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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

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Bend Until You Break ~ Part 1

Thank you for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup for a Yandere!Law that the Reader goes to for help with a serious health condition, only for Law to take a liking to her... I swear I will write sweet Law one of these days, but for now please enjoy Yandere!Law. This contains !!DARK CONTENT!! so please check the warnings, and skip this one if it may be triggering or uncomfortable for you. This one's for us hypermobile baddies out there. 🥄

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 2679

Ao3 Link

Summary: You have struggled with mystery pains and injuries for most of your life, and had resigned yourself to suffer after every doctor told you there was nothing wrong. But when a world renowned doctor/pirate comes to town to offer aid in exchange for supplies, you decide to give hope one more chance. Maybe you'll finally find a doctor you can trust.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush)

A/N: This chapter is SFW, but I'm adding in many tags to start out with since this mini series will contain heavy/dark content. PLEASE heed the tags, and do not read this fic if you aren't comfortable with these topics. Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional. Hopefully you'll have better luck than Reader 🙄

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.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Welcome to my frustration with the health care system 😅

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel

Part 2

#cw dark content #cw yandere #cw doctors #trafalgar law smut #eventual smut #trafalgar law x reader #one piece smut #reader insert #fem!reader #x reader #turtletaub fics #one piece x reader #trafalgar law fanfiction #fic requests #use of y/n #cw chronic pain #cw medical #smut

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discord-emote-customs · 3 months

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I love your emotes and I really like the self care/ heath ones! I was wondering if you could do some like:

"Take your meds" person holding pill bottle in 1 hand and pills in other hand (neutral or positive face)

"Brush your teeth" person brushing teeth or just holding toothbrush

take your meds & brush your teeth emotes ! both with and w/o text !! ^^

#custom emoji #custom emojis #custom emote #custom emotes #discord emoji #discord emojis #discord emote #discord emotes #free to use #brush your teeth #self care #take your meds #medicine #medication #tw medication #tw meds mention #tw medicine #cw medication #cw medicine

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lulublack90 · 2 months

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Prompt 4 - Avada Kedavra

@wolfstarmicrofic March 4, word count 215

Cw- medicated drug use to deal with grief

“Avada Kedavra!” Those words repeated over and over in his head as he watched Sirius die again and again. He hadn’t slept for more than a few hours for weeks. And then it wasn’t peaceful sleep. Sirius haunted his every living moment.

Twelve years, they’d been parted, and now, just as they were getting back on track, Sirius was gone from him forever.

That curse had done so much bad in his life. Marlene, Benji, Lily, James and now Sirius. Sirius, who’d been locked up in Azkaban only to be locked up again in the house that held so many terrible memories for him. He’d traded one prison for another.

He looked up at Sirius’s star.

“I really hope you’re free now, Sirius. Say hi to James and Lily for me.” He let out a sob as he roughly wiped the tears from his face. “I love you. I miss you so much it’s killing me. I wish you were here.”

He stared up at the sky until the light of the coming dawn wiped the stars from the sky. He downed a vial of dreamless sleep and let his body collapse on the bed he’d shared with the love of his life while the rest of the house began waking up for the day.

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar fic #wolfstar angst #remus lupin #sirius black #dead gay wizards #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #remus and sirius #sirius and remus #harry potter #the marauders #sad remus #cw medicated drug use to deal with grief #avada kedavra

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ickyguts · 10 months

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fucked up edgy ass fanart for a concept I have (I want to do a comic for it at some point!)

CW DRUG USE:

The idea is that on days where Flippy is particularly on edge (losing his grip on fliqpy and afraid he's gunna hurt someone), Flippy resorts to taking a bunch of his sleep aid/painkillers to sedate him.

Fliqpy sits like this for the next few hours, confused, fucked up, and out of it.

