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mybrainsbackroom · 5 days ago

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Challenge

opla!Zoro X reader

Summary: You know Zoro's weaknesses a little too well.

WC: 1.2k

Warnings/tags: arm wrestling matches, flustered Zoro teehee, all fluff for once

When you walked into the galley one fine afternoon, you weren't sure what you had been expecting, only that it wasn't Zoro and Usopp locked in an arm wrestling match.

You stood in the door as Usopp used his other hand to grab and tug his arm down, failing pitifully at getting Zoro's arm to move in the slightest.

Finally, when Usopp gave up, his hand hitting the table in defeat, Zoro looked over at you.

"What's this about?" You asked the collective of crewmates, all of whom had been watching the display.

"Another way of our resident swordsman to show off how strong he is." Sanji commented, arms crossed and leaning back against the counter. You wondered if Zoro had beaten him yet, or if he had refused outright to participate.

"Just say you know you can't beat me." Zoro said cockily, arms folded behind his head as he slid back in his seat. "There's no shame in it."

Sanji bristled, but did not give in. "No, I'd rather use my spare time for more useful things. Would you like a drink, Nami?"

He got to work crafting a cocktail while Usopp sulked off to Luffy, rubbing his arm. Luffy tagged in excitedly, slipping into the spot that had been vacated, holding out his arm.

With a pleased sigh, Zoro accepted the challenge, elbow dropping into the table, and flexing his bicep when he noticed you looking, which drew a huff from Sanji and an eye roll from Nami.

You hardly cared what they thought. Zoro knew about your love for his muscular build and hardly cared that the others could tell that he was shamelessly flirting with you by flexing at you, or stretching to reveal a glimpse of the territory that lay below his shirt, a reminder that he was yours to explore.

You smiled at his little show as the two adjusted their arms on the table, finding the best possible angle of attack. You walked closer to the table, standing next to Zoro, a hand pressing gently between his shoulder blades.

"Want a good luck kiss?" You asked teasingly, as your fingers gently brushed back and forth across the fabric of his shirt.

"Eh, why not?" His head turned towards you, but you ducked away from his lips and pecked his bicep sweetly, pulling away with a mischievous smile.

Zoro's eyes widened a small bit, surprised by your small betrayal, and for a second he seemed to forget where he was, surprised at the kiss being placed away from his face. He blushed slightly, shaking his head so nobody could see, but you had.

Zoro simply steeled himself and turned back to Luffy, ready to fight.

"Count us in!" Luffy grinned.

You did as you were told, counting to three and watching as the two began their fight. Almost immediately Zoro gained the upper hand, pushing Luffy's hand halfway down to the table, and watched as Luffy belatedly fought back, managing to gain an inch or two back to his side of the fight, holding steady for a few seconds, then managing to push a little further.

Their hands were almost upright when Zoro pushed back, his hand pushing Luffy's down into the table, a process that looked too easy.

Luffy fell onto the table with his hand as Zoro let go, grabbing at his forearm, whining about how close he had been to winning.

"Thanks." Zoro said, looking up at you. You smiled down at him. "Undefeated?" You asked as Luffy stood up and walked away. "Of course." He said proudly.

An idea slithered into your mind, and you parted from Zoro's side, taking your place across from him. "My turn." You set your arm on the table, hand open, inviting.

he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, simply extending his hand in turn, elbow back on the table.

Despite not having started yet, there was tension in his arm, preparing for the fight.

You smiled pleasantly at him, hoping the surprise you were cooking up would let you win.

Zoro just looked at the others to count you in.

Sanji stood and walked closer to the show. "One, two, three!"

The split second you felt Zoro's arm begin to move, you pressed a soft kiss to the knuckles facing you, a feather light touch that tickled his fingers, leaving him stunned.

In that moment of surprise, you leapt, shoving his arm nearly to the table, only a miniscule space left to fill before Zoro got ahold of himself, trying to gain back what he had lost, but you leaned across the table as he raised his arm, pushing your lips against his, shoving his arm back against the table as he tasted you, losing himself again.

When you released his hand and his face, you sat back with a smile. "I win."

Zoro coughed, looking pointedly away from the looks being given to him by his crewmates, covering up the fact that he was flustered by your silly actions.

