May I humbly request something for Sanji, Zoro, Buggy, Mihawk and Law (separately)
With an S/o who is trying to be a good contributing member of the crew. But has a chronic pain and numbness in their hands making it difficult to do, a lot of things like ship chores and fighting.
And s/o feels guilty for not being able to contribute/struggling to contribute as much as the others?
Hands That Matter
gn!reader
characters: sanji, zoro, buggy, mihawk, law
a/n: sorry for the wait! I tried to make them have all different but it was kinda hard to not repeat myself, but I still gave them different moods. also I hope I described the reader's feelings right (づ￣ 3￣)づ
word count: around 1.2k - 1.6k each
anime m.list || ao3 || ko-fi || requests list
── .✦ Sanji:
tags: established relationship, chronic pain, soft sanji, hurt/comfort, domestic moments, emotional talks, hand pain, caring sanji
Usopp and Luffy are yelling somewhere above deck. Nami is complaining about something being broken. Chopper laughs so hard you can hear it through the walls.
And you stand in the kitchen trying to hold a plate without dropping it.
Your fingers shake… again.
You tighten your grip, jaw clenching “Careful, love.”
A warm hand slides under yours before the plate slips. Sanji takes it easily.
You immediately pull your hand back “I had it.”
“Mhm.” He smiles softly “And I’m the Pirate King.”
You huff quietly.
He places the plate down and turns back to the stove. The kitchen smells warm. Garlic, butter, something sweet baking in the oven.
Usually the smell makes you happy.
Today it only makes your chest hurt.
“I can still help…” you mumble.
“You are helping.”
“I barely cut two carrots.”
“That’s still helping.”
You look down at your hands.
Your fingertips are numb again. That strange heavy feeling like your hands are asleep and aching at the same time.
You flex them and pain shoots through your wrists.
You hide it quickly but Sanji notices everything. His eyes flick toward you for one second.
“You should sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sweetheart…”
“I said I’m fine.”
Silence.
Only the sound of oil sizzling in the pan.
You hate that tone in your own voice… sharp and angry, but not at him, never at him, mostly at yourself.
Sanji says nothing after that. He just moves around the kitchen calmly, cigarette hanging from his lips while he cooks for the crew like always.
Perfect movements.
Your eyes stay on his hands… strong hands. Fast hands. Hands that work.
You swallow hard.
“I can wash the dishes at least.” you say.
“You washed them yesterday.”
“And dropped three.”
“You dropped one.”
“It still broke.”
“So?” He shrugs “Franky breaks half the ship every week.”
“That’s not the same…”
He glances at you again and you look away first.
You move toward the sink before he can stop you. The plates are already stacked there.
You can do easy.
You grab the sponge, but the moment you squeeze it, pain burns through your palm so suddenly your breath catches.
The sponge slips right out of your hand.
Splash.
Water everywhere.
“Ah—shit.”
You try to grab it quickly, but your fingers refuse to close properly. The plate beside it tilts dangerously.
Sanji catches it before it falls, of course he does.
And suddenly your eyes burn.
“I’m sorry…” you whisper.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I can’t even do dishes right.” your voice cracks embarrassingly at the end.
You turn away fast.
Stupid.
You hate crying about this.
You hate the pity even more.
But Sanji doesn’t sound pitiful when he speaks… he sounds serious “Look at me.”
You don’t.
A chair scrapes softly against the floor.
Then he’s in front of you, looking at you carefully “Look at me, love.”
Slowly, you do.
His brows are slightly furrowed “You think I care about dishes?”
“No, but—”
“You think I want you here because you can scrub pans?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then tell me what you mean.”
You open your mouth but nothing comes out, because the truth feels ugly.
Sanji waits patiently anyway.
Your throat tightens.
“I just…” you stare at the floor “Everyone does so much.”
“Hmm.”
“Luffy fights sea monsters like it’s nothing. Zoro trains until he bleeds. Nami handles navigation alone during storms. Usopp builds things. Franky fixes everything. Robin knows everything. Chopper is our doctor.”
You laugh weakly.
“And I can barely hold a knife some days.”
The kitchen goes quiet.
You expect him to answer immediately, but he actually doesn’t. He just moves closer and very gently, he takes your hands.
Even though you try to hide how stiff they are, his thumbs rub over your knuckles carefully.
“Does it hurt right now?” he asks softly.
You hesitate “…Yes.”
“Numb too?”
You nod.
“Since this morning?”
“Since yesterday.”
“And you still tried to help me cook breakfast.”
You shrug helplessly “I wanted to do something useful.”
Something flashes across his face, not anger at you, but something sadder “Oh, sweetheart.”
The nickname almost breaks you.
You look away again.
“I know everyone says it’s okay,” you whisper “but it doesn’t feel okay.”
Sanji stays quiet for a second, then he suddenly pulls you gently against his chest.
One hand cradles the back of your head while the other rubs your back slowly.
“You listen to me now.” he says quietly.
His voice is low and firm in that rare way he gets when he means every word.
“You’re part of this crew.”
You grip his shirt weakly.
“You hear me?”
“…Yeah.”
“No. Really hear me.” He leans back enough to look at you “You think being useful is the reason we love you?”
Your eyes widen slightly “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
You fall silent.
