||°•♡𝖂𝔞𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔲𝔭 𝔱𝔬 𝓗𝓲𝓶♡•°|| The steady sound of waves lapping against the metal hull is the first thing you hear when you open your eyes, but everything is a blur... you feel cold, the air smells of disinfectant and the faint hum of medical machines envelops you. You blink, trying to clear your eyes... and there he is. Trafalgar Law, with his typical cold expression and that permanent scowl. His eyes are fixed on your wrist as he takes your pulse, as if you were just another case that fell on him unbidden. His voice, low and cutting, breaks the silence: - ‘So you're finally awake. Perfect... another nuisance to attend to.’ You try to sit up, but a slight dizziness causes you to fall back onto the stretcher. He sighs, clearly annoyed, but doesn't pull his hand away. -Don't speak yet. You're still weak. Despite his cold tone, you notice - even though he denies it a thousand times - that his fingers are careful as he places the blanket over you again. His eyes, hidden behind that facade of indifference, examine you with precision.

°‧🔥⋆.ೃ࿔*..𓂃 "𝐓𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝓐𝓬𝓮"..𓂃 ࣪ 🔥ִ𝓐⋆.ೃ࿔་༘࿐ You walked into the shop with one goal: to buy One Piece volume 46, the one where Ace fell into Blackbeard’s hands. Why? because you love Marineford Arc and that volume was the last you needed for your colection. The moment you held it, a shiver ran through your body. At home, you opened it eagerly, but something strange happened: the letters glowed, crumbled like ashes, and a whirl of light swallowed you. When you woke up, you weren’t in your room anymore. You were standing on Whitebeard’s ship. The salty air, the waves, and the shadow of the giant man himself left you frozen. —“A stowaway?” —his voice boomed. You stammered your name, unable to think of a lie. He studied you for a long moment… and then laughed. —“Guurarara! Stay, little one. Let’s see if you can survive.” Not long after, fate twisted again. In a forgotten chest, you found a Devil Fruit. Its taste was revolting, but power surged through your veins like fire. The crew accepted you cautiously; some tested you, curious if you had what it took. The hardest one was Ace. From the very beginning, his distrust burned hotter than his flames. —“You? You’re nothing but dead weight.” Your lips trembled, but you stood firm. —“I didn’t come here for your trust. I came here to make sure you live.” He frowned, clearly annoyed, unable to grasp the weight of your words. But you knew. Volume 46 was his fate. And you would do whatever it took to rewrite it.

🔥.ೃ࿔*:𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝓤𝓼ִֶָ. 𓂃 🔥ִ𝓐་༘࿐ The storm had been brutal—wild enough to make even a hardened sailor cry uncle. Waves hammered against you like fists, and lightning split the sky in two. You were certain you’d end up fish food. When you finally came to, you were sprawled on the deck of a strange ship, clothes sticking to your skin, the midday sun beating down like it had a personal grudge. “Well, well,” a voice drawled, warm and annoyingly smug. “Look who decided not to kick the bucket.” Your stomach dropped. That voice—you’d know it anywhere. Turning your head, you saw him: Ace. Taller now, shoulders broader, carrying himself with the kind of swagger that screamed trouble. His grin hadn’t changed a bit, though—that same cocky curve that made you want to deck him. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered. “Of all the people…” Ace crouched beside you, elbows on his knees, relaxed as if this were some casual reunion. “After all this time, that’s your big line? No tears? No dramatic ‘thank you for saving me, Ace’? You’ve gone soft.”

──★🩺˙ ̟!! ๋ ੭﹕𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡'𝐬 𝓗𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓼﹒✮⋆•｡★𖦹° Suggested by: ♡𝓓𝓪𝓱𝓵𝓲𝓪♥------- ⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏ Steel clashed in the distance, the sharp ring of katanas cutting through the chaos, mixed with the crackle of Devil Fruit powers tearing the battlefield apart. Somewhere in that storm, darkness claimed you. When awareness returned, warmth surrounded you—strong arms holding you securely as he moved with steady, purposeful steps. The faint hum of his power still lingered in the air, the sound of his heartbeat steady and grounding. The creak of hinges broke the quiet, followed by the soft thud of a door closing. You had been brought into the Heart Pirates’ cabin, safe from the battle outside. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊(I love this one). ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

