Chapter Text
See, it’s one thing to walk into a men’s shower room and oggle a dude who has his teal hair soaking wet, his shirt pried off and showcasing his dripping wet body, and his shorts falling down his hips to emphasize a startling v-line that only slightly makes you want to fall to your knees and worship the ground he walks on.
It’s another thing when he catches you in the act of staring at him in the mens shower room- to which you explicitly remember him tilting his head, in this weirdly serious and way too romance-novel don’t fuck with me way, before he mouthed the words get out. And then, of course, you remember running out of there faster than light, all of the air escaping your lungs as nothing but embarrassment coarsed thickly through your veins.
It’s another thing entirely when you walk into the dojo one day, ready to practice the art of swinging a heavy blade back and forth irritably, when your kensei comes straight up to you with a peculiar man and says-
“Y/n, would you care to have a duel with one of my old students? Apparently he’s a little too attached to his old title of dojo’s best student.”
And while reluctantly you agreed, simply for the sake of not being annoying, you certainly did not expect to fight Roronoa Zoro! Even more strange was the livid look on the swordsman’s face, as if you personally offended him by stealing his old title.
Like dude, you’re already the world's best swordsman. Truly Koushirou’s dojo’s best swordsman doesn’t have the same ring to it.
But the man just wouldn’t let it go.
And so here you are, with two swords swinging back and forth in your hands as Zoro stands in front of you on the mat, his eyes glued to your body and your subtle movements. His third sword is not yet in his mouth, still gracefully sleeping in his belt. He has two swords outstretched in his palms, to match your style, should you be the first one to make a move.
Your kensei is not paying attention, instead sipping a cup of tea in the forest somewhere. The two of you completely alone. The yellow light flickers through the bamboo windows, the birds chirp and the forest sings. The floor creaks as he moves his right foot towards you, his arm about to outstretch when you take a step back.
He stills.
“Are you scared?”
You could laugh.
“No.”
Yes. You would run if you had the chance.
"I know this place,” he says slowly, as if testing the words in his mouth, “This title is more for me than it is for you, it's my childhood. The only way Kensei is going to let me have it is by dueling the current owner.”
He sounds and looks determined, and you’ll admit it's wildly attractive. It’s also widely nerve wracking and fucking scary. Somehow it feels like this man is going to chop you up into a thousand little bits and pieces. You quiver.
“Now,” he takes a step toward you, that same determined look plastered across his handsome face, “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” You think you see his lip quirk up lightly, just for a second. Oh lord, sadistic bastard is in on it for the thrill. You're a dead man.
“How about we don’t do it, period, and both go home, scathe-free?” you say, holding both your hands up with your grip still on both of your swords.
He doesn't look upset by that sentiment, rather, a look of distaste fleetingly dawns across his features. Like he couldn't possibly fathom why you wouldn't want to fight him.
“Don’t you have any honor?”
You scowl.
"Excuse me? Of course I do, bastard.”
He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. The way he's staring at you has you feeling like a small puppy- somehow, you feel entirely all bark and no bite. Is this what it means to deal with the worlds best, face to face? His cockiness is starting to get on your nerves.
Now the both of you can't help but stare at each other, an heir of stifled emotions, resentment, and judgement clouding the atmosphere of this small room. He makes the first move by lifting and lowering his sword swiftly, you're eyes hardly catch the motion at all. A tinge of blue light flickers through the air, targeting you. Your eyes widen and you take a step back, caught off guard. But its not fast enough. As soon as the wavelength of energy hits you, you feel a gentle push on your entire body.
Thinking that was the only damage that had been done, you stand up confidently. However, when you do so you can't help but notice the wind pressing up against your collarbones, more pronounced, slowly trailing down, down, and holy shit. Half the buttons on your shirt have popped, one single button popping in the midst of you staring down in horror as your blouse completely falls open. Your bra looks like its taken some damage too, a small zig zag pattern cutting through the middle of its fabric. It threatens you by ripping at the seams, almost revealing your nipples- you drop your swords out of shock, covering your chest with your hands.
When the man opposite of you finally registers whats going on he coughs loudly, turning his face to the side.
“Really, master swordsman? Being so talented you'd think you can control what you do with your sword. I know you're going easy on me, and this is exactly how it backfires,” You take the two cut parts of your shirt and tie them together, your cleavage still exposed but not quite as much as before, "What do you say us pals just, I don't know, not partake in this duel? I'll say you won, you get your title, easy," you huff, clasping your hands together. The truth is, you really don't want to fight. Especially if he's going to come at you with some ridiculous moves like that when you already know how talented he is.
