One Of The Mind-only Fics I’ve Had Rolling Around In My Head Is Kinda Similar To The Strays AU, But

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Posted: 02:05 UTC December 27, 2024

monito d. luffy <3

Anxieties |Master-List|

!Multiple parts! <1 (Here)>

Platonic, Fluff, hurt/comfort, swearing, happy ending trust, 1st/2nd POV, y'all I yapped, sappy, wise crew I guess, tried to make it cannon to their character

Characters in this chapter: Robin, Sanji, Brook

!TW Anxiety/Panic Attacks!

THIS FIC IS UNDER-CONSTRUCTION AND WILL RE-MADE. I did this around 7 months ago, and my writing has much changed since then.

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|Intro warning|

As someone who struggles with anxiety, it is hard. Like...very hard. My greatest wishes go out to the people who struggle with it, and obviously those who don't! Regardless we're all just human trying to get by.

And I am proud of y'all... though that sounds weird coming from a stranger on the internet who knows nothing about you... it's true. I really do mean it. Things are just getting tough, and they probably will continue to, so all you can do in the time being is just hang in there!

Especially when your anxiety is being a bitch. Which isn't always easy.

It's a struggle. And you are very strong for dealing with it--even if not.

Just take it easy on yourself, and make sure to hydrate and grab a snack! A small change goes a long way.

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On the Strawhat Crew, anxiety is probably a sensitive topic, though it isn’t uncommon. It’d never be overlooked or ignored, given the crew has their own struggles.

I mean, take one good look at their character, ONE good look at their character and tell me they don’t have some kind of crippling fear...

The Straw hats would always be incredibly understanding with you, more so than others—but they’d would know how it feels, and they’d help you in their own lovable way.

There is NO difference if you’re a man or woman, or girl or guy or whatever you want to call yourself, because everyone is equal.

Everyone deserves to be treated with the same help AND respect another can get.

Which the Straw hats would strictly stand by, given they're morals, and not to mention they are literally sweethearts...

And at first, you might not think of it that way. You'd obviously trust them, but your anxiety was different. It felt…burdening. Knowing you're safe and loved, but it’d still eat at you.

However, the crew would see that as they are all emotionally intelligent, so it’s pretty much impossible to keep something from them like that. Even if some are more dense than others. Cough cough emotionally constipated.

Regardless, Robin was the first to figure it out. She’d caught your anxious mannerisms out of the corner of her eye. The way your knee would restlessely bounce, the fidgeting, the nervous stumbling... she knew.

She never caught it in the act, but she had always been your silent support.

Robin is more of the gentle type—motherly if anything as she had always been the person to quietly hold your hand, pull you aside, or ground you with her soothing words.

Reminding you there was always someone there.

No matter where or why you'd panic, she wouldn't judge you. The thought could have never possibly crossed her mind.

And it was no different when she'd come across your trembling form, leaning against the deep red seats in the aquarium bar—later into the night.

. . .

“____?” Robin asked quietly, knocking on the door to attempt to alert you of her company. Her heart wrenched at the sight of your tear streaked face, bathed in the blue light from the tank.

Your skin was discolored, even more exposed and vulnerable in the subdued lighting—struggling to catch a damned breath; limbs sludge as a result.

You felt as though everything weighed you down, converting you into something you'd hate to recognize. The familiar feeling of everything crashing atop you, reminding you no matter how much anything changed—you were still you.

Robin repeated your name, leaving it echo louder throughout the room, snapping you out of your daze. The storminess of everything filtered away, replaced by a sharp jolt to your heart as she'd startled you.

The archeologist quietly apologized, carefully stepping into the room waiting for a sign to continue forward. Her mind was alert, troubled by whatever seemed to have plagued you—reducing you to this. Diminishing your loved smile into a water work of tears.

Having to watch the way your hands dug into your sides, embarrassingly turning away from her—it was unfair. It was cruel to think someone as kind as you suffered so much.

Even if it was life, it seemed it’d been especially hard on you

Robin slowly came to your side, letting you adjust as she placed a comforting hand to your back, pulling you in for a hug.

She wasn’t necessarily sure what to say, or what to comfort you with, but she’d try. She had too.

She couldn’t bare seeing you this way.

“It’s okay, ____. I’m right here.” Robin whispered, letting her arms tighten around you, hoping to aid your distress.

You practically melted into her touch, surrendering yourself. Everything had been tormenting you for the last hour—and you couldn't bare it any longer.

"I'm sorry," you choked, your breath hitching as your chest tremored.

“Don't be, there's nothing to apologize for, you've done nothing wrong." She hummed, her hand gently rubbing into your back.

"Just breathe ____, you’re okay.”

Robin let you rest in her arms however long you needed. No matter the hour, no matter the cause, she was there for you. She didn't leave you to your silence for a moment, as she knew the feeling of it. The loneliness, the memories, the pain...

