WIP And Final Product Of My Dakota Cole Drawing! He Is The Best Boy!

WIP and final product of my Dakota Cole drawing! He is the best boy!

Terminal

Thank You For All Your Amazing Writing! Your Blogs Seriously Make My Day Every Time. Could You Write

law × reader

you fall ill with a rare, incurable disease and law refuses to accept it.

a/n: this was so sad T.T btw as I said in my rules post I don’t write about this kind of topic, but given that law’s story is about that I wanted to give it a try

words count: 4.2k

tags: terminal illness, soft, angst, worried law

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You’re burning up.”

Law’s voice is calm, but you know him well enough to hear the tension beneath it. His hand lingers on your forehead, cool against your feverish skin.

You force a grin, despite the way your body aches “That’s just the effect you have on me.”

His expression doesn’t change. If anything, his brows knit together further, golden eyes dark with something unreadable.

“Don’t joke” he says flatly.

“Come on, it was funny” you mumble, but your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Law exhales sharply. He presses two fingers against your wrist, checking your pulse. You see the flicker of something in his eyes. Worry.

“Since when?”

“Since when what?”

“Since you started feeling like this.” His voice drops lower, more controlled “Don’t lie.”

You sigh, shifting under the blanket “A few days ago. Maybe a week?”

“A week?” His jaw clenches, and you watch the way his fingers curl into a fist “And you didn’t tell me?”

“You were busy, Law,” you murmur “I didn’t want to bother you.”

His reaction is immediate. His eyes darken, sharp and cutting, and for a second, you swear he’s actually angry. But when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You think I wouldn’t drop everything for you?”

Your breath catches. You can’t look at him. Instead, you force out another weak chuckle “Well, you are a very important pirate, Captain.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Pretending it’s nothing.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, a sudden wave of dizziness crashes over you. The world tilts, your vision swims, and you barely register the way your body sways before Law is already there, steady hands catching you before you can fall.

“Y/N” His grip tightens around you, firm, grounding “I need to run some tests.”

You rest your forehead against his shoulder, too exhausted to protest “…That bad?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. You feel his heartbeat being too fast, too tense.

When he finally speaks, it’s quiet. Almost too quiet.

“I’m going to fix this.”

And for the first time ever since you know him, you don’t believe him.

The beeping of medical equipment fills the silence.

You sit on Law’s examination table, legs dangling as he adjusts the monitor beside you. His brows are furrowed, golden eyes locked onto the screen, and even though he hasn’t said a word in the last five minutes, you can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

The tension in the air is unbearable.

“Are you always this serious when you play doctor, or am I just special?” you tease, tilting your head at him.

Nothing. Not even a smirk.

You sigh dramatically “Come on, Law. You can’t even crack a smile for your beloved patient?”

“You’re not a patient,” he mutters “You’re my partner.”

His words send a little warmth through your chest, but before you can respond, he steps closer and gently presses his fingers against your wrist, feeling for your pulse again.

The warmth fades when you notice the way his hand lingers just a little too long.

“You like holding my hand that much?” you tease, forcing a grin “If you wanted to be romantic, you could’ve just asked.”

This time, his jaw tightens “Your pulse is weak.”

You try to wave him off with your free hand “That’s just because you’re touching me. Makes my heart stops, you know?”

“Y/N...” he warns, voice sharp.

You falter.

His hand moves to your other wrist, then your neck, fingers pressing lightly against your skin. His eyes are unreadable, but his silence is louder than anything he could say.

“…You’re scared” you murmur before you can stop yourself.

Law stiffens, but doesn’t deny it.

The realization makes your stomach twist, but you force another smile “Don’t worry, I’m still cute even when I’m dying.”

That does it. His head snaps up, eyes blazing “Don’t say that.”

The weight of his words hangs between you, heavy, suffocating.

You swallow “Sorry. Just trying to make you laugh.”

“Not funny” he mutters.

You look away, fingers curling against the examination table.

Another long silence. Then, his hands are suddenly on either side of your face, tilting your head up gently so you’re looking at him again. His touch is careful, but his grip is firm, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

His voice is quieter this time “You’re not dying.”

You stare at him. For a moment, you want to believe him, but the way his hands tremble against your skin tells you otherwise.

After a while, Law stares at the test results, fingers tightening around the paper. His golden eyes flick over the numbers, the medical jargon, the hard, undeniable facts.

