• The Best Medicine, Law x Reader chaptered fic. You've unknowingly come in contact with an aphrodisiac. With symptoms involving hyperactive senses, fever and weakness in the body, you seek Law's medical knowledge to help treat what you assume to be a strange sickness. Upon examination and diagnosis, your doctor offers a cure.
• No Matter What You Are, Female!Law x Reader chaptered fic. Turned into a woman only temporarily, Law still needs a proper wardrobe. You take your now girlfriend out on a shopping date, and despite her initial reluctance, you hope to help her enjoy the experience and her new body.
Works in Progress
Summaries and titles are subject to change.
• The Best Medicine Chapter 3 - Recovery, Law x Reader chaptered fic. The effects of the aphrodisiac finally subside after Law’s treatment. Risks of the intimacy you shared begin to settle in, and you wonder if things will ever be the same between you and your Captain.
• No Matter What You Are Chapter 2 - Worship, Female!Law x Reader chaptered fic. Law may be in an entirely different body, but you appreciate her female form all the same. As you lay together in bed, you strive to show her that, finding new ways to express your love for her.
• Behind the Scenes, Ghostface!Law/Actor!Law x Reader chaptered fic. On set of a Scream movie, Ghostface's actor accidentally injures you during a scene. You accept his offer to tend to your wounds with trust in his medical knowledge, and you notice his almost obsessed interest in your blood, your pain, your reactions. You begin to question his motives, and just how much of his role as Ghostface is an act.
• Satyriasis, Law x Reader one shot. In secret, Law lusts for you. Though he suppresses desire and tries not to entertain any intimate thoughts, they consume until he can’t deny himself any longer.
• Breaking the Law, Law x Reader one shot. Law insists on keeping your relationship with him a secret, but his possessive nature takes over when he sees you flirting with another man, deliberately teasing and tempting him to mark his claim on you.
• Closeted Desires, Law x Reader one shot. You manage to find yourself stuck in a closet with Law. Trapped together in close proximity, you’re both left with nothing but the sexual tension that lies between you two.
• Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow, Law x Reader one shot. The life you and Law lead is unpredictable, full of risk and uncertainty. Sometimes, you can’t help but fear the worst, worrying he won’t make it home to you.
• Show Me How You Dance, Law x Reader one shot. It’s a strange excitement you feel when you see Law put his enemies in their place. There’s a certain thrill to the idea of being under his complete mercy, and Law is willing to indulge you. (Inspired by this song Law’s VA sings!)
• I have a few other ideas floating around, mostly including Sanji, but I’ll add them onto here when they’re refined a bit more.
i was so happy to see you post again and then was shocked and even happier to see it was about fem law! as hard as being patient is, i’m glad you’re able to take your time and take care of yourself first, and i’ll keep supporting you in the meantime! <3
fem law my beloved… i went coo coo crazy when she got animated. can’t get enough of her so here i am writing for her lmao. im glad you were happy to see it, and im very excited to finish the next chapter for yall!
but im wondering if i should commit to finshing that or the best medicine first… if anyone has a preference lmk!
but thank you for your patience in the meantime 🫶 it’s incredibly comforting to see everyone be so supportive and patient with me. have a kiss 😽
it’s been awhile since i’ve posted. i know i don’t talk here very often in the first place, and that i haven’t put up any fics for months despite, yknow… saying that i would
but despite any inactivity i still hold this hobby very close to me!
personal issues led me to take a step back from tumblr for a couple months. so thank you if you’ve stuck around since then, and thank you for being patient with me
progress may be slow but i’m still committed to finishing my wips. i hope to share them with yall throughout this year, so look forward to it!
[PAIRING] Female!Trafalgar Law x Reader
[SUMMARY] Turned into a woman only temporarily, Law still needs a proper wardrobe. You take your now girlfriend out on a shopping date, and despite her initial reluctance, you hope to help her enjoy the experience and her new body.
[CONTENT + WARNINGS] Female Law, Genderbend, Reader is femme, Established Relationship, Fluff. This chapter isn't NSFW but the next will be, so minors DNI!
[WORD COUNT] 5k
“This is ridiculous.”
Not for the first time, Law hesitates. Your partner, or more accurately, girlfriend for the time being, comes to a halt just before the entrance of the lingerie store. You can see her reconsidering the necessity of buying clothes for this new figure of hers, her sharp jaw tight and full lips slightly pursed—a scowl to most, yet a pout to you. Despite being in an entirely different body, her mannerisms stay familiar.
The change is temporary. It was neither expected nor asked for, a complete accident that doused her with feminization fruit. The Heart Pirates, responsive as ever, were quick to erupt into a chaotic blend of amusement and fawning, all while their irritated Captain demanded quiet as she rummaged through her medical books in search of a remedy. But the pages offered no immediate cure, only assuring that the effects will last a few weeks before naturally subsiding.
Which is short lived in your opinion, and entirely too long in Law’s.
She doesn’t seem to harbor the same appreciation you do for her new figure, seeing this change as an inconvenience more than anything. So you hoped to make it less so, however you could. In need of a new wardrobe, you tried swapping her now oversized shirts and jeans for some of your own clothing. The two of you didn’t have much luck. She seemed frustrated with it all, annoyed, sitting on the edge of the bed surrounded by all the clothes that might’ve fit. You sat with her.
“We can always go shopping,” you gently suggested, rubbing her back as she gave you a stubborn look of reluctance, but not entirely refusal. “It could be fun. Just think of it as a date, and we’ll get you something comfortable.”
And she agreed, as much as she didn’t want to.
You couldn’t blame her. Having spent her entire life in the body of a man, the abrupt transformation into something feminine left her with a certain sense of discomfort, and perhaps what could be considered mild embarrassment. There was no reason to feel shame; not in your opinion, at least, but given the circumstances, Law’s hesitance is only natural.
Still, as the two of you stand in front of the lingerie store, you try to make light of the situation.
“Cmon, hun. Have some fun with it.” You grab her wrist, encouraging her inside with playfulness to your voice. “Doesn’t every man wonder what it’s like to have boobs?”
“I’m not a pervert,” she firmly insists. Even so, she lets you guide her, her long legs begrudgingly following along.
You huff in amusement. Maybe it isn’t entirely apparent on the surface, but if your time with Law has taught you anything, it’s that she tends to feel more than she lets on. Her reserve comes with all emotions, vulnerable or not. Laughter is stifled into subtle smiles, distress leads to emotional withdrawal, care translates into gentle gestures and quiet support.
The same pattern can be seen with all things intimate. Attraction, affection, arousal… You had to admit, she did a good job suppressing what she could for as long as she could. The sheer lust she felt wasn’t exactly controlled, but rather hidden—until she finally got a taste of you.
Only then did it become apparent. The subtle hints in her behavior that you couldn’t quite place were suddenly given a reason. You found a name for those lingering eyes, that intense gaze, her tense body language—yearning, to the point of perversion. It was a deep desire, depraved from being deprived for so long, devolving into desperation.
Not a pervert? Debatable.
“Well…” you say, tone skeptical. She shoots you a look you expected, simultaneously daring you to keep talking and advising you to shut your mouth. You always thought she was fun to tease, and she always thought you were fun to discipline. You pretend to give in, a smile on your face with your hands raised in feigned apology.
“Alright, alright. Don’t…” You let out a chuckle before you can finish, and then another as you try again. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“I already told you,” she’s quick to retort, but slows and hesitates to consider her wording. She never liked saying the P word. “I won’t be wearing… those.”
“I know, hun.” You let her have this one. Despite any teasing, above all, you want her to be comfortable. She knows that. Still, you place a hand on her shoulder and give it a gentle pat in a gesture of support. “We’ll find you the closest thing to boxers we can. Boyshorts are more comfortable, anyway.”
Technically, they’re still considered panties, but you don’t say that. You had to get her to wear them somehow.
The two of you stand inside the store, greeted with dim lighting and a pallet of pink and black decor, the air carrying a strong floral scent from the perfume shop next door. You’re already familiar, but Law takes a moment to scan the wide array of options—different colors, certain styles, sections of specific types of lingerie that she probably doesn't know the names of. You can tell what she’s thinking.
“Yeah, it’s a lot,” you empathize. “But we’ll be quick, okay?”
She grunts in affirmation, following where you lead.
And really, you meant it. Initially, at least. It wasn’t your intention to spend longer than necessary browsing the selection of bras, but the more you thought about it, the more it became necessary. Law already insisted she wanted something simple, but this matter needs careful consideration. There’s push ups to sports bras, full coverage to strings and lace, pretty pinks and bold blues and gentle greens… She’d pull them all off, this much you know, but which would suit her best?
You glance at her chest, obscured by the oversized shirt she’s wearing. Still, your memory serves you well. You’re able to make a decent guess of her cup size after taking the opportunity to thoroughly examine her figure when she first tried on clothes. You called it studying, she called it ogling, and maybe she was right. In your defense, it was hard to resist. You sat on the bed behind her, a clear view of her front and backside as she stood before a mirror. Occasionally, she’d glance at you through the reflection between slipping on shirts and bras, but you often didn’t meet her eyes.
Your attention was fixated elsewhere, memorizing her new yet temporary features for safekeeping. Her chest wasn’t exactly flat, but wouldn’t be considered big either. She was endowed with slight handfuls that fit her slender figure, complemented with the framing of an inked heart. Long legs led to the gentle curve of her hips and pert swell of her ass, faint dimples resting right above on either side of her lower back, indents that were perfect for thumbs. Her defined back line trailed towards another familiar tattoo, up to sharp shoulder blades and shaggy, short black hair.
She didn’t stand at her usual 6’3 and a half, but she was still above average height. It was a combination of lankiness and toned athleticism. Muscle definition was apparent in the sculpted contours of her biceps, sinewy strength of her back and tightness of her stomach. Her proportions were long and lean, assets small and perky, movements fluid and poised. She always had an irresistible allure, captivating and mesmerizing, but in the form of something more feminine, you could only define her physicality as pure elegance.
“You said we’d be quick,” Law mumbles under her breath. You’re only momentarily interrupted from your thoughts of her figure, eyes meeting hers before falling back down.
“I know,” you hum leisurely. This matter can’t be rushed. You look at the two bras in your hands, and up to her chest again. “But I can’t decide if you’d look better in black or red.”
“Does it really matter?” she asks, voice a mixture of exasperation and amusement. She seems to find something entertaining in how much consideration you’re putting into this.
It takes just another thoughtful second before you come to a decision. “Well, if you insist,” you say, putting them in your hand held shopping basket, “we’ll just have to get both.”
“I said no lace.” She looks down at the lingerie in mild disapproval. Still, she doesn’t make an effort to stop you. They’re good choices, if you do say so yourself.
“Yeah, but you’d look really nice in—“
“Are you ladies finding everything okay?” An employee interjects with a friendly smile, all while Law promptly tugs at the brim of her hat, lowering it just enough to shroud her eyes. It’s a habitual gesture you’re familiar with, one she uses to shield herself when she feels too exposed, too vulnerable. You’ve seen it most when she smiles, but right now, it’s driven by embarrassment. She tries to deflect as much attention away from her as possible. You handle it.
“Just fine, thanks,” you respond. “Where are your dressing rooms?”
The woman guides you both, and Law follows in silence just behind you. The moment the employee is out of hearing range, Law’s quick to mumble a question, looking around to make sure every other person in the store is out of hearing range too. “You’re coming in with me?”
“Mmhm.” You don’t look up at her, taking a moment to organize the lingerie you’ve decided on. “Gotta make sure they fit, don’t I?”
“I think I’ll be able to tell.” She sees through your excuse, a thin veil poorly masking a desire to see her naked again.
“Well,” you say, not bothering to deny it. “It’s not every day I get to help you pick out lingerie. Better enjoy it while I can, hmm?”
You give her a cheeky smile, and still, she’s unimpressed. Holding all of her new lingerie, you open the dressing room’s curtain with your free hand and gesture her inside with exaggerated politeness.
