#penguin fanfic

[cherienymphe]

Birds of Prey

Carmine Falcone x Reader

Warnings: DUB-CON, age gap (reader is around Sofia and Alberto's age), power imbalance, implied stalking, mentions of organized crime

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @whimsicalrogers

summary: Carmine Falcone doesn't believe there's anything in Gotham he can't have—and you like to pretend that doesn't include you.

⭑

“The boss wants to see you.”

A familiar deep voice reached your ears, coming face to face with one of the many bouncers at the club when you looked over your shoulder. Your jaw took a break as you stopped chewing, your minty breath reaching your nose as you exhaled and frowned. It wasn’t too long ago that you’d just talked to Oz, and similar words left your mouth, confusion filling you on what he could possibly need to talk about.

“Not Oz,” was all Kenzie said, and you pressed your lips together.

Oh.

“...oh.”

You hadn’t even realized that the dark haired man—your actual boss—was here tonight, and you swallowed, inadvertently swallowing your gum. You ignored the way your heart stuttered, and you folded the tips you’d previously been counting before sliding them into your boot. The way Kenzie lingered told you that he was meant to be escorting you, and with a small sigh, you forced yourself to your feet. 

You clearly wouldn’t have the time you wanted to yourself to mentally prepare to talk to Carmine Falcone tonight. 

It wasn’t that you disliked the man—no more than you disliked any of the other corrupted men in this city. In fact, you’d say that he was pretty okay in your eyes, but he was just so intimidating. You supposed it was natural, after all. He was rich and powerful and practically owned the city, and being in close proximity to someone like that—without the flashing lights and loud unintelligible music—made you all too aware of not only just your shortcomings but also the huge imbalance that filled the room whenever it was just the two of you.

Kenzie made no move to step out of the elevator with you when it opened, and the heels of your shoes clicked against the floor when you stepped into the loft. The elevator doors closing sounded so loud to your ears for some reason, and aside from the low hum of music playing in the space, the only sound that could be heard was your heels. 

At least until you heard the snap of billiard balls hitting each other.

Your heart jumped at the confirmation that he was in here, and despite your reservations, you picked up the pace, determined to get this over with. You’d been in his loft a handful of times, most especially when you first started working at the 44 Below and he wanted to know how well you were adjusting. It was always coincidentally when you’d just finished a shift, boots full of the money you’d gotten from eager customers with their hands out for Drops. You suspected that Mr. Falcone hadn’t quite trusted you just yet then, recalling the way he sometimes counted your loot thrice.

Now, however, only a few years later, things were different…

“How were things tonight?”

It wasn’t an unusual way to be greeted, Mr. Falcone concerned with the money and business before all else. He hadn’t even looked up from his game as he spoke to you, those dark shades of his no doubt hiding a very intense gaze.

“Things were good,” you told him, bending down to reach into your left boot. “I only really had trouble from maybe two guys, but-.”

“Who?”

The sudden question threw you off, and you looked up from your knelt position to see that he was standing straight now, game forgotten as he held the pool stick in hand. Your eyes were briefly distracted by the glint of the gold ring on his pinky, and you forced yourself to remember that he wanted a response.

“I didn’t… They weren’t regulars,” you said, standing. “I think they came with someone else, and we just had a brief back and forth about the price.”

You were quick in handing the money to him, and you watched him count it. He didn’t really make a habit of asking you about your shifts anymore, so you didn’t think this was all he wanted. In fact, you were sure of that, and that made you nervous. Carmine Falcone wasn’t the kind of guy to concern himself with the likes of you just because. If it wasn’t about business then it was about pleasure, and you had never talked to the man about anything that wasn’t business.

The silence between you stretched and despite the fact that there were so many things you needed to do tonight before it got too late, you didn’t dare rush him. Not only was the man the reason you even had a job, but he just wasn’t the kind of man you rushed. You waited on him, and you watched him nod as he took his time in counting the last few bills from what you’d been able to sell.

“Not bad,” he praised in that low voice of his, and you sent him a small tight lipped smile.

You wondered if he could see how nervous you were and decided to put you out of your misery.

“I talked to Oz earlier,” he began, getting straight into it, pocketing the money. “He said that he gave you some extra money for rent.”

Of all the things that this could be about, that was at the very bottom of the list for you and truthfully…it shouldn’t have been. You shakily exhaled, feeling his eyes on you through those shades, and you briefly looked away. You didn’t even know how you became a topic of conversation between them, and some part of you wanted to curse Oz for putting you into this position. 

You knew exactly why Mr. Falcone was bringing this up with you.

“It’s not what you think,” you hurried to say, shrugging and waving your hand. “I asked him about any extra shifts and because there aren’t any, he offered me cash instead.”

The tall man slowly started to make his way around the pool table, and you were quick to get your next words out.

“It’s just a loan. I’m paying him back…”

“With what money?”

You snapped your lips together, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t say I was paying him back tomorrow,” you eventually mumbled.

“I think Oz would prefer it if you paid him back never.”

Your eyes found the floor at that, hating the truth in his words and especially hating the predicament you found yourself in. You wondered if the other man knew what he was doing when he told Mr. Falcone about what he’d done, and while you liked to think that Oz was just some blundering idiot, sometimes he seemed a lot more calculated than people gave him credit for.

“Oz knows that it’s not like that, and…besides, if he did then I would just give the money back.”

The dark-haired man before you didn’t respond to that at first. Instead, all that met you was a small change in expression, and you watched the way the corner of his mouth lifted. It was the closest thing to a smile you’d ever see on his face when he wasn’t talking to his daughter. He turned away from you, and you kept your eyes on him as he made his way to his bar.

“...and then how would you pay your rent?” he wondered. “This is still the same landlord, I presume.”

He presumed correctly, and you were reminded of a similar conversation months ago. The only sound that could be heard was alcohol flowing from one glass container to another. When he approached you with a clear glass of brown liquor, you hesitantly took it, feeling pressured to do so even if only to be polite. You could feel him eyeing you, and you slowly took a small sip.

“Seems to me like Oz made you an offer you couldn’t refuse…”

“Mr. Falcone-.”

“...but you refused me just fine.”

“It’s…different,” was your only reply, and you looked up at him as he took a sip of his own drink.

“How so?” he asked in that way that reminded you a lot like a dad would ask their child.

“You’re my boss,” you said—a little loudly—and you couldn’t stop your incredulous chuckle.

“So is Oz.”

You rolled your eyes at that, briefly forgetting who you were talking to.

“Sure, yeah, but you’re my actual boss,” you elaborated. “Nothing against Oz, at all, but everyone knows he doesn’t really run anything. Nothing other than what you let him think he’s in charge of.”

He only took another sip, his gaze never leaving you, and you got the feeling that he wanted to see how far you’d go to explain why you’d take money from Oz and not from him.

“Oz can’t do anything without your okay, and that includes anything pertaining to my job. He’s not actually in charge of me,” you quietly finished. “You are, and…I can’t take money from you.”

You got the feeling that you were offending him—the same feeling you got months ago when your landlord decided to hike up the rent for no reason for the umpteenth time—and you didn’t know how to feel about that. Surely he could understand why taking money from Oz was wholly different from taking money from him. Needing something to distract yourself with, you took another sip, appreciating the slight burn in your throat.

“Different or not, I don’t want you taking any more money from Oz.”

Despite the fact that you had no plans of doing that, the finality in his tone made you bristle. You didn’t appreciate how he was choosing to prove you right, knowing that if you didn’t do as he said and he found out, your job could come into question. You could only nod, hating that this place was the safest place in Gotham to make the kind of money you were making with your credentials.

The older man moved closer to you, his free hand lifting to touch your chin, and you swallowed when he tilted your head up ever so slightly. His fingers on your skin made you shudder, and you wished that you were the naive girl you used to be. You wished that you didn’t know why being so close to him gave you goosebumps. You wished that you didn’t know why he was offended you wouldn't take his help. You wished that you didn’t know what this whole thing with Oz was really about.

“Is that understood?”

He wanted a verbal answer, and you softly exhaled.

“Yes, Mr. Falcone.”

“Look, doll,” Oz’s accent was thick as he followed you around the room. “I know you still got that good for nothing landlord, and you ain’t making any more now than you were a month ago.”

The club had long shut down for the night, but when you were one of the girls who had to stick around and clean up, it could take ages. You grabbed a half empty glass full of something that you were too scared to try and identify as the man beside you limped along with your even strides. There were no flashing lights and no loud music, so you had no choice but to engage in conversation with the man who’d done you a huge favor.

“I already told you, it was a loan,” you said to him, setting a tray of dirty glasses aside. “How am I supposed to ever pay you back if you keep bailing me out of trouble?”

You faced him now as you wondered this, and by the brief look that passed over Oz’s features, you knew that Mr. Falcone was correct in his assessment of the heavyset man. You’d known it then, and you swallowed down a sigh, feeling like you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. You were going to pay Oz back, that was the truth. Not just because you hated owing anyone anything and you wanted to, but also because you needed to. 

Just like your boss, Oz wanted something from you too, and he definitely felt more owed to it if he could hold a few measly hundred dollars over your head.

The gold in his mouth winked at you as he sent you what was meant to be a comforting grin. It only struck you as lecherous, and Oz shrugged.

“That’s not something we gotta worry about, right now. You can’t exactly show up for work if you’re out on the street, now can ya?”

You fixed Oz with an even stare, and the way his features dropped told you that he realized he wasn’t getting through to you. Even if you wanted to give into your desperation and take any more of his money, you couldn’t. Mr. Falcone had left no room for confusion, and you were more afraid of him than you ever would be of Oz. Oz just wasn’t a serious guy at all—which made you feel even shittier about accepting his money—and everything about your boss was very serious.

The way he moved, the way he talked, and the way he simply looked at people. He navigated his relationships with people with an asuredness that he couldn’t be touched, and he was so confident in it because it was true. The man was practically untouchable, and it was why he was a man you never wanted to get on the bad side of.

Even over something as simple as borrowing money from Oswald Cobb.

“I’m sorry, Oz,” you shrugged. “It’s really sweet of you—so sweet—but I just can’t.”

You brushed past him before he had a chance to respond, noticing the way his expression had already begun to sour. Oz walked around like he had something to prove, and it being so obvious only made it worse. You didn’t want to hear what he could’ve possibly come up with about why you wouldn’t take his money. You didn’t even know what you would say if he continued to press you about it. After all, it’s not like you could tell him the truth.

You didn’t see the conversation going over well if you told him that Mr. Falcone didn’t want you accepting any more money from him because your boss felt slighted that you wouldn’t allow him to metaphorically pee on you. It was such a crass and vulgar way to put it, but it was the truth. Oz you could take money from and turn down any further advances without the fear of losing your job.

Mr. Falcone…not so much.

Taking his money would cross a line you couldn’t uncross. There would be no paying him back and certainly no giving it back. Taking your boss’ money would come with strings you just wouldn’t be able to cut, and it was already bad enough that you were on his radar, the powerful man no doubt keenly aware of you and everyone you cared about.

It was late when you finally walked out of The Iceberg Lounge, your thin coat tight around you as you stepped into the biting air. There was hardly a soul on the street, let alone a taxi, and as the seconds ticked on, it was starting to hit you that you were going to have to walk. The dangers of Gotham at night weren’t even your biggest concern—it was the cold.

Just when you convinced yourself that the walk would warm you up, a nice sleek car pulled up beside you. It was black and nothing like you’d ever ridden in before. It wasn’t a limo, that much you could tell, and as it slowed to a stop in front of you, your mind distractedly settled on a Lincoln. You were just thinking that it seemed like the kind of car someone would be driven around in when the back window was rolled down.

A light drizzle started as you came face to face with Mr. Falcone.

