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paperultra · 5 months

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candy stripes.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5,048 words Warnings: Swearing, hospital setting [A/n: Soulmate AU. :)]

sortiger (adjective): delivering prophecies of the future; having the qualities of being oracular

Nobody else can see the string but you.

You wish you didn’t. It has no texture, no weight, so you can’t understand why it can’t be invisible too. But the string demands attention with every use of your hands, seizes your eye when you wash dishes in the morning and brush your teeth at night, a garish and bloody red that matches the stripes of your uniform.

You hate your string and you hate the color red.

Miss Xinyu, the old lady in Room 30, has one too. At least, that’s what she had told you when you gained the courage to mention yours one day, not knowing what it meant and how much you would come to dread it.

“It’s your red string of fate,” she had explained. “It connects you to the person who understands you more than anyone else in the world.”

In other words, your soulmate. Your one and only.

Miss Xinyu says you’re a lucky ducky, knowing what your future holds.

Her string goes into the ground now. You don’t think being reminded of a dead person whenever you look at your pinkie is very lucky.

The biggest reason why you hate the string so much, though, is because you’ve always had a problem doing what you’re supposed to unless you want to, which causes a lot of trouble for a nine-year-old girl. You already have trouble being nice to patients who are mean to you, so how can you love and wait for someone you’ve never met? It makes you feel icky.

Why can’t you choose? How come you have to have one at all?

Your only source of comfort is that your string is very, very thin and runs out of the hospital. That means your soulmate, whoever they are, is very, very far away. You’d very much like it to stay that way.

But it doesn’t.

—

Nurse Taoh wants you to watch the patients in Room 8 while he finishes his charts. You don’t really want to, if only because it’s Nurse Taoh asking – he likes to order you around more than Dr. Gu – but you don’t want to get into trouble again, so you go.

(… And okay, you are just a little bit curious about the new inpatients. You only know three things about them: one, they were brought in together last night while you were in your room poking holes into your paper instead of correcting it; two, they’re a man and a boy, presumably father and son; and three, everyone says it’s a miracle they’re still alive.)

(Then again, you’ve seen many miracles here.)

The unit is quiet as you walk down the hallway. Quiet, but not silent, as your polished shoes squeak like little mice against the floor and you whisper the room numbers as you pass by them. Two, four, six – eight.

You stop and knock, three sharp raps against the brown wood.

“Hello?” You open the door and poke your head in. “My name is –”

The squiggly-patterned curtain that often separates patients for privacy is drawn, and you clamp your mouth shut as you realize the patient closest to you is asleep.

Shutting the door silently, you creep closer to the foot of his bed. The man underneath the sheets lies quietly; he is little more than a skeleton, eyes sunken and bones sticking out underneath blistered skin. His beard is long and scraggly, but it pales in comparison to his mustache, each side braided and sticking out to the sides.

He looks angry, even though he’s sleeping. You hope he’s not the type to wake up and yell at you as you tiptoe past to check on the boy.

You pass the curtain, catch a glimpse of the bed sheets, and see –

Red.

Your feet root themselves in place, the room suddenly devoid of air.

You stare. Blink hard, twice. Look again. Then, trembling, you look down at your hand.

Your eyes trace the string around your own finger, following down to the dip of it that barely touches the ground and back up over the blankets until it ends in a red loop around the boy’s pinkie, tied off with a little bow.

Your stomach turns.

Stumbling forward, you make your way to the visitor’s chair in the corner. You slump down into it and stare straight ahead at the curtain, refusing to look at the boy’s face.

He continues to sleep.

You don’t want him to wake up.

—

The boy does not stir during your first meeting, but that small mercy is quickly eclipsed two days later by a single bowl of chicken broth.

The look on your face is sour as you walk down the hallway again, the broth splashing up against the lid with each step. Because most of the patients in the hospital you live in are elderly, the staff have somehow gotten it into their heads that you simply must spend time with the boy in Room 8 because he is your age and you need to socialize with other kids. You very much don’t want to. Not with him, at least.

Dr. Gu is just leaving the room when you arrive. She gives you a quick smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling, and pats your head.

“So you heard that the boy woke up, huh?”

You grunt, looking away with a pout. “Can’t you give this to him, Dr. Gu?”

“Nope. I have to finish my rounds,” she says. “Go in and have a chat. His name is Sanji. You’ll like him.”

“I doubt it,” you mumble underneath your breath.

Dr. Gu probably hears you, but she doesn’t scold you, merely patting your head one last time before you enter Room 8.

The dividing curtain is drawn this time. The window curtains are pulled back, too; it’s a somewhat cloudy day outside, but bright enough to sharpen the shadows on the walls and make the boy look even paler than you remember.