“After you.”
Law doesn’t like to put on bras correctly. You watched her try to reach back and connect the hooks when the two of you first tried on clothes, but she quickly found another way. She said it was easier, just raising it above her head and slipping it on like a shirt, and didn’t seem to care when you said that’ll stretch it out. She does the same this time, looking unsatisfied with the result.
“It doesn’t fit.”
“Not when you put it on like that,” you say, looking up from her chest to meet her eyes through the mirror. “Remember what I told you?”
Law sighs, but listens. She seems to find something embarrassing in cupping her breasts and adjusting them into place, insisting it wasn’t necessary when you first told her it’s the only way to fit into a bra comfortably. Despite her stubbornness, it didn’t take long for her to learn you were right. With a slight forward lean, she scoops her breasts in better accordance with the bra cups, just the way you taught her.
“There you go.” You smile at the snug fit, giving full coverage and support. Even she seems a bit impressed with the cleavage it creates. “You fill it out nicely.”
She huffs at the compliment like it didn’t just make her blush, the color of her cheeks a growing tinge of red as she quickly averts her gaze from the mirror. With deft fingers, she starts pulling the bra off. Up and over her head, of course, not bothering with the hooks.
“Are we done here?” Law asks, masking bashfulness with impatience.
You nod towards the remaining lingerie hanging on the wall. “Try on the rest, hun.”
“Why? They’re all the same size.”
“Yeah, sizing is a scam. Every bra fits differently,” you tell her, taking your seat on a bench in the cramped dressing room. Eyes on her, you lean back.
“Go ahead.”
And she does. Law looks at the assortment of lingerie, hesitating for a moment before making a skeptical choice. She begins with the less intricate, going from boy shorts and sports bras before gradually making her way to the few matching sets of lace and pushups you convince her to at least try.
You evaluate each one, fully appreciating the array of colors and clothing you've never seen her in before. Each piece brings out something different in her—deep tones of scarlet and midnight blue intensifying the richness of her aura, simple yet bold black aligning with the harder side of her personality, delicate pastels tenderizing her usual toughness as the gentle hues bring out a subtle yet inherent softness. All harmonize with the ink of her tattoos, all compliment her figure, and all, in some sense, are distinctly and uniquely Law.
It’s hard for you to say no to a lot of them. She makes the decision easier by saying no herself, most options not appealing to her the same way they do to you. Still, she takes some of your input into consideration and entertains a few pieces she doesn’t directly admit she likes. Her choices, coupled with two of your own, sit to the side waiting to be bought.
“Don’t get used to this,” she makes sure to warn you when she slips on the last bra. “Once I’m back to normal, we’re burning these.”
“You say that.” Coming to a stand, your arms loosely wrap around her from behind. Wandering fingers draw attention to the set of lingerie she wears, and the two of you watch through the mirror as your nails trace along the lace in a mixture of examination and admiration. “…but they look nice, don’t they?”
She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she almost agrees, the low mumble unenthusiastic like she doesn’t want to admit you’re right.
“…They’re not terrible.”
“Nothing ever is.” Your touch moves downward, fingertips grazing her tight stomach in a way that makes her suppress a shiver. You settle with placing your hands on her hips, your thumbs slowly caressing the silk lining of her panties. “Not on you.”
“You’re persistent.” The words may be muttered, exasperated, but as she leans back into your touch, you feel the appreciation and affection behind them. You give her a light squeeze before pulling away.
“I’m right,” you correct her. Picking up her clothes, you hand them to her and gather your things to leave. “I’ll show you. We’re not done.”
More casual clothes are next on the list—shoes and shirts and jeans that Law isn’t too excited to shop for. Not that she was thrilled with the lingerie either, but you like to think she ended up finding some enjoyment, at least as much as she could. A familiar, soft smile became increasingly apparent with each genuine compliment and playful comment you gave. There’s a subtle yet gradual shift, her initial reluctance giving way to something more comfortable.
It’s progress, but more still needs to be made.
Outside the privacy of the dressing room, Law’s demeanor tightens just as before. She grows quiet, walking alongside you throughout the shopping center with her gaze lingering on the displays of stores you pass by. It’s not the natural, easy silence that sometimes characterizes the space between you two, but rather something more reserved, more restrained. Through polished glass windows, she watches her feminine figure in the reflection.
Something’s on her mind. Something has been on her mind. You noticed a shift since the transformation, and at first, attributed what seemed to be unease to the adjustment period. While that may play a part, it’s apparent there’s something deeper beneath the surface. And though you like to think you’re attuned with your partner, always recognizing changes in behavior and always familiar with subtle cues, you can’t quite grasp the full extent of Law’s thoughts right now.
You don’t ask. You look towards her, her mind seemingly stuck somewhere else, and even as impulse urges you to, you don’t reach out to hold her hand. Knowing what does and doesn’t make her comfortable, you move at her pace, allowing room for Law to initiate if she feels to.
Still, indirectly, you do what you can to guide her back to the present with you.
Upon your suggestion, you both stop to eat after walking past a shop that’s closest to her favorite food you’re able to find. It’s a small gesture, but still helps—sitting together and sharing a meal, taking a break from the constant movement of shoppers in every direction, tuning out the chatter of voices atop voices… In environments and situations she doesn’t enjoy, Law adapts. She always does. Even so, you offer a moment of stillness. It’s simple enough to ease some tension in her shoulders.
A bit looser, the two of you continue throughout the shopping center.
“Let’s make this quick,” Law tells you upon entering the next store, keeping her insistence on getting this over with.
You pause almost immediately. Drawn to a display of mannequins, your eyes trail over their cardigans, down to skirts with matching tights and complimentary boots. Your gaze shifts onto Law, then back, and onto Law again, just to visualize her in the outfit. If she notices, she doesn’t seem to pay it much mind. Or, perhaps, she just doesn’t want to entertain it, walking past and expecting you to follow.
“I’ll try,” you say, and hope not to get too distracted.
Though just as with the lingerie, you can’t help but muse, spending a bit more time than strictly needed looking at potential options. You have suggestions, but you don’t give them. You already know what she’ll say no to, noticing the way she seems avoidant of the more revealing and feminine options.
Instead, Law focuses on simplicity. The casual clothes are tentative choices, her demeanor even more so when it comes time to try them on. Despite any doubt or hesitation, each piece proves to be flattering. You knew they would. With a body like that, every outfit is practically made for her—a slender waist sculpted to flaunt in form fitting shirts, her defined collarbones and slight cleavage meant for low necklines, her long legs perfect for a good pair of jeans.
You approve, but Law has her own thoughts.
“They’re too tight,” she grouses, looking in the dressing room’s full body mirror with skinny jeans practically painted onto her thighs.
“They’re supposed to be.” You watch her from behind, and step closer to lift her top just enough to adjust the low waistband. “As long as it’s not tight around the waist, it fits.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.” She shifts, turning slightly to assess the fit.
“Does it really matter when they look that good?” you ask. Law stays quiet, not seeming to have any complaints about their appearance. You take it as slight satisfaction. Only subtly, you test her. “I can go get you a different size.”
“It’s fine,” Law tells you, suspiciously quick. When she meets your gaze, giving her a knowing smile that’s well aware of her fondness for the outfit, she defends herself. “I don’t want to wear it,” she clarifies, “but I’m not staying here longer than we have to.”
“Whatever you say, hun,” you tease lightly. Still, her words are half the truth—hours into the shopping trip with just a few more clothes to try on, Law seems eager to leave. There’s no need to draw it out by experimenting with different sizes. You sense her impatience, prompting you to hand her the next set of jeans to continue.
The checkout process doesn’t take long. As the two of you purchase a week’s worth of clothes, a persistent thought tugs at your mind. Though you know you shouldn’t, and though you know it’s unfair to her, you feel a slight bit of disappointment as the stubborn desire to see her in different styles shifts into longing.
It’s not that the choices she made were unsatisfying; far from it. Everything looks good on her. That’s exactly why there’s such an allure to more tempting options, skirts and fishnets and crop tops that are certain to enhance her features even more, but are a territory she’s not quite comfortable with. You try not to push it, letting your eyes linger on the earlier display of mannequins before looking away.
Only when you’re about to leave do you let some selfishness show.
“Law.”
You call for her attention, her name wrapped up in a wistful breath. You’re sure she’s already able to tell you’re not up to any good. From the corner of your eye, you see her turn towards you, watching with what must be a frown as you look at yet another piece of clothing. She speaks firmly.
“I’m not trying on more—“
She stops mid-sentence when you hold it out for her to see. It’s a dress, certainly nothing you can expect her to wear, but it still catches her attention. While Law may not be big on fashion, she has a sense of style. From the subtle intricacies of her earrings to the bold statements etched onto her skin as tattoos, it’s her way of expression. Even a tailored wardrobe captures her story, each piece a deliberate choice reflecting her crew, her past, and everything she values.
The dress isn’t custom made, no, but it might as well be. Slender, black and sleek, Law’s gaze lingers on the heart-shaped cutout adorning the front. It’s positioned on the center of the chest, aligned almost perfectly with her jolly roger tattooed in the same area.
There's a pause. The silent question of if she’ll entertain it lingers in the air, and for only a moment, she lets herself consider. As you watch her expectantly, you can see the contemplation in her eyes, a slight flicker of possibility. Her comfort zone has her quick to push it down. Tearing her focus away from the dress, Law forces an answer.
“No.”
But you know her better than that. That subtle softening in her gaze, you recognize it as openness. The dress may seem too feminine for her usual preference, but there’s something to it that appeals to her, embedded in both personal significance and aesthetic allure. It’s not that she dislikes it. Law’s receptive, but reluctant. All she needs is a bit of encouragement.
“Hun, this shit is practically made for you.” She already knows it, but you want her to hear it. You want her to see it, too. Lifting the dress just enough to outline her figure, you invite her to visualize it on herself. “It’s your size too. Should be long enough…”
As Law looks down at herself and the dress, another moment of uncertain consideration passes. Surely, she can see the appeal, but hesitance lingers. “We don’t have to buy it,” you reassure. “Just try it on, see how it looks.”
She’s wavering. There’s a slight shift in her expression, lines of reluctance turning inward. The furrow of her brows shows a tinge of irritation, but only because she knows she’s caving. When her eyes meet yours again, you give a gentle push that you know will tip the scales.
“For me?”
Law’s quick to snatch the dress from your hands. In a mixture of both frustration and determination, fueled by the stubborn desire to please you, she struts past and into the direction of the changing area. She doesn’t need to turn to know you’re following.
“We’re leaving after this,” Law tells you, disappearing into the confines of the fitting room before she can change her mind.
You wait. There’s a rustling of fabric behind the curtain, and the passing minutes make you wonder if you should’ve gone in with her to help zip up the back. She seems to manage, but not without apparent difficulty. Once her complicated movements settle, Law stands quiet for a few moments. You decide to speak up.
“You done in there?”
Another beat of silence passes before she responds. “…Yeah.”
“Come on out, then,” you encourage.
She’s slow to open the curtain. Law looks off to the side as she reveals herself, exposing curves she still seems to be adjusting to. They’re accentuated, the sleek dress hugging every dip and contour of her body, from slender hips to a pinched waist and up to the soft swell of her chest. You can see the sculpt of her muscles through the thin material, faintly outlining her tight stomach with wrist-long sleeves snug around her lean arms.
Only subtly, skin shows. There’s a slit opening extending from the bottom of the dress up to her lower right hip. It’s cheeky, alluring, offering a hint of her toned, shapely thighs, all while the heart-shaped cutout on the chest perfectly frames her jolly roger tattoo—just as you expected.
Law moves in the silence. Her fingers instinctively reach up to fidget with the short strands of her hair, an absentminded motion of subtle nervousness. She's quick to stop once she looks down and realizes what she’s doing, tucking the strands behind her ear in self-composure before lowering her hand. Lost in your own thoughts, you watch her, not noticing how quiet you are until she speaks.
