Chapter Text
The bathrooms on their floor were quiet at this hour—warm lights, clean counters.
The door barely clicked shut before Zoro had Nami pressed back against the counter.
No warning. No preamble.
Just his hand at her waist and the solid heat of him crowding into her space like gravity had shifted.
Ever since the company’s restructuring — after those long, brutal two years when Strawhat Ventures practically ceased to exist and everyone went their separate ways — they’d fallen into the habit of this. Corners. Offices. Any space with a lock. Grabbing each other like they were afraid the other might disappear again if they waited too long.
The stall door banged shut behind them.
Cramped. Close. Reckless.
Her hands slid straight to his belt, already working it open like muscle memory, like they’d done this a hundred times between deadlines and emergencies. Fabric rustled. Buckle clinked against tile. She didn’t bother with finesse—just popped the button of his slacks, zipper rasping down in one smooth tug.
Fabric rustled. His hips jerked forward instinctively, pressing into her palm through the thin cotton of his briefs. Already hard. Already hers.
Nami smirked against his mouth, fingers curling around him through the fabric, squeezing just enough to feel him twitch.
He kissed her again, rougher, breath hot against her mouth, one hand braced beside her head to keep her pinned there.
Five minutes. Maybe less.
That was all they ever got.
Her fingers hooked into his waistband—
Her phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
Then again, louder against the thin metal shelf.
Zoro didn’t stop.
Didn’t even acknowledge it.
His mouth just moved to her neck, slow and distracted, like the sound wasn’t real, like nothing outside the stall existed. His hands slid under her skirt, dragging her closer by the hips until there wasn’t space left between them.
Impatient. Familiar.
Like muscle memory.
Her breath hitched despite herself. “Zoro—”
He didn’t let her finish. His grip tightened, pulling her up onto the edge of the toilet tank with a sharp exhale. The hem of her skirt bunched around her thighs as he pushed forward, his hips slotting against hers with a precision that made her bite back a noise.
The phone kept buzzing.
She barely heard it.
Zoro’s mouth traced the line of her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat, teeth scraping just enough to make her arch into him. His hand dragged up her thigh, fingers slipping beneath the lace edge of her panties like he already knew she was wet for him.
The phone kept vibrating.
Relentless.
She swore under her breath and twisted just enough to reach for it, fingers fumbling blindly along her skirts pocket until she caught it.
Another buzz the second it lit up.
Sanji.
He bit the curve of her shoulder in response, blunt teeth pressing just shy of pain. The vibration of her phone blurred into the haze—some distant, unimportant thing, drowned out by the slick drag of his tongue against her skin, the rough press of his fingers between her thighs.
She exhaled sharply, head tipping back against the stall wall. Focus fractured. The phone buzzed again—urgent, insistent—but his thumb circled just right, slow and knowing, and her grip on his shoulder tightened.
Three. Four. Five messages now.
She squinted at the screen, still half breathless.
…and then her expression soured.
“Fuck,” she muttered. “Luffy changed everything again.”
Zoro’s mouth dragged lazily along her skin, completely unbothered.
“So what else is new.” he said between kisses, voice rough and flat. Like Luffy detonating their schedules was as predictable as the weather.
Like she should drop the phone and come back.
For a second, she almost did.
Then it buzzed again.
Emergency meeting.
She groaned and let her head thunk lightly against the stall door. “Sanji’s calling it an emergency.”
His mouth stayed at her neck, hands still firm on her hips, like if he just ignored the problem hard enough it might disappear.
“Zoro,” she warned.
He hummed against her skin, stubborn.
She shoved at his chest.
Not hard — just enough.
Her fingers lingered on his chest for a breath too long, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of his shirt. Zoro’s hands slid from her hips with deliberate slowness—his calloused palms dragging down the curve of her thighs, fingertips catching on the hem of her skirt before finally, reluctantly, letting go. The space between them felt suddenly cold, charged with the absence of touch.
He finally had to step back half a pace.
That was the only thing that worked. Not the phone. Not the meeting. Not Sanji.
Just her.
He clicked his tongue, annoyed, and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Tch. Of course it’s the damn cook.”
Like Sanji personally scheduled crises just to ruin his life.