Your lips parted in surprise before you pressed them together again, jaw clenching as you realized the predicament you found yourself in. If turning down Mr. Falcone’s money offended him, then you had no doubt that turning down a ride would be an even worse offense. You knew the path this conversation was going to take before he even opened his mouth, and you resigned yourself to it.

“Y/N.”

His deep voice greeted you over the light rain, and you responded with a soft smile. 

“Mr. Falcone. I didn’t even know you were up there tonight,” you said, keeping your voice light. “I was just about to head home.”

Even in the privacy of his car, he still had those shades on, and for some reason the sight of them on his face struck you as more eerie now than normal. Maybe it was because with hardly any light around, you couldn’t even see the faint shadow of his eyes. You were just staring into darkness, and the sight almost made you miss his next words.

“Why don’t you get in. I’ll drop you off,” his words came out like a suggestion, but you knew they were anything but.

With only a second of hesitation, you gave him a soft ‘okay’ before rounding the car.

The inside smelled like him—manly and clean with a hint of wood. You apologized for wetting his seats as you strapped yourself in, but he held his hand up before you could finish, signaling to you that it was nothing. You felt awkward sitting in his backseat with him, the heater warming you up more than your coat ever could. As if he could read your mind, the head of the Falcone family spoke.

“Were you going to walk home in that?”

It almost took you too long to realize that he was talking about your coat, and you fingered the thin material, a sheepish smile on your face.

“It wouldn’t have been that far of a walk,” you shrugged.

It was a lie, and you both knew it.

Even when you eventually looked away, you could still feel his eyes on you, and you didn’t expect his next words.

“Why are you so afraid of me?”

A beat of silence.

“I’m not.”

Another lie.

“I don’t like liars, you know that,” he called you out.

Swallowing, you looked out of the window, but that didn’t last long, hating the sight of his reflection behind you. The silence between you stretched, and the longer it went on, the more obvious it became that he wanted an actual honest answer to his question. Your shoulders heaved with a deep breath, and your gaze fell to your lap.

You swiped your tongue between your lips.

“I feel like you want something from me that I’m not exactly willing to give,” you slowly told him.

You were all too aware that there was a third person privy to this conversation, but you wondered how much the driver was paid by the Falcones to basically see and hear nothing because Mr. Falcone acted like he wasn’t even there, so you forced yourself to do the same. All that met your words was silence, and when you glanced at him, the other man wasn’t looking at you but instead staring straight ahead.

You started to think you’d said the wrong thing by acknowledging the elephant in the room whenever you were with him.

“...and what exactly is it that you think Oz wants from you?”

You leaned back in your seat at that, pressing your lips together and resisting the urge to fire back at him that you weren’t an idiot. Oz wasn’t exactly subtle, but you could handle Oz. You didn’t want to give Mr. Falcone the satisfaction of knowing that his power and connections and place in Gotham scared you more than any measly feelings.

So he wanted to fuck you. Big deal.

That wasn’t exactly new or daunting or shocking. Working at the 44 Below, you encountered plenty of men who did, but none as powerful as him. That was the part that scared you, being wanted by a man like Carmine Falcone. Oz was nothing, just another man on the street with a gun and some money who thought he was bigger than what he was. Mr. Falcone on the other hand…

You’d heard things—whispers of women around him disappearing and dying. He was the head of an organized crime family, so you couldn’t say you’d be surprised if he was even worse than you imagined. It was why you couldn’t blur this line between you, no matter how much he was trying to. He was your boss, you worked at his club, and that was all it could be. You were suddenly extremely aware of the fact that you were sitting in his car as he gave you a ride home out of the rain, and you looked out of the window.

You would have to find a better job and soon.

When his driver slowed to a stop outside of your apartment—the source of your current dilemma—you were quick to reach for the door handle…and Mr. Falcone was quick to reach for you. He’d only ever touched you a handful of times, and like always, his hand was gentle on your arm, but it felt so heavy to you through the thin material of your coat. You nervously watched him reach inside of it with his other hand, and your heart dropped at the wad of cash he pulled out.

You were shaking your head before he even spoke.

“Give this to Oz,” he told you, no room for argument in his tone. “I know everything that goes on in my club.”

You could feel his eyes on your face as he said that, and your earlier conversation with 

Oz came to mind.

“...and I don’t want you owing him anything.”

You thought to yourself that you shared the same sentiment, but owing Oz was better than owing a man like Carmine Falcone You didn’t say that though, accepting that you were going to be offending him for a third time tonight, and you didn’t want to make it worse. Ignoring his words and the money, you opened the door and was immediately greeted by drops of rain.

“I can handle Oz.”

That was all you said to him before closing the door behind you, hurrying around the car and into your apartment building, only relaxing when you were bathed in darkness.

You resisted the urge to fiddle with your fingers as you met his even stare with one of your own. You knew this conversation wasn’t going to be the lightest once you finally told him, but no amount of mental preparation was enough, it seemed. Mr. Falcone always had a stern look on his face, even when he wasn’t seemingly upset, but it was clear in this moment that he wasn’t happy with the turn of events.

At all.

“This clearly isn’t a ‘two weeks notice’ kind of establishment, but…it seemed like the proper thing to do,” you finally added. “The restaurant doesn’t pay what I make here, that’s for sure, but it’s decent money.”

There was a lot left unsaid, and you certainly weren’t going to voice it, but that apparently didn’t matter.

“Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

He had no problems saying what you wouldn’t, and you actually winced at his words, looking away as he took a sip of his drink. His loft was quiet, and you finally sighed—softly—as you briefly closed your eyes.

“I never meant to offend you. I swear,” you said, looking at him again. “I’m just…not that kind of girl, and you seem very…determined to make a liar out of me.”

His mustache twitched, a crooked smile on his lips, and you were right to be nervous as you watched him stand. You started to stand too when he held a hand out, and despite your confusion, you remained seated. Your positions weren’t lost on you as he moved closer to you, towering over you and looking down his nose at you where you sat. He still had his drink in hand, and when he lifted his free hand, you expected the feel of his fingers on your chin.

He only pointed at you instead.

“You will need my help.”

He said it with so much conviction that part of you couldn’t help but to believe his words, and you blinked.

“You will,” he reiterated, and you oddly felt like a child being scolded by a parent in this moment. “You will need money and assistance because this city doesn’t reward the good and doesn’t believe in being fair.”

You struggled to swallow at that, knowing without a doubt that if nothing else he said was true, that definitely was.

“...and what will you do? Run to Oz with your tail between your legs?”

You shuddered at the thought, and you knew he noticed by his slight chuckle.

“Sacrifice your dignity to become the kind of woman you claim you’re not but for strangers instead? Hmm?”

Your throat felt tight as every word from him felt like a slap.

“Would it really be worth it just to pat yourself on the back for not taking my help?”

You didn’t have anything to say to that, blinking back tears as he shook his finger at you before dropping his arm entirely. He took another swig of his drink, and you watched him turn away from you with a shake of his head.

“You remind me a lot of my son, you know that?”

You had only crossed paths with the young man in question a handful of times, and you weren't impressed, so this comparison only made you feel worse.

“Just like Alberto,” Mr. Falcone dragged out. “So hard headed and stubborn and always needs to do things the hard way just to prove a point.”

You finally stood on shaky legs, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. You hated to admit that his words were already getting to you, a lot of truth in them that you refused to face. 

“Thank you, Mr. Falcone for the opportunity you gave me here,” was all you said. “I know it may not seem like it, but I really am grateful.”

When he didn’t respond, you made your way to the elevator, your heels echoing off the walls. You had just stepped inside when he spoke again, face to face with him just as you pushed the button to go back down to the ground floor.

“The devil you know is always better.”

That simple statement made your heart drop, and you didn’t respond, refusing to give him the satisfaction. When the doors shut though, your face crumbled, and the longer they stewed in your mind, the less his words felt like speculation and more like a curse. He wasn’t wrong, and you hated it.

This city swallowed people like you up. Gotham cackled and spat in the face of anyone who tried to do things the ‘right’ way here, and you wondered if you were really about to be next on its long list of victims all because you didn’t want to get tangled up with the likes of Carmine Falcone. Maybe he was right. Maybe you would end up right in his grasp where he wanted you…

…but you owed it to yourself to try.

It took a second restaurant gig just to keep your head above the water. The corruption in Gotham didn’t just extend to the cops and drug lords, but even all the way down to the lowly landlords too. You knew the day was coming when your rent would be hiked up again with no explanation nor rhyme or reason as to why, but with your two jobs, it wasn't anything you couldn’t handle. Sure, you didn’t ever have any money left over for things like food and other necessities most times, but you had a place to lay your head at night.

…and most of all, you didn’t have to stare into the eyes of Carmine Falcone and pretend like you didn’t know he was just waiting for you to offer him something so many other women probably had.

You had no doubt that he’d played this game before. After all, the man wasn’t just rich and powerful, but handsome too, and the kind of women who worked at the 44 Below—hell even just the Iceberg Lounge—tended to have no qualms about entering an arrangement with a powerful good looking man to keep a nice sum of money in their pockets. You wondered if that was part of the hang up with you—that you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

You supposed he was right when he called you stubborn, although you could’ve gone without the comparisons to Alberto. Everything he prophesied came true, and it was only some months later when you found yourself standing outside on a corner with some girls you were familiar with.

“The first one is always a little nerve wracking,” she told you, a comforting smile on her glossy lips.

“Speak for yourself,” another one interjected. “They all make my skin crawl.”

They chuckled together, and you nervously joined in.

You were no virgin—far from it—but you’d never offered the pleasure of your company for money before. You figured it couldn’t be all that different from any other one night stand. It was sex, and that pretty much worked the same no matter who it was with, only tonight you'd be getting paid for it. You weren’t in danger of being put out on the street—yet—but you were at a point where you were working just to pay bills…and it had started to get to you.

You needed some extra money in your pocket.

A low feminine whistle pulled you from your thoughts, and you followed your friend’s gaze.

“This is your lucky first pick, I can tell. Look at that car,” she praised pointing at the dark vehicle.

You didn’t join in on their excitement when you finally studied said car—a familiar car. Your heart sank to your stomach as a congratulatory pat was given to your arm, and despite how much you told yourself it was only a coincidence—he wasn’t the only rich man to be driven around in a car like that—something deep in your gut told you otherwise. You blinked as it slowed down, and your friends’ voices had faded some as they backed away to give you privacy.

You weren’t surprised when the back window rolled down.

Just sick to your stomach.

“Mr. Falcone,” you eventually greeted, never one to be rude to him despite everything.

He didn’t respond, just staring at you through those dark sunglasses, face as taut as ever.

“I can get one of the other-.”

“Get in.”

You bristled at the interruption, halfway turning to gesture to one of the other few women on the corner.

“I’m serious. Any of them would be happy to-.”

“I don’t like repeating myself, you know that.”

You swallowed the rest of what you were going to say, and your arm fell. You stared at him, and he stared at you, and the longer the seconds dragged on, the more you wanted to just…cry. Did he stake out notorious corners regularly? Had he just been waiting for the night you showed up on one of them? If you dared to walk away right now, you wondered what he would do. Follow you? Drag you into the car?

You’d never seen Mr. Falcone so much as raise his voice, but to be a successful head of an organized crime family, you knew it required a level of brutality you’d just never been privy to. You thought about those rumors and whispers you heard of the women around him, and you didn’t know which option was worse, right now—getting in that car or walking away from it.

As you distractedly watched one of your friends walk off with some John, you realized that your former boss’ presence was going to affect any attempts to service any man—any other man—tonight, and you angrily huffed.

No more words were exchanged as you stomped around the vehicle, the silence loud from the moment you slid into the backseat. The wheels were turning before you even clicked your seatbelt in place, and you refused to look at the dark-haired man next to you. Your gaze remained on the window, even when it became apparent you weren’t heading towards the Shoreline Lofts.

