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standfucker · 2 years ago

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Reacting to Your SH Scars - Monster Trio, Law, Kid, Killer

CW for SH, obviously. GN reader in all except Sanji’s somewhat implies a fem reader. Reader is short but it only comes up in Zoro's and Kid's sections. No established relationship, but implied feelings between everyone and the reader.

Ao3 link

Luffy

You had to wait forever for the others to finish dressing and leave the shared quarters so you could change as well, not wanting them to see your scars. You always had some excuse as to why you lagged behind, and they didn’t question it.

Your captain was less patient, however.

"Y/n! You done yet? Come on, let's go!" You hear him shout from outside the door. You’re about to reply when the rubber man bursts into the room without warning.

You’re decent enough, having already donned shorts and a tank top, but you haven’t pulled your long sleeve shirt on yet, your scarred and cut arms plainly visible. You go rigid as his gaze falls to them.

Luffy doesn’t say anything, and you hastily pull on your shirt, but it’s too late.

“Sorry… I’m ready,” you mumble awkwardly.

Luffy still doesn’t speak. You don’t think he realizes what it is, that he doesn’t understand what he saw. That he’s naive.

So it takes you by surprise when he says softly, “Ace used to do that.”

“Ah…” You fidget with your hands, unsure of how to respond.

“But he got better.” Luffy stretches an arm across the room to wrap around your shoulders and pulls you off your feet, making you yelp as he reels you into a side hug. “You will, too. I know it.”

You weren’t going to say anything. You’re generally good at keeping your thoughts to yourself. But he sounds so certain, and you can’t help it, bitter pessimism flaring up like it always does. This time, it slips out. “What makes you so sure?”

Luffy blinks at you, entirely unphased. “I believe in you!” He says, and smiles like the sun, that bright and shining grin he always has that shows his genuine care and delight.

It catches you off guard. So much so that even though it’s been years since you’ve cried, you have to bite your tongue right then to keep yourself from tearing up. You want to believe him so badly.

“I… I see,” you manage to say. “Thanks, Captain.”

Luffy turns to walk out the room, pulling you along by the hand. He pauses before either of you exit, though, turning to face you again.

“Luffy?” You question, but a second later he’s leaped onto you, wrapping his stretched-out body around you multiple times, in a total, enveloping hug that only he can give.

He giggles, and despite everything, despite all the years of suffering and bad thoughts and hurting for no good reason, you find yourself laughing too.

Sticking around is worth it, you think, if you get to be with him and the crew.

Zoro

You and Zoro insult each other. Not in the way that he argues with Sanji–your dynamic is all teasing, neither of you ever serious in your ribbing.

“Keep up, Cyclops,” you taunt after you dispatch an enemy before he does. “I thought you trained with Mihawk?”

“How about you worry less about my speed, and more about what the adults are keeping on top of the fridge, Pipsqueak,” he shoots back with a grin.

And so it goes, until the time you’re hanging out with him on the ship. He’s spilled some of his sake, and the match you used to light your cigarette drops right into it, igniting the small puddle. You pull off your jacket in a panic and quickly smother the fire.

Zoro finally understands why you’ve never taken off your jacket in front of anyone, eyeing the scars and cuts that run up both arms.

He doesn’t comment on it. But from then on, he stops trading friendly insults, no longer responding when you call him stupid names or make fun of him for getting lost.

It messes with you, it makes you feel worse. You want him to treat you like he used to, desperately missing the banter.

You don’t know how to bring it up. You certainly won’t do it when the others are around. But finally you can’t stand it anymore, and you approach him one day when he’s exercising, the two of you alone on the bow of the ship.

“Why?” You ask, and he tilts his head at you in question. “You don’t talk back to me anymore. Ever since you saw me without my jacket. Why, Zoro?”

Zoro doesn’t stop his reps, glancing at you while he curls a massive weight. “Does it matter?”

“Yes!” You pause and lower your voice. “It matters to me. I feel like… I mean…” It’s so hard to be candid in front of him when he’s so stoic. You suck in a nervous breath. “Are we not friends anymore?”

