#one piece zoro | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

romerona · 5 days ago

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All Y/N ever wanted to do was sing her songs and be free. Yet somehow, after offering to pay for the meal of a certain boy in a straw hat she finds herself causing havoc through the East Blue.

Masterlist - Next.

Trigger warning: violence, death, abuse, trauma. Word count: 10K

A/N: The only thing I will be describing about Y/N is her hair colour. Everything else you can imagine her as you wish.

Disclaimer: The songs I will be using in this fic aren't mine bc I have 0 creativity. I'm sorry.

"Easy. Easy!"

Nami, Luffy, Usopp, and Y/N struggled to carry Zoro’s unconscious, bloodied body onto the Going Merry. The swordsman was dead weight—his usual strength now replaced by alarming stillness, and every step felt like a race against time.

"Easy!" Nami huffs.

Y/N pushed the galley door open with her shoulder and all but shoved everything off the kitchen island in one sweep, “Put him here! Try not to drop him, Usopp!”

"I didn’t,” Usopp grunted, his arms trembling under the weight as they carefully maneuvered Zoro onto the cleared surface. “He’s really heavy. I mean, he’s got a really big head. It’s, like, freakishly big.”

Y/N barely acknowledged the comment, but it is already working fast. She grabbed a paring knife and cut away Zoro’s blood-soaked shirt, revealing a gash that made her stomach turn. Her hands hovered above his chest for a moment—uncertain where to even begin—before she snapped herself into motion again.

Nami dashed off to grab a towel, muttering something under her breath."What does that have to do with anything?"

Y/N barely registered Luffy’s voice as he leaned in closer to Zoro, his usual bright tone now hushed and trembling. “Zoro? Hey, can you hear me?”

Nami, quick on her feet, folded a towel and slipped it under Zoro’s head to cushion it against the hard surface of the table. The gesture was careful, almost tender.

Cabinets slammed open and shut behind her as Usopp darted from one corner of the kitchen to the other. “Where’s the first aid kit?”

“De we even have a first aid kit?” Nami grumbled ya as she went to stand next to Y/N. Both girls shared a Look. This is bad.

“These are all I could find!” Usopp returned a moment later, arms full of half-clean towels, a bottle of who-knew-what, and a cracked tin of bandages. He dumped it all onto the table in front of them. “Where’s he bleeding from?”

“Everywhere,” Y/N grabbed a towel and rushed to the basin. The faucet sputtered before water finally flowed, and she soaked the cloth as fast as she could, squeezing it once before darting back.

Usopp moved to her side and helped with the water, his eyes wide, his hands twitchy. “We need more towels.”

“No,” Nami said, shaking her head. “We need a doctor.”

“Well, last I checked, we don’t have one!” Usopp snapped, his voice a little too loud in the tight space.

“There’s got to be someone at the Baratie who can help,” Y/N said quickly, voice taut as a bowstring as she cleaned the blood away. Her hands were slightly shaking now. Zoro didn’t even flinch—he was just still. Too still.

“Luffy?” Nami called out, glancing over her shoulder toward the boy captain. Her voice was sharper now, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Luffy! Someone needs to go back to Baratie!”

He blinked, clearly struggling to pull himself from the sight of Zoro—so still, so bloodied. “Um… I’m really not hungry right now, Nami.”

Y/N’s jaw tensed as she pressed a towel harder against a wound, eyes flicking toward him. She got it—truly. Shock did strange things to people. The first time she saw someone bleed like this, she’d panicked too, but there came a point when fear had to give way to action, and they were well past that point.

She didn’t say anything, just pursed her lips and forced herself to stay calm, even as her hands trembled from the pressure she was applying.

Nami, however, had no patience left. She nearly growled in frustration. “Not for food! Maybe one of the customers is a ship’s doctor!”

“Right,” Luffy said, blinking again as if he was trying to reboot his brain. “A doctor.”

It wasn’t much, but something clicked behind his eyes—some return to clarity. And though he still moved like he was walking through water, he turned and began to head for the galley door. “We need a doctor.”

Y/N pressed a fresh towel to it, her hands slick with blood, jaw tight with focus. She could feel the pulsing heat of it, the way the bleeding refused to stop. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the cup of water Usopp had just filled, dipping another cloth in it, trying to clean around the wound without making things worse.

"Keep that one there," she said to Nami, nodding to the towel near Zoro’s collarbone. "Firm, steady pressure. Don't lift it."

Nami nodded wordlessly, her own hands red to the wrists, her forehead glistening with sweat. She had seen plenty of danger in her time, but this—watching someone she knew bleed out in front of her—this was different.

“I—I don’t know what to do,” Usopp stammered, backing away from the table like the blood might leap at him. “Is he gonna die? He’s gonna die, isn’t he?”

“He’s not going to die,” she said firmly, though her stomach twisted at the lie. “Not if we keep him breathing."

She leaned in, eyes scanning the torn flesh. It was deep—deeper than anything she’d ever tried to fix. And so clean, too, like it had been carved with surgical precision.

“He needs stitches,” Y/N murmured, more to herself than anyone else. The words hung there, cold and impossible. She wasn’t a doctor. She’d done a few messy patches in back alleys before, helped close up a wound or two with trembling hands and borrowed thread—but nothing like this.

Nami glanced over, her hands still pressed down on a towel rapidly turning scarlet. “Can you do it?”

“I... I don't know, I don’t think we have a needle that’s strong enough,” she said, eyes darting across the kitchen. “Or thread thick enough to hold skin.”

“There’s gotta be something,” Nami said, her voice clipped and panicked. “You seem like you’ve done this before—can’t you just—just improvise?”

“I am improvising,” Y/N snapped, voice sharper than she meant, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she gripped the make-do supplies. “Gods, where is Luf—”

The galley door slammed open.

Speak of the devil.

Luffy burst in—and behind him, to Y/N’s utter confusion, came the blond, sharply dressed waiter who’d flirted with anything that moved, and the rough, one-legged chef who had dragged Luffy to the kitchens the night before.

“What the—?” Y/N blinked, thrown completely.

“Are you kidding?” Nami snapped at Luffy, “He needs a doctor!”

“Do you wanna save your swordsman friend or not?” the wooden-legged chef snapped, already brushing past them without waiting for permission.

Y/N and Nami instinctively moved aside, letting the man work, though their hands hovered like they were ready to jump back in at any second. The chef—Zeff, if Y/N remembered right—tossed off the bloody towels and assessed the wound with a cool, calculating look, like he’d seen worse and fixed worse.

Sanji—yes, that was the waiter’s name—set down an armful of supplies beside him. Y/N caught the glint of steel—actual knives, proper scissors, a big curved needle, spools of dark thread.

And... a yellowtail fish.

Y/N blinked. She looked at the fish. Then at them. Then back at the fish.

Was that part of the plan?

Before she could ask, there was the distinct pop of a bottle opening.

“Is that to sterilize the wounds?” Usopp asked, hope flickering in his voice.

“Hell, no,” said Zeff, already lifting it to his mouth. “That’d be a waste of really good liquor.”

He took a long swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and gave Zoro a look like he was sizing up a slab of meat he was about to butcher—or save.