It didn’t take you long after that to realize just where you were heading, and despite how much your nerves spiked, you bit your tongue.

The Falcone family mansion was just as stunning and impressive as you’d heard it to be. You’d never had the pleasure of laying eyes on it, and for a brief moment, you’d forgotten the corner your former boss had backed you into. Your lips were parted at the sight of it, slow to get out and almost stumbling over your feet as you never took your eyes off of it. You think you would’ve been content to stand outside and stare at it all night.

Your companion for the night, on the other hand, had other ideas…

You did end up stumbling when he took your arm, and your heart was fast beneath your chest as he walked you to the imposing building. An added layer of fear and apprehension surrounded you, tonight unlike all the other times you were alone with the older man. You knew that some way or another he was going to get what he’d been after, and you didn’t quite know how consensual your part in all of this was going to be.

After all, you didn’t want to sleep with him, not even for money.

…but it was clear more than ever that Carmine Falcone wouldn't rest until he was taking care of you, and you were taking care of him.

Just like he wanted.

“Tell me something…”

His deep voice broke the silence the moment he let you go, and you felt wholly uncomfortable in the bedroom that was the size of your entire apartment. You hadn’t even thought to admire the impressive artwork on the walls and grand staircase as you made your way up it, only concerned with how the rest of your life was about to start.

“Is sleeping with some strange man off the streets really more appealing than sleeping with me?”

It seemed like you’d offended Mr. Falcone enough to last a lifetime, and so you decided to be honest as he poured you both drinks.

“You terrify me to my core…so yes.”

You didn’t miss the way he paused at that before continuing on.

“Those men on the streets of Gotham?” you shrugged. “They’re just men. Men who aren’t nearly as big and bad as they think they are, men who I can handle just fine…”

You only stared at the drink being offered to you when he stopped to stand before you.

“...but you run this city, and everyone in it, and I want nothing to do with a man like that.”

When you didn’t take the drink, he only set it off to the side on a nearby side table like your refusal meant nothing to him. He took his time in sipping his own drink, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting towards the bed. Hours ago, you had no idea how this night could possibly end, but in this moment, you were never more sure of anything in your life.

Your eyes followed his movements as he set down his empty glass, the sound of it hitting the wood making you flinch. Like everything he did, he took his time in moving closer to you, always moving like he had all the time in the world. Your chest was heaving ever so slightly, and you lifted your gaze to look at his face just in time to watch him reach up and remove those dark shades. You didn’t recall ever having stared directly into his eyes before, and oddly enough, you found the sunglasses that always covered his eyes to be less intimidating. 

You weren’t surprised to feel his fingers on your chin, and you blinked at the familiar feel.

“How much were you going to charge?”

You answered him, knowing what he was referring to.

“$300 for an hour.”

You didn’t miss the haughty smirk that graced his lips, and you continued before he could speak.

“I needed extra money and they aren’t all Carmine Falcone,” you told him, a bit of an edge in your voice.

It didn’t get by him, and you felt his fingers tighten on your chin.

“...and that was really preferable to accepting my help.”

It came out like a statement, and so you didn’t respond because no response was needed. When his thumb touched your bottom lip, your heart skipped a beat. The older man’s intense gaze was on you, and a huge part of you wanted him to put you out of your misery. The two of you had been playing this cat and mouse game for months—really years—and you comforted yourself in thinking that the first step was the hardest part.

“Let me take care of you.”

From anyone else’s lips, that would’ve sounded like begging, but when Carmine said it, it sounded like an order. It sounded like he was telling you to let him do what he wanted because he was going to do it anyway. You voiced your thoughts.

“Do I have a choice?” you wondered into the quiet room.

The only response to your question was the scent of his cologne filling your nose and his lips on yours. You felt overwhelmed by his mere presence, realizing that this was the point of no return. Carmine Falcone had you exactly where he wanted you, and you were the last place you ever wanted to be. You felt almost silly for attempting to put this off for so long, reluctant to admit that you were always going to end up here from the moment he’d decided it.

The only shot you had was leaving Gotham entirely.

The dress you wore tonight was meant to come off and on easily, and it did just that with a few movements of his hand, the fabric falling at your feet. For the first time in years, you were nervous because as many men as you’d slept with, none of them were like him. Your movements were shaky, and you were both relieved and intimidated once you quickly realized that he liked to be in charge.

The sheets on the bed were softer than any you’d ever had the pleasure of laying on, and they only served to remind you what kind of life you were about to be drawn into. Whether or not it was worth it wasn’t even something you’d been able to consider, having little agency in this arrangement. Carmine Falcone took what he wanted and did what he wanted, and you didn’t want to believe that you were naive for thinking you could be the exception.

Your fingers trembled as you undressed him, and he didn't take his eyes off of you the entire time. You were sure some other type of power play was at work here, and you clenched your jaw as you undid his belt. You could feel his hand touching your hair, fingers finding their way to your neck and grazing the skin there.

It seemed that he was content to save the feigned romance of it all for later, wanting to put himself out of his misery for an entirely different reason than you wanted to put yourself out of yours.

You couldn’t stop the surprised gasp that left you when he pushed himself into you, hips connecting with yours before you had a chance to process what happened. Your nails pressed into his skin, and the way he shuddered beneath your touch told you that he liked that. It felt difficult to wrap your head around your predicament—pinned beneath your former boss and lying in his bed.

Forcing yourself to let go of your apprehension and fear, you found that you could enjoy yourself if you just turned your brain off for a moment. As it was, you couldn’t stop thinking about what this meant and what your life would be like tomorrow and what this would mean for your relationship with Carmine. However, his hand on your neck forced you to think of nothing but him inside of you and his hands on you.

Everywhere he touched flared with heat, and you didn’t even know when you’d wrapped your legs around him. The thin layer of sweat that started to appear on your skin did little to cool you, but your mind strayed further and further from that with every thrust of his hips. Your lashes fluttered as you felt yourself stretch around his cock, your other hand reaching down to twist around the sheets.

The feel of his facial hair brushing along your skin made you shudder beneath him, and your gaze landed on the ceiling, eyes absentmindedly roaming along the walls and wallpaper and every detail that made your little apartment look like something out of a horror movie. You told yourself that there was a silver lining in this, but what did the silver lining mean to you when you never wanted this in the first place?

As his lips met yours again, you could see yourself getting used to this despite your initial refusal. However, it didn’t seem smart to get comfortable around the likes of Carmine, but as he curved his hips into yours again, you wondered if that line of thought was easier said than done. Beneath him, it was easy to forget just what he did and the kind of business he ran and the power he held in this city.

However…

When he pulled away, gaze meeting yours, a stab of fear tore through you.

Carmine Falcone always scared you and probably always would, no amount of money and fancy apartments and cars would change that. You unintentionally arched your chest up into his, back curving as his fingers danced along your spine. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he liked that he scared you, that your fear made this more fun for him.

His hand trailed over your skin and slid up between your chest before he took your chin in his hand. He kissed you again—a trembling breath leaving your lips—before that same hand slid around your throat. You lost track of how long he plunged his cock into you, and you were already embarrassed to think about someone else cleaning up the mess that was his bed tomorrow.

With a house like this and a family like his, there were no doubts in your mind that someone did their cleaning for them.

Some time throughout the night, you recalled words leaving his lips and yours that sounded a lot like a verbal push and pull. He wanted you to proclaim something you didn’t want to, and your refusal would be met with little nips from his teeth into your skin here and there. He’d call you stubborn, and you would turn your head away. You vaguely recalled asking about the rest of the family, nervously wondering how your presence would be received in the house. 

You didn’t think Carmine had any qualms about being honest about what and who you were. He was the type to do whatever he wanted unapologetically, and you didn’t doubt that it extended to whatever woman he wanted to parade around with whose time and company he was paying for.

“They know you’re mine,” was all he said. “They’ll do as I say.”

That didn’t bring you any comfort.

[finniestoncrane]

💗 with penguin? from the batman

Farrell!Penguin x Fem!Reader, word count: 750 mmmmmmm yes please anon!! this old romantic??? he'd be aching to tell his partner how he felt about them, but he's a shy boy at heart!! little bit of ozzie losing his calm exterior and accidentally spilling the beans about his devotion while he's balls deep in you coming right up!! 💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: penetrative sex, sweetheart/baby used, daddy!kink, reader has vagina, confessions of love, eeny weeny bit of dirty talk

Any and all fears that you had about what you meant to Oswald seemed pointless in that moment. The worry that you meant nothing more to him than a good, easy fuck at the end of a long day quickly dissipated when his cock was buried inside of you, his large hands holding your body as he rutted into you. You could do a lot worse. And if that was all you were to him, then you were grateful for it.

Who would turn down such a lucrative opportunity? Spoiled when he could, or when you let him. Fucked with the kind of feral attitude you might only find in someone trying to prove something. Given an insight into what life was like for the true rulers in Gotham. Importantly, though, you were also offered respect and care. A little bit of affection when he let his facade drop. The gold glinting grin would slip just a moment every so often, and his eyes would soften as he watched you put your clothes back on, or when you left his office at the lounge.

Sometimes, you let yourself believe that there were words behind the warm smile he offered you. A deeper meaning. You weren't willing to push him though, so you kept your questions to yourself. It was easy enough to do when your lips only opened to take in his cock, his fingers, his tongue, or to let out moans of pleasure and groans of sweet, delicious pain.

Oswald did most of the talking between you both, socially and sexually. As he pummelled into your hips, you watched his lips form the lust-driven rambling from your position on top of his desk. His hands skimmed down your thighs, tracing over the sides of your torso as he spoke.

"Fuck baby, that's it, that's the stuff right there... Let daddy show you... You gonna take it good?... Yeah you know what to do... Cos you're a good girl... My good girl... You're amazing baby doll... God, I-... I uh..."

The sudden pause, the way he almost stuttered, wasn't something you'd seen in him before. He was unsure of himself, of his words, of his intentions. And Oswald was always prepared. Given that the pace had slowed, you caught your breath and used the brief moment of reprieve to check on him.

"Ozzie? You ok?"

"Nah, I'm fine baby, don't worry about it."

He could tell the mood had shifted though. You had a distinct look of concern in your eyes, and he realised that if he held back from you now that he might lose a little bit of trust from you.

The brief pause was over though, and he realised he'd missed the moment. It was too late to say it now, so he tried to bring his focus back to the present, how you felt against him, around him. Maybe now was the time. Maybe he could feel vulnerable, open, honest. Your eyes, staring up at him, concern, genuine feeling behind them, only confirmed to him that this was the right thing to do.

Oswald's finger and thumb gripped at either side of your chin, holding your head in his palm as he redirected your attention to him. It felt like an eternity, his eyes gazing into yours, focused and intense, his cock buried up to the hilt, throbbing against your clenching walls.

"God... I love you, sweetheart."

He couldn't keep it too sweet though. You'd find out how soft he was soon enough, for now, he could be honest, but he felt like he had to remain sexy and confident. So he kept going, hoping that you wouldn't linger too long on his sentiments, trying to lull you back into dazed arousal before you criticised him for his confession.

"I love your skin. I love your mouth."

His pace picked back up, and you could only moan in response to each declaration of affection.

"I love your hands, your body."

You could feel your body tensing, giving way to the control of your orgasm as he continued.

"I love that warm, wet cunt of yours too. Love the way it makes me feel."

Oswald groaned as he let the last world trail out, his fingers digging into your skin where he held you, pulling you down onto his cock. His length pushed into you, bottoming out, up to the hilt, each thrust pressing against your limit as he emphasised each word with the branding of your walls with his cock.

"I. Love. You."

[universitypenguin]

can you recommend any COD fics? I’ve become interested

Thank you so much for asking me this question!