Zoro’s eyes widen. “Of course we are.”

“Then what is it?” You try to keep from sounding as upset as you feel, but maybe you don’t do a very good job, because Zoro stops and sets down the weight to give you his full attention.

He looks at you carefully, as if deciding how to phrase his thoughts. He’s not usually one to think before he speaks, but he does so this time.

“It’s not because I don’t like you,” he starts, scratching the back of his head. “It’s just… I can’t do it. I keep thinking, ‘what if I’m the cause one time?’ What if you do it because of me?”

“Oh,” you say quietly, then speak up, “oh, no. No! Zoro. It could never be you. Never.”

He doesn’t look convinced, so you keep going.

“You could never hurt me like that,” you admit sheepishly. “Not you. I’m only ever happy when we’re hanging out.”

“Not happy enough,” he mutters, his gaze settling onto your arm–first the left, then the right, remembering what he saw.

The words pierce you like one of his swords, and you feel yourself choke on nothing. “No,” you agree. “I guess not.

Zoro picks up a towel to wipe the sweat from his face before he approaches you. “Y/n. Is there anything I can do?”

You gape at him, not expecting the words, and certainly not expecting him to rest a hand on your shoulder.

“Anything at all,” he repeats. “I don’t want you feeling like that.”

You look down. You’ve been ill for so long, you don’t know if you’ll ever stop feeling that way. But… “Treat me like you used to,” you request. “Like I’m not fragile. I need to be treated like a normal person. I need to feel normal.”

Because if someone treated you like you were as sick as you really were, you think you’d throw yourself overboard. You’re not ready to confront that reality. Maybe you never will be. ‘I’m fine’ was your mantra, even when you were not. Especially when you were not.

Zoro nods. “I’ll try,” he says. “But can’t you talk to someone? I mean, no one else knows, right?”

“No one else knows,” you confirm. “And… Well, would you talk to anyone? Have you ever brought up anything that personal to anyone else?”

Zoro opens his mouth to reply, but when he says nothing, you know you got him.

“See?” You press. “It’s not that simple.”

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue, lowering his hand from your shoulder. “Shit. Alright, I get it. Damn it…”

“No need to curse about it. It’s not that big a deal.”

Zoro looks at you so sharply you flinch. “Yes it is? Are you crazy?”

You grimace. “I mean, probably? Given the whole, uh,” you raise your arms, “you know.”

He doesn’t laugh, but you weren’t expecting him to. You weren’t really joking, anyway.

“Sorry,” you say, “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to see it. I don’t want you to worry.”

Zoro looks at you again, and you can’t figure out his expression. “...I’m glad I saw,” he says after a moment.

“Uh,” you reply dumbly, caught off guard, “you are?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate.

You want to ask why, but you don’t, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Surprisingly, it’s Zoro who breaks the silence first.

“You’re really happy when we hang out?” He asks, face still frustratingly neutral.

“Well, yeah. You’re my favorite,” you say without thinking, then stop and cover your face in embarrassment once your brain catches up. “Fuck.”

Zoro’s eyes widen, and then a smirk stretches across his face. “No need to curse about it.”

Your cheeks get hot, but you’re also flooded with relief, because he’s teasing you again. Maybe everything will be okay after all.

“Shut up,” you grumble. “Forget I said anything.”

Zoro reaches out and ruffles your hair, making you squawk and attempt to smack his arm away. He’s far too strong for you to move him, though.

“I’m going to finish training, and then I’ll come hang with you,” he says. “Though you can wait here if you want.”

You decide to join Zoro, exercising alongside him (with normal sized weights, thank you very much.) He clears his throat once you’ve worked up a sweat.

“You can take off your jacket, you know,” he says. “If you want. I’ve already seen your arms, so…”

You’re not really sure how comfortable you are with that, but it’s hot enough out that you relent, shrugging off your jacket. To his credit, Zoro doesn’t stare.

You thought it would be more awkward, but to your surprise, having your scars exposed without any judgment makes you feel normal. It’s almost euphoric. You smile to yourself, putting a little more effort into your workout.