Sanji sighs softly “When Chopper gets sick, do we throw him overboard because he can’t work?”
“No.”
“When Zoro is half dead after a fight, do we tell him he’s lazy?”
“Of course not.”
“When Luffy can’t move after doing something stupid?”
“That happens every week.”
Sanji snorts quietly “Exactly.”
Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escapes you.
“There it is.” he murmurs.
Your face warms.
He brushes his thumb under your eye.
“You’re hurting,” he says simply “that’s not failure.”
“But I make things harder.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I can’t even help in fights.”
“And?” His brows pull together again “Do you think your only value is fighting?”
You hesitate “A little…”
“Absolutely not.” he says it immediately, strongly “You make this place softer.”
Your breath catches.
Sanji continues before you can answer.
“You stay with Chopper when he studies too late. You listen to Usopp’s stories even when they’re terrible lies.” he smiles faintly “You help Robin find books. You calm Luffy down sometimes, which is honestly a miracle.”
You blink rapidly.
“And me?” he says quietly “You help me too.”
“How?”
He gives you a look like the answer is obvious “You sit with me during late nights in the kitchen.”
Your chest aches.
“You taste every new recipe.”
“You cook those for everyone.”
“I still want your opinion.”
His fingers squeeze yours carefully “You remind me to rest.”
“You never rest.”
“Exactly. Someone has to tell me.”
Another tiny laugh escapes you.
Sanji smiles softly at the sound.
Then he lifts one of your hands carefully to his lips and kisses your knuckles, slowly, like your hands are something precious.
Not broken or useless.
“You do enough.” he whispers.
The words hit harder than you expect, because part of you still doesn’t believe them.
And maybe he sees that, because he suddenly tilts your chin upward gently.
“And even if you did nothing,” he says, “even if all you could do was sit here and breathe beside me, I would still want you here.”
Your eyes sting again immediately “Sanji…”
“I mean it.” his forehead rests against yours now “You don’t have to earn your place every single day.”
The tears finally spill over.
You hide your face against his chest with a frustrated sound.
“Ah, don’t cry…” he murmurs immediately, holding you tighter “Now I’ll cry too and the others will never let me live it down.”
You laugh weakly through tears.
“There you are.”
His hand rubs your back slowly.
After a while, your breathing finally calms.
“…I still hate it.” you admit quietly.
“I know.”
“I hate needing help.”
“I know that too.”
“And I hate feeling weak.”
Sanji hums thoughtfully. Then he gently pulls back just enough to look at you “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you’re strong as hell.”
You immediately shake your head “No.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t even—”
“Love.” His voice softens again “You wake up hurting and still try every day.”
You go still.
“That sounds strong to me.”
You don’t know what to say to that.
Maybe because nobody ever says it like that.
Sanji smiles a little.
“Now.” He wipes under your eyes gently “Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not the doctor.”
“Temporary doctor’s orders.”
You snort.
“You sit right there.” he says pointing toward the small chair near the kitchen window.
“And what are you doing?”
“Cooking.”
“I should help.”
“You should rest.”
“But—”
He gives you a look… not angry, just stubborn. Very Sanji.
You sigh dramatically and sit down.
“Good.” He smiles again finally, softer now “That’s my sweetheart.”
You watch him move around the kitchen again.
Comfortable.
After a minute, he speaks without turning around “Can you do something for me though?”
Your shoulders tense immediately “What?”
“Tell me if the sauce needs more salt.”
You blink “That’s it?”
“That’s a very important job.”
A small smile pulls at your mouth.
Sanji glances over his shoulder and catches it immediately “There’s the smile I like.”
He brings over the spoon carefully.
You taste the sauce. Warm. Rich. A little spicy.
“It needs more pepper.”
Sanji gasps dramatically “Perfect. I trained you well.”
He bends over and leaves a soft kiss on your lips before moving back to the kitchen.
You laugh again, more real this time.
And somehow, sitting there while he cooks beside you, the guilt feels quieter.
Not gone maybe, but quieter.
Sanji notices that too as he smiles softly to himself before turning back to the stove.
“See?” he says gently, winking at you “Always helping the chef.”
── .✦ Zoro:
tags: established relationship, comfort, chronic pain, emotional support, soft zoro, insecurity, hurt/comfort
The Sunny rocks softly under the afternoon sun.
You grip the broom tighter.
Bad idea.
Pain shoots through your fingers immediately. Your hands feel numb in some places, burning in others. You try to ignore it and keep sweeping.
“You missed a spot.”
You look up and see Nami pointing near the stairs with her pen.
“Oh—yeah. Thank you.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” You smile quickly “Just tired.”
She watches you for a second longer before walking away.
The second she leaves, you shake your hands behind your back.
It hurts.
Again…
Later, everyone eats lunch together.
Luffy is stealing meat from everyone’s plates.
Sanji is yelling “LUFFY! STOP TOUCHING THE FOOD!”
“I’m hungry!”
“You already ate three plates!”
“I’m still hungry!”
Basically the usual.
Across the table, Zoro drinks quietly.
You glance at him and he notices immediately.
He watches you with a questioning expression on his face and says “You’re staring.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That face means trouble.”
You laugh softly, making him smirk.
Then his eye move lower to your hands.
You pull them under the table immediately, which makes his expression change a little.
