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Nami is throwing back a shot of whiskey she doesn’t intend to pay for the first time she hears about “La Petite Mort.”
A group of drunken pirates are sharing stories about the West Blue, their words slurred and barely discernible from where Nami is sitting across the room. There’s mentions of a family’s jewels and a trail of treasure; Nami has to keep herself from drooling at the thought. The Straw Hats were running a little low on funds after celebrating Luffy’s birthday, and what better way to reward herself for her endless patience than by committing a little bit of thievery?
Zoro tries to distract her once or twice, but when Nami threatens to cut his allowance in half he meanders to a new table. There are some not-so-savory words shot her way, but Nami doesn’t pay the swordsman any mind. She’s got better things to do than smash a bottle over that numbskull’s empty head.
It’s a little easier to eavesdrop after that, and Nami nearly shouts in triumph when a man three times her size talks about heading back to the West Blue. The rest of his crew readily agrees. The band of pirates toast to La Petite Mort and the adventures they’ve had, but Nami doesn’t stop to listen.
If there’s anyone who’ll know anything about a mysterious island in the West Blue, it’ll be-
“Robin?” Nami raps her knuckles against the warm wood of the library’s door the next day, poking her head inside. If there was anywhere that the ship’s archaeologist was sure to be spending her time, it was here. “Are you busy?”
The woman in question raises her head from where she’s reclining, a pair of dark reading glasses sitting on the slope of her nose and a book in hand. “Not particularly. Did you need something?”
Satisfied, Nami pulls their (stolen) map of the West Blue from a nearby shelf. “I overheard a conversation at the bar last night and was hoping you could help me make some sense of it.” Splaying the aged paper out, tucking a paperweight atop each corner, Nami surveys its contents with a furrowed brow. “Apparently, there’s a place just before the Red Line that’s full of berry, but I’ve never heard of it.”
Robin tilts her head, eyes gleaming like she’s just heard a particularly hard riddle. “Oh? I can imagine that piqued your interest quite a bit.” Circling the cartography table to stand opposite from Nami, she adjusts her glasses. “This map is a little out of date, but we can make it work. Did you happen to catch the island's name?”
Grinning like a cat that’s caught a canary, Nami puffs her chest out with pride. “La Petite Mort.”
The archaeologist’s face twists, lips puckered like she’s just licked a particularly sour lemon. “Pardon?”
Robin’s reaction causes Nami to falter, not that she’ll ever admit it. “Am I saying it right?”
“Your pronunciation could use some work, but that’s not my main concern.”
Nami blinks. “You have concerns?”
The archaeologist rubs the bridge of her nose, lips twitching in— what Nami’s horrified to note is— amusement. “A few, but I’ll deal with them later. What, exactly, are you asking me?”
Embarrassment coaxes a soft heat high onto Nami’s cheeks and burns the delicate skin of her ears. She coughs, turning away from Robin’s probing gaze with her arms crossed over her chest. “Well, now I’m regretting asking you anything."
Soft laughter draws Nami’s gaze; Robin’s looking at her with a soft sort of affection in the bright blue of her eyes, a disarming thing that almost (almost!) has Nami distracted from her pursuit of endless riches. The archaeologist moves the painted, ornate paperweights shaped like cats— a birthday gift from Franky— off the map and carefully begins to reroll the yellowed parchment. “I can’t tell you how to get to La Petite Mort by map, but I can show you. Are you free after dinner?”
—
Nightlife on The Sunny is a quiet affair. Brook is on first watch, violin tucked beneath his bony chin and even bonier shoulder as he serenades the setting sun from his spot atop the crow’s nest. Sanji, Usopp, and Franky are still in the galley, conversing amongst themselves as they wash dishes and drink cola respectively. Chopper and Luffy are casting fishing lines from Sunny’s figurehead while Zoro is snoring away on their ship’s grassy lawn. It’ll be a few hours until the boys head to bed, but everyone is entertaining themselves just fine.
Nami, however, is antsy.
Attempting to corner Robin immediately after dinner hadn’t gone well; the archaeologist said she planned on taking a bath with Chopper, so Nami’s journey towards riches unknown would need to wait. The pair had invited Nami to join them, but she declined in favor of putting herself to good use.
