Hallo and welcome back everyone! Just let me tell you how amazing all of you are, who (still) read and comment, you make my days! You know who else is amazing? My beta Rexica for putting up with all my plot holes (which aren't plot holes of course, because in my mind it's all there. Although you can't read my mind, yohohoho) and my million punctuation mistakes even with a way too full schedule in real life.
I'd like to address some things that were brought to my attention.
If you think Zoro is too smart… He isn't, he has experience in some fields and most of all he has confidence and the strong belief that things will work out. The problem is, I really only showed you episodes where that knowledge is used so yeah… he probably looks smarter than he is. How he became this experienced? I'll show you bits and pieces in future chapters, be patient (this is like the plot holes if only you guys could read my mind)
Robin overcoming her blowjob aversion too quickly? Yeah… that's totally on me, I had that scene in my head and it wanted out, so I pushed it. Again, huge thank you to Rexica for pulling hard on the reins, it would have been indefinitely worse if not for her. (Although I hadn't really planned it as a hard limit, I originally intended it to show that she doesn't really know how to grade stuff, and she wanted to stay on the safe side. He had known she had struggled deciding on whether to labor it hard or soft. In the end, in my head again, she didn't have any soft limits, because better safe than sorry).
Last time, Zoro and Robin met some old acquaintances and Usopp expanded his bra business almost costing Zoro a limb. This time we'll see what thoughts Zoro's ex put into Robin's head and how she fared those weeks after their little intermezzo in the crow's nest.
Usually, when women hit on him in her presence, and probably when any other crew member was around for that matter, he'd either decline immediately, ignore them, or turn red and stumble excuses if they were the sweet and innocent type. None of this had happened in that bar on Mudki island.
It hadn't been him sharing his sake with a girl reminding him of Nami either; this had been different. Friendly, familiar. No protectiveness. The moment she had laid eyes on them, she'd known that they had a history together. Of course she had been aware that somewhere in this world people existed that he had been intimate with. She'd just never thought that she'd come across one.
Seeing that sweet, innocent woman talking freely with him, in her lacy brocade dress that stood out in that seedy bar like a corpse on a wedding... Seeing him talk relaxed and calm even though she was sweet and innocent...
She had been worried. First, because she reminded her of Perona, and second, because she looked way too young to be a fling of the past.
She had been jealous, and she had wanted to dislocate his every joint for the grin he'd carried once he'd come to the same conclusion. But… but, he could have dragged her with him when he'd fled from Tashigi. Instead, he had left her there with Emilia, knowing that she'd have some questions for her, not knowing how it would turn out. And somehow, she was sure that he wouldn't have dragged her along even if the two hadn't parted on good terms. He simply had nothing to hide. Not even her age. As it had turned out Emilia was, despite her childlike appearance, the same age as him.
The talk had been interesting to say the least. She hadn't pressed too much, and Emilia hadn't gone into too much detail about her relationship with the swordsman, who most definitely had been lost in the small town already, but it had been really nice talking to someone the same as her. All the reading had already helped to accept herself, and after her first time playing with Zoro, she had known without a doubt that this between them had absolutely nothing to do with what had happened to her in the past. This was nothing depraved she needed to be ashamed about, but after this little chat, she had felt more at peace with herself than ever before. Their talk had brought the abstract construct to reality; there weren't just books about people like her but actual people with the same cravings as her. People who had not experienced what she had to endure and were like her without having been conditioned. She wasn't like this because of her past but despite it, and after talking to that woman, it finally felt real.
When he'd returned to the Sunny - 50 minutes after he'd left the bar that was only 10 minutes away- she had thanked him. He'd brushed her off, only asked whether or not Emilia was still alive and if all her bones were still in their sockets.
His worry had been completely unfounded. Emilia was a darling and had been genuinely happy for them. Their talk had really helped her to get to know herself better.
The two weeks since their escapade in the crow's nest, however, had taught her a lot about Zoro.