That evening, you find him training on deck. Weights. Swords. Sweat.
Normal Zoro things.
You stand nearby awkwardly “Can I train with you?”
He pauses “You trained yesterday.”
“I know.”
“And the day before.”
“I know.”
“And you could barely hold the practice sword after.”
You force a laugh “I’ll get better.”
He studies you carefully “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Big lie… but you hate saying no. You hate sitting around while everyone works.
Everyone has something.
Nami navigates.
Sanji cooks.
Usopp fixes things.
Chopper heals people.
Robin researches.
Franky builds.
Brook plays music.
Jinbe steers.
Zoro fights.
And you… you struggle to even hold a mop some days.
So you keep trying, even when your hands shake, even when your fingers go numb, and even when you wake up at night because pain crawls up your wrists.
You keep trying because if you stop, what are you useful for?
“Again.” Zoro blocks your attack easily.
Your wrists hurt already.
You tighten your grip at your best and then swing again.
He blocks again “You’re too tense.”
“I’m fine.”
“You say that every five minutes.”
“I am fine.”
Your fingers suddenly lose strength and the sword slips.
You freeze.
Your hand tingles painfully.
Zoro looks down at the fallen sword, then at you.
You quickly bend down to grab it, but pain shoots through your wrist so hard you suck in a breath.
But he already heard that “You’re hurt.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I said I’m fine!”
Your voice comes out sharper than you mean.
The deck goes quiet, even the wind feels still.
Zoro stares at you, then he sighs “Come sit.”
“I don’t need—”
“Sit.”
You hate how weirdly gentle his voice sounds… it makes your chest hurt.
You sit down near the railing while he puts the practice swords away.
For a while, neither of you talks.
Then he sits beside you.
“You’ve been hiding it.”
You stare at the ocean “Hiding what?”
“The pain.”
You shrug “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to you.”
You laugh weakly “Not really.”
“You can barely hold things some days.”
Your throat tightens.
“I can still do stuff.”
“I know.”
“I just…” You swallow hard “I’m slower.”
Zoro says nothing.
“And everyone else does so much…” you continue quietly “I can’t even finish basic chores without messing up.”
“You don’t mess up.”
“I do…”
“You don’t.”
“I do.” you repeat, louder this time “I can’t scrub the deck long enough. I drop things. My hands stop working in fights. Sometimes they go numb for hours.” your voice shakes “I’m supposed to help the crew.”
“You do help.”
“How?”
The question comes out too fast and too honest.
You immediately regret it, but Zoro doesn’t get angry.
He leans back against the railing “You think helping only means fighting and chores?”
“I mean… yeah? In a pirate crew, yeah.”
“That’s stupid.”
You blink “That’s rude.”
“It’s true.”
You glare at him weakly.
He continues anyway “When Chopper patches us up after the smallest cut, is that useless?”
“No.”
“When Brook plays music or makes you all laugh after bad days?”
“No.”
“When Luffy drags us into trouble and somehow makes people free?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
You open your mouth and close it again.
Zoro looks toward the sea “You stay awake with people when they can’t sleep.”
You blink.
“You listen when someone’s upset.”
You stare at him.
“You remember small things.” he says “Like how Chopper likes compliments. Or how Usopp gets nervous before fights and what calms him down.”
Heat rises to your face and say “That’s not important.”
“It is.”
“It’s not enough.”
Zoro goes quiet for a moment, then suddenly snorts “You know? I don’t like using him as an example, but even the weird eyebrows man never uses his hands to fight.”
You stare at him “…Sanji?”
“Unfortunately.”
A small laugh escapes you.
Zoro points at your hands “There are other ways to fight.”
“I can’t exactly kick like him.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But—”
“Even I use my mouth for a sword.”
You blink again “That… sounds weird when you say it out loud.”
“It works, doesn’t it?”
You laugh despite yourself.
“There’s more than one way to help people. More than one way to fight.” He looks directly at you now “You keep trying to force yourself into something that hurts you.”
Your eyes sting suddenly “I just don’t want to be dead weight.”
His expression hardens immediately “You are not dead weight.”
The words come fast, strong and certain.
“You hear me?”
You look away quickly.
“You belong here.” he says quietly now “With us. With… me.”
Your chest aches painfully, in that overwhelming kind of way that isn't always bad.
“You noticed all that?” you ask softly.
“Obviously.”
“I thought I hid it well.”
“You hide it terribly.”
You groan “Great.”
“You flex your fingers every ten seconds.”
“…Oh.”
“And you make this face.”
“What face?”
“This one.” he copies your annoyed expression badly.
You stare at him “That looks nothing like me.”
“It does.”
“You look constipated.”
“Tch.”
Now, that makes you finally laugh… a real laugh this time.
Zoro watches you carefully afterward, like he’s checking if the sadness is still there.
And it is, but lighter now.
“You really think there are other ways?” you ask quietly.
“Yeah.”
“What if I still can’t do enough?”
“You don’t decide that alone.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the crew already wants you here.”
Your eyes widen slightly.
“And I want you here…” he adds.
The softness in his voice nearly kills you but his red ears are so cute.
You stare at him for a long moment, then suddenly lean forward and kiss him.
Zoro makes a surprised sound against your lips.