His eyes are closed as you approach. A sprout of hope that he might have fallen asleep again blooms in your chest – you’ll just leave the broth on the table, you think to yourself, and go about the rest of your day. Nobody said you had to watch him drink it.

You get about five feet away, already planning to drop some books off to the other rooms, when the boy’s nose suddenly twitches.

His eyes open to thin slits. Your hope shrivels like a weed in the desert as he speaks.

“What’s that?” His voice is quiet and raspy.

Your eyebrow twitches. “It’s just chicken broth,” you say tartly, setting the tray down on the overbed table and turning it around so that it’s over his lap. You take off the lid and steam bursts from the bowl.

The boy reaches up to rub his eyes. The red string dangles from his pinkie, and you quickly look away with a scowl.

“Who are you?” he asks, scooting back to sit up more as he gradually becomes more alert.

Reluctantly, you give him your name. “Will you need help with the soup?”

He shakes his head. His gaze latches onto the contents of his bowl, and he stops, transfixed.

You scramble to stop him as he suddenly grabs the bowl and attempts to gulp it all down in one go.

“Don’t do that! You’ll throw up!” Without thinking, you seize his hands and pry the bowl away from his mouth. A few drops of broth splash over the blankets and his gown, and your irritation grows. Now you’ll have to fix that. “Drink it slowly.”

“I haven’t eaten anything for weeks,” the boy complains. “What do you know?”

“I’ve been studying medicine since I was a little kid,” you retort. “So I know a lot.”

He frowns. “You are a little kid.”

“I’m nine years old!”

“No, I’m nine! You don’t look as old as me!”

There’s no way this … this brat is the same age as you! Fuming, you let go of the bowl and jab a finger at his face. “I am nine years old and I know more than you! You can’t drink the broth like that!”

You’re met with silence. The boy’s eyes are wider than saucers. Pride wells up inside you at your ability to shut him up.

But then he puts the bowl down and seizes your hand, and your pride gives way to horror as he folds down your index finger and lifts your pinkie – the pinkie with the red string wrapped around it.

He lifts his own pinkie, the rest of his fingers folded. Your jaw clenches when you see how the string has shortened to mere inches, bridging the space between his hand and yours.

“Holy shit,” the boy says. The largest grin spreads across his face, and it’s blinding and scary and you hate it, you hate it. “It’s you! You’re my soulmate, aren’t you?!”

“No,” you reply quickly, whipping your hand behind your back and backing away. “No, I’m not!”

“But you see the string too! I knew I’d meet you some day. How come you’re”— he pushes the table away, eagerly but just gentle enough so no more of the broth spills—“how come you’re hiding it behind your back?”

“I’m not your soulmate,” you bark, panic rising in your chest. “Don’t you ever say that!”

You only catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across the boy’s face before you turn around and dash out of the room.

Mrs. Hong finds you in the storage closet later, curled up behind the shelves of gauze and IV tubing. She coaxes you out with a promise of rice balls and no questions asked. You wish all the adults were more like her.

—

The next day, Miss Jaylee hoists you over her shoulder like a human sacrifice and brings you to Room 8.

“I don’t want to see him! You can’t make me!”

“He’s refusing treatment and food unless he sees you,” the woman answers briskly, each of her steps jostling you up and down. “You don’t want to be responsible if Sanji dies, do you?”

“I don’t care if he dies!”

Miss Jaylee clicks her tongue and walks faster.

You flail, feeling a little guilty for your cruel words but too proud to take them back. Sanji couldn’t have heard you, anyway, and nobody here is going to let him die no matter what he does or what you say.

You hear a door swing open. Miss Jaylee walks into Room 8 and turns around, and you lift your head, glaring at Sanji as his face lights up and his cheeks turn rosy.

“[Y/n]!”

Your own cheeks burn in embarrassment at the position you’re currently in. This, you only now realize, is way worse than walking into the room voluntarily.

“How come they’re carrying you? Are you okay?” he asks.

“Let them treat you,” you snap, arms limp and dangling. “And eat your stupid food or I’ll get in trouble.”

“Okay.” You nod, opening your mouth to speak again only for him to continue, “But only if I get to talk to you afterwards.”

What is he, a prince?! What makes it so easy for him to demand such things?

“That wasn’t what you told them,” you protest, squirming, but Miss Jaylee only tightens her arm around your waist.

(“Be nice,” she warns. You growl.)

“It’s important,” Sanji stresses, looking pointedly down at his hand and then back at you.

You bite down on your tongue as the red string glimmers in the light.

Dr. Gu and Nurse Taoh stare at you expectantly. Your neck is starting to ache from craning it, and there’s a feeling that you’ll never stand on your own two feet again unless you do what he wants.

