Pairings: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader, Doflamingo x Fem!Reader (Past & Flashbacks)
Ao3 Link
Summary: You were the weakest member of the Donquixote Family, so Doflamingo found another way you could serve him. Until your childhood crush found you, freeing you from those chains. What will Law expect in return?
Author's Note: PLEASE heed the tags below, and do not read this fic if you aren't comfortable with these topics. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
Reader is a devil fruit user who was raised with the family, and groomed by Doflamingo. When this fic starts, she had been Doffy's lover for two years (their sexual relationship didn't start until her early twenties). Reader leaves with Law when the fic begins, but there will be graphic flashbacks of memories with Doffy throughout the story.
Rating/Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Devil Fruit User Reader, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Angst, Pet Names, Degradation, Punishment, Emotional Abuse, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Grooming, Trauma, Past Sexual Abuse, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Bondage, Dissociation, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Kissing, Shame, Blood and Violence, Vomiting, Minor Character Death, (unnamed character), Sparring, Childhood Memories, Chaste Childhood Kiss, Teasing, Tickling, Yandere Doflamingo, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Hair-Pulling, Birth Control, Unprotected Sex (stay safe out there!), Forced Pregnancy (Implied/Intended), Sterilization (Implied/Intended), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Soft Trafalgar D. Water Law, Other Additional Tags To Be Added
!!! SPOILERS !!! This story begins during the 2 year timeskip before the Punk Hazard Arc, and there will also be spoilers for the Dressrosa Arc for backstory lore
Thank you @pinejayy for this delicious request!! I went a little overboard 😅
Part 1 ~ (3015) | Part 2 ~ (3377) | Part 3 ~ (5768) | Part 4 ~ (5041) | Part 5 ~ (3975) | Part 6 |
Hey, um I love your works, especially the angsty-themed 😭. Anyway, here's the prompt :
We know that Law is a very private person, and he just doesn't want people to see any type of affection between him and the reader. So imagine like things get hectic, or like he's too focused on his long-term planning. He becomes cold and indifferent, and the reader is not an exception even if the reader is simply willing to help. Yes, he's a private person, but everyone already knows that the reader is his partner. His crew, or maybe the og member that is older than him, are getting uncomfortable and reminding (or rather scolding) him for his behaviour to the reader. Maybe the reader overheard their argument and gets sad because the reader has tried not to take his reaction personally, but it's not a good sign when others have enough. This ends with Law's realization that his crews support their relationship and wish the best for them, showing affection in front of them won't get him teased or even annoy his crew.
Thank you, Love 🫶
Hiya papaya!! Sorry that it's taken me so long to get to this, but I hope I can do this justice for you!!
[Heads up!: Law being a tiiny bit of a red flag, unhealthy coping mechanisms, hefty touch of angst, established relationship, hurt/comfort]
"Is that for captain?"
Looking up from where you're setting things on the tray to carry, you find Penguin watching you and you nod.
"How is he? We haven't seen much of him lately."
You hesitate. Penguin knows Law even better than you do, as do Shachi and Bepo ㅡ they're from a chapter of his life you've only ever gotten brief comments about.
"You know how he gets when he's figuring out a plan," you sigh, and Penguin nods. "I'm going to take this to him."
"You're the best at cheering him up," your crewmate calls after you as you walk away, and your fingers curl around the tray.
You wish that was true, that you had an innate knack for easing Law's burdens the way the others seem to think you do. And maybe you did, at one time ㅡ but not lately.
You can't even tell anyone that it's been days since Law even talked to you. It's been a cycle of going to bed without him, waking up alone, and swapping out plates of barely touched food and drink for new.
You know that this is what happens when he gets focused on something, have seen it before ㅡ but it hurt a little less when you weren't his partner. You know you can't expect him to immediately tell you everything, but telling you nothing isn't fair, either.
You knock, then nudge the door open with your hip. Law hasn't moved from where he'd been when you woke up, nor does he look up when you approach.
"I made grilled salmon this time," you say quietly, glancing at the carefully shaped onigiri. "And tea."
Steam curls off the top, but Law doesn't so much as glance your way. This too has not been unusual, but again, it digs the blade further into your chest.
Have you done something wrong? Surely there's more to it than just being busy for him to shut you out so completely.
You turn to leave, stilling when there's finally, finally a murmur of your name from your boyfriend. Your heart leaps, and you turn, small smile on your lips. "Yes?"
He still isn't looking at you. "Stay in the crew bunkhouse tonight. I can't afford to be distracted right now."
Maybe it'd be better if he yelled at you. If he'd be angry with you, be something with you ㅡ because the flat tone and way he still won't actually look at you hurts far worse than anything else.
"Oh," you say softly, "...of course."
You shut the door behind you, back pressed against it as you take a few steadying breaths, willing yourself not to cry. You won't, not when it will get you scolded if he finds out ㅡ so you close your eyes and count to ten, then pull away from the door.
You can do this for him, give him his space, support him from the edges of that barrier he's made around himself.
You can, and you will.
ㅡ
"Not that we aren't happy to have you here [Name], but..." Clione squints at you. "What are you doing here?"
You look up from where you're pulling back the blankets of your bed ㅡ a bed you haven't slept in for months, as your mind is so gleefully cruel in reminding you. "What do you mean?"
"He means that you're usually with captain," Ikkaku says, watching you with a look of gentle concern.
You're not sure how to answer that and you fumble, fighting hard against the flush of your cheeks. "How do youㅡ"
"You're not as subtle as you think," Hakugan chimes in. "I know captain won't say it, but we've all pretty much figured it out already. Not much you can hide on the 'Tang."
He has a point. Ikkaku is still watching you, her head tilting.
"So...is everything okay?"
You blink, fingers curling against your blanket. "Everything is fine," you say, even though it's far from it. Though they may know about your relationship, you highly doubt that Law would be pleased if they knew about any issues. "I just felt like sleeping in here, that's all."
It's clear none of them believe you, sharing a brief look as you slip underneath your blanket and roll onto your side. It's strange now, going from the comfort of a bed shared with someone to alone ㅡ but if Law needs you to do this, you can do this.
You don't sleep well, not at all ㅡ and when you've finally had enough of tossing and turning, you slip out of bed as quietly as you can, mindful not to disturb your crewmates.
Machinery hums beneath your feet as you pad down the narrow hallway, turning the corner ㅡ and nearly bumping into a firm chest.
You stumble back, balance corrected by the hand that reaches out to grip your shoulder ㅡ familiar warmth, tanned fingers stamped by familiar tattoos.
Law.
It's the first time he's touched you in the better part of a week and a half, and you almost hate yourself for how badly you want to beg for more. He doesn't even have to kiss you ㅡ just a hug would do.
You miss him.
Law's lips part like he's going to say something, but the creak of a door opening makes him tense ㅡ and reality washes over you like an icy bucket of water.
So you do what you have to ㅡ you dhrug his hand off of your shoulder, curve your lips into a smile you don't feel, and take a step back.
"Good morning, captain," you tell him, ignore how it rips your chest open to be so formal with him and slip around him to begin your own day.
ㅡ
"Did something happen between you and [Name]?"
The question makes Law tense from where he's putting away medical supplies from the latest supply run, glancing at Shachi who'd volunteered to help him. That, he supposes, should have been his first clue. Not that Shachi isn't helpful ㅡ but that he has an agenda of his own.
Law looks away. "I don't know what you mean."
Shachi huffs. "Don't play dumb, captain." He knows he's treading the line of insubordination, but there's only so much he and the others can take of this. "We know you're together."
Law stills.
"[Name] didn't tell us anything," Shachi continues. "We figured it out. So don't be mad at them."
Law is quiet, trying to process the other man's words before he says slowly, "How long have you and the others known?"
Shachi shrugs. "Couple of months." His tone softens, though it still carries an edge of scolding. "You can't just shut everyone out like that, captain. Especially not if you're in a relationship with someone."
Law wants to argue, say that he didn't ㅡ but he did. Pushed you as far as he could, made you keep your distance. He'd backtracked on months of progress, of affection and trust ㅡ and called you distracting.
Ans you'd taken it all in stride. You hadn't gotten angry, hadn't fought with him ㅡ simply nodded, smiled, and let him treat you as he pleased.
