Archive of Our Own ^beta

I should just leave. He’ll just tell me the same things. It’s a waste of time. 

You were close to convincing yourself to walk away, especially as the discomfort and pain of standing in one place for so long started radiating up your body. 

The line got shorter, and you stretched and bounced, trying to hang onto a sliver of hope.

“Hello, how’s your day going?”

A talking polar bear in an orange jumpsuit waved at you from behind a small table, handing you a clipboard. 

“I-I’m well thanks. How…”

“Good! It’s always nice when the captain can help people. He’s the best! Just fill that out, and he’ll be with you soon.”

Looking at the form brought you out of the shock of speaking to a bear. Instead, it filled you with intense frustration, until you were practically boiling in your skin.

‘Rate your pain from 1-10.’

How the fuck am I supposed to rate all the different types of pain I’m in on any given day?

‘Circle the parts of the body where you are experiencing pain.’

I could put circles over so many things. Might as well circle the whole fucking chart, and have them call me a liar.

‘List your diagnoses, and family medical history.’

I don’t have one, doctors never find anything. Mom has some similar symptoms, but they're so mild that she's never tried to get a diagnosis. You’re the one who’s supposed to figure this out!

You resisted the urge to vent your anger onto the page, bullshitting your way through instead. You tried to write in the most convincing way to get this new doctor to take you seriously. 

This new doctor. “The Surgeon of Death.” A fucking pirate. 

But he was supposed to be the best, and he was here on your shitty little island for a couple of weeks, trading medical treatment for the town's supplies. You had already heard reports of “miracles,” that he could perform surgeries in an instant, that he could fix anyone. 

Please fix me.

This was it. You couldn’t take anymore trying after this. Just trying to get a doctor to listen to or believe you was almost worse than the daily pain. Almost.

“Miss Y/N? The captain is ready for you now. My name is Bepo, by the way,” the bear grinned as he took the clipboard from your clammy hands. At least you hoped it was a grin.

He handed the form back to you as he led you through the dimly lit hallways of this strange submarine. It felt like you’d entered some other realm, an underworld, on your way to strike a deal with a demon. 

As long as he can fix me…

“Here you are,” Bepo motioned as he opened a large metal door. “You’re in great hands.”

Hands. 

Hands were the first things you noticed as you entered the examination room. 

Those hands were tensed over the back of a rolling chair, gripping the thin padding as if waiting for you so he could sit down. 

Long fingers mesmerized you, tattoos etched along the back of each hand. And as you stepped into the well lit room, you saw the word “death,” spelled out across both sets of those fingers. 

The sound of his throat clearing snapped your eyes to his, your skin flushing as you realized he’d been speaking to you. 

As you realized how fucking gorgeous he was. His black hair looked a bit mussed, but it only added to the effect, along with his goatee, and his dark, pretty eyes.

Already more useful than my other doctors. Easy on the eyes. 

“May I look at your form, miss?”

‘Oh, of course,'' you stuttered, thrusting the paper toward him. “I’m Y/N.”

“Dr. Trafalgar. You can take a seat.”

Well, his bedside manner seems pretty standard, you thought with a small sigh, sitting down on the familiar crinkly paper covering the exam table. 

He circled behind you to close the door, and what sounded like a lock clicking into place had your heart rate spiking. 

“Stand up, please,” he said firmly, your form still unseen in his hand. 

“Oh, sorry. I thought you said–”

“Walk to the corner, and sit back down, please.”

His voice was unreal. You would have jumped through hoops for him anyway, praying that any doctor would listen. 

But his command seemed to curl into your brain, and you followed it immediately. 

“Why are you favoring that hip?”

“Oh, it…” 

Here’s where your credibility would fall apart. Your nails dug into your palms as you willed him to believe you.

“Sometimes if I stand too quickly, it feels loose. Sometimes it pops, and is so painful that I can’t put any weight on it.”

He stared at you for a moment, and you fought not to recite a list of excuses, to try to explain why it hurts when you’d never been injured before. 

“And your right knee?”

“Oh, it’s not bad right now. It used to swell sometimes, and was really painful. But it’s not as bad as it used to be.”

“Did you sustain any injuries?”

“N-No. None that I can recall.”

His lips quirked a bit before he reviewed your chart.

Believe me. Believe me. Believe me.

“You’ve reported your shoulders as being your most pressing concern. Why is that?”

His eyes were almost painfully sharp as he scanned you, focusing on your face as you answered him. He’d sat backwards on the rolling chair, his arms folded across the back with his legs spread wide to either side.

“They’ve been acting up recently. They often feel… loose. That’s how it feels to me. Sometimes if I move a certain way it almost feels like they pop out of place. But I can still move them after, it’s just incredibly painful. And then it’s weak, and I can barely hold anything.”

“What are some of the activities that have caused this to happen?”

He was impossible to read. But you couldn’t lie. He wouldn’t be able to help you if you lied.

“Um, brushing my hair. Taking off a jacket. P-Putting a sports bra on.”

“Did you used to have longer hair?”

“What?”

“Do you keep your hair above your shoulders to prevent shoulder pain? Or does brushing it still cause issues at this length?”

“Oh. Yes, actually. I used to have much longer hair.”

“I imagine you’ve adjusted many aspects of your life to cope with this pain.” 

Warmth flowed into that deep voice, and you shivered as you watched him steeple his fingers against his lips for a moment. 

“If you are comfortable, I would like to run through a few simple movements to check your flexibility. Many of which you can do on your own, but I will check in again if you are comfortable with me touching you for the others. You can always let me know if you would like to stop.”

“Okay.”

The doctor dug through a drawer to pull out a clear measuring device, almost like two rulers connected at one end. He adjusted it, creating an angle before setting it aside. 

He never picked up the device again, and you fought not to shake. He looked at your elbows, your knees, your thumbs, your pinkies, frowning slightly as you followed his instructions.

“Now, please bend over, and try to touch your toes. Just go as far as you– hm.”

Your palms were flat on the ground, just as they’d always been able to go. You could even put the back of your hands down, and stretch them along the ground behind you if you wanted to. 

“Doctor?”

“You can take a seat.”

Wincing as you sat, you shook out your legs, feeling his eyes as he watched your every movement. 

He stood, towering over you as he came close.

“For this next part of the examination, I will be touching you with my hands, and in some cases leaning or holding parts of your body against mine so that I can check the range of motion in your joints. I may also massage certain tight muscles to help you relax as we move through the problem areas. You have quite the list for us to get through, but if at any time you wish for us to stop, just let me know. Do you understand?”

“I do,” you breathed, your face angled up to meet his.

“Do you consent to me touching you?”

His voice came out softer once again, and you couldn’t hold in a shiver as you consented.

Those fingers…

His long fingers were so gentle as they crept across your body, testing, pushing, pulling. You fought to listen to his commands, pushing against or holding your body how he told you. 

“I imagine that seeking treatment has been challenging for you,” he rasped as he leaned over your face, his fingers gently massaging your shoulders. 

The pain and pleasure of his hands testing you had brought up a strangely emotional pressure, almost like tears in your throat.

“It has.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It must be incredibly difficult to suffer so much pain, and not be believed.”

You started to nod to keep your voice from cracking, but he pressed his fingers into your skin just a bit.

“Can you keep still for me,” he whispered, and it sounded so close that you opened your eyes.

“Just relax,” the doctor soothed as he stepped away, pulling a few tissues out to press against your cheeks and temples, catching the tears that had spilled when you’d opened your burning eyes.

“I’m sorry, doc–”

“No need to be sorry, Y/N. You have been suffering, been living with pain for years. It’s all those doctors that left you like this that should feel ashamed.”

His fingers had returned to your body, still relaxing, and testing.

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Please, call me Law.”

He was pressing gently along your collarbones as his name rolled over you, a small sound escaping your throat as you melted beneath him. 

“Do you have a good support system? People in your life that can help you with this?”

“I mean, my mom and my boyfriend help me. They’re supportive.”

He took those fingers away, and you mourned them, wishing you could feel that soothing touch forever.

“I’m going to test your hips now, Y/N. Please tell me if you experience any pain.”

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling self conscious of your breathy voice. His words just kept pouring over you, his voice so relaxing, so good. 

“How does that feel, Y/N?”

“Fine.”

He had your leg stretched along his torso, your foot dangling over his shoulder. You clamped your eyes shut. The sight of him between your spread legs, pushing your leg toward you, had you biting your lip, trying not to make any more embarrassing noises. 

“How’s this?”

“Fine.”

He hadn’t gotten close to your limit, but he went agonizingly slow. You could feel his firm abs warming your thigh through your clothes, his thin shirt not doing much to keep the press of him at bay. 

“You said that your mom and your boyfriend support you. How do they do that?”

“Oh, uh,” you shook your head, trying to focus on the question, and not the gentle rocking motion he’d started as he pushed you even further.

“They help me when… They help me when I’m having bad days. They listen. They both do little different things when things are bad.”

“How’s this?”

“Still fine.”

“You can go further?”

“Yeah, I can–,” you had reached for your thigh, planning to pull it toward your chest to show him, but his eyes above you stopped you before his voice did. 

“I’ll get you there, Y/N. You can hurt yourself if you rush. Can you take it slow for me?”

“Perfect,” he praised when you nodded, still gently rocking your body forward and back as he pushed, finally reaching the limit. 

“That is quite the range of motion,” he noted, carefully laying that leg down to move to the other side. “May I?”

He set himself up again, moving slow as he used his body to stretch you.

“You said that they help you on bad days, is that right?”

Meeting his sharp eyes, you took a minute to understand.

“Yes, they do.”

His face tilted a bit as he pressed closer. He started that gentle rocking motion, almost thrusting against you to help your body relax. 

“But Y/N, from what I’ve seen today, it seems like all of your days are bad. Aren’t they?”

“I…”

“All these years with no one to believe you. It must be hard to believe yourself sometimes. Do you think they really believe you, Y/N? Do they believe how much pain you’re in as you struggle through each day? As you stand up too fast, or brush your hair? Do you think they understand?”

He’d pushed closer, looming over you as he held your thigh against him. 

“Why are you–”

“I need to make sure that my patients have the support systems they need.”

His voice had smoothed back now, from almost heated to cool and detached.

He’s the only person that’s ever seemed like they understand. He must believe me. Of course he would be passionate about it, he’s a doctor. A doctor that believes me.

Closer and closer, his eyes watching yours.

“Do they believe you?”

“I think,” you started, eyes wide as you fought more tears, “I think they try to believe me. They just… They don’t know what it’s like. They don’t understand.”

“How’s this?”

“It’s fine.”

“Alright, last push.”

Your thigh was pressed between your bodies, and he stayed there.

“Does this hurt, Y/N,” he rasped, his breath warming your face. 

“No.”

He helped you stretch your leg out on the table, sitting backwards in the rolling chair before he told you to sit up.

“I believe I understand the cause of your pain, and why you’ve had a difficult time obtaining a diagnosis.”

“Can you fix it?”

Your thrill of excitement got caught in your throat at the look in his eyes, his palm up to halt your questions. 

“I believe it may be a connective tissue disorder, which would explain your hypermobility, as well as the complications you’ve had with many parts of your body. You've already met the criteria for one type based on our examination today. I would like you to come back tomorrow so that we can review more of your symptoms to be sure, and to discuss treatments.”

“You can do surgery, right? Can you fix it?”

You had gestured to him, your body panicking with failing hope. A gasp left your throat as those tattooed fingers caught your hand, his thumb rubbing over your skin as his voice went low.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. This is not a condition that can be cured,” he confessed, squeezing your hand as your body slumped. “Connective tissues run throughout our entire body, and if I am correct, yours may be weaker than most. 'Loose,' as you said. Unfortunately, there is no known way to repair or replace those tissues.”

A weight fell over you, and you found yourself not quite in your body. Your body that you’d fought so hard to fix.

That can never be fixed.

The doctor pressed your hand between his, smoothing over and warming your fingers until you were present enough to meet his eyes.

“It may not be curable, Y/N, but it can be managed. You don’t need to suffer alone in such pain like you have been. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that things are better for you. Do you trust me?”

There was something so intense about his face. The way he looked at you felt heavy, like he really did see the weight you’d carried all these years. You sank into those gray eyes, and realized you did.

“I trust you, Doctor.”

“Please. Y/N,” he hummed, releasing your hand, “call me, Law.” 

“You weren’t wearing that yesterday. Did something happen?”

With that crinkly paper under your thighs, your nervous squirming was embarrassingly noticeable. 

Law stood to the right of your knees, and you followed the line of his arm down as his long finger tapped your wrist brace. 

‘E.’

“Y/N, are you feeling alright?”

