Im so thrilled to see you back and healthy!! If i could, ive been dealing with a ton of chronic pain, especially in my hand (carpal tunnel sucks) so maybe Marco, Beckman, Ace and if you have it in you, Sanji helping reader deal with that pain. For reference it makes the entire hand hurt and you have to clench the tendons to get some relief
Hi darling, thanks you, I'm really sorry for your pain, I hope you're feeling better β€οΈβπ©Ή, also I hope you enjoy I tried my best
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You were curled up on a deck chair, cradling your throbbing hand against your chest. The pain had been relentless all day, and no matter how you positioned your wrist, the sharp, electric sensations continued to shoot up your arm.
"There's my favorite patient," Marco's warm voice carried across the deck as he approached with that distinctive stride of his. "Looking particularly miserable today, yoi."
You managed a weak smile. "And here I thought I was hiding it so well."
He sat beside you, his blue eyes soft with concern as he took your uninjured hand. "You know, for someone as smart as you, you're terrible at taking care of yourself."
Before you could respond, he gently took your aching hand, his touch impossibly careful. "Let me see what's going on with this stubborn wrist of yours."
As his phoenix flames began to glow faintly around your wrist, the pain gradually subsided. "You're clenching again," he noted. "I've told you that only makes it worse."
"It's the only thing that brings temporary relief," you admitted, watching the blue flames dance around your fingers.
"Temporary being the key word," he replied, his thumb gently stroking your palm. "You need to break that cycle, love."
The endearment made your heart flutter despite the pain. "I'll try to be more compliant with my doctor's orders."
"See that you do," he said with a small smile. "Or I might have to resort to more drastic measures."
"Like what?" you challenged playfully. "Tying my hand down so I can't clench it?"
His eyes glinted with mischief. "I was thinking more along the lines of distracting you so thoroughly you forget about the pain entirely."
You raised an eyebrow. "Is that part of your medical training?"
"Special course," he replied deadpan. "Advanced pain management through distraction techniques."
As his healing powers continued to flow into your hand, you decided to tease him. "You know, for someone who's part bird, you're surprisingly good with hands."
Marco chuckled, not missing a beat. "Well, I've had centuries to practice. Besides, phoenixes aren't just any birdsβwe're quite talented in many areas."
"Oh really?" you teased, feeling better now that the pain was decreasing. "Is that why you strut around the deck sometimes? I've definitely noticed some chicken-like qualities there."
He raised an eyebrow but continued his work. "I do not strut, yoi. That's called dignified walking. And if I recall correctly, you seem to enjoy watching me walk."
Your cheeks warmed at his directness. "I might have noticed once or twice."
"Once or twice?" he teased back. "I've caught you watching more than that, my dear."
Before you could respond, he gently brought your palm to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your skin. "How's that for distraction?" he murmured against your hand.
Your breath caught slightly. "Getting better."
He smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good. Now, how does that feel? Better?"
The pain had indeed subsided significantly, replaced by a pleasant warmth that had nothing to do with his phoenix flames. "Much better, thank you. You're a miracle worker, Marco."
"Just doing my job as your doctor," he said, though he didn't release your hand. "And as your partner. Now, how about we get some dinner? I hear Thatch's making something special tonight, and I promise not to peck at your food."
You laughed carefully. "I'd like that, Marco. Even if you do walk a bit like a chicken when you think no one's watching."
He shook his head with a grin as he helped you up. "One of these days, I'm going to charge you for my medical services and my comedic material. But for now, this one's on the house."
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You sat in the crow's nest, trying to read but finding it difficult to focus with the constant ache in your hand. Every attempt to turn a page sent another wave of pain through your wrist and fingers.
"Hiding from everyone again?" Beckman's voice startled you slightly as he appeared at the ladder. He climbed up with his usual effortless grace, settling beside you with a cigarette already lit.
"Just enjoying the view," you replied, trying to hide your discomfort by subtly shifting your position.
He didn't miss a thing. "The view or the pain? Because I know that face, and it's not one of someone enjoying scenery."
When you didn't answer immediately, he gently took your hand to examine it. "You're clenching again. That's the worst thing you can do for carpal tunnel, as I believe I've mentioned approximately fifty times before."
"I know," you admitted quietly. "But it feels like the only thing that helps sometimes, even if it's just temporary."
"That's because you're temporarily relieving the pressure, but then causing more inflammation," he explained, his touch surprisingly gentle as he helped you uncurl your fingers. "But don't let me stop you from ignoring sound medical advice. It's worked so well for you thus far."
You shot him a look but couldn't maintain your annoyance given the relief his touch brought. "You're in a charming mood today."
Beckman pulled a small tin from his pocket and removed what looked like a homemade salve. "Try this. It's a mixture I learned to makeβhelps with inflammation and nerve pain. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to suffer in silence. Some people seem to enjoy martyrdom."