You'd let him hurt you, something he'd promised he'd never do ㅡ
"Finish putting this away for me," he tells Shachi, who watches as Law leaves the storage room without looking back, and he grins.
"About time."
ㅡ
You stir to the feeling of being carried. That's funny, you don't even remember falling asleep ㅡ but you must've, curled up on the couch with a book.
You squirm, and the arms around you tighten as your eyelids flutter. "Waking up?"
Your eyes snap open. "Law," you say, staring up at your boyfriend ㅡ or at least, who you hope is still your boyfriend. "What are you doing?"
"You fell asleep on the couch," he says, "and I'm taking you to bed before you end up with a crick in your neck from sleeping like that."
"Oh." You study the curve of black ink on his chest. "To the bunkhouse?"
"No, to myㅡ" He stops, corrects himself. "Our room."
That gives you a glimmer of hope, allows for you to snuggle further against him, which relieves him in turn. You aren't angry with him ㅡ both a blessing and a little bit of a curse, brcause you have every right to be.
As if sensing his thoughts, you sigh softly. "I'm not mad at you."
"You should be." He nudges his door open, shuts it behind him before continuing towards the bed. The bed that's been far too cold over the last couple of days without your presence.
You cling to him, even after he sets you down, coaxing him to lay next to you. "I'm not," you insist again. "Just wish you'd trust me a little more. I want to help, Law."
Your fingers brush his cheek, and he reaches to grasp them, presses soft kisses to your fingertips. "I know. I need to work on that. I shouldn't have shut you out like that, it wasn't fair to you."
You press closer. "We can work on it together," you say, lips against his collarbone, sweet kisses that make him shiver. "Right?"
"Right," he agrees softly, pulls you to him as close as he can, wraps himself around you. "Together."
The wall you’re pressed against is cold against your bare back, nearly making your teeth rattle in your skull. But the contrast is stark as your captain's tongue, hot and wet to the touch as it grazes down your skin, makes up tenfold for the frigidity of the submarine corridors.
Law kneels before you with a reverence that sends a thrill coursing through your veins. His uncharacteristically vulnerable position at your feet is a sight that leaves you breathless, his grey irises locked onto your doe-eyed gaze with undeniable intensity.
But it's not just the ferocity of his gaze that sets your heart racing; it's the way his lips and tongue trail down your bare skin with a deliberate tenderness that contrasts starkly with the coldness of the submarine walls. Each kiss is more delicious than the last, leaving you rolling your hips, unapologetically aching for more.
You can feel the goosebumps rising in response to his ministrations, the contrast between the frigid air and the warmth of his touch sending shivers racing across your skin.
As Law's kisses descend lower, a primal need surges through you, causing your breath to hitch in anticipation.
"Law," you whimper, your voice filled with longing, abandoning all dignity.
The doctor's smirk is teasing, his white, toothy grin shining faintly in the dimly-lit corridor.
“Tell me what you want,” he rasps, “Use your words.”
“You, please-”
And then, he does something new, lifting your leg up by your thigh to rest on his shoulder, leaving you standing on one shaky leg. The sudden movement leaves you gasping for breath, your body arching towards him instinctively as he opens you up completely to his touch.
The vulnerability of the position only serves to heighten the intensity of the moment, your senses ablaze with both vulnerability and desire. You suck in your breath sharply, biting your lip in a futile attempt to stifle the moan that threatens to escape your lips as Law begins to kiss closer to your aching cunt.
Your breaths turn ragged as he finally nuzzles his head between your legs, locking eyes with you as his tongue meets your slick folds with a meticulous stripe. You lean your head back against the wall as you mewl out moans of pleasure, a shiver travelling up and down your spine as your limbs become tingly with need. You can already feel your leg beginning to shake as it dangles over his tattooed shoulder, making a deep blush rush to your cheeks.
Law is undeterred, however, your squirms only aiding his urge to please you.
You manage a weak whine, your hands tangling in his unruly black hair as you urge him on. His tongue is hot and expertly skilled, and you simply can’t deny yourself the pleasure of grinding against it as he kneels before you.
“Yeah?” he groans against your slit before flicking his tongue back and forth, “This how you like it?”
"Mm-mhmm," you manage to whimper, confirming his question.
His mouth meets your clit with a few gentle sucks as he raises your leg higher, granting himself with more access to your needy entrance.
His tongue is relentless, exploring every inch of your sensitive flesh with expertise. He idly shakes his head back and forth, his tongue dancing along your folds in a phenomenal rhythm.
With each stroke, each caress, he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, goosebumps erupting all over your skin until you're teetering on the brink of your orgasm, ready to fall into the abyss of pleasure at his command.
Your moans grow louder and more desperate with each passing moment, filling the dimly-lit corridor with the symphony of your pleasure.
Doubling his efforts, Law’s eyes meet yours with a dark, hungry gaze that sucks the air from your lungs,
"Let go for me,” he groans into you, “Let me take you there."
for requests, can you do law taking care of sick reader, hurt/comfort kind of thing that ends with fluff????
THAT'S IT AND DON'T FORGET TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!!
Hi anon, thank you so much for your request!!!! a few months ago, i actually started this fic when i was ill with a pretty bad sinus infection, but then i just never finished what i wrote, so your request was actually the perfect thing to get me to finally finish that and share it with the world! i hope you enjoy it, thought it might not be as hurt/comfort as expected, so i hope that's alright <3
Doting
Law x Fem Reader
A nasty illness inflicting you brings out the warmth in Law.
Warnings: fairly detailed descriptions of gross sinus infection symptoms (cus i initially wrote this while actively dealing with one so its kinda visceral lol)
A light sleet gently tapped against the glass porthole as you weakly rolled your body over under the warm blankets that firmly surrounded you. The sound was enough to quickly lull you back into the comfort of slumber, but your mind was already starting to run. There would be no more falling asleep now. A cold spot lay beside you, no surprise that Law got up before you did. As you slowly entered the conscious world, your body was wracked with a cold shiver, a sensation deep within your marrow that seemed to bounce off of every cell. You became acutely aware of a hard stone in the back of your throat that made swallowing a heavy burden. Inhaling through your nose was met with nothing but a clogged nasal cavity, the crackling of mucus that wouldn’t move bouncing around your weary skull. You attempted to push yourself up on your hands, but your muscles trembled feebly and you collapsed back down into the plush mattress with a tired groan.
No doubt about it, you were sick.
You angled your head to look toward the small wooden bedside table that Law used for his analogue alarm clock. Your blinking eyes, slowly adjusting to the dreary gray light of the cold, snowy day outside, focused on a small piece of notebook paper placed on the table, under a paper cup of water and two pills. You reached an arm over, carefully pushing the cup and the pills out of the way so you could grab the paper. You shifted slightly on your side for a better reading view, cringing uncomfortably as you felt the pressure in your sinuses move around with every adjustment.
Good morning, love.
You were breathing strange when I woke up so I did a scan on you- you have an acute sinus infection. I left you a pain killer and a vitamin C capsule, please take them as soon as you wake up. We docked at an island for a supply run, so I will be back around noon to take care of you. If you need anything, Bepo stayed behind on the ship. I love you.
– Law
Your illness had no bearing on the way your heart fluttered with boundless affection for your boyfriend. His note was analytical, but you couldn’t help but appreciate his professional physician side as well as his tender, intimate personality you saw behind closed doors. It was just like him to notice something as minimal as your breathing while you slept, it gave you a sense of security you didn’t think you needed, but were beyond happy you had.
You once again attempted to push yourself up on your arms, just enough to reach over for the two pills, throwing them into your mouth and swallowing a gulp of the room-temperature water from the paper cup. Your throat convulsed from the pain of swallowing, and you needed to force your esophagus to move the pills where they needed to go, but once they were down you laid your head back onto your pillow, closing your eyes tightly as the pressure within your sinuses began to ebb its way into your attention with your waking body. You had felt fine when you went to sleep the night before, but now you were wracked with aches, chills, and pain in your face. Just your luck, truly.
At least it was a cold, snowy day. You didn’t feel like you would be missing out on anything too important.
You slowly shuffled upwards on the bed, now sitting up against the metal bedframe and holding the bed sheets against your frigid shoulders. You had a tendency to sleep in tank tops and shorts due to the heavy insulation the metal walls of the Polar Tang provided, but that made very little difference in your feverish state. Even the thought of the blankets revealing any centimeter of bare skin made your teeth chatter, but you knew you had to get up. You felt gross, the back of your mouth coated with a foul-tasting funk from your blocked head, and you craved nothing more than the refreshing taste of the mint toothpaste you shared with Law.