Your face grew hot as he caught you spacing out on his hands again. That finger with the letter ‘e’ inked on it was still lightly touching the brace. 

“Sorry, yes. I’m alright. And nothing happened,” you reported, wiggling your fingers. “It just started acting up earlier.”

“What does ‘acting up’ mean,” he questioned. His voice was comforting, instead of the doubtful tone you were used to from doctors. He sat backwards on his chair, rolling toward you before gesturing for your hand. You let him take it, watching him undo the straps to free your skin. 

“It hurts. Feels wrong, feels weak. It used to be a lot worse when I was a bartender, but it only happens now and then, not most days anymore.”

“What do you do for work now,” he asked, his voice low and soothing as he pressed his fingers gently along your wrist. 

“I work at the library.”

He nodded before you let out a soft sound, the angle he’d moved your wrist into feeling sharp.

Your doctor apologized, helping you back into the brace, those long fingers tracing your skin. 

“I imagine that bartending was hard on your hips and knees as well,” he mused, leaning toward you. “Is that why you work at the library now? I’m assuming it’s not for the pay.”

Your eyes were a little wide, memories of coming home from work crying filling your mind. 

“Yes it was… It wasn’t sustainable.”

“Have you hurt yourself at the library?”

His voice was so soft, but his unblinking gray eyes trapped you, surrounding you like a stone wall.

“Y/N, I’m your doctor,” he purred, making you shiver even as your eyes held the promise of tears. “You don’t need to hide your pain from me.”

You nodded, gulping down the heat in your throat as he asked you how it happened.

“I put a book on a shelf,” you choked out, lifting your arm to show that the shelf was close to the height of your shoulder. Not high, not low. “It wasn’t even a heavy book, I just– My shoulder just popped, and I couldn’t lift anything else for a few hours.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Y/N. Were your coworkers understanding?”

The tears were almost falling now, and you watched those long fingers grab a few tissues. Quiet sobs were caught in your chest as he handed them to you, watching you catch the salty water before it could fall too far down your cheeks. 

“You didn’t tell anyone, did you, Y/N?”

Your ‘no’ came out in a whisper as you fought to rein yourself in. 

“You held in your pain, just like you’re holding in your sobs.”

His words were heavy, as if he was lifting the weight you'd been holding, giving you a break. It wasn’t a question, so you waited. 

The stunted sobs were already subsiding, and you felt that familiar fuzzy distance. You were still in the room, still in your body, but none of it seemed real. 

“Will you hold my pen for me, Y/N?”

Those pretty fingers clicked the pen in front of you a few times before placing it in your hand. You stared down at it for an unknowable amount of time before you started clicking it, passing it between your hands

“How are you feeling,” he checked in when you finally met his gaze. His voice was so deep, and he let a warmth into those words that made you sigh.

“I like your hat.”

Law gave you a small, crooked smile as he dipped his head toward you. He had a large white hat on, with dark spots around the rim. The bill of the hat cast a shadow over his pretty eyes as he repeated himself, his words sounding almost amused.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, sor–”

“Don’t be sorry,” he reminded you, standing up so you had to tilt your face up to his. “It’s not your fault that you’ve been surrounded by people who don’t care enough to see your pain. Are you ready to go over a few more symptoms?”

You hated the feeling of scooching yourself up those exam tables, the noise of that stiff paper grating your nerves. Once you were settled, he sat back down, asking permission to touch you before he lifted your forearm slightly.

Eyes fluttering shut, you let yourself enjoy the light touch of his fingers. 

“You have incredibly soft skin,” he rasped, making you look at him. He gently pinched the skin of your forearm, stretching it up.

“Does this hurt?”

“No.”

Law cleared his throat as he set your arm down, his thumb brushing against you one last time. 

“Soft and stretchy skin are another feature of the connective tissue disorder.”

Clenching your eyes shut, you tried to breathe through your disappointment. All these years of fighting, only to find something you can’t fix.

“There are other symptoms and history we can review. However at this stage, I believe we need to focus on treatment.”

“Okay,” you agreed, your voice tight as you tried to sit up.

“You can stay down, Y/N. Why don’t we start with some more stretches, and I can massage a few tense areas before we practice the exercises?”

This was the first exam table you’d ever laid on that you didn’t want to get off of. 

The massaging that Law did was isolated, meticulous. He would search for very specific spots, working them gently until you felt them loosen. He seemed to know how every muscle, tendon, and bone were connected, following your pain to places you wouldn’t have thought could be related.

He stretched and tested you again, pointing out the parts of your body that were tight instead of loose.

“Since your body isn’t able to support itself as it should, it overcompensates in certain areas.”

“Lovely.”

Law let out a quiet sound, almost a laugh that brought your eyes to his. He was massaging your shin, which was something you never knew you needed.

“Y/N, your body is amazing,” he said with the first full smile he’d given you, making your skin flush. “Your body has been trying to help you all these years, but it didn’t know how. You just need someone to guide you.”

“Okay,” you squeaked, letting out a shaky breath as he walked across the room. 

He returned carrying a headrest with a hole in the center, guiding you to lie on your stomach. With how incredible his fingers were on your neck, shoulders, arms, and legs, you practically melted at the thought of him massaging your back. 

“You seem to carry a lot of tension up here,” he noted as he smoothed over your neck and shoulders. “Stress can exacerbate your symptoms. I know that work and chronic pain are heavy stressors for you, but how is your home life?”

“Mm,” you let out a soft moan as his hands started working down your back. “Home is fine.”

“Really? What about on heavy pain days? Is anyone there to support you?”

It was hard to focus on his words, but you did your best.

“My boyfriend. We live together and he–”

“Does he help you when you’re in pain?”

That velvet voice dripped down on you, closer and closer. 

“Well… He brings me things like my heating pad when I–”

“When you ask?”

“Y-Yeah.”

A loud, needy moan left your throat as his thumbs dug into the tops of your glutes, palms smoothing over them, not going too far down.

“Always having to ask for help can be tiring, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathed, wanting to ask him to go lower, but you didn’t want to cross a boundary. Not when you’d finally found a good doctor.

“If you are comfortable, I can massage low–”

“Yes, please.” 

You thought you heard a pleased hum, but your own sounds were too hard to hold in. 

Fuck, his hands feel so good. I can’t remember feeling this good.

“Y/N, it seems like you’d probably stop asking for help at all if it was that tiring. Did you ever suffer in silence, or take care of yourself instead of asking?”

“Yes,” you breathed, realizing that heat was pooling in your core. You were getting wet as your doctor massaged your ass. Embarrassment hit you, and you tried to think of a way to end this, to sit up before he noticed. 

But it felt too fucking good. You just hoped it wouldn't soak through your leggings.

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend for help anymore?”

The heat in your throat was back, the pleasure of his touch making the emotions foggy.

“I don’t… want to bother him.”

Law pushed against you until your toes were curling. Then his dark voice trapped you, heavy and sweet, molasses sticking to your skin.

“Does being with your boyfriend make you feel like a burden?”

Part of you knew that this was not how he should ask that question, or if he should at all. 

But he sees my pain. No one else has ever understood. He’s just helping me work through it.

A choked sob escaped, and he ran his hands soothingly over your back before returning to your ass, starting to rub down onto the backs of your thighs.

“You are not a burden, Y/N. You deserve to be cared for. We won’t be able to make any progress if you have to carry all of that stress.”

Your whispered ‘thank you’ was cut short by your own moans, your body twitching as he massaged your thighs. You didn’t realize it would be so intense. Your muscles were so sensitive that it almost hurt, but you wouldn’t ask him to stop. 

Fear gripped you at the thought of him sailing away in a couple weeks, taking his healing fingers from you forever. Hot tears fell through the hole of the headrest while you gasped and moaned.

“Is this too much–”

“It’s fine, please.”

His fingers were so long. You felt his thumbs massaging up the insides of your thighs, his fingers wrapping around to the outsides. He squeezed a few times, almost shaking your legs as he moved up. 

As his thumbs went higher, spreading your thighs apart slightly, you remembered the wetness he’d caused. 

You clenched your muscles instinctively, your body’s reaction to keep him from seeing.

Law loosened his grip, but didn’t move. 

“We need you to be relaxed, Y/N. Can you relax for me?”

His voice, and your desperate need for him to help you, had your body melting without a thought. 

Your doctor didn’t move or squeeze your thighs, just hummed as he watched you.

“Good job, Y/N. You’re doing so well for me.”

Fuck.

You managed to hold in your moan at his praise, but not the needy squirming of your body, your hips twisting a bit as his hands still held you. 

Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. He’s my doctor. He’s my doctor.

“I told you, Y/N. Anytime you want to stop, all you have to do is tell me. Would you like me to stop massaging your thighs?”

“No,” your traitorous voice choked out, crying out with pleasure as he resumed.

“With the recurring pain in your hips,” Law purred, massaging his thumbs ever closer to your center, “it’s understandable why everything in this area would be so sensitive.”

All you could do was whimper as his thumbs stopped their trek toward that damning evidence. Instead, they massaged around, under the cheeks of your ass. Still so sensitive that it had you twitching. Then he was smoothing over the skin, and you ached as he pulled away. 

“Take your time, Y/N. We’re going to go over a few exercises when you’re ready, and I’ve printed out some information for you to take home.”

~

You let out a hiss as you wobbled while trying to put your tennis shoes on, remembering that you need to sit down when you do it. Law’s voice rolled through your mind to remind you to ‘listen to your body, take it slow,’ and your lips curled into a little smile as you finished up.

“Going to see your other boyfriend?”

Your boyfriend’s face was flat as he leaned against the wall by the door, blocking your path.

“No, I’m going to see my doctor,” you said lightly, itching to get there already.

“What kind of doctor asks you to come see him at night for hours, Y/N? You’ve seen him more than you’ve seen me this week.”

“Babe, he’s the only doctor that’s ever known what’s wrong. Please support me with this. He’s leaving in a week, so he’s trying to teach me as much as he can before he goes.”

“Yeah, sure. This pirate doctor is the only person who knows about this weird disease, so now you have to see him everyday? He sounds like a creep trying to take advantage of you.”

You had never wanted to hurt anyone before, but the patronizing look in his eyes made you want to claw at him. 

Instead, you took slow breaths before you spoke through clenched teeth. 

“Standing in one place for too long hurts. Please move, so I can walk to my appointment.”

His lips were parted as he let you pass, confusion filling his eyes. 

Until he called after you, making you want to scream. 

“Want me to drive you to that creep’s ugly boat?”

You didn’t. 

You just wanted to be sitting on that crinkly paper again. 

~

“Good evening, Y/N. I know we’ve discussed issues with pain medication not– Are you alright?”

Law looked up from his pile of papers as you sat down, and you cringed at the fact that you couldn’t hide your mood from him. 

I can’t hide anything from him. He sees me so clearly. 

“It’s nothing.”

Law walked to you, standing at your knees until you craned your neck to meet his dark eyes. 

“I can see that it’s not nothing, Y/N. How can I properly treat you if you lie to me?”

“I’m s-sorry,” you whispered, shivering at the intensity in his voice. “My boyfriend and I just had an argument. I’ll be fine.”

It was like something had wound him tight, and suddenly he fell loose. His body seemed smooth, almost liquid as he leaned his face close to yours, his voice low and perfect.

“We can’t make progress if you’re not relaxed. Would you like me to help you ease some of that stress?”

That answer would always be ‘yes.’

Still melting under his touch, this was the first time over the last week that your mind wasn’t getting completely cleared by his skilled fingers. 

You were getting even more pissed at your boyfriend now that thoughts of the fight were interrupting your treasured time with this miracle doctor. This doctor that would be leaving so soon. 

“You’re very tense, Y/N.”

You were on your back looking up at that gorgeous, upside down face as his fingers massaged under your neck and shoulders.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault that the people around you don’t care about your health. Your boyfriend should be sorry for the state he’s left your body in.”

Law’s voice was rough, even as his fingers stayed gentle. 

“He’s not–”

“Are you going to make excuses for him,” Law asked, what sounded like a hint of anger in his words. “Let me guess, your boyfriend is upset that you’ve finally been receiving the medical treatment you’ve been needing your whole life?”

You opened your mouth, but couldn’t think of a word to say. His sharp eyes came closer as he leaned down.

“So not only does your boyfriend fail to help you relax when you’re in pain, he’s actively causing you mental and physical pain. I wonder if he even helps you feel pleasure.”

“What,” you asked, not sure if you heard him right. 

“I’m just concerned about the stress factors you have at home,” he drawled, standing up straight as he moved his face away. “All of these aspects can affect your progress with treatment, as well as your baseline pain.” 