"Wait let me try again!" Luffy gasped, raising his hand voluntarily.

Zoro shook his head, standing up and moving away from you and your charms. "No, I'm done."

Sanji sank into the chair with a sly grin. "I don't suppose you want to test me next?" Sanji asked. You laughed and stood up, allowing Luffy to slip into your spot. "Maybe next time Sanji."

You sauntered up to Zoro with a sly smile. "I could've beaten you." He said quietly. "Oh I know." It was a no brainer that if you hadn't pulled out your secret weapon he would have won easily.

"But I know my opponent." You let him pull you into his arms, resting his head next to yours as you watched Sanji give in to Luffy's pleading and agree to one round.

"Smart." Zoro observed. "Plus, you liked it, didn't you?" You could tell by the way Zoro straightened up that yes, he had liked it a lot. "It was fine."

You had been able to make him go completely slack with only one brush of your lips. That was arguably more than "fine" for him.

You looked down at his forearms wrapped around your body, leaning down to press another kiss to his skin.

"Hey." He grumbled, not making any move to stop your actions. "What?" You asked innocently.

Zoro stayed silent, a warmth growing over his face. He cleared his throat. "Not in front of them." You looked at your crewmates with a smile. "Don't want them to know you go completely soft with just one kiss?" You asked, looking at him, twisting your head to see.

"I don't go soft." "Yeah you do. Like a happy cat. You almost purr." You hold back, although his cheek is within reach. You could give it a peck so easily.

"You'll pay for those comments." He threatens, although there is no malice behind his words. At the end of the day, Zoro is desperately in love with you, and it is not just your lips that drive him to his knees.

Our next sparring match is going to be interesting." You hum in response. You see the grin build over his features. He likes the sound of that. Maybe being beaten isn't so bad if your lips are on his at the end of the day.

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mybrainsbackroom · 6 days ago

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sitting on his lap

Pairings: Zoro x Reader, Sabo x Reader, Law x Reader, Ace x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000 words

tags: suggestive, fluff (?)

my masterlist here ♡

——

Zoro

The Sunny’s crow’s nest smells of steel and sweat, the late-night breeze slipping through the open hatch as you climb up to find Zoro mid-training, shirtless, katanas resting against the wall. His chest heaves, muscles glistening under the moonlight, and he glances over with a grunt.

��What’re you doin’ up here?” he asks, wiping his face with a towel, his tone gruff but not unwelcoming.

Below, you can hear Sanji’s flirtatious banter with Nami, the crew’s usual chaos a distant hum.

You shrug, leaning against the doorway.

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d bug you instead of sittin’ on some boring deck chair,” you say, a smirk playing on your lips.

Zoro snorts, sitting on a bench, spreading his legs slightly as he gestures to his lap with a nod.

“Fine. Park yourself here if you’re gonna waste my time.”

Your stomach flips, but you don’t back down, crossing the small space and settling onto his lap, the heat of his bare skin burning through your clothes. His hands hover awkwardly for a moment before resting on your hips, firm and unapologetic.

“Didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he mutters, voice rough, his good eye scanning you with a mix of suspicion and something hotter.

You grin, shifting to get comfortable, feeling the hard planes of his thighs beneath you.

��What, thought I’d be scared of the big bad swordsman?” you tease, poking at his chest.

His grip tightens, a low growl rumbling from him.

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, and you’ll see how bad I can be,” he shoots back, the edge in his tone sending a thrill through you.

“Oh, I’m shakin’,” you reply, sarcastic, leaning back against him, your head brushing his shoulder.

“You should be,” he grunts, one hand sliding up your side, calloused fingers rough against your skin. “Or you wanna find out how sharp my edge really is?”

The back-and-forth cuts deeper, tension coiling tight.

“All talk, Zoro. Where’s the action?” you challenge, turning to face him, your legs straddling his lap now, the position bold and intimate.

His jaw clenches, and his hands grip your waist hard, pulling you flush against him.

“Fuck, you’re askin’ for it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck as he leans in, teeth grazing your skin.

“Then give it to me, tough guy,” you murmur, fingers tangling in his green hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

His control slips, and he shifts beneath you, the hard bulge in his pants pressing insistently against your core, sparking heat that pools low in your belly.