She always chose to look out for you, as you were her dearest crew-mate. Her dearest friend, and dearest family.

•-•

Sanji and Brook were the next to see it in action.

A pair you wouldn't think would go together, but does. They were a underrated duo to say in the least, both of course perverts—but you knew they meant well. And you know that hat they say: great minds think alike.

Or maybe that’s just an excuse idiots use.

However, Sanji was surprisingly well with you. He wouldn’t bombard you with his lovey dovey tendencies, nor mix his flirty temptations with your troubles. He was always incredibly gentle with you, as your state would affect him greatly.

He could always empathize with you, given his own cumbersome experiences.

Sanji often tended to read you when in distress, picking up on your small cues, or just having a hunch. He might not exactly know what caused it, but he could sure as hell sense it, much like the others do.

It's just a feeling he had, a slight pinch in his skin, a reminder. A reminder of how protective he could be with you and his crew.

He’d be the type to assure you, tell you it wasn't a burden to reach out, and depending on your preferences, he would hold you close.

Sanji would always ask you if you needed anything, and if you did—without hesitation he’d get it for you. The cook would do anything for the ones he loved, much more cherished. Especially when it came to you, someone who hit a little too close to home.

Now, when Brook came into the knowledge of your anxiety, it’d kinda just clicked for him. The gears in his skull would comically grind and turn—leaving a solemn feeling to wash over him.

He would silently realize why you acted the way you did, why you had your questionable habits, and why you had your required ‘alone time.’ And he'd understand all of it.

He’d gone through the feeling of it for more than 50 years alone. So he could sympathize, even if he didn’t know what you went through—what mattered now, was helping you out if it.

The skeleton had always been fond of you, as he was with everyone, but this was under different circumstances. It was at your own expense, and he quickly wanted to help you.

Which he did, as Brook gave out surprisingly good advice as well as an easy means for distractions.

From liners of comedic relief to your favorite tune—he'd have your back. Even if he didn't have his.

His musical talent would be a blessing in the frantic moment, and the calming notes of his violin eased your inner torment. He brought a calm to your storm, and his corny jokes never failed to make you laugh—so you had nothing to lose if you'd ever gone to him. Brook would always be more than happy to support you.

•-•

Nevertheless, even with the exception of their help it never felt like enough, your anxiety simply wouldn’t budge. It was stubborn, and it tormented you.

You were triggered off an on and it was set off by the littlest of things, amplified to the point of bringing yourself down. The constant stress weighed, and it frustrated you to no end. Ultimately making you feeling like a bigger burden, so you simply avoided yourself. And the others around you.

When in need, you stopped going to Robin as you tried to just shut it off completely. You didn’t mean to, but you tended to push away the ones you loved away, further adding to your apprehensions.

And as a result; it took you down.

It’d been late at night when you had another panic attack, left exhausted on the kitchen floor, chest heaving as you quietly cried. You’d yet again given up, far too weak and tired to trek back to your room. So you succumbed to your exhaustion there, deciding it was a good place to sleep it off.

Which you later found out it wasn’t, but you were too groggy to care.

•-•

A light quietly flickered on in the un-assumed room, and Sanji casually walked in to prep breakfast. Accompanied by the joyful company of brook while the two had light talk, speaking of an island that was soon to come up based off Nami’s observations. Which had everyone in high hopes and in dire needs since Luffy had raided the kitchen the night before.

Brook casually leaned against the kitchen’s sidewall, letting out a dramatic yawn as he reached down to play his violin, a peaceable tune filling the room.

"I feel as if today will be…special," He hummed, mindlessly scanning the room, opting to watch cook as he prepared the much needed morning coffee.

"Mm, and why is that?"

"I can feel it in my bones."

"Of course you can." Sanji sighed, bringing the water to a boil as he grabbed some ground coffee, adding in the essential ingredients.

"The ratio has to be perfect or Robin's coffee won't taste right." He muttered, not bothering to question the musician’s gaze.

“Hah quite so, the dedication of a true chef! Do you think she notices your efforts?" Brook replied, casually looking up to the cook.

“. . .” Sanji’s felt his eye twitch, glaring up to Brook—but something was caught in the corner of his eye.

"I'll take that as a maybe then yohoho!" He laughed, muttering something incoherent about losing his breakfast.

Sanji only ignored him, focusing his attention to the cartoony pair of socks that lied awkwardly behind a chair’s legs.

“Looks like someone camped out in here…” he turned off the stove, opting to check on the sleeping figure.

“What? Who? Where?” Brook blurted, immediately scanning the room. He jumped when he finally spotted someone’s feet, letting out a high-pitched girlish scream as they twitched. His hand clasped over his ‘heart’ and he quickly hid behind the kitchen’s service hatch, peeking through.

Ironically enough Brook’s mind flickered to the thought of a zombie, or even worse—a ghost.