“… Fine,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Only once you promise to stay does Miss Jaylee let you slide off her shoulder. You stand to the side, arms crossed impatiently as they take Sanji’s vitals and ask him some questions. He’s only half paying attention, head turning to look at you more than once, which you merely turn up your nose at.

“All right, we’ll leave you two to chat now,” Dr. Gu says. “If you need anything, just let [Y/n] know, okay?”

“Okay,” Sanji says.

With that, the three adults leave, and you and Sanji are left alone once more.

“I’m glad you came. They were starting to get mad at me,” he says, then cuts straight to the chase. “How come you don’t want to be my soulmate?”

“Because I don’t want a soulmate,” you immediately reply.

“But why? It’s nice, isn’t it? Being special to each other?”

“You can’t be special to me. We’re not even friends.”

For the second time, Sanji looks hurt.

“…We’re not?” he asks. You shake your head. “But … you brought me food.”

You’re befuddled. “Because Dr. Gu made me,” you say, trying to ignore the disappointment on his face. “Besides, I yelled at you yesterday. Friends don’t yell at each other.”

“I thought that you were maybe just really surprised …” His voice gets smaller and smaller. “Some people get mad when they’re just surprised …”

“I wasn’t surprised. I saw it when you were still asleep.”

“Oh,” Sanji mumbles. He looks down at the sheets, scratching at the wrinkle in the thin white fabric. “Okay.”

He says nothing more. You fidget, wondering if he’s pretending to look like he’s about to cry or if he really is trying not to. You’re not good with people who start crying.

You chew on your bottom lip. Sanji tucks his hand with the string on it underneath his bed sheets, his eyes disappearing behind his tangled hair, and fine, you feel kind of bad whether he’s tricking you or not.

“I’ll only be friends with you if you don’t talk about being soulmates,” you finally tell him begrudgingly. “Not ever, okay?”

His head shoots back up. “Really?!”

“Only if you don’t talk about it! I’m serious.” You huff at Sanji’s sudden change in mood and click your tongue. “If you stay sad you might not get better. Don’t get the wrong idea!”

He nods, grinning bigger than ever.

Oh, dear, you think as he promises that he’ll be a really, really good friend, you might have made a mistake.

—

By the fifth day, Zeff, the man who was brought in with Sanji, is awake.

You hear them arguing before you see them, pushing a cart of books for Sanji to browse through as per your agreement the day before. They’re loud, and Sanji calls the man an old shitbag right as you knock and push the door open.

“I’m here,” you announce, and the two quiet down to look at you. You give Zeff a polite smile. “Hello, sir. I’m [Y/n].”

“Hello, little miss,” Zeff says, his features softening from the angry expression he’d directed towards Sanji a moment before.

“Why are you being nice to her and not me?” Sanji pipes up from his side of the room, all puffed-out cheeks and petulantly crossed arms.

“Because she don’t make my ears ring with nonstop whining,” the man answers sharply. “Now get a book and read so I can finally have some peace and quiet.”

“You get a book and read,” Sanji grumbles.

“What was that, boy?”

You cut in before they start bickering all over again. “Do you want a book too, Mr. Zeff?”

Zeff’s gaze flicks over to you once more, and your shoulders tense. The man takes a deep, calming breath, and then he sighs, reclining back into his pillow and closing his eyes. “No, thank you, little miss,” he mutters. “Reading’s no good for my head right now.”

“Do you have a headache?” He grunts in affirmation. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

“No, no, don’t need any of that.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a headache,” Sanji accuses.

Zeff’s mustache twitches. “All you need to know is that you oughta stop yappin’ when a man wants peace and quiet!”

(Not again.)

As you give up and walk over to draw the curtains, Sanji says your name desperately. “Can we read somewhere else?” he pleads when you glance at him. “I don’t want to be stuck in here with him right now.”

Narrowing your eyes, you appraise his weak-looking frame, pointedly skimming past the red string that snakes over to you. “Can you even walk around yet?”

“Yeah,” he says defensively. He wriggles out of the bed sheets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Holding onto the side rail, he stands up and grips the IV pole for support. Though he’s a little shaky, he shuffles a few steps towards you and smiles when he manages to do so. “See?”

Well, you think, if you and Sanji stay here, you’ll need to have some light in order to read. But it will probably help Zeff if the room is as dark as possible, so if you guys go somewhere else, Sanji’s lamp won’t need to be on.

“Okay,” you agree. “Wait here. I’ll get some slippers.”

Ten minutes later, with Sanji shuffling along in his slippers, IV pole in one hand and your arm in the other, the two of you arrive at the common room and find chairs in the corner to sit down in.

“These’re mostly history books and stories for old people,” you explain as you pull out the one cooking-related book you could find from the top basket of the cart. “This was the only food one I could find.”