But when he tentatively looks over to make sure the coast is clear, and your words set in, you can't help but think he's not going to relent. The words fly right past him, his pride clouding his judgement above all you suppose.
Well then. You bend down and grab your swords from off the ground, giving them a light toss for good measure. In that split second, you swiftly drag your sword in a diagonal cross. The sword in your left hand is brought in front of the moving one to transfer the impact, energy dipping across gleaming silver. As soon as you feel its weight increase, you tip the blade of your sword haphazardly towards him.
It's supposed to serve as an example- what happens when you flimsily shoot moves at an opponent in fear that a true attack word hurt them. An example that can hopefully kick him off his high horse and make him recognize how absolutely annoying this is to deal with. You don't think the entire reason he's treating you different is because of the fact that you're a woman (though, that definitely plays a part)- you also think he's being tentative because he's dealing with an opponent who he doesn't believe is on equal footing as him.
And that may very well be true (it definitely is). But underestimating you entirely with weak moves, especially when you know that he's considered one of the best in the art? It makes you exasperated. You were scared of his real attacks. These attacks do nothing more than embarrass the shit out of you.
Oh, but karma sure does work in mysterious ways- you can't help the inwardly cackle at how the weak cut you had infused with minimal haki has now chosen to catch right at his top button. Your eyes widen as it rips down his shirt, almost as though your knife were directly at his chest slicing down the fabric. You didn't expect it to go as far as his did but it does, waves of tan skin revealing itself to your now wide eyes, a broad chest and strong, rippling muscle. A light blush adorns your cheeks as you clear your throat, looking in the opposite direction just as he had done.
He glances at the motion before allowing a dry laugh.
“Really?”
And then he runs towards you with his sword outstretched towards the sun, a barreling motion that you suddenly catch with your own sword, holding against the expanse of his weight. But its hard, so hard to maintain this level of pressure weighing down on you, your legs slowly begin to sink towards the floor. It feels like you're being crushed but you're holding onto your dignity with everything you've got. Another dirty trick, trying to take me down like this to end the fight as quick as possible- rather than just deciding not to fight in the first place.
As the pressure builds, you glance upwards nervously only to realize his face is ridiculously close to yours, calm and eyes closed gently. The way he looks so composed while you're literally suffering has resentment slowly building up inside of you. Last time you checked, this was a swordfight. Not a battle of who-can-last-longer-put-pressure-on-the-weaker-one-to-make-her-give-up-because-my-big-ass-ego-can't-just-let-things-go.
Disdain brewing in the depths of your clouded mind, you blurt the first thing you can think off with his lips right there, his soft breathing drawing goosebumps to your skin even amongst the circumstances.
“Kiss me,” you whisper, and immediately his eyes fly open, his sword loosens. Bingo.
“What?” his eyebrows are narrowing angrily.
“I said kiss me." you whisper against his lips, now suddenly embarrassed because what if...no, there's no way....goddamnit y/n this is not the time.
“Take this seriously,” he says, and presses his blade down harder against yours. Goddamn, why the fuck is he so stubborn? Your legs start to thrum under the weight. Your feet begin to slip and you're slowly being moved backwards under the pressure. Your back is tilted at an awkward angle, some twisted game of limbo with him all on top of you. But then you see it, the caught off guard look on his face bleeding through his stubborn façade, and you use the back of your second sword to knock against his stomach, hard.
Before you know it, he's stumbling backwards before landing on the floor with wide eyes. Well, its surprising he fell over but you suppose your little comment helped to throw him off his game. He looks shocked above all, looking over at you with his eyebrows raised.
“Finally.” you mumble, before walking to the wall and placing your two swords up on the rack.
He scowls and sits up. “That’s it?”
You look behind yourself and stare.
“Well, I don’t really want to fight. We’ll just tell kensei you won when he comes back. I was getting really tired of dealing with your shit.”
The man frowns, ”What are you talking about."
“Oh for fuck sake, why does the world’s best swordsman have to act like an overgrown child.”
“Huh?!” He practically growls, his eyebrows furrowing.
“You know what,” you walk up to him in a couple swift steps, “you might just have to kiss me. And hard. Because, frankly, it's hard to believe that you’re even here right now. That I’d ever get to meet the legend everyone constantly talks about. But, who knew the legend only wanted to fight me?" you let out a shaky exhale before regaining your thoughts. "We're saying you won and that's final. This isn't happening again.”
