a/n: quick drabble
Zoro thought Robin was kind of cute. He means sexy. Because manly guys like Zoro didn't go around saying things were cute. That was just weird, and unmanly, and by god—if Sanji ever caught him labelling something 'cute' he would never be able to show his face again.
But Robin was sexy. And by sexy, he meant cute.
Naturally.
.
.
.
Zoro thought girls were kind of just there and he had never really given it a second thought. But Robin was distinct. She was mysterious, playful, infuriatingly calm, strange, sort of sadistic in a blunt way—she was far too smart for her own good, and cute—disgustingly cute.
Said woman subtly hides her face behind an intriguing novel, taking small, polite sips from her coffee. She sips, he notes, with an almost immaculate poise, while displaying a pure, angelic aura. Her fingers slip inside the mug handle as if made only for her. He stares momentarily and finally concludes he doesn't understand women at all.
Then it hits him. Someone like her must have a diabolical plan.
"Aah, Zoro?" her voice is sultry, and her face, donning a knowing smirk, still slyly hides behind her novel. "Does my presence fluster you? You seem to be blushing."
He curses under a sharp breath, then goes sort of rigid; he knows, he damn well knows she is the utmost malicious, ferocious, devilish, cruel woman he will ever meet—and yet he doesn't seem to mind at all.