“You can cry now, but when you’re done, you’re gonna fight.” This time, the words were firm, full of confidence in low and unyielding tones as he locked his eyes with hers, “We fight this together.”

Romance / Action
Age Rating:


Before I begin, I want to start by saying that this is a One Piece FANFIC. Which means by no accounts do I own any of the characters or the settings, so a disclaimer should be appropriate.

I also would like to give credit to fellow writer Hanzatsu-Hime for graciously allowing me to use her concept and extend it to infinity and beyond.

Another warning is that this is an M-Romance with a TRIGGER WARNING: trigger warnings are warnings that the ensuing content contains strong writing or images which could unsettle those with mental health difficulties.

Other than that, thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy this story.

Chapter 1: Retribution

NOTE: The setting of this story takes place during the Dressrosa Arc. I decided to do a few MAJOR changes to the Arc so before you read, there are some things you should be aware of.

1) The entire Strawhat crew is IN DRESSROSA. Since I’ve decided that this fanfic will be a (ZONA) pairing, it means that Nami MUST be in Dressrosa and not stuck fighting Big Mom.

2) Doflamingo WILL be defeated. Obviously not the way Oda wants him to be beaten as seen he hasn’t finished the fight scene between Luffy and Doffy. Instead I’ll have to get REALLY creative on how he loses since I honestly have no clue how Oda wants Doffy to lose.

3) Err…Zoro’s ridiculous sense of direction WILL be multiplied. That means our swordsman will somehow be able to defy all logic and physics by simply being an idiot.

He felt so f*cking lost.

Never mind how he felt, where the hell was he anyway?

The swordsman had taken a couple of left turns, then some right, then another right before he found himself…

Now how did he manage to get out of that damn birdcage?

Scratching his false mustache, Roronoa Zoro twisted his stern expression into a frown as he inspected the web-thin wires that had the power to slice cities as easily as knife to cheese,

“How do I get back in?” he muttered. To any Dressrosa citizen trapped in the cage, it was probably the stupidest thing they heard; who’d want to look death in the eye when they’ve just escaped it?

The answer was simple; he was a f*cking Strawhat, he was a part of the Monster Trio…which meant that he was also an idiot.

Why was he running again? Ahh, yes how could he forget?


At the thought of the Strawhat navigator’s name, the swordsman felt the familiar feeling of intense hatred shoot into his body. Anger so sharp it hurt became a blackening wave that threatened to overwhelm his senses as the first mate struggled to reign in his emotions. This wasn’t the first time he had felt such fury run like a live wire through his body. Anger and stubborn tenacity had been his companion ever since Kuina had passed away. He had become wild as the beasts that roamed the seas, forging his path through sheer strength and a will that rivaled the former pirate king himself.

His style of living was simple; sleep, drink, train, lope off a couple of heads for a few belis, train, eat, drink, sleep some more.

Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

His life was black and white. Simple. Tolerable, and easy.

And Roronoa Zoro was perfectly fine with that… until his world exploded in a brilliant flash of colors. Colors filled with vibrant shades of scarlet red so vivid it was blinding, stained shades of murky yellow, wild colors of blue and flashes of royal purple, brown and green that he designated to each of the people that played a significant role in his life.

Yet there was one color that his mind automatically categorized as irreplaceable. A color that forced not only his mind to acknowledge it, but it also demanded that his body bend to its will. It was a color that dyed a certain female’s hair in fiery shades of dazzling orange and ginger. Even now, the pads of his fingers were aching to dig themselves into those vibrant locks. Dig deep and spread wide till they encased the entire frame of her head. He would then fist his hands into her hair and tug her head back to slam his mouth over hers. It would be a kiss to punish and to drive her into a wild frenzy. He’d drag his mouth down her neck to slide those hot, open-mouth kisses that he knew would leave her writhing and screaming while his fingers migrated south to that sweet, sweet spot between those creamy…

They touched her.

Black fury slammed into his body as another wave of images poured into his mind.

Red fingerprints had marked her upper and lower torso, numerous ‘love bites’ were scattered all over her body giving the impression that she had come down with small pox. She had gone alone to do a bit of shopping and information-seeking for their next destination and the crew had been worried to discover that she had been absent from the Sunny for more than her usual three hours. It wasn’t until Ussop and Chopper’s choked screams told the crew what had befallen their navigator.

They had carried her to the Sunny on Chopper’s back with Ussop in tow. Tears and snot covered both the sniper and the doctor’s face as they barged through Sunny’s entrance only to be held back by the rest of the crew. The swordsman had only managed to get a glimpse of her current state and the sight burned into his mind, striking him like a whip.

