It wasn’t official—not by ceremony, not by law—but in world of pirates, some bonds ran deeper than paper and rings. Roronoa Zoro didn’t wear a wedding band, and you didn’t change your name, but crew knew. Everyone knew. You were his, and he was yours. That was all that mattered.

Unofficial marriage had been quiet, as was expected between two pirates whose lives were constantly under siege by danger, sea kings, Marines, and worse. Still, it had been steady—honest. Zoro didn’t say much, never did. But rare smile he gave when you walked into room, or way he’d rest hand on small of your back after fight when adrenaline faded, said everything.

Then came twins.

No one had expected it. Not even you. You’d told Chopper first, in a hushed voice below deck, unsure if your queasy stomach was due to bad fish or something more.

When he confirmed news—“You’re pregnant. With…twins”—you’d stared at him, blinking.

Then Sanji overheard. And chaos was born before the babies even were. “PREGNANT?! TWINS?! MY GODDESS! WHO DID THIS TO YOU?! I SWEAR I’LL—wait, it was mosshead, wasn’t it?!”

Zoro didn’t respond. He just stepped between you and Sanji and muttered “Tch. Loudmouth.”

Crew’s reactions ranged from delighted to panicked. Luffy wanted to name them Meat and Meat 2. Robin simply smiled knowingly, like she’d figured it out long before anyone else. Usopp nearly dropped his tools. “Wait—does this mean Zoro—Zoro—knows how to—?!” Brook wrote song—though he kept messing up lyrics because he got emotional thinking about babies. Franky began welding a SUPER double-crib from sea stone and reinforced steel. And Nami… Nami demanded to know how you’d planned to keep this secret from her. When you admitted you hadn’t even known until now, she huffed but softened quickly, already making lists of supplies you’d need. But calmest of them all—only one who treated it with reverence it deserved—was Jinbei he simply walked up and said “Congratulations.”

Pregnancy passed in blur of training, battles, careful meals from Sanji, and constant medical checkups from Chopper, who became half-doctor, half-nanny before babies even arrived.

Four months ago, you gave birth to twins—Hayami and Kenji. Zoro still hadn’t figured out how something so small could make his sword callouses feel useless. When Hayami gripped his finger for first time, he didn’t say word—just sat there in stunned silence, then muttered “Tch… strong grip. That’s my girl.”

Kenji was louder, always wriggling and wailing like he was trying to win some unseen battle. Zoro called him little demon with pride in his voice, pacing with him tucked in one arm while his other hand rested lazily on Wado Ichimonji’s hilt.

He calls you “his” not “wife” but look he gives you when you’re half-asleep with one baby in your arms and other snoring in sling says everything. He chose this life. Chose you.

"Hayami's drooling on your Sandai Kitetsu" you mumbled.

Zoro barely looked up from where he sat cross-legged on bed, watching his daughter gnaw on sheath of Sandai Kitetsu like it was a snack. “She’s got good taste.”

You gave him a look. “She’s four months old, Zoro. She can’t even see straight.”

He smirked, leaning back on one hand. “Still picked the cursed one. That’s my daughter after all.”

Kenji yawned in your arms. His little hand fisted your shirt, and you gently rubbed his back, eyes settling on scene in front of you.

Hayami sitting between her father’s legs like queen in training, his big hand resting behind her like wall of muscle and comfort. She squealed something high-pitched and slapped the ground with both hands.

“She’s definitely challenging me.” Zoro muttered.