#wont spoil much but its a hurt/comfort flippaky comic #flaky doesnt know abt fliqpy #flippy feels immensely guilty for keeping that part of him secret and feels as though flaky deserves the truth #but at the same time he is TERRIFIED because he doesnt even know what fliqpy is or how to even bring it up #i want to rant about it so so so much <3 #ill leave it at that tho #htf flippy #htf fliqpy #htf #happy tree friends #cw drug use #flippy has painkillers for the nerve damage in his hands lol #and sleep medication cus obviously #this plot im making means a lot to me but im not gunna say why #i just want flaky and flip/fliq to overcome hardships and be happy #also YIPPE I REACHED 100 FOLLOWERS!!#Ty yall ilysm #ill make a post abt it later

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twothpaste · 1 month

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cervidae thoughts

#cw: blood #2thpaints #did you know antler stem cells may one day be used as a medical treatment to promote rapid wound healing and bone regeneration #i just thought that was neat

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disabledunitypunk · 10 months

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Screenshot below:

[Image ID: A tumblr post with the username cut off which reads "i mean this in the gentlest way possible: you need to eat vegetables. you need to become comfortable with doing so. i do not care if you are a picky eater because of autism (hi, i used to be this person!), you need to find at least some vegetables you can eat. find a different way to prepare them. chances are you would like a vegetable you hate if you prepared it in a stew or roasted it with seasoning or included it as an ingredient in a recipe. just. please start eating better. potatoes and corn are not sufficient vegetables for a healthy diet." /end ID]

No. Just no.

You don't HAVE TO do anything. ARFID is called an EATING DISORDER for a reason. What's it going to take to get it through your heads that some people cannot, under ANY circumstances, eat certain foods because of their neuroDISABILITIES. It's almost like disabilities of the brain can still make you NOT ABLE to do things!

You also have no moral obligation to be healthy. Healthism is one of the fundamental pillars of ableism. Health is a personal choice that must be fully, enthusiastically consensual (which does not mean you can mumble-grumble about the steps it takes to get there or have complex feelings that include resentment about the process or what caused the unhealthiness in the first place).

The "hi, I used to be this person!" is, get this, ALSO ABLEISM. Like good job, you had the ability to do something with effort that some people with your same disability can never do! Something that, might I add, you had no obligation to do but chose to because YOU either wanted it or were unfairly pressured to. Plus, the narrative of "you can overcome your disabilities if you try hard enough" is incredibly insidious even in disabled communities (in my experience, especially so in neurodivergent communities, but I'll also add my experiences aren't universal).

Just, everything about this post reeks of ableism. A "hey, if you're wanting to eat more veggies but can't because of sensory issues, these ways of preparing them might make them edible for you!" would have reached MORE people and accomplished more than... all of that.

I'd also like to add: healthism is how you get involuntary psychiatric holds for even people who are self-harming or using substances as a form of harm reduction. Healthism is how you get psychiatric and medical abuse that forces or manipulates you onto meds you do consent to being on (including coerced consent, as that is not consent).

Healthism and ableism both is why insurances and doctors require you to go to physical therapy to "get better" before even considering prescribing a mobility aid because "what if the mobility aid has health consequences when PT could 'fix' you?" Healthism is responsible for "do no harm" stopping at bodily harm and not taking a holistic, whole-person approach to making sure disabled people have a good quality of life.

Healthism is also a primary driver of fatphobia and to a lesser extent, medical intersexism. There is a normative idea of what "health" even is, one that is often incorrect and based in bigotry, that means deviations from that norm get blamed for any symptoms a person expresses while actual causes are ignored. "Corrective" measures are forced are many people who neither want nor need them to be healthy.

Healthism aims to make people more abled (or at least more able to conform to abled standards) without regard for their quality of life, personal wishes, or even consent. It is directly responsible for medical abuse.

It is also responsible for medical neglect, in that if you *can't* pursue a treatment option, doctors will often refuse to explore other treatments. Instead, they assume you're simply lazy and don't want to get better, and are therefore a waste of their time.

("Can't" here includes 'is technically possible but the consequences of doing so make you as sick or sicker/in as much or more pain/as or more disabled than not doing anything at all.)

Often there's another treatment option that would work just fine. Sometimes there's no viable option, and GOOD treatment then becomes exploring how to still live as fulfilling a life as possible with the condition untreated. Sometimes it's only possible to manage a disability that is usually fully possible to send into remission. There's a wide spectrum of experiences here.