The navigator’s clothes were torn to shreds. Pale shades of groping red lay stark against her light skin. The hawaiian printed flowers on her bikini that he secretly found attractive was replaced by Ussop’s shirt, the sniper’s shift was long enough to cover her ass, but it couldn’t conceal the handprints that stood out like a sore thumb on her thighs.

Those soft silky thighs that his body had been craving for… soiled.

The navigator’s fingers were gripping so tightly onto her clima-tact that her knuckles were bleached of their color.

And the look on her face…the helpless, helpless look on her expression had become the final catalyst to the explosion of one single emotion: rage.

Fury rented the air like the scream of a banshee. It demanded retribution, it commanded for utter vengeance. The feeling rippled down each and every one of the crew and gave a vicious twist as it hit home; the swordsman’s heart.

In that split second, he felt his blood boil and his hands immediately sought out the rough handles of his swords, his thumbs caressing the blunt tips as he glared daggers at the floor; he was never one for vengeance since he saw that as a stain to not only his swords but his pride.

Her hair, the flaming ginger locks that he longed to lose himself in were twisted and tangled into an ugly mess of knots. Dirt and – was that a boot print? – clung to her hair setting free another gut-wrenching emotion he had carefully buried away; anguish.

Just this once… just this once will the man allow such a tainted emotion to become his drive, just this once will he let vengeance fuel the flame in his body, turning his demeanor into a tense statue of cold, blacken ice.

For his sanity, for her.

Vengeance for the one who took a permanent residence in his heart…for her, it would be worth it.

He never once doubted that she couldn’t take care of herself. Yes there were times when she needed some rescuing from a tight spot, but she had always been able to hold her own during their battles. To see that broken look on her face made him remember the promise their captain had made to Nami’s family: never let her lose her smile.

Just how many did she have to fend off?

Shusui was growling for blood, he knew it thrived on the bloodshed he drew from his opponents. Unlike the rest of his swords, this one particular sword had always hummed in pleasure, becoming a permanent extension of his arm, always purring when the razor-sharp end of its blade bit into flesh. HoweverNow, Shusui wasn’t craving for just an onslaught of blood…it craved for a certain death it knew its master was more than capable of achieving.

The sharp sound of knuckles being cracked alerted him of his captain moving to stand in front of him. The first mate looked up to see the pitch black orbs of his captain glaring down at him in barely contained anger; complete destruction was imminent.

And God help any man who evoked the vengeful wrath of the Strawhats.

Now how the hell was he going to get back into the cage? Zoro reached out to tap on a wire only to snatch his hand back with a curse; he knew the strings were sharp, but he didn’t know they were that sharp!

Perhaps he could try cutting it? His teeth automatically set themselves around the sides of Wado and his hands gripped the handles of Shusui and Kitetsu, crossing the blades and drawing them over his head,

“Hyakuhachi Pound Ho!” Zoro’s arms clenched as he brought all three down in a diagonal spiral, sending a sharp slash cutting through the air. Not surprisingly, his attack fell against the might of the wires leaving nothing but a puff of air in its wake.

Maybe if he walked around it long enough, he’d find a way back in? It was probably a stupid idea but he wasn’t above trying it, after all, he did somehow manage to get himself out, how hard would it be to get himself back in?

Gearing himself up for a long walk around the cage, he began to walk, struggling to keep from walking in a straight line; the cage was a circle but his feet were thinking square so they wanted to keep going straight.

The swordsman’s mind traveled to the distinct memories of her creamy thighs and shapely legs that he’d wrap around his hips. He’d allow one of his hands to travel down the front of her waist and from there, slide his hand over her and cup her. He knew his action would mean more than pleasuring her, it would mean that he’d have complete control of her body, absolute possession.

Nami didn’t share his idea of ownership; in fact, she fought him with every part of her everytime he pulled one of his domineering stunts.

Yet she couldn’t deny anything when he was inside her, outside, she bit and scratched and yowled whenever they fought. But when they were alone and his body took control of hers, the strong-willed woman turned to putty beneath his hands. She may curse and scream, but she’d always be his no matter how much she denied it.

“I’m not yours!” she’d scream and he’d punish her again with a barrage of kisses, his hands would reach up to tangle themselves into her hair and he’d press his bare chest against her, mashing her breasts to him; his answer would be the hand in between her thighs…

Ehh? How did he get himself back in the cage?

Thank you for reading!
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