“Damn it, you’re gonna regret this,” he warns, voice thick with need, his hand slipping under your shirt to grip bare skin, rough and demanding.

“Make me,” you dare, rolling your hips against him, earning a guttural groan as his fingers dig into your flesh, the promise of raw, unrestrained heat hanging in the air.

The crow’s nest creaks under the weight of your shared tension, the night swallowing every sound except the harsh rasp of his breath against your ear.

——

Sabo

Smoke curls from a nearby campfire as the Revolutionary Army’s temporary base hums with quiet tension. You’re hunched over a map with Sabo in a dimly lit tent, the flickering lantern casting shadows across his scarred face. His gloved hand brushes yours as he points to a supply route, and the contact—brief, accidental—sends a jolt through you.

“You’re distracted,” he says, voice calm but edged with amusement, his sharp eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Koala’s voice cuts in from outside the tent, teasing, “Don’t let Sabo bore you to death with strategy, y’know!”

You smirk, shaking your head.

“Nah, I’m just tired of sittin’ on this hard-ass crate,” you grumble, stretching with a dramatic sigh.

Sabo leans back in his chair, a rare playful glint in his gaze.

“Well, I’ve got a better spot if you’re game,” he offers, patting his lap with a subtle, challenging tilt of his head.

Your heart skips, but you play it cool, raising a brow.

“Oh? Think I won’t take you up on that, Chief of Staff?” you quip, standing and stepping closer.

His smirk widens as you lower yourself onto his lap, the fabric of his coat rough against your thighs, his body solid and warm beneath you.

“Didn’t peg you for shy,” he murmurs, his tone dipping low, one hand resting lightly on your back to steady you.

You scoff, shifting to get comfortable, acutely aware of every point of contact.

“Shy? Nah, I just don’t wanna break your fancy noble legs,” you tease, and his quiet laugh sends a thrill through you.

“Trust me, I can handle a lot more than you think,” he replies, his voice smooth, suggestive, his fingers pressing just a bit firmer against your spine.

“Oh, really? Care to test that theory?” you challenge, turning slightly to face him, your knee brushing his side.

His eyes darken, and the air between you crackles.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I might just show you,” he says, his free hand hovering near your thigh, teasing but not quite crossing the line—yet.

The banter flows, each jab and retort building a slow, simmering heat.

“You’re all talk, Sabo. Where’s that revolutionary spirit now?” you taunt, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his.

His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him, and his lips curve into a dangerous smile.

“Careful what you wish for. I don’t play fair when I’m provoked,” he warns, his thumb tracing a slow circle on your lower back.

Your pulse races as you tilt your head, lips inches from his.

“Good. I don’t want fair. I want trouble,” you whisper, and his restraint snaps for a fleeting moment—his hand slides to your hip, firm and possessive.

“Fuck, you’re pushin’ it,” he growls, shifting beneath you, the tension of his body evident, the hard press of him against you igniting a fire in your core.

“Then do somethin’ about it,” you dare, your fingers threading through his blond hair, tugging lightly.

His breath hitches, and he leans in, lips brushing your neck as he murmurs, “Keep this up, and I’ll have you pinned against this map in two seconds flat.”

The promise hangs heavy, your skin tingling where his mouth grazes, the tent suddenly far too small for the heat exploding between you.

——

Law

The Polar Tang’s engine hums deep below deck, the dim light of the control room casting Law’s sharp features in stark relief. You’re perched on a crate, watching him scribble notes in his medical journal, his coat slung over a chair, leaving his inked arms bare.

“You’ve been starin’ for five minutes straight,” he says without looking up, his voice dry, cutting through the quiet.

Bepo’s muffled snoring echoes from the next room, a reminder of the crew’s rare downtime.

You shrug, swinging your legs.

“Just wonderin’ how you don’t get tired sittin’ in that stiff chair all day,” you reply, a teasing lilt in your tone.

Law’s golden eyes flick up, piercing, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“If you’re so concerned, I’ve got a better seat right here,” he says, leaning back and gesturing to his lap with a casual, almost clinical precision that somehow feels loaded.