Though, if you were ill, it might be best to open a different bottle… and use a different toothbrush.
You gazed around the small bedroom that you shared with Law, a comparatively tiny room aboard the submarine, composed of very little except for his bed, a tiny desk (much smaller than the one in his medical ward), a small bookshelf, and a wardrobe. Law’s outlandish, feathery coats took up a lot of room, but they were comfortable and outrageously warm. Your eyes formed the most efficient path you could take to don yourself in warmer attire as quickly as possible. Taking a deep inhale through your mouth, which scratched your sore throat enough to make you suppress a heavy cough, you pushed the blankets off of you, swung your bare feet over the side of the bed, and plopped across the steel-panel floor towards the wardrobe.
The soles of your feet sent shivers up your entire body as you pulled out a ratty pair of sweatpants, one of Law’s oversized sweatshirts, and one of his feather coats. You yanked on the clothing as quickly as your shaking limbs would allow before finally offering your feet relief from the cold floor by sliding them into a pair of fur-lined slippers. Your trembling fingers pulled the coat tighter around your body as the relentless, feverish chills endlessly consumed your entire body. You weakly pushed open the heavy metal door into one of the narrow labyrinthian halls of the Polar Tang before following a familiar route towards the galley.
Rounding a corner, you spotted Hakugan on the floor in front of an open electrical panel, a small box of tools by his side. His mask was pushed upward, revealing his face so he could better focus on his work, but when he heard you enter the vicinity he made quick work of pulling the white plastic back over his face. He fully turned his head to look at you through the black slots of his mask as you meekly approached.
“Good morning, yeesh you look terrible,” he muttered.
“‘Morning… I feel terrible.” Your voice left your larynx with an airy, hoarse crackle that left a stinging sensation in its wake. “Law said I have a sinus infection.”
Hakugan hummed, a sound slightly muffled by the barrier in front of his face, and turned his head forward to continue whatever he was previously occupied with on the floor. “We have some apple juice in the fridge, that’ll fix you up in no time!”
You chuckled at the statement, which wasn’t much of a laugh and was more of a congested, donkey-like groan. “Thanks, Hakun, I appreciate it.” Your friendly nickname for your crewmate made the man smile, judging only by the slight way his jaw moved under his mask. You continued down the hallway towards the galley, pushing open the door to the sight of Uni and Bepo swabbing the floors, counters, dining table, and every other surface with regular hand contact.
Uni looked up towards you from his diligent hand-washing of the surface of the dining table before groaning. “Now we’re gonna have to wash everything again ‘cuz you’re sick!”
You frowned. “You want me to starve?”
Bepo quickly stepped between you two, putting his thick paw on your shoulder and ushering you towards the fridge. “Feed a cold, starve a fever,” he quoted. “That’s what my mama used to say when I’d get sick.”
“I guess I should starve then,” you responded bluntly, feeling the hairs of your arms rise with goosebumps as another chill waved through you.
“Nonsense, you need strength to get better!” Bepo had immediately assumed his comforting, caring demeanor and pulled over a folding chair for you to sit on. “Do you want anything for breakfast? I can make you some eggs and toast, or some oatmeal, or some fresh fruit!”
You smiled warmly towards the bear, finding solace in his uplifting personality. “Some fruit sounds nice.”
“You stay right there, I’ll make you a bowl.” The mink turned his back to you and began rummaging around for a cutting board and a knife to prepare you a small bowl of fruit to take back to your room.
Uni had left his washcloth on the table and paced over to where you sat, keeping his distance but still leaning forward to talk. “How are you feeling?”
You flashed a smile in his direction, followed by a hearty and mucusy sniff. “Sick.”
The much taller man chuckled beneath the cloth that covered his mouth. “Yeah, no surprise there.”
“What does Law normally do when one of you gets sick?”
Uni’s long fingers drummed against the countertop. “He lets us suffer, really. If he used his devil fruit to keep everyone healthy all the time, then our immune systems wouldn’t develop. At least, that’s what he tells us.”
You gazed at the floor. “I guess that makes sense.”
“He’s got plenty of remedies to make the symptoms easier, though. Did he give you one of those vitamin C pills?”
You nodded. “He left one on the nightstand when I woke up.”
Uni also nodded affirmatively. “Those things work like magic, I’m convinced.”
Behind your conversation, Bepo was laser-focused on creating the healthiest fruit salad for your consumption, rife with healthy vitamins to kickstart your immune system faster than a pill could do. He turned in your direction with a bowl in his hands, a shiny metal fork sticking out of it for you to use. “Ta-da~!” he cheered.
You carefully took the bowl into your shaking hands. “Thank you, Bepo!”
“Of course, anything for you!” You could almost see prideful sparkles floating around the mink’s head. “There’s tangerines, some strawberries, blueberries, some diced watermelon, grapes, and some chopped peaches. The tangerines are from the Straw Hats actually, they’re super delicious!”
Holding the bowl firmly in your grasp, you stood from your chair and carefully pulled Law’s coat higher on your shoulders. “I’m already feeling better, thank you guys.”
The two crewmates waved you off as you began your fatigued trek back to the captain’s cabin. You passed by Hakugan once again, who uttered a tired-sounding, “Get better soon,” in your direction, which you happily thanked him for.
Twisting the hatch of the cabin door, you heaved the barrier open and stepped inside, closing it behind you. You placed the bowl of fruit onto the small desk to free your hands, allowing you to shrug off the feathered jacket and drape it carefully off the wooden desk chair. You faced the small bookshelf, eyes picking between Law’s assortment of extra medical texts, personal journals, and comic books, before finally pulling out a novel you had started some months prior. Book in hand, you grabbed your bowl of fruit, kicked off your slippers, and scampered back into bed, pulling the covers up to your shoulders and once again enveloping your shivering form in a barrier of serene warmth. Your shaky hand grabbed the handle of the metal fork, stabbing into a piece of watermelon and placing the fruit into your sore mouth. You flipped through the book, tired eyes barely absorbing any of the words as you focused solely on chewing each bite of fruit you took. You very quickly began to nod off yet again, finally subdued by the subtle hum of the submarine’s engines, the tapping weather outside, and the words of your novel.
You placed the bowl of fruit, now half eaten, on the bed stand and let your book fall to the ground as you rolled over onto your side and let yourself fall back into the clutches of slumber, at least until your beloved returned aboard.
—
A harsh, wet sneeze jostled you violently from your slumber. You sat up with a jolt, one hand covering your face to contain your snot, which made you cringe at the sensation. You glanced over toward the clock on the nightstand which read 11:30 AM. You groaned. How long had you been out? It couldn’t have been longer than an hour and a half at the most. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and shuffled into your slippers once again, making your way to the submarine’s bathroom. You felt unbelievably gross, between the hand on your face holding your dripping mucus in your nose, your feverish cold sweats, and your overall malaise. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this sick.
You knocked on the door to the bathroom, per routine. There was only one shower stall and bathtub, so every Heart Pirate kept to a strict bathing routine. To have you slip in for a quick, steamy shower at this hour was outside of that norm, but with many of the crew gone on the supply run, you didn’t think you’d run into any issues. You entered the bathroom, locking the door behind you and making your way towards the metal sink bowl, running warm water and washing off your hand. You grabbed a paper towel which you used to wipe your face (and subsequently blew your nose once again) before you began to disrobe from your smelly, sweaty clothes. The steam from the shower would hopefully loosen the compacted mucus in your sinuses, so you turned on the shower faucet and stuck your hand under the tap to make sure it was warming up to your liking. You grabbed a towel from the nearby bathroom linen closet, placing it on the sink so you could grab it easily when you were done.
The hot water immediately soothed your cold sweats, and the steam entering your lungs felt euphoric compared to your congestion. You stood under the stream of water letting the drops run down your body, taking in as much of the warmth as you could. You idly reached for the bottle of body wash that was kept on the edge of the tub, squeezing some of the soap into your hand and washing the parts of your body that felt the worst.