He was dedicated, tenacious, disciplined and determined, and she had come to resent all those wonderful qualities of his. Calling him a demon was an understatement. Roronoa Zoro was a cruel man.
He hadn't touched her once since back then, not in the way she wanted at least. What he had done was stop her on her way to the galley, come to her while she was sunbathing on deck or watering her flowers, to husk in her ear what he could do to her but wouldn't.
How he could drag the rope down her body and secure it between her legs… the dark threat that, for what he had planned for her, the 10 meters they had gotten from the 'hag' would not nearly be enough… He'd ask her, how would it feel to be bound, suspended, and not wanting to escape. Lord, she wanted that rope. Each time he'd give her another minuscule piece of the puzzle, and each and every time, she could see in his glinting eye that he knew it was enough; that he knew it made her wet. How dare he use her vivid imagination against her? Just when had he become this… this eloquent, anyway?
When imagining his way of seduction, she would have expected a certain bluntness, an obvious approach, right in her face, take it or leave it, like he did everything else in life.
If that had been the case, she could have ignored it. Him running around shirtless? No problem; he'd done so in the past, she could steel herself against the sight. But instead, he'd taken to harmlessly roll up the sleeves of his robe, to innocently flex his arms just enough so she could see the muscles and veins jump under that delicious skin of his whenever her guard was lowered. Reminded her of how his thigh had jumped under her hand when she had choked on his magnificent erection. Just like him smacking his flat hand down on the table during mealtime arguments instead of his fist, like he'd done before, reminded her of how divine it had felt coming down hard on her bottom.
It worked every single time.
It was even worse than before they had indulged, because now she knew what wonderful things he could make her feel, that his words weren't empty.
On day three, she had taken matters into her own hands, and he had known. Had grinned at her and added another week to her sentence. On day 7, she had tried to seduce him, only to flop on the couch in frustration after he'd called her out on it and threatened another week. She'd even worn her garters!
The man was infuriating. It had been his fault anyway. He had been the one who had turned her brain to goo and shredded every ounce of self-control. He had been the one to make her come. And he'd been the one who hadn't given her permission.
On day 10, she'd been on her knees, begging shamefully for release. She had seen the hardness in his pants, and still he had refused her! He'd even had the gall to mock her for her weakness, with only four days remaining. Told her to show more discipline.
Day 14 or not, she would not give him the satisfaction and come crawling the moment the sun set. No, she would wait and have him come to her. The man might have an iron will, but he wanted her just as much as she wanted him, she knew that. She had watched him the past two weeks. He meditated more often and surprisingly drank less than usual. She would have expected his consumption to rise with the frustration, but the opposite had been the case. It made sense of course. The alcohol in his system could weaken his resolve after all.
Earlier at dinner, Nami had declared that marines were a safe distance away and that they still had 3 days till the next island. The sea was calm and showed no signs of sudden danger. The perfect time for her to take a long relaxing bath, dress up in her garters she knew he loved, and quietly make her way up the rigging to the crow's nest. She didn't.
He'd probably punish her for it. Her face grew hot as she realised that she wanted him to. As long as it didn't entail more denial, she really wanted to be punished. The memory of his rough hand coming down on her already reddened cheeks… Maybe she should go up, hope for the good kind of punishment… that wasn't really punishment... if she liked it, was it? She should go up, she wouldn't be able to stand another week without it.
God, she wanted him. Just thinking his name made her wet. She'd never expected herself to be this… this lewd. According to Emilia, he had that effect on his partners, even back then. Emilia…
Zoro had made it very clear that he would not leave any lasting marks on her body. Bruises being the most he would allow, and even those were to be covered at all times. To say she'd been intrigued when Emilia had mentioned his mark was an understatement. The young woman had been happy to show her, too. Ruffling up all three of her skirts right there at the bar in front of everyone, she had exposed her upper thigh. There, clearly visible in any swimwear, were three scars. Clean parallel lines, the middle one shorter than the ones above and beneath. San. As in Santōryū. As in Sanji. Surely he wouldn't have chosen that particular design after he'd met the man. Unknowingly, Emilia had answered her unasked question that she was indeed a fling of the past, and at the same time raised another bulk of questions.