She exhaled once, long and steady, like she was physically forcing herself back into her body.
Work first.
Always.
Nami slipped out of his grip and fixed herself on autopilot — blouse straightened, skirt tugged back into place, hair smoothed with quick, efficient fingers. By the time she checked her reflection in the dull metal mirror, there was nothing left of the woman who’d been pinned against the stall thirty seconds ago.
Just the COO again.
Sharp. Untouchable. In control.
“We’ll finish later,” she said, already reaching for the door.
The bathroom door swung open and Nami stepped out, already checking her phone, her expression composed like nothing had happened. She adjusted her sleeve and moved forward — only to collide straight into Luffy charging down the hallway at full speed.
“Luffy!” she snapped, catching him by the collar before he could keep running. “Emergency meeting. Now. What the hell did you do with the restaurant provisions?”
Luffy didn’t even look guilty. He grinned, bright and unapologetic. “I’m planning a party, Nami!”
Her eye twitched. “You used the entire monthly supply budget.”
“It’s for morale!”
She released him with a shove toward the meeting room doors. “Meeting. Now.”
Luffy took two steps, then suddenly froze. “Wait! I gotta use the bathroom first.”
Nami closed her eyes briefly, inhaling patience she did not have. “You have two minutes.”
He saluted dramatically and darted toward the restrooms at the end of the hall. Just as he reached them, the women’s bathroom door opened and Zoro walked out, calm as ever, adjusting his cuffs like he hadn’t just committed a directional crime.
Luffy blinked at him. “…Zoro.”
Zoro kept walking.
“That’s the women’s bathroom.”
“Shut up,” Zoro muttered without breaking stride.
Luffy burst into laughter, pointing at him. “You’re hopeless!”
—-
The conference room was already alive with noise.
Blueprints sprawled across the long steel table Franky had built himself, half-buried beneath coffee cups, legal folders, and a mess of annotated printouts. Screens glowed along the far wall, cycling through projections and charts. Nothing was sleek. Even Brook’s violin case leaned against the table, forgotten in the chaos, a quiet witness to the mess.
It was functional. Lived-in. Theirs.
Nami stood near the head of the table with her tablet tucked against one arm, voice low and sharp as a blade while she walked Sanji through the latest disaster.
“I’m not exaggerating,” she said, swiping to the next spreadsheet. “The restaurant budget is gone.”
Sanji dragged a hand through his hair like the numbers personally offended him. “He bought premium seafood in bulk. In bulk, Nami. Do you know what that does to quarterly projections?”
“I do,” she replied flatly. “That’s why I’m angry.”
The door swung open.
Luffy walked in like he hadn’t just detonated their financial planning.
“Morning!”
Every head turned.
Nami didn’t even look at him. “You used the entire monthly supply allocation.”
“I’m planning a party,” he said, cheerful and unapologetic.
Sanji pointed at him like he was testifying in court. “You cannot expense ‘vibes,’ Captain.”
“That’s boring,” Luffy said immediately, waving the problem away as he dropped into the head chair.
Then he glanced across the table.
“Oi, Zoro. Fix it.”
Zoro didn’t move.
He was slouched deep in his chair, boots hooked on the table rung, posture loose and careless like he’d slept there. One hand held his phone. A second one rested near his elbow. A third lay face-down beside him, screen still lit with market graphs flickering red and green.
He looked half-asleep.
“Funny brow,” he muttered, eyes never lifting from the screen, “how much.”
Sanji blinked. “… the restaurant division’s short about eight figures.”
A beat.
His thumb moved once across the screen.
“Got it.”
That was it.
No reaction. No follow-up. He went back to scrolling like he was checking the weather.
Nami frowned faintly but didn’t have the energy to question him.
Luffy clapped his hands together. “Anyway! Next thing!”
And just like that, the meeting barreled forward.
“We’re here because it’s time for our next step: Fishman Holdings!.”
That got their attention.
Even Zoro, slouched back in his chair with his arms crossed and expression unreadable, shifted slightly.
Luffy leaned forward, grin sharpening. “Franky.”
Franky looked up from the schematics in front of him. “Yeah?”
“Is it ready?”
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Franky’s face.
“You mean the upgrade?”