It’s terminal.

He’s quiet... too quiet. That’s the first thing that unsettles you. You’re used to his silence, but this is different. This is suffocating.

“So?” You swing your legs lightly from the examination table, forcing a smirk “What’s the verdict, Doc? Am I dying?”

Silence.

The smirk falters “Law?”

His fingers crumple the edge of the paper. His jaw tightens. And then, so softly that you almost don’t hear it, he says “…It’s incurable.”

For a second, you swear time stops.

The words don’t register at first. They don’t make sense. It’s like your brain refuses to process them.

And then you laugh.

It bursts out before you can stop it, light, teasing, just like every other joke you’ve made today “Wow, dramatic. You make it sound like I’m already in my grave.”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even look at you.

The smile on your lips wavers.

“You’re kidding, right?”

His hands tighten into fists at his sides. He still won’t look at you.

Your heart pounds a little faster “Law. Tell me you’re joking.”

Nothing.

The laugh that slips out this time is shaky “Come on, then this is the part where you tell me there’s some rare treatment, right? Some experimental surgery? You’re Trafalgar freakin’ Law, Surgeon of Death. There’s no way—”

“y/n.”

The way he says your name, quiet, strained, makes the air leave your lungs.

Your fingers curl against the fabric of your shirt. The examination table feels too cold beneath you. The walls feel like they’re closing in.

“No...” you whisper.

Law’s lips press into a thin line. His hands twitch, like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t.

“No” you say again, more forcefully this time. You shake your head, heat rising in your chest, crawling up your throat “You’re wrong. There’s... there’s gotta be something. You just haven’t figured it out yet. Right?”

“Y/N—”

“No!” The word cracks as it leaves you “I’m not dying!”

Your vision blurs. Your hands shake. And suddenly, it’s too much.

Your body moves before you can think, you push yourself off the table, right into his chest.

Law catches you instantly, arms wrapping around you, steady, grounding. And just like that, everything shatters.

“I don’t—I don’t want to die” you choke out, gripping his coat like it’s the only thing keeping you here “I want to stay. With you. I want—” Your voice breaks “I want a future. I want us to be happy. I want—”

A sob wracks through you.

“I want a family with you.”

Law stiffens.

The words spill out before you can stop them, you smile at him between your tears “A little version of you, all broody and nerdy and so so cute” You let out a wet laugh, broken and trembling “They’d probably scowl just like you, but they’d love books and have messy hair and—”

Your voice crumbles into sobs.

Law doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

And then his arms tighten around you, crushing, like he’s trying to hold you together, keep you from falling apart.

His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks.

“I’m going to save you.”

You want to believe him.

Only God knowa how much you want to believe him.

But the fear in his voice tells you even he isn’t sure.

The next morning, you wake up to find Law hunched over his desk, surrounded by stacks of medical books and scattered notes.

You sigh “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“Sleep is a waste of time,” he mutters, scribbling something down “I need to go through every known case—”

“You need to stop already.”

He freezes.

Slowly, he turns to look at you. His dark circles are deeper than usual, his face unreadable, but you know him. You know that behind that impassive expression, he’s desperate.

You force a grin “If I really only have a little time left, do you really wanna waste it buried in books instead of spending it with me?”

Law’s fingers tighten around his pen.

“I’m not giving up” he says, voice low.

“I know,” you say gently “But I don’t want to spend my last time watching you drive yourself insane. If I’m gonna die, I wanna die happy.”

The words sting, but they’re true.

Law exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. He doesn’t respond.

You hop off the bed, stretching dramatically “Anyway, I’ve decided I’m done being sad. It’s exhausting. So I’m back, and better than ever!” You flash him a grin “That means full-time comedy and flirting, just for you, Captain!”

His brow twitches “Y/N...”

You wag a finger at him “Shh, let me have this.” You strike a pose “Behold, Trafalgar D. Law’s hottest, funniest girlfriend! Incurable disease edition!”

Nothing.

You pout “Wow. Tough crowd.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose “Why do I put up with this?”

“Because I’m irresistible,” you say, leaning closer “And because you love me.”

His breath hitches for just a second.

And then, quietly “Yeah.”

You blink. Your cheeks burn “Whoa, that was easier than I thought. If I’d known getting a lovely love confession was that easy, I would’ve faked a terminal disease ages ago.”

“Not funny” he mutters.

You snicker “Okay, okay, this one wasn't the best.”