Then one hand moves carefully to your waist, pulling you closer in a gentle push. Always gentler than people expect from him.
The kiss is warm and slow, feeling close and safe.
When you pull back, your face feels hot.
“That was a thank you.” you mumble.
“Hm.”
“What?”
“You can thank me again if you want.”
You snort loudly “There’s the idiot swordsman again.”
“And there’s the smiley you.”
You lean against his shoulder.
Finally, you don't feel guilty about all this.
── .✦ Buggy:
tags: established relationship, chronic pain, insecurity, comfort, subtle care, emotional hurt/comfort
The ship rocks hard under your feet as someone on deck is screaming again.
“WHO TOOK MY FUCKING CAPE?!”
You close your eyes “…There he is.”
One of the crew points quickly “Captain Buggy, Mohji used it to cover the cannon!”
“WHAT?!”
You hear stomping, loud crashing and then a man screaming in fear.
Then Buggy’s voice again “YOU USED MY CAPE FOR A CANNON?! ARE YOU INSANE?!”
You smile a little despite yourself, because your hands ache badly, today too.
The numbness started this morning before sunrise and it crawled from your fingertips to your wrists until even holding a spoon felt strange… like your hands belonged to someone else.
You flex your fingers slowly, pain shoots up your arm “…Ow.”
You hide the sound quickly.
You still have work.
Everyone on this ship works.
Even if Buggy acts dramatic and lazy sometimes, the crew still moves because people do their jobs.
You want to do yours too.
You grab the rope beside you and start tying down the supply crates before the weather gets worse.
Your fingers slip immediately “Damn it.”
You try again but the knot comes loose.
You try again and again and again.
Your jaw tightens “Come on…”
You can fight through pain, usually… but numbness is worse. It makes your hands stupid.
You try pulling harder.
A sharp sting suddenly burns through your palm and your fingers give out completely. The rope falls.
“Shit—”
“Why are you doing that?”
You jump.
Buggy stands behind you with his arms crossed.
“You’re gonna tie the crates like that?” he asks.
“I can do it.”
“Yeah? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re fighting a rope and losing.”
“I said I can do it.”
Buggy narrows his eyes.
You hate that look… that careful one. The one that says he noticed something is off.
“I’m fine.” you add quickly.
“Uh-huh.”
“I am.”
“Sure.”
You glare “Why are you even here?”
“Because this is my ship.”
“You were screaming about your cape two seconds ago.”
“That’s different. That was important.”
You snort softly.
Buggy walks closer and grabs the rope from your hands and says “I’ve got it.”
“No, give it back.”
“Why?”
“Because I should help.”
“You are helping.”
“How?”
“You’re standing there looking pretty and keeping morale up.”
“That’s not real work.”
Buggy starts tying the knot quickly “Well, good thing I, the captain, didn’t ask.”
You cross your arms.
The ache in your hands pulses harder now from trying too much.
Buggy notices you rubbing your fingers, but he says nothing, and for you, that somehow feels worse.
Later, the crew gathers for lunch.
You sit beside Buggy while everyone argues over portions.
Cabaji points across the table “Captain, they’re taking extra meat again!”
“I CAN SEE THAT!”
“It was one piece!” someone shouts.
“THAT’S STILL THEFT!”
You try picking up your cup but your fingers twitch halfway there and the cup slips.
Buggy catches it before it falls, fast.
Nobody else even notices.
“Careful,” he says loudly “you break my cups, you buy new ones.”
You stare at him “…Thanks.”
“Tch. Don’t get emotional.”
He pushes the cup back toward you more carefully this time.
Under the table, his foot bumps yours once, soft, as if he’s checking you’re okay.
You look down quickly before anyone sees your face.
That night, the pain gets worse.
Rain hits the ship hard. Wind screams outside your room.
You sit on the edge of the bed trying to wrap your wrists tighter. Maybe if you press hard enough, your hands will listen again.
You hiss quietly.
The door opens.
Buggy walks in carrying a plate “What are you doing sitting in the dark like some tragic widow?”
You blink “What?”
“I brought food.”
“I can see that.”
“Well don’t sound too grateful.”
He puts the plate beside you.
You stare at it “…I wasn’t hungry.”
“Yeah, because pain does that.” he shrugs “Eat anyway.”
You freeze.
Buggy starts taking off his coat like he said nothing strange.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know.”
Silence fills the room for a moment except for the storm outside.
You look down at your hands again “I hate this.”
Buggy pauses “Hate what?”
“This.” You flex your fingers weakly “I can’t do basic things some days.”
“So?”
“So I’m supposed to help!”
“You do help.”
“How? I can barely hold a cup lately.”
Buggy scoffs loudly “Please. Half my crew can barely hold conversations.”
“That’s not the point.”
You stand suddenly and start pacing “I can’t fight right. I drop things. I mess up knots. I slow people down—”
“You don’t slow me down.”
“You help me constantly!”
“Oh no.” Buggy says flatly “How horrible. Helping my partner. Truly devastating.”
“Buggy.”
“What?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
You stop moving.
He looks at you. No jokes. No yelling. Just sharp eyes watching carefully.
“You think I keep you around because you can fight?” he asks.
“I mean… it helped.”
“That’s stupid.”
You blink.