“Yes! The thing!”
Franky slammed both hands on the table. “It’s SUPER ready! Final integration’s complete. Reinforced framework, adaptive insulation, full environmental modulation. We’re sealed and optimized for deep negotiation territory.”
Chopper blinked. “We’re really doing this?”
Nami pinched the bridge of her nose.
Halfway through, Sanji’s phone buzzed.
He glanced down.
Paused.
Then stared.
“… wait.”
No one listened.
“… wait—”
“Marimo,” Sanji said slowly, eyes still locked on the screen, “did you just sell the restaurant?”
Chopper gasped at his own phone. “And the pharma division— it’s gone too!”
Usopp yelped. “WE’RE BEING LIQUIDATED?!”
Zoro didn’t even blink.
The panic crackled along one side of the table, sharp and rising — numbers flashing, notifications chiming, Sanji’s disbelief climbing by the second.
But it might as well have been happening in another building.
Because Luffy wasn’t looking at them.
He was still staring at the Fishman Holdings projection on the far wall, elbows on the table now, chin resting on his knuckles as if he were studying a map before a fight. His focus hadn’t wavered once. He turned in his chair, grin already wide. “Robin! What did they say?”
Robin, calm as ever, lifted her teacup. “Madam Shyarly, influential advisor for Fishman Holdings, ran the projections. She predicts that if we go ahead with this merger, the company could collapse under the deal. Their market, reputation, everything — all at risk.”
Usopp froze mid-note, eyes wide. “Collapse? That’s… that’s bankruptcy! That’s legal doom!”
Nami’s shoulders tensed. Sweat pricked her temple.
Luffy’s grin only widened. “Promising!”
“Yohoho!” Brook’s laughter cut through the tension, light and musical, bouncing off the walls of the room.
The room went silent. Chopper squeaked. Sanji pinched the bridge of his nose. Nami rubbed her face, already calculating damage control.
Robin let out a soft, amused giggle into her tea. Zoro, naturally, didn’t care in the slightest.
Another notification rolled through the table.
Sanji refreshed his screen — then froze.
“… it’s back.”
Chopper blinked. “With profit…?”
Nami’s tablet updated in her hands. The deficit vanished, numbers recalculating in a smooth cascade until the red dissolved into steady green.
The room went quiet.
Zoro slid one phone into his pocket and rose from his chair with an unhurried stretch. “Handled it,” he said.
Luffy leaned back in his chair, still grinning, and patted Nami’s shoulder like he’d just solved world hunger.
“Alright, COO,” he said brightly. “Navigate us to the meeting. Take us to Fishman Holdings!”
Nami’s fingers tightened on her tablet. “Luffy…”
“Don’t worry!” he said, bouncing slightly in his seat. “We’re going to crush it!”
Before she could protest further, he hopped out of the chair. “Sanji! Let’s go grab a bite — I’m starving!”
Sanji groaned but followed obediently, muttering about the restaurant provisions as he went.
Nami exhaled, rubbing her temples, already recalculating schedules and budgets in her head. The boardroom fell quiet for a beat, except for Robin, who sipped her tea with a soft, amused smile, and Zoro, who didn’t look like a single thing had changed.
—
The office was nearly empty at this hour. Screens glowed softly, spreadsheets and schedules stacked like small towers, and the faint hum of the A/C made the silence feel almost intentional. Nami moved between her desk and the whiteboard, rearranging notes, checking budgets, and mapping out contingencies for the upcoming Fishman Holdings meeting. Her fingers paused over the touchpad as a memory flickered — the tension of Arlong Park, the fear, the distrust, the years she had spent learning to read people she could never trust.
She shook it off. Not here. Not now.
“Still working?”
The voice was low, casual, but it made her jump slightly. Zoro leaned against the doorway, gym bag slung over one shoulder, tank top and shorts relaxed, as if he had just wandered out of a workout and into her world.
“Yeah,” she said, smirking faintly. “It’s something some people in this company do.”
He shook his head and stepped closer. “Pointless,” he said, voice flat but amused. “You can prepare all you want… Luffy’s going to change everything at the last minute anyway.”
“I’m prepared,” she replied, straightening her shoulders, “even for his spontaneity.”
