened!

i have an older!luffy planned, but who do you think should be next?

i had issues with a client postponing on me, and it's left me scrambling for other jobs. that being said, i will be shameless and promote my commissions are open, please consider requesting some work from me, visit my masterlists to see my other work.

or leave an encouraging message, that'll make me smile! or a request for next month's session! as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! here's a kiss from me to you!😘 see ya tomorrow!

You sighed feeling relaxed for once. The last few weeks - more like months - you've spent running from port to port. After Ace and Whitebeard's deaths, you took time. Breaking away from the already dissolving crew to be alone. To grieve, to not be reminded of what you lost in Marineford. What Luffy lost. What your crew lost.

You were tired - physically and mentally - burnt out to the soul. Marco suggested you take your leave, have time to yourself. He had figured out early on in your crew that you were never one to express hard emotions like sadness and grief. You took Whitebeard's death hard like all his sons. But - Ace - you took Ace's death harder. Your best friend. Your platonic soul mate.

You weren't at the burial. You weren't ready to feel that grief fully.

After Marineford, time seemed to go by at such a fast pace. You spent those first months in the Kamabakka Kingdom with Iva and several others. 

They had been training one of Luffy's crew mates. Iva taught you how to live with those dark feelings of grief and sadness. They imparted you with a lesson in how to live for those you lost and how to accept happiness as it comes. For that, you will always be thankful for them.

After time had gone by, you were departing the Kingdom to wherever the sea took you. You had plenty of time and money to spend.

Your small ship brought you to this sunny island, it was full of friendly and welcoming villagers which took you by surprise since the island was so close to The Red Line and The New World. Usually these islands are not that friendly to pirates. 

Could you even consider yourself a pirate anymore? 

You had left your crew - your family - to be on your own. Rejoining them or even another crew had never passed through your mind.

“Ahoy stranger!” A voice called out to you in the distance. Lifting your head slightly and opening your eyes, you spotted a crew walking down the beach towards you. “Ahoy!”

You knew that voice and hair anywhere.

“It seems like you’re following me, Shanks. Have you missed me since the last port?”

You’ve run into Shanks at the last four ports, quick and short interactions, flirty quips before you both were back into the sea.

“You got me, sweetheart. Miss me?” 

Shanks, with a teasing smile on his face, swiftly snatched your beer from your hand and took a sip before leaning back against the empty chair that sat next to you, the scent of alcohol invaded your senses. Shaking you head at his antics, “You’re right, I totally missed you. I was wondering where my headache went.”

He chuckled, dramatically grabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine. I’m not gonna be the first or last person to reject you.”

Eyebrow raised, he leaned forward slightly and murmured, “Was that a rejection? Or a deflection?”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his attempt at getting you to admit that you wanted him, you were glad that half your face was currently hidden by your hat. You shook your head, “Is there a difference with you?”

Contrary to what you previously teased, Shanks was not a headache.

He was a person that always orbited around your circles. Even when you were with Whitebeard, you continuously ran into him and the Red Hair pirates. Most times, the interactions were short and teasing. However, the other times were filled with an intimate tension. 

Several years ago, when you had originally met him, his beautiful red wind-swept hair and smell of rum and leather took you by storm. He had an intimidating but soft presence until he opened his mouth. This was supposed to be an Emperor, a fierce leader of the seas. You were surprised that he was so nonchalant and flirty.

You had been used to men flirting and teasing, mostly from Ace but the way he flirted - there was something deeper. Granted, you had your guard down; which unfortunately, made it easy for him to rile you up. Cheeks pink and burning with embarrassment as he murmured something inappropriate to you. Ace teased you for days afterwards.

Benn handed you a mug filled with booze, you quietly thanked him. Taking a drink, you let that familiar burn hit the back of your throat. Pushing your hat back to the top of your head before setting the mug on the ground next to you in the sand, Shanks reached out lightly, taking hold of your wrist. “You doing okay?”

“Careful.” You chuckled softly. “Sounds like you might care about me, Shanks.”

A teasing smirk appeared on his face, you sighed slowly and eventually responded after a few moments of silence, “I’m doing better than I was. Still hurts. Miss them both but I’ve learned how to live with it. I’m letting myself be free and happy.”

A small smile graced his features, his eyes showed a familiarity of loss. Letting go of your wrist, he grabbed his mug and took a few gulps. 

A comfortable silence fell over both of you with the only sounds being his crew mates laughing and talking loudly. His eyes fell over your features. The sun kissed your skin, illuminating your features. He took in every detail of your face, the slope of your nose, the crinkle of your eyes when you smile. He felt a deep sense of longing to be in your space. Closer than you both were, though he said nothing.

Catching his gaze, the corner of your mouth quirked up as you leaned your head forward to hide the obvious blush that graced your cheeks, “You’re staring.”

A smirk graced his face once again, letting his hand support his chin as he tilted his gaze forward, “I’m just watching the most beautiful view in The Grand Line.”