“Shh!” Sanji hissed, flipping around to send the man another glare, “Dammit don’t go waking up the whole ship, It’s probably just Luffy or something—the idiots probably ‘starved’ by now.” He drug a hand down his face, walking around the table towards your unsuspecting form.

He knew he couldn’t full-proof it was Luffy—given those ridiculous socks he’d caught a glimpse of, as he knew deep down his idiot of a captain barely ever wore socks—always raw dogging it in those god awful shabby sandles.

So when his gaze finally land on you, he paused. He suspected it, but it uneased him to no end, and his irritation vanished completly replaced by a creeping sense of worry.

“____?!”

Sanji knew you never came to the kitchen this early—you always slept like a rock in your room, and you didn’t show yourself till late afternoon. If they were lucky.

Another holler finally seemed to stir you awake, and you let out a sleepy groan sorely rolling to your back to meet their concerned faces.

You could see Sanji’s mouths moving, but you couldn't bother to hear his words as they were far too faint, and you were much too tired to care. It felt painfully early, and you'd maybe gotten a few hours of sleep.

Reaching your arms over your eyes, you wiped away any crispy tears that had dried from the hours before.

“S’too bright,” You mumbled, rolling back to your side as you hid your expression in your arms. You felt like a slug, so slow and grimy, and you’d slept at an awkward angle which killed your back.

“____? Are you alright? Why are you up so early?” Brook leaned over you, his worry growing as more time without answers went by. This wasn’t necessarily a normal occurrence for you, as he didn't often see you this... peachy.

And the two hadn’t missed the way it’d been evident you had been crying—given the puffiness in your eyes and the faint tear marks.

“More importantly why are you asleep on the floor in MY kitchen huh? What’s gotten into you,” Sanji gently patted your shoulder as he tried to get your attention.

"Nothing," You muffled, regretting not forcing yourself to walk back to your room last night.

"It doesn't seem like nothing." He chided, knowing you were going to be stubborn about this. However, he'd never force you to do anything you didn't want to, and the last thing he wanted to do was pressure you.

"I'm just tired," you excused, knowing it was a lame throw, but you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t really want to talk about—it was the same ol’ same ol’, and you only felt it burden them the more it occurred. And knowing the two, you knew they could already tell something was up, and exactly what.

Though roughly enough it had to get worse as an awkward silence washed over, and without your knowledge—Sanji and Brook shared a look.

You heard one of them let out a sigh and Brook suddenly laid down on the floor beside you, his bones clunking against the floor.

"Is the floor really that comfy?”

Sanji hummed, "Must be," he agreed, coming to a causal sit at the other side of you, leaning against the table's leg.

There actions were kind, but for some reason it made your eyes water. You hesitated to say anything, even move you didn't really know what to do now. How to continue, or what words to say, but deep down you knew they only wanted to be there for you, and that was enough to try. The thought of knowing some would be confirmed in stone to be there for you, put you at further ease.

You let out a soft sniffle, leaning up to sit with a knee against your chest as you wiped your oncoming tears with your sleeves.

"Yeah, it's pretty comfy," you murmured, cursing the way it weakly came out and broke.

"Could use a few blankets though," Brook adjusted, also coming to a sit as he let out his classic laugh beside you.

"Mm, let's just stick to our own beds for now," you could hear Sanji grimace, before he gently placed his hand on your head, easing your tears by far. He softly patted your hair before his hand trailed off and he offered for you to stand.

"How about I get you something to eat or drink?” He waited, but you didn’t reply as you didn’t feel in the mood to take anything in. You felt sick enough as is to just throw it up.

“I don’t think I can stomach anything right now, sorry Sanji,” you said quietly, lowering your gaze as you felt more tears surface.

“That’s okay, you can always snack later,” Brook assured.

“If there’s anything left of course,”

“There will be.” Sanji glared, kneeling beside you again—knowing it’d take a little more than a nudge or simple ask.

“____.”

. . .

Silence washed over the three of you again and you could only shrink further in on yourself. You gently shook your head hiding your face in your arms.

“It’s okay to cry. And it’s okay to rely on us, you know that don’t you?” He affirmed, patiently waiting for you. His gaze softened as Brook silently watched, and could only agree—he couldn’t have said it better himself.

“He’s right you know, we’re here for you, we’ll always be.”

Your shoulder’s shook, and you felt your lips tremble, and you could only nod your head in response.

“You don’t have to hide you know.”

“I know that.” Your voice broke.

. . .

“Then why do you?” Brook wondered. He knew you struggled, but not to this extent. You were always so quiet about your troubles, and he wished you wouldn’t feel the need to keep them at bay.

“B-because I—I don’t know. I just, it feels like I’m too much.” You struggled out, “It won’t stop sometimes and everything just feels so constant, I cant get ahold of myself and I feel like I’m burdening you all with it.”

“What? How could you ever burden us with that?”