Y/N, hands still stained red and jaw clenched, stared at the scene unfolding in front of her. It wasn’t what she expected. Not even close.

“Beautiful,” Zeff murmured—not to Zoro, but to the fish—as he began slicing it with the kind of practiced ease only a lifetime in a kitchen could give. His knife moved like it was part of his hand, clean and precise. In moments, he was separating the skin from the flesh and setting it gently on a clean plate like it was a delicacy.

Y/N’s eyes widened—then narrowed with realization. Her doubts vanished in an instant. She knew exactly what he was about to do.

“Needle,” Zeff said, holding out his hand without looking.

Sanji passed it over without a word, the sharp arc of it gleaming under the light.

Y/N, Luffy, and Nami stood frozen, watching in stunned silence as the old chef leaned in and began stitching Zoro’s gash. His movements were swift but careful, efficient without cruelty. Each pass of the needle tugged skin back together, layer by layer, until the worst of the wound was closed.

Then, with the same steady hands, Zeff lifted the prepared fish skin and began laying it over the wound like a graft.

“Why are you putting that on him?” Usopp asked, his voice cracking slightly from the back of the room.

Before Zeff could answer, Y/N spoke. She didn’t mean to. It slipped out, too fast, too natural, like it was instinct.

“It helps the skin regenerate faster,” she said, eyes still fixed on the wound. “It’s one of the only things that can bond quickly to broken skin, it's quicker than cloth. Holds moisture. It—heals better.”

Usopp blinked. “...How do you know that?”

Y/N didn’t look at him. She forced a shrug, trying to keep her voice level. “Read it in a book.”

Zeff, for his part, didn’t question it. He just kept working, wrapping another piece of the fish skin gently across Zoro’s side.

“You’ve got good instincts, girl,” he muttered without looking at her.

Y/N didn’t respond. She just stared at Zoro, willing his chest to rise a little more steadily, for the color to return to his lips. Willing something in him to fight back. To stay.

“He’s gonna be okay,” she whispered, more a plea than a promise.

Zeff wiped his hands on a towel, the tension in the room thick as the blood drying on the floor.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you,” he said, glancing at the table and then back at them. “He’s lost a lot of blood. It might be too late for him.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Her stomach felt like it dropped through the wooden boards beneath her feet. She stared harder at Zoro, as if glaring at the Reaper himself, refusing to let go.

“But it might not be,” Luffy chimed in quietly from behind her, voice soft but the hope unwavering.

And damn it, Y/N was grateful for that hope. For Luffy’s impossible, stubborn faith—because right now, hers was cracking.

Zeff gave a short nod, his gruff voice cutting through the air again. “He’s got one foot in each world right now, caught between life and death. You have to find a way to keep him tethered to our world.”

Y/N furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“Talk to him,” Zeff said simply. “Tell him stories. Remind him who he is. Sing him sea shanties for all I care. Anything to keep his mind from drifting too far. He may not reply, but at least he’ll know his crew are still with him."

Y/N looked back down at Zoro, her fingers brushing lightly against his wrist—barely a pulse. His face was pale, features drawn like stone. He looked like he was already gone.

But he wasn’t, not yet.

She bit her lip, hard, then slid a stool over, sitting beside the island. Her hand settled on his, gentle but firm.

“Tether him,” she whispered under her breath.

They could do that. So they did.

Once Zeff finished stitching w,rapping Zoro’s wounds and confirmed Zoro was stable for now, the crew moved him with painstaking care to Nami’s room—she insisted, saying it was the closest to the kitchen and had the softest bedding. No one argued. No one had the energy.

Hours passed. Then a full day, then another. Time bent strangely around the ship, caught in a hush of half-whispers, shallow breathing, and the occasional creak of wood and waves. The Going Merry floated as if in mourning, the air thick with waiting.

They hardly left his side.

Luffy, least of all. He sat beside Zoro’s bed with his hat in his lap and a look in his eyes Y/N hadn’t seen before—not even during fights or storms.

Nami kept vigil at night, curling up in the corner with a blanket and glaring at anyone who tried to make her leave. Usopp tried to stay brave, but often hovered outside the door like he couldn’t bring himself to go in for too long.

And Y/N?

She moved around them all like clockwork. Quiet, constant, present. She made sure Zoro’s bandages stayed clean, that everyone ate something—even if it was just bread or tea. When Luffy refused to budge for nearly a day, she dragged him to the shower herself.

“Five minutes,” she told him sternly. “Or I’m coming in after you.”

He obeyed—reluctantly.

The ship felt like it was caught in a kind of time spell. No one trained. No one joked. The sun rose and set outside, but within the Merry, everything held its breath.

So Y/N did the one thing that felt right at the moment and truly because no one else had the energy for cooking—she went to the Baratie to buy some food.

She tied her hair up and rolled her sleeves, smoothing her shawl over her shoulders as she stepped off the Merry and onto the Baratie. The floating restaurant gleamed in the late afternoon light, all polished wood and stained glass, like a ship that belonged more in dreams than on the sea.

She walked through the entrance with quiet purpose, heels tapping against fine tile as chandeliers sparkled above her. Tables lined the open floor, each one covered in crisp white cloth, polished silverware, and plates too delicate for the kind of storm churning in her chest.

Y/N was halfway through scanning the menu at a corner table (which she had to bribe the host for) when a familiar voice floated in with the same buttery smoothness he probably used for every woman who walked in.

“Now that’s a view I wouldn’t mind plating up.”

Sanji emerged from the kitchen a second later, sharp in black and white, sleeves rolled up, towel draped across his shoulder, and that ever-present flirt in his eyes.

“Back already, Mon chérie?” he asked, sliding up beside her table like he belonged there. “Let me guess—you missed me.”

Y/N didn’t look up right away. She calmly flipped the menu closed and rested her chin in her hand, casting him a sideways glance.

“Missed you?” she echoed, voice lilting, “What a bold assumption. I only came back because I heard the fish were fresher today.”

Sanji clutched at his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”

“That’s funny,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Most men don’t realize they’ve been wounded until it’s far too late, loverboy.”

His grin flickered, just for a second—like he couldn’t decide if he was being flirted with or threatened but he liked it either way.

“Well, if you’re here for food, allow me to make a personal recommendation—anything cooked by these hands is practically a love letter.”

“I prefer my love letters spelled correctly and not dripping in butter,” she replied, crossing one leg over the other, eyes gleaming. “Though the butter’s tempting.”

Sanji gave a low laugh, clearly enjoying the banter more than he probably should’ve. “Mon chérie, you're either trying to seduce me or destroy me.”

“Can’t it be both?” she asked, resting her chin in her hand again. “Anyway, I'm not here to banter—much as you seem to crave it. I’m here for the others. Thought I’d try and cheer everyone up before the brooding officially becomes contagious.”

Sanji hums, brushing his flour-dusted hands against his apron. “Your friend still hasn’t opened his eyes?”

Y/N’s smile faltered just a touch. “Not yet.”

There was a beat of silence before she added, "Luffy’s hardly eaten a bite, which I’m pretty sure breaks at least three laws of nature. Everyone else is just... stuck. You ever see a ship caught in still water?”

He nodded, the smile slipping just a little.