You didn’t know how much time had passed since you stepped into the bath, but you started to feel strange under the flow of hot water and clouds of steam surrounding your head. Your eyes began to blur, your vision swaying back and forth in repetitive motions. Your fingertips felt tingly and numb, and a nauseous sensation filled your abdomen and reverberated into the back of your throat where it left a cold, sour taste. Without thinking, and without turning the water off, you sat down under the running faucet and leaned your head on the side of the bath, closing your eyes.
—
A cold towel was placed against the back of your neck, once again making you jolt upward. What time was it? What day was it? Why were you naked in the bathtub? Did you turn the water off?
“Hey, look at me.”
Your eyes darted from the shower tap to the porcelain tub wall to the hand that waved three fingers in front of your face and gestured for your attention. You lazily gazed forward, your weary expression meeting steely golden eyes that were narrowed with profound concern. His other hand was pressed against the back of your neck, where a cold washcloth was pressed against your damp skin.
“You had a hot flash.”
“Huh?”
Law shook his head, but not out of disappointment. Rather, he was incredibly worried. With pursed lips, he carefully helped you to your feet and out of the tub. Once your feet met the cold metal floor, you sank to your knees with a weary groan. Law grabbed the towel you had placed on the sink and threw it around your shoulders, beginning to dry you off as best he could without disturbing you too much. You hung your head limply, letting your boyfriend work the water off of you without protest. The cold compress on your neck began to warm with your body heat, and you felt it slide down a tad toward your shoulder blades before falling to the floor with a wet plop.
“Look at me,” Law said once more, voice firm and asserting, yet calm. Your eyes flicked up toward him. “I’m going to pick you up, alright?”
You simply nodded your head, barely a thought to make any move otherwise. Law’s hands wrapped the towel around your body under your arms, carefully holding it in place in the front by your breasts. His arms snaked under yours, hoisting you up like a heavy toddler, before he awkwardly bent down and placed his forearm under your knees, hauling you off your feet and against his chest. Your head fell into his pectoral, taking as much of a deep, snotty inhale as you could, feeling your eyes close at the comforting sensation of his shirt against your face. A faint ‘Shambles’ was heard, along with the weak magnetic sensation that you felt every time you were teleported with Law’s ability, and you were suddenly met with the comfort of your bed for what felt like the millionth time that morning.
Your towel slipped slightly, and Law quickly put it back into place before walking to the wardrobe and picking out new, clean clothes for you to wear. He worked quickly, dressing you, wrapping your hair, wiping your face, and applying another cold compress onto the back of your neck while helping you sit upright.
The deepest part of your nasal cavity tickled uncomfortably. You let out a gargantuan sneeze while Law’s back was turned, making him jump and turn back toward you.
A large blob of snot dangled from your nose. You made zero attempt to do anything about it this time. One might compare your current state to that of a sad, wet dog.
“You’re more sick now than you were this morning.” Law used a tissue to wipe your face. If you had any piece of mind, you would be humiliated at your juvenile state. “I’m sorry I was away for so long.”
You were slowly coming to your senses after your hot flash in the shower, just in time for your boyfriend to ease an oral thermometer under your tongue. He held your mouth closed with his fingers, muttering a quiet, “Hold it there,” then retreated across the bedroom to dispose of the tissue in his hands. He squeezed a generous helping of sanitizing soap onto his hands, rubbing it as far up as his forearms. He turned back to you right when the thermometer came back with its final reading. Gently pulling the device from your mouth, he held it to his eyes which grimaced at the sight.
“What’s it say?” you asked, feebly.
“102.2. You’re definitely fighting off a bacterial infection. I’m assuming bacterial rhinosinusitis, caused by Streptococcus pneumoniae, judging by the color of your mucus.”
You hung your head. “That’s so fucking gross, Law.”
He chuckled, placing the thermometer on a paper towel on the desk to be cleaned later. He sat at the edge of the bed, reaching a hand over to gently rub the top of your head. “I’m sorry, it’s the doctor in me coming out.”
You couldn’t help the smile that crawled onto your face. “It’s okay. I just don’t like sneezing out hurricanes worth of boogers.”
“I don’t blame you, it’s not fun.” His hand trailed from the crest of your head down toward your cheek, gently stroking beneath your eye with his tattooed thumb.
“Is there anything at all you can do? Uni told me you just make everyone suffer to build their immune systems.” Your voice was groggy, but you were pretty much completely lucid once again. Your eyes darted toward the nightstand. Your bowl of fruit was gone, replaced with two glasses, one with water and one with apple juice. Alongside the drinks were three bottles of medication and your book which you had neglected after falling asleep earlier.
Law hummed under his breath. “Well, I do prefer that everyone work through illness on their own with the help of standard medication, yes. It’s how I make sure everyones’ immune systems are working as they should. Any more sick than an average fever, then I intervene.”
You attempted to inhale through your nose, pulling up snot deeper into your sinuses and exhaling a congested breath. “Can you intervene with me?” You tried your best to give your man the puppy eyes you knew he couldn’t refuse. This time, however, he stifled a chuckle at your expression. Puffy, scorching hot cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and a nose rubbed raw from constant sniffing. Your lips were beginning to become chapped with all the mouth breathing you had to do.
Law turned away from you, bringing a hand to his mouth with a badly covered snort.
“Lawwww,” you whined.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry my love,” he turned back toward you, a mischievous smile on his face, though his eyebrows were angled with sympathy. “I really do wish there was something I could do to alleviate your symptoms quicker, but I’d rather not get invasive. Simple remedies can make you more comfortable, but the antibiotics will be doing most of the work.”
You hunched your shoulders and leaned back against your pillows, sniffling once more with a pout on your lips. “I guess I understand…”
Law replied to your weary tone by pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. “Because you’re not contagious, however, I can spend the rest of the day with you… if you want.”
Your eyes, albeit puffy, lit up like fireworks at his suggestion. “Really? You can? You don’t have, like, any work to do or anything?”
“Well, I do…” he muttered, scratching his cheek with one of his fingers. “But I’ve come to learn recently that I can put off working when someone who I care about needs me.”
You could hardly respond to his fond words, instead choosing to drop your heavy, congested head onto his shoulder as he moved over the mattress and pulled you into his chest.
“Just tell me to move if you get too hot or uncomfortable,” your beloved whispered, stroking the back of your head with his inked hand.
A soft, weary hum of acknowledgement was the only sound you could muster as the feeling of his warmth circling your cold, feverish body brought you the first sense of true serenity you had experienced since first waking up. While you couldn’t smell him due to your blocked sinuses, his lingering presence alone was enough to lull you into yet another much-needed slumber.
—
Law exceeded the definition of ‘pampering’ when it came to caring for your ill state. When it was revealed to you that he very rarely treated the rest of the crew with the same level of domestic, loving care, you tossed your lover a pointed, disapproving gaze. He simply did what he had to do as a doctor and a captain, but you were special to him, far more than just a regular crew mate. (If that wasn’t obvious already, with the way his kisses always seemed to burn your skin and his hands knew every part of your body.)
But in the days following your first onset of symptoms, Law hadn’t left your side, even after the Polar Tang submerged yet again deep below the dark blue ocean, cruising to its next destination. Law moved some of his work materials from the medical room to the floor and small desk of your bedroom, half of his brain focused on his studies while the other half kept a close watch on your slumbering form in the bed next to him. The antibiotics were quick to shut down the illness, and although they did come with a few less-than-pleasant side effects, you were thankful for how rapidly the regimen of pills slowly loosened the mucus in your nose, the pounding in your head, and the tightness in your chest and throat.
Perhaps he might have been a bit too attentive. Shachi and Penguin tossed lighthearted jeers in their friend’s direction as he followed you into the shower for the third day in a row, keen on making sure you didn’t faint under a stream of too-hot water again. While you found it humorous that he wouldn’t leave your side, you were also beyond thankful to have someone so focused and dedicated to ensuring your wellbeing. Law was truly one of a kind.
And when your first 24 hours without symptoms passed and you were deemed officially in the clear after a long week of recovery, you were rewarded with a long-overdue kiss on the lips from your doting man.
You, as well as the entire crew, were given strict instructions to incorporate Vitamin C capsules in your daily food intake to prevent more severe infections from cropping up, but with the way you were taken care of by your bespeckled boyfriend, a small part of you wouldn’t mind getting sick again.