“That’s okay.” Sanji takes the book from you and begins to flip through it. “Oh, this one’s about seafood in the South Blue! Have you ever had any?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. I’ll try it someday, though … hey, this fish looks like a fried egg!”

Against your will, you perk up. “… Really?”

For the next half-hour, Sanji fawns over the spices used on grilled Sea King meat and how to cook wine clams and the best fish for South Blue-style sushi. And it’s … not boring. He doesn’t hog the book, and the pictures are cool, and he asks you which ones you think are the coolest or would taste the best. Looking at a book with another kid is different from reading with an adult. It feels like you’re sharing, not like you’re being tested on your comprehension or how to pronounce long words.

Hanging out with Sanji is okay when the string doesn’t sour it.

“So you want to cook all of these one day?” you ask after scanning through a full-color page of steamed Ocean Hawk feet.

“I want to cook things from all four seas,” Sanji says. His legs bounce with excitement. “That’s why I’m gonna find the All Blue.”

“What’s that?”

The boy glows.

“It’s where the North, East, South, and West Blue seas all meet. Think about it – fresh-caught fish from all over the world all in one place! I’ll be able to cook dishes no one’s ever cooked or tasted before.”

You’ve never heard of such a place. But Sanji talks about it with such conviction, such resolve, that you figure the All Blue could really exist.

“I hope you find it,” you say, and you mean it.

“I will.” Sanji closes the book. “And when I do, I’ll cook something just for you. A-As a friend.”

He peeks over at you, his eyes even brighter and bluer than before, his cheeks flushing a familiar red. And you find yourself believing him, just a little bit.

—

Sanji keeps his promise.

You know he still likes you (blech) and so does most of the staff (double blech). Nurse Taoh thinks it’s funny and teases you about your little boyfriend in Room 8 who always asks where you are. Mrs. Hong reminds you to be sensitive whenever you stop by to pick up meals. Dr. Gu tells you to tell her right away if Sanji ever does something that makes you uncomfortable.

But he never does. Sometimes his words spill out clumsily like a broken faucet and other times he blushes and stutters, leaving you to wonder what he’s going on about, but he doesn’t try to kiss you or hold your hand, and he doesn’t say a word about the red string that is very much still there. If anything, he just annoys you at times, with how nice he is to you and how sunny he gets when you eat lunch with him sometimes.

You’ve never seen somebody so happy to be in a hospital before, even if it’s just because he wants you to like him. It’s weird.

It’s on the eighth day of Zeff and Sanji’s stay that you learn not everything is how it seems.

You’d gotten in trouble the night before for digging holes in the garden – you had kept the seed from your dinner plum and wanted to see if you could make it grow, but Miss Jaylee had caught you while taking Mr. Hu out for some air – so you’re somewhat grumpy on your way to Room 8, two notebooks in hand.

One of them is blank for Sanji. He wants to record all the meals he’s gotten and write down how he would make them. The second notebook is full of your notes that you need to study for your quiz tomorrow.

Zeff is sleeping again when you enter. You move quietly across the room to where Sanji is lying with his back to the door.

“Sanji.” You can see his shoulders tense underneath the sheets, but strangely, he does not roll over to face you. “I have your notebook.”

No answer. That is even stranger.

Frowning, you walk around to the other side of the bed. Sanji moves to bury his face into his pillow, but not before you hear a very soft, wet sniffle.

“Sanji?”

“Sorry.” His voice is high and so muffled you can barely understand him. “You can just leave it on the table.”

“Why are you crying?” In the back of your head, you know it is not the most sensitive thing to ask. But for some reason, you need to know. “I won’t laugh or tell anyone.”

You hear another sniffle from the mop of blond hair. It takes a long time for Sanji to answer, but he eventually does.

“I don’t like hospitals.”

Your brow furrows. “Oh,” you say, somewhat surprised. Most people don’t like being in a hospital, you’re pretty sure of that, but you didn’t know Sanji didn’t like it this much. “Why?��

Maybe he’s tired of getting poked all the time, or the bland food, or the hospital smell. Nobody here can change that. Maybe he’s homesick. The hospital can’t fix that, either.

Sanji turns his head slightly and takes in a small, shuddering breath. “’Cause it … it makes me remember my mum … when she was sick,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.

“… Oh.”

You had assumed, upon learning that Zeff and Sanji were not at all related, that Sanji was like you and never knew his parents. He’d never talked about having any before, only his time on the Orbit and with Zeff. But he does know them – his mother, at least. And she was sick. The memory is what’s making him so sad, and it’s yet another thing that the hospital can’t help.

You don’t want him to be sad. You did make him your friend, after all, even if he does annoy you sometimes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, standing awkwardly with his notebook still in your possession. You remember what Miss Jaylee has told other patients before. “That, um, must have been really hard for you.”