“You’re impossible.”

There’s always been an underlying tugging feeling towards Shanks when you’ve been in his presence. He’s like his own planet and you’re pulled in by the gravity. Even in a port full of pirates you’re familiar with, you always end up in proximity to him. Shooting off flirty banter back and forth. Much like your relationship with Ace.

You had convinced yourself that was why it was so easy to be around him. 

It was definitely not the warm, tingling feelings in your chest or the electricity you felt when he would lightly touch your wrist or arm. The way your heart beat faster when his face was so close that you could lean forward and be enveloped by him.

“Now you’re staring.” 

Blinking, you looked forward towards the sea, ignoring the smug look on his face. “You’re distracting me.”

“Is that right?” Chuckling with that smug smirk on his face, he followed your line of sight and stared out at the sea; taking it all in.

Shanks wouldn’t be the first to admit that you were beautiful. Not the traditional way in terms of looks. But the way your laugh sounded sweet like honey. The way your eyes crinkle when you smile like today is the best day of your life. Your eyes shine so brightly when you look out at the sea, he could relate to that feeling like you’re not truly at home unless you’re out there, floating on a ship surrounded by a crew - a family - that you chose.

He was enamored by the dedication, loyalty and love that you had previously and still show for your crew. But most of all, the mental fortitude you showed since losing your father and friend was astounding. Any normal person would be grief struck for months, unable to move forward. But you? You were headstrong, smiling and laughing with his crew. Like you belonged there perfectly.

He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought of poaching you from Whitebeard when you first initially met.

The way you fought so passionately for the ones you loved, it was truly endearing.

Hand under his chin, he smiled at you standing with his crew and animatedly telling Lucky and Yassop about when you pranked your crew some years back. Lucky challenged you to a drinking contest, you let out a giggle, “Why not?”

You had won, quite triumphantly. You laughed as Lucky conceded in your drinking battle, Shanks’ crew cheered you on as you made your way back towards your chair. Shanks was currently sitting in the sand, when you walked by, he grabbed your wrist lightly and pulled you down next to him. 

“Enjoy yourself, sweetheart?”

You weren’t drunk, by any means but you were, however, lightly tipsy. Used to drinking heavily due to having drink challenges with Ace back on the Moby Dick. You gave him a warm smile before making a ‘hmm’ sound. “Did you? You were watching me pretty hard there, Captain Shanks.”

“Nonsense, I was watching the competition.” His cheeks were warm and pink, he moved his hands about in a way as to wave away that you had caught him. You giggled with a smile on your face, “Sure sure.”

You hadn’t realized how close in proximity you both were, the heat radiating off his body was like a warm fire. Your cheeks tinted pink as he reached forward and brushed your hair out of your face.

“..I hate that you're so charming..” You murmured looking away, he let out a deep chuckle and lightly grabbed your chin turning you to face him. “And why's that?”

“Because..you make it hard not to want you.”

“And what's so wrong with that?” He whispered right back before leaning forward and kissing part of your cheek. Letting out a soft gasp, you froze like a statue.

Sure you've been with other people, but Shanks.. was different. You've wanted him since the moment you saw him. His deep crimson hair, the way he smelled like the salt of the sea and rum all mixed together. He looked younger then, but still handsome as ever. You could tell his soul was true and pure. And then - he opened his mouth and spouted off that inappropriate comment which made your face and ears turn pink. He had Ace and Whitebeard laughing at your reaction.

“I bet you say that to all those girls.” You whispered, his eyes met yours and his gaze hardened. He let out a chuckle, running his hand through his hair. “Love, of all the women I’ve met all over the Grand Line, you’re the only one I want. I thought that was obvious.”

A blush formed darker on your cheeks and a look of surprise accompanied that. You couldn’t believe your ears. Red Haired Shanks, the biggest flirt in all the Grand Line - wants you.

“I..- what is this?” It was like something stole your voice, you both held you gaze and he raised an eyebrow expectantly. Placing your hand on his scruffy cheek, you brought his head closer to yours and placed a light kiss onto his left cheek, his right cheek and then his forehead.

He placed his forehead against yours and breathed deeply, “Tell me, tell me you don’t feel the same way.”

“I-I can’t.” You whispered shakily as he gripped your right hip, making soothing circles on your exposed skin. He let out a small chuckle before whispering back, “Are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me why.”

You readjusted yourself, placing your forehead onto his shoulder and looking down as you played with the hem of his signature white shirt. You had spent so long secretly yearning for Shanks that you deflected every intimate moment with a flirty comment. But you were nervous - to talk about your feelings, to be so open and vulnerable, to feel loved in the way that you had been with Ace. 

“I don’t want to lose anymore people. I don’t know if my heart could take the loss of another person that I love in my life. Once this door is open, it won’t close.”

You whispered carefully to Shanks as he placed his hand on the back of your head, stroking it. He freezes, processing what you just said before kissing the crown of your head once, then twice. “Someone else you love, huh?”