With every word that comes out of your mouth he just stares with a blank look, his bangs falling into his eyes haphazardly. Rows of earrings glimmer across his ears, reflecting in the amber summer light, all the while he's leaning his head up to look up at you from the floor. His eyes, dark, somehow feel lighter against your own gaze. It's almost as though his nonchalant look is one that's listening, deciphering.
"I have my reasons for doing this." he just says, determined.
“Sure. But this is just a petty way to not lose the title of a childhood trophy. Let it go.” You frown, looking down at him. From up here you can really notice how handsome he is. His shirt pried open while he leans back on his forearms, looking into your eyes rather indignantly. His shoulders are wide whilst his waist is thin, abs peering up through thin fabric, strong and built as he inhales sharply and looks away from you, biting his cheek. Your eyes catch at the moment before you drop your gaze to your feet.
“I get it Zoro,” you whisper under your breath, “But, I just don't want to fight in this roundabout way. When I get to your level, promise you’ll fight me properly, okay? I'll kick your ass.” and the smirk that adorns your face is simply too cocky, too cute- you catch his eyes linger before you see his stern demeaner loosen to allow for a gentle quirk of the lips. He nods his head and stands up. And when he does it suddenly sets in how much taller he is than you, towering above you. Almost like a sculpture, your mind supplies against your will. He looks like a work of art in the light flickering through the open windows. His brown eyes reflecting a flaxen gold shade. He takes a step closer, though the both of you are already close enough. The floor creaks.
A warm breeze surrounds the both of you.
He gently leans in to whisper in your ear.
“Fine by me," his raspy voice shakes with every syllable, you desperately try to hide the shiver as his lips press against your ear, "you willing to bet on that?" you can hear the smile in his voice and you roll your eyes.
His hair brushes against your face. It’s like silk, so soft, you wish you could reach out and touch it between your fingers. And its fucking green.
“You’re a dumbass.” you mumble.
“How polite,” he pulls back and rolls his eyes, beginning to stick his swords back in his belt. Then, he smiles, something you would dare call an enigma, a rarity, but it’s so beautiful. Not just a quirk of the lips, but a charming smile. Something you want to watch over and over again on repeat. And then its gone and you do find yourself begging for it to be back.
He nods his head, turning towards the wooden door at the end of the hall. He walks quietly, you watch his body move. Like it’s walking in harmony with every fluttering movement of the universe, each atom shaking and accepting the gentle strokes of his aura. A bright yet dim light surrounds him.
It makes you wonder. He could be so bright, but it feels as though he’s wound up so tightly that its all so repressed . Sometimes the scars on the back of a swordsman's back aren’t from enemies, or competitors, or great battles. Sometimes they’re self-inflicted and deep, the perpetrator being the self, when they choose to find fault in their own spirit and body for simply existing.
Zoro could be so bright, you think. He’s already so bright.
But he could be the sun.
“Roronoa Zoro.” You call out as soon as he reaches the door. He looks back at you, curious. His pink lips and tame eyes. Gently, you walk across the bamboo footing, past the mat, closer to the door.
Gently, you place yourself in front of him. At first you look down. His boots, his silk pants, his ripped blouse. His face, his eyes, his hair. And you wonder why he’s looking into your eyes fiercely, though he doesn’t know you at all.
Perhaps it’s because he sees a part of himself in you. Perhaps it’s because you’re nothing like him at all.
Without thinking you blurt the stupidest question on the planet.
“Can I kiss you?”
It fell out before you could stop it. Your breath catches in your throat.
He says nothing, but then you notice his lip quirk upwards for a second.
“Can’t get me out of your head?”
Yes. Even though I hardly know you.
“Yes or No?” you question with a frown, averting your gaze from his deep one. That’s the thing with master swords men. They always seem to look you dead in the eyes, and with a willpower like that you could literally taste his aura on your tongue.
His mouth draws upwards in a challenge. He leans in real close, clicking his tongue before saying-
“Sure.”
Fuck, what a bitch.
But, before you can hate him too much, you're on your tiptoes. He suddenly pulls back with a look of question but your hands find themselves reaching out to his shoulders, firm under your palms. What? Did he think you wouldn’t do it?
He stills, his eyebrows furrowing as though he’s trying to understand what you’re about to do.
And then, right after glancing quickly up into his eyes, you press your lips against his. A gentle yet bitter touch that the both of you taste for a couple seconds. Not heated or sexy or passionate, but something you find yourself slowly easing into, like basking in the rays of a hot summer day.