Sanji squeezes his pillow more tightly.

Should you go? Should you talk to him some more?

“Please don’t tell anybody,” he whispers before you can decide. “Especially Zeff.”

“I won’t,” you reply firmly. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry I can’t hang out today. I really wanted to, but, um …”

“It’s okay. We can do it later.”

“Okay.”

You set his notebook and a pen on the bedside table. After some thought, you refill his water and, after even more hesitation, fix the bed sheets on him a bit so they’re not as twisted up. That is the best you can do.

The red string follows you as you quietly leave Room 8, and you don’t think about it at all.

—

“How do you spell necessary?”

“N-E-S-E-S-A-R-Y.”

“That doesn’t look right. I think it’s S-S-A-R-Y.”

“Maybe you can find it in the book,” Sanji suggests, kicking his feet as he lies on his belly next to you.

“Yeah, maybe.” You flip through the pages of your textbook, searching for the correct spelling lest you get marked off again.

It is the tenth day. Sanji is doing alright, and Zeff is up and about with his new leg. Dr. Gu says they’re good to go, so they’re leaving after Zeff finishes breakfast. You’re not sure how to feel about it.

In the meantime, Sanji is helping you with your essay about scurvy. He knows quite a bit about it, which makes sense since he’s lived at sea, and you hope the perspective he’s supplying will impress Dr. Gu.

(“That’s why every ship needs a good cook,” he tells you proudly. “We make sure everyone eats right so they stay healthy.”

“That’s why you and Mr. Zeff are going to have a restaurant ship, right?”

“Mmhm.”)

Sanji rests his face in his hands, cheeks squished against his palms while you continue to scan through your textbook. You finally find the word in a photo caption and, with a triumphant noise, jot it down correctly.

Someone knocks on your door. The two of you turn to face it simultaneously.

“[Y/n]?” It’s Mrs. Guo.

“Yeah?” you call, already slightly irritated.

“Is Sanji there? It’s time for him to leave.”

A frown presses down on your lips. Sanji sighs and gets up as slowly as possible, taking his notebook with him.

“Coming,” he says.

The two of you dawdle on your way to the hospital entrance. You pet Cabby the dog when you run into him and his handler and stop by the kitchen so Sanji can thank the cooks. There’s no rush, not really, but an uneasy feeling continues to well up in your stomach anyway.

Upon arriving at your destination, Zeff waiting at the double doors with a giant bag of treasure slung over his shoulder, Sanji stops and turns to face you.

“I’m – I’m going now,” he says, as if just realizing it.

“Okay,” you say.

You and Sanji stand in silence for a moment before Sanji’s bottom lip starts to wobble.

Yours starts to wobble too. The uneasy feeling in your stomach bubbles up into your throat and behind your eyes.

“I’ll write you,” he blurts, voice cracking. “You’ll come visit, won’t you?”

“I don’t know.” You don’t know if they’ll let you. The hospital is busy and the ocean is big, bigger than you, and you don’t know it at all like Zeff and Sanji do. “But I’ll write back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You are crying now.

For the first time, your arms wrap around Sanji, and he clings back as both of you bawl. Your tears and snot stain the shoulder of his brand-new clothes. Your uniform grows damp at the collar. It doesn’t matter at all.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” you croak into his shirt, face hot and eyes blurry.

His grip tightens. “You will,” Sanji replies in between sniffles. “I know it. Even if it’s when we’re really old, we’ll see each other again.”

“Okay.”

You believe him. Not because of fate, but because you want to.

—

You write to each other every single week for the next ten years. You tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

—

“You seem nervous,” Nami says. “Don’t tell me a little bribery got under your skin?”

“No, no.” You wipe your hands on your thighs and try to relax against the back of the booth. “Just … not used to places like this, that’s all.”

The Baratie is nicer than you imagined. Sanji had kept you up to date over the years, sending newspaper clippings and recipe drafts as the restaurant he and Zeff founded grew in staff members and reputation, but seeing it in person is a whole different deal. You’re telling the truth when you said you’re not used to a place like this.

But it’s not why you’re nervous.

“Hey, look!” Usopp exclaims, pointing across the room. “I think those guys are gonna fight.”

The rest of you look. Near the kitchen, two men are arguing, and the pink-haired man sitting at the table stands up when the pirate shoves his food onto the floor.

Usopp sucks his teeth. “Yikes.”

Luffy leans forward in interest. Zoro simply stares, and Nami rolls her eyes.

One of the waiters approaches them. You watch as he tries to deescalate the situation, but neither party is having it.

The pink-haired man draws a gun.

Within seconds, the gun and both would-be brawlers are on the floor.