“Shut up.”

You both stayed like that for a few minutes, he kissed the crown of your head again and whispered, “If I could, I would give you the world and all its riches. But I’m starting with my heart, love.”

“Shanks..”

“You saying my name, it sounds like home, sweetheart.”

Lifting your head to meet his yearning eyes, his hand cupped your cheek before pulling you to him. It was like slow motion, his lips met yours, they were soft, he tasted like rum. Your hands made their way to the back of his neck at the nape of hair. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, they started flowing as he deepened the kiss. Your breath hitching in your throat and pulled back, breathless and gazing up at him.

“Took you long enough.” You remarked as he lightly wiped your tears away, he smirked and kissed both your cheeks. His crew loudly cheered with a few shouts of ‘Finally!’ and ‘About time Captain!’.

Looking down with a deep blush, you tried to hide your embarrassment. In the heat of the moment, you had forgotten that you were surrounded by his crew. He let out a loud laugh, waving off his crew before putting his hand under your chin and lifting your face to meet his again.

“You’re everything I wanted.”

“Careful, Captain Shanks, sounds like you’re getting soft..”

“You like it.”

“I do.” You admitted with a playful smile on your face, he kissed your cheek and readjusted you so you were leaning into him. The sun was starting to set, the glow of the sun illuminated his features and it made him look so.. beautiful. 

The next day was a slow start. You rolled over, cuddling more into the warmth in your side. Sleepy and hungover, you opened your eyes and saw Shanks staring down at you. Taking in your features, you blushed and murmured. “You’re staring again.”

“Just looking at one of the most beautiful views in the Grand Line.”

Sitting up slowly, you let out a chuckle and lightly shoved him before standing up and brushing the sand off of your clothes. “If I didn’t know, I’d say you love me, Red Hair Shanks.”

“And what if I did?”

“I love you too.”

He stood up, taking a drink of booze out of his mug that he left out the night before. You grimaced before he lightly grabbed your wrist, lifting it and leaving a kiss. His crew was in the background, slowly getting up, packing their things.

“Are you off to the next port?”

“Yeah, this was just a stop.” He responded before shouting to the men to start taking things back to the ship. There were a few ‘yes Captain’s in there and grumbles. Your fingers brushed his slowly and looked up at him with a questioning face. “So what now?”

Shanks grabbed your hand more tightly, a playful look danced onto his face before leaning down and picking you up with his arm. “I think, my love, you are coming with me.”

“Wait, wait- Shanks, what?”

“Sweetheart, you are stuck with me now. I’ll have the boys grab your things from your boat, I think I want a little more time with you before I share you officially with my crew.”

He made his way through the sand to his ship, he boarded and took you to his cabin. He lightly dropped you onto his bed before climbing in and holding you against him. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“You were going to say yes, you miss being on a crew. It’s in your blood, love.”

“I hate that you almost know me better than myself.”

“No, you don’t.”

ᴢᴏʀᴏ

⤷ zoro can't place a finger on what it is he's feeling, he just knows he's feeling something

⤷ and that something substantially increases when you're near

⤷ it especially increases when you wear tight clothes and little dresses

⤷ it wasn't until you placed a hand on his thigh and got him thinking where he really wanted that hand that he pieced everything together

⤷ he would try to calm himself down and ignore the feeling but he would eventually just give up

⤷ zoro wouldn't talk to you or confront you about the issue - that's not his style

⤷ the swordsman would just touch you a little more and a little closer to the places he shouldn't have his eyes on

⤷ and eventually you'd give in and make a move - he would definitely make you think the whole thing was your idea, that he hadn't been teasing on purpose you for the longest time

⤷ "you're better than I've been imagining..."

ᴍɪʜᴀᴡᴋ

⤷ he's a very intense person, and he gets what he wants

⤷ so when he set his eyes on you and felt the heavy air in the room whenever you two were together he knew you wanted him as badly as he wanted you

⤷ but mihawk wanted to see you work for it

⤷ he would touch you and whisper in your ear, he would say things in a sexual manner on purpose to get you to blush while thinking improper things in front of him

⤷ mihawk would only be satisfied when you were desperate and begging for him, even if that meant he had to wait - he was a masochist, that was for sure

⤷ "when you're ready to beg for me I'd be more than delighted to bend you over on this table and fuck you"

ʟᴜғғʏ

⤷ luffy, like zoro, wouldn't really know what the funny feeling he got in his body when he was around you meant

⤷ but one sure thing was that he always felt like something pulled him towards you whenever you entered the room

⤷ he wouldn't be able to stop himself from touching you, sometimes inappropriately

⤷ luffy and social cues weren't a match, so whenever he'd feel like it he would sneak his arms around you and grab your tits, or sneak his hand up your skirt when he got a peek of your ass

⤷ and you didn't stop him, of course

⤷ you'd scold him in a pathetic attempt to pretend you somehow disliked it, but the combo of his innocent face and dirty hands roaming your body excited you