You smile into the kiss, suddenly reaching a hand out to cup his jaw, dragging the pads of your fingers down it gently. His eyes open at the motion, his lips part in surprise. Your tongue touches his bottom lip and you savor the surprised noise that he lets out. He lifts his hands up but it’s as though he doesn’t know where to put them, simply hovering them above your shoulder blades before you take his palms and draw them across your chest, down your body and to your waist. His fingers close around the fabric of your shirt, bunching it up as you lick across his lips, before he squeezes your waist and drags you closer to him.
The more you kiss him the more you feel his exhales, his inhales, his body tense and release. His mouth on yours, his hot tongue in your mouth like some desert that you can’t help but moan out for. You breathe in his exhale, wrapping your hands around his body because he’s so strong. Your fingers at his biceps, trailing down his forearms, back up his biceps. Down his open chest as you splay your hand out. Back to his jaw, gripping his hair.
It’s like you can’t get enough of his mouth on you, his body in your hands. You just want to pull him closer, and he just wants to taste you. He still eases into it, slowly, slowly, but you pray for him to get greedy.
You already know he’s a greedy bastard. You just want him to take it.
You push him against the door. His lips part from yours with a string of saliva. His eyes grow darker, dimmer. You can't help but admire the way his lips look so tantalizing, all red and swollen for you. In an instant, you lock the door from beside his waist.
Then he leans into your ear with a smirk, that fucking smirk as if he wasn’t just begging for your attention, and takes the bottom of your earlobe into his mouth, before releasing it. A moan tumbles from your mouth before you can stop it, and to center yourself your hands find themselves at his shoulders. You're shivering as he's trailing his nose down from behind your ear to your neck and groaning, rolling his eyes back an holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit.
"Is this what you wanted?" he's whispering against your neck, right before opening his mouth. And then his tongue darts out out and you feel his saliva up the side of your neck while he licks a long stripe down from behind your ear. He's sinking lower and lower, bringing his hands to your hips, rough pads of his fingers at your exposed skin; your heart beats loudly in your chest. His hands around your waist is feels so good, feels so secure. What, what would happen if he brought them up just a little higher? To your neck, resting them there, pressing against the column of your throat as he sucks against the skin of your collarbones sharply. What would happen if he choked you lightly, you gasping against his solid and strong body, releasing every ounce of trust and bestowing it at his finger tips. You almost want to beg him as you feel him all on top of you, consuming you.
Suddenly, he pulls you flush against his broad chest, moving your hair out of the way and releasing his lips from their descent downwards. No, no put your lips back, you can't help but think, don't stop, don't stop. And he must hears your thoughts because he obliges, moving slowly towards the open space on your chest. You press yourself against him wantonly, and he begins a trail of fluttering kisses against your hot skin. Somehow, you want more.
You want him to bite you, push you, yank your hair and mark you up. You want him to consume you. But He’s trailing down and you’re gasping- you can't even speak, you can't even moan without small stutters in your voice, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep him from hearing.
And then the kisses get open mouthed, hot and wet. His tongue dragging along the crevice of your neck. And he sucks the skin with his lips softly, your head rolling back as you run your fingers through his hair. But then there's a pinch at your neck and your thighs immediately press together. He bites you again and a breathy moan escapes from your lips, legs like jelly and threatening to hit the floor. He pins you up against the wall, holds your waist so that there's no escaping him. He's predatorial almost, possessive in some respects, savoring every moan you release and every ounce of your now red and sensitive skin.
Licking, tasting, pulling it between his teeth before gently peppering it in soft and wet kisses. You cover your mouth with your hand because it feels good. It feels so good, heat pooling into your belly as you feel his hand trailing up your white shirt, his fingers finding your belly button and playing with it gently as he sucks a hickey on your collarbone.
His other hand begins to pull on your blouse, exposing your bra and he dips a finger into the material. You feel the motion and gasp, and quickly he catches your mouth in between his own lips. You taste his full lips that move between yours softly, swiftly, his tongue aggressively fighting for dominance as his fingers edge closer and closer to your nipple.
And you lose, twice, his tongue overcoming your own and his fingers pinching your nipple lightly, as though to see your reaction out of amusement. You jerk into his mouth and taste the smile on his lips.
He pulls back, his fingers still in your bra, touching, playing with your nipple.
“You want me to fuck you? Or taste you in my mouth? Your call.”
You stare in shock, your mouth falling open because that’s so hot . Your mind begins down a dangerous path, one where he’s on the floor kneeling before you and spreading your legs. His eyes darting up as yours as he begins his ascent towards your inner thigh with his lips, that you already know are masterful in more ways than one.