But the most important thing is: what do YOU want for your body? Will conforming to standards of "health" help you feel happier and live a more preferable life for you? Will the requirements in the process of becoming "healthy" end up just making you sicker or more disabled in one way or another?

Also, are there access barriers or direct obstacles caused by your disability in the way of seeking the health outcomes you want? Are those outcomes not possible because of your disabilities, and if so, is healthy OR helpful to keep pushing yourself past your limits or trying and failing to do so? Have you made sure this is what YOU want, and not what you feel pressured into doing*?

*(Reminder to BELIEVE PEOPLE if they say it is what they want. We respect autonomy above all here.)

I've talked about this before, but recovery is about what YOU want and are able to do. There are no milestones you have to make or requirements you have to meet. It's okay to be unhealthy. Often, disability means you don't have a choice in the matter, and moralizing health is therefore moralizing disability.

It contributes to the myth that disability and chronic illness especially is a result of "bad choices", and especially the culturally christian idea that it is a "punishment" for "sinful behaviors" and "righteous behaviors" will be rewarded with the person becoming abled again.

As I said above, remember: Autonomy above all. What matters, first, foremost, and forever, is what each disabled individual wants. Helping other disabled people with tools to reach their desired bodily and psychiatric outcomes? Yes!! Do that!!

Disabled people don't owe anyone health, though, and certainly not standards of health that may make us sicker or more disabled than simply not conforming to them.

#ableism #healthism #intersexism #fatphobia #disability #culturally christian #recovery #neurodisability #eating disorder #ARFID #just another reminder that if YOU want to recover and be healthier we FULLY support you #this is about respecting people's autonomy and not moralizing or forcing 'health' on anyone #I also would welcome commentary on how healthism interacts with medical racism as that's not something I have experience with #cw medical abuse #cw psych abuse #cw medical neglect #cw self harm #cw substance use

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a-totally-reasonable-username · 6 months

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The realization that healthy people do not spend their life wishing they had a disability or illness that would grant them a wheelchair, because a wheelchair would make their life a lot easier

#if a mobility aid helps you #you are not healthy #healthy people do not benefit from mobilty aids #i used to think i was healthy (bc everyone told me so) so i had no reason to want mobility aids 'just because they'd make my life easier'#learning now that's not how it works #if you benefit from mobility aids #use them #chronic illness #disability #disabled #chronically ill #cripple punk #mobility aids #cw: medical gaslighting #tumblr

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midnight-moth · 4 months

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Thank you everyone for being so sweet to me.

I’m sorry I’m just gonna rant a little more. Also please don’t feel obligated to read my shit. I know everyone is going through their own things and I don’t mean to trigger anyone or make people feel obligated to use their mental energy to make me feel better. I just need to put it all some where.

The diagnosis is long covid, so nice of them to email me my chart so I can try to explain to my work why I’m fucking brain dead. he said will cause brain fog, worsened preexisting conditions like anxiety and depression along with a whole bunch of other stuff.

he was just like shrug we don’t know what causes it yet, work with your non existent family doctor to manage your symptoms. I also apparently have stage 1 hypertension which he thinks is stress related. My white blood cells are super high which is the covid … hopefully. Another thing to bring to my non-existent doctor.

I mean, I guess I’m glad my death is not imminent but I feel extremely frustrated and sad. I wore the masks I got all the vaccines I’m basically a hermit. But I know that doesn’t really matter. I just really did not need this on top of everything else. I don’t know how I’m supposed to work full time and do all the things I need to do when I feel like this. And he told me to manage my stress. Okay sir. How?

2024 what the fucking fuck. It’s only been 3 days.

#also my hand hurts cause the phlebotomist sucks #i told her to use a butterfly needle #it already hurts in the hand damn it give me the baby needle #cw rant #cw medical stuff #cw needles

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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

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Bend Until You Break ~ Part 3

Thank you so much for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup !!🖤

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 3208

Ao3 Link

Summary: Law gives you the choice to go against your doctor's recommendations as you begin your recovery. Are you clear headed enough to make the right choice?

A/N: I hate hospitals 😩 But for Law I might make an exception... Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional.

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.

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I'm having so much fun 😈

Part 4

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