Working on her maps offered her hands something to occupy themselves with, but Nami’s mind was busy cataloging every and any way she could use an additional hundred million berries: new clothes, new shoes, new makeup, new skincare products, new soaps, the options were endless! All that stood between Nami and riches galore was an unusually tight-lipped crewmate.
Before long, the navigator hears Chopper’s bright voice join the orchestra of noise that could only originate from the Straw Hat Pirates. She scrambles to put away her things, eager to catch Robin in their room before she can join the rest of their crew on deck.
“I’m going to talk to Robin,” Nami announces, taking the stairs towards the second floor of the Sunny two at a time. Half of the crew pays her no mind, but Nami continues to talk nonetheless; as long as she gives a verbal warning, anyone who went against her orders could be punished as she saw fit. “So no one is allowed to come into our room unless you’re willing to pay a hefty fine!”
She gets a loose chorus of acknowledgement and a single snore in response. It’ll have to be enough.
It isn’t often that Nami remembers to knock before entering the women’s quarters— she used to be their sole occupant, after all— but something tells her that it would be in her best interest tonight. She raises a hand, intending to do just that, before the knob turns on its own.
“I thought I heard you skulking around.” Robin’s standing on the other side, leaning against the doorframe with her lips quirked. She’s wearing the white, fluffy robe that signals the archaeologist is getting ready to start her bedtime routine.
The navigator definitely doesn’t let her eyes linger on the tan skin that’s visible beneath Robin’s collar. “I do not skulk! I was just about to knock, thank you very much.”
A soft breath of laughter puffs into the space between them, and Robin gestures Nami inside with a languid sweep of her arm. “By all means, do come in.” She’s teasing, eyes shining in the sunset’s dying light.
Their room is no different than it’s always been: a single queen bed, a well-stocked vanity, a closet where Nami has commandeered 60% of the hanger space, two plush loveseats, and a small table laden with snacks and a kettle of tea. Nami’s expecting to see a map pinned to the wall or a few books on the bed, but nothing seems to be out of place.
Nami huffs, stepping across the threshold as she peers around their room with a critical eye. “Enough talk. How are you going to show me the way to some island in the West Blue without a map?” Her brows are drawn into a taut line across her forehead, bottom lip jutting out in her most skeptical of pouts. “I know you’ve been a pirate longer than we’ve been a crew, but I just don’t believe it.”
“We won’t be needing a map.”
The door clicks shut at her back, and Nami can’t hold back a surprised squeak.
Robin regards Nami with a curious look, head tilted ever so slightly as her eyes roam across her body. It seems that whatever the archaeologist is looking for, she cannot find. “La Petite Mort isn’t an island, it’s a feeling,” she says, voice soft.
A fierce blush crawls its way across Nami’s cheeks at Robin’s undivided attention, but she isn't about to back down. “What do you mean?” The navigator’s voice threatens to wobble, and she clears her throat before trying again. “I definitely heard those pirates talking about jewels and treasure. Are you saying they were lying?”
Sitting on the edge of their bed, Robin crosses one knee over the other. “Do you mind telling me exactly what these pirates of yours were saying?” The fabric of Robin’s robe rustles softly as she moves, head rolling to relax on the curve of her shoulder.
Something about the scene is terribly erotic.
Nami coughs into her fist; embarrassment urges the flame of her blush to crawl down her neck and across the swell of her chest. Curse her lovely, pale skin. “They were too far away for me to hear clearly, but they definitely said something about a pirate’s giant booty.”
Robin’s pleasant expression crumples, and she’s laughing with her head tossed back before she has the decency to muffle her giggles into the skin of her palm. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“What are you laughing about?!” Nami snaps, hands curled into small, deadly fists at her side. She was not above hitting a woman, however pretty she may be.
Robin is still smiling when she rises to her feet, padding towards the angry navigator with her hands raised in apology. “Nami, dear, they were talking about sex.”
“What.”
The archaeologist is clearly still holding back another fit of giggles, cheeks bunched and eyes curved into adorable little crescent moons as she puts her hands on Nami’s shoulders. “It seems that your money-hungry ways have led you astray.” Robin’s touch is warm, and her strong hands are calloused and dappled with scars. “La petite mort isn’t an island at all, it’s an innuendo.”