“Well?” she huffs. In a frustrated search of your response, her gaze finally shifts towards you. You make an effort to snap yourself out of your enamored daze.
“Well,” you repeat. The right words are hard to find, but you suppose Law’s never been one for dramatics. You settle for a simple way to express her indescribable beauty. “You’re stunning.”
It’s straightforward, blunt, honest. Just the way she likes it. She’s flattered, you can tell, but she shouldn’t just take it from you. Walking towards her, you place your hands on her shoulders and turn her towards a nearby mirror to see for herself.
“What did I tell you?” you hum, a glint of pride in your eyes as Law’s gaze trails up and down her body. “You make everything look good.”
She knows. She has to—her demeanor may still be a bit tentative, but there’s a growing approval, rooted in satisfaction upon seeing how objectively flattering the dress is. For the first time since the change, she sees herself through your eyes, a vision of beauty and strength staring back at her. You hadn’t expected her to embrace the dress, or to fully grow accustomed to her new figure, and she doesn’t. But she’s beginning to tolerate it.
That’s good enough for you.
The moment is somewhat short lived. You’d admire her for hours if you could, but people around you seem to think similarly. Enthralled glances from onlookers become apparent, unwanted attention that Law promptly avoids. She tugs her hat down accordingly and turns away from prying eyes, redirecting her focus to the dressing room.
“We’re leaving now.”
That was the deal, after all. You don’t prolong it any more. Law changes back into her regular clothes, and the two of you soon find yourselves walking throughout the shopping center, straight into the direction of the island’s rocky ports. Home isn’t too far, the Polar Tang docked nearby. Despite Law’s eagerness to return, something catches her eye along the way.
An antique shop lies just ahead. Law’s gaze lingers, surely trying to peek through the glass windows for a glimpse of what the shop could offer. Her collection of commemorative coins is something you’re fond of, something endearing, a hobby she could spend hours rambling about if she let herself. Whenever the topic comes up, you always indulge her, but you feel encouraging her interests isn’t enough. She needs to be spoiled.
“I’ll buy you something,” you offer, already knowing she’ll want to see if there'd be anything to add to her collection.
“You’ve bought me everything.” Law glances at the bags of clothes you insisted on holding for her.
“I’ll buy you more.” Your assurance carries a subtle playfulness as you head towards the entrance, coaxing her to follow with the soft chime of the door’s bell.
Above all else, you want Law to enjoy herself. It’s only natural as her partner, prioritizing her happiness and comfort like it’s second nature. Still, you know she never wanted to spend her day clothes shopping. You feel as if this could help, inviting her to shop for something she wants to buy rather than has to.
Yet despite your continuous efforts to help her enjoy herself, and to perhaps ease her into the unfamiliarity of her changed body, there’s still an apparent weight lingering on her mind.
Even as Law becomes engrossed in an intricately crafted coin display, her focus soon shifts back to you. You can feel it. Pausing from across the shop, you meet her eyes with a questioning look. She simply blinks, breaking the momentary connection to redirect her attention back to the coins as if nothing is wrong.
You’d believe it and chalk her silent stare down to her usual introspective awkwardness, if not for the touch of vulnerability in the depth of her eyes. It was like an unsaid question, a stubborn thought part of her wants to voice, but can’t quite find the words to do so.
You hope to give her the opportunity. When the two of you continue back to the submarine, distancing yourselves from the island’s townscape and the eyes of its people, your affection turns more physical. The way your hand lingers on the small of her back offers a subtle sense of security. It expresses openness, reassures support, softly reminding her that you’re here.
She stays quiet throughout the walk, and you don’t mind. She doesn’t need to force it. Aware of how difficult it can be for her to express complicated emotions, you’re patient, staying by her side to listen when she’s ready. It’s unconditional, nonjudgmental, tender and genuine and devoted. All you want is for her to know that.
Maybe tonight, you can remind her exactly how much you love her.
While I’m super excited for chapter 3, I’m glad you’re taking time to make sure it’s something you’re actually happy with. It’s a tough decision to make, but I’m sure it’ll be all the better for it 💙
thank you lo 💜 it was a tough decision, having to pretty much throw away 6k words i worked so hard on
but! it helped me get a better idea of where i want to take the story. i’ve already got a lil outline planned with some scenes and dialogue im very excited to write, so i think we’re on the right track :)
I just found your blog! I am am newly discovered Law simp and I am so excited to read some of the things on your WIP list!!
ohh welcome, welcome!! happy to hear you’re excited to read them, cause im excited to write them! i know i take awhile to post, and i hate to disappoint by deciding last minute to rewrite chapter three of the best medicine, but you can expect chapter one of the ghostface wip sometime this month :)
its been like. 4 months. but i haven’t forgotten about the best medicine! still finishing it up. aiming for chapter three to be out on october 6th, just in time for law’s bday
also! i have ghostface!law shenanigans planned for spooky season so… look forward to it 👻 a summary is in my pinned post!
i finished chapter 3 a few days ago. at first i was happy. it wasn’t perfect but it was done! i was really excited to finally put it out
but only when i finished did i start to have a lot of doubts. after a disgusting amount of thinking i eventually realized it’s not where i want to take the story
i’m not confident at all in posting it. i want something i can be proud of and i want to give y’all the best i can, so i’m thinking i’ll be starting over
it sucks! but it shouldn’t take nearly as long as it did this time. i just need a bit more patience!!
its been like. 4 months. but i haven’t forgotten about the best medicine! still finishing it up. aiming for chapter three to be out on october 6th, just in time for law’s bday
also! i have ghostface!law shenanigans planned for spooky season so… look forward to it 👻 a summary is in my pinned post!
[CHAPTER ONE]
[PAIRING] Trafalgar Law x Reader
[SUMMARY] Law has ruled out your symptoms, diagnosing the effects of a potent aphrodisiac. As your doctor, he carries out a more thorough examination and follows with much needed treatment.
[CONTENT + WARNINGS] AFAB Reader, Reader has breasts, Aphrodisiacs, Pining, Desperation, Teasing, Medical Examination, Medical Malpractice, Power Imbalance, Abuse of Authority (Captain/Subordinate and Doctor/Patient), Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Rough Sex, Dumbification, Begging, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Oral Fixation, Creampies, Dacryphilia, Oral Sex
[WORD COUNT] 7.4k
“Stay still.”
As Law’s subordinate, naturally, you want to obey. When it came to your Captain, there wasn’t much reason to resist. Trust became unwavering throughout the years of being under his command, and loyalty ran deep enough to border devotion. Even off duty, Law’s voice alone has you bound in a tight grip. The hypnotizing rumble bends your will to his, a spell cast upon you as you struggle to just stay still, but you can’t stop yourself from squirming.
It’s an instinctive response. Fully undressed, you feel an urge to writhe in both nerves and need as you lay on the examination table in Law’s medical room. Upon his request, you stripped, your doctor insisting clothes would only get in the way of your treatment. He didn’t need to tell you twice. Though part of you is nervous, you’re more eager than anything. Your only concern is fixated on relieving the tension between your thighs.
Still, there’s a vulnerability that can be felt. It’s as if you’re placed under a microscope, the bright fluorescent lights overhead painting out your body in a clear and intimate image. Law peers down at you. He snaps on a pair of latex gloves, slim fingers slowly wiggling into place. You can almost feel his golden eyes burning into your skin, leisurely trailing from your flushed face to your bare breasts and down to soft thighs, squished together in desperation. Despite the natural embarrassment from the exposure, something about the glint in his gaze tells you there’s no reason to be insecure.
Just the way he looks at you is enough to incite your lustful hunger, greedy for a taste of indulgence. Your fists ball at your sides as you resist the urge to touch yourself. The effects of the aphrodisiac have only intensified upon Law’s offer to relieve your symptoms, the few minutes that have passed feeling unbearably stretched. The chill of the sterile room doesn’t cool the dewy sweat that coats you, your body heated from a flaming desire that borders nymphomania. There’s only so much you can take. Impatient for his treatment, you call out for him. The breathless whimper begs him to begin.
“Captain—“
“Behave.”
His immediate interruption comes out as a warning. There’s no exact background as to what behaving entails, and there doesn’t need to be. Though your mind is dulled, clouded by the fog of an aching passion, you can still sense your Captain’s expectations. The edge to his voice is a straightforward demand telling you to shut your mouth and stay still. In a thick haze, there’s no urge for opposition, no ego wanting to snap back, no interest in the consequences. Need runs too deep to risk prolonging your treatment any more than you have to.
As you look up at Law in a silent plea, his firm eyes suggest he’s testing you. It’s an assessment of your discipline, an evaluation of how dedicated you are to his strict word and promised touch. You find yourself in an internal struggle. Your pent up body begs for some kind of stimulation, a living toy eager to be played with, but even so, you know your manners. Docile, you obey.
“The rest of the examination starts now,” Law says, standing at your side as you lay on the exam table. He looms over you, his tall frame casting a shadow on your figure, making you feel the weight of his intense presence. Piercing eyes are aimed downwards to meet your own. “I’m going to press my hands against parts of your body, and you’re going to tell me where you feel the most sensitive. Do you understand?”
You nod your head frantically, eyes lighting up at the mere thought of his hands on you. He’s direct about it, leaving no room for misunderstanding. There’s a detached quality of practiced ease to his words, carrying an objectivity that made it seem as if this was just another operation. And yet, there’s also an air of possession in the room. His controlling demands teeter ownership.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, Captain.”
The honorific slips from your mouth like second nature. It’s a reminder that his hold on you is nothing new, the title repeated countless times before while under his command. The only difference is context. ‘Captain’ is a term meant to display professionalism. It shouldn’t sound as filthy as it does tumbling from your lips. Though as you lay naked, intimately displayed like you belong to him, the word has a different feel to it, carrying a deeper level of obedience and dedication. It seems to please him. A satisfied grin paints his features for a moment.
“Good.”
Law begins his evaluation, first putting his hand on yours. You knew his touch would come, but expectation doesn’t make the contact any less electrifying. The voltage that radiates from his body is conductive with yours, shocking your arm as it involuntarily jolts upwards. Law’s fingers close in on your hand, clutching with slight pressure. The firm gesture acts as a silent reminder to stay still.
It’s a demand that’s becoming increasingly difficult to obey. Squirming is a tempting impulse, sensitivity and anticipation blending in a way that makes even a simple touch sexually stimulating. Your body wants to react, to fidget with twists and turns in a needy display for more, but Law’s adamant. A whimper emits from your throat, bottom lip shakily curling upwards in a pout. Still, you relax for him. Tense muscles release as you slip your eyes shut.
Law continues. A slow finger begins to trace the lines of your palm, moving along your skin with clinical precision. Your hand twitches in ticklish pleasure, the sensation oddly enjoyable. He trails upwards. Purposefully mapping the veins along your wrists and forearms, it almost seems as if he’s committing you to memory. His deliberate movements carry an attention to detail that you didn’t expect, making you wonder if your heart is supposed to be fluttering.
Though a barrier of gloves separates true touch, his gestures still feel somewhat tender. Despite the sexual intent of the examination, Law doesn’t limit his study to naturally sensitive body parts. Instead, you find he’s decided on something more involved, more immersive, beginning with casual movement to perform a thorough evaluation. It’s unnecessary, but not unwelcome. He pays close attention to his patient, actions intimate in a distant way.
Law takes his time. The latex of his glove continues to travel along your arm, three fingers moving up. His hand settles onto your shoulder with a squeeze that just wanted to see how you'd react. The experimental touch makes you arch your neck and crane it to the opposite side, sensitive and expectant. Skin bared to him, your throat bobs with a deep swallow. Law sees it as an invitation. Wordlessly, he moves to your neck, thumb shifting to your jugular. A few motionless seconds pass before you realize he’s checking your pulse.
“Your heart rate has increased.”
