WHEREVER YOU ARE

WHEREVER YOU ARE

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ brief descriptions of violence. a little angsty at first but it’s fluff i pinky promise!

word count ༄ 796

notes ༄ i’ve been feeling so deeply about zoro lately—i cried over him a few nights ago. this is embarrassingly soggy; i poured my heart out for him. tagging my dearest ai @gojoest <3

home.

a soft breeze carries the word, a gentle whisper that ruffles zoro’s hair and curls over the shell of his ear, fading once the message rests uncomfortably on his tongue. the sea shimmers under the moon’s loving gaze, the lulling lap of waves the only sound that reaches the starlit deck. he should be chilly in the crisp salt air, but as he glances down at you—wrapped in his protective embrace, head resting against his bare chest and the steady beat of his heart—he realizes that he has never felt warmer.

home is a word that has never meant much to the swordsman.

from an orphanage to the dojo to the furthest reaches of the east blue, zoro was born a wanderer, cursed to roam land and sea with little more than three swords and a fierce dream. hunting humans and exchanging souls for bounties that could barely cover a warm meal, a glass of sake, and a dirty bed—it was a monastic existence, devoid of comfort and pleasure. but that’s the price you pay when you make a deal with the devil. greatness isn’t bestowed upon the righteous; greatness is something you must fight for with steel claws and blood in your maw. may the most vicious creature win.

home is make-believe for a demon. it’s a tale told to frightened children who don’t yet understand the cruelty of the world.

joining luffy did not cure zoro’s restlessness. it did not make him a better man—it only redirected his cruelty. the piles of flesh and bone he left in his wake loomed over him still; he trudged through a sticky stream of ichor in his nightmares. destruction in the name of something is destruction all the same. he could feel the shackles of solitude slipping, but he was (and still is) set in his ways. it’s difficult to unlearn that which you believe yourself to be. a lifetime of isolation bred a bone-deep loneliness that he couldn’t bleed out of his chest or escape when he cracked open his rib cage and welcomed eternal darkness.

home is a luxury a man—a monster—like him does not deserve.

you draw zoro from his thoughts as you shift in his lap to face him, wrapping your legs around his waist, smoothing your palms across the strong planes of his stomach. your delicate caresses dance upwards, an act of reverence as you trace over the story of his life.

puckered scars, rippling striae, dappled moles, smattered freckles; these etchings on his tanned flesh tell of his victories and mistakes and birthrights. when you reach his broad shoulders, one hand darts up to rake through his mint green strands, fingernails grazing his scalp in a way that has him chasing your touch. your other hand tinkles his earrings, the golden chimes playing their hymn as they reflect the glimmering moonlight.

zoro’s lone eye is enraptured with your movements, and when your sweet gaze meets his, you press a featherlight kiss to his unsuspecting lips. “what was that for?” he asks with a rumbling chuckle. his hands—rough, capable of atrocities—unconsciously rub up and down your sides with worshipful tenderness.

“i love you,” you confess airily with a smile, as though those aren’t the most devastating words the swordsman has ever heard.

if zoro wasn’t a selfish man he would weep at your words. he would tell you to find someone better, he would show you the mortal weight of his sins, and he would keep his distance from a soul as radiant and kind as yours. but decades of want have conditioned him to be greedy.

hearing that phrase—though zoro has heard it from your lips hundreds of times—has a grin rivaling the brightness of the moon split his sharp features. cradling his face, you stroke his dimples with your thumbs. his hands settle on your waist and tug you toward him, your bodies pressed together like hands in a prayer. he crooks his head so your mouths are a mere breath apart.

“i love you, too,” he murmurs before claiming your parted lips with his own.

zoro still has little more than three swords and a fierce dream. but he also has three warm meals a day, more glasses of sake than he could ever want, and a clean bed to crawl into at night. he’s no longer an orphan; with the straw hats there is friendship and laughter and adventure. if asked, he will insist that he’s not a good man, that he’s a demon. but he’s fiercely loyal to his family—he will cut down anyone that stands in their way to freedom.

and then there’s you. with you, zoro has a love he has never felt before. as far as he’s concerned?

wherever you are is home.

If i speak---

(_sleeparalysis on tiktok)

“what’s on these?” megumi asks, holding up a box of memory cards.

cleaning day always unearthed all types of lost and forgotten items. sometimes it was clothes long forgotten in you and gojo’s closet, other times it was the kid’s old books or toys. you knew every inch of your little apartment, so most times you could identify any mystery items that came up.

“i don’t know,” you hum, plucking a card from the box to inspect it a little more closely. the only hint as to what’s actually on it seems to just be a date.