⤷ "but y/n your tits are so soft... and it makes me feel good when I touch you"

sᴀɴᴊɪ

⤷ sanji swears up and down that he has a connection with everyone - but he swears just as hard that it's different with you

⤷ you even begin to think that you might be the only person on the face of the earth sanji didn't flirt with

⤷ what you didn't know was that sanji's head was so occupied with thoughts of everything he wanted to do to you that any and every word meant for you would get stuck in his throat

⤷ it would get to the point where you'd actually go and ask him

⤷ and boy would sanji have to restrain himself

⤷ seeing you all sweet, shy and adorable... looking at the ground as you asked if he disliked you, just basically yearning for his approval... it took everything in him not to fuck you dumb in the very hallway you stood

⤷ "oh chéri, you've got it all wrong... it's not that I hate you, it's that I really want to fuck you"

sʜᴀɴᴋs

⤷ your and shanks' sexual tension would be there from day one

⤷ when he wants something, he wants it - and he gets it

⤷ it was just a matter of when you'd give in and let him fuck you

⤷ but shanks was subtle, he wanted you to want him, shanks would never ask someone to fuck him, let alone beg - he would work his magic and the people he wanted would come crawling

⤷ you were no different

⤷ it would start with small touches that would progressively get more and more bold - the hand on the small of your back would brush past your ass when he passed by, the kisses on the cheek as a greeting were so close to your lips he might as well just kiss you and half of the things shanks told you were whispered in your ear, with a hand holding your jaw

⤷ you'd find yourself leaning more and more into his touch, slowly yearning that his actions became more bold, that shanks would grab your ass, that he'd make out with you and that he'd put his pretty mouth to good use somewhere else

⤷ "Come take a seat on my lap, princess, you might want to extend your stay on it and all... just not with any clothes on"

ʙᴜɢɢʏ

⤷ unlike most above, buggy does not beat around the bush

⤷ when he wants something he wants it in that moment and it will either happen the good way or the bad way

⤷ but this time he was sure the glances you stole and the way your hand would brush past several of his body parts was not a coincidence, and that the heavy air wasn't humidity - you definitely wanted him too

⤷ buggy would smack your ass and squeeze your body as you passed by, hissing when you teased him back

⤷ he didn't care if people saw it, he wanted to feel you and he was going to feel you until he got you alone so he could fill you up - and he was impatient

The duo immediately break out into laughter, not only at your response but your clear embarrassment.

“I mean, I think everyone can tell.” Hip pipes up before downing her second shot of whatever flavour of poison she chose. You can tell by her grimace that it's not tasty in the slightest.

“Also, Haikei and Bubblegum were talking about it earlier. Apparently there's a bet - oof!” Emma's cut off as Hip slams a rough elbow into her counterpart's stomach.

You narrow your eyes in suspicion at the action. Raising your glass to your lips, you bite out with a wary tone, “That wasn't a strange thing to do at all.”

The two share a look before Hip finally admits with a groan, “The entire ship knows and there's a bet going on to see when you'll actually tell him yourself.”

Your mouth drops open in shock and embarrassment as a squawk of utter horror escapes your throat. “You lie!” You hiss back, your tone almost begging. You groan and cover your face when they both shake their heads with matching solemn expressions.

“Oh god, ooohhhh god, okay, that's… awesome,” you turn to the bartop and place your hands palm down on it to stabilize yourself as you think over worst-case scenarios first. “I mean, who even is everyone?”

“Literally everyone,” they voiced at the same time with a deadpan tone.

You give another groan before throwing the bartender three fingers up, signaling for some shots because damn, if you didn't need one before, you sure did now.

“I’m telling you, he doesn't let just anyone sit beside him, like you do nearly every night,” Hip pipes up, laying a comforting hand on your back and giving a soft rub.

“And he doesn't let anyone help him in the kitchen other than you! I mean, I'd be shocked if he didn't like you back.”

You give an anxious chuckle before shaking your head slightly with a small sigh. “I'm sure he likes me but I don't … I don't think it's the way I like him.”

Three shot glasses filled with a clear liquid slide in front of you and you're quick to snatch one up, downing it in one go and placing it back down with a double tap on the bartop. Hip and Emma share another glance before Emma pipes up as she grabs one of the shots.

“Come on dude, you know how ridiculous you sound right now?”

You roll your eyes and retort back, “No, actually I don't, because this wasn't something I thought would realistically happen.”

You turn and cross your arms, leaning your mid-back against the bartop as you look out at your fellow Kid Pirates having a blast. “It's… hard to explain.”

A rock song starts playing over the small Den Den behind the bar and the crew shouts in excitement, seeming to know this song by heart. You can't help but grin as Reck, Haikei and Bubblegum dance and shout along; even Heat and Wire mouthing along with smirks in the back corner catches your eye. You take a mental snapshot to draw in your sketchbook later as a momento.