You can hear it. Your surroundings are drowned out by a rapid beat thumping against the plate of your chest. It was as if he took a shot of adrenaline and pumped it straight into your veins, meticulous ministrations fueling an intense exhilaration that pulses throughout your bloodstream. You wonder for a brief moment if he wanted you to squirm, teasing and testing, exploring your thresholds just to see you writhe underneath his touch and struggle to obey his word.
Law’s hand slithers up your neck, silencing your thoughts. He firmly grips your jawbone, his golden eyes narrowed in a way that makes your body shiver and breath hitch. It’d be a dangerous grasp had it been anybody else, but you know that you're in good hands with Law, that he won't let anything happen to you. Care is apparent in the way his hand loosens, beginning to cradle your chin in a way that almost feels affectionate in juxtaposition to what was a teasingly tight grip. You feel a gentle thumb slide across your lips and hear a low voice give another demand.
“Tell me how you feel.”
You don’t respond with words. You’re not too sure if you can. Though the scene has calmed since the frantic rutting you did before Law commanded you to strip and lay, you’re still in the first stage of mind break. The aphrodisiac affecting your cognition in a slow and sensual way is nothing new, but now that you finally feel Law’s touch, it only contributes to your heated stupor. Despite any attempts to hold on to your thoughts, they slip away with each movement of his hand. It leaves you with nothing but a single yearning for more.
Your mouth opens. You want to respond, to obey his every wish and make him proud, but the words just won’t come out. Instead, you act on instinct. It speaks for itself. Upon feeling his thumb against your parted lips, you experience a sudden urge to take it into your mouth, wrapping yourself around the bitter latex with a swirling tongue. It’s a motion of desire, of desperation, a silent way to display how much he’s wanted and a whorish method of asking for more. As your heavy eyes meet his, you find the wordless answer has him entertained. He speaks for you.
“Needy.”
It’s not like he minds. You almost feel as if he encourages it, replacing his thumb with an index finger to properly prod inside your mouth. Tracing over soft gums and sharp teeth, you realize only then how much oral stimulation seems to please you. Your body’s sensitivity isn’t limited to the exterior. Heightened awareness of the pressure, texture and taste of his gloved finger invokes a warm satisfaction. When you whine around him in suggestive pleasure, Law’s motions become more experimental. He studies a gasping mouth, pulling at the side of your cheek as your tongue slips out and laps up any stray strands of spit.
In a perverted test to see how much you can take, he adds his middle finger and begins to dig down. Imagination fuels you. You slip your eyes shut and picture your lips around his cock, the image encouraging you to take his fingers in deeper. Aiming to impress, you allow him to explore your mouth as he sees fit. He isn’t gentle with it, no longer holding back. His fingers reach as far as they can until you feel tears beginning to bead at your eyes when he touches the back of your throat. Reflex takes over, a lewd gag forced out of you before Law pulls away. Your mouth tingles from his absence. A strand of saliva keeps you connected for just a moment longer.
“Eager,” he notes to himself, casually focusing his attention elsewhere. You’re in a daze from his manhandling, stuck in the thrill of your Captain practically fucking your mouth with his fingers, but he doesn't give you a moment to recover. Your already labored breaths become shallow as his touch draws along your collarbone. It prompts you to watch, eyes casted downwards while he travels dangerously lower. You whimper at the realization of his intent.
Law had been dancing around what you truly needed, touch teetering the edge but never pushing you over. His actions so far have been indirect, poking and prodding just to fuel the fire of desire until you’re thoroughly melted. The promise of relief hangs heavy in the air, making you feel like a starved dog with a slab of meat just inches away from its face. Reduced to a pet, you’d jump through flaming hoops for him, knowing reward isn’t too far away. And yet, despite expectation and steady build up, nothing can prepare you for the surge of pleasure upon feeling Law’s hand close in on your breast.
You jolt, hips involuntarily bucking up towards him in a moment of euphoria. The gentle precision in his touch has disappeared, but his attentiveness remains. Watching each reaction, Law handles you without restraint, determining how much his patient can take. A wet thumb slides across your nipple, leaving a cool trail before he takes the sensitive nub between his fingers. Law’s request to stay still sticks with you through the rush. Immediately halting your motions, you suppress overstimulation into a mewl.
“Responsive,” he adds, a clinical tone practically mocking your lewd noises. Law nonchalantly feels you up. He gropes, proving his words true in the way you whimper. He supplies an abundance of lack and excess, fully aware that each movement he makes is too much and not enough. The moment feels stilled and rushed at the same time, your body wanting to draw out every touch while simultaneously begging him to hurry and go further.
It almost feels like a game, toyed with by being bent until you break, and you let him. Upon being granted and given the attention you’ve craved for years, you find yourself wanting him to play with you as he pleases—to take you, to satisfy your pleasure and use you for his own, to push you to the brink and bring you up again just to sink his teeth back into your throat.
And really, he’s in the process, but patience has no hand in desire. Not with the way he tests it, wrapping you around his finger at arm's length. Caught in a sensual oblivion, delirious off an intense ache, you find you can’t take his teasing anymore. In a need for more and a plea for mercy, you start to whine.
“Please…” you begin, with no idea how to end.
Law understands.
“You’re doing well, staying still for me like this,” he tells you, a sense of giddiness tickling your chest upon his praise. You almost feel as if he’s comforting you as his hand trails down in a promise. The slow motion stops sooner than you’d like, his touch settling flat against your lower belly. Law’s voice becomes a purr for a soft second.
“You’ve always been able to obey.”
It’s a sentiment that makes everything still, if only for a moment. His brief reflection reminds you of your relationship with him, of everything before and beyond the heated present. The reality actualizes in your mind that the two of you are really here doing this—a Captain and his subordinate, a doctor and his patient, the code of professionalism between them warping into indecency. Beyond the aphrodisiac’s influence, you wonder what may come tomorrow.
This could be the start of something more, you think to yourself distantly. Whether that be a future of intimacy or heartache, you aren’t sure. All you know is that there’s no turning back. Even if given a dozen chances, you’re certain you wouldn’t take them. Despite the potential fallout of such indiscretion, the moment feels natural and right. There’s a sense of inevitability upon freeing your years of yearning, as if desire was bound to crumble underneath its own weight and fall into Law’s hands.
Though it’s uncharted territory, mutual trust and unspoken understanding brings certainty, allowing you both to indulge in one another comfortably. You surrender yourself to him with ease. Looking up as you feel one of Law’s hands settling onto your thigh, your eyes meet his. He gives another command, as if to prove his previous words.
“Now spread.”
It comes easily to you. Bent knees and closed thighs drift apart, the chill of the room sensitive against your heat. An abundance of pheromones emits. The aphrodisiac flowing through your blood radiates a purely sexual chemistry. An animalistic sharp-sweet scent cuts through the air, blending with the soft fragrance of your shampoo, brought out by your sweat. It reeks of desperation.
You look down. Your clit is swollen, a cherry atop plush lips, flushed a rosy pink. You can’t quite see it, but you can feel the extent of your slick, glistening like you had already been fucked and were dying for another round. A warm wetness trickles onto the thin paper of the examination table beneath you.
“You’re making a mess,” Law tsks. Neither of you care. His hand, still planted on your lower belly, trails down further. Goosebumps pebble your skin upon his light touch, sensitive nipples tightly peaked, hips twitching upwards despite your best efforts to remain still. Your hands clutch at the sides of the examination table, attempting to hold yourself in place as your heart pounds with anticipation.
When long fingers come in contact with your pulsating cunt, the obscene noise you make sounds broken. He’s barely touching you, simply spreading your lips apart, but desperation has you impossibly responsive. Reflex makes your back curl, though Law’s quick to keep you under control. His other hand moves to press at your abdomen, holding you down as a stern warning. You look towards him in a plea, but his eyes are elsewhere. Fixated between your thighs, a faint smile tinges his face, borderline sadistic as he looks on in amusement.
“Tell me how much you need it.”
He harbors a twisted interest. Indulging in personal entertainment, perversion leaks through your patient-doctor relationship as Law’s requests become more and more unprofessional. The front of medical concern is no longer there, stripped to the raw dynamic of Law in control and you at his mercy. In the palm of his hand, he seems to take pride in the way he ruins you, ripping apart everything that needs to be torn.
It’s sick, and it’s addictive. You can’t help but revel in the corrupt thrill of it all, the depraved authority fueling your own degeneracy as Law’s power over you deepens and darkens. Greedy for more, you’d be immediate to comply with his demand if your voice came to you quick enough. Even when you gather it with a thick swallow and open your mouth to speak, he has you choking your words back down.
“I—Fuck… ” you swear, breath hitching as a gloved finger slides downwards, prodding and teasing as he slowly traces circles along your opening. Pushing you to your limits, Law knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s enjoying it. Arousal is apparent. A bulge tents at his jeans, the thick shape fueling imagination and promising satisfaction. You take it personally, allowing yourself to believe that your pleasure contributes to his own, and that maybe, just maybe, these feelings for each other are familiar to him like they are to you.
“You know I need it.” I've always needed it, you refuse to add. The aphrodisiac isn’t the only source of your longing, years of tension and restraint bringing an urgency that begs for relief. Frustration bubbles up, leaving you unable to hold back the impatient edge to your strained voice. Law’s movements stop. He looks at you with a narrowed gaze, wordlessly telling you to watch your tone. Underneath his glare, you tighten around nothing. Needy tears well up in your eyes.
“Please,” you hiccup, part in apology, part in frantic desire. “Please. I can’t take it. I need you, I need you, I need you—“
Your whines are cut off by a sharp squeal of a moan, utter desperation ringing throughout the room as Law suddenly slips in a finger. He slides in effortlessly, your pussy slick enough to have him burying himself knuckles deep with ease despite how much you clench around him. Lightly, Law pushes upwards, applying addictive pressure to a wall of sensitive nerves.
It’s as if he knew how you’d react. Taking advantage of the way your mouth falls open in a keen, Law moves his other hand to shove his fingers between your lips. “We can’t have anyone hearing you,” he justifies, effectively cutting off your debauched moans. The suppression of noise manages to make you sound even more lewd, the muffled whimpers giving off a pathetic vulgarity. Still, it’s quiet enough for only him to hear, and it seems that’s all Law wants.
Three saliva slicked fingers reach for the back of your throat, and you welcome the intrusion. The sensitivity inside your mouth hasn’t subsided. Your tongue and gums tingle as Law pushes deep, stifled whining punctuated by wet gagging. You wrap your lips around him to keep you in your place, delightfully submissive. Contentment envelops you upon being filled with Law’s fingers. Both your drooling mouth and slick cunt eagerly tighten around him.
He begins to pump in and out of your heat, a wetness audible with each thrust of his hand. He keeps a slow pace. Steady and precise, Law’s movements are dedicated to your pleasure. Though the euphoria is blinding, you can still feel his eyes on you, making you distantly notice the way he works in rhythm with each reaction you give. Law stays attentive, determined to give you everything you need.
There’s no longer any teasing or testing. It’s now a direct, unending, pure bliss he provides, his detailed care consuming you from within. Knuckles whiten as you continue to clutch the sides of the examination table, hips involuntarily jutting upwards every few seconds. It’s clear you’re overwhelmed and oversensitive, but Law doesn’t stop. A thumb makes contact with your throbbing clit, rubbing and circling, supplying nothing but ecstasy.
And yet, it’s not enough. Though Law works at you expertly, your need only mounts. The heat pooling in your gut boils, threatening to overflow with liquid pleasure, but release doesn’t come. Desperately reaching for satisfaction, you feel it inch away further, demanding for more to be given. You want all he can offer, all you can take.
Manic with insatiable desire, you feel your hand rising somewhere along his treatment. Shaky fingers wrap around Law’s wrist, silently asking him to let you speak. He complies. His slick digits slip out of your mouth, your spit and drool blending together to trickle down your sensitive neck. Throat sore, your voice comes out hoarse and uneven, dripping with desperation as your teary eyes plead.
"More."