Soon you forgot what he said, you forgot what your boyfriend said, you just felt those inked fingers across your body. You just heard his praise as you worked through the physical therapy exercises, and listened to his intoxicating voice as he explained everything you could do to help yourself after he leaves you.

~

Fuck, I hope he’s asleep. 

A dim light shone through the living room window. It wasn’t that late, but your boyfriend had a habit of going to bed early when you had an argument. This was the first time you were hoping for that, because you didn’t have the energy to talk to him right now. 

With a heavy sigh, you pulled out your keys, trying to stay as quiet as you could while you opened the door. 

You took one step into the house.

Crack. 

Oh gods oh fuck fuckfuck.

pain. Pain. PAIN!

Your neck was… You heard it crack. 

A whimper tried to leave your throat, but even that movement was too much. 

Something similar had happened before, but this was…

Stinging tears poured down your face as you tried to move. Staying still was agonizing. Moving was excruciating. 

It felt like your neck was breaking.

Pleasepleaseplease.

You could still move. You could still move your neck slightly, but the pain was blinding. 

I need him. I need Law.

The instinct to yell for your boyfriend to help you, and to drive you to the docks, was frozen. Before you could even try to speak, a flood of angry thoughts filled your mind. 

He doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t care about my pain. He probably wouldn’t take me to Law anyway because he doesn’t believe me, doesn’t trust him, doesn’t trust what I know about him. He’d probably take me to that stupid hospital where all those shitty doctors treated me like a liar, like I was crazy. 

He doesn’t believe in my pain. He doesn’t care enough to try.

You left the key in the lock as you gingerly stepped out of the house, trying to keep your head as straight and unmoving as you could.

Even breathing hurt, the pain from every tiny movement radiating down your shoulders, along your spine.

Fuck fuck fuck. Please help me.

That gravel road was like a minefield, your steps so slow to keep the uneven ground from jostling you. 

The pain brought nausea, but you fought it down. The thought of throwing up right now was terrifying.

It felt like your neck was breaking.

What’s happening to me? Am I going to die? Will I be able to walk? Why is this happening to me?

Beads of sweat were rolling down your forehead, but you couldn’t shake or wipe them away. Just held your head as still as possible, letting sweat mix with tears as they stung your eyes. 

You wanted to give up. Fall onto the ground, and let it end. So tired. 

The docks. That yellow submarine.

You didn’t make it onto the ship before a man in a white jumpsuit stepped in front of you. A strained cry left your lips from the sharp pain as you jolted slightly. 

“Please help. Need Law…”

“Whoa, okay,” he said, voice almost panicked as he looked you over. You blinked through the salt in your eyes to see his concerned face, and a hat with the word ‘Penguin’ written across it. And a little penguin on top. 

A little manic laugh choked out of you, making you clench your eyes shut, fighting not to sob as the pain in your neck spiked.

“I… I’ll take you to him, okay? Follow me. Careful, there’s a step right here.”

Grateful tears flowed now, as he led you through the submarine. The dim lights were soothing, and he guided you through hallways, minding the steps and navigating you through metal doorways. 

“Captain, sorry to bother you,” the pirate said as he cleared his throat. This wasn’t the door to the examination room, and you wondered if your doctor had already gone to sleep. 

“What is it, Penguin,” that even voice called through the large door. “Aren’t you meant to be on watch duty tonight?”

“Yes, captain, but your patient is here. I think she’s hurt, she can’t talk much.”

The door flew open, and you would have crumpled with relief if you could have moved without wanting to scream.

“Thank you, Penguin,” Law dismissed, not looking at his crew mate as he knelt on the ground to look at your body, assessing you for injuries. 

You looked down at him with your eyes, unable to tilt your head toward him as more tears dripped off of your chin, some trailing down your neck. The tickle of water was just another layer of discomfort piled on.

“Y/N, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

His soothing voice made you whimper, the movement too much.

“Neck,” you whispered, “heard it crack. Hurts so…”

“Let’s get you to the exam room.”

Just being in this room provided so much relief. His presence was like a healing balm as he adjusted the table for you, letting you hold onto his arms as you lowered yourself down. 

You cried out as you sat, the motion and the position no less painful than standing or walking. 

As he rolled up to you on that chair, you wanted to weep with gratitude. Instead, you spoke softly, keeping your throat from moving as much as you could. 

Even though it was him, your doctor, you were still so scared he’d send you away. Tell you it was ‘psychosomatic.’ That he wouldn't believe you. 

Why would anyone believe me? All I did was take a step into my house. 

But you had no energy to try to lie, or explain, or try to seem more believable. 

“Law,” you choked out after telling him what happened, “please help me. It feels like my neck is breaking. Hurts– Law, it hurts so bad, please–”

“I’ve got you, Y/N. We’re going to figure this out. Will you be alright to wait here just a moment? I’m going to get a neck brace for you.”

“Y-Yes.”

“I’ll be right back. You’re going to be okay.”

You didn’t know why you had the urge, but as you waited for him to return, you tried to test if you were really as hurt as you thought you were. Afraid you had made it up, or over exaggerated, and you didn’t want him to think less of you. 

The slight shift you made to turn your head to the side made you cry out, almost a scream. Your fingers gripped onto the table as you shut your eyes from the pain. 

“What happened,” he charged in, a few different sized braces under his arm. 

“I tried to turn my head,” you breathed.

“Please don’t move unless I tell you to. Can you do that for me? Just listen to me, Y/N. I’ll take care of you.”

“Okay.”

“Good. I know you’re going to be so good for me,” he praised as he brought those gray eyes to yours. “I need to see which brace fits you best, and this is going to hurt. I need you to breathe, and trust me.”

“Okay.”

He was right. It hurt. 

As much as you both tried to keep your head still, trying on the braces, and adjusting the one that fit best made you sob. And that motion only made it worse until you were dizzy with pain.

His gentle fingers explored then, reaching beneath the brace to touch your neck, moving down your shoulders, along your spine. His soothing voice rolled over you as the pain kept coming, never stopping.

The brace made you feel safer, holding your head steady so that it wouldn’t tip over, and break your neck.

Law made you feel safer. 

“Y/N, there isn’t much more we can do tonight with the amount of pain you are in.”

You closed your eyes, dreading the thought of going home like this. There was no way you’d be able to sleep.

“I know that you haven’t had luck with pain medications in the past,” he started, brows furrowing as he watched you. “You reported that over the counter drugs have little to no effect, and that stronger pain treatments have been only mildly helpful if at all, and that they typically cause nausea. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Law took your hand, making sure not to move your arm, just holding it slightly above your thigh as his thumb rubbed along your knuckles. 

“I don’t think that your heating pad and ice pack are going to cut it tonight.”

Fresh tears stained your face, and he used his free hand to grab a tissue to catch them for you. 

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you admitted, barely more than a whisper. 

“Will you let me take care of you tonight?”

Law’s soft smile felt so good. It warmed your chest as you agreed, as you held your breath through the pain. He wheeled in a hospital bed, setting you up with pillows until you were in the least painful position possible. 

Then he pulled out a needle, filling it with something. 

“What’s that,” you asked softly, watching him prep the needle, and push a small amount of the liquid out. 

“It’s going to help you sleep,” he explained in that velvet voice of his. “And I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“You’ll help me,” you whimpered, feeling overwhelmed with emotion and relief. All those years of pain with no one to listen, no one to care, no one to believe you. So much pain, all alone. 

But Law was here now. He believed you. 

“Of course I’ll help you,” he soothed as he searched for a good vein. “I’m your doctor. You can trust me.”

The plunge of the needle felt good, almost sensual, as he locked his gray eyes on yours. 

That voice, that decadent voice. 

“Say it for me.”

“I trust you.”

Beeping. 

What is that sound? There’s another sound.

That soun–

Fuck!

A strangled cry left your throat, pain tearing through you.

Tight, fuck it’s so tight, can’t–

Your eyes were still too droopy to open as your hands scrambled at your neck. A sharp pinch twisted against your right wrist, and you felt the pull of wires restricting its movement. 

That beeping noise was louder now.

“Y/N, you’re okay, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

Law’s deep voice pulled you out, giving you a reason to open your eyes. He pulled your hands away from scratching at the neck brace, and you slumped with relief at his touch. 

Only to let out a choked scream at the pain.

“Shh, I’ve got you. Can you stay still for me? I know you can, you’re so strong.”

“I don’t want to be strong anymore.”

Your confession slipped quietly from your trembling lips as you tried to acclimate to the pain, tried to be still for him. 

His brow creased as he looked down at you, and you felt pathetic. You wanted to take it back.

Law brought those cool, tattooed fingers to your face, leaving featherlight touches along your temple and cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed, burning tears starting again.

“You’re right,” he rasped, brushing your tears away with his fingers, leaving the tissues in their box this time.

“You’ve been strong for so long, haven’t you? You shouldn’t have to fight so hard every day.”

Gentle sobs left your throat, interrupted by a small gasp.

His hand still traced your face in soothing lines, until he brushed his tear soaked thumb across your lips.

Your eyelids were still heavy, but you held them open to melt into the storm gray eyes above you. 

“You don’t need to be strong with me, Y/N,” he breathed, close enough to leave the warmth of his words on your face. “I’ll save you.”

~

Beeping.

I’m with Law. I’m okay.

Foggy dreams of Law’s hands on your face made your skin flush before you opened your eyes. 

That beeping got louder as you fought off the embarrassing thoughts you were having about your doctor’s hands, but the slight shift you made in the bed had you forgetting it all, groaning in pain.

“Nice and slow, Y/N. You’re safe, just take some deep breaths.”

Your doctor stepped into view, his eyes scanning your body before gifting you with a gentle smile. 

Attempting a small stretch of your arms was a bad choice, but it brought your attention to the rest of your body. 

The bed was still angled so that your upper body was lifted. Lying flat had been excruciating. But even with your raised position, it was difficult to look down at yourself over the neck brace. 

“Where are my clothes,” you muttered, looming horror growing at the feeling of a hospital gown against your skin. 

“I apologize, Y/N,” Law admitted gently, tilting his head toward the beeping machine. “I needed to monitor your vitals to ensure your safety since we used that medication to help you sleep. I’m afraid I had to cut through your top to avoid injuring your neck further. I was able to save your bra, and I have scrubs you can wear once your neck is healed enough for you to pull the clothes on by yourself.”

He just said a whole bunch of words. 

Your brain decided the best way to handle all of the emotions flying through your head was to ignore them.

“Why do I have an IV?” You changed the subject, lifting your wrist, and tugging all the tubes with it. 

“Again, since you hadn't had that drug before, I took this as a safety precaution. I assumed you would prefer a single needle versus the potential of many if I needed to administer more medication,” he explained as he disconnected you from the tubes, but left the placement on your wrist. “You’ve also been receiving fluids, which is essential after the traumatic night you had.”

A nod made you wince, so you thanked him softly, feeling warmth move through your chest as another hint of a smile touched his lips. 

“Do you have the energy to move, Y/N? I’d like to show you the room, and do another physical exam to see if you’ve improved since last night.”

The thought of moving hit you with the sudden realization that you needed to fucking pee.

“Is there a bathroom,” you asked, holding your breath from embarrassment. 

“Of course, it’s right here. Let me help you.”

After many whimpers, and groans, and heavy breaths, you were on your feet. Shaking with pain as he led you to the door, you knew that nothing else could have motivated you to walk right now. 

“Do you need help sit–”

“I’ll be fine,” you blurted out, closing the door. 

He’s my doctor. This is fine. He’s helping me because I’m injured, and he’s my doctor.

Those thoughts did not diminish your embarrassment, especially when you did struggle to fucking sit down. 

Gritting your teeth, and clinging to the safety bar, you managed to keep at least some sliver of your dignity by not yelling for him to help you. 

Shame rocked through you as you washed your hands, avoiding looking in the mirror. You didn’t want to know how wrecked you looked. 

But you looked anyway. 

You wanted to splash some water on your face, but couldn’t bend down to do it. 

“Y/N, are you doing alright in there?”

“I’m fine,” you called out as you fought with the ties of the gown. 

Oh my gods, he took all of my fucking clothes off.

That knowledge kicked in again as you tried to make sure every inch of your ass was covered.

“Can you put me to sleep again,” you half joked, taking his hand as he helped you through the door. 

“We don’t want to overdo it,” he said in that serious tone he’s so good at, leading you slowly toward the center of the room.

He sat backwards in that rolling chair. 

But his chair isn’t that color…

“Is this the same room,” you interrupted him, looking around by turning your body instead of your head. You couldn’t tell if the weird sounds you were hearing were real, or if you were just getting a headache from moving around.

“No,” he hummed, nodding slowly at you. “I’m impressed you were able to notice that in this state.” 