As he carefully applied it to your wrist and hand, you felt immediate cooling relief. "This is amazing," you said in surprise. "What's in it?"
"Just some herbs, a bit of beeswax, and something special from my home island," he replied vaguely. "Not that you'd appreciate the effort. You're too busy being stubborn."
You watched his skilled hands as he continued to massage the salve into your skin. "You're surprisingly good at this for someone who pretends not to care."
"Someone has to take care of you since you refuse to do it yourself," he grumbled, though his ears seemed slightly pink. "It's a full-time job, I might add."
Before you could respond, he gently turned your hand over and pressed his lips against your palm. The unexpected tenderness made your breath catch.
"Don't get sentimental on me," he said, not looking up from your hand. "Just practical application of affection. Scientifically proven to help with pain management."
You smiled at his attempt to rationalize the romantic gesture. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"
"Among other things," he replied dryly, finally meeting your eyes. There was something soft in his gaze that contradicted his sarcastic words. "Now, want to hear about the time I fought off a Sea King with nothing but a knife and sheer determination? Might take your mind off the pain, and I know how much you enjoy my stories."
"I do enjoy them," you admitted, settling back against the mast.
"Of course you do," he said with a smirk. "I'm an excellent storyteller. Almost as excellent as I am at taking care of stubborn partners who refuse to follow medical advice."
You leaned your head against his shoulder, finding comfort not just in his treatment but in his quiet, steady presence beside you. "Thank you, Beckman."
"Don't mention it," he replied, though he made no move to shift away from your touch. "Literally. Don't mention it to anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."
"Your reputation as the tough, unfeeling first mate?" you teased gently.
"Exactly," he agreed with a rare small smile. "And as someone who definitely doesn't kiss palms and apply homemade salves. That would ruin the entire mystique."
You were attempting to help in the kitchen, but the pain in your hand made even simple tasks excruciating. Every time you tried to chop vegetables, the grip on the knife sent shooting pains up your arm.
"My dear, you're doing that all wrong!" Sanji appeared at your side, gently taking the knife from your trembling hand. "And you're clearly in pain. Why must you always try to hide these things from me?"
"I didn't want to bother you," you admitted, rubbing your wrist futilely. "You're always so busy with meals for everyone."
Sanji's expression softened immediately as he took your face in his hands. "You are never a bother. You are my priority. Everything else comes second to your wellbeing."
He guided you to a nearby chair. "Sit. Let me take care of everything. As I always should when you're hurting."
He disappeared into his pantry and returned with a collection of herbs and a mortar and pestle. "This will help with the inflammation," he explained, beginning to grind the ingredients together. "While I prepare this, tell me about your day. Don't leave out any detailsβI want to know everything."
As you talked, he worked efficiently, creating a paste that he then gently applied to your wrist and hand. The relief was almost immediateβa cooling sensation that seemed to draw out the pain.
"How did you learn to make remedies like this?" you asked in wonder.
"A good cook knows more than just recipes," he replied with a modest shrug. "But more importantly, a man in love learns how to care for the person who holds his heart. Your pain is my pain, my dear."
Your heart swelled at his words. "Sanji..."
He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch feather-light. "No, don't speak. Just let me care for you as you deserve to be cared for."
Sanji finished applying the paste and then carefully wrapped your hand in a clean cloth, his movements precise and practiced. "There now. That should provide some relief. But I'm afraid the real cure requires more extensive treatment."
"What kind of treatment?" you asked, watching as he began preparing what looked like a special meal just for you.
"First, you'll eat this dish I'm preparing especially for you," he said, adding spices to a simmering pot. "It contains ingredients that will help reduce inflammation from the inside out. Then, you'll rest while I handle all your duties for the evening."
"You don't have to do all that," you protested weakly.
"Nonsense," he replied firmly. "Taking care of you is not a burdenβit's my greatest joy. There is nothing I would rather do than ease your suffering and bring comfort to your days."
As he cooked, he occasionally glanced over at you with such adoration that it made your chest ache in a completely different way. "You know, when I first learned to cook, I never imagined that the greatest pleasure would come not from feeding the crew, but from nurturing the one person who means everything to me."
He brought over a steaming bowl of what appeared to be a fragrant vegetable soup with herbs you didn't recognize. "This will help with the inflammation. But more importantly, it was made with all my love for you."
As you ate, he knelt beside your chair, watching you with concern. "Is it good? Does your hand feel better?"
"It's delicious," you assured him. "And yes, the pain is much better. You're too good to me, Sanji."
He took your free hand, pressing it to his cheek. "There is no such thing as 'too good' when it comes to you. I would move mountains, cross seas, and face any danger if it meant bringing you even a moment of comfort."
His devotion was overwhelming in the best possible way. "I don't know what I did to deserve someone like you."