Law knows exactly what you’re asking for, and for a moment, you wonder if he craves the same. He acts immediately upon hearing the single word, a simple whimper that begged to be fucked seeming to set off something within him. Law pulls his fingers out of your dripping heat, taking off his gloves and carelessly tossing them into a nearby bin. You feel impossibly empty from his absence, but he doesn't give you the opportunity to question before he asserts another demand.
“Up,” Law growls.
He doesn’t wait for you to obey, grabbing your hands with a tight grip to force you upright. It seems he’s hit his limit. Once purposeful movements have become greedy, eager actions driven by fervor. Law was always a patient man, maintaining a calm and controlled demeanor in most situations. Though as you look into his eyes, fixated on your body with hunger, you’re reminded even someone as composed as your Captain can cave to lust’s breaking point. Sharing his ache, you yield to his every whim, allowing him to handle you as he pleases.
He acts with a sense of urgency, yanking you into a seated position to encourage you to stand. You try. Bare feet hit the cold floor, palms on the examination table for leverage. As you rise, you quickly realize your legs are too weak to support you, quivering with the weight of anticipation and desire.
Law takes care of it.
“Room.”
His fingers splay out as a faint blue surrounds you, the sphere swirling and expanding past the walls of the medical room. You stare at its alluring aura for a loopy moment. With the aphrodisiac’s sensuality, you find yourself captivated by the mesmerizing beauty of his devil fruit despite the faint confusion of its use. A second passes before Law’s satisfied with its range, his hand turning upwards.
“Shambles.”
With a blink, you land on a bed. You’re dizzy despite being seated, the disorientation of teleportation amplified in your dazed state. It takes a moment for your senses to come back into focus. You recognize the dim lighting and scatter of books as Law’s room. He’s teleported himself along with you, standing at the foot of the bed, not wasting a moment before he climbs on top to pin you down. Excitement wells up within you, your chest erupting with a perverse jolt upon piecing together his intentions.
We shouldn’t be doing this, you think to yourself, reaching to unbutton Law’s shirt with rushed movements. But god, if the thought of burning together isn’t seductive—to step into the flames of risk, to be set ablaze with desire, to melt together in pleasure. The two of you light each other up, abandoning all restraint, leaving formality smoldering. Perhaps you can raise something out of the inevitable ashes.
You could worry about it. You could wonder if the passion will last beyond this moment, and you could debate whether or not this was simply Law’s duty as your doctor treating your condition, or if there was an underlying desire beneath his actions, but you can’t find it in yourself to ponder the risks and technicalities. All you know is what you feel—chosen. As the two of you sinfully indulge in each other, there’s a simplicity to it all. You have him, and he has you.
Perhaps that’s all that matters.
Thoughts become static as Law tosses his shirt to the side and continues to undress above you. You let out a shaky sigh of admiration, taking a moment to drink him in. Every part of him is intoxicating. Your eyes devour him shamelessly, starting with his plush lips before straying to the tendons of his neck, down to the soft swell of his chest muscles, tracing along the definition of his abs and settling on gawking at his sizable bulge. Tattooed fingers manipulate his belt buckle, coming undone until you can see his boxers.
Law pauses. He looks at you in a way that asks for confirmation, to be certain this is what you want. In truth, you couldn’t ask for anything more. It’s been what you’ve wanted for years, a depraved craving and debauched fantasy finally becoming tangible, just within arm’s reach. Fulfillment is a word away.
“Please,” you encourage, voice hushed and desperate.
It’s all he needs.
He's big. Upon pulling his boxers off, Law's cock pops out with a slight bounce. It's flushed pink with want, his tip a deeper red, the shaft thick and heavy. You were already aware of what looked like an impressive length just through the tent bulging from his clothes, but despite expectation, he still has you practically drooling at the sight. You can almost feel your pupils dilate. Your lips part in admiration, a warmth filling your cheeks. Something about the way you look at his cock makes it twitch.
Law begins to reposition himself. Still on top of you, he moves upwards, making you lay fully on your back as he straddles you, his knees at either side of your chest. Inches away from your face, you can feel his length radiating a slight heat. The sight of him brings you to a state of near hypnosis. Spellbound with an urge to please and provide, you take him into your hand and give his cock a slow pump. A droplet of precum beads at the swollen head, and you lick it away with a sideways swish of the tongue. You shiver with oral sensitivity, relishing in Law’s bitter-salt taste and the faint, pent up throbbing beneath your palm.
"Get it wet for me," he orders. The provocative demand erupts a thrill within you, your cunt pulsating in expectation and imagination, making you determined to obey and be rewarded.
But mostly, you just want him in your mouth. It opens on its own as you act without thought, slick lips wrapping around his tip. Your tongue swirls around him and massages what seems to be a particularly sensitive spot at the underside of his cock, right beneath the head. Law breathes out above you, deep and heavy, relaxed and content like he’s releasing days worth of tension. His hand moves, roughly fisting your hair to pull you towards him. Encouraged to sink down, you swallow half his length at once. Your eyes flutter shut in bliss as you feel his cock slide heavily onto the back of your tongue.
You take it easily, naturally, your mind entering a relaxed state that shushes any thoughts. There’s only him. The world around you has narrowed, becoming entirely consumed by nothing but the man in front of you. An ache still simmers in your core, but the need for relief dulls for a moment, becoming an afterthought as you feel a simple desire to take him deeper into your mouth.
In a sensual haze, soft lips begin to run up and down his length, from the center to his tip. Your hand takes care of his thick shaft while you pump him in tune with each bob of your head. You work eagerly, tongue at the underside of his cock as you lick, cheeks hollowing as you suck, contributing to both his satisfaction and your own as your mouth tingles with intoxicating pleasure. You barely notice the soft noises you’re making until you feel Law’s fingers tightening around your hair, responding to your moans vibrating around his cock.
It threatens to touch the back of your throat, your mouth almost lowered to his base. You breathe in slowly through your nose, Law’s skin and sex smelling primal and masculine, alighting a flare of arousal within your chest. Though before you can sink further, without warning, Law uses his grip to firmly shove you down. His self-control dwindles, fully burying himself into you, a shaky sigh escaping through gritted teeth.
You whimper around his length. The pathetic mewl combined with a deep, reflexive swallow sounds impossibly sinful. You’re certain you look the part too, raunchy with your lips split wide around his cock, slicked up with too much saliva and drool dribbling down your chin. Your eyes are watering, tears threatening to slip down your cheeks as your gag reflex contracts.
It only fuels your perverse excitement. Your hands clutch at either side of his hips, digging crescent-shaped marks into his skin, the sting making his hold tighten. Your thighs press together, mindlessly squirming and writhing beneath Law as you take all of him. Sucking with vigor, his hand moves in time with your eager ministrations, fingers laced through your hair while he works you onto him.
Law keeps control as he guides you, but it’s clear he’s struggling to maintain it. You can notice the way he’s trying to contain himself as time passes, swallowing his noises back, suppressing open-mouthed groans into heavy breaths and low grunts. His hips twitch continuously, bucking into your mouth as you feel him faintly throb against your tongue.
He doesn’t let himself finish. Law suddenly pulls you off by your hair, urgent and rough. You slide out with an obscene pop, immediately missing the fullness in your mouth, longing for the taste of his seed. You look up at him, your face wet with tears and drool. He almost seems as wrecked as you are. Law pants above you, his lips parted and face flushed, eyes heavy as he looks down at you.
An intense need for release promptly returns upon his absence. Though he’s within arms reach, you long for him terribly—the contentment and relief he provided upon taking you, the feeling of his cock inside of you, the debauched noises he made in response to your care. You don’t want it to stop, not even for a moment.
“Use me,” you plead, voice strained and worn, helpless and submissive. His response is immediate, ingraining ownership with the firmness of his words.
“I will.”
Law doesn’t waste time. He moves off your chest, straddling your hips now. Knowing you’re ready, he acts without delay, lining himself up with your entrance. You practically pull him inside. He sinks into you, letting out a rough huff of pleasure. You’re faintly aware of making too much noise as you whimper beneath him, clasping a hand over your mouth to suppress the high pitched sounds. In your current oversensitive state, he feels endless inside of you, impossibly swollen as your walls stretch to accommodate his length. Still, you take every inch. Your sultry warmth squeezes around him while he buries himself deep.
He stays bottomed out for a moment. The two of you adjust to each other, reveling in the sensual thrill of experiencing the other’s body for the first time. You can see the way he unravels. Holding himself up, his hands are placed at your sides, fingers gripping the sheets. With his brows knit and jaw tight, Law’s mask of composure steadily slips, but dominance continues to radiate off every inch of him nonetheless. Under his control, he takes you.
Law pulls out just enough to thrust himself back in. Picking up a steady pace, he aims to please, each movement purposeful. You can feel your fingers digging into your cheeks as the grip on your mouth tightens, your snug heat clenching around him in a way that makes him groan lowly. You’re pushed to the outermost limits of pleasure, something within your body unlocking upon having him inside you. The ache in your lower belly transitions into persistent bliss. Your other hand shakily reaches down, rubbing frantic circles along your clit as you chase full satisfaction.
It doesn't take long. Your orgasm hits you like a train, paralyzing you with adrenaline and brute force. The impact of relief after such debilitating tension and unruly want makes you freeze when it all comes crashing down. You're caught in an obscene arch, back curling off the bed as a strangled sob of delight stifles through your hand.
You're faintly aware of the way Law looks at you, his motions coming to a complete stop as you ride your high. You'd ponder the hypnotized glint in his eyes if you had the brainpower. The buzz in your head discourages complex thinking, fully focused on the simplicity of moving your hips down to grind yourself onto him in a desperate pursuit for more.
The concept of enough is lost to you. Though it brought a mind shattering pleasure, satisfaction was brief. Unsated and eager, your need for release mounts, the aphrodisiac fueling both greed and lust. Your hand, still clasped on your mouth, loosens. Your breath is hot and heavy between your fingers as you whisper out a plea.
"Don't stop."
Law almost looks surprised for a brief moment. You've left no room for recovery, certain to be uncontrollably overstimulated. Even so, it's what your body asks for, and it's what you get. He doesn’t hold back, something animalistic brought out within him as he picks up his movements and redoubles his efforts. Sensing the defilement you need, Law ruthlessly gives you all you can take.
He ruins you from the inside out, making you writhe and contort with relentless pleasure. Tears begin to wet your hand as you struggle to muffle the filthy moans that escape you. Overwhelmingly blissed out, your eyes lock with Law’s. There’s a wildness within him, a stark contrast to his usually composed demeanor. He looks drunk off pleasure, lost in consumption with his pupils blown and his breathing changing, becoming fast and shallow.
The pace grows feverish. There was depth in Law’s actions before now. Quick thrusts were harsh but precise, intended to hit only the spot that made you squeal. Though as his ache blends with yours, there’s no longer a pattern, no thoughts beyond need and take. Something primal envelops him, apparent in the way his movements become sloppy and rushed. An instinct to claim exposes itself in all its selfish entirety as Law chases his high.
The raw desperation fuels your own. You can feel the rush of another orgasm creeping up, but Law loses himself before you do. The low growl he makes barely sounds human. A carnal noise is hot against your ear, Law’s face settling in the crook of your neck. Thin hips cease their movement as his cock stays buried to the base, twitching with each pump of cum. He empties into you for long seconds, the warmth of his seed radiating across the pit of your stomach. You clench around him, welcoming every drop.
Suddenly, he pulls out, but doesn’t stop.
You’re barely given a chance to think. Law grabs you, roughly flipping you over so that you’re on your elbows and knees before him. You squeak in surprise, though your body reacts on instinct, back arching to display yourself properly. You can hear Law let out a deep, shaky sigh behind you, surely savoring the picture you paint as his wide hands grip the plush of your hips. He spreads you apart. His seed seeps out of your throbbing cunt and trickles onto your thigh before you feel his blunt head prodding at your entrance.