You followed the line of his arm as his tattooed finger pointed to a large door. 

“Those are my quarters. I had you moved to an adjacent room so that I can be close if you are in pain, or become injured again. That vent is open so I’ll be able to hear if you need me.”

“O-Oh…”

He shifted his hand again, and you turned to follow it, your eyes a bit wide.

“You already know where your bathroom is. The third door leads out into the corridors of the Polar Tang, but Y/N,” he said, his voice taking on more force, “I request that you refrain from leaving these quarters until you are steadier on your feet. I would hate for you to become injured under my care.”

“But how–”

“Y/N,” he rasped, that low voice pulling you in, “let’s complete the exam before you tire yourself out, alright?”

“Okay.”

“There you go,” he purred, “I love seeing you take care of yourself. Do you consent to me touching you?”

Your ‘yes’ was barely audible as you tried not to let his words, and the way his words sounded with that dangerous voice, make you fall over. 

Feeling his fingers on you might be your favorite thing in the world. Even as you whimpered in pain while he checked along your shoulders and spine. 

“This seems to be the problem area,” he noted, tracing lightly over your left shoulder down between your shoulder blade and spine, rubbing along a few of the vertebrae. 

“But my neck?”

“Everything’s connected, Y/N,” he breathed over your ear, making you shiver and wince. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you learn how your body works.”

Fuck, his voice.

There was no way, no fucking way that you could be dripping wet in a hospital gown while your body was stiff with pain. No way that tight coil of pressure could be building in your core over the only doctor that had ever helped you, ever believed you. 

I can’t fuck this up. 

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Mhm,” you lied, catching yourself before you nodded this time. 

“Let’s have you sit down. We need to take the brace off, so I can examine your neck again. It is going to be painful. Are you ready, or would you like to take a break first?”

~

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck.”

“You are doing so well for me,” Law praised, gently removing the brace to press against your neck, asking you questions while you tried not to move.

How can I like his fingers touching me like this? What is wrong with me?

“Look at you. I’m so proud of how you’re handling this,” he rasped, soothing your whimpers as he secured the brace again.

“When will I be able to go home?”

Law’s jaw shifted a bit as he sat back, and it felt like the air in the room got heavy. 

“As your doctor, I had to make the call to protect your health. We left your island, and my recommendation is that you remain with me for the time being. I think we both realized that one more week of treatment would not be enough support for your chronic condition. This incident with your neck further proves your need to receive continued treatment.”

“Left the– We’re underwater,” you said in a small voice, realizing what the strange clanking sounds in the background must be. 

“You took me away,” you asked softly as your boyfriend’s warnings about Law started playing in your mind.

Fear ran through you then, and the metal room grew smaller, your oxygen growing harder to find. Panic hit your lungs, fast, shallow, useless breaths spiking your neck with pain.

“Y/N,” he drawled, that voice almost frightening now.

“But you were going to be there another week. Why did you take me? Why–”

“Y/N, I will take you back right now if that's what you want,” he soothed, voice warm and inviting. “Please let me explain why I had to make that choice. You weren’t able to make decisions for your own health and safety at the time. As your doctor, I had to do what I believed was best for your wellbeing.”

You stilled, your breath slowing, but staying shallow. That fuzzy distance started to take over, but you dug your nails into your palms to try to focus on what your doctor was saying. 

“Your boyfriend came to the ship in the morning, demanding to take you home.”

The image in your mind built up. That fight. The keys you left in the open door. 

You jolted a bit as Law laid his hand on your clenched fist. 

“He refused to listen when I explained your condition, and that it would be dangerous to move you so soon. He…” Law took in a heavy breath, looking to the ground as he shook his head. When he met your eyes again, his were deep and sad, but etched with kindness. 

“Y/N, your boyfriend accused me of taking advantage of your ‘obsession with being sick.”

Those words were thick like the nausea rising in your throat. 

He did say little things sometimes. Things that made it seem like he didn’t believe me. 

Law’s thumb stroked the back of your fist until you relaxed your hand. He took it in his before continuing with a gentle voice.

“He threatened to return with a group to take you by force. You are my patient, Y/N. I could not in good conscience release you in this current state. I had to make the call since couldn’t.”

That inner distance was coming again, all the sounds feeling washed out. Until he squeezed your hand, leaning in close. 

He smells good. 

“As your doctor, I must always do what is in your best interests. I believe that you should remain here under my care, at least until we have time to make progress with physical therapy. Until you feel safer in your own body.”

Your eyes had to close. It was all too much.

“However, it will always be your decision, Y/N,” he comforted. His voice was smooth, and thick, like some rich dessert. “If you choose to go against my recommendations, I will turn around right now. If you want to go back home, I will take you. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

A trembling mouth opened, but you had no words to speak. 

“Y/N, I need you to really think about this. Think about what’s best for you.”

Law massaged your hand as he spoke in that liquid voice, a shiver breaking you out of the fog. 

“Where was he, Y/N,” he asked, not pausing for an answer. “You walked all the way here on your own, didn’t you? The amount of pain you were in was frightening, yet you chose to suffer alone. Why didn’t you ask for his help?”

He caught your rush of tears with a tissue, his voice raspy as he came closer to dry your face. 

“Do you want to go back to a place where all the doctors treat you like you’re crazy?”

Years of frustration, anger, and pain fell on you, but you tried to stay present, tried to think straight.

“Do you want to go back to a family that doesn’t believe you? To a partner that believes you’re pretending, that thinks you want to be sick?”

No. You didn’t.

But you tried to let it go, tried to think without emotions. You wanted to shake your head, to move, to fling some of these sickening feelings off of you. 

But you couldn’t move. You were in too much pain. 

And Law is the only person who cares. 

“You know, Y/N, I understand exactly how lonely and angry you must feel.”

He trapped you in the stone wall of his eyes again, and you’d never seen this look on his face before. 

“When I was a child, myself and everyone I knew got sick. They all died.”

“I—“

“Even though I wasn’t contagious, even though I was just a child, every single doctor treated me like I was trash.”

The hand that was holding yours was squeezing tighter while you were frozen by his barely contained rage.

“There was only one person in the world who cared about me,” he muttered, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit.

“He did everything he could to save me. Even when I fought him. Even when I hurt him... He never stopped.”

The overwhelming closeness you’d felt in that metal room was easing, and the heat of tears building in your throat wasn’t for yourself this time.

Law rested his palm against your cheek, and that foggy dream floated through your mind.

“I’m not like all those doctors that abandoned us, that left us to suffer all alone,” he rasped, the twitching of his creasing brows giving you more emotion than you’d seen from him before.

“I will never abandon you, Y/N.”

His promise filled the air, as if this metal room were a ringing bell, the vibrations wracking through your body.

I feel like I should be scared. But why? He’s helping me. No one has ever helped me before. He’s just intense because he knows.

He knows this pain even more than I do. 

Of course he’d do all of this to help me. He’s just helping me.

Law kept his hand on your cheek while he waited for you to think. He didn’t push, just gave you time. You heard the heart rate monitor starting to slow as you breathed with him.

He had taught you to follow his breathing during exercises, and now it felt natural, soothing. 

“I want to stay with you. If you want to help me.”

“Of course I want to help you,” he purred, brushing a few strands from your forehead before stroking his fingers through your mussed up hair.

“I’m your doctor. You can trust me.”

~

“Law?”

“Are you alright,” he answered as he charged through the connecting door.

“I’m fine. Well, the same,” you reported, trying to shift your body up the bed. 

It was getting difficult for you to tell the passage of time underwater, but you knew it had been at least a week.

Your pain was reducing, and your range of motion was improving, but you were still on bed rest unless Law was with you to guide your movements.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” you said, a sheepish grin pulling at your lips. “I’m just… I’m so bored, Law. And if I listen to Bepo’s Uta tone dial one more time, I’m going to go insane.”

That crooked smile made your skin flush as he walked toward you. He started piling pillows onto your lap, gently moving your arms out of the way before propping them up.

“I believe you’ve healed enough to read a book with some support,” he rasped as he brought his fingers to your skin. He pressed lightly against your shoulders, your jaw, and around the edges of the brace. You only winced a little when he stuck his fingers in to check the tightness.

“Although, you’ll need to make sure you’re not straining yourself, so we’ll have to start with short periods of time. Can you do that for me, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you agreed with a smile. It felt like your birthday, finally getting to open and enjoy your presents.

“You like mysteries, right,” he asked as he walked toward the door.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Your smile wilted just a bit as you tried to recall telling him that.

You hated being so loopy all the time. It felt like you were missing out on parts of your life. 

“This is one of my favorites,” you almost squealed, catching yourself before you wiggled in your hospital gown.

“Really,” he teased as he took it back, flipping through the pages. “I’ll go find you something you haven’t read then.”

“No, please. I love it, thank you.”

“Show me how you’ll be holding it, Y/N.”

Law’s hands on your arms made you crave his massages more than seemed healthy. With your neck as it had been, he wouldn’t risk hurting you. 

You still couldn’t lie flat anyway.

But I’m getting better. Then we can start. He can teach me how to take care of my body. He can touch me again.

Your own thoughts sent blood rushing to your face as you dove in, getting lost in one of your favorite mysteries. 

Even though you knew who the villain was, you always loved the thrill of the chase. 

And you still weren’t sure who you were rooting for. 

“How does it feel?”

Law was so close, the scent of him, and his little smile, bringing a sigh to your lips. 

“It looks like you’re feeling better,” he teased. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, hoping it wasn’t that fucking obvious how he affected you. 

But he has to know. He reads me so well. 

“Mm,” you sighed again at the touch of his fingers on your neck, the brace set aside to hopefully never be seen again. 

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he instructed as he put light pressure on that sensitive skin. Your eyes fluttered closed as you shivered. When you didn’t report any pain, his fingers started gently massaging your neck and shoulders for the first time since it happened. A week and a half? Two weeks? 

Right now you didn’t care that you didn’t know, you were just fighting not to moan too loud. 

“You’re going to be good for me, and be gentle with yourself, yeah,” he rasped close enough for his breath to tickle along your ear. 

“Mhm,” you promised. His hands and his voice had wrecked you once again, that warmth twisting low in your body, wetness easy to feel in nothing but your hospital gown. 

He pulled his perfect hands away, and before he could get a word out, you spoke fast, your voice almost squeaky with your need to change. 

“Can I wear real clothes now?

~

You wouldn’t have called them “real clothes,” but it was definitely an improvement. Law had called them “scrubs,” but they seemed more like pajamas, soft and stretchy. 

Very comfy. 

And perfect for moving your body however Law wanted you to. 

Perfect for you to feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric as he helped you stretch, and hold, and bend for him. 

“Good job today, Y/N,” he praised, gesturing for you to follow him. You sat beside him on the squishy loveseat he'd brought in for you. Anything to make this room feel less like a hospital. 

“How am I progressing,” you asked, still catching your breath. You tried not to notice the way his leg was pressed against yours as you turned toward him. 

That large hand set itself on your knee, and you tried very hard to focus on what he was saying. 

“We have a long way to go, but you are doing very well, Y/N. You’ve shown improvement in performing the exercises, and I’m impressed with how you’ve been moving. You’re putting weight on that hip when you stand, taking it slow. Learning to trust your body. It’s good to see.”

His words, his eyes…

You were melting, and you probably wouldn’t have heard the next few things he said if his whole demeanor hadn’t shifted. 

“What’s wrong,” you asked, feeling fear rolling in as his face went dark. He looked almost pained as he took your hand.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he started, lifting soft, solemn eyes to yours. “I fear that I may not have been clear enough in describing your prognosis.”

Sick panic flooded your system, until all you could do was gulp it down, waiting for him. 

“I know we’ve discussed that this is a manageable condition, not a curable one. I just worry that I may not have given you the right expectations.”

“Tell me,” you managed to choke out, frustration lacing your words. 

“Everything you are doing and learning is going to improve your life and reduce your pain, just like I promised,” he comforted, tilting his head down toward you. 

“You remember that we can’t repair or replace connective tissue. We can only strengthen the muscles around it, and teach you how to listen to, and take care of your body.”

Your hand felt clammy as he held it now, and you nodded as you pulled it away. His lips quirked as he looked at your hand, but he dropped his own before continuing.

“I need to make sure that I didn’t give you false hope.”

The guilt and sadness in his voice loosened your shoulders.

He’s just trying to be a good doctor.

His eyes raked over you, a glint within them as if he was somehow comforted by your thought. 

“You will always have this condition. I'll help you make it better, so you never have to suffer alone like that again. But you can never know when something might slip out of place. You may feel fine for days, weeks, even months. But at any time, one of your joints could fail you, or some other complication could arise. These tissues run through everything.”