“Oh ____ ,”

You finally lifted your head, tears streaming down your face as you frustratingly wiped them away, “It’s just never ending, and no matter what I do, or what anyone else might—it still hurts me. Everything feels—just so intense. I don’t know how to explain it. It just feels so weird, and I can’t ever fucking stop it.”

. . .

Brook leaned forward slightly, his skeletal fingers resting lightly on his knees as he looked at you with a rare solemnity. “____ ,” he began softly, “do you know what makes a symphony truly remarkable?”

You sniffled, shaking your head as your eyes continued to stream, silently waiting for him to continue.

“It’s not the constant perfect harmony,” Brook said, his voice unusually tender. “It’s the ups and downs, the quiet moments, the dissonance that resolves into beauty. The silences between the notes are just as important as the notes themselves. Without them, the music would be overwhelming—chaotic.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. You understood his metaphor, but regardless you didn’t feel entirely different, and you lowered your gaze letting tears spill into your hands.

“And life, ____ ,” Brook continued, “is no different. Sometimes, the melody feels too fast, too loud, like you can’t catch your breath. But do you know what makes it bearable?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “What?”

Brook leaned closer, his empty sockets meeting her teary eyes. “The orchestra,” he said gently. “A symphony isn’t carried by one instrument. When your melody falters, the others step in to support you. The violins soften when you’re tired. The percussion steadies you when you’re overwhelmed. Together, we make something beautiful—even when the song feels messy or broken.”

“But it feels like I’m always off-key,” you whispered, “Like I’m dragging everyone down.”

From your other side, Sanji’s calm voice interjected, breaking through your anguish.

“____ ,” he said firmly, “Even if your rhythm falters, we’ll match it. We’re not here to judge the song you’re playing. We’re here to play it with you.”

Brook nodded, his hand gently tapping the floor as though playing an imaginary tune. “That’s right. And no matter how many times you lose the beat, we’ll be here to guide you back. Even dissonance has its place in a masterpiece, ____. It doesn’t make the music less beautiful—it makes it human.”

Your tears finally came to a stop, for the first time in a while—a glimmer of relief shown through your expression. You swallowed hard, your voice shaky but audible. “But I don’t want to ruin the song.”

“You could never ruin it,” Sanji said with a soft smile. “You make it better just by being part of it.”

Brook sighed, coming to a stand as his tone lightened with a small laugh, “And if you ever need a duet partner, I’ll always have time for an encore. Yohoho!”

You smiled, wiping the remnants of your tears, chuckling a bit--feeling much lighter.

Sanji came back to a stand, gently pulling you up with him, “I’m not a musician but I will gladly be listen to you anytime.”

“Yohoho good, now I need some tea, my throats feeling rather dry.”

“Oh get it yourself!” Sanji snapped, averting his attention from you, to yet again send the skeleton a glare. And for once, you felt as ease, it felt...easy to breathe, not forced--but casual. And you knew you'd be okay, because you had them. As the two would always be there for you, even if you're stubborn.

You could never be a burden for your struggles, and they'd always welcome you with open arms. You just hoped you could uphold that front and be true to yourself--to be true to them. To trust the crew and let a bit loose.

Though even if you didn't it'd be okay. Because, being on the straw hat crew wouldn't mean specifically to be strong, but to stick together, to help each other through the thick and thin of life. To have adventures and live life to it's fullest. To live and help each other achieves their dreams, to hang in there, and protest and push through with each other not matter what.

Doctors orders 🚭🚭🚭

I’m kinda annoyed with Oda tbh. Ever since Haki had been explained/introduced he has yet to give Haki to other strawhats. I hope he plans to do because it makes more sense than other members not having it. Like Nami, Robin and Usopp, I mean observation and armament Haki is perfect for all three of them, idk why Oda has gone this long without giving them Haki.

Death Of Pizzaz |Master-list|

Trafalgar Law x !Fem!Reader, fluffy, spicy, first kiss, yearning Law cause why not, make-out, he's a tease fr, you test his patience, bickering

You have some sharpies to your 'arsenal' and your dear captain is your victim...

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It was creeping into a late evening on the Polar Tang. The crew had tiredly retreated to their rooms after night watch had taken over in navigation. You quietly walked through the halls to your captain's room, surrounded in a dark hue from the seal covered windows and the dark sea. Small circular lights lit up your path, following from the floor to the stairs, overcasting a soft white glow throughout the sub.

You hopped down the final step, gently knocking on Law's door as you couldn't be bored any longer. You had spent an hour trying to fall asleep, but ultimately you gave in and craved the presence of your lover. A muffled "Come in," sounded through the door and you casually strolled in, stuffing your hands in your pockets. An unmistakable clink of sharpies hit against your hands, and you tightened your grip hopefully muffling them.

A little decor couldn't hurt, could it?