Law acts in a way that’s starved, burying himself deep with one thrust only to slide out to the tip and push himself back in, repeating with vigor. You can recognize the desperation—the eagerness, the insatiability, the uncontrollable need for more despite already reaching satisfaction. It’s a deep seated craving you’ve grown all too familiar with under the aphrodisiac’s influence, plaguing you with persistent hunger. As the swell of searing arousal continues to build within you, you manage to come to a realization.
Secondhand exposure, you think to yourself. It has to be. The way he moves, the way he devours, the way he takes without holding back… You’re unsure of why it’s affected him, whether it was through contact with your body or by simply being in your vicinity, but Law loses himself all the same. He caves to a maddening desire, and you’re underneath him, caught in the crossfire as he uses you for all you’re worth.
You bask in it. For nights and for years, you’d wonder what it’d be like to experience your Captain in his rawest form, overwhelmed with desire and breaking with lust. You’d imagine how he’d act, how he’d look, how he’d sound, moans and whimpers escaping him until you wouldn’t be able to associate his cool demeanor without its needy counterpart. As Law takes you, you feel an odd swell of pride and giddiness. It's a particularly exciting feeling to have a usually composed and reserved man now unfiltered, indulging in life’s most sacred pleasure with you.
He gives in sinfully, hand slithering up your back to wrap around your neck. Law grabs you by the throat, fingertips digging into your skin, pulling you upwards and using his grip as leverage to bounce you onto him in time with each thrust. The strain in your neck and bend of your back barely registers as pain. It melts into something else entirely, concocting into a thorny kind of pleasure when mixed with Law’s ravaging. You welcome it, moving as your body allows, sloppy and shaky as your hips follow his movements to fuck yourself onto him.
The two of you fall into a rhythm. Thriving off shared need, you find yourselves continuously using each other’s bodies as you both grow senseless from the unending ecstasy. It's a strange haze you enter. Hypnotized and delirious, the minutes and motions blur together, your concept of time and cognition slipping away. Fixated on savoring the present, on doing nothing but taking what you need and giving all you can offer, you’re caught in a tangle of bodies as the aphrodisiac controls each greedy action.
You’re wrecked by the time it fizzles out. Fucked to mind break, you lay beneath Law, broken little whimpers escaping you as he takes you one last time. The numbers of your orgasms have become lost to you, though the lewd squelching of your cunt suggests enough, dripping with a blend of your slick and Law’s cum. He’s managed to fill you load after load, releasing into you each time he came, not wasting a drop save for the excess that overflows as he continues to pump himself in and out.
Though you’re spent, you allow Law to use you as he pleases, acting as a toy made for his entertainment. He breaks you. Enveloped in a state of rapture, Law watches with perverted pleasure as your tears and drool stain your blissed out face. Seeing you in such a ruined state only makes him more ravenous, quickening the erratic rhythm. Law claims, his movements possessive, hands tightly gripping your wrists as he pins you down and tears you apart.
The room smells of sex, atmosphere thick and heavy, your bodies covered in a glistening gleam of sweat. Lightheaded from the heat and dazed with overexertion, the world around you swirls in a blur of dizzying sensations. Through the disorienting fog, you hear him. His voice cuts you out of your haze, each word carrying a raspy edge, guttural and rough with primal need.
“Say my name.”
Your pounding heart skips a beat. Law’s name wasn’t something you just threw around. Though the two of you had grown close over the years, you still had the habit of referring to him out of respect, calling him Captain or doctor no matter the context. His name was unspokenly intimate, uttered only a handful of times in delicate moments.
And now, he wants it. He’s no less demanding than he’s been all night, but there’s something different about it now. It’s not the control you’re used to, not the same power of a Captain giving orders meant to be followed. It’s vulnerable when you really think about it, the request suggesting a desire beyond what’s necessary as your doctor and Captain.
A surge of memories floods your mind, recalling the countless hours you've spent side by side, fighting for a common cause. You've witnessed Law's unwavering determination, his bouts of rage, his indirect yet tender care, the victories and defeats that have defined your shared journey. Through it all, you've admired him, respected him, and steadily fallen for him.
If his name is what he wants, it’s what you’ll give.
“Law,” you softly whimper, pulled from the depths of your chest, releasing years of pent up longing with each devoted repeat. “Law, Law, Law…”
It’s enough to throw him over the edge. Law presses his forehead against yours and releases into you, his voice raising an octave as his grunts and groans transition from dominant and controlling to needy and desperate. You squeeze around him instinctively, his cock twitching and throbbing, your heat pulsating in response. You’re filled with his addictive warmth once again, though your own pleasure is an afterthought as Law loses himself to unbridled lust above you.
In this moment, you could almost convince yourself he’s more than just a Captain or doctor. It’s as if he's a lover, his parted lips an inch away from yours. Your breath mingles with his as he hovers over you, tantalizingly close. In such vulnerability, you begin to feel the weight of your desire, of everything you pushed away and locked up, finally lifting. You wait for Law to bridge the remaining distance, to close the gap between your lips and his, to admit to yearning and declare satiation with a kiss that seals your connection.
It doesn’t happen.
Law pulls away, leaving you suspended in a state of bittersweet longing. What the two of you have shared tonight was undeniably passionate, but despite the electricity, reality begins to settle in. A sobering realization dawns over you as the boundaries of your relationship fall back into place, confining you within the throes of what is appropriate and acceptable between you and your Captain.
Though even as fervor subsides, the weight of it lingers. Unspoken desires and unfulfilled possibilities hang heavy in the air. It’s a testament to the depth of emotions that simmer beneath the surface, aching to be explored, reminding of what could’ve been, relenting to what must be.
You almost expect him to leave, to cut off this connection here and now, but he stays. Law collapses next to you, his body mirroring your own wrecked and worn state. Lucidity dull with exhaustion, you rest your head on his chest, experimentally pulling him close in a need for aftercare. He doesn’t stop you. Instead, his arm wraps around your waist, securing you against him.
Later, there will be more. Later, there will be problems, complications, repercussions of this forbidden intimacy. You know this. Even so, the steady rhythm of Law’s heartbeat gently soothes your senses. It’s a fragile respite, a brief reprieve, but you still find solace in his arms, allowing yourself to think that perhaps, just for this moment, you belong together.
Just wanted to say I love love love your fic - can't wait to see what else you have in store! I hope you're also enjoying writing! :) ~jade anon
thank you, it means a lot to hear that :) honestly, writing’s been pretty tough recently… but kind messages like these always encourage me to keep trying!
that said, chapter two of the best medicine will be out a bit later than expected. i appreciate y’all being patient w me!
Just here to say that "The Best Medicine" is some top tier stuff. I really loved your writing, so decisive and fluid, I'm glad you blessed up my dashboard today!
thank you so much! this is my first fic and i put a lot of love into it, so i really cherish the appreciation. you’re blessing me here too anon <3
[PAIRING] Trafalgar Law x Reader
[SUMMARY] You’ve unknowingly come in contact with an aphrodisiac. With symptoms involving hyperactive senses, fever and weakness in the body, you seek Law’s medical knowledge to help treat what you assume to be a strange sickness. Upon examination and diagnosis, your doctor offers a cure.
[CONTENT + WARNINGS] AFAB Reader, Reader has breasts, Aphrodisiacs, Desperation, Teasing, Medical Examination, Medical Malpractice, Pining, Sexual Tension. More in future chapters!
[WORD COUNT] 6k
“Come in.”
Despite the state you’re in, you still had the decency to knock. There’s warmth spreading all around you, heavy heat muddling both your body and mind. An aching sensation at your core has you in a daze, far too hot and distracting, instinct begging you to find some relief, though you can’t quite place how. Unable to shake off this enveloping feeling for a few hours now, you’ve found yourself at Law’s door, desperate for a cure. The strange haze seems to only deepen upon hearing the low rasp of his voice.
You turn the knob and enter, metal door unusually heavy. The Polar Tang creaks in response. Your legs feel weak, wobbling with a simple step, forcing yourself to lean on the side of the entryway as you struggle to keep upright. In a dim office, Law sits at his desk several feet in front of you. He seems too fixated on a pile of papers to look up. With his hat discarded to the side, reading glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose as he jots down what must be important notes. A sense of guilt creeps up on you.
You didn't want to interrupt—your Captain was a busy man, after all, and you knew this late, quiet hour was usually reserved for his work. But he was also the Heart Pirates’ only doctor, and as these strange sensations mounted throughout the night, you felt you needed medical attention. You stand there for a moment, mouth opening to speak. Nothing comes out. An inappropriate captivation engulfs you, words caught in your throat as you look towards Law. He’s comfortable, shirt unbuttoned a few notches and sleeves rolled up. The muscles and tendons to his tattooed forearms shift alluringly with each stroke he writes, leaving you mesmerized.
“What is it?” he asks, still looking downwards.
You suck in a shaky breath, struggling to get ahold of yourself. Suggestive thoughts about Law weren’t foreign to you. He was rather attractive, almost intimidatingly so, and combined with the close bond the two of you shared, you found yourself enamored. But he was your Captain, and you were his subordinate. He was your doctor, and you were his patient. As addictive as the thought was, you hadn’t allowed yourself much fantasy of the two of you being anything more, knowing shared feelings were unlikely and, in a sense, immoral. You’ve learned to live with the ache.
But at times, you simply can’t help yourself. With heavy lidded eyes, you stare, his lithe figure something sculpted from the gods. All you wanted was to go down on your knees and show him a thing or two about worship with devoted hands and a sinful mouth. You struggle to divert your attention; this was no time for fantasies, but still, they linger.
“Captain…”
It nearly comes out as a plea, your voice a pathetic whimper. You surprise even yourself from the way you sound upon calling for him, catching Law’s attention as his eyes dart up towards you. You must look as unkempt as you feel, his gaze trailing from your face down to your body in a way that suggested you were quite the sight. Looking away, you feel exposed, unable to speak further. Despite your silence, Law gets the idea, the doctor recognizing discomfort when he sees it. He hums your name in acknowledgement.
“I take it you’re not feeling well.”
Law sets down the pen and removes his glasses, chair scooting back as he rises to his feet, attention now fully on you. He walks towards your trembling form and looms over you, hands moving to clutch at your shoulders to help you stand. His touch is gentle, but it still overwhelms. A sharp gasp is yanked from your lips upon the electrifying contact as your body jolts in sudden sensitivity. You clutch his shirt for support with fisted palms, head falling onto his chest, breathing heavily beneath him.
An arm moves to wrap around your waist, keeping you from crumbling to the ground. His grip is firm but consciously delicate, staying considerate of your well-being, though you could still feel a thrilling strength behind his grasp. In desperate instinct, your body reacts on its own. Your back arches underneath an addictive touch, breasts squished against Law’s lean body. The pressure rakes a shiver down your spine with a whimper caught in the middle of your throat. Each surge of sensation was simply too intense, too stimulating, too invigorating. Molded into putty in his hands, your legs grow weaker.
“You can barely stand,” he comments. The two of you are too close, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating against you. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly in a strained tone, trying to gather yourself. There’s shame within you, confused as to why you felt so sensitive, guilty that a part of you was enjoying it. Though overwhelming, what seemed to be heightened senses wasn’t exactly unpleasant. The attention from Law fueled an inappropriate pleasure. Logic, faint through the pink fog in your head, reminds you of your relationship with him—this care was simply a doctor tending to his patient rather than romantic affection. You find yourself embarrassed at both your thoughts and physical reactions, feeling indecent.
You push yourself off of him by a few inches, trying to keep a professional distance. A feeling of dizziness washes over you, your body wavering, his grip tightening. As you force yourself to relax, you find it difficult to focus on anything beyond his touch. Every nerve ending in your body seemed to be on an intoxicating edge. With a dazed mind, you struggle to string together a coherent sentence. “Started feeling weird a few hours ago,” you tell him, a slight slur to your words. “I thought it’d go away. Only got worse.”