Law wasn’t like those other doctors. He believed you. He was helping you. 

But he’s right. 

“I just…” you choked out, hating that tears were already threatening to stain your cheeks. “I just tried so hard to find a way to fix myself. For so long. It all… Everything I–”

He caught you as the sobs began, letting your tears stain his shirt as you finally let it out. 

Law rocked and soothed as years of struggle and pain burned through you. Anger rose before grief crashed over you at the waste of all your energy, all your life. 

Just to have something you can’t fix. Can never fix.

“Let it go, Y/N. Let it all out.”

And you did. You had never cried like this before, sobbing, weeping, choking. Keening over the life you would never have. Practically screaming until you couldn’t breathe. 

Clawing at his chest as you pleaded, ‘no’s’ and ‘why’s’ being torn from your lips. 

Until finally, that fuzzy distance.

Suddenly, you were not you. You were something that floated slightly above that now slumped body.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You can stay there as long as you need to.”

Your body was hunched over, curled almost upside down against him, and you barely registered it as he lifted you. He set you on his lap, stretching your legs across the cushions as he pressed you against him. The scent of him started to pull you back into your body, and you nuzzled against his chest, his warm arms holding you tight.

Holding you. Keeping you safe. 

“I’m sor–”

“Don’t apologize, Y/N,” he urged, voice quiet above your ear. “I’m sorry that this is something I can’t fix for you.”

You weren’t sure what kind of sound came softly from your throat before you felt the heat of his cheek as he pressed it against your hair. 

“If you have the energy for it,” Law started, sounding almost shy, “would you like a tour of my quarters? Get you out of this room for a bit?”

The answer was yes, except for the comfort of his arms around you. But Law had already pulled away, putting some distance between you. One hand still smoothed over your back, soothing and steady. 

“Yes, please.”

~

You didn’t know what you were expecting. 

Law sat against the armrest of his matching squishy couch as he watched you spin around. Words caught in your throat for a moment as your eyes passed over the large bed. Then the sight of him taking off that hat and ruffling his hair became very distracting. 

“So, what do you think,” he asked with a subtle smirk. He gestured to the room as you’d paused to stare at him for too long. 

“It’s uh…” you stalled, brain still trying to restart. “It’s weirdly clean.”

“Did you expect your doctor to be a slob” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“No, I…” 

A coffee table had clearly been set up as a work area in front of the couch, but even the stacks of books, papers, and pens were lined up neatly. 

“Is this where you work,” you questioned, taking one of his pens to fidget with.

“My office is through there,” he explained, pointing to a door across the room. “I’ve been working in here so I–”

“So you can hear me?”

You had stepped around that organized table until you were too close. Being in his bedroom was a bad idea. Just the awareness of his bed being so close made your body respond. 

This crush is going to ruin everything. He’s a good doctor. I need to stop.

But you had already moved in, looking up at him as you played with his pen, waiting for him to answer your question. 

“So I can help you,” he rasped, his inked fingers pulling his pen from yours. “Would you like to read one of my favorite stories?”

~

You felt high. 

Law had let you snuggle close on that couch, until you were giggling, feeling his pleased hums through his chest as you leaned against him. Gently holding the colored pages open so both of you could read.  

“So Germa 66 are the bad guys?”

Holding in another giggle at Law’s sigh, you cut him off before he could answer.

“I like his seagull.”

“Sora and his seagull and robot are the good guys,” Law explained, his serious voice so adorable as he talked about his comics.

“Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s read.”

I’m going insane. He’s so cute. He’s–

After reading through the first few issues together your body reminded you that it fucking sucked. 

“Y/N, are you alright?”

Law set the comic aside to look you over, your grunt of pain interrupting your lovely time together.

“I’m fine,” you grimaced. 

“Of course,” he shook his head, standing as he walked toward his office. “I knew your cycle would be starting soon, I’m sorry I didn’t provide supplies sooner.”

Your face was burning when he set a box beside you. He moved his organized piles around so he could sit on the coffee table in front of you. His long legs left his knees higher than his hips in this position, and you tried not to grin. 

“Y/N, this brings up something else I’ve been wanting to discuss.”

Another cramp twisted your insides, lighter this time, but it seemed to echo your dread at his shift in tone. 

“Is there really more today,” you whined softly, only half serious.

“We can talk about it tomor–”

“No, please. I’ll just go crazy.”

His crooked smile made it all feel alright.

“I would like to add birth control pills to your morning regimen, along with your daily vitamins.”

That sentence seemed to swirl inside your body, leaving confusion and a hint of concern until another cramp snapped you out of it.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m hoping that it will help regulate your cycle. If I’m not mistaken, you must have extremely heavy and painful periods?”

“Y-Yes, how–”

“Your connective tissues can wreak a lot of havoc, I’m afraid. But whenever you’re ready to stop taking birth control, I can do that surgery for you in about 30 seconds.”

His sweet smile was too much, so you closed your eyes to think. 

You couldn’t think.

“What are you saying?”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he groaned at himself, your eyes opening to find him rubbing his hand over his face, his features lined with guilt.

“My bedside manner has been nonexistent today, hasn’t it?”

The self deprecating tone almost pulled you in, but you were falling into that distant space again, fighting to stay in control of your mind.

“What are you saying,” you repeated, sitting back on the couch, putting space between you. 

“I… I shouldn’t have assumed you came to that conclusion,” he admitted, stopping his hand before he rested it on your knee. “Given your condition, the pain, the weakness in your joints, the complications… and it’s highly likely that your pelvic floor muscles have been affected as well. I didn’t think that you would put yourself at risk like that.”

The silence was cut only by the metallic sounds of the Polar Tang. 

“We can talk about it, Y/N. I’m your doctor, and if pregnancy is something you’d like to pursue–”

“I wasn’t sure.”

The confession spilled out of you like a secret, the festering discomfort and shame leaving your body as it left your lips. 

“I didn’t really want kids. Then we got together and…” You paused for just a moment, the clenching of his jaw too intense to ignore. “He wanted to. And I felt like I’d be a good mom.”

“But,” he questioned, his hoarse voice making you shudder.

“But… I didn’t really want to. Especially with all my pain. Not knowing what it was–”

“Did he know how you felt?”

Law’s eyes were mesmerizing, heavy, pulling you to him. 

“He did. We talked about it a lot.”

His hand finally touched your knee again as he leaned closer. 

“He was going to destroy your body just so he could get what he wanted.”

Those extreme words felt wrong. You knew your boyfriend didn’t see it that way. You shouldn’t see it that way. 

But you did. 

Those words poured into you, filling you with an anger you never let yourself feel. And it felt good. 

Law nodded slowly, always reading you. Always knowing exactly what you need. 

“Do you want to get pregnant, to have kids?”

“No.”

That shameful word felt so freeing. No one in your life could understand not wanting that. Always asking when, always pressuring. None of them ever listened to your pain. Or worse, they’d brush it off. 

‘Oh, that’s nothing. Just wait til you’re my age, honey.’ 

‘Hurry up now, you’ll want to pop those kids out while you’re young so you’ll still be pretty.’

Fuck them all.

“I don’t want to have kids.”

“Okay,” he breathed, his fingers squeezing you gently.

He leaned in to brush a few strands of hair back from your face. 

“I love when you put yourself first, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”

~

Another week passed. Maybe more?

Still didn’t matter. 

“There are always modifications,” Law explained again, but you didn’t mind the repetition.

Not when his hands lifted your thighs, placing rolled up towels on the outsides to hold them in place. 

Those towels kept your hips from stretching too far, from going loose. But your legs were spread wide, your knees pulled close to you. 

With Law. Law. 

He was there on the mat, between your spread legs, and you couldn’t hear a word he was saying. 

“Y/N,” he rasped, making your breath hitch as he leaned toward you. 

“Show me where you’ll breathe for me.”

The heat of his body fell over you, even without his touch. You set your hand on your stomach, a tiny, needy moan leaving your lips when his tattooed hand covered yours. 

“Good, can you breathe for me?”

Law kept his hand on your stomach, but placed the other beside your head, caging you in. 

You want to scream, to beg, to claw his fucking clothes off.

He’s my doctor.

Your weak mind repeated that daily, but every day chipped away at your will. 

He’s the only doctor that can help me.

“Y/N,” he teased, that little smirk so close as he hovered above you. His black hair fell gently toward you, framing his face. “I don’t think you’re breathing at all. Should I be worried?”

Panic hit you as you felt his effect on your body, slick pooling between your legs.

You reacted by trying to close your thighs, to keep him from seeing.

But all you did was wrap your thighs around his waist, and the contact arched your back, tearing a moan from your lips. 

Your body slumped, frantic ‘I’m sorry’s’ flooding from you while you covered your face with both hands. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. Are you feeling alright,” Law asked, with only the barest hint of humor in his voice. But it was enough to make you cringe, your skin flushing more than you thought possible.

His heat left the air above you as you tried to melt into the floor. 

“Oh,” he said softly, and you opened your eyes to see him looking down. 

“Have you not been taking care of your needs?”

All you could do was shiver, closing your thighs too late. 

He sat on the ground beside you, leaning in to study your face while his looked almost stern.

“We can’t make progress if you’re not relaxed Y/N,” he scolded, those words he’d said so many times crashing through you. “Why haven’t you been taking care of your body?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, almost lost to pure need as you shook beneath him. 

“Don’t say sorry to me. It’s your body that we’re working so hard to take care of. Now, why haven’t you– fuck. I’m sorry.”

His apology brought your eyes to him. 

“It’s my fault, isn’t it? You know you can always ask me to close the vent when you need some privacy. Just make sure to let me know when you’re done, I’d hate it if I wasn't there when you needed me.”

The thought of asking him for privacy when you wanted to touch yourself made you want to pass out from embarrassment. 

Another cry tore from your lips as he grabbed your wrist, stroking his long fingers around your skin. 

“I imagine it can be hard to keep up with your needs when your wrist acts up, huh?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Hm… I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t have any toys to provide you with relief. I’ll make it a priority to search for a good option when we reach the next island. Does that sound alright?” He had breathed those last words against your temple, pulling nothing but whimpers from you. 

Law brushed your hair aside, humming softly. 

“Is it that bad, Y/N? Is your body aching?”

“Yes… please…”

“Please,” he asked, his tone too intense, fear running through you. “Are you asking me to help you with this?”

Desperate tears fell down your temples, caught by those pretty fingers.

“Remember, Y/N, all you ever have to do is tell me what you want.”

“Please, help me. Law, oh gods, please…”

“I need you to be clear, Y/N. How do you want me to help you?”

You almost sobbed, your body curling in on itself. 

“Okay, how about this,” he started, sounding just as he does when he’s teaching you, guiding you through exercises. “I’ll ask, you answer, okay?”

“Do you consent to me touching you?”

Your ‘yes’ turned into a breathy moan when he grabbed your face, pressing into your jaw as he made you meet his eyes. 

Those eyes, trapping you again, his parted lips like a hint of the gift you were about to receive. 

“Do you want me to help you come?”

“Yes, Law, I need you…”

He had never looked so pleased, and the sight of his face made your eyes roll back. 

“If I’m going to help you with this, it’s important that I know what you want,” he purred, pulling his hand off your chin to hold it in front of your face.

“You like my fingers, huh,” he teased after watching you stare at them again. “You want to suck on them, don’t you?”

The amount of desperation in the moan you let out would have horrified you if you weren’t so close to getting what you needed. 

Law caught your chin again with his other hand, the teasing look turned serious.

“I knew you would. You need to take care of your body, Y/N. Give it what it wants. You want these,” he asked, showing you the fingers with ‘E’ and ‘A’ inked across them.

“Ye–.”

“Then take them.”

He didn’t wait for you to finish, just shoved those long fingers into your open mouth while he gripped your chin to hold you in place. Your hands tried to dig into the mat beneath you, your body squirming with pleasure already. 

“Mm, I knew you’d suck me so well, Y/N. It’s just my fingers, and you’re already giving me everything.”

His praise drove you further, licking and sucking his fingers as if you could pull them inside you, keeping his touch forever. 

“You gave everything for so long, didn’t you? Why don’t you let me take care of you now, okay? Let me show you how your body works.”

He was thrusting his fingers into your mouth, tracing around your lips, then shoving deep. You let him do what he wanted, just as you always did. 

“Do you want to listen to me,” he asked, his voice gone thick and dangerous. “You’re so good at following my instructions. Will you do that now, Y/N? Will you trust your doctor, and follow my orders?”

He took his fingers back, dragging your spit down your cheek while you moaned. 

“Yes!”

“Mm, good girl.”