The waiter shoves his foot into the pink-haired man’s back to keep him down, then picks up the plate of bread rolls again, stepping over both groaning bodies with the ease of one who’s done it before.

He reassures the other customers as he approaches your booth. You’re not concerned about the fight so much as you are about the way that you know.

It’s been ten years, but you just know, even before he gets close enough for you to see the red string that trails up and disappears into the black of his pants pocket. Even before you see the blue of his eyes and the annoyed set of his brow, exactly the same as you remember.

He places the rolls down onto the table, and for the first time, you wonder what you want.

“Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?”

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader #soulmate au #woefully inaccurate portrayal of patient treatment and progression of recovery i'm sorry #usually i'd be more of a stickler but this is one piece where people don't die after 85 days eating nothing but their own leg #zeff and sanji definitely aren't ur typical patients anyway even in the opla universe lol

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chibieggplant · 7 days

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Trafalgar Law ~ Doodles ~ Part 3

Trafalgar Law soulmate au | Imagine a magical connection between you and your soulmate, where everything you write on your arm appears on your soulmate's arm, too.

Part 3/3 | Part One | Part Two

“I…” You could only manage one word at this point; any more words were too hard to get out as you stared at the spot on his arm where the bear doodle previously was. The thought of your soulmate existing was already absurd, and you had long given up on trying to believe. However, this…this was proof. The bear doodle, exact, no room for misinterpretation. You were so shocked you could barely even speak at all as you remained still. All you could do was stare forward as your eyes moved to meet his.

Law looked at you, and as soon as he spotted your shock, he instantly understood what you were feeling. After all, his reaction was the same. Law was practically dumbfounded as the realisation hit him. Yet he also felt like the most idiotic person in the entire world. He never wrote back. Not once. Now that his soulmate was right in front of him, he felt both delighted and upset at himself as he continued to stare at you. He was feeling all kinds of emotions all at once. Joy, shock, fear, and so much more that he couldn’t even think of a name for. He felt so happy, yet so stupid; so relieved yet so scared.

Law couldn’t take his eyes off you despite part of him wanting to run away. He could see you trying to process everything as it came flooding in after years of silence. He felt terrible, awful. At this moment, he felt like an idiot for not writing back to you. His feelings were just as chaotic as yours right now. He could barely believe this was real. He had spent an entire decade telling himself he had no time for his soulmate. That he would only bring you trouble; after all that time, it felt surreal to be standing before you, knowing that fate had bound you together.

Law tried to muster up something to say, but it seemed just as challenging for him to speak as it appeared for you. Yet he needed to say something. There was this entire decade’s worth of conversation he needed to make up for. He tried to move his arms, perhaps to hug or touch you in some way, as he felt the need to show you some physical affection after so long, but it was as if they were frozen in place. The next thing he noticed was a tear started to roll down your cheek. His heart froze in his chest at the sight of the tear running down your face. This was what made him break. He could deal with you looking shocked. He could deal with you staring at him blankly. But seeing your tear just sent a spear through him. His vision was becoming blurrier as tears slowly began to fall from his eyes, too. He was a mess, and he suddenly felt so lucky to meet his soulmate finally. He realised he had wasted an entire decade’s opportunity to talk to you. To spend time with you. As this realisation set in, he wanted nothing more than for you to forgive him.

“W-why didn’t you write back?” your voice was full of emotion, and it was hard for you to manage it enough to get the words out. But it had to be said. Your tears quickly turned into a steady stream flowing down your cheeks as you began to break down in your senses. The floodgates had opened, and all the hurt you had felt, all the sadness you had felt and all the pent-up feelings had just been released. Law couldn’t hold it back anymore. He let out a muffled cry as he rushed forward and hugged you as tightly as he could. Law kept his hold tight around you as he buried his head into your shoulder. Your words hurt him. They really hurt him. He didn't want to give you some lame excuse, but the harder he tried to come up with something, the more he realised that his reason was just plain stupid.

“I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…” he said it again and again, his voice slowly becoming even more muffled as he became even more emotional. His heart raced as he remembered all of his own emotions. He was scared. He was scared that you would hate him. Scared that you would never forgive him. Scared to hear your response to his apology. He was scared of…well, a lot of things. He wanted to speak, though; he wanted to explain his stupid behaviour.

Law still couldn’t get the words out, though, as a few more tears streamed down his face. All he could do right now was cling to you as he continued to mutter his apologies. He was scared that you were going to reject him. After a decade of no response, you must despise him. His mind was in a frenzy. It was filled with an ungodly amount of fears and regrets. He hated himself. He should have written back all that time ago. He should have talked to you. He shouldn’t have made you feel so alone. For someone that everyone regarded as intelligent, he felt so stupid. Stupid for not writing back. Stupid for ignoring you. He was foolish for thinking he didn’t have time. Everything just felt so silly and pointless. He was probably the worst soulmate in the entire world. He couldn’t even imagine how much you must hate him for his actions. What a horrible person he was. This is why he never wrote back. He didn't deserve you. He didn't deserve anyone.