He leaned against her desk, arms crossed, brow teasing. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“I have stuff to do, Zoro,” she said, glancing back at her notes.
“Come on. I don’t remember where I parked my bike — you have to take me home.”
Her lips twitched into a chuckle. “I’m not your driver.”
“I thought you were in charge of taking this company where it needs to be,” he said, stepping closer, “and this company includes me.”
She exhaled sharply, brushing a stray hair from her face, trying to steady herself. “I… I have work to finish,” she started, but even as the words left her mouth, the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. “I should probably… head home.”
Before she could fully protest, he grabbed her purse and started switching off the office lights. “Okay. Let’s go,” he said.
She froze, blinking at him. “I’m not… I’m not inviting you.”
“Too late,” he replied, already walking toward the door, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
—
Nami’s apartment was sleek, high-rise luxury, but with her own touch — warm, organized, and surprisingly cozy for someone who ran a startup like a battlefield. The skyline lights spilled across the living room as she paced, phone pressed to her ear.
“Franky,” she said, flipping through notes. “Yes, I saw the update… No, we need those projections by tonight. I don’t care if you have to stay at the lab…” Her words ran on, clipped, professional.
Zoro leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, clearly already bored. He smirked. “This is going to take forever, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” she muttered.
He tossed his bag onto the sofa and disappeared toward the bathroom.
Minutes later, the sound of running water slowed. Nami still jabbered into the phone, trying to reconcile numbers and logistics while keeping her COO composure intact.
The doorbell rang.
Zoro stepped out of the bathroom, and for a moment Nami couldn’t focus on anything but him. The towel wrapped low around his hips, droplets of water sliding down the planes of his chest and arms. His green hair stuck up in damp, tousled spikes, glinting under the lights. Even casual, even just coming from a shower, he radiated strength — dangerous, raw, effortless. The lean sweep of his abs and the tension in his shoulders made it impossible not to look.
He opened the door, a delivery guy handed over a few packages. Zoro took them effortlessly, placing them on the kitchen counter.
“I knew you weren’t going to cook tonight,” he said, voice casual, a teasing note in his tone. “I’m starving.”
Nami finally ended the call and leaned against the counter. Her eyes followed him as he moved, completely unbothered by the packages, completely aware of the effect he had on her.
Zoro moved around the kitchen, grabbing the delivery trays and setting them out on the counter— neat rows of onigiri, sushi, and steaming bowls of ramen, the smell instantly filling the apartment. Nami opened the fridge, pulling out two glasses of wine, the cork popping softly in the quiet space.
She set the glasses down next to the food and raised an eyebrow at him. “So… you bathe here, order food here… I’m going to start charging you rent,” she teased, a smirk tugging at her lips.
He snorted, shaking his head as he grabbed a pair of chopsticks. “Add it to my debt,” he said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Nami raised an eyebrow, setting down her chopsticks. “For someone with a net worth of 320 million berries, you sure look like someone who doesn't own a place of their own,” she teased, swirling her wine.
Zoro shrugged, lips quirking. “Owning property? Waste of money. You shouldn’t have your cash tied up without moving it.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “After everything we lost before the 2-years-reset… you’d think we’d have learned not to risk so much.”
He leaned back slightly, meeting her gaze with that calm, confident edge that always unnerved her a little. “Exactly the opposite,” he said. “I spent the last two years preparing to take risks… but not to lose this time. And I know you’ve prepared for it too.”
She blinked at him, half in surprise, half admiration, feeling the weight of those words settle between them like a promise.
They finished their meals, exchanging small talk and the occasional teasing comment. Zoro finished his glass of wine, set it down, and moved behind her, the heat of him pressing against her back. His arm slid around her waist with ease.
“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, voice low, casual, but impossible to ignore.
She glanced over her shoulder, a sly smile tugging at her lips, still playing with the chopsticks but unable to resist the pull of him.
They walked to the bedroom, the quiet click of her heels against the floor echoing behind them. She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs with a soft yawn, and settled on the edge of the bed.
Zoro moved to stand directly in front of her, his huge, muscular frame blocking the space. She tilted her head, smirking despite her tiredness. “I’m so tired,” she murmured, letting the words drag lazily.