“I figured I’d bring something back,” she continued. “Something warm. Something familiar. Food’s the best medicine we’ve got right now.”

Sanji gave a low, appreciative whistle. “Charming and wise. A girl after my own heart."

She rolled her eyes with a soft chuckle. “Flatter me all you want, but I’m only buying what I can carry. Just a few things. Enough for comfort food. Warm rice, some fish and sauce, maybe fruit? I know Nami likes them—figured it might cheer her up a bit.”

Sanji didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he studied her for a beat—long enough that Y/N felt a flicker of discomfort under the weight of his gaze. It wasn’t the usual kind of look men gave her. There was no teasing grin, no swooning tilt of the head. Just... observation. Like he was trying to read something between her words, between her smile.

“You really care for them, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

“I… well, I do,” she said, tone lighter than her pulse. “Been traveling with them for some time now. Would be weird if I didn’t.”

It was the truth, mostly. Or at least, the part she was allowed to say.

She’d grown used to Luffy’s chaos, to Nami’s sharp eyes and thong, to Usopp’s, tho only knowing him for a few days, tall tales and Zoro’s quiet strength. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being just survival and started to feel like… something more. Something closer.

But admitting that? Saying it out loud? That was a different kind of exposure, it had been a long while since she had last felt this way... actually it was since she had roamed with Tallen and the other sirens.

Sanji’s expression softened, the flirtation dimming into something quieter. Then he nodded, like he’d come to some personal conclusion.

“Let me cook for you.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

He gestured toward the kitchen with a dramatic little flourish, towel flicking like a stage curtain. “I'm sure in an hour or so we will have some ingredients we won't use, I can whip something up—real food, comfort food. For you. For your crew.”

She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes—not suspicious, just trying to keep up. “That’s generous of you, but no, I couldn't you and Zeff have done enough already.”

“Please,” he scoffed, but the smirk was softer now. “You think I can just stand by knowing there’s a crew full of hungry, miserable people floating outside my restaurant? That your captain hasn’t eaten? I couldn't live with myself."

Y/N hesitated, arms crossed loosely. She wasn’t used to people offering to help without a price. Without a reason. Without her having to ask. But then she thought of Luffy, hunched over the bed like a statue. Nami’s clenched jaw. Usopp’s worried pacing. The way Zoro looked was far too still.

“Also,” Sanji added, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “I was hoping if I fed you all well enough, maybe you’d smile at me like that again.”

She scoffed—but she was already smiling. “You’re bloody relentless.”

“Determine,” he corrected with a wink. “And a damn good cook. Let me do what I’m best at.”

“Careful,” she said, lips curling into a wry smile. “You keep saying stuff like that, and I might actually start trusting you.”

Sanji gave a low, satisfied laugh. “Then I’ll make sure dinner lives up to it.”

She let out a breath, considering. Her instincts—usually guarded, protective—didn’t flare with danger. Not with him. He was a flirt, sure, but something about him told her he meant it. Not the compliments. Not the show. This. The cooking. The feeding. The giving.

“…Fine,” she said at last, exhaling as she stood. “If you insist—but nothing fancy.”

Sanji pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “You wound me. My least fancy dish still brings tears to grown men’s eyes.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips and said playfully. “If I see one pansy on the plate, I’m tossing you into the sea.”

“If it’s you doing the tossing, I might just let it happen.” said the blonde.

She rolled her eyes and walked toward the door. “Bring the food, cook. Then you can flirt.”

“Deal,” he called after her. “Just don’t fall for me before dessert!”

Y/N smirked to herself as she walks

Not likely, she thought but she had to admit—it was kind of nice having someone else carry the pot for once.

Hours later, the kitchen on the Going Merry was filled with steam, warmth, and for the first time in days, smell like some real food.

Y/N worked beside Sanji, shoulders brushing from time to time in the cramped space as they shaped rice balls together. The rice stuck to her fingers, no matter how many times she dipped her hands in water, but the act of pressing it together was strangely comforting. She didn’t even mind when Sanji gently corrected her technique—for the third time—with a little smirk and a too-charming, “Not bad, but watch your thumb.”

They’d kept it simple: warm rice, salted fish, a bit of seaweed.

Y/N placed the finished rice balls in a plate and dusted her hands off with a sigh. “I’ll take these to Nami. She’s been sitting with him all morning.”

Sanji didn’t look up from where he was slicing vegetables for the next dish. “Tell her there’s more coming. Some garlic fish.”

She smiled slightly. “Thanks, loverboy.”

He gave her a mock bow. “Always a pleasure to serve you, ma chérie.”

She slipped out of the kitchen and padded down the hall, knocking lightly on Usopp’s door.

“It’s food time,” she called gently. “Real food. Not crackers and bread.”

A muffled reply came through, something like, “Coming!”, followed by the sound of something clattering to the floor. She smiled to herself and kept moving.

As she turned the corner, she nearly bumped into Luffy.

He stood in the hallway, Zoro’s swords carefully tucked under one arm, a rag in his other hand. There was a smudge on his cheek and a familiar glint in his eyes—not quite as bright as usual, but still very much Luffy.

“Stud, here you are,” she said gently.

He looked up, blinking at the sight of her—and more importantly, the rice balls.

“You made food?” he asked, eyes lighting up but not like before.

“Sanji did most of it,” she said with a little shrug. “He’s got something going in there. Rice balls, fish. Smells like heaven. "she then nudge at the swrods. "Zoro's sword?"

He held up one of Zoro’s swords like it was made of glass. “I was gonna clean ‘em before he wakes up. So they’re shiny. You think he’ll like that?”

Y/N paused, then smiled. “Yeah. I think he’ll like that a lot, but go eat before Ussop ravished it all."

Luffy grinned and nodded once before heading off, humming softly under his breath as he went.

Y/N watched him for a moment, then turned and made her way toward Nami’s room, the plate of rice balls still warm in her hands and the scent of comfort trailing behind her like a quiet promise.

Y/N watched Luffy disappear down the corridor, humming with Zoro’s swords tucked protectively under his arm, before she turned and continued toward Nami’s room. The plate of rice balls was still warm in her hands, the scent of seaweed and vinegar rice rising gently with every step.

She paused at the door and knocked softly.

“Hey, pumpkin,” she called with a teasing lilt, “brought you some food.”

She pushed the door open gently and stepped inside.

Nami looked up from her seat by the bed, a worn book resting open in her lap. She was reading aloud—softly, steadily—to Zoro, whose chest rose and fell in shallow, sleeping breaths. His face looked a little less pale now. Less ghost-like.

Nami offered a tired smile, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion but softer than they’d been earlier. “You made rice balls?”

“Sanji did,” Y/N said, stepping in. “I supervised. Threatened him a little. Standard stuff.”

She set the plate down gently on the bedside table, close enough for Nami to reach but far enough not to disturb the quiet.

Nami gave a breathy laugh. “Sounds like you.”

Y/N shifted a little closer to the bed, and she reached out and brushed a few strands of hair off his forehead. His skin was still warm, slightly clammy, but the color was better than the day before.

“Any difference?” Y/N asked softly, her voice just above a whisper as her fingers brushed gently away a stray lock of green hair from Zoro’s forehead.