She had not thought about it before, hadn't felt the need for something like that, not even when Chopper had mentioned the occasional, euphoric blood clinging to him. She had read about the act but hadn't seen the appeal, so when he had added it to the no-go list, she hadn't cared much. Now, however, she was wondering. If he didn't oppose the practice in general, if he had not just wounded partners in the past, but actually, deliberately marked them, why would he deny her? The rational part of her brain knew of course that visible marks could alert the marines or other enemies to their relationship, or the nature of the relationship. That infamous Impel Down prison guard surely would know what to do with it.. The emotional part, however, did not care much for logic. It wanted his mark, show it off to the world. The insecure part of her, even though that was mostly silenced since their talk on Ikori island, enquired if maybe he was ashamed of her.
Maybe it was time to come clean about that one secret she had kept from him back then...
"Shouldn't you be in the bath?"
To her shame, she jumped a little at his gruff voice. She hadn't noticed him enter the library.
"I don't think so, Kenshi-san," she answered, challenge thick in her voice. She would not cave this easily.
He cocked an eyebrow at her before he came right to her, taking the long forgotten book from her hands and throwing her over his shoulder in one fluid movement. She didn't scream, just hoped he couldn't smell her arousal through her panties as he carried her up the ladder. Silently, she cursed his robe for obstructing her view of his chiseled rear, acutely aware that there was no such barrier to her. The short skirt she had chosen that morning rode up her hips, exposing her bare cheeks and barely clad lips. Upstairs in the little room before the bathhouse, he stilled, and her face reddened in humiliation when she realised that he had to be watching her backside in the small mirror hanging on the wall. Could he see the dampness of the fabric? Probably. The faint stubble of his beard scabbed over her cheek before the side of his nose pressed against her lower lips as he took a deep, audible breath. He could certainly smell her neediness. Dear lord, she wanted him to kiss her there, taste her, devour her… the thought alone made her belly tighten and her thighs rub together… He didn't do that, of course. Instead, he placed her back on her feet and mechanically started to undo the buttons of her blouse without making actual contact with her skin. He really was infuriating.
"You know I don't need you to shower before we have sex, right?" he asked as he brushed the silk from her shoulders, eye fixed on hers instead of her breasts spilling over the confines of her bra. This particular design had not been made to be worn hanging upside down, apparently.
"I know, I just feel more comfortable when I'm clean," she answered, omitting the reason that he undoubtedly knew was lurking behind the strained, fake smile she gave him. She knew he wouldn't judge her for it, she just didn't want to burden him with the truth.
He huffed as he opened the zipper of her skirt, "it's a pity, I like the way you smell when you get all drenched."
Of course he did. He would never keep her from cleaning herself and punish her for being a dirty sow, for day old cum and blood crusting her thighs, he would never - calloused hand on her cheek, deep concern swimming in a grey gaze. "You alright?" Worry softening the rough edge of his voice.
Pictures faded, smell evaporated, the cold that had seeped in her bones erased by gentle heat. She didn't have to force the smile on her face, it came all by itself and stayed for him. "I am, thank you."
"Good, now shower and come upstairs," he said, planting the sweetest kiss on her forehead and disappeared down the ladder. Even sweeter when she realised he had to go on tiptoes to do so.
As always, leave me a kudos or fav if you want and can and let me know what you thought about this one. Any form of feedback is very much welcome. If you have questions or issues don't hesitate to ask or bring them up.
Also for those of you not knowing, this is the mark 三. Sanji's name (三時) means 3 o'clock, which is quite fitting since due to history and one successful advertisement 3 o'clock is basically Japanese snack time.
Class dismissed, see you next week!