The two of you drink together afterward, falling back into your routine of affectionate taunting. It’s like nothing has changed, or so you thought.

By the end of the following week, you realize telling Zoro that you felt better with him around might have been a mistake, because he almost never leaves you alone anymore. When the others are around, he doesn’t do anything differently. But he has a sixth sense for when you’re by yourself, appearing by your side right when you seem to need it. He even shows up when you wake up in the middle of the night and go to sit at the bow of the boat. It’s eerie.

You tell him he doesn’t have to do that, and he just shrugs it off. “I like being around you, so it’s fine,” he says casually, like the words don’t spear you through the heart.

The idiot. But you can’t really complain.

Sanji

It took you a while to get used to how touchy Sanji is. Hugs, pats on the shoulder, touches to your arm or side, even holding your hand sometimes–he never holds back.

You’re a bit touch-starved, so you don’t mind. So long as it never becomes inappropriate, you’re alright with it.

Sanji lets you help in the kitchen sometimes. He was reluctant at first, but you told him you needed something to do, needed to keep your hands busy. You didn’t tell him why. But he conceded, giving you simple tasks to complete.

Your sleeve gets dirty while you’re cutting fruit one evening. Sanji glances at it, damp with pineapple juice, and steps over to you, tutting.

“I know you don’t like taking off your jacket, but why don’t you at least roll up your sleeves?” He asks, and before you can respond, he’s reaching for your arm and pulling back the sleeve himself.

The moment he sees the cuts, he yanks his hand away like he’s been burned. Your freeze, throat going dry, unable to do anything but stare at him in shock.

He’s staring back. The two of you just stare at each other for a dumb minute. Fear crawls through your veins and twists up your heart. No one in the crew knew about your issue until then, and you have no idea what he’ll think of you. The anxiety makes you want to vomit. You have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Um,” you say, and it comes out much higher pitched than it’s supposed to.

“Y/n,” Sanji says quietly. “Who did that to you?”

You don’t know why he’s asking, because you think the answer is obvious. Those are clearly not battle scars. You’re pretty sure he knows, too. Maybe it’s just hard for him to believe–you do an excellent job masking, after all. Sharing that kind of thing got you in trouble in the past, so you only ever appear happy in front of other people, laughing and cracking jokes like you’re not crumbling inside. To any outsider, you’d seem like the most easygoing crewmate in the Straw Hats.

You set down the knife. “Uh… I did?”

His expression slowly morphs from shock into sadness, a frown etched into his features.

“Hey, no,” you say quickly, “don’t–don’t look at me like that. It’s okay, really.”

“But–” he starts to say, pausing when he sees the slight tremble in your form. You can’t help it–past experience tells you you’re about to get yelled at.

“I’m okay,” you say, as much to yourself as to him. “Everything is fine. So don’t…”

Sanji looks at you helplessly. “But… Why?”

You’re glad he’s not yelling at you, but somehow, that look is almost worse. You don’t want to be screamed at again, but you also don’t want him to feel bad for you, either. You do enough of that on your own.

“I don’t really have a good answer for that,” you swallow.

“Nothing at all?” He practically whispers.

You get it. Not having an explanation for something so drastic is probably stressful for him. You shrug, turning back to the pineapple you were slicing to finish what you started, unable to both bare your truth and look at him at the same time.

“Sometimes I do it because I need to hurt on the outside as much as I’m hurting on the inside,” you confess. “Sometimes I do it because I’m so numb that I want to feel something. Sometimes I do it because I can’t sleep. And sometimes, I do it just because I deserve it, I guess.”

When he doesn’t respond, you glance at him cautiously, breath catching when you see his somber expression. “Sanji… I told you not to look at me like that–”

Sanji wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. Normally you’d lean into it, but this time, you tense up. “Oi, be careful! I’m holding a sharp knife, here.”

“Y/n,” he says, ignoring your comment. “You don’t deserve it. I don’t know why you think you do, but you absolutely don’t.”

A lifetime of illness isn’t going to change from a single affirmation. You don’t agree with him, but you can appreciate the sentiment. It feels good to hear, at least.

