Birthday Request Event - 2024

Gift 13 - Roronoa Zoro x cisfem!Reader

Gift Details ♥
Reader Style: cisfem
Character: Roronoa Zoro
Vibe: Writer's Choice ( SFW - don't look at me like that, I'm surprised too).
AU: Vampire AU
Prompt: Writer's Choice (Erotically Charged Fight) 

Summary: Mama, don't let your sons grow up to be vampire hunters. (Or your daughters, in this case)

Content Notes: None, it is completely SFW.

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

The dance begins.

The sound of steel against steel rings out in the bright light of the moon. Slate grey eyes, glinting red in the moonlight, follow your every move and step. The broad smile on his face had fallen into some other expression. It wasn't boredom, concentration etched deep into his brow, knuckles white, and fangs glinting against the hilt in his mouth.

Your initial attack had failed, but you were keeping pace with the beast.

Generations of vampire hunters. Centuries of fighting styles. Your entire life had been devoted to beating the forms needed in order to slay vampires into your very bones, and you were only keeping pace.

You weren't even tired yet, you already knew the problem, but it hadn't been one that you'd been warned against, or trained to deal with. All you had right now was your own frustration, and mounting anger.

Anger did you no good.

You're only slightly shorter than him, and you sink your center down to slide his blade - one of three - off the side as you step in the opposite direction, putting some distance between the two of you. If you couldn't get your head out of your ass, you were going to have to retreat. Vampiric stamina was beyond what any human could train to, and that indisputable truth was what you couldn't ever dare question.

"Eh? You're distracted." He says, irritation flickering across his brow. There's something in the expression that seems to be directed more at himself than at you.

"So're you," you grumble. It was uncomfortable talking. Words were heavy on your tongue. It was too much like humanity, and you'd been taught better. "That manic grin left your face."

He sticks two his swords into the ground, undoing a black bandanna and tying it over his head. You tilt your head, but drop down into your own stance. Two swords vs three. Who the hell used three? But the one between his teeth made it difficult to decapitate him, as though the sword itself meant to protect him.

Picking up the swords he'd set down, the air around him shifts. Whatever the point of the bandanna was, his focus is certainly more than it was a few moments ago. You can feel sweat slip down the crease of your back, the air thins, it's a little harder to breathe, but it's not him. Adrenaline is coursing through you and tensing your muscles too much.

It doesn't matter how beautiful he looks. How the moonlight dances on the three earrings, how it outlines the move and turn of his shape. None of that matters. Vampires are a danger, and your job - your life - is seeing them culled.

There's a soft clink of steel and you both move in a flash.

The dance continues.

The crash of steel rings out in the dim light of a nearly gone moon. Days. Weeks. How many times had it been full? How many times had your blades clashed in the pitch black of a new moon?

How often had you known his emotions by the shape of his lips? How many more times would you spend daylight hours in fits of sleep, wanting to close the distance between the two of you? How long would you go on, fighting a fight that you couldn't win?

It's not anger on his face.

It's not frustration in your grip.

It's something else.

He can't fight in the sun, and the dawn gives you an out every time. You can keep pace and last the hours needed. He could outlast you, but the sun sends him away.

Almost like a lover.

He was alive because you couldn't kill him now even if you wanted to. Perhaps you were alive because he couldn't kill you either.

Maybe this emotion was what had pulled the manic grin from his face?

Would you do this dance for another month? For a year?

The dance continues.

Your muscles ached with need, and sweat slipped along your skin like soft fingers. You needed more, wanted more. The fighting was getting you nowhere and you were losing your mind. You could hear his voice in your dreams, you could smell him at the height of day.

You'd found his home a few days ago.

What you needed to do was simple. Light the entire place on fire and let the sun do the rest. Even if he survived the fire, he would be forced out into the light. The sun had less mercy than fire, and it would be done.

Resolved.

Final.

It's what you were raised to do. There was nothing dishonorable about it, the sun was as much a vampire hunter as any of your kin. It was -

Not

What you wanted.

You take the attack fully, defending against the heavy blow, eyes on his, resolve set. There was nothing else for it. You failed. You lost. Whatever he did, you wouldn't complain. If he wanted your head, he could have it.

Letting him fill your space you lean forward, putting your neck between his blades and kissing the hilt of the sword in his mouth. Your gaze shifts from the intricate work of the hilt, from the fangs blessedly white against the moonlight, up to slate grey eyes, wide and full of emotion.

Full of humanity.

Steel against steel and stone sang out in the bright light of the moon. A rough hand grabs you, and hot, desperate lips, capture yours.

And thus the dance ended.