Your breath catches, but you mask it with a grin, hopping off the crate.

“Don’t mind if I do, Captain,” you say, sauntering over and settling onto his lap, the hard lines of his frame unyielding beneath you.

His smirk doesn’t waver, but his hand rests on your thigh, light yet deliberate, sending a spark through you.

“Comfortable?” he asks, voice low, almost a purr, as he tilts his head to study you.

“Could be worse,” you shoot back, shifting slightly, feeling the subtle tension in his grip.

“Didn’t think you’d actually take me up on it,” he admits, his tone dipping into something warmer, less guarded.

You lean in a fraction, testing the waters.

“What, thought I’d chicken out? You don’t scare me, Law.”

His eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flashing through them.

“Careful. I’m not as predictable as you think,” he warns, his fingers tightening just enough to make your pulse jump.

“Oh? Gonna show me somethin’ new, then?” you challenge, your hand brushing his collar, lingering near the ink of his tattoos.

The exchange sharpens, words slicing through the charged air.

“You’re playin’ a risky game,” he murmurs, his free hand sliding up to your waist, slow and calculated, like he’s dissecting every reaction.

“And if I am? You gonna cut me open, doc?” you tease, your voice breathy, daring him to push further.

His smirk turns predatory, and he pulls you closer, the heat of him searing through your clothes.

“Might just dissect every damn inch of you if you keep talkin’ like that,” he growls, his thumb brushing the edge of your hip, teasing the skin beneath.

Your breath hitches as you grind down subtly, earning a low, rough sound from his throat.

“Fuck, don’t start what you can’t finish,” he warns, his grip turning possessive, guiding your movements with surgical precision.

“Who says I can’t finish?” you whisper, lips hovering near his, feeling the hard length of him press against you through the fabric.

His eyes darken to molten gold, and his hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying across your bare skin as he mutters,

“Then let’s see how much you can take before you’re beggin’.”

The promise sends a shiver down your spine, his touch igniting every nerve as the room’s hum fades into the pounding of your own heartbeat.

——

Ace

The deck of the Moby Dick sways under a crimson sunset, the air thick with salt and the distant roar of waves. You’re leaning against the railing, watching Ace toss a playful fireball into the sky, the flames licking the dusk before fizzling out. His grin, wide and reckless, pulls at something deep in your chest.

“Oi, you gonna stand there gawkin’ all day, or come closer?” he calls out, wiping sweat off his brow, his tattooed arm flexing with casual strength. Marco, perched nearby on a barrel, chuckles low.

“Careful, Ace, don’t burn her with that hothead charm of yours.”

You roll your eyes but step forward, the wooden planks creaking underfoot. Ace’s dark eyes lock on yours, daring, teasing, as he pats his thigh with a smirk.

“Got a seat right here if you’re tired of standin’.”

You hesitate, pulse quickening, but his playful taunt—“What, scared of a little heat?”—pushes you over the edge.

“Fine, hotshot, don’t cry if I steal your spot,” you shoot back, striding over and sliding onto his lap with a boldness you don’t fully feel. His thighs are firm beneath you, warm even through the fabric, and his breath hitches for half a second before that cocky grin returns.

“Damn, didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he murmurs, voice low, his hand hovering near your waist like he’s testing the waters.

You shift slightly, feeling the heat of his skin, the faint scent of ash and sea clinging to him.

“Thought you liked surprises, Ace. Or am I too much for you?”

Your words drip with challenge, and his laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against you.

“Oh, darlin’, you’re playin’ with fire now. I don’t back down easy.” His fingers graze your hip, light but deliberate, sending a shiver up your spine.

Around you, the crew’s noise fades—Thatch whistling somewhere, Vista barking orders—but all you hear is Ace’s teasing drawl.

“So, you gonna stay here all night, or you got other plans to mess with my head?”

The conversation stretches, each word a spark fanning the tension.

“Mess with your head? Please, I’m just keepin’ you grounded,” you retort, leaning back against his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up. His arm finally loops around your waist, pulling you tighter, and his lips brush near your ear.

“Grounded, huh? Feels more like you’re settin’ me ablaze.”

His voice is husky now, suggestive, and you turn your head just enough to catch his gaze—dark, hungry, but still laced with that boyish mischief.