Your captain was the unsuspecting victim, as he hadn't taken his attention off the comic he was reading, something he'd have tossed and hidden if it wasn't for your familial gaze. You'd picked up on his nerdy tendencies a long time ago, and Law eventually excepted his fate, giving it up to share with you. His hair was unkept and messy, something you’d come to love along with his flimsy tank, praising the view it gave you.

“What are you doing?” Law asked, reclining silently against the couch. His infamous hat, and sword had rested close by, propped against his desk.

“What I can’t have quality time?” you smiled, feigning absolute innocence as you'd crawled into his lap, soaking up his touch. You always loved these relaxed moments. As it wasn't often he let go, more-overly stressed and constantly planning for the future, he was barely at ease.

But with you in his arms he could make an exception.

He let out a hum in response. "Depends what your after," he mumbled, adjusting himself under your weight, shifting back against the couch's armrest. Law brought his hand to soothingly rub over your shoulder, closing his eyes for needed peace.

You quietly watched as he closed his comic in hand, unknowingly knowing he was listening to your heartbeat, which thudded softly against his upper thigh.

You didn't know it, but your captain tended to listen to your pulse for a sense of comfort, remembering you were there with him: that you were real. That it wasn't some dream, and that he wasn't in some nightmare where you weren't.

He adored when you were like this, needfully resting by his side away from prying eyes—though he'd never admit it. Law would let his guard down with you, settling still in your innocent embrace. He opened his eyes to watch you shift, taking in the way your head gently rested against his hip.

He thought it was a heartfelt gesture really, but when you grabbed his arm and pulled it to your chest he thought otherwise. A soft click emitted, and a cold swipe crossed his skin, leaving him confused.

"What the hell are you doing?" he muttered, quickly pulling away your wrist.

"Nothing, just gimme your arm," you replied, trying to grab it again.

"Seriously? ____ I'm not you're coloring book, no."

"Oh don't be so stuck up, it'll wash off eventually," you stubbornly grabbed his arm again, tracing his tattoos as you ignored him completely. You were off in your own world now, leaving your captain to a very grumpy demise. You didn't pay attention to the way he'd grumble or keep to his lingering gaze.

A few minutes passed and you'd finally fucked up, scribbling over your design, "Okay, that's enough." Law cut sharp to your name, quickly grabbing the pen tossing it aside to his table.

"Really?" he deadpanned, taking in the scribbled pieces.

"What? It'll wash off."

"Yeah, in a few days, it's literally black sharpie you idiot," Law scolded, flicking your forehead with a scoff.

You let out your own huff, shifting in his arms to sit comfortably against him, leaning into his chest. Your head personally thunked against his shoulder, though you eased when his arms wrapped around you again. His lip quirked in amusement as your masked mumbles were only so long-lived.

He often was firm with you. But it could never stay that way. His irritated expression relaxed, and he called your name taking in his scribbled arm.

“You realize these are permanent tattoos, right?” He asked, swiping him thumb across your hip.

"Yeah, I just enhanced em' though." You said absentmindedly.

"I think you should get it re-tattooed like that."

. . .

Law snorted, manhandling you to face him, "I love your artwork and all but I think I'll post-pone that." he remarked, bringing his hands to your sides. You immediately faked a hurt look and he cracked. He couldn't look you straight in the eyes when they grew glossy like that.

“You're serious?" he muttered, swallowing unbelievably hard. You shattered his resolve, and he feared he might not be able to say no.

"You broke my heart Law, I put my soul into that." you said dramatically, seemingly putting an ease to his inner torment, but it only irked him. He flicked you again creating a red spot, and you quietly yelped—covering it.

He really thought you were serious, and he'd been a sucker enough to believe it.

"It just looks better," you retaliated, squirming in his arms as he'd reached a ticklish spot.

"Better? Really? You must've borrowed that soul from one of Bepo's maps then," he snarked, cracking a smile as he'd finally gotten a laugh out of you. He'd come to love that sound the more and more he knew you, every day and every moment he loved to hear it, to see it.

Your chaotic remarks and energy were his livelihood, and he'd at times been too dense to see it. It had taken years before there'd been an ounce of romance in your relationship, and that was after years of trustworthy hardships.

Law had finally backed you off his lap, putting an end to your 'assault,’ which only brought you to hide between his thighs with a muffled "Shut up!"

“Oi, don’t do that,” he stumbled, feeling a pit in his stomach. His arms quickly came up under your's, sliding you upright, which seemed to relieve the strange tension in his stomach. He'd been a fool to say it wasn't a common feeling.

It’d always been a strong feeling, specifically and only for you. And he'd usually been the one to try and ignore it.

He wasn't sexually inclined, as he said he didn't have time for it. It wasn't his main goal, and he didn't have time for that lust and desire—meaning it wasn't his strong suit. You'd been the flirty type in the past, but if he simply wasn't ready—he wasn't ready; and you had never held him to that.

“Don’t what?” you deadpanned, glaring softly.