Chin propped in hand, he gazes down at you. “And what do I get in return?”
The voice takes you aback. You hadn’t expect him to respond at all, let alone question you. “What?”
“All you humans do is take, and take, and take,” he says. “Maybe I have no miracles left. Maybe the humans cleared them all out like little grave robbers.”
The forest grows unnaturally quiet, the whole world shuddered into silence at his displeasure.
He smiles at you. It’s very nearly a sneer.
“So,” he says. “What do I get?”
“I don’t know,” you answer. “I’m sorry.”
You dig through your pocket, searching for something, anything, to sacrifice at his feet. A bobbin and thread. A few, measly copper coins. A dearth of anything of value. Of course, that’s exactly why you came to him like this. The absence in your life gapes so large it may as well have a tongue to swallow you down.
Your trinkets are pitiful. He makes no move to accept or deny them, so far beneath him they’re not even worth the acknowledgement.
“You can have me, I guess,” you say, with a helpless shrug. “I’m not sure what use you’d have for me, though.”
shifting sands and the fingers they fall through | one
cw: non-graphic discussion of an injury reader has. trafalgar law x fisherman f!reader. | word count: 1.7k, reading time: approx. 6 min.
note: this is the first part of a series. each post will contain warnings that pertain to that particular chapter. | part: two, three, four; five, six
The late morning sun beats hot overhead but you remain cool enough tucked beneath your fishmongering stall, humming to yourself while pouring more ice into the chests behind you that contain everything you caught last night and this morning.
So far everything has gone the same way it does, well, every day. You wake up, you fish, you clean, you put them on ice, you sell what you can. This is the rhythm of your life, never up or down or out of tune, just the way you think you like it. It has been this way for at least a decade so there’s no sense in complaining about it now, even while you notice the tune your humming feels off key. It must be the lingering heat.
It’s technically autumn although you’d never know it. Island life is perpetually sundrenched, the waters that provide your shelter and food thanks to their contents never cooling quite enough to keep you from doing the job. There’s always demand regardless, whether it be from small fleets that dock near your sleepy seaside hometown or your fellow inhabitants. The work is never quite all the way done.
You go back to humming, fixing your pitch, only to be interrupted by footsteps approaching the front of your stall.
“Good morning, flounder is the catch of the day. The fish comes cleaned and I’ll even throw in deboning for free if you’d like.”
Your spiel goes unanswered which is rare. It’s usually recited back to you by any one of your regular buyers, a smile on their face mirroring your own. This draws you to turn around and face whoever is standing in front of the stall, one of the few in town run by a woman.
The man standing there is a stranger.
Every person on this island knows one another, the various small fishing villages dotting the coastline deeply interconnected. You were an outsider once too. Granted, you tried a lot harder to fit in than this man standing in front of you, his clothes vastly different from the breezy linen and cotton worn by everyone else. His face is firm, mouth set in a line with dark hair that brushes the tops of his eyebrows and narrowed golden eyes.
At least he’s a handsome stranger, you reason. You smile and roll your shoulders forward slightly and he remains as you found him. Unmoved.
“The flounder is fine and so are the bones.”
In an instant, your expression turns from pleasant to puzzled. He doesn’t react, simply keeping his hands folded over his chest wordlessly and expressionless. Clearly this guy isn’t interested in small talk and that’s fine, you get to work and pull a piece of parchment from beneath the counter and open the ice chest behind you to pull out your largest catch.
A fruit of the sea, caught and processed lovingly by your hands. Sometimes you catch yourself softly smiling down at the faces of all the fish you catch, perhaps as a means to honor them or at least say you’re sorry. Today though, you keep the subtle smile to yourself and get to work.
“It’ll be 350 Belly,” you mutter while plopping the flounder down on the paper, folding the edge of the paper over the tail. This mysterious man says nothing but his gaze is heavy and is clearly pinned to your movements, your left arm specifically.
“Your stitches look like shit.”
A loud exhalation followed by a humorless laugh is your initial response, pausing your work and then resuming it for a moment to avoid saying something snarky to a man who is about to pay you. You pause again, tilting your head to the side to look up at this stranger who apparently believes insults are appropriate.
“Thanks, I did them myself,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes, proud of your ability to do so covertly enough he won’t even be able to tell.
He absolutely notices it, alongside the range of emotion you’ve let show all over your face in such a short span of time, and shifts his weight from foot to foot while folding his arms over his chest. Law isn’t trying to be an asshole. If you insist on taking his concern that way, it makes no difference to him. The bottom line is that he can see clear as the sky overhead that this wound was not properly tended to.
“You need to see a doctor about that.”
Still narrowed eyes dart down to inspect the jagged wound that will undoubtedly leave a scar if it doesn’t get infected and kill you first. You shake your head and shrug, back to work wrapping his fish. The wound aches if you’re honest. Thankfully you’ve been able to stay busy enough to ignore it although it’s an angry, screaming red and makes itself impossible to completely tune out.
Sighing again, you finish wrapping the fish and slide it across the countertop to the man still appraising your arm from afar. You have work to do and this conversation is preventing it from getting done. Why is he wasting your time with a lecture?
“When you find one, let me know. We don’t have one on the island.”
Hopefully your tone is dismissive enough that he gets the picture. You still feel him looking at you, which is frustrating. Law raises his brows, eyes finally shifting from your arm back to your face.
“Today must be your lucky day because there’s one right in front of you.”
You laugh again. It’s a bit more genuine sounding than the first, a confused smile spreading across your face. This man, the one with the ominously tattooed knuckles, is a doctor?
“What?” He asks, face as impassive as it has remained since the moment he arrived at your little stall.
What is he doing here to begin with? Fishing islands are no strangers to a range of visitors, some more nefarious than others, but it’s a surprise that anyone shows up here. Maybe he’s just like you and he’s running to find himself. Or hiding, that’s always a possibility.
Either way, your sleepy little life could be about to get more interesting. Thrusting your arm outward in his direction and raising your eyebrows expectantly, you see how he’ll react. If he’s going to brag about it, you may as well put him to work after all.
“I wasn’t offering to look at it for you,” he clarifies while reaching out to wrap his hand around your wrist.
He finds it slightly annoying that instinct kicked in before he could stop it, his earnest desire to help people buried deep enough he can ignore it most of the time. The touch makes you a little skittish, defying your boldness in offering the opportunity to begin with.
“I told you we don’t have a doctor here. Where else am I gonna find one?”
Sighing, he tugs you gently toward him. You bend at the waist, leaning over the counter, wincing when his thumb brushes against the sorest part of the wound - the skin directly on the edges of it. It’s hot to the touch, eliciting an annoyed glance in your direction. The wound is bad but you did your best with what was on hand which was nothing but a huge needle and durable thread meant for mending sails.
“It’s going to get infected if it isn’t already.”
This should scare you more than it does but you shrug flippantly, preparing to pull your arm back before being stopped with a firm but strangely gentle thumb on the outside of it. The doctor, as you know him now, leans in closer and really glances at the damage done, shaking his head so quickly you’d miss it if you blinked.
The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under his gaze. This is far more attention than you’re used to even for being a somewhat attractive, single woman on an island mostly populated by men. Most of them are old and settled into their lives with wives or kids or partners or their own unconventionally formed families. Everyone just kind of sees you as friendly but odd, a reputation you’ve grown to appreciate.
So this, this attention, this heavy, searing pair of eyes belonging to not only a handsome stranger but a doctor no matter how bad his attitude may be, makes your face heat. You are ready to send him and his fish on their way, a stranger departing on the wind that brought him in.
“I’ll pop and re-do the stitches myself when I get home,” you assure him, even if it’s likely untrue. By the time you wrap up at the stall you will be too tired to do anything but drag yourself home, throw your dress over your head, and crash into bed to be up early enough to do it all in the morning.
Raising his eyebrows, he glowers down at you. “Make sure you clean it first.”
Nodding to indicate that you understand, you wait for his thumb to drop from your arm and pull it back as soon as he does. The wound aches even strongly now that it’s all you can focus on, painful enough that sweat prickles at your palms. All you want right now is for him to just go as quickly as he appeared so you can move on with your day.
“You got it, doc.”