Your words sounded broken through muffled sobs as you clung to him and buried your head in his shoulder. “I-i thought you didn’t exist, I-i thought I didn't have anyone…”

Law froze at your words as they hit him like another spear to the heart. The years of silence, the years of false hope. All that wasted time. He was fully aware that he had been thoughtless by disregarding your emotions. But hearing you say it just broke his heart even more. He squeezed you tightly as he tried to suppress his pain. “I’m so sorry…I-”

He was an idiot. He shouldn’t have let this go on so long. He shouldn’t have been so stupid. He should have just listened to his heart and written back. He didn’t want to admit it, but he loved your silly doodles. But he was afraid. He was scared of rejection and convinced that no one could love him. “Please forgive me…I…I…” Law could barely finish. He prayed to every possible god that you could forgive him for his stupidity. He continued to sob into your shoulder, squeezing you as tightly as he could as he repeated his apology. He hoped to god that there was still a chance at forgiveness. He prayed that you could forgive him. Because right now, he could barely stand for how much of an idiot he had been. All this time, he had thought you would be better off without him, so he never wrote back, but all he had done was sabotage himself. He had deprived himself of years' worth of conversations. Years worth of love.

“…I was so afraid you’d hate me, t-that I was…” Law choked out as the last words left his mouth. All the guilt all of the regret came crashing down over him. He felt weak. He felt so damn…stupid. This whole time, he had convinced himself that he was okay with being apart from you. That all of this didn’t matter to him. But at this moment, his whole world came crashing down. You were real. You were his soulmate. And he had made a fool out of himself by avoiding you all these years. He felt sick. He had lost an entire decade of potential happiness all because he was an idiotic, scared little brat. But now, you were real. You were real and in his arms.

“I thought…that I was too broken. I thought that there was no way that you could ever love someone like me. And I was so…” Law broke down again, finally saying the words he had been dying to say all this time. Words he had been denying for a very long time. “I just thought you would deserve someone so much…better…I’d bring you trouble” Law’s grip loosened up slightly, but his arms still wrapped tightly around you as he continued to bury his face into your shoulder. “I…I thought that I didn’t deserve you. I…I‘m not a good person. So, I thought I was doing both of us a favour by not…not writing back. I was going to protect you from myself” He could barely manage to get the words out as fresh tears streamed down his face. It might have seemed like a weak excuse, but it was the truth.

“I-I know I've been the world's biggest idiot, but…the longer I avoided it, the harder it was to write anything. I didn’t even know how I could face you after…after all of this time. I was scared of what you’d say. I thought you’d probably hate-“ His breath hitched. He hated that he had been so afraid. He regretted that he had not given you a chance. He was now aware that as a consequence of this, he might end up losing something he never got the opportunity even to experience.

“It’s okay…” you suddenly said as you held back any more tears, interrupting the torrent of words about to erupt from Law’s mouth. You paused momentarily and leaned back to meet his gaze as you spoke. “It’s okay…you’re here now.”

Law froze as you interrupted him, and those two simple words hit him like a brick to the head. He had been so scared and so worried but...it was okay? You didn’t hate him-no you forgave him. You had found it in you to forgive him even though he had kept away from you for years. Even though he was the one who refused to write you even a single word, you had forgiven him? It was unbelievable. You were still standing there, holding onto him as tightly as he was holding onto you. Law didn't understand. He held onto you with the same intensity, trying to take in the weight of your forgiveness. He was utterly flabbergasted, he shouldn’t have been this surprised. You were just that type of person, you just forgave, and you just accepted. You were a genuine, good person to the very core. It was too much for Law though. He was used to harsh words, not forgiveness. He was used to being hated by most people and not being accepted. He found it difficult to cope with the situation.

Law’s grip loosened slightly, and he began to sob harder. He felt weak, and this was the most weak he had felt in a long time. He was supposed to be strong, but now he was breaking down. He was supposed to be able to take on all of this stress, but he couldn’t. He had no control, and he despised it. “H-how can you?…”Law’s lips were trembling as he tried to get a proper grasp on himself. He couldn’t believe you had forgiven him. Law was supposed to be some irredeemable, evil bastard, yet here he was, having the kindest, most gentle person he had ever known forgive him. He felt his entire body go limp. Tears were pouring down his face at the sudden onslaught of forgiveness. It just all became too much for him. He had been expecting to be hated, hated for the past decade of silence. But it was forgiveness instead. He felt his heart beat rapidly in his chest as he suddenly tightened his grip on you as hard as he could. “W-why are you being so nice to me? I mean, I don't even deserve your kindness…”

“Shhh…” you whispered as your arms wrapped around him as tight as they could. You weren’t going to let him self-deprecate. He’d spent the last decade hating himself and living in regret. You were going to fix that right here, right now. You were going to make sure that he knew what he deserved. And you were going to start by not letting him say any more bad things about himself.