Buggy points at you dramatically “You think I, the great Captain Buggy, only values people for strength? Look at my crew! Half these idiots eat soap if nobody stops them!”
A crash sounds outside.
Someone yells, “IT WASN’T SOAP!”
Buggy shouts toward the door, “YES IT WAS!”
Then he looks back at you again as his voice lowers “You’re with me because I want you here.”
Your chest hurts suddenly, but different from before.
“You don’t get it,” you whisper “I feel useless.”
Buggy groans loudly like the conversation annoys him.
Then he walks over to say “You know what I think is useless?”
“What?”
“You sitting here hurting yourself because you’re too stubborn to ask for help.”
You look away “I don’t want people treating me differently.”
“Good. Because they won’t.” Buggy crouches in front of you “But I will.”
You blink again “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says slowly, “and please don’t make me repeat it, that I’ll help before you ask. And I’ll make it look natural so nobody bothers you about it.”
You stare “…You already do that.”
Buggy freezes for half a second, then immediately points at you “HAH! So you noticed!”
“You’re not subtle.”
“I’m extremely subtle.”
“You literally steal things from my hands when they hurt.”
“That’s called romance.”
Despite everything, you laugh, small and tired, but real.
Buggy watches your face carefully after the sound leaves you, like he missed hearing it.
“Tch.” he mutters “There it is.”
“What?”
“That annoying laugh.”
“You like my laugh.”
“I never said that.”
“You smile every time.”
“I do NOT.”
“You’re smiling right now.”
“I’m just naturally charming.”
You laugh again.
Buggy’s shoulders loosen slightly, then he grabs your wrists carefully.
“You’re warm.” he says.
“My hands always are when they hurt.”
“…Does it feel bad now?”
“A little.”
He rubs circles into your wrists with his thumbs, awkwardly. Like he refuses to admit he learned how to help properly.
“You don’t have to fix everything alone.” he mutters.
You look at him quietly and admit “For someone who screams all day, you say really nice things sometimes.”
“Don’t spread that around.”
“Your reputation?”
“Exactly.”
You smile softly.
Buggy notices immediately and squints at you suspiciously “What?”
“You’re being cute.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It is.”
The storm outside gets louder, but inside the room, it feels strangely calm.
Buggy keeps rubbing your wrists.
You finally whisper, “I’m scared sometimes.”
He goes still “Of what?”
“That one day I won’t be able to do anything useful.”
Buggy clicks his tongue “Then you can sit next to me and insult people professionally.”
“That’s your job.”
“I can share… with you.”
You smile weakly.
“But really,” you say, quieter now, “what if I become a burden?”
Buggy’s expression changes immediately, sharp and obviously offended “Don’t say that.”
You blink at the sudden tone.
“I mean it.” he says “Don’t call yourself that.”
“…Sorry.”
“Tch.”
He stands up fast and pulls you with him.
Before you can react, his arms wrap around you tightly, not graceful and not elegant at all, just very Buggy style.
“You’re an idiot sometimes.” he mutters against your hair.
“You say that lovingly.”
“I say it truthfully.”
You relax slowly against him.
His chin rests on your head.
Outside, thunder cracks loudly.
Buggy squeezes you once more and then he pulls back enough to look at your face “You done being dramatic now?”
“You’re literally hugging me.”
“That’s unrelated.”
You snort softly.
His eyes flick down to your mouth for one quick second, then away immediately.
“…What?” you ask.
“Nothing.,,”
“You made a face.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Buggy groans like this is exhausting, then suddenly grabs your jaw dramatically and say “Fine! Since you clearly require attention—”
He kisses you, fast at first, almost clumsy. Then softer when you lean closer.
His gloves brush your cheeks carefully.
You melt a little against him.
Buggy huffs quietly into the kiss.
When he pulls away, his face is slightly red under the makeup.
“You better not get all emotional about that now.” he says immediately.
“Too late.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
You grin.
Buggy rolls his eyes dramatically, but he kisses your forehead anyway before pulling you back against his chest.
── .✦ Mihawk:
tags: established relationship, chronic pain, guilt, comfort, quiet intimacy, soft mihawk, domestic moments, emotional hurt/comfort
The knife slips from your fingers again.
It doesn't fall far, it falls onto the wooden table with a dull clack and your shoulders tense instantly.
You stare at your numb hand… again.
The feeling comes and goes every day. Sometimes it burns. Sometimes your fingers feel heavy like stone. Sometimes you cannot even tell if you're holding something until it drops.
Today is one of the bad days.
You flex your hand slowly “Damn it…”
Across the kitchen, Dracule Mihawk looks up from the book in his hand.
His eyes move from your face to the knife “You are pushing yourself again.”
“I’m fine.”
“You dropped it three times.”
You hate that he notices everything.
You grab the knife again before he can stand up “I said I’m fine.”
Mihawk closes his book with one quiet motion.
The sound alone makes you nervous.
Not because he's angry, Mihawk rarely raises his voice and that almost makes it worse somehow. His silence always sees too much.
He walks toward you slowly “Give me the knife.”
“I can still cut vegetables.”
“You can barely hold the handle.”
Your jaw tightens “I’m trying to help.”
“And I didn’t say otherwise.”
“But you’re doing everything lately.”
“That’s incorrect.”