Getting back to work, you quickly fold and wrap the fish up. Twine is tied into a bow to secure the parcel and it’s passed across the counter, your wide eyes gazing up at him. The way he meets them makes you shiver despite the warm, humid air of your home. Digging in his pocket he produces a few coins and places them down on the counter wordlessly, taking his bundle and turning his back to walk away.
“Hey,” you call, and he looks over his shoulder. “What’s your name?”
That never changing expression remains but his voice, deep as it is, sounds quite nearly amused.
“Law.”
Law, Law, Law. You commit it to memory, notoriously bad with names as you are. Then you start to attempt to recall if you’ve ever heard it before, maybe having heard it muttered amongst the fisherman who help you at night during flounder season.
Nothing rings a bell. By the time you are no longer lost in your own reverie, Law has long gone and you look down at the counter where shiny gold coins sit.
shifting sands and the fingers they fall through | two
cw: discussion of an injury reader has with mentions of blood, pus, and infection. reader is also described as smaller/shorter than law. trafalgar law x fisherman f!reader. | word count: 3.1k, reading time: approx. 15 min.
note: this is a series. each post will contain warnings that pertain to that particular chapter. | part: one, three, four, five, six
A gulls cry has been the constant alarm clock through your adulthood for as long as you can remember. It has also become your background music and dinner bell; the cry that reminds you that you’re alive even on days when you aren’t as pleased to wake up as one perhaps should be.
Mundanity can have that effect on a person or at least that’s what you’ve read in some of the silly self help novels you’ve been able to procure from the small island library.
You don’t have enough free time to do much but reading is how you prefer to spend those few precious moments. Nobody will admit it on the island, least of all the librarian, but they ask other islands to send new-to-everyone here books solely for you to enjoy.
The gull woke and led you out to the shore this morning. It was a late night spent spearing flounder and coming up short. You’ve cast your net twice this morning, catching a few unimpressive but big enough to be sold mackerel.
You’re unlucky today but at least you’re at peace.
A contented sigh escapes while casting your net back into the shallow, turquoise water a third time. Your eyes aren’t looking down at the foamy waves, they’re locked onto the horizon. If the sunrise were less spectacular you’d be upset to be here. Everything feels drenched in a glow that no other time of day can replicate and you get to enjoy it all by yourself, uninterrupted.
This is the type of loneliness you wish you felt perpetually. Happy to be alone, embracing the world around you with no expectations upon you. Instead that pang comes in the middle of a long night or when you can’t reach something on the top shelf at home or when you see one of the few other young women on the island hand in hand with the one they’ve chosen to fill their time with.
You learned to more or less accept loneliness as a consequence of freedom years ago, not long after you finally felt accepted by your fellow fisherman on this little gem settled amongst the waves. Arriving here as a stranger and a young one at that raised everyone’s hackles but you proved yourself trustworthy and hardworking, simply pleased to be away from the shackles your life would’ve become if you’d stayed where you came from.
Drawing your net back up to shore, you sigh when it comes up empty yet again. Footsteps pad through the sand and their cadence sounds familiar to you, similar to the ones heralding the man you assured you’d tend to your wound three days ago.
As assumed, you did not tend to it at all. You’ve been too busy to focus on how it throbs, the current fishing season passing quickly and your stall as busy as it always is.
A chuckle rings from behind you. It’s quiet enough you’d miss it if others were around. It mingles with the waves lapping at your feet, encouraging you to look over your shoulder even though you refuse out of spite at this point.
You know it has to be this enigmatic man, Law, based off of the way your skin prickles with awareness of his stare just as it did a few days prior. Something about him makes your body react. It could just be an overreaction to someone new. Your best guess is that you are anticipating his imminent lecture and that’s why everything about you feels off right now, your usual go with the flow approach failing.
“How’d redoing those stitches go?”
Now you turn around, dropping your net at your feet and pursing your lips. He looks charmingly mussed up, wearing a tan button down shirt with too few buttons fastened instead of the blue t-shirt you saw him in prior. The unenthused look on your face remains although your traitorous eyes take a peek at the tanned, tattooed skin he’s showing off.
You’re caught in the act, of course. He rolls his shoulders when he catches your roving glance and you almost believe you see the faintest hint of a smirk on his face, those hands shoved deep in the pockets of his pants that are as unique as the rest of him.
It’s the closest you’ve come to a smile or really anything that isn’t, in your opinion, overt disinterest from the man. It brings back that same feeling you had during your first meeting, stomach turning and feet itching to get away.
You promptly look away while pretending to busy yourself with your net, cheeks warm. It makes you wonder why he approached at all if only to give you a hard time which only makes your face heat further.
“Didn’t have the time. I’m a busy girl, you know.”
Grunting his initial response, he takes a few steps to close the distance between you two. You jump back a few steps, pretending that they were necessary to untangle your net. Law pauses, eyebrow raised.
“Does your health mean nothing to you?”
Sighing, you drop the net at your feet and fold your arms over your chest in an ill guided attempt to puff yourself up. He’s intimidating, not just in expression and brusque conversation, but in stature too - broad and twice your size. You’re no stranger to dealing with men who talk a big game but an eerie feeling in your gut makes you believe that this man could back it up.
This stranger who insists on disrupting your day, your silent, peaceful beach time with you and the foam and the fish. Agitation gnaws and you tilt your head to the side curiously, brows raised.
“Why do you care what a woman you don’t know does with her body?”
It appears you have finally taken control of the situation judging by the way he slowly blinks like he’s processing what you said. Then he shakes his head, rolling his eyes enough that it’s your turn to catch it and scoff.
“I’m a doctor. It’s my responsibility to care.”
Although that isn’t enough to explain to him why he cares. As a principle, he believes men like him should not take a vested interest in the wellbeing of civilians. Pirates live a life that few can understand and certainly not simple fisherman on an island that he and his crew are currently taking a brief respite on.
“Then care about someone else,” you shoot back with a smile, finally bending to reach for your net and walking a few steps closer to shore, back toward your unexpected guest. The gentle morning waves wash over your boots. He watches as you toss, seabreeze ruffling the end of your shorts.
Unburying one hand from his pocket, he scrubs it over his face defeatedly. You’re just an honest person trying to make a living as difficult as you are. That’s why he cares. Not this strange draw he feels, a little poke between his ribs every time he thinks about the unique woman from the fish stall.
“My ship has an infirmary. I can take care of it since you apparently refuse to.”
You glance over your shoulder, a single brow raised.
“I try to avoid following strange men anywhere.”
Law sighs, exasperated.
“We aren’t strangers, we’ve met before. You even know my name.”
You shake your head, heaving your net back toward shore. “And that suddenly makes you perfectly upstanding and trustworthy?”
He doesn’t miss the wince that flashes across your face when the knotted fibers drag across your arm and subsequently the wound. Looking into the weave, you frown when no fish are flopping around and prepare your arm to cast again but stop when your arm twinges.
The doctor shakes his head, pulling his other hand from out of his pocket and folding his arms over his chest. If he can’t reason with you, he believes he may know another way to convince you yet.
“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. Let it fall off for all I care.”
Worked like a charm. That caught your attention, the ever astute man notices. The defiant smirk on your face falls, eyes widening in horror instead.
“Can that really happen?”
Internally he’s nearly aghast at your naivety but he nods once, face unchanging. He could sever it himself if he were to use his abilities, it would probably be less trouble than getting you to take him seriously would be but something tells him to be patient. You are a little prickly, perhaps distrustful, but you don’t seem to lack sense enough to dismiss his help a second time.
“Fine. But promise you aren’t going to steal my organs or hurt me in any way first.”
He snorts, shaking his head.
“I’m not promising anything. You can let me look at it or you can suffer, those are your options.”
You contemplate the suffering option for a second until your arm aches again. This draws a dramatic groan from you, your empty net tossed over your shoulder. It’s so rare that you need help from anyone for any reason but this is out of your wheelhouse. It’s time to take what’s being offered to you, albeit reluctant.
“Lead the way then, doctor.”
Thankfully Polar Tang isn’t submerged and waiting terribly far from where you stand right now. It’s how he stumbled upon you anyway, walking the shore before the rest of the crew decided to greet the day.
Things are already off to a strange start but once he gets this done, he can stop worrying about you completely and move on with his life.
—----------
You’ve never been aboard a submarine before and admittedly, you kind of would be alright not doing it again. Or maybe just not this one, its grumpy captain leading you inside and instructing you to remain quiet and walk straight in the direction he’s pointing which must be toward that infirmary he talked about.