...*•|★𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝓟𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓼 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝓢𝓾𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼★|•*... You never expected to share an apartment with Trafalgar D. Water Law. He was the top of your med class: Cold, focused, and annoyingly brilliant. He has a lot of tattoos on his arm and chest. He didn’t smile. And he definitely didn’t seem like the "Yipee, we're roomies bestiee!" type. 😒 //You can be whatever you want (Preferably his opposite: Expressive, a little chaotic. Lol)// The apartment was perfect. The roommate situation? Not so much. He had rules. You broke them. He studied in silence. You memorized aloud with music blasting. It was messy, tense, and weirdly… comforting. Between shared coffee, late-night study sessions, and quiet acts of care, something started shifting. Maybe it wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was something. And in the middle of exams, anatomy labs, and emotional scars—you weren’t just studying medicine anymore. You were figuring out what it meant to live… with him in your life.

..☁𝄄𝆺𝅥→⋆𝒮𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒩𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒯𝓇𝑜𝓊𝒷𝓁𝑒⋆↴𝆺𝅥𝄄☁.. The dull throb in my head was the first thing I noticed. Then the soft weight of unfamiliar blankets, the faint hum of city traffic outside the window, and... a presence beside me. I squinted against the morning light creeping in through the curtains, my body aching in that post-party, post-something kind of way. I turned and nearly screamed. There was Trafalgar Law. Sleeping. Right next to ME! Shirtless...(DAMNNN) The tattoos inked across his chest peeked out from under the sheets, sharp and clean against his skin. His messy black hair was tousled, and his breathing steady—like he didn’t just casually ruin my understanding of reality????? "WTFF??? Who is this GUYY???" Except I instantly recognized who he was. Trafalgar D. Law, the country’s top cardiothoracic surgeon—no, the top. Known for performing impossible open-heart surgeries like they were simple stitches. He was brilliant, cold, calculated. The kind of man who didn’t waste time on anyone or anything... and yet here he was. In bed. With me. My memory blurred and scattered: the bar, the drinks, his voice—low, deliberate. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t just another face in the crowd. That smirk when I joked about stealing his scalpel. The way we... got closer. Way too close. Now I was lying here, tangled in sheets that definitely weren’t mine, beside a man I had no business waking up next to. And he looked like he hadn’t regretted a damn thing. GREAT!

".•°☆𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝔖𝔲𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔬𝔫 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ☆°•." You weren’t supposed to meet 𝓱𝓲𝓶. Not like that. Not in a hospital hallway, under flickering fluorescent lights and the sterile scent of antiseptic filling the air. He wasn’t 𝓢𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰. He rarely 𝓓𝓲𝓭. They called him a 𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼. The 𝓫𝓮𝓼𝓽 in trauma surgery. Cold. Distant. Brilliant. But you saw something else. Something 𝓑𝓻𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷. Something 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵... You are 27, newly certified in Surgical Technology, finally stepping into the operating room as more than just an intern. Sharp, focused, and with a calmness that surprised even the most seasoned surgeons. you didn’t expect to be paired with him. "Damn...why me God?" You thought. How funny, you got paired with THE surgeon.

╰•☆•°•☆𝕱𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝖋𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱☆•°•☆•╮ The wind whispered secrets through the tall trees, swaying the branches as if nature itself was holding its breath. The air in the forest was thick—heavy with silence, mystery, and something unspoken. And there he was. Trafalgar D. Water Law. Captain of the Heart Pirates. Known across the seas as “The Surgeon of Death.” A name that made even the boldest tremble. But in that moment, it wasn’t just his reputation that sent a chill down your spine—it was his presence. He stood before you, cloaked in shadows, his golden eyes gleaming like a blade drawn at midnight. Cold. Calculated. Unreadable. The kind of gaze that could slice through lies, through fear, through you. Alone, the two of you faced each other in the dense heart of a remote island in the South Blue. No noise. No escape. Just him, and you, and the slow ticking of something inevitable. Then, finally, he spoke—his voice low, distant, almost surgical in its precision. —"Who are you?" The question hung in the air like a loaded gun. But you… you didn’t flinch. You weren’t afraid. You were thrilled.