Law sighs, shaking his head. But when he looks at you, his gaze lingers, like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he looks away.

And suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. Because this is too familiar to him.

The way you laugh, the way you grin like you aren’t dying, like none of this is real... it reminds him of Corazon. Always smiling. Always laughing. Even with blood in his mouth. Even when he knew he was going to die.

A lump forms in Law’s throat.

You notice his change in expression instantly “Hey. What’s wrong?”

His fingers twitch at his sides “Nothing” he lies.

But you see it in his eyes, the fear.

You sigh, stepping closer, reaching for his hands. His fingers are cold. You squeeze them.

“Law,” you say softly “I’m not trying to leave you behind. I just... I don’t want you to only remember me as the person who was sick, who died. I want you to remember me smiling. Happy. With you. Because that's what I am.”

His hands tighten around yours.

He doesn’t say anything. But when you squeeze his hands again, he squeezes back.

You think Law has finally accepted things.

You think he’s finally listening to you, finally spending time with you instead of drowning himself in books and medical theories. And for a while, he does.

He stays close, fingers brushing against yours when you walk, arms wrapping around you when he thinks no one is looking. Some nights, he holds you a little too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

It makes you happy. It makes you feel alive. But then, he starts again.

The sleepless nights. The books. The notes. The obsessive, frantic research.

You wake up one night to find the bed empty.

Again.

With a sigh, you push yourself up. You grip the blanket, taking slow, even breaths, waiting for your vision to finally settles, you get up and pad toward Law’s office.

You don’t bother knocking.

“Law...”

He doesn’t look up. He’s hunched over his desk, surrounded by open books, pages filled with diagrams of Devil Fruits and medical notes scribbled in his messy handwriting. His coat is discarded on the chair, sleeves rolled up, hands gripping a pen so tightly his knuckles are white.

You frown “What are you doing?”

“Working.” His voice is hoarse.

“Yeah, I can see that, genius. But on what?”

He finally looks at you. There’s something wild in his eyes, desperation, determination, obsession.

You step closer. Your gaze flickers to the notes. And then your heart stops.

“Law,” you whisper, throat dry “Are you... are you trying to find me a Devil Fruit?”

“Not just any Devil Fruit,” he mutters, flipping a page. His fingers move fast, tracing over diagrams “Something similar to the Ope Ope no Mi. Something that could manipulate your body, enhance cellular regeneration, maybe even reprogram the disease out of you.”

Your stomach drops.

“Law.”

“I just need to find the right one.” He keeps going like he hasn’t heard you “There’s research, fragments of old studies, theories. If I can modify a fruit’s properties, or find a compatible—”

“Law!”

He flinches.

You swallow, hands shaking “You can’t just... you can’t force me to eat a Devil Fruit.”

He glares at you, jaw clenched “If it’s the only way to save you, then yes, I can.”

The air crackles between you.

For the first time, you see that he won’t stop. He won’t accept it. Not like you have.

You take a shaky breath “You’re trying to save me the same way Corazon saved you...”

His body tenses.

“You think if I eat a fruit like yours, I’ll survive just like you did.”

Silence.

“I won’t lose you” he whispers.

Your heart clenches.

You step closer, reaching for his face, cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch immediately, like he’s starved for it.

“Law,” you say softly “You can’t fix this, and it's okay.”

He squeezes his eyes shut “There’s always a way.”

You shake your head “Even if there is… do you really want to spend our last moments like this? Chasing something that might not even exist?”

His breath shudders against your palm.

For the first time, he doesn’t have an answer.

Law is different after that night.

He still spends hours in his office, buried in books, chasing after a cure that may not exist. He still barely sleeps, barely eats, his mind running in endless circles of calculations and medical theories.

But now he makes time for you.

It starts small. Sitting next to you on the deck, staring at the ocean in comfortable silence. Letting you lean against him while he reads, his hand absentmindedly brushing over yours.

Then, it becomes more. Stealing moments with you in the kitchen, pretending to help while you cook, though he mostly just watches you with those quiet, golden eyes. Taking you to watch the sunset, fingers grazing against yours but never quite holding on.

And sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, he smiles.

It reminds you of something he once told you.

“Even now you’re trying to do what Corazon did for you, aren’t you?” you say one night, breaking the silence.

Law tenses beside you.