Aching need twisted within you, so intense it hurt. You had nearly screamed when those words left his lips. 

‘Good girl.’

“Look at you,” he purred, not even touching you as you writhed for him. “Did you like that, Y/N? You wanna be my good girl?”

“Fuuckk, please…”

“You’re begging so well, but I need to hear you say it now. Tell me what you want.”

Law’s voice got sharp, and you managed to plead through quivering lips.

“Touch me. Make me come, please Law...”

“Is this where you want me? Oh, wow,” he breathed as he trailed his hand from your thigh to your clothed cunt, his tattooed fingers already slipping across the soaked fabric. 

“You really have been neglecting your body, haven’t you,” he rasped, that hint of danger in his words again. “After all the work we’ve done to keep your body relaxed. It seems like you need some support, huh? Need your doctor to guide you, teach you how to take care of yourself?”

He rubbed those fingers over your clit, the drenched fabric only adding to the friction. He let out a dark chuckle as he pressed harder, faster.

“Gonna come so soon? Since you’ve neglected yourself for so long, I think we’d better make up for it,” he scolded, his head tilting as he assessed you. “I wonder how many times you can come in one night?”

This was the first. 

You screamed his name as he tore you apart, the pleasure only making you ache for more.

“You did so well,” he praised as he pulled the clothes off of your limp body. “Mm, and you’re so relaxed for me. Remember, Y/N. We can only make progress if you’re relaxed. You want to make progress, right? You want to be as healthy as you can be?”

Your whimpered ‘yes’ was rewarded with the letters ‘E,’ and ‘A’ in your mouth once again, letting you taste your own pleasure on his fingers. 

“I know you love it when I touch you,” he said, his voice gone heavy with what sounded like need. 

You needed it to be need. You needed him to want you too. But for now you’d just let him take care of you. 

“I know you love it when I work my fingers over every muscle. I hear you try to keep in your cute little moans. I wonder how many hours you’ve spent imagining my fingers fucking you deep, giving you what you need.”

Fuck. His voice again. How can his voice fuck me up so much?

Law touched you again, wetting his fingers along your folds, playing with your clit without the fabric now, your back arching off the mat. 

“Beg me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Pleasepleasefuck please fuck me with your fingers, Law, plea–”

Gods, those long fingers. 

You had never heard the sound you made before as he shoved your favorite things in the world into your needy pussy. Your body thrashed as he laughed softly, thrusting in and out, then curling up. He found that spot instantly, as if he’d explored your body before, seared it into his memory so that he could fulfill your every need.

“Law, feels so…”

“Good girl, tell me how I make you feel. Is this what your body needed?”

Practically sobbing as he brought his other hand to your clit, you tried to follow his instructions.

“Law, you make me feel so good, so… I need you, need your hands so bad.”

“Come for me now.”

You couldn't tell if he had felt you coming before you did, or if his command had made it so. 

Either way, you broke into pieces, his praise almost lost in the crash of pleasure through your body. He didn’t let up as you twitched and whimpered.

“Is this all you needed, Y/N,” he asked, his voice soft even as his fingers went rough. “Remember, it’s important to listen to your body, give it what it wants. All you have to do is tell me.”

Desperate tears fell from your eyes, but Law’s hands were too busy to dry them this time. 

Can I ask? Will it ruin everything? Should I stop here? 

You couldn’t. You had to listen to your body, give it what it wants. 

“I want you to fuck me, Law. Please let me fee–”

He ate your moan as he claimed your mouth. The frantic kiss overwhelmed you as he held your face, your neck, his wet fingers so gentle where his mouth was not. 

You swore you tasted a whimper on his lips before he ripped himself away, stripping, tossing his clothes aside.

You leaned up on your elbows, your lips falling open as you laid eyes on his toned body, his trailing tattoos across so much of his skin, and his thick, leaking cock, just waiting to sink into you. 

“Lie back down,” he ordered, and you dropped your head back to the mat. He crawled over you, caging you in like he had earlier, and your body twisted with need again.

“Do I have your consent to touch you,” he smirked, that pretty, black hair falling around his face again. 

“Yes, please.”

Law rubbed his cock through your folds, teasing over and over your clit until you were crying and begging for him again. 

“So wet for me,” he rasped, before lifting a hand to wipe your tears, as he’d done countless times before. 

“You’re so beautiful when you cry.”

He thrust into you then, hilting himself without giving you a chance to adjust, then holding there inside you. He filled you completely, and more tears fell while you moaned in pleasure and pain. 

“Don’t worry, baby. You trust me, right? I’ll give you what you need.”

He did. Law started a rhythm inside you, easing that initial force while he kissed your tears away. 

“Your body is perfect for me, Y/N,” he said, breathing heavy as he built up that rhythm, fucking you harder, deeper. “You’re so soft, so sweet. Your pretty cunt is sucking me in like it was made for me. I’m so proud of you.”

Coming on his cock was the most pleasure you could ever remember, pulsing and gushing around him, digging your nails into that tattooed back.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me, Y/N. Tight little pussy squeezes my cock so well, baby. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Words were no longer possible, just his name, just screaming his name as he brought a hand down. That thumb carved with ‘D’ attacked your clit as he fucked you faster, sliding over that sweet spot inside you with every brutal thrust.

“That’s right, pretty. Your body listens to me. I know what you need. You need to keep coming, right now. Be a good girl, milk the come out of my cock for me. There you go, good little cunt for me– fuuckk, yes…”

Your eyes were at the back of your head, animalistic sounds leaving you both until he shoved his tongue down your throat again. 

It felt like he was invading you, tearing your body apart so that he could live inside, staking a claim on the twitching land beneath him.

And you wanted it. You wanted this man to have you, to take you. As long as he never stopped touching you, you wanted to let him take it all. 

Law groaned your name against your lips as he spilled himself in you, filling you with the hot need of him, making you cry out again as your body drank him in. 

The twitching continued, but he kept himself inside, leaving more soft kisses along your face, drinking the last of your salty tears. Your body was weak, limp, useless under his strong form. 

He pulled back just enough to trap you in his stone eyes again. Those eyes that looked hurt, almost scared.

“You need me. Don’t you, baby? You need me to take care of you?”

Nothing came from your lips until you cleared your throat, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. 

“I need you. I’ll always need you.”

A soft kiss. A dangerous voice.

“You know you’re mine now, right? I’ll give you everything you need.”

“Yours,” you asked, a sick hope pulsing in your heart.

“Mine,” he growled, making you cry out again as he started to fuck his come into you. “You want it, huh? You want to be mine, so I can take care of my good girl? You want to stay with me?”

Your eyes were rolling back from the wet, sloppy feeling of his come-soaked cock shoving into you. 

“I’m already yours, Law. I’m your– Ow.”

It wasn’t that bad, but the towels had slid away from supporting your hips. Your thighs fell to the sides stretching further than they should. 

Law pulled out of you, leaving you empty and gasping as he held your thighs in a better position. 

“Are you alright,” he checked in, his doctor voice almost jarring as it returned. 

“I’m okay.”

“Good,” he teased, looking between your legs with a satisfied smile. “Because you’re leaving a pretty mess all over the mat.”

~

I’m in a dream.

That large bed. Those tattooed arms wrapped around you. The steady, soothing beat of his heart. 

He had handled you with all that tender care you’d come to trust in. But now when those hands touched, and cleaned, and massaged you, his lips would meet your skin, and his voice would gift you with even more praise than before. 

‘My perfect girl.’

‘You deserve everything, Y/N. I’ll take care of you.’

‘So beautiful. So soft…’

By the time he’d laid you on his bed, you were overcome by the weight of it all, everything he’d done and promised. Gratitude flooded you until all you would do was weep softly while you clung to him.

“Th-Thank you…”

Law held your face, gently kissing your tears away once more before letting you taste the salt of them on your own lips. 

“I’ll always save you, Y/N. You’ll never suffer alone again.”

He pulled you to him, your body weak and almost buzzing as he held you. 

You matched your breathing to his, the comforting beat of his heart pulling you down into sleep.

~

Smells good. Smells like Law…

A contented hum left you as you stretched across his bed. 

You stretched further.

“Law,” you mumbled, clearing your throat to speak louder as you sat up in the empty bed.

He wasn’t in the room with you. 

A sick feeling hit your gut, and you fought off the panic.

He probably just got called out for something. It doesn’t mean anything. He still…

All your explanations and calming thoughts didn’t cut the fact that it hurt. After all that happened, he wasn’t here.

He’s a captain. He can’t be here with me all the time. He’s a doctor too, someone might have needed him. 

You didn’t want to put your clothes on. It felt too much like starting the day without him, so you yanked off the sheet, twisting it around yourself as you looked around.

Maybe he’s in his office.

An almost giddy feeling filled you as you crept toward that door. You hadn’t seen his office yet, and imagining him sitting at a desk with that oh so serious look on his face made you grin. 

The metal door was heavy, but your wrist was doing well lately, so you opened it, just a crack.

“Law,” you called quietly, not wanting to interrupt anything important.

Nothing.

“Is that…”

A magnetic force pulled you inside, the sheet dragging along the floor as you held it to you.  Finding yourself behind a heavy wooden desk, you took in the sight of every piece of paper, every item on it, perfectly in place.

Except for one. 

“How is this here,” you whispered, picking up the framed picture of you. It was from a day trip a few years ago, and you remembered smiling for the photo. You remembered how just a few hours later you were crying as your feet, and knees, and hips ached so badly from all the walking that you couldn’t find a comfortable position to sit or lie down in. 

Relief flooded you that you’d never have to feel that lonely again. 

Until you snapped back to the present. 

This was your frame. From your house. 

Fear rose quietly, rolling slowly from your core, your chest, rising up your throat. 

It’s fine. I’m fine. There’s gotta be…

Your eyes lifted to the rest of the room, the frame forgotten in your grasp as you were drawn to a shelf across the office.

“My favorite books,” you observed, that fuzzy distance dampening all your senses. 

These aren’t just my favorites. These are mine.

One of the books had a stain along the cover, and the bottom of the spine. You’d had it for years. It was well loved, and you'd always planned on buying a nicer copy of it. A mystery with a charming villain, one that you almost wanted to root for. 

That's why you’d read it so many times. You knew everything he’d done was wrong. But he made it all so believable, so compelling, even after reading it again and again. 

A surge of fear crashed through you, and that picture that shouldn't be here fell from your grip as you jolted. Glass shattered across your bare feet, but you couldn’t move, could only tremble in this metal room.

This metal room that was smaller than it was before.

A useless urge to call for help brought sick, frantic laughter from your throat.

No one can help me. It’s only him. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. They needed–”

Like a pathetic, helpless animal, you froze at the sound of his voice in his quarters. Unmoving, unbreathing, your wide eyes waited for him to find you. 

His steps were silent as he walked through the open door. Those stone cold eyes scanned the room before he lunged toward you. 

“Y/N, your feet,” he warned, the concern in his voice making you sick.

“Don’t touch me,” you cried out, gasping with pain as you slid your feet through the glass to get away from him. 

“You’re hurt, Y/N. Please let me help you.”

His voice. You wanted to listen, that saccharine command disguised as a request.

“Why do you have my things?”

You started to gesture, but pulled your hands back to your chest. The sheet draped around your naked body sent a new spike of fear into your gut, and you trailed more blood across the floor as you backed away. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, staying low, with those tattooed arms held wide. “Just let me help you, and I’ll explain everything, okay?”

“Why do you have my things?”

Your voice was low and shaking, but he nodded.

“When I knew we’d be bringing you with us,” he said calmly, talking you off the ledge, “I wanted to make sure you'd be comfortable. I have more too, I took everything you’d need.”

Breathing was impossible while you fought his voice, fought to think on your own without his guiding hand. 

“I’m so sorry, I should have told you sooner,” he looked down, nodding slightly before lifting those deep, guilty eyes to yours. “You’ve just been making such good progress. I was afraid that any reminder of that trauma, of the way you were treated there, might set you back.”

Gods, you wanted to believe him. You wanted to let it go and fall into his arms. 

But guilt filled you, tearing more questions from your lips.

“How did you get these out of my house,” you accused, your anger overpowering your fear, your sense of safety. 

“Did you hurt him? What did you do to him?”

Law’s lip showed just a hint of a snarl before his steady doctor face returned, and you whimpered as you backed up against the wall. 

“Why do you care about him, Y/N? You remember how he treated you? How he let you suffer in silence? He didn’t bel–”

“Answer me!”

All he did was stand up straight, but it made you gasp. 

“I would never do anything to hurt you, Y/N,” Law promised. “He’s fine, I didn’t hurt him.”

“How can I believe you,” you choked out, shivering from the scrape of the metal wall against your bare shoulders. 

