Have you ever wanted to enter the one piece world? Maybe you want to be friends with the strawhats, or the heart pirates? Perhaps you'd rather be dating one of them, or all of them!! Here you can do that, feel free to send in requests in my request...
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A/N: no no don't panic, your eyes aren't tricking you, I really uploaded.. finally!! Um yeah, had a lot of writers block with this one for some reason?? Anyway! Love modern au's because, it means I can ooc Law a little bit!! So enjoy!
The high from your last album still lingered, but the edges were already fading. It wasn't that you were ungrateful, far from it. You loved what you did. Writing music was your way of breathing, but after a few whirlwind months of press, performances, and watching the same three singles top the charts, you couldn't shake the quiet itch.
You'd always wanted to try something new. Something that felt like a gamble. So when your manager sat you down one quiet afternoon and slid a folder across the table, you were already leaning forward before he even spoke.
You were focused on the folder in front of you, matte black, inside was a neatly clipped proposal with a name you hadn't expected to see. 'Trafalgar Law'. Your eyes skimmed the first page again, but the words hadn't changed. A collaboration request.
"He wants to work with me?" you asked quietly, glancing up at your manager. "He does". He leaned back in his chair, hands folded loosely in his lap. "It came from his team. He reached out first".
You tilted your head, slowly. "Does he... even know who I am?". "I'd assume so" your manager replied. "This wasn't a mass request. It was specific to you".
Your fingers tapped against the folder's edge. The idea itself wasn't bad, Law was undeniably talented. His lyrics were raw and intelligent, his sound moody and sharp edged, always cutting deep enough to leave a mark, but he wasn't known for collaborations.
There wasn't much to go off either, no networking. He barely even showed up at awards or events. Most of what people knew about him came from his music and the short, clipped answers he gave in interviews, if he gave them at all.
"He's kind of... abrasive" you muttered. "He's a little intense, yes", your manager agreed, "but he's smart, and he makes objectively good music". You hesitated.
Your last release had done incredibly well. Your name was still floating high on playlists and charts, and you were just thinking how you were hungry for the next thing. You didn't want to be predictable, and with this offer, you didn't have to.. Still...
"My fans might not like it", you murmured. "His image isn't exactly, well, you know". "Maybe, but they don't know anything yet" your manager said simply. "And we'll keep it that way until you decide". You gave a small nod, more to yourself than him, and pulled the folder a little closer.
That night, curled up on your side in bed, beneath the covers, you opened Twitter. You'd typed his name into the search bar and were met with the usual chaos of stan accounts, aesthetic edits, viral clips of past performances, and a healthy number of memes, but you weren't looking for fans.