When the two of you finally arrive, he shuts the door tightly behind you and instructs you to sit down near a stainless steel bench attached to the wall. While you do so he grabs his glasses off of the bench and a pair of gloves and snaps them on, leaning over you and grabbing your arm to stretch it across the table.
“This won’t take too long.”
You nod once, sitting in the stool and looking around at the incredibly clean environment he calls his own. It’s strange and you never would have considered looking at him that this is how he maintains his space. It seems like a direct contrast to the man in front of you who seems at least a little bit rough around the edges.
You suppose the same could be said about you though, precise in your work despite everything else about you being flighty at best, so you keep your opinion to yourself. It’s kind enough of him to see you in the first place that you don’t want to make him mad and potentially end up without an arm if his claims were to come true.
Noises on the other side of the steel walls capture your attention and Law groans, looking up from his work for the briefest moment.
“Go away. I won’t tell you again.”
He doesn’t raise his voice because he doesn’t have to, the low growl clearly enough to send the several pairs of feet eavesdropping outside of the medical bay door scurrying. You giggle, shaking your head.
“Friends of yours?”
Law’s face is unchanging, glasses perched on his nose while he leans back in.
“My crew. I assumed they’d still be sleeping but apparently I was wrong.”
“Oh, a crew!” You exclaim and he shoots you a warning glance encouraging you to be quiet lest they catch wind of the fact not only a stranger but a female one is onboard. “Sorry, I was kind of excited to hear you aren’t traveling all alone. You seem like the type that does.”
A strange thing to say but he chuckles so quietly you believe you imagined it, that same thumb from three days ago holding your arm as though it’s made of glass. That feeling of being seen and not simply viewed returns, settling strangely while you kick your feet back and forth where they dangle.
“Do you guys go around the world and help people like this all the time?”
Reaching for his scissors that are in a cup on the table behind you, he shakes his head once but his eyes never move from your wound. He cuts through one of your poor stitches and then another, the tension keeping the cut closed finally releasing and showing you just how much pain you’re about to be in. You play it cool, kicking your feet a little harder to focus on something besides how bad it hurts and finally, he speaks.
“No. We’re pirates.”
Staring wide eyed at the man, you try to will your face to change before he can look up and catch the expression. Unfortunately, you failed and he looks over the top of his glasses, mouth set in a flat line.
“What? Are you scared?”
“No no no, just surprised is all,” you chirp, playing off your anxiety. “You’re helping me so I have no judgment either way. Besides, I don’t have much a pirate would be interested in anyway.”
Trafalgar could name a few things about you the pirates he knows would be very interested in but he keeps them to himself, squeezing the edges of your wound together to release any lingering pus. You wince but swallow it down, tough girl that you are, gnawing your lower lip and flaring your nostrils as you breathe through the sting.
“How did this,” he nods and you know what he’s nodding toward. ”happen?”
You swallow thickly, blinking fast to keep from crying.
“Uh, it was nighttime. I was by myself and something was caught in my nets that wouldn’t come out. I tried to cut it out and ended up cutting myself instead.” Sniffling, you wrinkle your nose to keep any further show of pain or emotion from arising. “Cut the net too which really sucks.”
The pain is immense but manageable while he cuts through a few more of the stitches, gently squeezing as he goes. It’s bad but it isn’t as infected as he thought, fighting off annoyance at your utter recklessness like he should care or something.
“I hate to break it to you but maybe you shouldn’t be doing things on your own if this is the outcome.”
Contrary to the immediate offended glare you cast toward him, you have to admit to yourself that he may be correct. This time wasn’t the first you’ve ever injured yourself alone and as long as it isn’t the last, you have always sort of just considered things even but this is bad. It aches. Every stitch he pops releases the tension of the thread and you hiss through your teeth.
“You’re probably right,” you admit aloud, feet no longer kicking out and instead planted firmly against the legs of the chair to brace yourself for the worst of the pain to come. “But all I have is me so I do what I have to.”
The remark about his crew suddenly makes more sense. He hums, reaching for cotton and disinfectant solution to clean now that it’s squeezed out and the stitches are gone.
“Then you need to be more careful,” he warns, that cursed thumb finally letting go of you so he can use both hands to soak the cotton with the solution. He gently swipes it across the surface and he feels the tension in your body return.
“This is what happens when you get hurt and ignore it. It’s a pain in the ass and it hurts when it comes time to fix it.”
Frowning, you can hardly hide your displeasure over his poor bedside manner. Not that you’ve been to many doctors in your adulthood outside of the one who occasionally comes to do semi annual checkups for everyone who lives here but you assumed being a doctor meant you kind of had to be nice.
“I’ve learned my lesson.”
Your words are dripping with sarcasm but he ignores them, stepping on the trash can pedal beneath the bench and tossing the cotton in there. He moves as swiftly as you’ve ever seen anyone work and procures a needle and thread also from the bench behind you. That thumb touches the outside of your arm, again, and he pauses a moment to look up at you.
It’s obvious that you’re in pain and pretending like everything is fine. He gets the sense you do that a lot. Not that it’s his problem but he feels obligated to take the best care of you that he can while this situation is happening so he speaks slowly.
“This is going to be the worst part.”
You nod.
“It was when I did it too.”
At least you can laugh about it.
Gently poking through one side of the wound with the needle, he pulls it through and you see a tidy line of thread left behind. Far better than the messy, knotted, too big stitches you had before. He continues his pattern - poke, pull, weave - and you marvel at the quality of his work. It’s clear he takes his duties as a doctor seriously and a wave of gratefulness washes over you. Sure he hasn’t been the nicest man alive but the fact he’s done this at all tells you that he isn’t all that bad no matter how he acts.
“Thank you.” You want to leave it there, mouth opening and then closing again, but you don’t feel right saying that and nothing else. “I don’t know why I’m even telling you this but I’m not good at asking for help or accepting it either. Most people give up after I shoo them off the first time so I guess thanks for not taking me seriously.”
Finishing the final stitch, he cuts off the thread and looks directly up at you.
“Yeah, well it’s not like it was hard or took a lot of time.”
Averting his gaze back down to his work to give it a final inspection, he considers telling you he’ll check in again to make sure it’s healing right. It isn’t his responsibility now that the work is done but your honesty has convinced him you aren’t very good at looking out for yourself.
“Alright, I’ll walk you back up to shore.”
You’ll have to figure out how to do it without him because once you leave this ship, he won’t bother trying to see you again.
you came back wrong and i am racked with guilt because i cannot bear to see you like this and i should have let you rest. i loved you so much that i defied death itself but i do not think either of us are happy
Pain Management // Trafalgar Law x afab!reader // NSFW/18+
Summary: When you find yourself in the throes of some unknown chronic pelvic pain, your captain and doctor Trafalgar Law proposes an unusual treatment plan. But you’ll be a good patient and follow doctor’s orders, won’t you?
CW for entire Work [please read CW's on individual chapters]: NSFW/18+; afab!reader; no pronouns used for reader, but consistent use of gendered pet names (ex. "good girl") throughout; heavy dubcon/noncon elements including possessiveness, coercion and manipulation (emotional, psychological, and sexual); stockholm syndrome-like behavior in reader; sexual content
Salt and sadness of tears has settling into your eyelids and the world has become blurry. It's the type of sadness that robs the simple moments of their beauty and poetry.
Touya doesn't speak the entire ride home. He cranks to radio until the cab shakes with the bass, tapping along to the beat against his vomit stained jeans. The hospital bracelet dangles from his wrist along with the beat. It dances as you both walk home, joylessly mocking you with it's presence alone.
His dad called you five times, screaming, never crying. He left a bag of Touya's things with you in the hospital's parking lot, never went in to see his son. He tried to get you to leave with him, you never agreed.
Your boyfriend overdosed. He mixed alcohol and pills and god knows what else and overdosed on a stranger's floor.
You have to live with that fact.
As of today, Touya lives with you. He didn't thank you for the key when you handed it to him; his throat was still raw from his stomach being pumped.
"Do you want some scissors?" you ask the second the door closes behind him. He shrugs his bag off and slaps the lock closed.
"Nah, I'll get it later." He shuffles to the fridge. "Do you have any beer?"