“Dude… you belong here.”

You immediately frown with a side-eye to Hip and a slightly snarky, “The fuck's that supposed to mean?”

She frowns in return and roughly punches you in the upper arm. The feeling stings slightly but you're unmoved as you raise an eyebrow and ask, “Was that necessary?”

She huffs and bites back, “You've been with us almost a year, and you still get this look on your face when we're out like this.” You bitterly look down at your feet, not expecting to be cornered like this. “This… sadness, like you're expecting us to just dump you somewhere and leave you behind.”

“Who's getting left behind?”

All three of you jump in surprise at the sudden questioning voice. Your head snaps up as you take in Killer, head tilted slightly with an empty beer mug in his hand. You feel your face and neck burn in embarrassment as you quickly shout out, “Nobody!”

You can almost feel how Killer's eye narrows behind his mask as he hums, “That sounded super convincing.”

You looked to the side, puffing your cheeks out with a grumble, causing the two girls to giggle and whisper to each other. You and Killer ignored them as he stepped closer, standing next to you and tapping his wooden mug against the bartop for a refill.

You vaguely notice as Hip and Emma take a few steps back before fully retreating towards the others with a wave towards you. You give a simple nod in return, more focused on how close Killer was to you, your arms just brushing and sending fire over your flesh.

“You're not being stupid, are you?” Killer quips, tilting sideways over you slightly, chuckling to himself as you snap your head to the other side with that same expression, grumbling again.

“Mm, sounds like a yes to me.”

“No,” you sass back with a huff. “... you're being stupid…”

Killer gives a faux chuff, pinching your side and grinning behind his mask at your indignant squawk and glare as he teases, “Insulting your favourite Commander? That'll get you the early morning watch for a week straight.”

Your jaw drops in ass-crack-of-dawn horror. “You wouldn't dare.”

Killer throws his head back and laughs loudly, knowing that was going to be your answer. He picks up his refill and sticks in his trusty-dusty reusable straw you found him a few months ago before taking a long sip. He then scolds lightly,

“Depends, are you going to apologize properly?”

You give a low tsk, narrowing your eyes at him as you decide to risk it all and slowly ask, “What's your definition of ‘properly'?”

You feel a shift in the air as he takes a moment before leaning over you, his mask directly in your face as he breathes, “Come back to the ship with me and I can teach you.”

Your eyes widen and your face blooms in reds, a soft “oh,” escaping as you take in his meaning. His free hand gently reaches up, his fingers nudging your chin with his thumb brushing your bottom lip oh so tenderly.

“... you should let me teach you,” he petitions softly, the want dripping off his words and drowning you in desire. Your brain short-circuits and reboots as you pathetically submit to him.

“Please teach me,” you finally breathe out. There's a shared moment of elation before Killer slams his mug down on the bar and immediately picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder with an almost too rough hold against your ass and the backs of your thighs.

“God, finally!” Someone from the back shouts, and suddenly there's a chorus of different cheers and boo's, the negative sounds clearly from those who now had to pay up.

Killer walks out and only takes a few steps before stopping and letting you down, though his hands on your hips remain in a slightly possessive hold.

“That seemed uncomfortable, can I carry you normally?”

You grin at his request and nod, your hands resting on his forearms with a soft, reassuring touch. He leans down slightly, the forehead of his mask meeting yours as he chuckles, “You seriously don't know what you do to me, do you?”

You glance up into his mask as best you can with a cheeky smile. “I think I'm starting to see…”

Killer gives a low, pleased hum at that, slowly leaning back. “You'll know soon.”

He then moves back enough to scoop an arm under your legs and holds you to his chest bridal style. You give a big grin at the dorky feeling in your chest and lay a hand on his pec as he begins the quick trek to the ship.

The second his boots meet the deck of the Victoria, he sets you down again and picks up your hand in his to lead you downstairs. You two walk past Boogie and Jaguar who share a look before Boogie gives a laugh and slaps Jaguar playfully on the arm a few times. “Pay up, Jag! I told ya!”

Your face turns tomato red at hearing that, though the squeeze that Killer gives your hand brings you back to him. “Did you know about the bet?” Killer casually asks as he takes you through the doors that lead upstairs to where the Commanders’ rooms were.

“Ah… not ‘til Hip and Emma spilled the beans literally seconds before you came over.”

Killer chuckles and gives a little shake of his head. “I'm actually impressed, those two did great keeping quiet until now.”

You repeated those words in your head a few times as he opened the door to his bedroom and ushered you in, closing the heavy door behind you.

“Wait, does that mean they knew the whole time?” You demanded lightly, an almost crazed huff of laughter leaving you. You opened your mouth to say something else, only to click it shut as your eyes took in the cozy and quaint room that belonged to your masked crush.

“Ah… I suppose I gotta fess up now.”

Your eyes moved from the very comfy looking, large mattress to a surprisingly shy looking Killer, hands resting on his hips as he clearly looks out the window above his bed.