“Still out,” Nami murmured, her lips pursed, eyes locked on him like she could will him back with enough focus alone. She didn't say much—but she didn’t have to. Y/N knew that look, that stillness. She’d worn it herself too many times before. “But… I think his color’s better. I’ve been reading to him. Thought maybe hearing our voices might help.”

Y/N nodded slowly, glancing at the book resting open on Nami’s lap. The pages were worn, sea-softened at the corners.

“What is it?” she asked gently.

Nami gave a little shrug. “Just a storybook I found.”

Y/N let out a quiet breath and lowered herself into the empty chair beside her, taking a rice ball. “Well, go on then, pumpkin. Don’t stop on my account.”

Nami hesitated for a moment, then looked down at the page and picked up where she left off.

“In a certain country, in the northern seas, there was an explorer named Mont Blanc Noland.”

Her voice softened with rhythm, almost like a lullaby.

“His stories were always grand adventures that sounded like lies.”

“Noland told his king he found a city of gold, but when the king went to claim the treasure, the city was gone, and most of the king’s soldiers perished on the journey.”

Y/N leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand, watching both Nami and Zoro in turn. The story washed over the room, strange and sad and oddly fitting.

“Noland was sentenced to death,” Nami continued, more quietly now, “but he continued to lie to his king, insisting the city of gold sank into the sea.”

A pause.

“And… even though nobody believed him, he never stopped lying until he was dead.”

The room settled into a heavy silence. Nami stared down at the page, and Y/N opened her mouth—maybe to shift the mood, maybe to say something thoughtful—but someone beat her to it.

“Poor guy," came Luffy’s voice from the doorway. "Can you imagine that? Losing a whole city of gold? ”

Y/N tensed slightly. She hadn’t even realized he was there, leaning against the doorframe. His voice was light, casual.

Nami didn’t even look up. “I don’t think that was the point of the story.”

“Stories can have different points,” Luffy said as he stepped into the room. “I mean… why did the king have to kill him?”

“Sometimes,” Nami said, her tone tight, like she was holding something back and failing, "when you’re in charge, you have to make the tough decisions.”

There it was—that cold edge. Passive-aggressive, laced with hurt, and barely disguised under the thinnest veil of civility.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, then rubbed her temples.

Here it comes.

Luffy let out a quiet laugh, though Y/N heard no humor in it. Just that same, strange heaviness that had crept into him over the past few days. “Why does everybody keep saying that?”

“Because you could’ve saved Zoro.” Nami stood, finally turning to face him. Her voice wasn’t raised, but it struck like a whip.

Y/N sat up straighter, already feeling a headache blooming behind her eyes.

“Can we please not—” she started, trying to cut in, to soothe the sparks before they turned into something worse.

But Nami wasn’t finished.

“Zoro didn’t have to fight Mihawk. But he let it happen.” She looked at Luffy, eyes sharp and angry. “You let it happen. Why didn’t you stop him?”

Luffy looked at her and for once, he didn’t smile. "I didn’t think he was going to lose."

Nami stared at him, disbelief washing over her features like a rising tide. “You could’ve tried to change his mind.”

“I would never do that,” Luffy said simply.

“So you’d rather see him like this?” Her voice cracked, thick with anger and something sharper beneath it—fear. “He might die, Luffy.”

That word settled in the air like smoke.

Die.

Y/N shifted where she sat, her hands curling slightly on her lap. The thought alone made her stomach twist into a knot. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes flicked back to Zoro, still and pale beneath the blankets, and she swallowed hard.

“And I’d do anything to save him,” Luffy continued, softer now, but with no less conviction. “Anything. Except stands in the way of his dream.”

Nami let out a bitter, shaky breath. “We all have dreams, but we outgrow them.”

Luffy’s head tilted, and for a moment, he just looked at her. Like he was trying to understand something impossible.

“Is that really what you think?” he asked. “Don’t you have a dream?”

There was a pause, and this time—Nami was the one who seemed to be dismisive.

“Yeah,” she said flatly. “Right now, it’s for Zoro to not die in my bed.”

“But isn’t there something that you want?” Luffy asked with that wide-eyed honesty only he seemed to carry. “Something more. More than anything else in this world?”

Y/N’s eyes drifted toward Nami. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak right away. But Y/N saw it—the flicker. The way her jaw tensed, how her fingers curled just slightly at her sides. She was thinking of something, maybe about someone. That question had struck something deeper than either of them probably realized.

Nami kept her gaze on Luffy, but Y/N saw the moment her guard wavered.

The silence stretched between them and then—softly, bitterly—Nami said, “Not everyone gets to follow their dreams.”

And then, without another word, she turned and walked out the door. Y/N didn’t try to stop her.

Y/N stayed where she was, eyes flicking between the door and Luffy, who stood now in the middle of the room staring at where the orange-haired girl was. He looked like he’d been struck, not quite hurt, but confused. As if he couldn’t even imagine a world where dreams didn’t get to come true.

Y/N rose slowly, folding her arms loosely over her chest.

“She didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she said gently.

Luffy didn’t reply at first.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

“She’s scared,” Y/N continued. “That’s all. And when people are scared, they start burying their dreams. Pretend they never had them.”

“She shouldn’t have to pretend,” Luffy said, staring down at the floor. “Nobody should.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, watching him.

“You’re not wrong,” she said. “But… it’s easier to forget about your dreams when you’re afraid they’ll never come true.”

He looked at her then, and for the first time since this started, he looked tired. Not defeated. Not broken. Just... human.

Y/N offered a small smile, soft around the edges. “You didn’t let him down, stud.”

“Feels like I did,” Luffy said, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Well,” she replied gently, “when he wakes up, I’m sure he’ll be glad you let him choose—just like he was before.” She glanced toward the bed, her voice softening. “Besides, I hardly think we could’ve stopped him even if we tried.”

A small chuckle escaped Luffy—not his usual boisterous laugh, but a tired, real one. He stepped forward and sat at the foot of the bed without saying anything more.

Y/N moved slowly, settling into the chair beside Zoro again. She smoothed the edge of the blanket, brushing her fingers lightly against his hand. The tension in the room had dulled now, quieter. More fragile.

She let out a long, slow breath, then leaned forward just a little.

“You remember that lullaby I said I’d write for you, hotshot?” she murmured. “Well… I never got around to finishing it, so you’re gonna have to deal with a half-sung, half-hummed version.”

She exhaled softly, then let the melody rise, slow and low—more hum than words at first. The kind of tune that came from the sea.

She sat up a little straighter, voice still soft, but this time there was rhythm in it—a steady beat like the echo of boots on a ship’s deck, like the clash of steel. A heartbeat in song.

Three swords, one goal, and a promise made—

Eyes like fire, never once afraid. Steel sings loud where silence falls,

And even blood can’t drown your calls.

Luffy blinked beside her, listening now with a grin slowly returning to his face.

He trains at dawn, he sleeps on deck,

He drinks like six and still don’t wreck,

He never runs, he never begs,

He’d fight a god with broken legs.

She tossed Luffy a grin, and he grinned right back, "That one was good."

Y/N turned back to Zoro, the smile softening, though the tone stayed light.