His gaze moved over her slowly, deliberately, like he was taking inventory. Not just looking — assessing, memorizing, claiming.
“No, you’re not,” he muttered, voice low enough that the words brushed her lips when he leaned in.
She let him kiss her.
The heat of him sank in immediately, familiar and grounding, the kind that slid straight under her skin and settled in her bones. For a second she melted into it — then instinct kicked in, playful and restless. Just as his hands began guiding her backward toward the mattress, she twisted out of his hold with a breathless laugh and tried to slip away.
She didn’t even make it two inches away.
The moment his hands caught her hips, she knew she was done.
Zoro’s grip wasn’t rough, not really — but it was absolute. Iron wrapped in warmth. His fingers dug in just enough to make her breath hitch, silk bunching under his palms as he reeled her back like she weighed nothing at all.
Her laugh died in her throat when her back hit his chest.
The hard line of him pressed flush against her ass, heavy and unmistakable even through the fabric. Not fully hard yet — but close. Close enough that the promise of it sent a pulse straight between her legs.
“You think you can run from me?” he murmured against her ear.
His voice was rough with sleep and want.
One hand slid up her spine slowly, tracing each notch of bone like he was counting them, like he’d forgotten the shape of her and needed to relearn it. The other stayed firm on her hip, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
Nami arched into the touch without thinking, rolling her hips back just to feel him react.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t attack a woman from behind,” she teased softly.
His mouth curved against her skin — that dangerous half-smile she knew too well.
“You’re wrong,” he murmured. “No mercy for evil women.”
Before she could answer, his fingers hooked into her waistband and dragged her skirt down her thighs in one smooth pull. Cool air brushed her skin, but it lasted all of a heartbeat before his hand replaced it — warm, broad, possessive.
His thumb slid between her folds.
He went still.
“Already wet,” he muttered, almost accusing.
“Whose fault is that?” she shot back.
He didn’t bother replying.
Two fingers pushed inside without warning.
Nami gasped, knees buckling, but Zoro held her upright effortlessly, his arm locking around her waist as if bracing a sword strike instead of a woman unraveling in his hands. His fingers moved with ruthless precision — curling, pressing, finding exactly the spot that made her toes lean into the floor and her breath shatter.
There was nothing hesitant about him.
Zoro never fumbled.
Even this, he did like everything else — direct, efficient, devastating.
When he pulled his hand away she made a small, helpless sound, already chasing the loss — and the next second he shoved her forward onto the bed.
The mattress caught her cheek.
Her hands twisted into the sheets.
And then he was there — thick and hot, dragging through her slick heat before sinking in deep enough to steal the air from her lungs.
“Evil woman… me?” she managed.
“Very evil,” he muttered. “Teasing me all day.”
The first thrust knocked the breath out of her.
After that there was no rhythm to think about — just him.
Relentless. Steady. Unforgiving.
He fucked like he fought — like he worked — with single-minded focus, each movement purposeful, like he’d decided exactly how hard she needed and wasn’t going to stop until she broke.
Skin slapped against skin. The bed creaked. His hands clamped around her hips hard enough to leave marks, dragging her back onto him every time she tried to collapse.
She felt him everywhere — stretching her, filling her, the scrape of his calloused palms sliding up her back, his fingers fisting in her hair to pull her spine into a sharper arch.
“Look at you,” he growled near her ear. “Taking me like you were made for it.”
Her laugh came out wrecked and breathless. “Maybe I was.”
The answering sound he made was half snarl, half groan, and it went straight to her stomach.
The sting of his hand on her ass made her cry out — sharp, bright heat that melted instantly into something lower, hotter. She pushed back against him on instinct, greedy, and he didn’t hesitate to give her exactly what she asked for.
His pace turned brutal.
Messy.
Desperate.
Like the bathroom hadn’t been enough. Like their encounters after those last two years hadn’t been enough.
Like he was making sure she was still here.
Still his.
Still real.
“Harder,” she demanded, voice breaking.
He huffed a quiet, amused breath against her neck. “So bossy…”
But his hands tightened and he obeyed immediately.
The new rhythm wrecked her.
Each thrust drove deeper, rougher, until the sounds coming out of her didn’t even feel human anymore — just gasps and broken moans and his name slipping out like a prayer.