Law hums in understanding. He places a finger beneath your chin, guiding you to look at him for inspection. You tilt your head upwards to meet his eyes, mouth parted in soft pants, face flushed and gaze heavy lidded. His own fixed stare greets back, intense as always. In examination, he scans your features. It’s almost intimate, reminiscent of a position two lovers would find themselves in during a tender moment. Though you try to shake away the thought, you can’t help the excited nerves that well up inside your chest. Unrealistic anticipation eats away at you, enticing lips staying inches apart from yours.
“You’re running a fever,” Law says as he puts the back of his hand to your forehead. Despite the heat, you shiver. “Let’s get you to the examination room. Can you walk?”
”Might need some help,” you admit sheepishly. An unsteady voice betrays your attempts at composure. Law extends his arm and gently takes hold of yours, pulling it over his shoulder. With his grip secured around your waist, he helps guide you out of the room, easily supporting your weight as he keeps you steady. You grit your teeth at the physical contact to hold back any undignified noises. A primal desire flared within your chest, each touch erupting into fireworks with exhilarating tingles spreading throughout your body. As the sparks ignite cravings you’ve always tried to contain, you find yourself struggling to keep your demeanor under control.
“You seem tense,” he points out, looking down at you as he helps you walk at a slow pace. “Are you in any pain?”
You consider the question for a moment, gauging how exactly you feel. Though weak, your body was alive with rushes of consuming sensations, passionately responsive to all stimulation. While your person felt reactive and hyper aware, your psyche was dulled and clouded, thoughts faint through fog. It was as if your body had been set alight and your mind was melting in its wake. Then, there was fervor. You hadn’t been able to pinpoint it before, figuring the deep warmth you were experiencing was the result of a fever. Though as Law holds onto you, your bodies pressed together, you can feel distinctive arousal.
It’s an unmistakable lust for him that you’re well familiar with, experienced most during late nights when quiet loneliness peels back careful restriction and reveals the raw need festering underneath. It always ravaged, but never with such hunger. The heat you’ve felt is now concentrated between your legs and where Law’s hands lie, knot in your core tightening, explaining that instinctive yearning for release. But why were you so sensitive? Was it really possible to be so aroused you could barely stand? Certainly, something was off. You chalk your sexual excitement down to what must be a desperate need to get laid, and focus on being treated by your doctor.
“Not exactly,” you answer. “Just feel… sensitive.” A heavy sigh comes out as a shudder, the ache within you almost unbearable. Beneath a heaving chest, your heart pounds. “I really don’t know what it is, doc. I just know it’s not normal.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Law assures you.
Despite his support, you feel unsteady as you walk. You had grown used to the submarine’s constant motion over the years, but now, each step was like your first day on the Polar Tang, tentative and slightly wobbly from being submerged in a room underwater. You hold onto Law tighter to keep from stumbling, grateful the hour was late enough for most crewmates to be retired to their rooms. It’d be quite the explanation you’d have to muster had anyone seen you in such a helpless state with your Captain.
The two of you pause as you arrive in front of the examination room. Law uses his free arm to reach into his pocket, keys jingling while he unlocks and opens the door. For a moment, a cold blast of air that escapes the room hushes the high temperature that surrounds you, goosebumps pebbling your skin until a blanket of warmth promptly returns. Law flicks on the lights before guiding you to a chair, the sudden brightness making you squint in adjustment. His grip loosens.
“Sit. I’ll get my things.”
You ease yourself onto the chair and lean your side against the counter next to it. Though Law’s touch was gone, the desire within you doesn’t fade. A distracting longing only heightens from his absence. He turns and you watch as he maneuvers around the room, reaching into a cabinet on the wall above his head to pull out a blood pressure cuff. In the same smooth movement, he picks up a nearby stethoscope with his other hand, draping it around his neck.
“Are you experiencing any palpitations, vertigo or chills?” he asks as he turns towards you. You blink out of what feels like a trance, too hypnotized by the movement of his body. Each action seemed almost graceful. Controlled and purposeful, confidence demanded attention through a charismatic yet domineering presence. It was a daunting beauty—though you were deeply familiar with and trusting of this man, a part of you still squirms underneath his intense person and piercing eyes. You gather your thoughts and voice, but your tone comes out uneven and shaky, too affected by the needs within you.
“Palpitations? Yes. I felt it most when we were walking.” You wonder if it was because of the excitement and nervousness you experienced being in such close proximity with him, but even as Law stands a foot away, you still feel each beat of your heart. It was a quiet and steady drum, faster than what might’ve been normal. Should it be a cause of concern, you answer your doctor truthfully. “But it’s faint now. Vertigo, yes. I don’t feel it much now that I’m sitting, though. And no chills. I’m really warm, actually.”
“I see,” he acknowledges. “Give me your arm.”
You obey. Sticking out your right arm, you find yourself unable to hold back a slight gasp when he places a hand on you. His grip doesn’t move or lighten; if anything, it grows a bit tighter, as if to keep you in place. You look up at him, round eyes and furrowed brows painting your face in a pout. Law’s firm gaze softens for a moment. “I know you’re feeling sensitive, but bear with me,” he tells you, wrapping a cuff around your arm. “I’m going to take your blood pressure.”
You wince as the cuff inflates, tightening continuously, squeezing against responsive nerves. You can feel the blood in your veins pumping as Law listens to your pulse with the stethoscope, watching the gauge. Once satisfied, he slowly lets the air out of the cuff and unwraps it from your arm. The release of pressure elicits a sigh of relief from you. “118 over 72. Healthy. We’ll check your heart rate next.”
He stands over you, tall and imposing, leaning towards you slightly to place the stethoscope on your chest. You look down upon feeling the circle of cold metal contrasting against hot skin, body on fire at the sight of a strong hand and slim fingers too close to your cleavage. Law listens for a few moments and puts his thumb against his jugular as he counts the seconds. “Fast,” he notes, pulling away. The shame in you makes you wonder if he could recognize the excitement behind your ribs.
“Now,” he says, picking up a pen and holding it in front of you. “Follow this for me.” Moving back and forth slowly, your eyes follow the object for seconds that feel far too long in your daze. Sitting still has begun to make you a bit restless, a needy part of you almost missing the overstimulation Law’s touch provided. Your gaze locks with his as the pen stops moving, once again finding yourself captivated. He was handsome. Pretty, even.
“Bit of trouble there. The eye’s lateral movement isn’t as smooth as it could be.” He looks directly at you for a moment, considering. “I’m going to check the lymph nodes under your chin now,” he says, almost as a warning, staying conscious of the sensitivity you feel. You’re welcoming in eager anticipation of his touch, neck ticklish as you swipe your hair away. You bare yourself to him.
He rubs his palms together, considerate enough not to touch you with cold hands. Despite the added heat, you still startle upon the contact of long fingers sliding up the sides of your neck. A high pitched hum sounds from your throat when skin meets skin, your head dipping back with the gentle swoop of his hands. Your eyes drift downwards and you watch as your heaving chest fills the space between you two with each deep breath. Firm and wide, his hands easily wrap around your neck with tattooed fingers interlocking at the nape. Law traces the points of your collarbone with his thumbs, traveling along the soft skin of your throat and delicate hinge of your jaw.
“No worries there. But I can see that your pupils are unnaturally dilated,” he tells you, using his grip to tilt your head up towards him. Law peers down at you, his analytical eyes making you feel too exposed, too vulnerable, like you were being laid out and intimately dissected. The ghost of his touch lingers after he pulls his hands away, a hot tingle left on your neck. “And your eyes seem glazed over. What are you feeling right now?”
He asks it like he’s suspicious of something, making you wonder if you’ve been a bit too responsive to his touch. You debate how to answer, because truthfully, you feel lust. It was there before, but as the minutes ticked by, it became something you couldn’t ignore no matter how hard you tried. There was an intimate wanting within you that certainly didn’t need to be vocalized, the distracting wetness between your thighs a symptom you wouldn’t admit to. You decide not to lie, but don’t tell the full truth, either.
“I feel warm,” you begin with a shuddering sigh, struggling to gather your thoughts in such a thick haze. “Like I’m laying under the sun. It’s hard to focus. I feel sensitive, to your touch, to the lights, to the temperature. There’s no pain, it’s almost euphoric in a way, but my body tells me something’s wrong.”
You nearly feel cornered with the way Law looms over you, his palm pressed onto the counter to your right, arm propping himself up as he leans against it. You’re certain he doesn’t mean to be, but his powerful presence is naturally intimidating, golden eyes burning into you. “Let’s narrow this down. Typically, exposure to afflictions occurs within 24 hours before feeling the first symptoms,” he notes. “What were you doing today? Anything out of the ordinary that could be a cause of concern?”
“I spent most the day with the Strawhats,” you recall after some thinking, though you’re sure Law already knew as much. You’d been absent from the Polar Tang for the majority of the evening, finishing your duties early and taking the opportunity to spend some time with Luffy and his crew before their departure to another island tomorrow. “We had dinner together before I came back to the submarine. Sanji cooked some curry. There’s leftovers for you in the kitchen, by the way.”
“I appreciate it,” Law tells you. “And before that?”
“Bunch of chaos. You know how the Strawhats are. Never a moment of quiet on that crew,” you say, but there’s no disdain to your words. You smile fondly as you remember your day. “Luffy was bored, so we explored the island a little. Usopp and I found this weird fruit that Sanji wanted to cook up, but it splattered all over me while Luffy and Chopper played hot potato with it,” you tell him, shaking your head in amusement. “Before that, it was just my usual routine on a slow day.”
You stop there, trying to think of more details, but you’re left with a loss of words as another wave of haziness steadily washes over you. Still, it seemed to be enough for Law. He hums in acknowledgement, turning and walking towards a bookshelf situated on the other side of the room. His gaze scans the multitude of medical literature in front of him. After a few seconds of browsing, he stops at a particular book that piques his interest. “This fruit,” he begins, tone laced with curiosity. “What color was it?”
Your brows furrow, confused at what seemed to be an unrelated question. Doctor knows best, you remind yourself, confident in Law’s abilities. “Pink,” you offer, hoping to provide him with the information he seeks. “With swirls of purple.”
Upon hearing this, Law takes a moment to contemplate in silence before deciding on a book, pulling it out and searching through its contents. “It’s a hunch,” he mutters as he flips through the book, “but I might have an idea of what’s affecting you. Give me a moment.”
His back is turned towards you, giving you the opportunity to drink in every detail of his lithe form. Eyes full of yearning, a heavy gaze drifts from his long legs to toned shoulders, broad back narrowing down to contrast well with the slimness of his waist. The thin fabric of his shirt barely conceals the lean muscles that lie beneath, rippling and contorting ever so slightly as he moves, reminding you of how much strength he holds.
As he finishes with the book in hand, Law places it back on the shelf and reaches for another. His movements are fluid and controlled, too entrancing to look away. Pages rustle quietly, but the noise grows faint, drifting far from your ears as the thumping of your heartbeat drowns out any slight sound. The daze you’re in deepens while you stare, that same restlessness from before creeping back with new intensity. Your leg begins to bounce with pent up energy as the flare of arousal within you swirls and expands.
There’s no distraction—no medical tests being performed, no questions being asked, the room quiet and growing increasingly warm as inappropriate thoughts and urges consume you. The stillness tests your patience, taunting and mocking, body begging for stimulation. You can feel your thighs pressing together in a desperate attempt for pleasurable friction, moving on their own as you squirm in your seat.
Law pauses his reading, glancing towards you. “You okay?”
There’s an air of amusement to his words, as if he knew something you didn’t. You look up towards him, but his eyes don’t immediately meet yours. His gaze trails over your body, slow and purposeful, and settles near your thighs for a moment. He glances up to your face, flushed with lips parted in a pant, and casually focuses his attention back to the book he holds. You’re left feeling more tense than before, wondering what exactly he was thinking past that controlled demeanor of his. Palms are fisted at your sides as you gather yourself, steadying your breathing.
“I feel worse,” you admit with a whine, frustration clear in your voice. “Isn’t there something you could give me to tide this over? Some kind of medicine, maybe? I’ll take anything.”