It turns out that I have a lot of fic recs… I just kept adding and adding to the list. Putting this together took like two days because I just kept going and going 🤣

There are smut links below - I didn’t bother labeling them specifically, so preceded with caution. As usual, read all of the respective author’s warnings before reading their work!

Also, I tried not to tag anyone twice but I probably missed some doubles. If any links are broken, please let me know!

Alejandro Vargas

Pros & Cons - @homicidal-slvt

Best Friend’s Dad - @allemantheias

NSFW Alphabet - @ghostsvacuumcleaner

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Whiskers & Wishes - @sageyxbabey

Break Up With Your Toxic Boyfriend - @gloomwitchwrites

Baby It’s Cold Inside - @kyletogaz

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts - @soapsgf

Better Not to Know (ch. 1) - @random-thot-generator

Simon “Ghost” Riley

I’m So In Love With You - @nomadstucky

Break Up With Your Toxic Boyfriend- @/gloomwitchwrites

Please, Love Me - @/rowarn

Through Me (The Flood) - @/peachesofteal

Ex!Husband Simon - @oceantornadoo

Baby, It’s Cold Inside - @kyletogaz

Plane Crash - @ceilidho

Simon’s Girl - @audisive

Ghost & his tiny gf - @/ramagallery

Roommate!Simon - @schrodingerscougar

Snappy Reader - @lovelyghst

Ex-Husband!Simon - @cntloup

Simon Riley x Soap’s Sister - @seresinhangmanjake

Period Sex w/ Simon - @cntloup

New Year’s Fireworks - @i-am-hungry-24-7

Love Language - @yeahjadefinitelyfeel

Simon’s Love - @tojisun

John “Soap” MacTavish

Break Up With Your Toxic Boyfriend - @/gloomwitchwrites

Enamored - @/rowarn

Soulmate AU - @all-purpose-dish-soap

Second Chance - @bookbrokelibrarian

Virgin x Soap - @/captainfern

Johnny Has Amnesia - @manticore-fangs

Safe Word - @lunarw0rks

An Interesting Errand - @mi-i-zori

Captain John “Bravo-6” Price

Good Fences - @the-californicationist

The first chapter of the “Good Fences” Fluffubury series. I’ll list the next few chapters below. This is one of my favorite Captain Price stories, it’s so good! 🥰

Good Fences / ch. 2

Good Fences / ch. 3

Break Up With Your Toxic Boyfriend - @/gloomwitchwrites

The Ocean - @peachesofteal

The Neighbor - @ivymarquis

Stay Away - @captainfern

Bear Shifter! Price (part 1) - @/ceilidho

Phillip Graves

You’re Being Detained - @writersdrug

The House Sitter - @shadowlali

Overstimulation w/ Graves - @/captainfern

My Favorite - @aphrodisiaxcunt

König

Experience - @rowarn

Bad Boyfriend - @lunarw0rks

All of the 141

Just Like Dad - @/gloomwitchwrites

Sex Pollen - @shotmrmiller

Self Esteem - @waiting-so-long

Showering With the 141 - @mushies-stories

Drunk Reader (Part 1) - @mushies-stories

Reader w/ Amnesia - @bookbrokelibrarian

Love Bites - @l0velylecter

Reactions to you flinching - @empresskylo

Controversially Younger GF - @sweet-as-an-angel

Author Recommendations

Author Recs - (courtesy of @/captainfern)

[spacedace]

Got another DP x DC prompt for yall:

Things in Amity are going bad, the GIW are getting more aggressive and Jack and Maddie are starting to suspect there is something ghostly going on with Danny and Jazz is scared out of her mind and desperate to get them the hell out or dodge before she comes home one day to find her baby brother strapped to a table in the basement or worse.

She knows there's no way she's going to be able to get custody of Danny though (maybe she's still a minor herself, maybe she is over eighteen but it takes more than being a legal adult to get custody of a kid, and Jazz just doesn't have what the government is looking for and she can't risk Danny getting lost in the system) and even if she could, where could they possibly go? Even if they ran away, they don't have any way to survive.

Half out of her mind with stress and exhaustion late one night she ends up digging through their family tree looking for someone, anyone, that looks like they might be able to help, that could at least get them away from Amity Park if nothing else. She and Danny had each other, and literally anything was better then the nightmare creeping ever closer.

And somehow it doesn't even take that long, maybe luck finally shifting their way for once, maybe Clockwork nudging things along just right, but she finds someone.

As far as family relations go, they're on branches as far away from each other as possible while still being on the same tree. And of course the person in question has a pretty massive criminal background and is still super obviously involved in some shady stuff, but Jazz does her research and can see that - criminal mastermind or no - there's no history of vivisecting children or ghost hunting and honestly the Goonion review is pretty glowing.

Besides, Gotham's ambiant ectoplasm is about the same as Amity Park's, it'll help keep Danny (and her, really, as liminal as she is) healthy.

It's a long shot, but short of fleeing to the Ghost Zone and praying their parents don't chase after them, it's all she’s got. So, using one of Tucker's programs, she gets ahold of a phone number and makes the call.

To say that Oswald Cobblepot is surprised by her reaching out and suspicious of her desperate request would be an under statement.

But he knows a con, and this doesn't sound like one. The girl on the other end of the line sounds close to tears, begging him to hear her out, pleading for his help. When he has his people investigate he finds that Jasmine Fenton isn't lying. They are distant cousins - very distant - and the kids' parents are honestly Arkham levels of insane and the kids' teachers have been getting progressively more frantic in their reporting on their concerns. The notes on Daniel Fenton and the number of visible injuries he's been going to school with are particularly concerning. As is the fact that the Drs. Fenton are apparently scientists on top of being entirely mad.

Call Oswald a soft touch, but there's an old childhood wound deep in his heart that has him feeling for the kids, and from what he’s seen of Jasmine - Jazz, she said to call her, and her little brother is Danny, not Daniel - she's got the kind of drive he admires.

And hell it's not as if he can't afford to put them up in an apartment somewhere out of the way if they turn out to be too much trouble. Besides adopting a couple of sad kids from a shitty home can only be good for his reputation, look how well it worked for Bruce Wayne.

Maybe if he plays his cards right, he can set up a play date with the Wayne kids or something, really get some good networking in.

[clare-875]

Love love love the New Names prompt! I loved Ace’s and Sabo’s!! Poor poor Ace.

I was wondering if you could do another part with: Corazon, Killer, Mihawk, and Penguin 👀👀👀

Have a lovely day/night! ✨🫶🏽

New Names pt.3 (Corazon, Killer, Mihawk, Penguin)

_____ Pairings: Corazon x Reader; Killer x Reader; Mihawk x Reader; Penguin x Reader Summary: His reaction when you call him pal, buddy, etc. Warnings: Mostly fluff, Female Reader A/N: I'm so glad you like the fics! This is my first time writing for these characters so I hope you enjoy! 💗 [One Piece Masterlist] [Part 1: Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Ace, Law] [Part 2: Shanks, Sabo, Crocodile] [Part 4: Kid, Katakuri, Smoker] _____

Corazon

(A/N: Spoilers for Law's backstory)

A young Law looks to you from behind where he hid, unusual eagerness buried in his gaze. You and him had come up with a little prank to play on your boyfriend and despite being in the middle of a crisis, you would do anything to see Law's smile. When Corazon had left with Law to find a cure for his Amber Lead disease, you (being an undercover Marine yourself) had joined him. With time came the undeniable connection that was formed between the three of you.

You adored both of them with all your heart.

You were currently trying to hide the grin on your face as you looked up, anticipation thrumming as you watched your boyfriend finally approach from a distance. His painted face seemed to light up at the sight of you, and he moved faster to get to your side.

"Hello, love." His smile is wide as he approaches, but you watch as it fades to confusion in the absence of the boy usually by your side.

"Where's Law?"

You smile at his concern, but you continue with your little game.

"Don't worry buddy, he's just resting for now."

You expected a lot of things for his reaction, but what you didn't expect was the series of events that followed. One minute his face had been full of his usual adoration of you, the next came one of shock at your words, and the next moment his face was buried into the ground.

He had fallen.

You quickly approach in concern, rolling your boyfriend over so he is on his back. You kneel by him and look down at his face.

"Buddy, are you okay?"

You are surprised, however, that when you look down at your boyfriend's face, his eyes are clouded more with sadness than pain. There is a pout that lingers on his face.

"Love, why are you calling me that?"

You furrow your brows in mock confusion.

"What are you talking about, bud?"

Your boyfriend sits up quickly at your words, expression twisted in disarray.

"You-you're calling me buddy, but I'm- we're dating now. So, you should be calling me love."

He states it all so plainly to you, that you stare for a moment before losing yourself to your light laughter. This only causes the crease between your boyfriend's brows to deepen.

"Love?"

In that instant, you hear the rushing of footsteps, before Law jumps onto your boyfriend's back suddenly. He is smiling wide as he meets your gaze and amusement glistens in his eyes. Corazon yelps at the sudden weight on him.

"Surprise, you got pranked!"

Law grins in his mischief before running over to you and hiding behind your leg. Your boyfriend looks up in complete bewilderment as his eyes turn from you to Law, and back to you again. But then he spots the smile on Law's face and loses himself in a light-hearted chuckle; he tries to hold back his tears.

"...Not bad kid."

There is a pause before Corazon ruffles Law's head slightly and stands up to his feet. You smile softly at the interaction. You can see Law trying to play off the light blush on his cheeks at the gesture.

"Now you, love," your boyfriend says turning to you and taking your hand in his.

"I was expecting better."

You roll your eyes at his words but your smile does nothing to waver, and the three of you make your way back to camp.

That is until your boyfriend falls to the ground once more.

Killer

You fight the smile that wants to reach your face as you watch your boyfriend a small distance away talking to some members of crew. An idea had swarmed your mind and you were keen to see it take place. "What are you smirking about?" You hear the low growl of your Captain on your left as he looks at your expression with suspicion. A grin tugs wide at his words.

"Nothing you need to worry about Captain."

Kid grits his teeth as he seethes and walks away from your amused expression, but you pay him no mind; your attention is back on your boyfriend as he seems to conclude whatever conversation had taken place. You watch as his masked figure turns and spots you. You quickly put back on a neutral facade as Killer finally makes his way over, suspense bubbling within you.

"Hello, love."

His words to a stranger would sound surprisingly gentle, especially for a man named Killer. However, his kind nature is a given to you, and so you smile softly at your boyfriend, before giving way to your plan.

"Hey man, what were you up to?"

You watch as your boyfriend freezes momentarily. You grin discreetly, as you try to play nonchalant. Instantly, Killer's mind goes to concern.

"Okay love, what's wrong?"

His broad figure looms over where you are sitting and you don't have to remove his mask to know that his eyes are searching yours for answers. You keep up the act as you look at him in mock confusion.

"Nothing's wrong man, I've just been waiting for you."

He freezes again at your choice of words, and before he knows it his hand is under your chin.

"Princess, why do I feel like you're messing with me."

You feel warmth rise to your cheeks at his low words spoken softly to you. You try muttering an excuse, but it is for naught as Killer seems to put the dots together, and he has pulled you to your feet in an instant. You gasp as he swiftly drags you in the direction of your shared chambers, Kid still looking at the both of you in utter bewilderment.

"I'll show you who you're calling man, princess."

Mihawk

(A/N: Slightly suggestive at the end)

Your boyfriend is lounging on his chair, paging through the most recent newspaper copy that had been delivered. Your lips twitch upwards at the sight and you push open the door wider so you can get through. In your hands are two cups of steaming tea. Your boyfriend instantly perks up at your presence; he has sensed you lingering for some time now.