“Don’t pout,” he sighed, brushing off his blush as he grabbed your chin, tilting your head back. Law couldn’t tell if you were being dense or doing it on purpose. Either way; it was infuriating.

“I’m not.”

"You are," Law interjected, taking in your form atop him. His mind wandered and he knew he was in trouble. Because he knew that no matter what he tried to ignore, he was always wrapped around your pretty little finger. Regardlessly…that's all you were, trouble.

You for once, seemed to quiet. Finally put at a loss for words. Your voice practically died in your throat and you couldn't help but question his intense gaze, you hadn't seen him look at you like that before.

Maybe once or twice but never like that. And it’d always pissed you off when he could put you in your place, before you could even begin to argue.

"I. am. not." you challenged, leaning closer—attempting to hold your ground. But it faltered when he drug his hand to your throat.

“Mm, yeah not anymore,” He whispered, overthrowing your little flirty act with a gentle squeeze your throat. He saw your face light up and he let out a whispery laugh. Law was enjoying himself.

On the other hand, you were internally panicking, opting to lean back, because Law had never been this forward with you. He'd been dense about that kinda thing, but obviously this was not the freaking case.

You swallowed against his hand, leaning back, but his lips caught you before you could own up to it. You heard a groan leave his lips before it swallowed your own, leaving your head spinning. You leaned forward, shifting your hips, and it only encouraged him.

His free hand squeezed your hip, and the hand around your throat tightened, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like a handle for him to hold. Your breath shuddered, and you forced yourself to breathe through your nose.

He'd caught you off guard and you couldn't seem get a grip.

You finally parted to breathe and his own blush matched your own. He gave a whole lotta' talk and do behind his pose, but deep down he was just as flustered as you.

"Don't be a smart ass," you muttered, bringing his hand away, but it only tightened around your smaller hand.

“Then don’t stick your head where it doesn’t belong.”

. . .

"What?—I didn't--"

"What?" he asked impassively, keeping a firm hold. He shifted causally beneath you and you knew he was doing it on purpose...that sarcastic bastard.

"Don't what me you know what!" you snapped, trying to pull your hands away, but he held on. His smirk grew and your blush heightened.

"What? That you like my hand around your throat? I figured, I didn't know it'd shut you up though." he leaned forward, attempting to whisper in your ear.

"Trafalgar Law!"

Lay Off! |Master-List|

Roronoa Zoro x !Fem!Reader, fluff, angst/comfort, anxiety, reader snaps, anger-issues, make-up, swearing, lowkey made me tear up.

Summary: You get overstimulated and finally break...

A/N: I have finally revised this fic. I am so glad, because I can’t believe I WROTE THIS 😭😭 There might be a few slip-ups, but it’s WAY better from before.

(Taking a break changes your grammar and set-up istg.)

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It'd been mid-day.

The hours had been painstakingly fucking long, and you'd cooped yourself up in your room to avoid further attention.

You didn't know what set you off, but you just wanted it to stop.

Your skin crawled, and your head felt like it was going to explode. Your limbs helplessly flexed and turned, attempting to alieve your symptoms, but nothing would let up. You were wound. And you were wound tight. Your body wouldn’t let you loose, leaving you to suffer as anxiety prickled over your skin.

You tried to distract yourself with a small craft, you really did, but only more frustration welled. You couldn’t keep still, and you finally cursed. Hands slammed against the desk, sending your paper crafts across the wood, into your mess of scraps.

Tears welled, and you pushed yourself away with your rolling chair—avoiding the further abuse you’d inflict on your workspace. Heat raged, and your nails drug through your hair, trying to pull yourself out of your head, but it wasn’t enough. No matter the distance you put within yourself, it never felt right.

You were stressed, anxious, and torn that you pushed the ones you loved away. And you could never fucking explain why. You just felt so angry. So turmoiled, that you didn’t even know what to do with yourself.

Your fists curled in your hair and a burning sensation followed, leaving you to feel something other than your pain.

But the unexplainable feeling grew, and it coursed through you like an endless loop of rage and helplessness. You didn’t know how to control it, and you didn’t know how to deal with it, you just couldn’t function.

Left, to right. Over and over, you paced your room. Trying to calm down, but a distant knock echoed.

"Hey, lunch is..." Usopp's voice trailed off as he saw your state, and he quickly backed off.

"Uh, I'll let Sanji know you—“

"Just go, please!" you snapped, banging your fists against your head. Your chest heaved, and Usopp’s breath caught.

"Yep! On it!" he squeaked, shutting your door.

Silence washed over the room, but peace didn't follow like it usually did. It was unbearable, and your body felt intolerable. Like you needed to do something, or you needed something. You couldn’t remember what or why, and nothing clearly came through…

The restlessness grew, and it was boiling.

You shakily went back to your desk, picking up the small paper you'd originally thrown with your trembling hands, trying to convince yourself it'd be okay. That you'd get through it.

You could just mend it. You could do it. It'd be okay. Just calm down.