“... Killer?” You ask slowly, confused though your heart raced a million miles a minute.

He gives a slight “tsk,” before admitting with drooping shoulders in an attempt at showing defeat. “I ah, I started the bet.”

The silence that fell over you deafened you, a roar in your ears like the worst tinnitus you'd ever experienced as his words echoed over and over.

“You.” Was all you could muster.

“... yes.”

After a few moments, you decided to take this with a grain of salt and joke, “So uh, how much money did we make?”

Killer's head snaps to you in shock, clearly surprised at the question. “How… much?”

You give a small, incredulous shake of your head with a grin and laughed, “Clearly you've made some pretty beri off of this, so you're obviously going to share with me! How much beri did we make?”

Killer stands stunned for a few seconds before he gives a barking laugh, offering the honest numbers. “Enough for us to have a few fancy dates before the logpose resets in two days, if you're up for it.”

You hum in delight, your hands clasped behind your back as you rocked back and forth from heel to toe. After a few moments of calm silence, you teasingly asked,

“So, you bet that I would… what, admit to you that I have a crush on you or something?”

Killer shakes his head, finally moving towards you again and gently reaches around to collect your hands in his own. “No. I bet that you would just be honest with me and tell me what I already knew.”

He gave a slight shrug and half-joked, “The others were the ones to make it seem like I wasn't aware of how you felt.”

Your face bloomed in reds again, your head spinning from how fast things seemed to move. “Oh god, you knew? For how long?”

Killer could see the confusion buzz behind your eyes and immediately began trying to soothe you, his hands moving to slowly caress your waist and hips as he mentions lightly, “Honestly, a pretty damn long time. I didn't believe it for the first while,” he hums a soft chuckle, teasing you with a truthful, “It was actually Wire that told me to ‘open my damn eyes and see what was right in front of me’. Kind of embarrassing to hear from him.”

Something changes in Killer's tone as he then sighs, kneeling down with his hands heavy on your hips as he looks up at you. You give a shaky laugh, shaking your head slightly as you begin to beg him to stand back up. He cuts you off as he begins,

“Lovebug, I can't give you the world.” You become still at his words, eyes burning as you stare into the painted ceramic. “I can't always surprise you, or buy you all the fancy shit you deserve. I can't always give you my time, or attention, but what I can give you is just… me.”

You tilt your head slightly as you croak softly, “Killer, I-”

“Lovebug, please.”

Your hands hold his helmet lovingly with a slight purse to your lips, patient in waiting for him to continue.

“I… you know, love isn't something the world ever taught us. The love we know, is the love I show for Kid, for this crew… but the love I have for you is… it's so fucking different.” He leans into your touch, as if your flesh could pierce through the ceramic and touch his own. “You came along and showed me that the love you hear about in fuckin’ fairy tales can be real, then you turned around and gave it to me, of all people.”

You gave a small laugh at that, murmuring a gentle, "You're ridiculous,” your tone soft and adoring as you give his right ‘cheek’ a soft pat.

“You showed this whole crew that sometimes being genuine and kind can be badass and punk as fuck; I can’t help but respect and adore the fuck out of you.”

Your usual gracious grin slides over your face, beaming at the praise. “Thank you, Kil.”

Killer shakes his head. “No, thank you, lovebug. You have brought a joy into my existence that I didn't think was possible for someone like me.”

You grin and lean down enough to press a kiss to the mask, right where you thought his lips laid. “Everyone deserves love, Killer. Even you,” you kiss him again. “Especially you.”

Killer finally rises to his feet and pulls you to him, arms around you like the safest blanket you'd ever been wrapped in. “... does this mean I still have to apologize?” You tease, hiding your grin in his chest as his hold tightens slightly and he replies lowly,

“Of course it does.”

The next few moments are a blur.

Rough hands undo thick jeans and shove them down before they meet your shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze before you understand the motions. You grin and kneel before Killer, hands and nails teasing up his thick thighs as you take in the monster that he hid in his pants every day.

“Goddamn, Kil,” you breathe, impressed and almost terrified of the sheer girth and width of his cock. It jumps in your face at the praise as Killer gives a slightly embarrassed chuckle.

You grin and collect him in one hand before leaning forward and giving his underside a long, wet lick. A moan rumbles in his chest as his head falls back, breathing already ragged as one of his hands rests on your head. “J-just like that, bug…”

Killer could only be impressed with how you were such a fast learner, his eyes nearly rolling back as you finally took him into your mouth.

“Got the straws?” 

Usopp nods and salutes, holding up the nine straws in his other hand. “Yes, ma’am!”

Nami nods sharply in approval. “Ok! Everyone on deck! You know what time it is!”

You hear an audible groan, courtesy of Sanji who then mutters a few curses under his breath. At that, you offer him a small smile as you go to stand next to him, appeasing his frown in an instant. The rest of the crew follow suit, and everyone, minus a certain someone, is in a circle at the center of the deck, Usopp’s arm outstretched so the straws are in the middle. One by one, everyone reaches for one, and you reach for the one that calls to you.