His sharp eyes soften slightly as he watches you get closer. "Hello love." You smile as you place his cup in front of him and put yours next to it. You would be lying to say you hadn't missed him. He had been so busy recently with whatever duties come with being the world's strongest swordsman and a warlord of the sea. But despite your sentiments, you wanted to go through with the little game you had formed in your head.

"Hi pal, anything interesting happened lately?"

You peer over his shoulder trying to look at the newspaper in his hands like nothing is wrong. But you would be stupid to think that your boyfriend did not notice the change in the name you usually called him.

"Love, what are you doing?"

Mihawk's eyes are sharp once more, buried perplexity masked in irritation. You simply play dumb and give him a look of confusion.

"Looking at the newspaper?"

At your words, your boyfriend places the paper in his hands on the table in front of him. One hand grabs yours as you look in bewilderment at his sudden movements.

"You called me pal."

His words are low as they are menacing and you hesitate, unable to meet his golden eyes.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

Your boyfriend has none of it though, as he pulls you closer to him so you're basically straddling him on his chair.

"You seem to have forgotten something. Something I thought I taught you not to forget."

You freeze as you try to hide your flustered face at the sudden proximity and the rumbling of his words.

"And that is?"

He pauses, before placing a hand on your face and inching closer to you.

"I am your partner, not some pal."

His breath is hot against your lips before he closes the space between you. You feel yourself flush and warmth fills you. His hands frame your face and you pull him impossibly closer. When you part, there is a shine in the gold of his irises that signifies whatever this is wasn't over.

You grin.

If this is what you get for calling him pal, maybe you should call him that more often.

Penguin

You and Shachi smirk at each other as a plan forms between you. "And then we watch him cry and piss his pants." Your smile widens as a laugh escapes you at the absurdity of his words. "You've lost your mind. He might not even react." You watch as your best friend rolls his eyes, more disbelieving of your words than you were of his. "Of course, he'll react, you're like the love of his life!" You fight the flush that wants to reach your face at his nonchalant words and shove him light heartedly. "Shut up!" He grins when he sees your flustered expression.

You had been close with Shachi and Penguin the instant you joined the Heart Pirates. You truly valued your friendship with Shachi and adored your boyfriend more than anything in the world. Your light-hearted banter continues for only a few moments until you spot your boyfriend making his way towards you. "Okay, actually shut up now. It's time!" You quickly shush Shachi and get up, as he gives you a lazy thumbs-up. Your boyfriend's expression instantly enlightens as you approach.

"Hey babe, I was looking all over for you." You can see his wide smile underneath his hat. When he approaches his expression doesn't fade. "I missed you." You hesitate only for a second before conceding to your plan.

"Missed you too dude, where were you?"

You answer him casually and like nothing was out of the norm. But to your boyfriend, he felt like the Earth had just stood still. You tilt your head, at your boyfriend's frozen expression, slowly waving your hand in front of him in concern.

"Um, dude?"

Unbeknownst to you, Penguin's mind is ablaze with flashbacks to a time well before you started dating, when you would call him friendly terms. He thought he would be stuck in the friendship zone for eternity, but when he confessed you had shocked him when you had returned his feelings too. He adored the pet names you called him in your relationship, but now with your words, it felt like he was back in hell.

"Dude are you-"

"Stop!"

His hands are flain out to you as he tries to stop the name from slipping past your lips again. You raise an eyebrow in false confusion. Shachi is now laughing his head off looking at what's taking place.

"Oi Shachi! This isn't a time for laughter! She's calling me dude again!"

You roll your eyes at the over-exaggeration of your boyfriend's words and actions, but it is Shachi and not you who accidentally lets slip of the prank you had played.

"Yeah, idiot. It's obviously a joke, can't you tell?"

"Shachi-!"

"Wait, it's a joke?"

You sigh as your boyfriend turns back to you with a more vulnerable expression on his face than you were expecting. "Yeah, I'm sorry babe." You reach out and grab his hand, as you watch him relax at the name you call him once more. "It was just a bit of fun?" He sighs deeply in a mixture of relief and exasperation. "Thank god, I thought you forgot we were dating or something." Your lips upturn more at the teasing grin on his face.

"Like I could forget that."

You step closer to him, and you see a familiar flush reach your boyfriend's face. His heart thrums in anticipation at your sudden proximity. "Yeah?" He murmurs to you, and you inch closer, almost closing the space between you two when-

"Okay! Enough of the mushiness! Not when I'm here!"

You hear Shachi's voice break the trance between you both, and you instantly see your boyfriend's face darken. He turns swiftly from your side.

"Hey, we were having a moment moron!"

Penguin makes his way from you to Shachi, a multitude of curses leaving his lips.

"Too bad!"

"Get back here idiot!"

You smile softly despite yourself. They were a handful, but there was never a quiet moment with the two of them; you couldn't give them up for anything in the world.

[bugcreditcard]

hello! i finished my midterm yesterday and i am free to drop a new au! ><<

One piece Soul EaterAU!

[zosin-ya]

Topic 8 - [ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪɴᴅᴇx]

Summary: Surviving on instant noodles, you order takeout in the middle of exam prep—what you didn’t expect was your delivery guy to be a ridiculously hot, tattooed biker. Even more surprising? He’s a fellow med student at your university. As good as it sounded, he had a complicated past with an obsessive Ex who starts to target you.

tags.: One Piece, Law x Reader, SFW & NSFW, slow burn romance, Modern AU, Penguin and Shachi as flatmates, fashion-designer uncle Corazon, Laws parents, Laws crazy Ex, Strawhats as your friends (+ Bonney), protective Law, mentioned of his dead sister, also mentions of Laws trauma

a.n.: I pulled this story out of my ass and it’s rather spontaneous how I write the story. If you have ideas, I’m open to them 🖤

status: [ongoing] last updated Nov 20th 2024

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1 - ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀʏ

An awkward encounter with the handsome delivery guy, who hardly speaks to you, yet somehow makes your heart skip a beat with his pretty face.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2 - ɪᴄᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴇʀ

Law was at your door once again, this time out of breath and visibly stressed. You offer him something to drink, which sparks a conversation that eventually leads to an exchange of numbers.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3 - ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ

At the café, you met up for a study date and saw a more relaxed, yet still exhausted, side of Law. Penguin showed up, clearly curious as to why Law was hanging out with someone from his university—especially since he rarely spent time with those people.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4 - ʙᴏʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ

Penguin couldn't keep his mouth shut about Law meeting you, which led him and Shachi to bombard him with questions. It was just a study date, right? No big deal. His flatmates quickly realized how oblivious he was. Or was he just denying any meaning, trying to protect himself from another crazy relationship.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5 - ʟᴀᴛᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜰᴜɴ

Law invites you to a party, and after a few drinks, the two of you start to loosen up around each other. So much that the bathroom becomes a short lived make out spot.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6 - ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴏꜱᴇ (n.sfw)

After you forgot your keys at home and had no where to stay, Law casually offers his apartment for the night without any second intentions. Though the heat from the make out session still lingering in the air.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 7 - ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ɪᴛ (n.sfw)

You meet Laws kind-hearted uncle, Rosinante, and learn more about his complex family history. What was supposed to be a casual, cozy game night with Law quickly takes an unexpected and more intimate turn.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8 - ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀᴍᴇɴᴛ

A girl you've never met before, starts a chit chat with you during an uni event, you being immediately drawn in by her friendly, outgoing nature. Before you knew it, she invited you to a small party where she hinted you could make some valuable connections. Little did you realize, networking with a biker gang wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for boosting your CV.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 9 - ᴄʜᴀᴏᴛɪᴄ ɢᴀɴɢ

You dearly needed a girl's night with your friends after all what had happened. Law came to pick you up, yet got dragged into the chaos of a spontaneous party with your friends. Someone save this guy.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 10 - ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇ? (n.sfw)

This day should have been special, with you and Law celebrating your academic milestone together with friends and family. Yet, Laws private and closed off personality shots back at him, causing you to break down.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 11 - ʙᴜʀᴅᴇɴ

It had been weeks since you had talked to Law, feeling drained from the past events. You needed time to figure the relationship out, which caused you to run away from talking completely and be confronted with a storm, none of you were ready to face.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 12 - ɴᴇᴡ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ (n.sfw)

Trying to mend the damage he had caused, Law makes an effort to open up to you this time. He shared pieces of his past, including hobbies he’d long buried. He never anticipated that attending Zoro’s Kendo tournament with you would reignite an old spark within him—or that it would stir a newfound desire to impress you.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 13 - ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴀʟʟɪᴇꜱ

Two unexpected intruders—familiar faces no less—show up at your door, shocked to find you inside. Hired to break into what turned out to be the wrong apartment, Kid and Killer aren’t prepared for your defiance. Mustering all the courage you have, you scare them off and waste no time alerting Law, who doesn’t take kindly to their mistake and pays them a visit.

[one-real-imonkey]

Every fanfic has Gotham as dark and cloudy, and understandably so, but where’s my beloved 1960’s Batman TV show Gotham.

A mostly normal metropolitan city with towering skyscrapers and the occasional villain HQ set up by a themed ‘legitimate business’. Visiting emissaries, movie sets, a thriving industrial district, normal diners, lots of random events and places for showy crimes.

Why isn’t Mad Hatter working out of a hat shop? Where’s Jokers hideout behind an ice cream parlour? Penguins high end umberella shop? Louie the Lilac?

Where’s the pizzazz?

You can’t tell me the batfam wouldn’t fit into 60s Gotham.

[zosan-secondchances]

The Pirate King of the North: Part 5

Main Themes: Villain Sanji, Alternate Universe, Zosan Ship

Warning: Long post ahead with One Piece spoilers. Contains strong language and explicit content.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Bepo

Captain! Captain!

Bepo, Penguin and Shachi tail Law as he stomps through the deck of the ship in a rush.

Bepo

CAPTAIN!!! Is the Pirate King seriously sailing with us?!

Penguin

I don’t think it’s a good idea. Did you see the townsquare? Have you not heard the stories?!

Law

Yes, yes and no. So everyone, stay out of his way. If there’s trouble, don’t deal with it by yourselves. Tell me or the swordsman.

Shachi

But which–

Law

The other, swordsman. Bepo, call everyone in for a briefing in five.

At that, Law vanishes inside the ship, leaving the trio to stand by idly at the doorway.

The three Heart Pirates hear a couple of thuds on the wooden deck. Nervously, they turn in unison to see who it was.

Zoro and Sanji stood by the edge, having just boarded the submarine. The swordsman had his arms crossed, looking at the distant water with his calm demeanor while the blonde waves at the trio with a cheerful smile across his face as a greeting.

The Heart Pirates’ cheeks flush pink. They give Sanji a shy wave in return. The Pirate King's smile clearly has infected them.

Shachi

He doesn't look that bad….

Penguin

Y–yeah…I don't know what the captain was talking about. He's not scary at all.

��

Bepo, Penguin and Shachi are in tears having just learned a small list of Sanji's most recent crimes from Law. The entire Heart Pirates crew sat on the round table in the ship’s galley with their two guests to discuss the mission ahead, but the doctor felt that introductions were in order first.

In truth, Law just wants his people to be extremely cautious of the most dangerous cargo that they’ve ever had on board. He wants to emphasize how serious the situation is so he nabbed Sanji’s file from the Marine base to share its contents to the entire crew.

Sanji sipped his tea calmly, quietly enjoying the conversation about himself, basking in all the attention and reactions that the Heart Pirates are giving him. He soaks it in, feeling smug about having his achievements read out to everyone. 

Zoro sat next to him, finally able to enjoy a bottle of sake for himself. None of the information being relayed by Law is news to him, having been involved in more than half of Sanji’s escapades on the receiving end. He’d been trying to kill the man for more than a couple of decades after all.