You're fine.

It was just some small papery flowers, how hard could it be? Anyone could do it—you had this. You always did. You got frustrated and eventually came back to fix it. You just needed time.

So why couldn't you do it right now? You gave yourself plenty of time.

Though you still couldn't you function, and couldn't you think. Why the hell was it that you felt like you had no time? Like there was nothing but everything coming at you all at once? Why couldn't you—

"Oi, what's going on?" Zoro appeared by the door, and his voice was firm—steady. His presence was grounding, and it’d been something you’d always loved, but your body strangely hated it in the moment.

You were too lost in it to realize, but Usopp had probably been worried.

He must have told Zoro, because everyone knew he'd been your paper-weight. He kept you together, like a stack of paper, or in other words—aligned control. But, in the moment, you couldn’t understand that, and you’d eventually come to regret it later.

Zoro was tense at your silence, as he wasn’t often familiar with it. He was used to your laughter, and your clumsy remarks, even your stupid comments.

But he knew that wasn’t always you.

You kept yourself together well, until you couldn’t and you hid. He wasn’t an emotional guru or anything, but he’d been attentive enough to pick up on your behaviors.

Especially, when things took a turn for the worse.

He'd easily seen it this morning when you came in for break-fast and left, sparing no good-morning, no sweet smile, no teasing—you were just struggling.

You weren’t acting like you, and he hated it.

Zoro wouldn’t seem the empathetic type, but when it came to the ones he loved—his chest would uncomfortably ache. Especially when it came to you, who held herself so high yet was hurting so much deep down.

The sniper had startled him awake, quickly telling him—or, rather rambling to him, that you weren’t okay. It seemed rather urgent, and he looked offly looked worried, so Zoro obviously wouldn’t set it aside.

If you needed help, or guidance—you just did.

There was no easier way to put it, and it wasn’t embarrassing, it was just life.

And Zoro was never one to bullshit, but you could be sensitive at times. It wasn’t a bad thing, it just made things harder for you.

You could get worked up over the smallest of things, unintentionally snapping—or taking it the wrong way, blocking yourself off…

He’d seen the signs.

He always had.

And this was clearly one of those times, where something had gotten the better of you.

But little did he know, it wasn't just your anger. It wasn’t like the other times, something was painfully different. This was deeper.

Calmly, Zoro spoke your name.

You were quick to snap, but you turned away covering your face. You tried to calm yourself and catch your breath—but yet again, it wasn’t helping.

"Yes, I know, just give me second.” you replied, uncharacteristically hitting your desk. You hands slammed your poor creation, and tears began to well. You were cracking, and more frustration poured.

You snapped again, and a curse flew out your lips as you kicked your desk. It was harsh, and you were sent roughly back against the wall in your chair—creating a slam.

At your action, he knew you were overwhelmed. Hell, he’d felt it as soon as he came in, but as you curled in on yourself—digging your nails, it only confirmed it.

A muffled sob broke through the silence, and he was beside you in seconds.

In two steps, he’d crouched down infront of you.

His calloused hands, prevented you from hurting yourself, though his touch wasn’t rough. It was strong, and it was strong enough to keep you from pushing away or thrashing.

He needed you here, with him, and not lost somewhere else.

"Breathe." he ordered.

"I can’t, just stop, don’t—fucking touch me!” you choked, attempting to squirm, "Zoro stop it.”

Your lover doesn’t break, nor’ does he stop. He only holds you tighter, as if he knows you’ll only spiral further.

Your breath is labored, struggled—and he can already see you slip.

His gaze softens, and he steadily pulls you into his lap. Zoro doesn't comfort you with words, but he does with the way he knows how—his presence.

By being there, holding you—grounding you, tightening his grip as you stubbornly try to push away, he doesn't let go.

He silently urges you to relax; creating absent circles over your back, as his hand tightens at the base of your neck, pushing you easily to his shoulder.

His legs lock to come around your own, pulling, to keep you in.

"Stop fighting me, you'll only make it worse," his voice rumbles over the crown of your head, and you can’t help but feel comforted.

You want to agree, you want to stop, but your body doesn't. It involuntarily moves, and you cry as you push against his chest, growing light-headed.

But the dizziness forces your body to relax.

Your shoulders slack, and you ease. Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a shaky breath.

"You good, now?" he asks, keeping a gentle grip.

You sniffle, nodding as you can't bare yourself to look up at him. You don't even know what came over you, and you can barely remember what happened.

You feel like an idiot.

Embarrassed, guilty—ashamed, just wrong.

"Yeah, I’m sorry.” you whispered, leaning back.

Though Zoro doesn’t let up, he keeps you in his lap and his hands shift to cradle your face.

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.” his thumbs wipes your tears, and you can’t help but lean into them.

“I should’ve come down earlier, I didn’t know you were getting so worked up.”

"It's okay," you mumbled, lowering your gaze, but he tilts you back up.