“You know what I mean.”
Mihawk studies your face for a long moment, in a calm and sharp way “You're in pain today.”
You look away first “…It’s not worse than normal.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The numbness crawls higher into your wrist. You hate it and so you hate your own body. Hate the stupid weakness in your fingers. You used to fight beside him. Not at his level, obviously, nobody is at his level, but enough to stand proudly beside him.
Now even holding a teacup too long hurts.
You laugh quietly, bitterly “Some good partner I am.”
Mihawk’s expression changes slightly but enough that most people would miss it… you don’t.
“You think your worth depends on what you can carry with your hands?”
“It should depend on something.”
“It does.”
“Like what?”
“You're here.”
You blink “That’s not enough.”
“For you, maybe.”
“Mihawk…”
“You speak as though I chose you for labor.”
His voice stays even, deep and calm.
“But I can’t fight properly anymore.”
“You still can.”
“Not like before.”
“No,” he agrees immediately “not like before.”
The honesty hurts more than pity would.
You pull your hand back against your chest “See?”
Mihawk sighs softly through his nose.
“You continue to measure yourself against impossible standards.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
That actually earns the faintest look of amusement.
“Yes. Perhaps.”
You lean against the counter, exhausted already.
“I just…” You swallow hard “I hate needing help.”
“You have needed help since the day we met.”
The memory flashes immediately. You trying to hide shaking hands while wrapping a wound. Mihawk silently taking the bandages from you without a word. The first time he held a cup near your lips because your fingers stopped cooperating halfway through dinner.
He always knew. Always.
And somehow that makes the guilt worse.
“I thought maybe if I worked harder…” you mumble.
“To accomplish what?”
“To stop being a burden.”
Silence.
You shouldn't have said that.
Mihawk steps closer.
His voice lowers “Never say that about yourself again.”
The words are quiet, but firm enough to cut stone.
You stare at him.
“You think caring for you is a burden?”
“I mean—”
“You think I am forced into it?”
“No…”
“Then don't insult my choices.”
You look down quickly “…Sorry.”
Another silence.
Then you feel leather gloves brush lightly against your wrist.
Mihawk lifts your hand carefully, like he already knows exactly where it hurts.
“Where is the numbness?”
“Mostly fingers. Wrist too.”
“And pain?”
“Everywhere.”
“Hm.”
You almost laugh tiredly “Very helpful answer, I know.”
“It's accurate.”
His thumb presses lightly against your palm. Testing.
You flinch and his eyes narrow immediately and he asks “That bad?”
“It’ll pass.”
“You say that often.”
Because it usually does… sometimes.
You watch him remove his gloves one finger at a time before setting them aside.
Then he reaches for the kettle.
“I can still make tea myself.”
“I'm aware.”
“Then why are you—”
“Sit down.”
“…You sound like a doctor.”
“You would ignore one of those as well.”
You mutter something under your breath.
“I heard that.”
“I know.”
You finally sit at the table while Mihawk moves around the kitchen with smooth, easy motions. Precise and controlled like always.
He never rushes.
“You don’t get annoyed?” you ask quietly.
“At what?”
“At me struggling all the time.”
“No.”
“But doesn’t it get tiring?”
Mihawk pours hot water into a cup “Yes.”
Your chest sinks immediately.
Then he continues calmly “Pain is tiring. Watching someone you care for hurt is tiring. That doesn't mean I resent you.”
You stare at the table “I can’t even hold my sword properly some days.”
“You're grieving.”
The words hit harder than expected “What?”
“You speak as though you lost nothing.”
Mihawk sets the cup in front of you carefully.
“But you did.”
You look up slowly.
“You lost ease. Strength. Freedom. Certainty in your own body.” His gaze stays on you “Yet you expect yourself to feel nothing about it.”
Your throat tightens painfully.
Nobody says things like that to you.
Most people tell you to stay positive, to try harder or to be grateful it isn't worse.
Mihawk never lies to make things easier, and somehow that comforts you more.
“I’m tired…” you admit quietly.
“I know.”
“I hate feeling useless.”
“You aren't useless.”
“I can’t even help around the castle without messing up.”
“You help me every day.”
“How?”
“You listen.”
You blink.
“You stay.”
Another answer comes before you can speak.
“You make this place feel inhabited instead of empty.”
Your face warms immediately “Mihawk…”
“And,” he says calmly, “your presence discourages idiots from interrupting my evenings.”
You laugh despite yourself “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The romantic talk.”
A faint smirk touches his mouth “Don’t become spoiled now.”
You wrap your hands carefully around the warm cup. Heat helps sometimes.
MMihawk watches your grip for a moment, then he asks“Have you practiced the stretches I showed you?”
“…Sometimes.”
“You forgot.”
“Maybe.”
“Hm.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am.”
You groan softly “I knew you were going to say that.”
“You injure yourself further by ignoring limits.”
“I’m trying not to have limits.”
“That's foolish.”
You glare at him weakly “You’re supposed to encourage me.”
“I am encouraging you… to use your brain.”
You snort into your tea.
The room grows quieter after that, but a comfortable quiet. Rain taps lightly against the castle windows.
Mihawk sits across from you again with his wine.
You watch him for a while.
“How are you so patient with me?”
“I’m not patient.”