You’re too damn tough for death to take,

Too stubborn for your soul to break,

So wake up now, or don’t complain,

When I write this song and steal your fame.

Luffy gave a dramatic little clap, clearly delighted.

Y/N gave Zoro’s arm a gentle pat. “There. I immortalized your stubborn ass in song. That means you have to wake up now. Can’t have people thinking I wrote it for someone else.”

They both turned back to Zoro. Still breathing and still fighting—somehow.

Usopp slipped into the room.

“How’s he doing?” he asked, voice low but laced with hope.

Luffy, who’d been quietly staring at Zoro—eyes wide open, not sad, not smiling, just waiting—answered without turning. “He hasn’t said a word. Not even when Y/N sang to him.”

Y/N arched a brow from her seat, a grin already tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Rather rude of him, right?”

Usopp chuckled, then nudged Luffy lightly. “Maybe you should talk to him, too.”

Luffy frowned. “What would I even say?”

Usopp shrugged. “Whatever pops in your head. Just… speak from the gut.”

“My gut hasn’t been so great lately,” Luffy replied, light in tone but heavy in truth.

Y/N smiled softly but didn’t speak. She was still sitting nearby, legs curled up beneath her, watching with that quiet kind of knowing she always carried when emotions ran too high for everyone else.

“At least he’ll know it’s you,” Usopp said, a little gentler now. “What do you got to lose?”

Luffy paused, staring at Zoro like he was trying to have a conversation without saying anything at all.

Then he slapped the wood of the bed, suddenly animated. “Hey, Zoro. What’s up?”

Y/N blinked, her grin returning instantly. Luffy’s sincerity was always… Luffy-shaped. Clumsy, honest, and somehow perfect.

“I just wanted to tell you that…” he paused, scratched the back of his head. “Okay, wait—let me start over. I’m just gonna… Hi, Zoro. Hi. You know, it’s—”

“Luffy!”

Nami’s voice rang sharp from the kitchen, slicing through the stillness of the ship like a whipcrack. It echoed off the wooden walls, sharp enough to snap them all to attention.

All three of them turned toward the door at once—Y/N, Luffy, and Usopp—frozen for half a heartbeat.

Then it came again, louder. More urgent.

“Luffy!”

There was no mistaking it now; something was wrong.

All at once, they moved—Luffy leading the charge, feet pounding against the floorboards. Usopp scrambled after him, dropping what was left of his rice ball. Y/N was right behind them, her pulse suddenly thudding in her ears, one hand lifting her skirt just enough to sprint.

They reached the galley just as Nami turned from the counter, her eyes wide, "The Arlong Pirates are at Baratie. We have to leave now."

Y/N froze in the doorway. The name hit her ears like a stone dropping into deep water.

The Arlong Pirates… They did sound familiar—but from where?

“What? Why?” Luffy frowned, stepping further into the room. “Why should we leave?”

“Because they’re looking for you,” Nami snapped, eyes locking onto him.

Luffy points at himself, “Me?”

“And the map,” she added, her voice tight. “Those fishmen will tear this place apart if Zeff doesn’t turn you over.”

Fishmen.

The word dropped into Y/N’s stomach like a weight.

Her breath hitched ever so slightly. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt before she could stop them.

Oh… fishmen.

“Where are you going?”

Usopp’s voice cut through the tension, snapping Y/N out of her thoughts. She turned just in time to see Sanji striding toward the door, jaw tight.

“If Baratie’s in danger,” Sanji said stopping, “I need to be there.”

“I’m coming with you,” Luffy added without hesitation, already stepping forward.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Nami snapped, barely keeping her frustration from boiling over. “They are hunting you. We need to run.”

“I’m with Nami on this one,” Usopp said quickly, raising a hand like a white flag. “I’m really not trying to ruffle any feathers… or scales…”

Y/N shift on her feet, "Luffy, let's just think for a second--"

“I’m not running,” Luffy said firmly, his voice low and unwavering. “We’re going to protect this place.”

Sanji frowns “This isn’t your fight. Why would you do that?”

Luffy glanced at him, his expression so simple, so Luffy, that Y/N almost laughed.

“You fed us,” he said, like that explained everything.

Nami stepped forward, her voice a little too quick, too sharp—not just worried.

Frightened.

“Look, I know this crew,” she said, eyes locked on Luffy, more desperate now than angry. “Their captain—Arlong—he’s got the highest bounty in all of the East Blue. You do not want to mess with him.”

Luffy tilted his head, calm as ever. “Sounds like he messed with us first.”

“Luffy, please,” Nami said, and this time it cracked. She stepped closer, the plea trembling just beneath the surface. “Please.”

Y/N watched her—really watched her. This wasn’t about strategy. This wasn’t just about a fight, it was something deeper.

But Luffy didn’t hesitate. “I can’t let innocent people get hurt because of me.”

He turned then, facing them—Usopp, Sanji, and... Y/N. That look in his eyes… that quiet fire. That same unshakable conviction that had carried them through every storm.

“If those fishmen guys want a fight,” he said, voice low but fierce, “we’re gonna give them one.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted—equal parts pride and nerves—but she didn’t move. Didn’t question it. That tone in his voice made you feel like you could move mountains or at least stand in the way of something terrible.

Luffy walked over to Nami and rested a hand on her shoulder—gentle, reassuring, not a command, just trust.

“You stay with the ship,” he said softly. “Protect the map, hmm? It’s gonna be safe with you.”

He gave her shoulder a small clap, something brotherly, something solid. He didn’t wait for her reply. He didn’t have to and then he turned and started walking out.

Y/N stood still, her fingers curling again at her sides.

There was a part of her screaming to stay behind. To hide. To take the map, the wounded, and vanish beneath the sea like a shadow. That ancient, primal part of her that knew how dangerous the world could be—especially when it came with names like Arlong.

But louder than that—growing with every moment, every reckless heartbeat—was something else. A part of her that didn’t want to see the Baratie torn apart. That didn’t want innocent people dragged into whatever mess fate had dumped at their feet. That didn’t want to let Luffy—idiotic, idealistic, impossible Luffy—go headfirst into danger alone.

And gods, more than anything, there was a part of her that didn’t want to run. For the first time in so so long, she wanted to be brave.

Godsdammit, she thought bitterly. His stupidity is rubbing off on me.

She glanced toward the door where Luffy had disappeared, then turned her eyes to Nami.

The girl still stood frozen in place, unmoving, her expression unreadable—but her fists were clenched at her sides.

“Nami,” Y/N said, voice low. Steady. Just enough pressure to cut through the weight in the room. “Tell me why you’re desperate to go.”

She stepped closer, not with force, but with familiarity—like someone who’s shared too many sleepless nights and stormy decks to be lied to.

“Just tell me, Nami.”

For a moment, silence hung between them.

Nami didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her jaw worked, like she was grinding something behind her teeth she didn’t want to say.

Y/N softened her voice even more. “I know what it feels like… when running isn’t fear—it’s survival. When it’s the only thing you can do.”

Still, Nami didn’t speak.

She stood there, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes fixed on the floor like if she just stared hard enough, the weight of the world might finally lift. But it didn’t. It never did.