"____, it's not. You know that, what’s going on?”

"I don't know," you manage out, and his look crushed you.

You know he wants to understand, he always does, the whole crew does, but you’re not even sure yourself. A weight topples over you, and you suddenly remember the way you snapped at Usopp.

Shit. You didn’t mean that—you didn’t mean any of this.

Why weren’t you doing anything right?

"I just, I don’t know.” your voice broke, and you turned away. “I couldn’t stop, it wouldn’t go away.”

"Then, why didn't you come to me?"

"Because, it's too much, everything feels like too much.” you whimpered, covering a hand over your mouth. “I didn’t, I didn’t mean to snap at you—or Usopp. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

"Hey—stop, look at me." he adjusted you forward, and this time he held your gaze.

His eyes carried a warmth, and it felt like a safety you never had the privilege of experiencing.

"Sorry,” you whispered.

"No. Don’t. Don’t, go apologizing. No one needs that.” Zoro’s hand ran through your hair, and he focused forward. You needed to hear this, and he’d say it over and over until you didn’t.

“You don’t need to apologize for feeling something, no one expects you to be perfect all the time—and I sure as hell don’t give a shit if you snap at shit you didn’t mean.” his lips twitched into a smile, as he remembered a time you cursed at Luffy for grabbing your food.

He liked your unexpected anger, even if it was this.

“The crew sees, I see you. And that’s all that matters.” he murmurs, and he sees you crack a smile.

Good. You needed that.

“You hear me?”

“Yeah, I do.” you sniffled, nodding your head, “loud and clear.”

He let out a breath, “good. Now C’mere.”

Zoro shifted, leaning against the wall to hug you close. He was being soft, and he was being kind.

In his own Zoro, way of course, but he was still there. He always would be.

He cupped the side of your head, letting you bury yourself into the crook of his neck.

Your lover wanted to take away anything that had harmed you, but that took time—and he realized that. But he didn’t mind hugging you a little longer to fix it.

He wasn’t going anywhere, and little did he know, this was all anyone could ask for.

Someone who still loved you at your lowest.

headlock

roronoa zoro x reader —ᡣ𐭩 blurb c/w: suggestive a/n: lol

“my eyes are up here.”

a quick snap of his fingers has you peering up at him with warm cheeks. you smile sheepishly at him.

“sorry.”

zoro hums, arching an eyebrow. you're not sorry.

"what's so interesting down there, huh?" he already knows, he just wants to hear you say it.

shaking your head, your eyes don't dare waiver from his. "nothing as interesting as the weather outside."

he purses his lips, a scoff catching in his throat before he tightens his grip on the barbell and brings it up to his chest for another rep. when zoro's gaze drifts from you and lands on the floor beneath him, you flicker your eyes back down to where they were trained before.

his biceps bulge as he flexes them, veins prominent under his tan skin. the defined muscles are your favourite sight, and like a dog, eyes locked on a bone just out of reach, you can feel an urge building in your chest, a twitch of your muscles begging to spring forward, but you refrain.

instead, your mouth moves before you can stop yourself.

"would you put me in a headlock?"

zoro's eye darts to you, his cheeks tinted pink as he falters with the exercise. the barbell falls to the ground with a thunk, and you're surprised it doesn't fall through the wooden floor of the crow's nest.

"what?"

you smile, a challenging glint in your gaze. "you heard me."

"you're a freak."

shrugging one shoulder, you stand. "ok, and? you scared?"

"never," he scoffs, running his hand over his hair. "c'mere then."

you're shocked he'd even consider the idea, but skip over to him anyway. zoro watches you the whole time, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he saw this coming. he hasn't missed the way you stare at his arms like you want to bite them, and whether that's the reason he's been focusing on training them more than any other body part is something he'd never admit.

zoro is quick to spin you, back against his chest. the heady, musky, man smell he emits makes you dizzy and does little to deter you.

"you sure?"

you roll your eyes and crane your neck to look at him. "would i really tell you if i didn't want to?"

zoro's eyebrows jump and then he brings his elbow under your chin. he hovers around you like he's scared to go further, and you push the deep 'v' of his arm around your neck. his other hand flies to your hip to steady you, his arm sliding over your stomach to press you harder against him.

the hard plain of his abdomen on your back knocks the breath out of you, but it's nothing compared to the pulsing of his bloodstream against your ear. his skin is smooth where you trail your fingers on his bicep, and you know when zoro is comfortable when he starts flexing, an easy laugh falling from his lips.

"weirdo," he mumbles when he feels his skin growing warmer with every passing second. you giggle and turn your head to kiss his muscle.

"you love it."

zoro sighs, one of contentment and desire, and you don't miss the traces of a groan when you sink your teeth into his flesh, the pain minor but forever etched into his skin. he shifts his hips and pulls you impossibly closer.

"easy," the swordsman mutters, voice low. "we've got all night."