"You existed," he replied simply. "You came into my life and filled it with meaning. That is all you ever had to do."
He helped you finish eating, then insisted on carrying you to your room despite your protests. "I can walk," you insisted.
"And I can carry the woman I love to her bed when she's in pain," he countered gently, lifting you with surprising ease.
Once in your room, he helped you settle into bed, propping pillows behind your back. "I'll bring you some herbal tea that will help you sleep. And I'll check on you throughout the night to make sure you're comfortable."
"You don't need to do all that," you said again, though you secretly loved how attentive he was.
"I want to," he insisted, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Your comfort is my purpose. Your wellbeing is my mission. Your happiness is my reason for being."
As he left to fetch the tea, you marveled at how someone could be so completely devoted. When he returned, he helped you drink the tea, then sat beside you, stroking your hair until your eyes grew heavy.
"Sleep now, my love," he whispered. "I'll be here when you wake. I'm always here for you."
The last thing you felt before drifting off was his gentle kiss on your bandaged handβa promise of care, devotion, and a love that healed in ways medicine never could.
You were wedged between barrels in the storage room, attempting to bite back a groan as another wave of pain shot through your hand. The throbbing had reached a new level of unbearable today, and you'd resorted to hiding where no one could see you clenching your fist.
"Ah, the secret headquarters of the Hand-Hiders Club," Ace's voice echoed dramatically from the doorway. "Is this where you plot world domination, or just where you come to suffer in silence?"
You jumped, quickly shoving your hand behind your back. "Just admiring the barrel craftsmanship. It's really quite impressive."
Ace sauntered in, his signature grin already in place. "Right. The barrels. Not the fact that you're hiding because your hand feels like it's being squeezed by a very angry crab." He plopped down in front of you, completely uninvited. "You know, for someone who spends so much time with me, you're surprisingly bad at asking for help."
"I'm independent," you retorted, trying to sound dignified while being wedged between storage containers.
"Independent," Ace nodded sagely. "Is that what we're calling it? I call it 'stubbornly refusing to let your favorite, most handsome, and most powerful boyfriend use his devil fruit abilities to help you.'" He wiggled his fingers. "These aren't just for show, you know. They have therapeutic properties."
You couldn't help but crack a small smile. "Therapeutic properties? Did you read that in a medical journal?"
"No, I read it in the 'Ace is Awesome and Also Surprisingly Helpful' handbook," he replied deadpan, gently taking your clenched hand. "Now, let Dr. Fire Fist work his magic. First, we'll need to relax this death grip you've got going."
As his hands warmed around your wrist, a pleasant heat began to seep into your aching joints. "You know," he continued conversationally as your fingers slowly uncurled, "I've been thinking about this carpal tunnel situation. What if we just burned through the problem? Like, cauterized the pain away? I've been practicing my precision work."
You shot him a look. "Please don't practice precision burning on my hand."
"Fine, fine," he sighed dramatically. "No experimental procedures without your written consent. I'll save that for our next date night." As the pain began to fade, he leaned in conspiratorially. "You know what this reminds me of? The time I tried to learn to knit. My hands were all cramped up like this."
"You tried to knit?" you asked in disbelief.
"Hey, I was going to make us matching scarves!" he defended himself. "But it turns out that fire and yarn don't mix well. Who knew?" He grinned as your hand relaxed completely in his. "See? All better. Dr. Ace's special flame therapy works every time."
The relief was so significant you felt tears welling up. "It really doesn't hurt anymore."
"Of course not," he said proudly. "I'm a man of many talents. Fire manipulation, navigation, terrible puns, and now, apparently, physical therapy." He brought your palm to his lips, pressing a comically exaggerated kiss against your skin. "There. That's the finishing touch. Scientifically proven to increase healing by at least 47 percent."
You laughed, the sound feeling foreign after hours of pain. "Where do you get these statistics?"
"I make them up," he admitted cheerfully. "But you can't deny they sound convincing." He helped you up from your barrel prison, still holding your hand. "Now, as your doctor, I'm prescribing immediate meat consumption and at least three bad jokes before dinner."
"Only three?" you teased.
"Well, five if you're good," he amended with a wink. "But no more hiding from me when you're hurting. Deal?"
"Deal," you agreed, letting him lead you toward the galley. "Though I should warn you, I might start faking injuries just to get the special Ace treatment."
He squeezed your hand gently. "You don't need to fake anything. You've got unlimited access to me, pain or no pain. Though if you start asking for the flame therapy too often, I might have to start charging. I'm thinking one meatball per treatment."
"Deal," you laughed. "But you're giving me a discount for being your favorite patient, right?"
Ace's grin widened. "You're not just my favorite patientβyou're my only patient. And you get the family discount, which means you get me for free. Lucky you."
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