Nami’s blushing so hotly that she’s afraid she may pass out. “…You said you could show me how to get there.” It’s a question, an offer, and a plea all wrapped into a single, hesitant sentence.
Robin’s smile turns wicked; there’s a gleam in the depths of her blue eyes that Nami’s wholly unfamiliar with. “I can, if that’s something you’re interested in.”
Nami’s been attracted to Robin ever since she first stepped foot on their ship, donning a purple cowboy hat and going by the moniker of ‘Miss All Sunday.’ She’s been a fan of pretty things ever since she was young: jewels, berries, women; Nami didn’t consider herself to be particularly picky.
She had also never considered, cute as she was, that this attraction went both ways.
So, when a shudder rolls down Nami’s spine, she finds herself taking a step forward. “Fine, but you better make this worth it!” She’s trying to act haughty but, by the look on Robin’s face, she isn’t doing a very good job. “I’d already planned on how I was going to spend the money.”
“Trust me,” Robin purrs, leaning down until their lips are barely touching with each murmured word. “You’ll forget all about that make-believe island once I’m through with you.”
Rolling onto the tips of her toes, Nami kisses Robin; she tastes like mint tea and adventure.
The archaeologist hums in surprise, sliding one hand up the back of Nami’s neck and another down to grasp at the curve of her hip. Robin’s kisses are careful and explorative, her lips gentle as she coaxes Nami into wrapping her arms around the archaeologist’s shoulders.
Nami’s practically buzzing with nervous excitement, tilting her head to invite Robin’s kisses deeper. Their noses bump and Nami greedily inhales; the archaeologist’s natural floral scent is a familiar thing, one that Nami’s grown to associate with entwined legs tucked beneath thin, airy sheets.
Nami tugs Robin towards their bed, stumbling gracelessly over her own feet.
“Careful,” Robin warns, holding the navigator securely in her arms. She presses a fleeting kiss on the apple of Nami’s cheek, resting plush lips against heated ears. “I can’t show you a little death if you insist on experiencing a real one.”
A startled giggle bursts from the back of Nami’s throat, shy in wake of Robin’s teasing. The murmured words warm Nami’s belly, waking a writhing nest of Sea Kings and making her insides squirm. “Oh, whatever. Like you’ve never tripped before.”
“I can’t say I have,” the archaeologist lies, smiling down at the flushed, pleased expression that Nami knows has taken over her face.
Sneaking a hand around the back of the archaeologist’s neck, Nami toys with the dark strands of Robin’s hair. They’re cool beneath her fingertips, still wet from the bath and smelling of clean soap. “Forgive a girl for being eager,” she jokes, tugging the archaeologist’s mouth towards her own. “I’m a little excited to experience something that’s apparently better than gold.”
Breathing a laugh against Nami’s lips, Robin licks her way into the navigator’s mouth with a mumbled “only a little?”
Nami gasps, accepting Robin’s offer with enthusiasm. The first touch of their tongues has her seeing stars, and Nami’s hands start to tremble against the curve of Robin’s ribs. They curl into fists when Robin licks her teeth, and Nami swallows the older woman’s moan all too eagerly. It catches in her throat, coaxing a matching whimper from Nami’s mouth.
The navigator’s hands, so used to taking, are no better when controlled by lust; they curl possessively around the swell of Robin’s biceps, tugging boldly at the loose fabric of her bathrobe in search of new skin to claim.
Nami comes to her senses before her traitorous hands can go any further. “Sorry,” she says, chest heaving and heart fluttering in her ribcage. “Give me a second.” She’s kissed a couple of pretty faces before her time as a Straw Hat, but nothing’s ever felt quite like this.
Deft, clever fingers tuck loose strands of orange behind Nami’s ears, marveling at the rosy blush that’s painted her freckled skin. “No apologies necessary.” Robin takes Nami’s jaw in her hands, rubbing her thumbs across the flushed skin of her cheeks as the navigator takes a steadying breath. “Would it help if I let you lead?”