Everything else disappeared.
No company. No meetings. No expectations.
Just the weight of him over her. The heat. The breath. The certainty of his hands.
When the pressure finally snapped, it tore through her without warning. Her whole body locked, clenching around him as the orgasm crashed over her in hard, blinding waves.
Zoro cursed, pace faltering for the first time.
She felt the way it dragged him under with her.
He chased it like he chased everything — headfirst — burying himself deep and holding her there as he came, fingers bruising on her hips, breath rough against her skin.
Afterward, neither of them moved.
They just stayed tangled together, breathless, trembling, his weight heavy and familiar across her back.
Grounding.
Safe.
Nami let her face sink into the mattress, laughing softly through the aftershocks.
“That… was insane,” she murmured.
“Told you,” he muttered, already half-asleep, pressing a lazy kiss into her hair. “No mercy.”
But his arms stayed wrapped around her long after, careful and solid, like he wasn’t letting her go anywhere.
Nami’s phone buzzed across the bedside table. She stretched her hand toward it.
“Com’on,” Zoro grumbled, half buried in the sheets, voice thick with sleep.
She ignored him and grabbed the phone anyway, scrolling through the notifications as he let out a long sigh and leaned back against the other side of the bed, finally relaxing.
“Oh…” Nami murmured, eyes widening. “There are photos… from our encounter in Sabaody… paparazzis.”
Zoro yawned, completely unconcerned.
“It’s good PR,” she said.
She showed him one, a candid shot of her at the bar, posing. “Cute, right?” she asked, smirking.
He gave the picture a glance, expression unreadable. “How did you—”
Scrolling further, she came across a group photo: Usopp, Luffy… and then her hand froze.
Zoro closed his eyes, clearly ready to drift off again.
She kept her eyes on the phone a second longer than necessary, studying the image like it was a spreadsheet that just didn’t balance.
It could be nothing.
A bad angle. A passer by. A misunderstanding.
She forced her expression into something neutral, unwilling to give away the flicker of unease tightening in her chest. She wasn’t going to react without facts. That wasn’t who she was.
Still… the question burned.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone before she finally looked up at him.
“…You went to Sabaody with a woman?” she asked, the calm in her voice just barely holding together.
One of Zoro’s eyes cracked open, just enough to see the picture she pointed to: him parking his motorbike, a pink-haired woman sitting behind him.
“Oh yeah,” he said, voice lazy. That was it.
She stared at him, waiting for more — for context, for clarification, for anything. But he simply shut his eye again, like the subject was closed.
Her mind started moving fast, sorting possibilities the way she sorted numbers.
It could be nothing.
Still… why wouldn’t he have mentioned it? If he arrived at Sabaody with a woman, that felt like something you casually bring up. Unless it wasn’t important. Unless it meant so little to him that it hadn’t even registered.
That thought annoyed her more than she expected.
She straightened slightly, forcing her expression into neutrality. She wasn’t going to sound jealous. She wasn’t jealous. She was asking for information. If there was nothing fishy, then there was nothing wrong with asking. Right?
Her fingers tightened subtly around the phone.
“Why?” she pressed, voice calm but edged, refusing to let it slide.
“She helped me get there on time,” he mumbled, yawning.
The answer was immediate. Simple. Logical.
Of course he needed help. He got lost walking down straight streets. If someone offered directions he’d take it without thinking twice. There was nothing inherently suspicious about that.
Nothing weird.
Nothing personal.
She could calm down.
Still, something in her chest refused to settle completely. Maybe it was the way he’d said it so casually. Maybe it was the image of that woman sitting close behind him on the bike.
Nami arched a brow, irony dripping lightly from her voice. “What a generous lady…”
Then she saw the next photo. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.
“That’s… that’s the girl from Thriller Bark…” she whispered, heart sinking. She remembered her —an awkward, tense encounter, a wardrobe emergency, a bump in the hallway that hadn’t ended well.
“Yeah,” Zoro yawned again, closing his eyes, voice heavy with sleep. “We lived together… these last two years.”
The words hit her like ice. Her blood ran cold, and the weight of that sentence pressed down like a shadow over everything she thought she knew.