Y/N let out a slow, tired sigh and dragged a hand over her face. She felt the fatigue deep in her bones, the dread curled at the base of her spine—but her eyes still flicked toward the door.

She didn’t want to go.

She didn’t want to freaking go. Every bone in her body begged her to stay put. To shut the door. To stay safe.

'You’re not a fighter,' something whispered inside her. 'You’re a survivor.'

Her feet moved before her mind could catch up. One step. Then another. Toward the door. Toward the storm.

But just before crossing the threshold, she paused and turned her head, eyes catching Nami’s profile in the flickering light—still frozen, still silent.

“You’re not alone anymore, pumpkin,” Y/N said softly, her voice steady despite the fear still gnawing at her ribs. “You’re not.”

And then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft click, leaving Nami in the quiet with nothing but the smell of rice, salt, and truth.

By the time Y/N made her way into the restaurant, the fight had already started.

The place was chaos.

Tables overturned, glass shattered across the floor, lanterns swinging wildly from the ceiling. The salty tang of blood and seawater filled the air.

Sanji lay slumped on the stairs, his shirt torn, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. Usopp was crouched beside him, one hand braced on the banister, the other gripping his slingshot like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She barely registered them before her gaze snapped to the open space near the center of the floor.

Luffy was alone.

He stood across from a creature so massive, so unnaturally built, that the air seemed to shift around him. His skin was deep blue, stretched tight across muscle, his grin filled with rows of jagged teeth. His presence was suffocating. Even without an introduction, she knew.

Arlong.

She watched in horror as the Fish-man moved faster than she expected for someone of his size. With a roar, he drove a brutal punch straight into Luffy’s ribs, sending him flying across the room and into a support beam with a sickening crash. Dust shook loose from the ceiling, and Luffy’s body slumped at the base of the beam.

A sharp cry escaped Y/N’s throat before she could stop it. “Luffy!”

The word wasn’t loud, but it was enough. Every Fish-man in the room turned toward her like hounds catching a scent.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

Y/N’s feet froze in place. The bravado—the fierce, reckless fire she’d carried into this room—flickered like a candle in a hurricane and went out.

Just like that.

Her legs locked beneath her, breath caught in her throat. It was like the world had shifted focus—and now it was fixed on her.

Arlong’s eyes narrowed, and he didn’t speak at first. He took a slow step forward, his gaze never leaving hers. Then, as if something dawned on him, his expression changed, sharpening, twisting into something cruel.

There was no confusion in his stare. No curiosity, just certainty.

“Well, now,” he said, voice low and rasping like a blade dragged through gravel. “Would you look at that?”

Y/N couldn’t speak. She didn’t need to. It was already too late.

Instinct took over before reason had the chance to catch up.

The moment Arlong’s eyes lit with recognition, Y/N turned on her heel and ran. Her boots hit the cracked tile hard, the sting of panic flaring up her spine. She didn’t care about pride, not now—she needed to disappear, to get out, to breathe.

But she hadn’t seen the other Fish-man—tall and slim, with scaled arms and gills that flared like wings.

He moved fast—unnaturally so—and in the space between heartbeats, he was on her.

A clawed hand gripped her wrist like a vice, wrenching her backward. The second hand clamped over her mouth before she could make a sound, muffling her startled cry. She thrashed against him, heels skidding across the floor, but it was no use. His strength dwarfed hers like a tidal wave swallowing a ripple.

The room seemed to pause.

Arlong watched with a kind of venomous delight as she was dragged forward. He stepped into the light, grinning with slow, deliberate malice.

“Thought you could run?” he said mockingly, tilting his head as he stepped closer. “Little fish thinks she’s clever.”

Sanji, bloodied and barely on his feet, tried to push himself off the stairs. “Get your hands off her—!”

Before he could take a single step, another Fish-man backhanded him hard enough to send him crashing back into the railing, groaning.

Usopp, who’d been halfway to reaching for a slingshot, was struck down with a single sweep, knocked to the floor with a strangled cry.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she watched them fall—Sanji, Usopp—and then Luffy, still hunched near the broken support beam, dragged himself upright, hands trembling, blood smeared across his chin. His hat hung askew, casting a shadow over his eyes—but not enough to hide the fire behind them.

“Let her go.”

His voice wasn’t loud, it didn’t need to be.

Arlong turned toward him slowly, savoring the moment, still standing far too close to Y/N, who remained frozen in the grip of the Fish-man behind her.

“You don’t give orders here, boy,” Arlong said, flashing rows of serrated teeth. “You don’t understand what you’re protecting.”

“She’s my crewmate and my friend,” Luffy said, louder this time, straighter despite the ache in his ribs. “I don’t care what she is.”

Arlong barked a cold laugh, the sound grating and humorless. “You should. She’s a siren. She’s lied to you from the beginning. They always do. It’s in their blood. Deceit, betrayal—it’s what they’re made for.”

Y/N tried to shake her head, to scream through the hand still clamped over her mouth, but the Fish-man holding her only tightened his grip.

Luffy’s eyes never left hers.

He took a shaky step forward. “She’s not lying now.”

“You think she’s your friend?” Arlong snarled, finally losing some of that smug calm. “Her kind never pick a side unless it benefits them, they’re monsters. Traitors. Think they’re better than the rest of us because they can slither onto land and smile like nothing ever happened.”

He stepped back and spat in her face.

Y/N’s throat burned beneath the Fish-man’s calloused hand, her lungs screaming for breath. Her body heaved in his grip as she fought for control, for air, for anything—but the harder she struggled, the tighter his hold became, like he wanted to crush the resistance out of her.

Arlong leaned in close, his breath hot and foul against her skin, his twisted grin carved deep into his shark-like face.

“You thought you could pretend, little siren?” he whispered, slow and cruel, dragging each word like a blade. “Thought you’d be safe among the humans? That you could run from what you are?”

His voice dipped lower, thick with disgust. “Your kind deserved to be slaughtered.”

Then, with a casual turn of his head, he addressed the room—Luffy, really. His voice rose, booming with theatrical cruelty. “And she’ll be sold to the highest bidder. Mark my words, there’s always someone willing to pay a kingdom for a siren."

That was it.

Something inside Y/N snapped.

A muffled sob tore from her throat, raw and broken. She began to thrash violently, all grace gone, nothing left but the naked desperation of a girl who knew exactly what was waiting for her if they took her.

Her eyes were wide, wild, brimming with tears as she kicked and struggled against the Fish-man’s hold. Her fists pounded uselessly against his chest, fingernails clawing at the arm pressed over her mouth, legs flailing as she bucked like something drowning.

Gods, no. No, no, no. Please, no. Not again. Not again.

The panic drowned everything else. The walls, the people, the voices—it all blurred.

She wasn’t in the Baratie anymore, she was there again.

With him.

The past surged up around her like a rising tide, inescapable and merciless. The pain. The blood. The cold cage that kept her like an animal. The sound of her own voice echoed in the dark, unanswered. Her wrists raw from the shackles. The silence between screams. And his face, the one that still haunted her even in the warmth of the sun.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

The present melted away, and all she saw was the then. Her body locked up, trembling, helpless. She tried to will herself back—to claw her way out of it—but she was already drowning. Already gone.