But him fucking you. Him buried deep inside you, between your legs. Your legs closing in around his waist as you feel him, as you watch him enjoy himself. You want him to enjoy you, you want to hear him moan your name and touch every inch of you. You want passion and sex.
“Is it fun?” he suddenly whispers, moving towards your neck slowly. Your body stills as he leans his hot lips to your ear and trails his nose just beneath.
“Hm?” you ask, confused but also turned on. You love his voice, it’s deep richness that sounds so fucking arrogant. But it’s different than just arrogant. It’s the voice of someone who deserves everything he’s got.
“Imagining the things you want me to do to you.”
You blush, your eyes widening as your fingers touch your heated cheeks. And he won’t shut up and that’s what makes everything more embarrassing.
“You’re imagining my tongue aren’t you?” he glimmers, “how it felt so good in your mouth. How you moaned out for it and how it would feel in between your legs.”
You gasp.
“Or my long fingers. I could stick them in my mouth. Get them real wet for you. Or, would you want me to stick them in your mouth? Prep you with your own spit.”
Your eyes widen as you watch this seemingly composed man reveal himself to you. Was he always like this? Was this his secret? The fact that he’s insanely provocative and extremely unabashed. Who is he to talk about shame, honor, dignity?
You smile, pressing your palms against his chest, sliding them past his shirt and to his nipples before circling them with your thumbs. He watches the motion before he looks up at you.
You take a deep breath in.
“Fuck me.”
“What was that?” he glimmers.
Oh you fucking bitch.
You press your palms to his chest, savoring the dark look he suddenly possesses. He seems to like it, subtly leaning into the touch but trying to make it not noticeable. You smile broadly.
“You heard me, loud and clear. Unless, you've decided you don't want to for the sake of your honor you were so keen about earlier?" you smirk, "Spreading my legs in the dojo is a bit shameless..."
"Oh?" he lets out roughly while pushing his knee between your thighs. You gasp. "well I'll have you know I’m a swordsman, not any kinda saint.”
With that, he spreads your legs, grabbing your thighs as he lifts you onto his waist. You gasp feeling every bit of him against you, a bulge pressing though his pants and meeting your clothed entrance. You're almost desperate enough to rock against him, but you don't want to look that desperate. Instead you grab his shoulders for support, looking down at him carrying your body seamlessly.
In the back of your mind, you can't help but recognize there was some part of yourself that always wanted this. Always imagined being swept away as such, rather seamlessly.
But who the fuck would’ve known it would be with Roronoa Zoro?
The world’s best.
You feel his arms come up to gently support your back with your thighs still wrapped around his waist. He’s so gentle. He’s this weird mix of tough and sexy, yet also benign. It’s as though he’s used to supporting people, with the way he acts. He needs to be strong, not only because he’s determined, but because he cares .
He must care about his friends, you think, swiping some of his hair out of his eyes while you allow him to carry you to another room. He must care a lot more than he shows. He must be a rock in a storm, because what would happen if he broke? What would happen if he gave up? If he lost everything? You know there’s some part of him that will never release that bit of control.
It’s in the way he moves. You just know that his soul never stops fighting for life. You feel it surging through him. But that gentleness, that sweetness, it’s masked by the taste of sin and strength.
The scars on the back of a swordsman are self instructed and deep, but, sometimes, they’re like pillars still standing in the calm of a storm.
This facade. It must be the most grounding force in his life. Though, you muse, it must get at least a little exhausting.
Maybe this might be the only way to make him lose that bit of control. Just for a moment, before he has to go back to being the world’s best swordsman.
He drops you on the bed. You look up at him.
“I thought you were going to fuck me against a door,” you grumble jokingly.
He smiles. You reach a hand up and press it to his cheek. He notices the motion and must find it cute, because he’s leaning down and pecking your lips for only a second.
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
You smirk.
He smirks back.
“Fuck me already, master swordsman.”
“Call me Zoro.”
The name that shook the world to its core. The name that shakes your heart.
You like it. You like the way it sounds when you moan for him. You like the way his voice sounds and the way his body looks underneath the lights of a summer day. You like when he moans your name and you like when he holds you tightly against his body. You like his hair and everything about him. His arrogance, that happens to be a thin veil for his kindness.
You like when his eyes roll back and he groans loudly. You like when he picks you up and pushes you up against the dresser and knocks you into it roughly.
You just like him. And maybe that’s a scary thing, but it’s easy to forget about when he’s inside of you and his chest is against yours. When his mouth opens to allow for little exhales against your lips.
And while you run your hands through his hair and your clothes remain a wild mess on the floor, you can’t help but admire the way he glows.
It’s so pretty on him.
—---<3