Law’s response is a measured one, walking back over to you with a book still in hand. “I’m afraid treatment won’t be that easy,” he states as he turns the book towards you. It’s opened on a page with a picture of a fruit you immediately recognize, though you’re unable to decipher the words around it, each letter too muddled together. “I’m assuming this is it?” he asks, watching you.
“Yes, but… Why does it matter?”
“Consuming strange fruits is dangerous, much less having them splatter all over you,” Law says, setting the book down on the counter next to you. “Some of them can be poisonous and have a range in severity and symptoms, which results in all kinds of reactions in the body. I’m certain the contact you’ve had with this specific fruit is the cause of what you’re feeling, because the known side effects match up almost perfectly with yours—the sensitivity, warmth, dizziness, trouble focusing. But the most common symptom is one you haven’t admitted to.”
Law looks at you knowingly. There’s a tint of entertainment to his eye, words dripping with innuendo. Your breath gets caught in your chest at the implication, face reddening as your cheeks fill with blood. Shame wants to deny. You feel an urge to give some kind of excuse or reasoning that insists he’s wrong, that you have no idea what he’s talking about, that you weren’t hiding anything from him. You can’t seem to muster it up. You don’t talk, your mouth opened uselessly in an attempt to defend yourself, but there’s nothing to explain.
Law’s tone says he’s figured you out, with or without his knowledge of the fruit. Your Captain was a smart man, analytical and observant, and you were an opened book. You should've known he’d be able to read you, your body language in itself spelling out how you truly feel in bold letters and blunt words. Law speaks up again, assuring he sees right through you. “The fruit is a known aphrodisiac. A rather strong one, at that. You’ve been experiencing arousal, haven’t you?”
An aphrodisiac… Of course it was a fucking aphrodisiac. No other reasoning could explain this intimate heat you felt, the debilitating sensitivity, the sensual haze, the desperate need for something more. Through the fog, everything begins to make sense. Puzzle pieces drift into place upon your doctor’s revelation, and really, you can’t find it in yourself to be surprised. Your body had been begging to be defiled the moment Law put his hands on you.
You’re acutely aware of how embarrassing it is, getting checked out for being inexplicably horny all because some fruit blew up in your face. It borders ridiculous, humiliating, but the root of your shame stems from the fact that these feelings are nothing new. Though amplified, you know the searing ache in your lower belly can’t be blamed on the aphrodisiac alone. Your own bottled up needs and the fruit’s sexual chemical blend together, circumstances concocting into an intoxicating love potion.
Looking into Law’s eyes, the affection and lust that flares in your chest is familiar. It makes you wonder just how much of your current behavior could be attributed to the aphrodisiac’s influence, and how much was simply a reflection of your own suppressed desires. You hope it isn’t apparent, unable to explain yourself without the risk of admitting something deeper is happening beneath the surface. Still, your silence is telling. It’s a simple answer to his question, confirming Law’s suspicions about your symptoms.
“You should be honest with your doctor. You came to me for help, after all,” he tsks. He points towards a section of the book and taps, though you can’t find it in yourself to focus on the words. “Without proper treatment, the fruit’s effects don’t wear off until about 24 hours after contact. The beginning stages of hours 2 through 8 are the most intense, at least until satisfaction is reached.” His eyes are casted down at you as he practically teases, voice teetering amusement. “It must be unbearable at this point.”
You look away, degenerate arousal swelling within you. You feel more than indecent, reduced to a needy bitch in heat in front of your doctor, your Captain, but that’s exactly what’s so alluring about it. It’s unprofessional, it’s scandalous, it’s obscene and indelicate and forbidden, and it’s addicting. So many nights have you laid in bed just a room away from your Captain, hands drifting between your thighs, unable to think of anything but his fingers down your throat and low voice near your ear. It was liberating in a way, imagining you and Law unable to hold back, willingly breaking unspoken rules just to get a twisted taste of one another.
It ran deeper than simple lust, bordering what could be called love. Whether or not Law felt the same romantic passion, there was still an undeniable connection. Years of trust and loyalty was built from everything the unforgiving seas harshly bestowed. It inflicted wounds that constantly healed, never hurting for too long, the thick scar tissue proof of a strong resilience that couldn’t be broken. On your end, that bond of care and dedication warped into something more intimate, craving a connection that couldn’t be entertained. As captain and subordinate, as doctor and patient, there was a certain level of professionalism that needed to be held, preventing your relationship from developing any further. And yet, your mind always wanders to what it would be like if you two explored feelings that lay just beneath a delicate surface.
You reminded yourself it was a simple fantasy—a foolish, lovesick fantasy, but the lines between want and need began to blur long ago. When you allowed yourself to indulge in the thought of him, you hoped your imagination would suffice, knowing reality wouldn’t catch up. Tension only hit the breaking point. Satisfaction was no longer brought by fantasies, instead leaving you with a deeper craving that a reverie couldn’t relieve. Pent up and starved, you look up at him with pleading eyes, voice a desperate whimper.
“It aches, Law.”
He falters. Upon hearing his name laced in a needy whine, Law’s eyes flicker with something unrecognizable for a moment. A certain look you’ve never quite seen from him before paints his sharp features, stoicism shifting into something more responsive and uncontrolled. You struggle to place it, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. Law retreats back to himself, expression and demeanor snapping into its usual composed place.
He looks down at you, unblinking, and crosses his arms over a well defined chest. “Do you have anyone to help satisfy these cravings?”
It was an invasive yet necessary question; there was a lewd solution, and your doctor needed to know whether or not it was feasible. You think for a moment. Everyone on the Polar Tang was a friend of yours, and while you were certain a few men would be eager for the opportunity to spend a night with you, you saw your relationships with them as too platonic to comfortably indulge in anything sexual. You think of other friends and acquaintances, most of which were miles and miles away. Living on the Grand Line hasn't given much opportunity for relationships to develop, your life always in motion, never settling at one place for long. The only promising outlet were other pirates, your thoughts straying to the Strawhats.
“Sanji.”
Your eyes light up, a solution presenting itself through the cloudy mist in your head. You and Sanji were never exclusive, and probably never would be, but the flirtatious man’s kind gestures and sweet words brought a faint air of romantic tension between the two of you. It certainly wasn’t the kind of passion you had when thinking about Law, but stolen glances and lingering touches told you there was a desire Sanji felt.
Though he was a gentleman in most moments, lust was still apparent. Sanji was always unable to hold back visceral reactions whenever he saw you in suggestive contexts, perversion leaking through nosebleeds and heart shaped pupils. A hunger practically radiated from him, leaving you with no doubt that he’d be happy to serve had he known the predicament you were in. You stumble into a quick stand in eagerness, but a sudden hand on your chest pushes you back down onto your seat.
“Sanji’s not a doctor, is he?”
It practically comes out as a growl. You look up towards Law in surprise, his expression fierce and eyes firm as he leans over you. His hand is steady on the middle of your chest, resting right above your breasts. You’re certain he can feel the thumping of your heart, pulse growing faster as he imposes. His gaze stays on yours for a few moments. The tense silence between you two feels like a warning before he finally moves back. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, your hand moving in longing to rub at the tingling skin he was just in contact with.
“You need proper medical attention,” he says as he straightens up, almost as if to gather himself. “Judging from your reactions alone, the dosage of the fruit must’ve been high. And considering you’ve gone without treatment for a few hours now, the effects are at their peak,” he tells you. “To be blunt, I don’t trust a quick fuck or even masturbation will help tide you over. You need something more… involved.”
His suggestive words cause a fuse to short circuit in your brain, flustered by what he implies. Dancing around the solution, he leaves much to an overactive imagination, possible scenarios instantly invading your thoughts as your blood runs hot. He isn’t wrong. With a yearning that bordered delirium, you doubted you’d reach satisfaction with a simple orgasm. No—your body demanded something consuming, something ruining, something that’d be intense enough to sate the raw desire enveloping you. Your doctor knew what you needed, perhaps better than you did. He had what you needed.
Desperate for a cure, you look up at him with pleading eyes and a breathless voice. “What do you suggest?”
Law smiles, lips curling upward in an amused grin. “I want you to lay on the examination table, and allow me to carry out a more thorough exam, along with treatment. As your doctor, I plan to help relieve your symptoms by whatever means necessary. I’m certain you understand what that implies, so I want you to consider—“
You didn’t need to consider. At this point, rationality and logic weren’t something you could pretend to concern yourself with, lucidity stripped away by simple needs. Desire consumed, overshadowing reason, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt. It wasn’t a question of if, or should, or why—it was how and when, consequences be damned. Potential repercussions were an afterthought, not holding any weight in comparison to desperate hunger. It was reckless abandonment of reason and complete surrender to passion, heat of the moment and thrill of the thought too exhilarating to pass up.
An array of suppressed emotions finally have permission to take over as your Captain offers his solution. You can practically feel the wave of relief that washes over you, tense muscles becoming relaxed and languid, demeanor loosening upon a refreshing freedom of released cravings. A blend of primal instinct and intimate longing has your body reacting immediately upon being given the green light. You effectively cut Law off, shakily rising to your feet and stumbling towards him in loopy eagerness.
“I see you’ve already made your decision,” he hums with a hint of satisfaction, almost sounding impressed. Muscled arms are quick to catch you, holding you to a padded chest to keep you from falling. The embrace is familiar, reminiscent of when you latched onto him for support earlier that night, but it feels entirely different. There’s no wall between you two, no chains holding you back, no reason for you to lie or deny. The secret knot inside your core, a sacred place between the fibers of your heart and the wall of your lungs, finally unravels underneath Law’s fingertips.
It’s certainly not appropriate. Though the forbidden affection goes against the air of formality that has always hung between you two, the moment feels right. Despite a tentative past and risky future, the present stills to its own purposeful serendipity. Your body slots with his, clicking into place in a way that belongs. As you bury your face in the crook of Law’s neck, his hand resting on the back of your head, a distant thought wonders if he feels the same.
The weight of the sentiment is heavy, but you can’t seem to give it much attention, losing grip on sobriety and cognition. Yearning takes over, making you frantically grind your hips against Law’s leg in wild want. Undressing doesn’t occur to you. You’re too caught up in a mindless fixation for relief, fully clothed and frotting. Nipping at his skin, you revel in his taste, salty-sweet from the sweat of his evening workout and the mist of the sea.
His voice reverberates against you, a low purr mixed with curiosity and mischief, further fueled by an entertained smirk. “You must be eager, having to wait all this time.”
As if to prove his words, Law pushes his leg up, encouraging an addictive friction between your thighs. It’s the first semblance of pleasure you’ve felt all night, quickly yanking out a sharp gasp of a moan from a tight throat, your knees weak and wobbly upon the exhilarating contact. The sensation echoes throughout your body, an aching throb settling into your heart. You hastily grind down on him to chase the pressure, relying on Law’s strength to keep you upright while you practically use the man to get off.
You barely register the way you’re panting, tongue hanging slightly from your mouth with drool beginning to slide down your lips. It leaves a glossy smear, slowly traveling down your chin and onto a sensitive neck. You swear you must be going cross-eyed, vision starting to blur, losing yourself in the erratic motions, focused on nothing but your Captain. The sight is obscene, the whiny little whimpers and moans that fill the room equally vulgar. It’s a purely sinful indulgence. Hedonism is stripped to its rawest form, and yet, it’s not enough.
You’re compelled to draw in his breath closer and closer until it mingles with yours. You drag your lips higher up his neck to his jaw, pausing dangerously close to his mouth. You look up at him, eyes round and begging in a wordless plea for more, but Law only pulls you away by your hair. The motion elicits a whine of protest from you. Before you can question, in a gesture of comfort, Law’s thumb wipes away the needy tears you didn’t notice were beading at your eyes. You’re silent as you melt into his own, lost in the golden glint, finding that the once unrecognizable look in his gaze is now a distinctive lust.
“Don’t worry,” your doctor assures. “I’ll make it all better.”
