Sleep talking
when they find out your parents are abusive. Basically a “who did this to you?” Fanfiction in a different font. But modern Au. (Zoro and ace x gn!reader)
Obvious warnings for abuse (physical, verbal), parents fighting (verbally). Everyone is very nice to you. Hurt/comfort? I guess? Might be ooc but I say that abt everything I write LMAOO
You always showed up to Zoro’s place cowering, your sweater engulfing you as you stood before him.
He was safe, strong, warm— he smelt of iron occasionally, incense on most days. a perfect person for you to be around after all the yelling and arguments you would hear daily.
You would never tell him about any of it though. It was easier to just relax near him, resting your head on his lap as he stroked your hair or rubbed your shoulder, the random dialogue from a movie was muffled in the background. At least to you.
Zoro used to asked questions about your random appearances, the flinching, how you would curl into yourself the first 10 minutes you were at his place, but after the 10th time of hearing “it’s nothing, really” In a fake-‘okay’ voice that he nearly got offended by, he gave up, silently filing away all the times you flinched when he reached for something, memorizing what triggered you and learning to not do it.
He even tried his best to make himself look smaller when he was around you, wearing hoodies instead of the usual tank-top, forcing himself to soften his gaze even more when it laid on you. Not that he could force it much more anyways.
He always knew something was up, but he never saw any real marks on you— not until it got too warm under his blankets one day.
You were resting on his chest, his hand light on your waist as you unzipped your sweater, revealing a couple dark bruises on your collarbone.
You were about halfway through taking off your sweater when you saw his gaze fix on a particularly dark bruise, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen.
You’ve experienced this before. The dark look in someone’s eyes before they took that same darkness and made it show up on your skin in a form of a sweltering bruise, or a broken nose, or words that made you sick to your stomach.
You swallowed before putting your sweater back on— but the damage was already done. He already saw.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His voice was a grumble as he said so, his hand gently tugging at the sleeve of your sweater. The action made you stiffen.
“Take it off. If—“ he paused, furrowing his brow as he forced himself to soften “if those bruises aren’t taken care of it’ll take longer for them to heal.”
Your breathing got a bit heavier as you glanced up at him, swallowing “I— I didn’t mean—“
“Hey,“ he said, his voice growing softer tenfold as his hand cupped your cheek “I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you.”
You calmed your breathing as you met his eyes, now soft as his warm hand cupped your cheek, grounding you.
He spent the next 2 hours cleaning you up, and never let you back into your place alone.
“You tell me the next time something like that happens again, yeah?” He muttered as he helped you change into a pair of his clothes, your own covered with sweat and tears. “Can’t handle seeing anything hurt you. I’m supposed to protect you, so let me.”
You would usually show up to aces place after class, smiling and joking around with him while having a drink and gossiping, eventually (always) leading to staying over.
You were always a bit hesitant to leave the warm bed, having to leave aces arms around your body a bitter reminder of leaving your safe space, and entering the screaming matches at your house once again.
One night it got particularly bad, and you showed up at his place crying at 2 in the morning.
And of course he opened the door, sleep still evident on his bed-ridden hair, his rumpled up shirt and shorts as he rubbed his eyes.
Of course that all faded once he saw you, looking not only scared, but exhausted. Too exhausted. Eye bags, your shoulders shivering as the cold air of the morning chipped at you, your breathing ragged.
“Oh, baby…” he said softly, instantly pulling you into his arms. You instantly felt better, his warm embrace nearly making you burst out in tears all over again.
“I j-just wanted to sleep, but then they started yelling and—“ you said before breaking out into another sob. Aces face contorted like the sound physically hurt him (it did)
“Sweetheart, I think you should come inside. I can make you some hot cocoa while we talk about this.” Ace said as he stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
His voice and actions were ever so gentle as he brought you inside, handing you a blanket as you sat down on his couch.
He had always been gentle with you. Gentle touches, gentle words, of course he would tease, but nothing that could hurt you. Never anything that could hurt you.
About 3 minutes passed before he handed you a cup of hot cocoa, sitting next to you as he stroked your hair.
“what happened my love?” He asked softly, brushing some hair out of your face as he peered down at you, his brows upturned.
You sniffled as you started to explain, choking up occasionally. He would nod, listening to you intently. Every time you would pause, he would wait. He would always wait when it came to you.
And when you were done, he would smile at you, tell you that “it’ll be taken care of” and talk to you until your sniffles became laughs, because that’s just who he is.