The air sags out of you, not a laugh, not a sigh, but a slow punch to the gut. Touya recoils a bit, gauging his mistake.
"It's a joke."
"It's not funny."
"It's a fucking joke."
"It's not fucking funny!" The scream rips out of you so fast and hard that it aches down throughout your whole body. "It's not fucking funny!"
Touya's shoulder hunch as he scoffs, running his hands through his greasy hair. He closes his fist around the blonde roots and tugs, slightly, out of aggravation and desperation. Your whole world is cockeyed and threatening to capsize.
"Princess-" he tries, but he only prods your open wound further.
"Touya." You clasp your hands together in prayer, the only thing you've ever worshiped standing in front of you, hospital bracelet still dangling around his wrist, hands still shaking.
"Princess."
"You almost died."
The crushed pressure of worry and heartache shorten every breath, constricting around you, but the gap between the two of you feels so big.
"I didn't though." He scuffles forward, then again. You back as he approaches, a hitched waltz. until you're pressed into the kitchen's island. "I stayed for you, huh?"
Hand closing over your shoulder, he presses against you. His body is thin in ways you don't recognize, jagged in the hips and ribs.
"Huh?" he repeats, warm, soft, sweet-
"Touya, don't-"
"Huh? Didn't I?" He's trying to tug your face into his, even as you squirm away. It's supposed to be cute, but he's using too much force, perking your face towards him the second he gets a firm grip.
"Stop, I'm still mad."
"You can kiss me and be fucking mad at the same time."
"Don't-"
He muscles you into his lips. The fight inside you dissipates and you let him keep you there, licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue like a horny teen. You wonder if he's brushed his teeth before this, if he wants you or your forgiveness.
When he releases, it's with this smile- one you don't recognize.
"It won't happen again, promise," he says. "Don't give up on me, princess, I'm not gonna disappoint you again."
It's three weeks later that he overdoses again, this time on your couch. It takes two fingers to scoop the vomit from his throat and he bites you when he starts to seize.
im sorry but he's definitely a fuck everyone except for my wife guy too which is so supremely sexy i cannot even begin to fathom it he literally mean mugs the fruit seller for looking at him for too long while his wife is in one of the shops like he's truly not interested and doesn't even want to be perceived
꒰ synopsis ꒱ : law always knows how to calm your mind during times of distress.
꒰ contents ꒱ : MDNI . Trafalgar Law x reader ; reader has an oral fixation so finger sucking, thigh riding, brief mention of saliva, praise WC : 1.3k
“Enough.” Law commands, his arm reaches out to pull you closer by the waist and brings you onto his lap. One of his hands rests securely on your hip, keeping you in place as you straddle him. “Come here.”
The tower of paperwork he was sifting through sits idly on top of his desk, lain forgotten and left askew as soon as you had burst through the door of his private office.
It wasn’t abnormal for you to drop by throughout the day or even during the wee hours of the many nights he’d stay up far too late, but the sense of urgency had him turning his head in your direction.
The Heart Pirates captain could feel his stomach plummet, turn over in torment as soon as he took in your slightly disheveled appearance.
How your pretty eyes were filled to the brim with crystalline tears that coat your lashes like dewdrops paired with your lower, slightly bitten lip that was quivering enough to slice through the strings that held his heart upright was enough to have him sitting up straight.
Whatever had happened had left your mind in shambles, something he couldn’t whisk away with the simple wave of his hand.
Unlike his desk, he can’t neatly rearrange everything and make it like new again — no, comforting you was much more complex and a task he would never treat so lightly.
If he could, he’d reach into your troubled mind and cut down every negative thought that tormented your pretty head, leaving you only with happy memories and dreamy visions of him.
He may be a skilled doctor but he knows there’s not always a way for him to snap his fingers and take all of that away. But at least he was exceptionally well versed when it came to reading you and knowing exactly what kind of things that would help center you. All you need is something to focus on.
So, he improvises.
“Open.” His tattooed ring finger softly taps against your cheek. Once, twice, before you oblige. Your mental state was far too frazzled to oppose anything, especially with his piercing golden eyes set on you, set alight with concern and a hint of unyielding tenderness. “Good, very good.”
Careful as to not startle you, his hand slowly crawls into focus, the black ink that stretches along his skin comes closer as his fingers brush along your lips. The one decorated with an ‘E’ slips into your awaiting mouth, giving you a little nod that tells you to close it.
Plush lips wrap around the digit almost immediately. Law had to choke back a groan at the sight and accompanying sensation, your obedience stroking his ego to life and his unbridled want for you.
“Suck.” Again, you don’t fight him on this. Instead, you suck on his finger as if it was his cock, your mind growing hazier by the second by the familiarity of something being in your mouth. Law smirks a little, subtle smugness swirling with pride drenches his features and emboldens him to tuck another into your mouth — the ‘A’ this time. “Good job, keep going.”
The weight of the rings he wears sits on your tongue and coats it in something metallic. Curiously, you experimentally roll it over the gunmetal bands, slipping through both of the fingers that are poking and prodding through your mouth.
Law knew that you had an oral fixation and scoffed anytime you tried to deny it. Times like these only further proved his point but he was far too enchanted to start saying ‘I told you so’ right now. Not when he had more productive things to do.
“Wanna take another for me?” His voice was low, smooth as he drank in the sight before him — the way you eagerly swallow down his fingers, resting your hands on the expanse of his exposed chest and slowly begin to grind in his lap was causing heat to pool in his gut.
It was almost too easy.
Once you nod your head yes, he slips in the last one — ‘T’ and marvels at the way your tongue instinctually swirls around his thick digits. The hand that idly rests on your hips twitches before he guides you along his lap, letting your mind fog over with desire and pleasure to combat all of your sadness and anxiety away.
But as soon as you pitifully whine against his fingers with wide, glassy eyes pleading for more, he’s filled with the primal urge to see you come apart for him. To shed tears not from heartache and disappointment but from how good he can make you feel with a few pointed touches.
Quickly adjusting the way you’re sitting on him, he nudges you over to his thigh, tensing the muscle and beginning to drag your clothed cunt against it.
The reaction is immediate, your eyes flutter shut as you take in his fingers even deeper with a wanton moan. Saliva pools in the corners of your mouth as Law begins to greedily thrust his fingers into it, overcome with how much he’s rendered you thoughtless.
The strain of his hardening cock presses against the tight jeans he mistakenly wore, pulsing in retaliation at the restrictive fabric and throbbing with the utter need to sink himself inside of you.
But he was a patient man and you always came first.
“That's it, just like that. I’ve got you.” He coos at you, his velvety voice washing over you. The sweet, muffled sounds that try to slip past your lips were caught by his fingers as he helps your hips move along faster, steering you directly towards your impending high. “Let yourself go for me.”
The tone indicated it was an order, one that you would never disobey. Whenever he lets you finish, you’ve learned to take it and run, letting the ecstasy course throughout your body and fry all your nerves so he could rewire your brain to only focus on how good you feel.
Law basks in his own satisfaction as your legs begin to tremble, hips stuttering while you desperately chase the friction on his jeans. Your nails dig into his skin, unabashed whimpers and whines swirl around his fingers as he brazenly presses down on your tongue.
The final push over the edge was him shoving his digits further down your throat, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you finished right there and then with a muffled cry of his name.
Tremors of your climax roll over your body, wiping your mind clean of anything that plagued it earlier. With a satisfied smirk, Law pulls his hands from your mouth and coaxes your head down to rest against his now slightly scratched chest.
“There, better?” He asks as if he didn’t know the answer. His inked hand rests lightly on the back of your head to ensure you stay with him.
“Yes.” You nod, wrapping yourself around his body feeling fully satiated and liberated from the confines of your own mind.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” His voice was a little softer now, the welcomed gentleness easing more of the weight off of your slumped shoulders.
“No.” You say with a small shake of your head and an equally quiet tone. “Not yet. Can we just stay like this for a little longer?”
Law hums in understanding, not missing a beat as his lips brush along the temple of your head before sliding his hand down to flatten against your back.
He runs the palm down your spine in a soothing manner before quietly spelling out undecipherable adorations with the simple traces of his finger pads, repeating the comforting motion over and over again until you can make out exactly what he’s trying to say.
The words neither of you had said to each other yet but could both feel it course through your veins as your hearts beat as one.
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