“Careful, Ace, I might just fan those flames,” you whisper, your hand resting on his chest, fingers tracing the edge of his open shirt.

He groans softly, a sound that shoots heat straight through you.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, his grip tightening as he shifts you on his lap, the friction deliberate and maddening.

The world narrows to the heat between you, the slow grind of your hips against him, and his low growl of “Keep that up, and I’m draggin’ you below deck right now.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides lower, thumb brushing the edge of your thigh, daring you to push further into this dangerous game.

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mybrainsbackroom · 6 days ago

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mybrainsbackroom · 6 days ago

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Looks Good On You Anyway - Zoro x Reader

Unfortunately, life amongst the Straw Hats wasn’t exactly akin to sartorial elegance. You couldn’t count the amount of perfectly good shirts that had been ruined through rips, bloodstains or the general wear and tear of a life of piracy, and whilst you had long since let go of any notion of style, a shirt you could actually wear was surely not that much to ask for. Trouble was, not only were you running out of clothes, you were also running out of berry. A failing on your part. But, as your stint aboard the Going Merry was supposed to be a brief one it was not entirely unreasonable that dressing for all seasons had not been at the forefront of your priorities. When your stint aboard the Thousand Sunny turned out to be a more permanent affair any onlookers could be forgiven for questioning your lack of forward planning.

It was with more than a hint of jealousy that you thought of the boys as you rifled through your trunk in order to find something, anything, that hadn’t been stitched and repaired so many times it was the Ship of Theseus in thread form. They didn’t have to worry about not having a shirt – hell, you couldn’t even remember a time before Sanji was the only one not displaying some defined muscle. Not that you had noticed. Or if you had it was a completely objective observation of the double standards of men and women’s bodies. Or something to that effect. And, of course, because it went without saying, that a certain someone’s lack of attire had definitely caught your eye. But then again … if he was so adverse to the thought of being covered up, his shirts were only going to waste …

But that would be weird. Territorial. Well, invasive since it wasn’t your territory.

And it would be bad.

But maybe not that bad? And, as already established, it wasn’t like he was using any of his shirts anyway. So if anything it was just recycling, a redistribution of goods. Whatever it was, it clearly hadn’t played on your mind too much having tiptoed out of the boys’ quarters wearing a stolen navy blue tank top and making your way towards the deck.

Roronoa Zoro leant back against the gunnel, legs stretched out, the satisfying burn of a good training session aching through his thighs. A light breeze cooled the sweat clinging to his skin, eyes closed, the faintest smirk across his features – a response to Luffy and Usopp arguing about their latest game. Life on the sea was rarely tranquil so he soaked up such moments as his bronzed skin soaked up the morning sun. Of course he would never admit to the fact but the faint smell of Sanji cooking lunch only added to the easy tranquillity.

The wolf whistle ended his stillness.

“Fuck off, Nami.”

Your voice prompted a surreptitious look.

“New shirt? I don’t remember going shopping.” The smirk in Nami’s voice palpable.

“Fuck off, Nami.” As was your annoyance.

The two of you were always bickering – that much wasn’t a surprise but he couldn’t help but be intrigued. He leant forward, trying to get a closer look. Nothing seemed that much out of the ordinar-

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Why the ever-loving-fuck is that a thing? His hand automatically gripped at his swords – something to focus on that wasn’t the fact that you were wearing his shirt and he was completely and utterly into that. Fuck, your tits looked good. But that wasn’t the point. His knuckled turned a bit whiter.

“Zoro, you okay with this? I thought I was the thief.”

Fuck off, Nami.

“What?” He tilted his head in a show of nonchalance and tried very, very hard not to adjust his position too obviously. “I don’t wear it.” He shrugged – a little too much. “I don’t care.”

The look from Nami did not go unnoticed. Neither did the irony or metaphor – Zoro wasn’t going to dwell on which – of you covered in the clothes of a killer when all he could think about was ripping those clothes off, of confessing everything, of being on the verge of-

“Sorry,” you started, “Everything else is ripped.”

“Keep it.” Zoro stood up. He stopped when he didn’t hear your footsteps. “Well come on then. My clothes look better on you anyway.”

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