“I can prove it, okay? Please, let me show you.”

He walked backward toward the desk, keeping his hands up for you to see. Stepping behind the desk, he pulled a poster of Sora from the wall to reveal a safe. 

“I didn’t hurt him, I promise. You know you can trust me, baby.”

The safe opened wide, and you spotted a few shelves with labels under rows of strange pinkish cubes. Law grabbed one, snagging the label with it before he went to his knees in front of you, but not too close. 

“I didn’t hurt him, Y/N,” he confessed, that thick voice heavy with emotion. “But I did take this for you, in case you ever wanted to hurt him yourself.”

Those strong arms, those dangerous fingers, stretched out to show you the label with your boyfriend's name scrawled in Law’s rough handwriting. 

He held out the cube, and you knew you shouldn’t take it. Shouldn't touch it.

But something about it was hypnotizing, you couldn’t figure out what it was. 

Law placed it gently in your palm, and you could feel his eyes scraping against your skin as you focused. 

It looked like a heart. A human heart. A shudder ran through your body.

Then a scream.

It had pulsed. 

The heart you held in your hand was beating. 

You dropped the beating heart, watching in horror as it bounced across the floor. 

“What the fuck,” you repeated in a whisper as you slid down the wall. The glass still slicing into your feet was forgotten as you tried not to throw up. 

“I didn’t hurt him–”

“You cut his heart out! How– why is it–”

“Y/N, please believe me. I haven’t shown you my devil fruit powers yet, I’ll prove it to you.”

The heat of panic lacing his words tugged at you, so you forced yourself to look at that trapped heart again before you met his eyes. 

“It’s how I can do surgeries like I can, okay? It’s… I’ll just show you.”

Law held his hand out, those fingers still mesmerizing you even now. 

A glow formed beneath his palm, and you pulled your bloody feet toward you. 

“Room.”

His voice was always powerful, but the force behind that single word caught your breath, so you weren’t breathing when that glow expanded. A blue sphere of light filled the space, passing beyond the metal room. 

The glow wasn’t visible anymore, and you couldn’t explain why, but you knew it was still there. You knew that you were caught in his web, that he was in complete control.

Just like he always was. 

Just like you let him be. 

“Y/N,” he rasped, pulling you in. “All I want to do is take care of you. You were all alone, living in pain, in silence.”

Frantic tears fell as you fought your need to believe him. That aching need he’d created in you.

“The world abandoned you,” he coaxed, intoxicating words making your eyes drift closed before you snapped them open to make sure he hadn’t moved closer. “Everyone around you treated you like trash, didn’t they? Like your pain didn’t matter?”

He killed him, he killed him, he killed him.

The anger and resentment Law had stoked in you was agonizing. It made you feel sick to realize that a tiny part of you did want to hurt your boyfriend.

But he killed him. He ripped his heart out. 

“The world left you to suffer, Y/N,” he whispered, a slight quiver in his lip tearing at you, making you want to crawl to him. 

“I’ll never abandon you. Even if you fight me. Even if you hurt me. I will never stop saving you. Never.”

Silent sobs struggled through you, and you had to keep flicking your eyes down to that heart on the floor. 

“I didn’t lie, Y/N. I didn’t hurt him.”

Law picked up a large piece of that broken glass, sending fear shaking through your body. He held it against his chest as he caught your eyes, before he used that powerful voice again.

“Scalpel.”

Strained whimpers left your throat as you watched Law rip a cube from his chest, another beating heart.

His beating heart that had been so soothing, so comforting, now sat pulsing in his hand.

“See, Y/N,” he said lightly, gesturing to himself, “I’m perfectly fine without this in my chest.”

You gasped as he tossed it in the air, catching it with a little smirk. 

“He’s completely fine. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have trusted that you could handle it, you’ve been progressing so well.”

Another whimper left you as you cringed, still trying to hang on, trying to think straight.

“Y/N,” he soothed, holding his heart up between you. “You can trust me. I only want what’s best for you. I want to take care of you. If you want to leave, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Wide eyed, you fought to focus as his heart pulsed so close. 

“You can leave whenever you want. I just worry about your health. About what will happen when you’re back in a world that doesn’t believe in your pain. What will you do when you have another incident like your neck, and have no one to care for you? I don’t want to see you suffer. But it’s always your choice, Y/N. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

He’s right. 

If I leave him, I’ll have to go back to all that pain. All the shame of people thinking I’m making it up for attention. All the tension of never knowing when some part of my body might wreck me.

All the pain of working jobs that made me cry after every shift. All that pain of fatigue and headaches in the middle of time with family and friends, the guilt of not having the energy to participate in life.

The grief of a life wasted by pain.

His eyes observed your every movement, widening slightly as you took a deep breath.

He’s wrong.

He’s been controlling me this whole time. And I let him.

He’s fucking crazy. Dangerous. 

Staying with him might ruin my soul, hollow me out from the inside so that he can burrow himself in, turn me into his puppet.

Bend me to his will. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, that gorgeous face like bait to lure you into his trap, “If you stay, you’ll be mine. I’ll take care of you. I’ll do anything for you. You know I will. You know I can give you everything you need.”

You were starting to slip away, clawing at your mind to stay here. 

“Let me prove it. Take my heart.”

He grabbed your wrist, forcing that pulsing cube into your palm while you gasped. 

“I told you I’ll keep saving you. Even if you fight me, even if you hurt me. Let me prove it.”

“Wh–”

“Squeeze it, Y/N,” he commanded in that voice you always obey. You resisted, but he did it again, pulling at the strings you’d let him tie around you. 

“Squeeze it.”

Law crumpled to the ground, writhing and groaning in pain, and your panicked body couldn’t stop. All the pain and fear came roaring from your lips, a frustrated cry to join his moans of pain.

You squeezed his heart, watching his body thrash. Spit dripped through his bared teeth as you clenched harder, flinging as he arched his back. 

A sharp, familiar pain lanced through your wrist, weakening your hold. 

Law coughed, pulling himself up slowly while you cradled his heart against your chest. Feeling the frantic beat of it closer than you ever could before, you wondered if you could match heartbeats the way he’d taught you to match his breath. 

“Are you okay,” he checked in. Law looked like he’d been dragged through hell, still catching his breath, thick beads of sweat dripping down his face. His damp hair was sticking to his forehead, and you couldn’t stop staring at it.

“I’m tired,” you mumbled, a headache joining the pains in your wrist and feet.

“I know, this was a lot,” he purred, scooting in closer. “I’m so sorry I put you through all of this. I wanted to protect your health by waiting to tell you, but I really fucked it up, didn’t I?”

Nodding at his sheepish little smile, you relaxed your hold on his heart. Pretty fingers took it from you, brushing against your palm as he went. 

“Y/N, you can always tell me what you want,” he promised, falling into that professional voice. “But as your doctor, I request that you let me treat you now. All that glass has to be painful. And your wrist is acting up, isn’t it?”

So tired. 

“Yeah,” you admitted in a small voice, your head falling back against the wall. 

“You can trust me, Y/N. I’ll always take care of you,” he rasped, taking your hand and gently massaging while keeping your wrist in the right position. 

“Will you let me take care of you now?”

“Please,” you breathed out, the sound barely audible.

Your body was limp as he lifted you, and he pressed his lips to your forehead while he carried you to the hospital bed. 

“My good girl.”

~

Law.

His touch, his voice, his lips. 

He was the first thing you thought of, a hum of contentment vibrating from you. 

But your stretch felt wrong, and you opened your eyes to find yourself in the hospital bed. 

Law!

“There you are,” he teased, appearing at your side, eyes scanning your body. “How are you feeling?”

“Did that happen?”

He quirked his lips, looking down with a sigh.

“I’m afraid it did. And I can’t apologize enough. I let you down. Would you like to talk about it?”

“I don’t want to be on this bed.”

“Your feet need to–”

“Please.”

Your doctor carried you to the couch in his quarters, setting you on his lap while those fingers trailed over you. You’d been naked except for that sheet when you passed out, but now he reached his hand into the open back of the hospital gown he must have put you in, pressing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. 

“What do you need, baby,” he whispered against your ear, humming as you shivered against him, your bandaged feet scraping along the couch.

What did you need? What did you want? What were your options?

Go back home to the same old pain and loneliness.

Let him drop you off at some random island with nothing, alone in the world, only to deal with that pain forever. Even if you did find a doctor that could and wanted to help, you wouldn’t be able to afford it.

Or you could stay.

Be his. 

This man that had controlled you, probably more than you’d realized. This dangerous man, who might not even let you go if you asked. Who might punish you if you did.

This man who had a safe full of hearts, labeled with the names of those he could torture or kill anytime he wished, with just a squeeze of those tattooed hands. 

DEATH.

That’s who he was. The Surgeon of Death had kept you in a cage, given you everything you ever needed, so that you would need only him. 

All through your thoughts, Law didn’t make a sound. Just let those fingers bring you comfort while you tried to decide.

What’s the right choice when every choice restricts you? If your condition was curable, if the pain it caused didn’t make every day hard, some days terrible, then you could go home, or you could start a new life somewhere. It would be difficult, but not as difficult as with this dragging weight of pain and fatigue. 

Just gathering the energy to clean around the house, to cook a meal, to go to work, to take a shower, sometimes even just putting on your clothes…

The thought of going back to that struggle with no support after all this time of being cared for brought a painful lump of tears into your throat. 

You tried not to let them fall, but Law’s fingers caught them when they did. 

“You trapped me,” you accused softly, still gazing into nothing. 

“Mm, Y/N,” he rasped, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, “it seemed like you were already trapped when we met. I’ve just helped you. I know what you need. You know I do.” 

I know. 

He gives me everything I ever needed, more than I could have dreamed of. 

Countless thoughts of gentle hands, sweet praise, and that calming breath to follow… Your body wanted to stay. 

Your mind was caught in right or wrong, safe or deadly, smart or stupid. 

Leaning back, you looked into those stone gray eyes, seeing how long your moral outrage could keep you from letting him build that wall around you again. 

“You know, Y/N,” he said with a subtle smirk, “if you stay you’ll be mine. But I’ll be yours too. I’ll take care of you forever. You can trust me.”

Does it make me a bad person if I choose the villain? What if it’s the only good choice I have?

No matter what path I choose for my life, my pain will never let me be free. 

So I might as well choose the prettiest cage.

“Yes,” you confessed your sin, relaxing into his arms. “I trust you.”

Satisfaction poured from him, making you shiver as he pressed his lips to yours. 

“My perfect girl, doing so well for me,” he purred, velvet words wrapping around you like chains. “Do you feel better now?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, melting as he kissed your neck. The tickle of his facial hair was like a distraction as he tugged at the ties of your gown, leaving you exposed.

“Let me look at you,” he commanded gently, his arm around your shoulders guiding you to lean back, resting against the armrest. 

There had always been something hidden beneath the way Law looked at you when he was being your doctor. That hint of need and danger was probably what had snared you, that promise of heat. But now the mask was gone, and you trembled in the lap of a monster.

Law looked at you with the manic eyes of a child poking a dying animal with a stick. Wanting to see what kind of noises he could draw out of you, how long he could play with you before you fell apart. 

That entitled glee of power over a creature helpless against his will. 

You felt like a hopeless idiot for seeing a mix of admiration and tenderness in all that ownership, but you didn’t care.

“My sweet, Y/N,” he rasped, tracing tattooed fingers down your body. “You’ve gone tense again. You know–”

He let out a surprised groan when you kissed him, giving him as much chaos as you could. 

Law had fanned the flames, manipulating you into thinking of nothing but him for weeks, a couple months now. And it had worked.

You were obsessed with him. 

A sick need filled you to have every fucking piece of him touch you, take you. You let him taste your own manic hunger as you forced your tongue into his mouth.

Your wrist brace limited your grip as you tried to pull his face toward yours, but you moaned into his mouth when he met you. 

His arms wrapped around you, cradling your head against him as you both nearly choked on that brutal kiss. 

Desperate whines left your throat, making him growl against you as you tried to claw at his clothes. 

Law didn’t break that wild kiss as he stood, lifting you with him. You expected to be tossed onto the bed, but he turned to set you gently on the couch with your bandaged feet propped on the cushions, leaving you to whine again as his lips finally left yours. 

Until you gasped, watching him shove the coffee table away, all of its perfectly organized piles scattering while he knelt in front of you. 

Your mouth fell open with need as you watched the stretch and pull of his tattooed muscles while he tore his shirt off. 

“You like what you see,” he rasped, his taunting voice making your eyes roll back. 

His pleased laughter surrounded you as he grabbed you, moving you where he wanted. A muffled moan left you as he held your chin, making you open your eyes to the sight of him between your legs. 