“You are with me.”
“That’s different.”
The answer comes too fast to be accidental.
Something soft pulls painfully in your chest.
You look at your hands again “They’re ugly lately.”
Mihawk immediately looks irritated “Your hands.”
“The swelling’s worse.”
“They’re hands.”
“You know what I mean.”
“They’re yours.”
He says it like that settles everything and maybe to him, it does.
You laugh quietly again “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you remain here.”
“Unfortunately.”
“How tragic.”
You smile into your tea.
Then the numbness suddenly spikes sharply through your fingers.
You hiss softly.
Mihawk is beside you immediately and says “Show me.”
“It’s fine.”
“Show me.”
You hold out your hand reluctantly.
He takes it carefully between both of his larger hands.
His thumbs move slowly across your knuckles, with a gentle pressure.
“You should rest.”
“I rested yesterday.”
“You rested poorly yesterday.”
“…You notice too much.”
“Yes.”
His fingers continue massaging your hand slowly and it kinda helps, but not enough to remove the pain completely. Nothing ever does. But at least it’s enough to loosen the tightness in your chest.
“You know,” you mumble, “most people would leave.”
Mihawk looks genuinely unimpressed “I’m not most people.”
“I know.”
“Then stop speaking as though I’m temporary.”
Your eyes sting unexpectedly.
That’s the problem with him. Mihawk doesn’t speak gently often, or at least not so obvious, but when he does, every word lands directly inside your ribs.
You look at him quietly. At the sharp golden eyes, at his calm face… at the man feared across entire seas sitting here massaging your aching hands without complaint.
“You really don’t mind?”
“No.”
“Even when I can’t do things?”
“Yes.”
“Even when I get frustrated?”
“I expect it.”
“Even when I’m difficult?”
One eyebrow lifts slightly “You’re frequently difficult.”
You gasp softly in fake offense.
“But yes.”
You shake your head with a tiny laugh.
“You’re terrible at comfort.”
“And yet you’re calmer now.”
“…Damn it.”
That tiny almost-smile appears again.
Victory.
You stare at him for another quiet moment before speaking softly.
“Thank you.”
Mihawk pauses, then he nods once “You don’t need to thank me for loving you.”
Your breath catches immediately, because he just said it so simply, like it’s a fact. No embarrassment and no hesitation, and that makes it feel even more real.
You stand slowly from the chair.
Mihawk watches you carefully in case your hands fail again.
But instead, you step closer until you are standing between his knees.
His gaze lifts toward you “What are you doing?”
“You said something nice.”
“A rare mistake.”
“So I’m rewarding you.”
“Hm.”
You place your hands lightly against his chest and he just lets you.
Then you lean down and kiss him softly and slowly.
Mihawk goes still for half a second before one hand settles against your waist.
His thumb brushes once against your side while he kisses you back with quiet restraint, controlled like everything else about him… but warm… always warmer than people expect.
When you pull back, he looks at you silently for a moment.
Then he says “You’re smiling.”
“You noticed?”
“I notice everything.”
You kiss the corner of his mouth quickly this time and tell him “That’s annoying.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, eyes softer now, “you continue to stay.”
── .✦ Law:
tags: established relationship, chronic pain, guilt, comfort, soft law, domestic moments, emotional hurt/comfort
Your hands hurt.
Not enough to stop functioning completely and not enough to count as an emergency.
Just enough to make every small thing irritating and exhausting and humiliating if you think about it too long.
Today, unfortunately, you keep thinking about it.
You stand in the kitchen of the Polar Tang staring at the container in your hands, jaw tight as you try twisting the lid open again.
Nothing.
Your fingers slip as pain sparks through your wrist.
You grit your teeth and try again anyway, but the lid doesn’t move.
God, this is stupid.
Behind you, the crew is loud as usual… Shachi laughing too hard at his own joke, Penguin arguing back, Bepo trying unsuccessfully to calm them down before Law inevitably tells everyone to shut up.
Normal.
Everything feels normal except for you.
You finally force the lid open using the edge of the counter, but the motion sends a sharp ache through your palm that makes you hiss quietly.
And for some reason, the fact that something this easy has to become a whole ordeal every single time, makes your chest feel tight suddenly.
You set the container down harder than intended and stare at your hands.
The numbness comes in waves today.
Fingertips tingling, grip weakening without warning, joints stiff and sore like your body is punishing you for existing in it.
You hate it and you hate that everyone else can move without thinking about it.
You hate that you have to calculate every little task.
You hate needing help.
Most of all, you hate that you’re used to it now.
“You’re glaring at the counter.”
Law’s voice makes you jump slightly.
You look over your shoulder.
He stands in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, expression unreadable beneath the brim of his hat.
“…I’m fine.” you say automatically.
“Hm.”
That hum means liar.
He watches you for another second before his eyes drop to your hands.
Your fingers curl instinctively.
Law notices that too, of course “You’re hurting.”
It isn’t a question.
You look away “It’s manageable.”
“That bad, then.”
“I said manageable.”
“And I said that’s bad.”
His voice stays calm, flat, irritatingly perceptive.
You exhale sharply through your nose and lean back against the counter “I’m just tired today.”
Law walks into the kitchen quietly, stopping in front of you “Tired physically or mentally?”