Law

Did…did you guys already forget that he just slaughtered all those Marines?

Zoro

You're one to talk, Traffy. You did the same thing when he said he'd help you.

Law

Shut up….

Sanji turns his head towards the doctor. 

Sanji

Did you really? That's a bit funny.

Bepo

But…but Captain, shouldn't he be detained then?

Sanji gives the polar bear an icy glare.

Bepo’s full body of fur stands on end. Penguin, Shachi and himself hug each other tighter, yelling out cries for help.

Law

There's no point. Detaining him is how we lose our ship. The Marines tried to cuff him and now their entrails are all over the place as a consequence. Just keep an eye on him and do what I told you earlier. Report anything suspicious, is that clear?

Heart Pirates

Yes, Captain!

With that, Law proceeds to brief everyone in the room about the plan to follow Corazon’s trail to Skypiea, and that the Pirate King will be assisting them during their journey and the next until they find Corazon or whoever’s behind the letters. The doctor announces that they will have to stop by Sabaody Archipelago first which is the closest place where they can get a decent portable bubble ship, unless they find an alternative way to safely transport people up in the sky that could withstand the terrifying knock up streams that lead up to it. He makes a point to thank Zoro for his insight as to what’s to be expected given that he’d been to the sky island already.

Zoro

Our former navigator should have a decent map drawn of the country already. At least the places where we've been to anyway, which was most of it. If you think that will help, I'll need a long-distant transponder snail to ask her for a copy. And potentially half a million Beri. She doesn't give away stuff for free, even to her own nakama.

Law

What the hell? I don't have that kind of money. Can’t you get a discount if you’re nakama?

Zoro

N–no…if I use that as an excuse she’ll probably just charge me more. Hey Curls, aren’t you king or something? You’d have the dough and some.

Sanji

Do you see large amounts of gold on me? I don’t carry that much treasure around, stupid. Unless you want me to be traced, I’d rather not withdraw Beri from a bank.

Law

We’ll have to do some fundraising in Sabaody then. Penguin, please show Zoro-ya our communications room after this briefing.

Penguin

Yes, Captain.

Law proceeds to lay out the plan, covering the less exciting details like the estimated duration of the voyage, food stock and potential jobs that they can do on the side for Beri. It will inevitably cost them more time than the doctor had anticipated, but they may not have any choice in the matter. He prays that they miraculously run into any one of Sanji’s contacts who just so happen to be carrying his gold around.

Sanji leans slightly towards Zoro and softly speaks so only he can hear him.

Sanji

Your navigator sounds like a smart lady, by the way. And the price is reasonable, given its rarity and how difficult it is to get to the island. The more I learn about your old crew, the more I wish I got to meet them.

Zoro gives a light-hearted chuckle then speaks just as quietly.

Zoro

Well, if you weren't such a murderous bastard, you might have actually gotten along with them.

Sanji

You think so? Do you think that I can meet them one day?

Zoro

Over my dead body.

After the briefing, the Heart Pirates return to their respective duties except for Penguin who waits for Zoro and Sanji at the door as ordered to take them to the communications room so the swordsman can contact his navigator friend.

On their way out, Sanji makes very brief eye contact with a large man that they call Jean Bart, who slightly nods his way, almost to a bow, before walking off in the opposite direction. Zoro makes a mental note of their interaction.

—

The trip to Sabaody Archipelago is going as smoothly as they had hoped, having only done a couple of stops here and there to stock up and stretch their legs. Zoro and Sanji quickly realise that it is absolutely necessary to go on long walks and exercise whenever they can given how often they get stuck indoors so the sub can dive deep in the water to avoid unwanted attention. Then there’s the matter of their sleeping arrangements.

The Polar Tang’s bunk rooms aren’t anything special. They’re small and cramped where the mattresses are contained in boxes similar to that of the Thousand Sunny Go except that it’s welded firmly against the wall instead of being suspended by ropes. Zoro and Sanji shared a room so the swordsman could keep an eye on him. He also insisted that he gets to keep the bottom bunk in case he finds a reason to skewer the curly brows above him for any reason.

Much to Zoro’s surprise, Sanji keeps to himself while in their shared room, only ever tearing his eyes away from the book that he’s reading to ask if he feels like doing an activity together, or to tell him where he wants to go so the swordsman can follow along. He’d even wake him up to make sure he knows where he’s going if he wants to wander around. Aside from that, Zoro notices that Sanji had taken a lot of liking to just quietly watch the view from their round window, especially when they go underwater.

The crew were extremely tense during the first three days of having Sanji on board but by the fifth day, they had invited him over for a game night on one of their few and precious days off. Zoro assumed that the Pirate King had somehow captured their hearts while he’s not looking.

None of the Heart Pirates had any real money in their name so Sanji proposed that they bargain with chores, volunteering to even take a few from each one to make himself useful in the ship while they’re travelling and to even the odds of the play.

Zoro sat at the furthest table in the mess hall, quietly enjoying a tankard of beer to himself while watching their game unfold into a messy havoc of drunken fun. He watches big smiles across everyone’s faces as the Pirate King tosses in another straight flush–his sixth in a row. The victim this time is the poor Clione who apparently has to fold clothes for two weeks.

After seeing the man melt into despair, Sanji opens the palms of his hands, revealing four extra cards that had been hiding in his sleeves. Everyone laughed at Clione, then at Sanji for confessing that he had been swapping cards around to his advantage. This means that the blonde has to take the laundry chore from Clione, and with a longer duration of four weeks for cheating. They joke about keeping the king as a chore boy, even after the mission is finished.

Sanji and the Heart Pirates were like that through the rest of night. It was as though the blonde’s just an ordinary human being who’s trying to have a good time with his friends. Zoro couldn’t help but smile to himself after seeing a particularly hearty grin from Sanji's face. He wonders what about the man that makes his smile so contagious.

Again, to Zoro’s surprise, the Pirate King stays true to his word and begins to spend most of his mornings folding laundry in their shared room. The Heart Pirates have taken to knocking on their door less formally, or just flat out shouting from the other side to ask if their clothes are ready for collection. Penguin had occasionally shown up just after showering, fully naked and exposed, desperately begging for a pair of his underpants because he'd forgotten to take one and a towel earlier. Sanji fusses over him like a mother hen, nagging him to be more organised next time, but proceeds to help the man anyway.

By the seventh day since setting sail, Zoro finds himself helping Sanji do laundry. They fall into a comfortable silence, which he didn’t realise was possible at all. Though sometimes they share a small banter, throw harmless snide comments, or offer to fetch each other stuff from the kitchen. There was no mention of their old life and how for two decades they had tried to relentlessly kill each other. Both are content enough to just focus on the now. It was peaceful and Zoro isn't about to question why and how this was the case.

During the afternoons, Sanji either visits the galley to catch up with whoever Heart Pirates are on break, or wanders to the library to borrow or read more books. The Polar Tang’s library is more of a shared study space but nevertheless, it’s the coziest part of the ship, given how almost every corner of the sub smells metallic or sterilisation chemicals. Most of the time, Zoro and Sanji are the only ones there given how busy everyone else is, except for Bepo who occassionally uses the nearby drafting table to chart their maps. As long as he keeps himself clean and his bottles checked, Zoro is allowed to drink in the room, away from delicate books, while Sanji delves into a variety of different topics like navigation, geography, Devil Fruits, marine life and a particularly cheap looking cooking-for-dummies book.

One lazy day, there was a knock on one of the bookshelves. Zoro and Sanji lift their heads to find Law and Bepo standing by.

Law

Zoro-ya, a word?

Zoro nods then gets up from the couch to approach the man. He notices that Bepo walks up to sit in his place happily. Him and the Pirate King share a book about deep sea fishes together. The swordsman assumes that the mink had been assigned to keep an eye on the blonde while he’s momentarily away.

Law leads him to his office, where he takes a seat then beckons the swordsman to sit at the other side of his desk. Zoro follows.

Law

I don’t think this changes anything with our mission, but I noticed something odd with the mad king’s file that you might find…interesting.

Law places the thick folder that he had stolen from the Marine base on the table–Sanji’s criminal record. Zoro takes it in his hand then flicks through the papers. He’d seen them all already. He’s a slaver who raids his competitors to steal their “stock” instead of acquiring them himself. He specialises in trading, particularly dangerous criminals–pirates and bandits alike–to sell them to bigger, badder, wealthier criminals to do their dirty work. Most of his clients and partners are corrupt politicians or individuals with private armies like Doflamingo who are in constant demand for troops. On top of that, Sanji has an endless list of serious offenses: arson, murder, stealing, a few kidnappings, warfare–the whole lot.

There’s also a simplified version of Zoro’s reports from when he actively sought out the Pirate King–it lists out where their fights had taken place, any surrounding casualties, and the conclusion of their encounter. The swordsman doesn’t particularly remember them to detail at the top of his head, but scanning through the papers relives old headache-inducing memories of their game of cat and mouse. So far they’ve been pretty even with who’s won and who didn’t.

Zoro makes a point to not kill his enemies. So every time he wins their fight, he hands Sanji over to the Marines to lock him out for life. And every time they try to transport him, he breaks out of his chains and leaves evidence of his carnage just like how he did on the island where they picked him up. Some time in the past, he’d somehow survived and killed his way out of Enies Lobby by himself before they could drag him inside the gates, making him the third person to ever break out of initial confinement after Nico Robin and Franky when his old Straw Hat crew went in to rescue them.

Zoro throws the folder back on the table. He shrugs his shoulders.

Zoro

Tell me something I don’t know.

Law leans over, then re-opens the folder, navigating to the part where the Marines have compiled copies of slave buyers’ proof of purchases and ownership records. He taps on the detailed breakdown list.

Law

He only sells other criminals.

Zoro

So? He’s still a slaver.

Law

They’re not worth a lot because they’re trouble.

Zoro

But they're plentiful. Plus he’s sold ones with Devil Fruit abilities.

Law

Which still isn’t as much as a fishman, a mermaid or a child by a long shot. They’re worth hundreds of thousands, depending who you talk to.

Zoro

So what’s your point?

Law pulls a small stack of papers from under the pile–a worryingly long list of individuals that were owned by other rival slavers. It’s a rundown of the people that they have on their inventory, referring to them as a sequence of numbers instead of their actual names. It has details of their age, race and gender.

Law

He’s acquired them, but not sold them. They just vanish when he gets a hold of them.

Zoro can feel his temper rising.

Zoro

You think he set them free? What, that he’s one of those doing-the-bad-thing-for-a-good-reason kind of person?

Law

I’m just saying…

Zoro

We don’t know what he does with them. For all we know, he saves the “best” ones for himself. Or he’s killed them.

Law

I suppose…. 

Zoro leans back on his seat, crossing his arms.

Zoro

He got to you too, didn’t he? Now you’re in love with him just like the rest of your crew and we’re barely at our first stop. He must have put the idea in your head somehow that he’s somewhat a decent man.

Law

I’m not saying he is, but I–

Zoro

He’s not. You don’t know him as well as I do. He’s probably just playing nice so he can make friends with you lot then control you somehow.

Law sighs in defeat, then takes a moment to find the right words.

Law

Zoro-ya, there’s usually more to the story than meets the eye. You can’t ignore the fact that the World Government likes to hide things and embellish on some to make themselves look like gods. They’ve burnt down libraries and destroyed valuable parts of our history to make that happen. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust everything that the Celestial Dragons says.

And I think, deep inside, you know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen the way you look at him.

Zoro gives Law a deathly glare, as if warning him to choose his next words carefully.

Law stands.

Law

You might want to consider your stance with him by the time we find Corazon.

But just…at least think about what I said about the Celestial Dragons, alright? I really don’t have to care about you. But as the first mate of the Straw Hat pirates, you need to consider what’s best for your crew. He may not do things the conventional way, but I think the Pirate King of the North might be one of the best allies Luffy could have right now. Especially because you wouldn't want him fighting for the other side when the time comes.