Unlike the chef, who whispers prayers to not pick the one with the painted tip, you secretly hope that the one pinched between your fingers has the little stripe of red at the end.

“Alright, one, two,” Nami counts down, and everyone waits with bated breath. “Three!”

You all pull the straws from Usopp’s hand, and to your surprise—

A stripe of red paints your chosen straw.

“Looks like you’re on Zoro Retrieval Duty!” Nami announces, and everyone looks unfazed, except for Sanji who looks equally relieved and guilty at your supposed misfortune. “Try to find him before dinner, but let us know if you can’t find him by sundown!”

“No worries, Nami. It can’t be too hard to find him,” you reassure her, waving a hand. “I’ll see you guys later!”

The crew bids you off and you make your way down the gang plank to head into town. From what Chopper had told you, Zoro had gone off to explore the forest further inland, curious about what it has to offer. So, you head deeper into the town, making your way across it before entering the forest past its gates. Thankful for the temperate climate of the island, you take in a deep breath, enjoying the warm sun and the fresh air that fills your lungs. It’s a calm respite from the chaotic islands you’ve visited before, and you bask in its peace. You’re not quite sure if it will stay that way, and you keep your fingers crossed that trouble doesn’t find you.

Or perhaps, Luffy doesn’t find trouble in the next few nights you’re here.

Regardless, you take the time to traverse forest, following the dirt path as you listen for any sign of the swordsman. The trees seem endless as you continue forward, and eventually, they open up, revealing a beautiful stretch of green, speckled by a myriad of blooms and hues. It’s a perfect spot to relax, it’s a perfect spot for a daytime nap.

“Zoro!” you call out, scanning the meadow. The breeze makes the grass and flowers sway, the movement reminiscent of ocean waves that you’ve grown accustomed to in the past few years of becoming a pirate.

Still, to this day, you’re not quite sure how fate had led you here. It had never been your plan to sail the seas. Originally, you’d lived a peaceful life, studying to become a botanist and having worked in your town’s research labs for years. 

That is, until it had been taken over by your island’s government. They’d forced you into corrupt projects that went against all your morals and ethics, yet you had no choice but to lower your head and follow their orders to survive. 

For months, you had suffered quietly alongside your team, until a fateful day had arrived— the Straw Hats arrival to the island, and their rebellion against the evil ruler.

And of course, the one to save you from the lab was none other than the green-haired swordsman, Roronoa Zoro.

It had concerned you quite a bit when he had nearly led you back from the way he came—aka, where he’d burst into the lab, a hoard of guards and enemies in tow. You had to lead him out of there and back to where his crew was in the aftermath of the battle, where you were introduced to everyone.

If not for your chance meeting with Zoro that led you to meeting the infamous captain of the Straw Hats, you would never have been invited to join the crew. You couldn’t help it though– not when Luffy was about to eat one of the most lethal fruits on the island. It snowballed from there, once Luffy realized you had all sorts of plant knowledge that even Robin commended on. It was helpful for him– especially when there was so much native vegetation on the island that he didn’t recognize, but smelled absolutely heavenly.

Yes, you’ve had to stop Luffy from eating other poisonous plants that resembled grilled meat and yes, you had to do it multiple times during their stay in your hometown. 

Same with Chopper, who had nearly eaten a deadly flower that looked and smelled like cotton candy.

That alone was enough for an invitation (along with Nami and Usopp pleading you to keep the crew safe), and it’s how you find yourself as the Straw Hat’s dedicated botanist. Did pirate crews normally take in botanists? 

Well, you consider Robin’s role as the archaeologist, and realize perhaps maybe it’s fine.

But back to your current search–carefully, you trek through the meadow, you do your best to navigate around patches of dirt and grass, eyes scanning the picturesque scene until you notice something in the distance.

A hilt—three, actually, stick up from the blooms, and as you grow closer to it, you find Zoro’s swords laid against a low tree stump, their owner lying comfortably in a patch of flowers. You can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it, recognizing the blooms to be gladioli, as Zoro sleeps away unbothered on his back, hands behind his head as a makeshift pillow. 

“Zoro,” you murmur a bit quietly, crouching down next to him. “Wake up. It’s time to head back to the ship.”

At the sound of your voice, he grumbles a bit, but he cracks open his eye, blinking a few times before he focuses on you. “Oh? When’d you get here?”

You offer him a small smile. “Just now. Did you have a good nap?”

With a grunt, he sits up, yawning as he stretches his arms above his head. “Yeah. It was nice and peaceful. Couldn’t just pass up on a nice spot like this.”

“It’s perfect for you, too,” you point out, and Zoro raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

You gesture to the flowers that surround him, gently swaying with the breeze. “They’re gladiolus flowers,” you explain, gently caressing one of them near you. “In ancient languages, the word, gladius, means ‘little sword.’ Quite fitting for a swordsman like you to be around them, don’t you think?”