2006

…and it’s in gojo’s handwriting.

curious, you pop one into the video player and turn on the tv. the kids join you on the couch, clearly eager to entertain any distraction from your cleaning crusade.

when the screen flickers to life, a familiar courtyard comes into view.

you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.

“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.

you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”

“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”

geto grumbles about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.

“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.

the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”

behind the camera you can hear nanami and geto laughing as haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.

“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe a thin trail of blood from his cheek. “you’ll get it next time.”

as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.

he’s blushing.

“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”

“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.

gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”

tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.

this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”

you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”

“jar,” megumi says flatly.

he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”

he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.

you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to zoom in on the victor.

but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.

“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.

when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.

the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.

some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.

(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)

but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.

his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.

the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.

the way he reaches out instinctively whenever you’re knocked backwards.

the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.

“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”

you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.

“hey! those are gucci—”

you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”

blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”

you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.

(because you’d had his heart in your pocket long before either of you had realized.)

Alright, just one more…

book-club for three two

pairing: jealous!mingyu x gn!reader genre: fluff, drabble word count: 0.6k warning(s): none

summary: mingyu comes back home and just wants your attention, but you seem to be too focused on reading to pay him any mind…

“Baby, I’m home!” Mingyu practically hollers as soon as the front door opens. He hears you let out a soft hum from the living room and turns to the direction of the sound to see you sitting cross-legged on the couch, a book in your hands as you read intently. Mingyu’s heart does a somersault at the ever-endearing scene before him, and he practically rushes to your side, taking a seat beside you on the couch as he stares at you wordlessly.

You glance up from your book for a split second to raise your eyebrow at him, but return back to reading almost immediately, to Mingyu’s dismay. Huffing a little, he wraps his arms around your left arm and rests his chin on your shoulder, willing you to look at him. Your attention remains focused on the book you’re reading, however, and Mingyu suddenly feels the urge to take the book from your hands and throw it across the room.

“Baby…” Mingyu whines, shaking your arm as he does. You let out a hum in response, eyes still trained on your book.

“I’m right here!” Mingyu whines again, leaning his face closer to yours as he pouts at you. Your resolve crumbles as you find yourself giggling at his antics, and you finally give in to his neediness as you close your book (not before bookmarking it with a pressed daisy from a bouquet Mingyu gave you for your anniversary) and place it beside you on the couch, your attention (finally) on Mingyu.

“Sorry, Gyu, it’s just that I agreed to finish reading the book today so I could discuss it with Wonwoo tomorrow,” you apologise for not giving him your attention, and Mingyu scrunches his face comically.

“Baby! You were ignoring me this whole time for Wonwoo?” he grumbles, unwrapping his arms from yours to cross them over his chest, letting out a “hmph!” in the process that just makes him look like the cutest puppy you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“I was not ignoring you for Wonwoo, I was trying to finish the book!” you find yourself gradually breaking out into a whipped smile, absolutely endeared at Mingyu’s antics. “Besides, you were the one who started this two-people book club so I could have someone to talk to about the books I read!”

“And now I’m starting to regret it!” Mingyu huffs, taking both your hands in his, “Talk to me about your books instead, not him, okay?”

“You’re so silly, Mingyu,” you coo, removing your hands from his grasp to pinch his puffed cheeks, “will you understand what I’m talking about? You know you don’t like reading.”

“I’ll read! I’ll read for you,” Mingyu replies without a hint of hesitation, and your heart blooms with love as you wonder just how lucky you were to have landed yourself someone as sweet and whipped as Mingyu is.

“Hm…” you pretend to ponder on his suggestion, and Mingyu’s pout only grows, much to your amusement. “What about Wonwoo? He won’t have anyone to talk about books with.”

“I’ll find someone else for him!” Mingyu rebuts, completely resolved to end this book-club that he ironically started.

“Or,” you let out a sly grin, “we could join him. Form a book-club trio.”

“No!” Mingyu uncharacteristically raises his voice suddenly and winces upon realising it, before adjusting to a softer volume, “We’ll form a book-club, but just you and me. Wonwoo can go find someone else.”

You burst out laughing, completely in love with the man before you, pouting and making himself small in all his six-foot glory. “Well, I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to this arrangement.”

Mingyu breaks into a dopey grin, leaning forward to rest his head on your shoulder.

“So, what’s the book you were reading about?”

a/n: back from the dead with a little smth that’s completely self-indulgent. i love mingu ☹️

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @slytherinshua @xomingyu @pepperonidk @belladaises @tastymintchocolate @dahliatopia

masterlist

Long live the King!

PEDRO PASCAL | The Wine Legend by Casillero del Diablo