The two of you are lying on the bed, facing each other. It’s one of the rare nights he actually gets in bed with you instead of falling asleep at his desk. His fingers hover near your wrist, not quite touching, just barely brushing your skin.

He doesn’t answer right away. But you see it in his eyes.

“I’m not like him” he mutters.

You smile, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear “You’re right. From what you told me, he was goofier. More dramatic.”

His lips twitch “That sounds more like you.”

“Maybe,” you hum “But you’re doing exactly what he did. You’re trying to give me happy memories while working yourself to death behind my back.”

His eyes darken.

You brush a hand against his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there. He looks exhausted, but you know that no matter what you tell him, he won’t stop.

“You can’t save everyone, Law” you whisper.

His grip tightens around the sheets “I can save you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling softly.

“Then at least promise me something” you murmur.

He waits.

“When I go—”

“You’re not—”

“When I go,” you say again, firmer this time, “I want you to keep going. Don’t disappear. Don’t close yourself off.”

Law stares at you, his expression unreadable.

“You think I could just move on?” he finally asks, voice raw.

“I think,” you say, fingers brushing against his, “that you deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t answer.

But later that night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you feel his hand finally take yours. And for the first time, you wonder who’s more afraid of losing the other, you or him.

For the first time in weeks, Law looks alive.

He bursts into the Polar Tang’s main room, eyes sharp, steps quick, movements filled with purpose. His coat flares behind him as he scans the room, spotting the Heart Pirates scattered around, Shachi and Penguin bickering, Bepo munching on a snack, Ikkaku polishing her tools.

“All of you,” he orders, voice firm, urgent “Meeting. Now.”

The crew blinks at him.

“Whoa, Captain, you good?” Penguin asks, tilting his head “You look—”

“Awake,” Shachi finishes “Which is weird, considering you haven’t slept in days.”

“Meeting. Now.” Law repeats, already turning toward the control room.

Bepo exchanges glances with the others before nodding “Let’s go.”

Within minutes, the crew is gathered. The room is tense, because they can feel it. Something has changed.

Law places both hands on the table, looking at them with determination burning in his golden eyes.

“I’ve found a cure.”

Silence.

Then Penguin nearly chokes “Wait, what?!”

“You...” Shachi’s eyes widen “You’re serious?”

Bepo’s ears twitch “Captain…”

Law nods, rolling out a hand-drawn diagram of an unknown Devil Fruit.

“It’s called the Vita Vita no Mi,” he explains “A Devil Fruit that enhances the body’s ability to regenerate and purge diseases. It was recorded in old medical texts from over a century ago, lost, believed to be a myth. But I found something.”

He flips to another page.

“There were reports of this fruit appearing in a black-market trade just over a decade ago. Tracked to an island in the Grand Line.” His gaze hardens “We’re going there.”

The crew stares.

“You mean—” Ikkaku leans forward “You mean there’s a chance?”

“A damn good one,” Law says “If I can get my hands on this fruit, if I can modify its effects, then Y/N...”

He stops. Swallows.

“Then she survives.”

The weight of his words hits the crew all at once.

Shachi exhales sharply “Tell us what you need, Captain.”

Penguin nods “We’re in.”

Bepo clenches his fist “We’ll get that fruit.”

Law looks at them, the family he’s built, the people who trust him without question.

“Set course,” he orders “We leave now.”

And for the first time since this nightmare started, there’s hope.

The ship cuts through the Grand Line’s turbulent waters, the Polar Tang moving faster than it has in weeks. There’s a sense of urgency now, an undercurrent of hope that the crew has never felt before.

Law is different. His usual calm, stoic nature is there, but there’s a fire behind his eyes, a purpose that drives every action. He barely sleeps, constantly working to map out the island, planning for the worst.

Every night, before he goes to bed, he checks on you. His hands are gentle, his gaze searching, but he says nothing. He only watches you breathe, listens to the soft rise and fall of your chest.

In those moments, you think he’s not sure if you’ll be there when he returns.

But when he talks about the cure, when he speaks of the Vita Vita no Mi, the miracle fruit, you see the fire again. Hope.

And for a while, you let yourself believe.

Days pass. The island is in sight.

Law stands at the bow of the ship, eyes fixed on the shore.

“Keep steady” he commands, his voice cold, calculated.

You’re on the deck, staring at the sky as the island draws nearer. You’ve grown weaker over the past few days. The disease is ravaging your body, and you can feel it. But you smile through it, just like you promised.