Zoro cracks a smile at that. “Guess so.”

You continue, “Warriors wore them around their necks for protection. Gently, you pick three and hold them in your hands. “They’re a symbol of strength and fierce loyalty.”

And with that, you offer them to him, holding out the bundle of flowers toward him. You watch as he sits up, eyeing them curiously until you flinch, realizing, “Sorry. This must sound quite foolish for someone like you.”

Just as you go to pull away, Zoro’s hand wraps around yours, his fingers curling around your own as he stops you. 

“‘Course not,” he mutters quietly as he takes the flowers into his own fingers. They look much smaller in his calloused hands and he peers down at them with a gentle look in his eyes. “Thanks for teaching me.”

And your heart flutters at his words. “Of course.”

The sun melts into the expanse of the ocean by the time you return to town. Strolling through the dwindling foot traffic, you diligently stick by Zoro’s side, careful to keep him on the right path. While usually annoyed when someone corrects his path, he follows your lead without complaint, letting you reach out and tug on his arm to lead him down the right way. He’d given you the flowers back to hold onto, in case the two of you were to be ambushed by enemies or bounty hunters.

You never thought he’d cared much about your ramblings or your knowledge of flowers, but something about the three little gladiolus flowers in your hands says otherwise, and you can’t help but let the warm feeling bubble inside you as you make your way back to the ship.

At one point, you realize your footsteps have lost the echo of another, and you stop immediately, realizing that his presence is nowhere to be found. You sigh—it really does only take a split second for him to sneak away somehow, and it’s rather impressive he’s able to achieve such a feat. To be fair, you shouldn’t have been so distracted over the flowers in your hands or your bubbling emotions in your chest.

Feeling just a bit embarrassed, you backtrack, making sure to check every street and crossroad in search of the man, and you even go as far as peeking into the taverns and bars you’d passed by, wondering if he was just thirsty for some sake.

As soon as you’re turning around the corner, your heart leaps up as you crash into someone—only to yelp in surprise—“Zoro!?”

He makes a startled sound, maneuvering one of his arms upwards and steadying you with his other as you barely catch yourself against him. “Shit—sorry!”

You feel yourself grow warm—while one of your hands is still clutching the small bundle of gladioli, the other is splayed across Zoro’s bare chest. Fuck, fuck, your mind is going haywire at how firm his muscles are and how warm his skin feels under your fingertips and you’re absolutely mortified at your train of thought that continues down in a spiral. 

“Where did you go?” you muster out, hoping you don’t sound frantic as you focus on the edge of his green coat and not his bare chest. He relaxes his hold on you, but makes no move to let go or step away. 

“Saw something that caught my eye,” he answers nonchalantly with a small shrug. “Didn’t think you’d come running into me.”

“Hey, I was worried you’d end up back at the meadow with that compass of yours,” you joke lightly, tapping his forehead for emphasis. Zoro chuckles, and finally, he unwinds his arm from around you, and you take a small step back. “So, did you find something?”

Zoro nods, revealing the little item of interest that he’d been holding onto this entire time. 

A small potted cactus. An Alabastan Spire, to be more specific.

“For you,” he says simply, and you shift the flowers to rest in the crook of your elbow, reaching out to accept the pot gently into your hands. 

Your eyes land on the blooming flower at the side, the light pink petals beautifully flaring out despite the long needles that surround it. 

“Why… Why a cactus?” you ask curiously, knowing your voice trembles a bit. You can’t help it—not when the botanist side of you pulls out any and all cactus related information from your brain in an instant, and the implications of it hitting you full blast. Floriography isn’t your strongest suit, but you remember some meanings well enough—including the meaning of gifting a blooming cactus. But to your surprise, a flush of pink dusts his cheeks, and as he turns his head away to avoid your gaze, you notice the tips of his ears are painted a similar hue. Your breath hitches as your heart beats faster.

“They’re resilient. Not sure if that’s what they mean or symbolize, but it made me think of you,” he answers a bit bashfully, before he musters up the courage to finally meet your eyes. “Don’t laugh.”

Rough and tough Supernova Roronoa Zoro may as well be pouting at this very moment, barely meeting your gaze with rosy cheeks, and you can't help but smile to the point your own cheeks hurt.

“I would never,” you breathe out, half in relief and half in adoration. “I love it. Thank you, Zoro.”

He perks up and grins, a beam of pride as he looks down at you. “Good. Now let’s head back. I’m starving.”

With a smooth step, he takes the gladioli from your hands, before making his way down the path. With a chuckle, you shake your head before catching up to him, slipping an arm around his and tugging him the right way back home. With your arm entwined with his, and your new little cactus in your other hand, you make your way back to the Sunny by his side.

But you’d never tell him the true meaning of giving one a blooming cactus. You’ll save him the embarrassment, but perhaps one day it’d be a humorous story to tell him.