Nami shakes her head, careful to keep from knocking Robin’s hands away as she averts her gaze. “Not really. I don’t exactly, uh, have a lot of experience.” The navigator’s left breathless in wake of the storm that is Nico Robin, and she’s very aware of the irony in that.
Robin’s brows raise, but she doesn’t allow her expression to shift into anything beyond understanding. “I wouldn’t have expected that. Thank you for telling me.”
“I know, right? A cute girl like me, a virgin?” Nami jokes, ducking her head to hide how nervous she is. It’s not like she’s ashamed or anything, it’s just a little embarrassing to admit aloud— especially to Robin of all people, and while they’re in such a scandalous situation!
With an exasperated— yet fond— huff, Robin climbs astride Nami’s lap, bracketing the navigator’s hips with her knees. “It’s okay to change your mind.” The archaeologist tugs teasingly at Nami’s bangs, drawing the navigator’s wary eyes. “Besides, I find this side of you endearing.”
“Right,” Nami scoffs, dropping her hands atop Robin’s thighs. She lifts the robe with the backs of her hands, marveling at the archaeologist’s soft, tan skin. “The side of me that gets all strung up over a few kisses must be so enticing.” Robin’s legs are warm beneath her palms, muscles flexing as the archaeologist shifts to make herself more comfortable atop Nami’s legs; the weight is grounding. “You can keep going. Just… Be gentle, okay?” If there’s anyone on the ship that she trusts this way, it’s Robin.
Robin’s expression somehow softens further. “That can be arranged,” she promises, running her hands along Nami’s jaw as they fall into another kiss. Robin gently nibbles Nami’s lower lip, and she smiles when the navigator gasps appreciatively into her mouth. Nami rakes her nails down Robin’s clothed back, pushing the bathrobe from her shoulders.
Nami is equally relieved and disappointed to note that Robin’s already wearing her pajamas.
Time passes slowly as the pair explore each other; Robin learns what pulls gasps and whines out of a pale, freckled throat while Nami learns where touching Robin makes her sigh.
Nami shifts her weight as much as she is able with the archaeologist in her lap, thighs tensing when Robin dips her head to press languid kisses beneath the curve of her jaw. The seam of her shorts has never felt so good. “Robin?” Nami breathes, eyes shut and muscles quivering. “Is it supposed to feel like this?”
“Like what, sweetheart?” Robin asks, hands careful as they curl across Nami’s throat and waist.
Nami nearly swoons. When she doesn’t reply fast enough, Robin chastises her with a reproachful scrape of teeth across her jaw. “L-like I’ll die if you don’t touch me?”
With a breathless laugh, Robin leans away from the curve of Nami’s neck and shoulder to meet her eyes. “Is that something you would enjoy?” She asks, enjoying the way Nami squirms and blushes beneath her.
The navigator tightens her hold around Robin’s waist, eyes wide and lips slightly swollen. “Yes.”
“Dos Fleurs.” Two familiar arms bloom from the archaeologist’s shoulders, wrapping themselves around Nami’s to keep them steady. Robin shoots one last glance Nami’s way before pressing her other hands against the gentle slope of her clothed breasts, cupping their unfamiliar weight in her palms. The navigator is soft, her body a precious artefact that Robin cannot wait to explore.
Nami gasps, back arching as Robin’s warmth seeps into her chest. She’s never been touched like she’s something delicate, like Robin wants to pry her secrets out from beneath her skin just for the sake of knowing them. Nami whines, trying to push herself deeper into the archaeologist’s hold.
With a twist of her wrist, Robin brushes her thumbs over Nami’s nipples, watching as they begin to strain and pebble against her touch. “Is this alright?” She asks, adding a little more pressure to account for the tank top and bra that prevent Robin from touching Nami properly.
“Yes.” Nami’s voice is high and breathy, her eyelids slammed shut as she concentrates on the sparks of pleasure that leap across her chest.
Chuckling, Robin continues her ministrations. She rubs and pinches and pulls, watching as Nami’s jaw drops or tightens, as her eyes roll or their lids flutter shut. She allows her fingers and palms to caress Nami’s breasts, pleased at the way her skin colors eagerly beneath the archaeologist’s touch.