Bepo stays by your side, as always. The big polar bear mink is there, standing guard, just as loyal as ever. His presence is a small comfort to you, he’s worried, you can tell, but he never presses.

You want to get up, join the crew, help them find the cure, but Bepo gently guides you back down when you try to stand, his big paw resting on your shoulder.

Bepo says softly “Captain’s got this.”

Law approaches, his figure towering over you, the weight of his gaze unmistakable.

“I’m going with you,” you say, your voice light, teasing “No way I’m letting you get all the glory, Captain.”

He crouches in front of you, his eyes softer than they’ve been in days.

“You’re staying here with Bepo.”

You blink at him “You don’t trust me to keep up with you?”

He smiles, just barely. It’s small, fleeting, but it’s there.

“Stay here, please.” His voice is quiet, almost a plea.

You want to argue, but the look in his eyes stops you.

You smile at him, though the effort is exhausting “I’ll just be here… waiting.”

The crew disembarks, heading into the thick jungle, with Law leading the charge. The air is thick, the path winding and treacherous. It’s as though the island doesn’t want them to succeed. But they don’t stop.

The days blur together as they search, scouring every inch of the land, every forest, every cave. Law is relentless. The fruit is out there. He knows it. He can feel it.

And then a blast of sound cuts through the jungle, a distant rumble that echoes in the air. Law’s eyes widen, his body tensing. Without a word, he sprints while teleporting himself.

The crew follows quickly, but the jungle seems to twist itself around them, the path becoming harder and more dangerous as they go.

Law doesn’t care. He’s focused on one thing now: getting back to you.

You’re lying on the deck, growing weaker by the minute, your breath shallow. You know the end is near.

But Bepo stays with you, his warm presence a steady anchor. He’s the one who brings you water, who keeps you from slipping into a fevered daze. He’s the one who makes sure you’re comfortable, even as your body is slowly shutting down.

“Hang in there,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face “Captain will bring the cure back. I know he will.”

You want to reassure him, to tell him not to worry, but the words won’t come.

You reach for his paw weakly, and he holds your hand with surprising tenderness.

Hours pass. The night grows darker, and the crew has yet to return. The air is thick with tension.

Finally, the sound of heavy footsteps reaches the deck.

Law appears, drenched in sweat, his face hard but his eyes alive.

“Y/N…” His voice cracks as he kneels beside you, his hands immediately going to your face, checking for fever, your pulse.

“You found it?” you whisper, barely able to speak.

He nods, not trusting his voice. He opens his pack, pulling out the Vita Vita no Mi, the fruit wrapped carefully in cloth.

But before he can do anything, you stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“Law… don’t…” You cough, a weak laugh escaping you “I don’t know if it’ll work… if it’s too late…”

“No,” he insists, his voice desperate “It will work. I won’t let you—”

“I just wanted to be with you,” you whisper, the words barely audible “I wanted to see you happy… with me.”

Bepo steps back, his heart heavy, but he’s still there, watching over you.

Law hesitates, his eyes locked on yours. The fruit still rests in his hand, but he can’t bring himself to do it—not yet.

“Please,” you whisper, weakly gripping his hand “Just stay… stay with me.”

He looks at you, the flicker of fear in his eyes, fear of losing you, the same fear he’s been running from since Corazon.

“I won’t leave you,” Law says softly “I promised, remember?”

The crew now waits in the background, hearts clenched in their chests. They don’t speak. They don’t breathe.

The night stretches on, heavy with anticipation. But nothing happens.

Law continues to hold the fruit, watching you closely, waiting for a sign, a flicker of hope. But you’ve grown so still. The seconds feel like hours, and when Law finally lifts the fruit to your lips, your eyes flicker open again, meeting his.

You smile, the faintest of smiles.

“I’m sorry for not being stronger…” You pause, each word coming with effort, but you press on “But you have to live, okay? You have to keep going. Don’t waste your life… Please… don’t waste it… for me.”

His eyes widen in shock, and a single tear slips down his cheek.

“I can’t lose you” he whispers, his voice breaking.

But you just smile faintly, your hand weakly squeezing his “Even if this won't work, I need you to know you already saved me… You gave me this life, this love. Now live it, for both of us.”

Your eyes flutter shut once more, and the world holds its breath.

612 notes View Post

rhuski2002

1 month ago

On my hands and knees

BEGGING FOR MOREEE