Not again.

Please, her mind whispered. Not again.

And still, no one could reach her. The hand over her mouth, the grip around her arms, the jeering voices of the Fish-men—it all swam together, rising into a deafening roar.

A sharp crack of impact.

A jolt of pain. Stars burst behind her eyes as her head snapped sideways from the blow.

And everything went black but just before the world fell away, just before her knees buckled and her body sagged in the arms that held her, she heard it—fierce, furious, and burning with everything she couldn’t hold onto:

“Let. Her. GO!”

And then there was nothing.

Y/N:

Heyyyy. Thank you all so much for reading. I already have the next part done, and it was supposed to be an entire chapter from ep6 to 8 but the length was too much for Tumblr apparently. So, I will be posting it soon.

Also once again thank you all for reading, like seriously, thank you fro the support. <3<3<3<3<3<3

Also, tell me if you want to get tagged.

Divider by @cafekitsune

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91 notes · View notes

inseobts · 19 hours ago

Note

hello!!! I’ve never asked for a request before so this is so strange but I love your writing ❤️

I was wondering if you could write something with Zoro X Reader where the reader gets injured badly in a fight and zoro is also too injured to carry her back to the ship. So he has to entrust Sanji to carry her back for him. Maybe there is a light bit of teasing between the two men but ultimately they care about their crew mate more than petty fighting. Hope I explained that well and once again love your work.

Bruised Egos

zoro x reader

a/n: thank youuuu!! hope you'll like this eheh

words count: 2.2k

tags: hurt/comfort, sanji & zoro friendship (reluctant), established relationship, injured reader, protective zoro

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The smoke clears just enough to make out the wreckage of the battlefield. Bodies lie scattered, groaning or out cold. Blood paints the ground, most of it not yours, but the gash across your side is too deep for pride, and you’re only staying upright because Zoro’s shoulder props you up.

“Shit…” you breathe, slumping “That bastard nearly cracked my spine.”

Zoro hisses through clenched teeth “You shouldn’t have taken that hit.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat, half cough, half whimper “Wasn’t trying to. Thought you had my back.”

“I did have your back,” he growls, voice low “He just went through me first.”

You look up. Zoro’s bleeding from the temple, his shirt ripped, a deep fresh cut across his chest. One arm hangs limp at his side. His swords are sheathed, but his breathing’s all wrong. Shaky. Strained.

You know that look.

“Zoro… you can’t carry me.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“And I’m not walking. I can’t feel my legs, babe.”

His jaw tightens. You see the war happening in his head. His pride screams to fix it himself, but his body’s failing. You lean your forehead against his, voice soft.

“You gotta call someone to help.”

Zoro’s silent.

Then a voice cuts through the haze like a damn knife.

“Ohhh no. No, no, no. This is bad. This is very bad.”

Sanji.

His boots skid to a stop in the dirt, one sleeve torn, bruises darkening his jaw. He crouches beside you, worry etched across his face “Ma chérie, what the hell happened to you? You’re—you’re—”

“I’m not dying” you murmur, almost amused.

“She’s not dying,” Zoro snaps, shooting Sanji a glare “But she can’t move. I can’t carry her.”

Sanji’s brows shoot up “So you’re actually asking me for help?”

Zoro doesn’t respond. He just glares harder.

“Oh my god,” Sanji gasps theatrically, placing a hand over his heart “Roronoa Zoro, Pirate Hunter, is entrusting me with his precious, injured girlfriend. The world is ending.”

“I will end your world if you drop her.”

You groan, head lolling back “Guys. Not the time.”

Sanji immediately sobers “Right. Sorry.” He leans in, his tone gentler now “This is gonna hurt, but I’ll be careful.”

Zoro grabs his wrist before he touches you “If you get weird, even a little, I’ll know.”

Sanji rolls his eyes, but there’s a flicker of something honest under the dramatics “She’s hurt, moss-for-brains. Not my type when she’s bleeding out.”

You snort despite the pain “Wow. Thanks.”

Zoro lets go of Sanji’s wrist, reluctantly.

Sanji carefully hooks his arms under your knees and back, lifting you with surprising steadiness. You flinch, but he adjusts, murmuring apologies the entire time. You can feel Zoro’s gaze burning into the both of you.

“Hey” you whisper to Zoro, reaching your hand out.

He grabs it instantly, squeezing it tight “I’ll be right behind you.”

Sanji shifts your weight, starting toward the ship “Take your time, mosshead. Wouldn’t want you to collapse on the way and make me carry you too.”

Zoro mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “dead chef walking.”

But you hear it too, beneath the insults, under the tension, is trust.

And for now, that’s enough.

“Chopper!”

Sanji’s voice bounces off the twisted trees of the island interior. He cradles you tighter against his chest, eyes scanning for movement “Come on, little reindeer, now’s not the time to play scavenger.”

Zoro limps behind, every step deliberate. He’s pale under the dirt and blood, his knuckles clenched tight. He hasn’t spoken in minutes, not since you stopped answering him.

You groaned once. Then your head lolled against Sanji’s shoulder. And now nothing.

“She’s out cold,” Sanji mutters, almost to himself “Breathing’s shallow. I don’t like this.”

Zoro stops walking “Let me see her.”

Sanji glances back “We don’t have time to switch carriers, dumbass. You can barely stand.”

Zoro doesn’t budge “I said, let me see her.”

Reluctantly, Sanji kneels and shifts your weight slightly so Zoro can crouch beside him. Zoro brushes hair away from your face, his hand trembling just enough to notice.

“Hey. Y/N.” His voice is low now, barely audible “You with me?”

Your eyelids don’t flutter. Your lips are pale.

Sanji watches him, surprised at the way Zoro’s hand lingers on your cheek.

“She’s tougher than she looks,” Sanji offers gently “She’ll pull through.”

“She better,” Zoro mutters, eyes locked on your face “I didn’t fight off three of these monsters just to watch her pass out in the dirt.”

Sanji lets him have a moment before standing again “Let’s move. We’re no good to her like this.”

Zoro stands too, but he’s slower now. His entire right leg is dragging slightly.

“You’re falling apart,” Sanji notes, voice tinged with both sarcasm and concern “Need me to carry you next?”

Zoro snorts “I’d rather be buried.”

“Wouldn't be the first time I carry you... But suit yourself, marimo.”

Sanji adjusts his hold on you again, but more carefully this time. You’re burning up now, your body swinging between chills and heat.

“You’re holding her like she’s made of glass” Zoro points out.

“She is right now,” Sanji snaps “You want me to drop her?”

“You’d be dead before she hit the ground.”

“Romantic,” Sanji mutters “Just say you love her and let’s go.”

Zoro doesn’t answer. His silence says everything.

They stumble into a clearing and Sanji spots Chopper.

“Chopper!” Zoro bellows.

The doctor turns, eyes wide “What happened?! Oh no, oh no—is that blood?”

Sanji doesn’t waste time. He kneels, laying you gently on the nearest blanket “She passed out a few minutes ago. Deep gash on her side. Internal bleeding, maybe. She hasn’t opened her eyes.”