“Thanks,” you sigh, setting down the knife but remaining tense. “I, uh. I’m grateful that you care…”

“It’s not just me,” Sanji says. “Anyone on this crew would say the same thing.”

“I’ve never doubted that,” you say. It’s not enough to stop your unfortunate coping method–you think all the love in the world couldn’t hold you back–but it’s still nice to know. You finally relax into his embrace, and he squeezes a little tighter.

Sanji pulls away a while later, and you’re startled to see him tearing up. “Sanji! Stop, you don’t–it’s fine! Please, stop!”

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he says, “I had no idea you were hurting. I can’t call myself a man…”

“Shut up! Of course you didn’t know. I put so much energy into hiding it.”

Sanji grabs your arms. “Then don’t. At least, not around me. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

You bite your lip. “But…”

“But what, love?”

“You don’t think I’m weak?” You blurt out before you can help yourself, unintentionally revealing one of your deep-seated fears.

You never thought you’d be admitting any of the stuff you’ve told him in the past minute, but here you are. Something about the cook just draws it out of you.

“Oh, Y/n. Of course not.”

You look at him like you don’t believe him.

“You’re hurting that much, and you’re still with us,” Sanji says softly. “I think that makes you strong, more than anything.”

His look of genuine sincerity makes your lower lip tremble for a moment, but you squash down your feelings before you completely lose control.

“Okay,” you say shakily. “Thank you, Sanji.”

You ask him to keep your issue secret, which he promises on his honor to uphold.

The next time the two of you are alone, he asks you how you’re doing.

“Great,” you chirp automatically, smiling on reflex, before you pause, remembering what he told you that one night. You don’t have to hide it from me. “...Actually, uh… I don’t really feel all that good.”

“You want to talk about it?” Sanji offers.

“Not really.”

“You want a hug?”

“...Yeah.”

Sanji embraces you, tight and warm, and this time, you let yourself cry just a bit.

Law

Law sees them when he’s inspecting an injury you received in the Heart Pirates’ latest scuffle. You’ve managed to avoid it for so long, but eventually you have to take off your shirt in front of him, revealing your shoulder, and what you’ve done to it.

Law looks at you in a way he never has before, in a way that is hard to describe. Like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His stoic frown seems to deepen.

“It’s fine,” you say. “It’s been years. I don’t do that anymore.”

The frown turns to an expression of incredulousness. “Have you forgotten I’m a doctor?” You wince as he continues, “I know what a recent wound looks like. By the look of it, your newest cut was… twelve days ago.”

You’re shocked that he pinned the exact day. You gape at him for a moment before muttering, “I wouldn't call it a wound.”

You think the comment pisses him off, because he looks more than a little angry with you. “I can’t believe you just lied to my face.”

Oh. That’s what it was. You look away as guilt creeps in, unable to meet his eye. “I’m sorry, Captain. I just didn’t want to concern you with my problems.”

“I…” He pauses. “ I can’t… this was happening underneath my nose...”

You huff at the phrasing, not quite able to laugh at that moment. “No more ‘underneath your nose’ than any of the crew masturbating. It’s a private thing I do to relieve stress.”

“It’s not the same,” Law snaps.

Like you don’t know that. You know. You know it’s wrong. You don’t say anything. Law looks even more upset.

Then, he says, “I can hardly call myself a captain. All these years, and I had no idea you were hurting so much.”

You realize he’s mad at himself. You balk. “I’m… I’m not hurting.”

“Y/n, you cut yourself.”

For some reason, him saying it out loud makes it worse, your stomach churning as your mouth gets dry.

Silence hangs in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Finally, you say softly, “I’m sorry.”

The anger in his face drops for a moment. “Don’t apologize.”

Another awkward silence.

“What now?” You ask, afraid of the answer but unable to tolerate any more quiet.

Law’s expression softens. “From now on, you come talk to me when you’re not feeling well. That’s an order.”

“No. If I did that, I would be bothering you every day,” you argue.

“That’s fine.”

You frown. “But you’re not that type of doctor.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I will be. For you.”