Your eyes rolled back again until he dug his fingers in, the sharp pain making you cry out, your body twisting with need. 

“This kind of pain is different, huh, baby,” he explained, kissing your knee before giving you a devious little smile. “So much pain everyday. But you trust I’ll help you with that, don’t you?”

You nodded, wordless as you watched his hungry mouth leave warning kisses along your thighs, closer and closer. 

“Your soft, pretty skin bruises so easily, doesn’t it,” he teased, danger growing in his dark eyes.

“But I’ll take care of you. I can give you pain tha–”

“Hurt me, please.”

You had never felt more pride than when you watched his eyes roll white before his little smile turned into a satisfied grin. 

“Good girl.”

Law kept those eyes on you, the doctor observing his patient, as he sunk his teeth into your thigh. Your back arched as you moaned, the sting of his bite so overwhelming, but so fucking good. It felt like the pain shot in a direct line to your core, building that ache.

Law loosened his bite, licking over his mark, the softness of him over that tender flesh making you shake. 

“You did so well,” he purred, leaving one last kiss on your new brand. “I told you I know what your body needs, Y/N. Just look at this.”

Law’s tattooed hands held your thighs in place as he licked a long stripe through your folds, letting his tongue loll out to show you how drenched you were. Your slick dripped off of his tongue until he licked his lips, head tilting back as he let out a shuddering breath. 

“Fuuckk, I knew you’d taste fucking sweet,” he breathed, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs. “But this…”

You bit your lip, a little fear crawling back in at the look in his eyes. 

“I’m gonna eat you,” he threatened, head moving lower while you held your breath, “and you’re gonna let me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

You lied. You didn’t understand. 

Law was so meticulous, so controlled. Everything he did was catered to your pleasure. 

But this was somehow greedy. Almost as if he were taking more he was giving, eating up your pleasure with that air of ownership. Every moan you gave was his, every gasp, every twitch. He controlled you. He held you in place, laughing against your folds while you cried out his name. 

“Grab my hair,” he commanded, leaving your clit for a moment.

You obeyed, fisting into those black strands while he watched you. 

“Harder.”

Like a loop of pleasure, your fingers tugging his hair at the roots made him let out a deep moan as he shoved his tongue in your needy cunt. One of his hands curled around your hip to play with your clit, the barest of touches bringing you screaming, coming, gushing into his mouth. 

Law let out more hungry moans against you, your body only spurring him on until you were crying, too lost to pleasure to beg him to stop. 

You tried to tug at his hair again, to make him stop. It was too much.

But he only glared at you, shaking his head to get your hands off. That shook his face against you, his facial hair rubbing against your clit making your back arch again. 

Finally, he slowed, chuckling softly as he stroked his tongue in gentle lines along your folds, barely teasing your sensitive clit while you twitched and gasped. 

“You’d better get used to coming in my mouth like that, pretty,” he taunted as he picked you up from the couch, kissing the tears from your cheeks. “Especially if you’re going to keep injuring yourself.”

He set you on the bed, minding your bandaged feet as he shook his head. 

You tried to pay attention to his scolding as he finished stripping, revealing that gorgeous, thick cock. 

“Since it was partly my fault, I won’t blame you,” he rasped, sitting at the edge of the bed to trace a finger around your ankle, “but you need to take better care of this body for me, okay?”

He crawled up the bed, his hands and lips claiming your body as he went, until he caught your chin in his hand.

“You–”

“I need you, Law,” you interrupted, holding onto his wrist as he subtly restrained you. 

He could be angry with you for interrupting him again. You had no idea how he would react to things in this new world you’d just created together. 

But part of you felt like he needed to hear it. 

Why else would he give so much of his energy, his life for me? 

He started again, brows creased just slightly, but you cut him off, squeezing his wrist as much as you could with your weakened grip.

“I trust you, Law. I’ll listen to you. I know you’ll take care of me,” you confessed with a tired smile, a sigh leaving your lips. 

“Do you need me too?”

The words were so soft. So pathetic. You wished you could take them back. 

You waited for ridicule, or punishment, or just coldness to leave his lips. 

He looked down, his eyes dark before he crawled over you, caging you in. Fear almost took you over, but you stayed relaxed, just as he'd taught you. 

“Do you consent to–”

“Yes,” you breathed as he lined himself up, clutching at the blanket while you waited.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, moaning as he pushed into you. He’d put your legs over his shoulders, his body moving closer and closer to yours until he kissed you. Slowly, thoroughly, moving his cock and his tongue into you once again while you gave in.

The feeling of taking Law inside of you after all that time of aching for him was unreal, it was everything.

“Ask me again,” he rasped as he pulled back from the kiss. His thrusts grew more demanding, and you tried to follow his instructions before he sent you speechless again. 

“Do… Do you need me too?”

He tore a scream from your throat, a brutal thrust right where you needed him sending you reeling. 

“I need you to stay relaxed for me.”

Another vicious thrust.

“I need you to trust your doctor, and listen to my orders.”

More desperate screams. Law’s eyes were fierce, jagged rocks piercing into you as he fucked himself through your body. 

“I need you to be a good girl, and tell me what your body wants.”

“You, Law, want you, please…”

Law slowed, pressing down against you. Your thighs gave him no resistance as he bent you how he wanted.

His thrusts were slower, but so fucking deep, and your eyes were rolling back as you moaned for him.

He kissed you, then kept his face above yours, observing you as you fell apart. 

“I need you to stay.”

Law’s confession was so quiet, it was almost lost as you screamed his name. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moaned against your ear, "you're fucking perfect for me, baby."

His rhythm staggered until you both left this metal box, exploding through some distant sky, nails digging into each other’s skin so you wouldn’t be lost in the void.

You needed him. 

You needed him in every possible way, and nothing else mattered as your senses were overcome by him. His scent, his skin, the way his eyes burned into yours. That dangerous voice, those powerful hands. His pulsing, twitching cock claiming your body again, hot ropes of come that kept filling you, almost too much, too much heat spilling out of you. 

“Law,” you whimpered as he pulled away. 

“I’m right here.” 

Warm hands, soft cloth cleaning your skin. Delicate presses of lips across your body as he looked you over. 

“Law,” you pleaded, reaching your hands out, but he gently moved them aside to inspect your chin where he’d gripped you. He checked your bandages, then laid between your thighs, hissing as he traced around the bruise already spreading from his bite. 

“I hurt you,” he admitted, a guilt there you hadn’t heard before. 

“I loved it,” you soothed, propping up on your elbows to see the impressive mark for yourself. 

“It’s…”

“You knew I’d bruise easily,” you teased, poking his shoulder. “I’m okay.”

“I’ll go get you an ice pack.”

“Law! Please, I want to leave it. I’ll ice it tomorrow. Just help me walk to the bathroom, and then carry me to bed, okay?”

He stared at it for too long, but finally agreed, obeying your orders for once.

Those strong arms, those hands marked with death, carried you into his bed as if you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world. You tried to melt against him, but there was a tension running through his body that you had to take down. 

The realization hit you, filling you with tingling warmth as you matched his shaky breathing. This man who took you for his own, stole you away to make himself your world, would really do anything for you. 

Law had put his heart in your hand, and let you torture him to prove it. 

Your doctor had broken you. But it seemed… You hoped that it had cut both ways. 

His skin was still salty as you left a soft kiss on the lines of ink carved into his chest. 

“Y/N, are you sure you’re alright? Do you need anything,” he asked. His pretty fingers stroked almost nervously along your skin as he held you close.

“Say it again.”

“What–”

“I need you to say it again,” you commanded, needing it to be true. You listened to that comforting heartbeat, your head rising and falling with his chest as he released a breath. 

Law’s confession wrapped you both in velvet chains. 

“I need you to stay.”

NOTE: I tried to write in such a way that many interpretations could be true, and even flipped my own beliefs while writing to keep from pushing one too far. But here's my intended "truth" about who Trafalgar Law was, as well as some answers to a few questions I've gotten about the series.

Law is sick. Delusional. His childhood trauma of watching everyone he loves suffer and die while he could do nothing left him with an obsession with control. He couldn't control anything while he went through hell. Now he controls everything around him. Including you.

Law never recovered from the trauma of Cora's death, and he conflated Cora's selfless act of saving him with his controlling behavior with the reader. He believes that he is your savior, and he will keep "saving" you, even if you try to hurt or leave him the way he did to Cora as a child.

Also, I included a few lines that I hoped were subtle, but pointed to Law's fetishization of the reader's condition. “Your body is perfect for me, Y/N,” “You’re so soft, so sweet," “Your soft, pretty skin bruises so easily, doesn’t it,” etc. Many disabled people can relate to feeling fetishized or infantilized due to our disorders. I have seen hEDS fetishized due to many of the symptoms, including the hypermobility itself, as well as the soft and stretchy skin, and the often youthful appearance that can accompany that. The fact that you are so easily injured or weakened by the condition fulfills Law's desire for you to be reliant on him, for him to "save" and control you.

The way that Law convinced you to stop being scared after he kidnapped you was by saying that the boyfriend who doesn't believe in your pain was going to hurt you by taking you away from the medical treatment you needed. That wasn't enough to calm you, so Law told you what the boyfriend said:

“Y/N, your boyfriend accused me of taking advantage of your ‘obsession with being sick.”

Did he lie? We know that Law had been pushing you further and further away from everyone in your life by repeating your own feelings of loneliness and anger, "they don't believe your pain," etc. So those words, the final evidence that the people who were supposed to love you think you're crazy or faking it, those were the words that ended your fight. You were with Law now, and you trusted that he cared more than anyone else ever had.

But did he lie? Given his delusion, his obsession with control, his desire to take you with him no matter what, and to bend you to his will, it would make sense with his character that he would lie. We know that he went to your house to steal your things and the boyfriend's heart, so lying about a couple of words wouldn't be surprising. Especially since he knew exactly what effect those words would have on you.

For those of us with disabilities, sometimes there are no "good" options, and we have to choose the least restrictive option, even if it isn't what we would want for our lives. Many of us are forced to relinquish some or all of our independence because of our reliance upon others. (A "mild" example similar to this would be someone staying in an unhappy marriage because they can't risk losing health insurance or housing.)

The fucked up truth is that he never lied.

Every single thing that Law said in this story was true, but he knew just how to push you with that truth. He knew how lonely and angry you were, and he played on that, but he never had to lie to do so. All of the horrible experiences you had with pain, and with no one in your life taking you seriously, were real. If you wanted to go back home and he had let you (he wouldn't though. You would be hurting yourself, he would have to "save you."), then you would have been sent back into a life of suffering in silence, only to be treated like a hysterical, attention seeking, crazy person by every doctor and loved one in your life.

You would get worse and worse, but since the issue is not "consistent," the fact that this week it's your hip, next week it's your elbow, etc, etc, only adds to the image of you just making it all up. Until something like the neck incident happened again, and the blinding pain reminded you that it is real, but no one would fucking help you.

Your new doctor listened though. He believed you. And he never lied.

The point of this story is that all of the choices are bad. You finally see through to the truth of what Law is, you see the monster behind the mask. You know that he manipulated you, that he's controlling you, that he's dangerous. That he might never let you be free.

But you have to choose which types of freedoms you're more comfortable with giving up. Which bad option is the most tolerable. Which restrictions will eat at your soul the least.

So you chose the life with the least physical pain, even if it means losing your freedom. Even if it means staying with a monster. You know that he manipulated you into your reliance on him, your need for him. You don't know what we know. You can't trust that he never lied. But you chose the monster anyway, to spare yourself a different kind of torture.

If you weren't disabled, the choice to stay would be more real. Is consent really consent when the only options are torture or a total loss of independence? But you decided to give in. To give up your freedom, and a piece of your soul, so that you could have some decent fucking healthcare.

You try to feel okay with it by deciding you wanted to be with him physically, even though you acknowledged that he manipulated you into being insanely fucking needy and obsessed with his touch. You decided to make the best of being owned by a beautiful monster, since your only other options included even more physical and emotional suffering than that.

Again, I tried to leave this up for interpretation. Law's confession that he needs you to stay shows a glimpse of that fucked up, traumatized inner child that is obsessed with controlling his world so that he never has to feel that way again.

The way your relationship started can never change.

But if you'd like to imagine that you work through all of that trauma together, and eventually have a healthier dynamic, then please do!

I'm actually 50/50 on it. I can see it being a slow process of growing together. It would NOT be easy to work through both of your own traumas on top of the emotional manipulation he put you through. But maybe that wounded little boy really could open up and accept some love and healing, letting all that pain out.

Or maybe Law will always be a monster.

That's up to you. 🖤