Zoro’s brows shoot up.

Zoro

Luffy? What about Luffy needing allies?

Law

Has he not spoken to you?

Zoro

No…I threw all my transponder snails away, remember?

Law sighs.

Law

Luffy plans to take on Kaido.

—

The Polar Tang finally arrives at Sabaody Archipelago. As soon as they dock the submarine in the safest and quietest grove they could find, The Heart Pirates, Zoro and Sanji practically pass out on the green grass on the giant mangroves.

Sanji

Well, fuck my ass and call me Susan. That sun is immaculate and this grass is so soft.

Shachi

I haven't heard of that one before.

Bepo 

Hey! Do you guys hear that?

Everyone listens intently. Bepo's ears twitch as he looks around, changing the angle of his head so he could determine the direction it's coming from.

Bepo

It sounds like a concert!! Or…a game show? Maybe a festival? Do you think we can check it out? I hope Uta is playing!

Penguin

I’d kill to see Soul King live.

Law finally catches up to them. He stands in the middle of the field where everyone sun bathed.

Law

You have a day. By tomorrow I want everyone focused on looking around for jobs and sourcing out a bubble ship that can fit at least ten people. I'll keep watch this round.

Everyone rejoiced at the news. They begin to stand to make most of the day.

Law

Except for you, Pirate King. You have to stay behind. Everyone knows your face, and they have giant snails here that can transmit videos.

Sanji

Hmm….

Zoro

Why did you have to tell him what to do? Now he's going to do the opposite.

Law rolls his eyes then begins to walk away.

Law

It's your job to keep an eye on him. Good luck. Call me on your den-den mushi if you need me. Don't throw it away this time.

Zoro audibly groans. He rolls onto his elbows then pushes himself up.

Zoro

Hey Curls, I’ve been meaning to ask, do you… want… to–?

Zoro looks up and finds that he's by himself in the field. He frantically searches around and sees Sanji and the rest of the Heart Pirates already running as fast as they can towards the city where the distant sounds of loud music blared loudly. Some split into groups and some wander off on their own. 

Zoro

Son of a–WAIT!!!

—

In Sabao Dome, Sanji and a few of the Heart Pirates managed to sneak into the stadium, finding themselves right in the thick of a massive crowd close to the main stage. They’re all feeling young, giddy and especially adventurous after having consumed their fifth drink too quickly. Sanji was able to acquire himself a long hood to cover himself so he could continue his day out without any interruptions from the local Marines.

Sanji

Bepo, hold my beer.

Penguin

YES!!

Shachi 

Do it, do it, do it!

Bepo

I don't know about this…Captain's going to kill us.

Bepo takes Sanji's cup regardless.

—

It took Zoro about two hours to track down the runaway Heart Pirates that had Sanji in tow. He held onto his own hood, trying his best to hide his identity while fighting through the crowd in the stadium as he approached them.

During his struggle, he learns from people’s discussions that the show is an annual event that is currently being recorded and broadcasted live. It's an open auction where any member of the public has a chance to bid and win a date with an eligible bachelor or bachelorette. All their proceeds would go towards charity so it’s always for a good cause. This year, they plan to expand the local school, improve facilities of the public hospital and if they’re lucky, rebuild some of the more run down areas in groves that have abandoned neighbourhoods.

The show presents the last stretch of eligible bachelorettes. The made up women walk through the runway to present themselves and the crowd roars in reaction. Paddles of different colours and numbers flash up in the air as the bidding begins for the first participant. An auctioneer in a fine tuxedo introduces them and begins taking bids, one bachelorette at a time.

By the time they're almost done with the last woman, Zoro finally joins the rest of the crew. They all yelp out in surprise.

Zoro

Oi!!!

Shachi

Ah, shit!

Zoro

Why the hell did you run from me?! And with him!!

Don't you DARE run now!

Bepo stops in his tracks, then turns to bow down apologetically to Zoro.

Bepo

…I'm so sorry…

Penguin and Shachi

SO WEAK!!!

Zoro

So?! Where the hell is he?

Penguin

Uh…

Shachi

He err…

Bepo

Well…

Zoro looked furiously at the other Heart Pirates. They shudder under his eye and hide behind the large polar bear.

The auctioneer slams the hammer several times against the lectern, congratulating a noble located on the second floor for winning the last date available for the show. Suddenly, he starts moving back through the curtains, looking like he was called urgently by someone from backstage.

Bepo

I really hope that means he's changed his mind.

Shachi

But…I kinda really wanted to see him.

Penguin

Me too.

Zoro

What are you on about?

The auctioneer returns to the stage with a wide smile on his face. He declares that he brings exciting news and tells everyone to not leave the stadium no matter what.

The lights go dim, and with a well built anticipation, he reveals the last minute surprise for the people of Sabao Dome, and for everyone watching live.

A spotlight focuses in the middle of the stage.

At the far end of the runway, in the darkness, everyone could see a mysterious figure step out of the curtains. The silhouette moved with grace and confidence, trailing behind a waterfall skirt that complemented the shape’s fluid movements. It walks towards the spotlight, then slows down as it nears the center stage. One agonisingly suspenseful step at a time, long slender legs appear under the light, revealing a lean figure in a long sparkling dress and matching coloured high heels. The figure takes another step, and everyone can see the person’s flat chest that links up to defined shoulder blades and slim but muscular arms. The swordsman can’t help but start to recognise the individual by the visible scars on their skin. The figure puts a hand on a hip, and with the other, flicks one side of their skirt before taking one final step to reveal their identity.

Zoro thinks that he’ll die right there and then–from the sight and from the whole idea of it. His jaw drops involuntarily, and the same goes to the rest of the Heart Pirates standing behind him. 

Sanji opens his eyes behind gold-glittered lids. He runs his tongue across the top of his reddened lips, and slowly trails a splayed hand from his thigh, teasing the crowd with a sight of his skin near his center through slit of his dress, drags his hand to follow his curve up to his chest, then finally he lifts his hair to reveal his long inviting neck to the crowd. He leans slightly on the side where his hand is on his hip, and gives the broadcasting transmission snail a seductive kiss in the air and one of his classic winks. The video footage feeds through all available screens in the area and beyond.

To Zoro’s horror and excitement, the auctioneer announces.

Auctioneer

We proudly present…our final bachelor…THE PIRATE KING OF THE NORTH!!!

The crowd goes nuts. The screaming is so deafening that the swordsman hears ringing behind his ears. Poor Bepo had to push his sensitive ears down to put up with the uproar. They get stuck watching the events unfold in front of them, unable to move like sardines in a can. They feel the crowd push in further from outside as people try to squeeze themselves closer to the stage as the bidding war begins.

Zoro and the Heart Pirates had to risk losing their voices just to hear each other.

Zoro

THE MONEY’S NOT EVEN FOR US! DOES HE KNOW THIS?!

Penguin

HE DOES!! HE SAID HE’LL FISH OUT THE WEALTHIEST PERSON IN SABAODY, GO ON A DATE, THEN STEAL FROM THEM WHEN THEY BRING HIM HOME!

Shachi

BUT NO DATES UNTIL HE SEES THEM PAY THE CHARITY FIRST! THAT WAS THE PLAN!

Bepo

WHAT DID YOU SAY, ZORO?! DO YOU KNOW THAT THAT’S THE KING?! HOW DOES HE WALK LIKE THAT WITH THOSE HEELS, RIGHT?!

Zoro lets out a pained groan and attempts to fight the crowd to get to Sanji quickly. It’s too dangerous for him to use haki, or to simply jump up in the air as he’s afraid of knocking people out given how grossly clustered the dome had become. He barely makes any progress at all. He’d never seen this many people freak out over one man. And of course it had to be him.

Penguin

HEY SHACHI! LOOK I’M BIDDING BUT I DON’T HAVE ANY MONEY! HAH!

Penguin awkwardly waves his coloured paddle up above his head.

Shachi

FOR CHORE BOY? HAH!

Bepo

Captain is going to kill us for real…. I’m sure this time.

The auctioneer starts taking bids, starting at a ridiculously high price of 100,000 Beri. This immediately cuts off half of the public but it doesn’t stop the wealthier citizens raising their paddles, all desperate to have but a few moments of their time with the Pirate King.

Zoro thought he’d hated the man before. Now he wants to personally strangle him in front of everyone. He continues to struggle through the crowd, effectively separating himself from the Heart Pirates.

Penguin

Swordsman! It’s not a good idea to split the party with a crowd this big!!

Zoro ignores the man and trudges on. He needs to drag Sanji’s ass out of there now.

The auctioneer continues to take bids.

300,000…

850,000…

1,100,000…

4,500,000…

The crowd goes quiet. It was an eerie feeling of having gone from extreme loudness down to nothing. Another spotlight shone on the crowd, focusing on a pompous-looking woman who is fanning herself with the bidding paddle, looking mighty proud that no one can top her high bid.

Suddenly, there was a sound of heavy doors opening, followed by a booming voice that filled the air.

Voice

ONE. BILLION. BERRI.

Everyone’s gaze collectively turns towards the source of sound. The spotlight travelled from the pompous woman towards the farthest back area of the stadium.

The crowd parts for a man in a white boiler suit and resin bubble over his head. He approaches the stage slowly–not on his feet, but by using a larger man underneath him as a mount. He gives the slave an agonising snap of his whip to make him go forward, pulling the chain that’s secured around his neck painfully.

Zoro

Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

Zoro tries to squeeze through faster, but the crowd refuses to budge completely with most of them trying to bow down to the new arrival.

A Celestial Dragon is approaching, and Sanji can’t help but smile.

----------

This Sanji likes to look and feel fantastic.

Also, Bepo is love.

[naoristerling]

Hueningkai fic rec

like the moon ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ huening kai | 8.4k @beom-pyu

you love the ocean more than anything else in this big, wide world. you treasure the crisp air and the salty, but comforting scent of the atmosphere, the way the rays of the sun would bounce off of the rushing waves and onto your skin fills your heart with an uncontained warmth, and the sunset reflected on the surface brings you a sense of serenity. you have loved the ocean since you were little—growing up on the coast, the sea was basically your backyard.

[duality.] ─── ⋆ h. kai | 10k @miupow

An unexpected discovery about a friend sends you spiraling-- sure, hueningkai was cute, but he wasn't your type. at least, you thought he wasn't.

to the mountains - huening kai | 5k @beomie3

your friend group decides to take a weekend getaway trip to the mountains, but it isn't until you stay in a cabin in the woods that your crush on one of them begins to make itself known. mutually :)

Berry Sorbet // Huening Kai | 9k @banggyu0308

in which you share one of the five senses with your soulmate, and the taste of your lipgloss is on Kai's tongue all week.

stupid cupid! ` . ᡣ𐭩 ་ જ⁀➴ |6.5k @jjunieworld

hueningkai, better known as cupid, is known for his art in helping people fall in love. shooting his arrows here and there, getting those who are meant to be together. what happens when after he shoots one of his love arrows at you, the other one somehow ends up hitting him?

policy of truth and lies | ☆ |3.3k @wave2tyun

a little white lie never hurts sometimes. to what lengths are you willing to go to protect it?

two best friends in a room ❀.* | 7k @beomgyuslilracha

if you had a thousand won for every time you heard the question "are you two dating?" or just the words "you two should just date already!", you and kai could probably afford to buy a house together.

in which two childhood best friends are the only ones in all of seoul who can't seem to see that they're obviously in love with each other.

Soulmates | 1k @yournameloveskpop

Hueningkai has a strange heart on his wrist. He doesn’t know how it got there but recently he’s been getting mood swings that were not his own, getting bruises for no reason etc. That’s when he meets Y/N who works at the cafe that txt walk into one day.