Massaging seems to receive the best results; Nami groans, tucking her forehead against Robin’s shoulder as shudders skip down the vertebrae of her spine. “Robin,” she whimpers, hips twitching uselessly in search of friction. There’s a heavy pressure between her thighs, one that throbs in time with the beating of her heart. “More?”
The archaeologist slows, but doesn’t still. “Lay back for me.”
Nami doesn’t think she’s ever moved so quickly in her life, crawling backwards up their bed until she’s got the room to flop gracelessly onto her back. The hair at her neck has gone damp and her chest is aching for the return of Robin’s hands. Her core is fluttering and clenching weakly, begging to be touched and filled in a way that Nami’s never quite been able to achieve on her own. All she wants is to wrap Robin in her arms and never let her go.
Robin kneels above her, banishing her extra limbs with a scrunch of her nose. “I’ll go slow,” she promises, toying with the button of Nami’s shorts as she watches the navigator pant needily. “And if you don’t like something, I’ll stop. You’re in control, do you understand?”
The heat between her thighs grows fiercer, and Nami whimpers around a nod. “Okay.” The urge to spread her thighs and beg is strong, but Nami isn’t exactly sure what she’d be begging for.
With a satisfied smile, Robin unlatches Nami’s bottoms and slowly drags them down long, pale legs. Goosebumps rise to the surface but Robin soothes the pimpled flesh with a few lazy strokes of her hands. “You’re alright.”
The navigator’s knees knock together, but Robin has already seen what she’s after: a pretty, dark stain on the center of Nami’s gray panties. Usually, Robin would tease a little, but Nami’s already slapped her hands over her face from embarrassment.
“Don’t say anything,” the navigator begs, words muffled. Nami’s thighs are twitching, seemingly caught between inviting Robin in or locking her out. “I can feel it.”
Biting back a smile that Nami has no hope of seeing, Robin hums her acquiescence as she drops to lay on her stomach. She can feel Nami’s heat from here, and it makes Robin’s hands tighten against the plush of Nami’s thighs. Tilting her head, Robin laves a long, wet stripe along the length of Nami’s covered cunt. The navigator tastes like sweat and pure, unadulterated want.
Nami groans, hands tangling themselves in Robin’s hair as her hips buck in search of friction. “Fuck,” she whimpers, heart pounding. Her eyebrows are drawn together, bottom lip snagged between the whites of her teeth. “Again.”
Nudging her nose against Nami’s clothed folds, Robin begins to steadily mouth and lick between the navigator’s thighs.
Nami trembles, wrapping one calf around the back of Robin’s shoulders to draw her closer. Her hips roll eagerly to meet each and every one of the archaeologist’s touches, chasing the length of her tongue as it prods at her most sensitive spots.
Robin paints nonsensical shapes against Nami’s core through her panties, grinning with satisfaction as the damp spot that had originally caught her eye begins to spread.
When Nami’s legs begin to quake, Robin backs away to pepper small, chaste kisses along the inside of the navigator’s thighs. A pleased hum rumbles its way out of Robin’s throat while she stains Nami’s skin with her arousal, leaving gentle bites behind as proof of her conquest.
Nami used to consider herself quiet in bed. When she rubbed her clit and massaged her chest to faceless bodies in secluded spaces, she always stuttered her way through a weak climax that barely made her whine.
Now, though?
“No, no, please,” Nami begs, hips straining towards Robin’s hot, giving mouth and her wet, talented tongue. She can feel the way her panties cling greedily to the wetness between her thighs, and she wiggles her butt to try and entice Robin closer. There’s a pair of tan hands on Nami’s chest, caressing her breasts and stroking her nipples soothingly as she struggles to breathe through the loss. “Come back, I’m sorry, touch me.”
“Patience, sweetheart.”
Nami can feel the shape of Robin’s lips against her lower pair, and it’s almost enough to make her scream. She takes one of Robin’s hands— Devil Fruit or otherwise, she doesn’t care— into her own, squeezing desperately. “Is this it?” She gasps, writhing weakly against the bedsheets. The pounding in her ears is so loud that Nami can barely hear her own voice.
Robin pulls damp underwear to the side, smiling when Nami whines at the change in temperature. “Not yet.” Robin can see the navigator’s core quivering, her clitoris swollen and ready to be taken in mouth.