Zoro drops beside you, his whole body stiff with tension “She was conscious right after the fight. Talking. Then she just… went quiet.”

Chopper’s already on it, gloves on, stethoscope out “Stay back, both of you. Let me work.”

Sanji pulls Zoro a few steps back. They both stand in silence for a moment, watching Chopper work with rapid, practiced hands.

“She’s gonna make it,” Sanji says quietly “She has to.”

Zoro glances at him, exhausted “If she doesn’t, I’ll kill you.”

Sanji rolls his eyes “You really know how to make a guy feel comforted.”

Zoro’s lip twitches, and for a second, just a second, Sanji sees something close to gratitude behind his usual scowl.

You stir, faintly, the barest motion of fingers twitching.

Zoro immediately drops to your side “Hey. Hey, hey—look at me.”

Your lips move, dry and cracked “…Zoro?”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for an hour “Yeah. I’m here. You fainted like an idiot. Don’t do that again.”

Chopper’s already at your other side “She’s stable now. But she needs rest. And stitches.”

“Ugh,” you murmur “Don’t let Sanji near my stitches.”

“I would never,” Sanji huffs from behind you “Though I was tempted to draw little hearts around the bandages.”

Zoro glares “Try it. I dare you.”

You crack a weak smile “You guys are… the worst.”

But your voice is soft, and your fingers curl weakly around Zoro’s sleeve. And that’s enough to keep him from collapsing himself.

You dream in flashes. Smoke. Pain. Arms under you. A soft voice murmuring apologies. The scent of cigarette smoke and flour. Something warm against your forehead.

Then everything fades into darkness.

When you wake up, it’s to the low creak of wood, the soft hum of the Sunny rocking beneath you. The room smells like clean linen, alcohol, and the ocean. You’re warm, safe. Your side aches like hell, but your brain is clear enough now to register that you’re alive, and tucked neatly into the infirmary’s bed.

Your fingers twitch. A shadow stirs beside the bed.

Zoro.

He’s slumped in a chair, arms folded across his chest, chin dipped low like he fell asleep mid-glare. One foot taps slightly, and there’s a fresh bandage wrapped around his bicep.

You blink slowly. Then whisper, hoarse, “…Zoro?”

He snaps awake so fast the chair nearly tips backward “You’re up?”

You nod, barely. Your throat’s dry, but you manage, “Feels like I got hit by a sea train.”

“You did,” he grumbles. He leans forward, his hand gripping the edge of the mattress like if he doesn’t hold on, you might disappear “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“You were scared?”

He looks away, cheeks faintly tinged “No.”

You smile weakly.

There’s a long pause. Then you whisper, “Can you… get Sanji?”

Zoro freezes “What?”

“I wanna thank him. I just remember… being carried. He was gentle. He smelled like pastries.” You grin sleepily “Like a knight or something.”

Zoro stares at you. His eye twitches “A knight.”

“Mmhmm. My… chevalier in shining apron.”

“Oh, hell no.”

You giggle weakly, and he scowls even harder.

Zoro mutters something about “damn curly-brow” and “should’ve let me carry her and pass out instead” but he gets up anyway, muttering all the way to the door. He yanks it open and yells down the hall:

“HEY, LOVE-COOK! YOUR DAMN PRINCESS WOKE UP AND WANTS HER SHINING FRENCH-FRIED KNIGHT!”

You wheeze a laugh and immediately regret it as pain lances up your side.

“Ugh—ow. Ow. Okay. Worth it.”

Zoro glares at you “Not funny.”

You grin “A little funny.”

Moments later, Sanji slides into the room with a flourish, one hand to his heart, the other holding a steaming mug of tea.

“Ma belle, you called for your humble rescuer?”

Zoro groans “Kill me.”

Sanji kneels beside your bed dramatically “I brought tea, special blend for pain and recovery. Also, you’re glowing even with dried blood and stitches. How do you do it?”

You take the tea, sipping carefully “Thanks, Sanji. Seriously. I don’t remember much, but I remember you carrying me. You felt safe.”

Sanji softens instantly, all flair dropping “Any time. You’re our crewmate, our family. I’d carry you through a burning building if I had to.”

Zoro mumbles, “Burning kitchen, maybe. Not a building.”

Sanji ignores him.

“Still,” you murmur, “you were… really sweet. Thank you.”

Zoro groans louder “That’s it. I’m throwing myself overboard.”

Sanji smirks “What’s the matter, mosshead? Jealous?”

Zoro doesn’t answer. He just sits back down and crosses his arms, glowering at the wall like it insulted him.

You reach out with a small smile, grabbing his hand. He looks over, still sulking, but your fingers tug his down.

You mouth, thank you.

He doesn’t smile, but his thumb brushes across your knuckles. Just once.

Sanji rises “Alright. I’ll let you two lovebirds bicker in peace. But next time she needs rescuing, I’m bringing rose petals.”

“I’ll bring my swords.”

“Romantic!”

The door clicks shut behind Sanji.

Zoro sighs, muttering, “Chevalier my ass…”

You smile and lean back “You’re still my favorite swordsman.”

He grunts. But his hand never leaves yours.

You watch him in silence until he speaks.

“Still thinking about your chevalier?”

You smile faintly “Still sulking about it?”

He glances at you “I’m not sulking.”

“You’re absolutely sulking.”

He scowls “I just don’t like the way you looked at him in his arms.”

“I was out of it. I don’t even remember much. But something about the way he held me felt safe. And soft. And dumb, and warm. I was so out of it that at some point I even thought for sure it was you.” You smirk “Turns out it was the one who wears suits to jungle battles.”

Zoro huffs “You’re comparing me to that frilly cook?”

You nod slowly, eyes closing for a moment “Mhm.”

Zoro grunts “Tch. Dumb.”

But then he leans forward, and you feel his callused hand brush your arm, slow and deliberate. His voice softens, just a little.

“You scared me, you know.”

You open your eyes again “Yeah?”

“You dropped so fast. One minute, you were teasing me. Next… nothing. Just a dead weight in curly-brow’s arms. I couldn’t do a damn thing.”

His hand closes around yours. Not possessive, just grounded. Steady.

“I thought maybe I’d lost you.”

You shift your fingers to lace with his “You didn’t.”

“I almost did.”

“But you didn’t...” you repeat gently, tugging his hand until he leans a little closer “You were there. Even if you couldn’t carry me, you stayed. That means more to me than anything.”

Zoro stares at you, unreadable. Then, slowly, he leans in and presses his forehead to yours.

For a long, quiet moment, you just breathe each other in.

No bravado. No teasing. Just warmth. Just him.

Eventually, you murmur, “You know… I might ask Sanji to carry me again.”

Zoro pulls back with a look.

You smir “Kidding.”

Zoro shakes his head, standing up with a low groan, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“You’re lucky you’re injured,” he mutters “Or I’d drop-kick you off the deck.”

“Romantic” you whisper.

He smirks, just slightly.

Zoro pulls the chair closer to your bedside, sits again, and this time, he doesn’t fold his arms or pretend he’s not watching you sleep.

When your eyes finally drift closed, his hand is still wrapped around yours. Firm. Protective. Unmoving.

Sanji might have carried you.

But Zoro never let go.

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