You laugh once without humor “Guess.”
His gaze stays on you long enough that your throat starts tightening.
You hate that he can read you this easily and you hate that part of you is relieved by it too.
“I can’t do anything right today.” you mutter finally.
“That’s not true.”
“I almost lost grip on my weapon yesterday.”
“You still hit your target.”
“Ikkaku had to finish maintenance for me.”
“Because your hands were locking up.”
“I can’t even open containers normally half the time…”
“So?”
The word catches you off guard.
You blink at him.
Law’s expression barely changes, but there’s something firmer in his tone now.
“So,” he repeats, “you adapt. Or someone helps you. That’s not a moral failure.”
“It feels like one.”
Silence settles heavily between you while the submarine hums around you softly.
You stare at your hands again.
“I just feel useless sometimes…” you admit quietly “everyone else contributes so much more than me.”
Law’s eyes narrow slightly “You think your value to this crew depends entirely on physical ability?”
“No, but—”
“No,” he interrupts flatly “you don’t get to ‘but’ your way out of this one.”
Despite yourself, your mouth twitches weakly.
Law steps closer.
“You help Bepo study navigation routes because he gets overwhelmed reading maps.” he says “You reorganized the medical storage because none of these idiots know how to put things back correctly. You stay up repairing clothes and equipment even when your hands hurt.”
“That’s small stuff.”
“It still matters.”
You swallow hard “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
Law goes quiet, then he sighs softly through his nose and reaches for your hands “Give me these.”
You let him take them without protest.
His fingers are warm around yours, steady and careful as he turns your hands over in his grip. He presses gently along your palms and wrists, thumbs working against the sore muscles like he already knows exactly where it hurts most.
Because he does know… he always does.
“You’ve been overusing them.” he mutters.
“I know.”
“You compensate when they start going numb.” His thumbs press into the base of your palm, easing some of the ache immediately “That strains everything else.”
You watch his face while he works, focused and quiet. Slightly annoyed in the way he always gets when he cares too much about something.
“You notice everything.” you mumble.
“I’m a doctor and captain.”
“You’re nosy.”
“Hm.”
The corner of his mouth twitches faintly.
Your chest aches but not in a bad way.
You suddenly feel exhausted all over again.
“I hate this…” you whisper.
Law’s hands still for half a second “I know.”
The simple honesty in it almost breaks you.
No forced positivity and no pretending it’s easy. Just understanding.
Your eyes sting embarrassingly fast.
Law notices immediately, because of course he does.
“You’re thinking too much again.” he says quietly.
“I can’t help it.”
“You can.” his thumbs resume their slow movements against your hands “You just don’t know how to stop.”
You laugh weakly “Amazing diagnosis, doctor.”
“I’m very talented.”
That actually earns a real laugh from you this time, and there it is that tiny shift in his expression when he hears it, small enough most people would miss it entirely.
You don’t, you know Law too well for that.
Warmth blooms slowly in your chest, soft and aching and without thinking too hard about it, you step closer and reach up to grab his face.
Your fingers fumble slightly against his cheeks from the numbness.
Law lets you reposition your hands without a single complaint.
Then you kiss him right on the mouth, slow and warm.
He exhales softly through his nose, surprised for only a second before one hand slides automatically to your waist.
When you pull back, you kiss his cheek… then under his eye, then the corner of his jaw.
“You’re being weird.” he mutters.
“You’re nice to me.”
“I’m literally treating your symptoms.”
“You’re holding me.”
“That’s unrelated.”
You laugh quietly against his skin before kissing his forehead.
Law sighs like you are personally exhausting him, but his grip on your waist tightens slightly.
“You know,” you murmur between kisses, “you’re really bad at pretending you don’t like affection.”
“I don’t like affection.”
“Mhm, sure.”
You kiss his nose. Then beneath his lip. Then his temple.
Law’s ears start turning faintly pink beneath the brim of his hat.
Victory.
“You’re annoying.” he grumbles.
“But you love me.”
He goes silent for one fatal second too long, making you grin immediately.
“There it is.”
“Shut up.”
“No.”
You kiss him again before he can argue further, softer this time, lingering long enough to feel the way he melts despite himself.
Law’s hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, fingers warm against your skin.
When you pull away again, he rests his forehead lightly against yours with a quiet sigh.
“You done?” he asks.
“Not even close.”
He gives you a deeply unimpressed look that loses all effectiveness when you kiss both his cheeks in quick succession.
“You’re clingy now.”
“I’m having a bad day and you’re my cure.”
“Hm.”
That stupid soft hum again.
You smile a little and then you say softly “You know? You’re a good doctor and a good captain… but you’re also a perfect partner. I love you a lot.”
Law rubs his thumb slowly along the side of your neck while looking at you with that quiet, intense focus he gets sometimes, the one that always feels like he’s paying attention to every tiny detail about you at once.
“Then… for that, don’t forget you don’t have to prove you’re useful to deserve being here.” he says quietly.
Your chest tightens.
Even now, hearing that from him feels overwhelming.
You lean forward and kiss him one more time, gentler now.
Law lets you… of course he does.
Then, after a second, he presses a small kiss back against your mouth so quickly you almost think you imagined it.
“…Don’t look so smug.” he mutters immediately.
Too late.