So that’s what Robin does, sliding a careful finger into wet, waiting heat as she presses her eager lips to Nami’s most sensitive parts.
Nami keens; there’s no odd stretch, no discomfort, only the delicious feeling of Robin. Robin curling a finger inside of her while she laps dutifully at her restless clit, Robin pressing gorgeous lips against her skin, Robin bringing her to heights yet unseen. Nami jerks her hips to match Robin’s steady rhythm with a grateful cry, hands tangling in dark, thick hair.
Carefully introducing a second finger— Robin groans at the easy acceptance, Nami’s cunt practically begging for it— the archaeologist twists her wrist to reward Nami’s patience with a short, strong pumps of her arm, her thumb brushing over the navigator’s clitoris as Robin mouths at the soft skin of her inner thigh.
Nami writhes, hips straining to meet Robin thrust for thrust as a familiar pressure starts to build low in her belly. “Robin,” she pleads, hands tugging desperately at the archaeologist’s hair. “Come back, I need you.”
Climbing to sit astride Nami’s thigh, her hips gyrating weakly against the pressure, Robin flattens her chest against Nami’s. “Yes?” She has to fight back a whimper of her own, thighs trembling against the urge to ride Nami to completion.
Nami’s moan doesn’t get the chance to escape, her mouth too eager to reunite with Robin’s. Their kisses are much sloppier this time around, tongues heavy as Nami groans around the taste of her arousal coating Robin’s tongue. The archaeologist’s fingers stutter for a moment before picking up the pace, Nami’s walls fluttering to invite Robin to fill her further.
Nami feels like she’s going to burst any second, ears ringing and the muscles of her abdomen going taut. Liquid heat travels down her spine, lighting a fire in the navigator’s core that can only be quenched by Robin’s fingers and tongue. She muffles a desperate whine into the archaeologist’s jaw, digging her teeth into the soft flesh of her neck as the archaeologist rubs firm, messy circles against the straining head of her clitoris.
“This,” Robin whispers, breath hot and humid against the shell of Nami’s ear, “is la petite mort.”
With a curl of long, clever fingers and a kiss to her cheek, Nami comes. Her back arches, lips parted in a silent gasp, as thunder and lightning take turns ravaging her rigid body.
Robin coaxes her through it, fingers firm as they stroke Nami’s quaking walls and guide her down from her high. There’s a thin sheen of sweat spread across freckled skin, catching the low light and bathing Nami in a pleasant glow as she gasps, punctuated by the occasional moan. Robin is careful when she removes her fingers, pressing an apologetic kiss to Nami’s parted lips when she makes a whimpering noise at the loss.
“Wow,” Nami says, voice raspy and eyes beaded with tears. She’s starfished on their bed, clothes rumpled and hair mussed beyond belief. “I totally get it now.”
Propping herself up on an elbow, Robin leans over to gauge Nami’s state, smiling at the blissed-out look that’s taken over her face. “Did the island live up to your expectations?"
“Absolutely.” Nami rolls onto her side, staring up at Robin with a half-lidded grin. There’s a wet sheen to her mouth and chin that has Nami’s stomach swooping. “I had no idea orgasms could even feel like that.”
“It was a pleasure to be of service.”
Their room devolved into a serene quiet, broken only by too-fast breaths and the occasional sigh.
“Y’know,” Nami drawls, moving to straddle Robin’s waist with a shit-eating grin. There’s a familiar throb yawning to life in her belly, and Nami knows just the thing to fix it. “I’m sure there’s loads more you can teach me. I’m a pretty fast learner.”
“Oh?” Robin hums, eyes bright enough to rival the sky. “And what is there that you’d like to learn?”
Tapping her chin, trying not to look too eager, Nami shrugs. “Well, I’m a navigator, aren’t I?” She leans over Robin’s chest, giving the archaeologist a glance at the cleavage she’d been so enamored with. “I think I should know how to get others to la petite mort, too.”
With a laugh, Robin wraps her arms around Nami’s shoulders, welcoming her into a kiss that tears a groan from the backs of their throats. “I suppose you’re right.”