“H-how can you forgive me…after everything? It’s not fair to you…” Law struggled to hold back his emotions as he attempted to protest.

“Because I have spent years believing that I didn't have a soulmate, and now, you're finally here, and it all feels worth it” You gave him a gentle smile as you pulled away slightly and wiped away the last of your tears. You felt like this moment was surreal, and the thought of rejecting him had never even crossed your mind. He was your soulmate, after all.

Law pulled back slightly too, his gaze fixed on you. And when he saw your smile, he felt warmth wash over him. His heartbeat slowed, and he finally felt he could breathe properly again. So this was it. He had finally found what he had been missing all this time - a person whom he could honestly care for and who reciprocated that same level of care. It was more than just a soulmate; it was a connection that had been absent from his life until now. He never even imagined this feeling. It was truly something else. And yet…he spent a decade afraid of this. He spent over a decade avoiding this feeling. He spent so much time, a decade's worth of time, just avoiding something that he always wanted despite telling himself the very concept was absurd. It was unbelievable, and it was downright moronic. But now here he was, with his soulmate. He was so happy, but at the same time, just so full of regret. But he didn’t want to focus on the past anymore. He spent enough time being alone. All that mattered was now.

Law slowly loosened up as his grip on you also loosened. He let out a deep, long sigh. he felt tired, but in the best way possible. It had been so long since he had felt this calm, this…serenity. His heart rate was finally stabilising, and though his breathing was still heavy, he was finally recovering. He took a gentle hold of your hand. He looked into your eyes and smiled. Law was finally done with it; he was finally done with letting the past rule him. He was finally done with letting his insecurities control him, and he was finally done letting the fear of others influence his every action. With this realisation came an entirely genuine smile. He had never really given much thought to his expression, but now it was the most genuine smile he had ever worn. It wasn't fake or forced. It was his natural smile, and he was finally free to let that be. The wave of relief and catharsis he had felt washed over him. It was the best feeling in the entire world...

Law continued to stare into your eyes as he lightly squeezed her hand. He felt at peace. At peace with himself, and at peace with life. Life didn't seem so cruel anymore, and neither did he. He was ready for anything life threw at him now. He just needed to know that you would stick around with him through all of it. Law gently squeezed your hand one more time before he spoke. He was never usually the talkative or the emotional type, but this whole interaction had brought those qualities straight to the surface. Now, he didn't mind talking just a bit more. He wanted to. “y/n…I…I have to ask…”

You smiled and nodded your head reassuringly. There was nothing he could say that would be off-limits. Law could ask you anything he wanted to ask. You had to know his heart before you went any further, right?

He looked you in the eyes as he took a deep breath before continuing. “y/n, could…could you really learn to love me despite all of this? Despite all of the stupid, idiotic actions I've made?” Law was almost afraid of the answer you might give. Would you still care about him if you knew even half the horrible things he had done? And what about everything else about him? What about his past? His personality? His actions? Everything about him was a mess. But…you were his soulmate, weren't you? So, if anyone had the potential to love him for who he was, it would be you.

You already knew the answer to his question, but you took a moment to consider the most effective way to express it. Eventually, you just decided to answer with complete honesty. “…I’ve been waiting years to speak to you. Years to find out who you are…wondering what you look like, what kind of person you are, what your favourite foods are, if you prefer morning or night…” you softly chuckled. “And I would love nothing more than to get to know every little thing about you….” Gently, you whispered your final words, and a faint rosy hue appeared on your cheeks “to fall in love with you…”

Your answer made him smile, and his grip on your hand tightened just the slightest bit. Your words were reassuring, but at the same time, he expected nothing else coming from you. It was a comforting feeling, knowing that someone accepted him. Someone who would even go as far as spending time with him to get to know him. To even consider the possibility of loving him. His cheeks blushed as he felt the warmth wash over his face after hearing your words. “…I-I like onigiri…and I’m more of a night owl than a morning person.” Law softly chuckled; he felt silly, and his cheeks were now a light shade of red. This was all so foreign to him, this light...affection...he could almost get used to it. Law's lips slowly began to form a warm smile. He clasped your hand and softly ran his thumb over your skin. He wasn't sure if you could tell, but this was the happiest he had felt in years.

#one piece #one piece x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #soulmate au

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