For you. Your jaw drops slightly in disbelief. You knew he cared, but that… That was more than you felt you deserved.

“I don’t want to worry you,” you say weakly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Please.” Law takes your hand in both of his, looking at you intensely. “Please talk to me. Don’t bottle it up like this.”

You stare at him in disbelief, because you’ve never heard Law beg for anything. It’s all overwhelming–him seeing this awful part of you, him caring so much he says that, the warmth of his hands around yours. “Captain…” You close your eyes for a moment to lessen the stimulation of the surrounding world. “Okay.”

“Promise me.”

You look down at his hands holding yours, then up at him. “I promise. Next time, I’ll talk to you.” Then you look away again, because if you see him looking at you like that any longer, you think you might cry. And it’s been ages since you’ve last cried.

Law squeezes your hand, and the dam almost breaks. But you manage, barely, to stay composed.

You keep your promise, seeking him out as soon as the following day. You warned him it would be frequent, and when you approach him it’s with a feeling of guilt. But he reassures you, and he listens, just like he said he would.

Kid

Kid sees after he gets injured. The cut won’t stop bleeding, so you reluctantly take off one of your arm warmers to use as a tourniquet until you make it back to the ship.

Kid does a double take at your exposed arm. You feel your cheeks get hot, but say nothing while you finish tying the cloth tight.

After you finish, you step back to give him space, but Kid grabs your wrist, extending your arm so he can better look at it.

“Hey!” You protest, trying to pull away, but even in his non-metal hand, his grip is like iron. He doesn’t budge, openly staring at the scars and cuts.

“Kid!” You hiss, and he looks at you sharply for not calling him ‘Captain,’ “let go of me. And stop staring, damn it.”

He lets go. You pull your arm to your chest protectively. The two of you walk in silence, but you notice Kid won’t stop glaring at you.

“You got something to say?” You ask harshly, not meaning to snap but too nervous to speak calmly.

“Yeah, I do,” Kid bites back with equal pissiness. “Never do that shit again on my ship.”

The breath catches in your throat. “I can’t,” you admit before you can stop yourself.

“What was that?” He stops walking, turning to face you.

You stop too, tensing under the intensity of his full scrutiny. “...I can’t stop. I keep trying to quit, but… I have a bad day and I crave it, like a cigarette.”

Kid’s frown shows teeth. You feel yourself wither, but the admission keeps going, tumbling out of your mouth like a boulder rolling down a hill, unstoppable. “I won’t lie to you. It’s probably going to happen again. If that’s unacceptable, then I guess… I guess I have to leave the crew.” That thought hurts more than anything, and you bite your lip.

Kid’s hands ball into fists, his artificial hand screeching slightly with the grind of metal. “No one said you have to leave,” he says. “Nevermind. Just… Just keep trying to quit.”

He starts walking again. You have to trot to keep up, his legs that much longer than yours. Kid’s words repeat in your mind as you follow him, because coming from the prickly captain, it means more than he could possibly know. Keep trying, huh? Maybe… Maybe you will.

Your next concern is what you’ll do when you get back to the ship. Even if you run to where your spare clothes are stored, there’s a very good chance multiple crewmates will see your scars. They’re not exactly hard to spot.

Kid seems to read your mind, because right as you round the corner and the dock comes into view, he takes off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders without saying a word.

Your eyes widen, but he won’t look at you. With the difference in height between you, his coat is dragging on the ground, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Your heart clenches, but you don’t say anything either, knowing he’ll just snap if you point out his kindness. You slip your arms through the sleeves of his coat, your hands barely poking out of the too-long sleeves. The size difference between you makes you look a little ridiculous–you look like a pile of fabric with a head. You lift the bottom of his coat off the ground as you walk. It’s the least you can do.

(And, once you’re sure he’s not looking, you bury your nose into the fur of his coat and inhale deeply, taking comfort in his scent wrapped around you.)

Kid’s demeanor toward you changes after that. He’s far less harsh, he doesn’t raise his voice as often, and when he does, he quickly corrects himself. He’s generally just softer. You even notice that he appears around you more often and eventually realize that he’s checking on you. You never say anything, and you don’t really talk about it. But that’s okay.

His presence is enough.

Killer

Killer sees when he walks in on you in the shower. He leaves quickly with a muttered apology, and you don’t even realize he saw anything, at first. But after you dry off and get dressed, when you open the door, he’s standing there.

You only know he’s looking at you because his mask is tilted down in your direction. His bulk takes up the doorframe, and you wait for him to move. He doesn’t, as still as a gargoyle.

“Um… Killer?” You say. “If you want the shower, you have to move so I can get out…”

Killer reaches out, and at one point, you might have flinched. But you’ve known him so long, and Killer’s always been nice to you, even when you were new to the crew. You don’t feel any fear as one massive hand rests on your upper arm, where your scars are hiding under the sleeve of your shirt.

“What’s… oh, fuck,” you breathe as it dawns on you, “you saw it, didn’t you? Shit. Um. I, uh…”

Naturally, you can’t see his expression, and it’s kind of driving you crazy, because he’s not saying anything to show what he’s thinking, either. His hand around your arm squeezes slightly, and you swallow, not really knowing what that means.

“Killer…” You mumble. “I don’t… Uh… Look, just… You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Killer pulls you toward him suddenly, as easily as if you weigh nothing, and wraps his massive arms around you, crushing you against him in a hug.

You squeak in surprise and instinctively squirm, but he doesn’t let go, so you give up after a moment, going still.

He’s so warm, and the contact feels so good. Almost too good, because suddenly you think you might cry, and you realize you haven’t actually been hugged in years. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so safe.

“Killer,” you choke out around a lump in your throat. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to cry.”

“That’s okay,” he rumbles above you, deep voice soothing. “You can cry. You probably need it, yeah?”

Damn it, that does you in, your eyes stinging as tears well up. You don’t want to, but his gentle permission is like a catalyst, and you sink into him as the tears start to roll down your cheeks. He can’t see it from how your face is pressed against his chest, but when he hears your first sniffle, his arms tighten around you.

Even while you cry, you try to hold back, to keep from openly sobbing. It’s like Killer can sense that, because his mask presses against the top of your head almost affectionately, and the action just makes you break down further until you finally let go entirely. Your arms, at first hanging limply at your sides, raise so you can hug him back, fingers digging into his shirt.

Killer holds you for as long as you need it. You’re not sure how much time has passed. Eventually your sobs fade and the tears stop, but even then, Killer doesn’t let go until you do first.

“Killer…” You look up at him gratefully, and he wipes away your tears with his hand. “Thank you. You were right. I needed that, more than I’d like to admit. Thank you…”

He nods.

“And, um,” you swallow, “you won’t, uh…”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Killer assures.

“Okay,” you sigh, now more than a little tired after the swell of emotion. “I know you don’t like keeping things from Kid, so… Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You’re about to step past him when Killer gently grabs your wrist. “Y/n.”

You turn back to him, your expression asking the question for you.

He bends over, lowering his head until his mask touches your forehead. His free hand takes your other wrist. “People care about you. The crew. Kid. Me. We all care.”

You might have cried again if you hadn’t just let it all out a minute ago, but it doesn’t stop your chest from getting tight. “I know.”

Killer’s thumbs rub circles on your arms for a minute before he lets you go, straightening to his full height.

You assume that would be the last time he holds you. It would have been good enough. Even though you kind of crave the physical attention after that, you’re satisfied with the one time. But Killer seeks you out again later in the week, waiting until the two of you are alone to envelop you in another hug. He does it again days later, and again after that. In fact, you realize that he takes the chance to do so whenever you two are in private. It doesn’t happen too often on the ship.

But when it does, well, how can you be upset?

Thanks so much for reading! I hope it made you feel better, if only a little. (Reblogs are much appreciated!)

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagines #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #law x reader #kid x reader #killer x reader #trafalger law x reader #eustass kid x reader #this got way longer than it was supposed to be. i understand why people do bullet points now #no regrets tho #zen writes

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