Geralmente não leio histórias tão pequenas mas essa foi tão fofinha <33

NAKED IN MANHATTAN | 4.6k @sook9i

⋆｡°✩ After a drunk conversation leads you to question your feelings for your bandmate and friend, Hueningkai, maybe a night together in Manhattan is just what you need to clear the air.

or else what? | 4k @hyukalyptus

hueningkai x fem!reader | enemies to enemies with benefits(?). NSFW/MDNI!

Series

Anyone Else But You, a six-part series @harmonicakai

It's starting to feel like you're the only person in the world that Huening Kai isn't best friends with, and you're determined to figure out why.

[ineffableclassics]

"Crowley, this is a disaster. This is everything I ever wanted. We’re in love. And there’s a picnic. And we don’t seem to be able to get…amorous without causing earthquakes.”

Aziraphale attempts subterfuge. Crowley sees right through him.

Words: 11,014

Status: Complete

Rating: Mature

By @jess-the-reckless

This is a locked fic

Art Credit: Breaking Up A Picnic by J. C. Leyendecker, 1933

[krakereir]

My Best Friend's Girl (you're something else) Trafalgar Law x reader

T+/M. Mild sexual content. Masturbation. Themes of adultery. fem!reader

“Again, I’m really sorry about this, Law,” she calls from the other side. “Don’t sweat it. You’re here now, might as well stay. Shachi will be home in a couple of hours.” “I’ll make it up to you somehow,” she says, sticking her head out from behind the door, shooting him a bright smile.  Law nods curtly and locks himself in the bathroom, trying not to think about the fact that he’s totally attracted to Penguin’s new girlfriend.

Law is finally home. He kicks off his shoes, hangs his key on the wall and sighs out. Shachi is still at work. Penguin’s on a work-trip.

Peace and quiet. 

Under his arm is the World Economic Journal, which he is looking forward to skimming through impatiently before skipping straight to the newest strips of Sora. Then he’ll make a cup of coffee and read the whole paper through in the comfort of his favourite chair by the window. For dinner he’s gonna make shakshouka over rice and then afterwards he’ll maybe open the bottle of wine he’s been meaning to try.

But first he needs a shower. Desperately.

He opens the door to the bathroom and is met with the sight of a strange girl looking back at him. She’s standing hunched over the sink, face drenched with water and she looks shockingly ravishing. Flushed cheeks, wet lips, eyes slightly red. Law has to take a step back.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, and it doesn’t carry even a hint of the irritation he was going for. She blinks, looking back at him.

“I’m Y/N,” she says, as if that would explain everything. “Didn’t Penguin tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry. He said he would tell you. I’m Penguin’s-”

“Aha,” Law interrupts, as it hits him. Penguin’s new girlfriend. “He did tell me about you.” 

The girl lets out a sigh of relief. She grabs a towel and dries off her face. Wow, she’s pretty. Good for Penguin.

“Sorry if I frightened you,” she laughs weakly.

“No worries. Where is he?”

“You just missed him. He left for the airport just now,” she says.

And you’re still here? Law thinks to himself, but knows it would be rude to say it. 

“Pen has a tendency to promise things on behalf of others, I hope he didn’t force your hand. You’re a lifesaver who’s letting me stay.”

“Stay?” Law sputters. “For how long?”

“Oh, no. He didn’t tell you,” she laments. “He promised me it would be fine. I didn’t even believe him at first, knowing how he is, but he insisted! There’s mould in my apartment. I was supposed to stay here for a week.”

A week. A week? Law sees white. What on earth was Penguin thinking when he promised her this?

“I'll find somewhere else!” she says quickly. “It’s no problem.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Law mutters. She looks like a student, there won’t be anywhere affordably decent on that short of a notice. “If he promised you, then he should keep his promise. I’ll give him hell when he gets back.”

“Thank you so much,” she says with a grateful smile. “So you’re Shachi?”

“I’m Law.” 

Her eyes go big.

“You’re Law?” she says in disbelief. “Trafalgar Law.”

“In the flesh,” Law says without a trace of humour.

"Oh my god, I've heard so much about you!" she says excitedly. “Pen said you’d be out of town this week.”

“That’s next week,” Law says.

“That fucking doofus,” she moans, and it makes Law frown.

Penguin absolutely acts like an idiot most of the time, but hearing his totally new girlfriend say it so candidly feels wrong. Penguin had been very excited when he told Law about her.

She walks past him out of the bathroom and into Penguin's room.

“Again, I’m really sorry about this, Law,” she calls from the other side.

“Don’t sweat it. You’re here now, might as well stay. Shachi will be home in a couple of hours.”

“I’ll make it up to you somehow,” she says, sticking her head out from behind the door, shooting him a bright smile. 

Law nods curtly and locks himself in the bathroom, trying not to think about the fact that he’s totally attracted to Penguin’s new girlfriend.

----

All his plans for the night get flushed down the drain. There’s no point in even attempting to uphold his priorly planned out schedule. He no longer feels at ease in the living room, not in the kitchen either. He throws together dinner in a haste and eats at his desk. 

Sometime as he’s hidden away in his room, Shachi comes home. Law can hear him and Y/N getting acquainted in the kitchen and Law briefly wonders if he’ll be able to grab a hold of Shachi when he walks past and ask if Penguin told him about this, but Shachi doesn’t leave the kitchen. Law can hear increasing laughter, voices talking louder and the occasional opening of cans of beer. 

It annoys him greatly that Y/N and Shachi are getting along, putting him in the minority, but he can’t stay in his room all night either. That would be letting them win. He takes his finished plate and brings it to the kitchen.

“Captain!” Shachi exclaims. “Didn’t know you were home. You’ve met Y/N?”

Law finds that a simple nod suffices. 

"We're going out tonight."

“Join us!” Y/N exclaims. Her lips are painted red and she’s smiling wide, showing a lot of teeth, some of them unusually pointy. Law has always liked the feeling of sharp teeth. He likes the stain of red lipstick too. He likes-

“I have work,” he mumbles, putting away his final plate and walking out of the kitchen.

“Really?” Shachi asks from behind him.

“Stuff to read, things to write… you know,” Law lies. He turns around and stops in the doorway, attempting to look apologetic.

“Come on, I bought your favourite,” Shachi says, opening the fridge to show a six pack of Law’s go-to beer. If he wasn’t tempted to stay before, he definitely is now, but Law prides himself on his impeccable self control. It’s going to take more to tantalise him.

“Another time.”

The evening flies by in passiveness. Law continues to hide in his room. The wine stays unopened. Sora remains unread. The World Economic Journal lies untouched. 

Shachi and Y/N seem to be having a blast in the kitchen together. They play music and sing along, laugh and talk loudly. The hope of getting just a slice of the evening he had planned out gets bleaker by the hour and when they finally leave, going out to a club or bar, Law’s too tired to do anything else other than lie bed and think.

Think about Y/N.

It's just a little strange, that's all.

Penguin has never had a real girlfriend before. There was never more than one night stands and an occasional fuck friend and Law had never felt attraction to any of them. It’s an established fact that their taste is very different. They sometimes even joke about it when they’re out drinking. Shachi’s into men, Penguin’s into shy girls with sweet smiles and Law likes the ones that bite a little. The three had lived in perfect symbiosis.

Penguin always goes for girls with low self-esteem. Quiet, sweet, kinda needy. Law never gets to know any of them because Penguin very quickly loses interest and then Law never sees them again. Never has Penguin introduced anyone as his girlfriend before.

Y/N is confident, harder and freer than any of his prior flings, although maybe a bit too harsh on Penguin. In a way she reminds him of Shachi, but no one else is allowed to treat Penguin the way Shachi does, that’s reserved for only him. And on occasion Law. Y/N seems like someone that barges in and takes charge, not only feeling at home, but acting like it too. Unabashed and shameless. She absolutely reminds Law of Shachi.

Shachi and Penguin have been attached to the hip since they met at orientation. It’s no secret that Penguin himself has issues with confidence and that’s reflected in his choice in sexual partners, but when it comes to deeper relations it would make sense for him to fall for someone more like his best friend. Someone who completes him. 

It’s a pity that Law isn’t attracted to Shachi. He’s a great guy and although Law doesn’t actually think that he’s Shachi’s type, he could picture them together in a vague distant reality. Well, maybe not Shachi himself, but someone like him. Someone like Y/N.

Law shakes the thought away. He’s got to stop thinking. It’s 3 am already and he’s yet to get even a half hour of sleep.

----

“I just wish he told me that she was coming,” Law hisses at Shachi. He takes a large gulp of his lukewarm coffee.

“Give it a break. He thought you were going away this week,” Shachi argues. “Honestly I did too.”

“For fuck’s sake, that’s why we have a calendar! So there could be at least an inch of predictability in this fucking apartment. See, I wrote it down months ago,” Law says, pointing at the calendar on the fridge. Shachi raises an eyebrow at him. Law looks at it himself. The blood drains from his face. He’s written down the wrong dates. How did he-

“You were saying?” Shachi says, clearly amused.

“Fuck off, I don’t know how I…,” Law mutters. “I must have- No. They changed the date. That’s it! They changed it and I-”

“And you forgot to change it in the calendar. Well, there you have it. And that’s-”

“But I-,” Law protests.

“-not Penguin’s fault,” Shachi says with a smirk.

“I can’t believe it. What has become of me?”

“Fucking drama queen,” Shachi laughs.

Law has his little frustrated outburst and then he sighs deeply. 

“He should have told me even so. Doesn’t matter that he thought I was gonna be gone,” Law says sourly. Shachi hums in agreement.

“He told me like three days ago, I think it was a last minute emergency,” he says with a shrug.

“She’s not what I pictured,” Law admits.

“No, yeah, I get it. They’re different,” Shachi says. “She’s actually cool though, I think the two of you would get along. You should take this chance to get to know her, Lord knows Penguin’s not gonna let her around you again.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that he was okay with letting her stay when he didn’t know you’d be home and he won’t be pleased to find out.”

“What the fuck, Shachi?”

“Come on. Don’t take it personally, you know how he can get-”

“Morning!” 

“Good morning, Y/N!” Shachi says brightly and turns to the door opening where Y/N has appeared, only dressed in a loose bathrobe.

“How much did we drink last night? I have a raging headache,” she moans and shuffles lazily over to the sink.

“You did go all out,” Shachi chuckles. “Do you need anything? Aspirin?”

“I already took one,” she smiles. “It’ll be okay, although I was wondering if you guys could recommend some cafes nearby? Somewhere you can bring a laptop preferably.”

“You should go with Law! He’s currently writing research papers, so he can get you into the university library, the exclusive part of it,” Shachi grins widely. “The little cafe there is the cleanest place around, really.”

“Oh, I don’t want to impose,” she says to Law. “Any old cafe is fine really.”

“It’s no trouble, you can come with,” Law says, surprising himself. He never agrees to bring Shachi and Penguin around to his temporary office at the university, but a part of him is not against flashing his big-shot med-school fringe benefits in front of Y/N, hoping to somehow impress her. Just as friends of course.

“Thank you," she says with a wide smile. "Penguin told me you did residency at a hospital, are you done there already?” 

“No, I still do-”

“Law does both. Simultaneously! Yeah, I know. Smartest guy I know. Real catch this one,” Shachi lays it on thick and Law wants to strangle him. Not only is it fucking embarrassing, it’s also inappropriate. This is Penguin’s girlfriend for fuck’s sake.

“Wow, I’ll take your word for it,” she says to Shachi, but she’s smiling at Law. He looks away.

“I’m gonna take a shower, I’ll leave in 30 min. Be ready by then if you want to come,” he says to the floor.

“Thanks, Law!” she calls out after him.

Before he closes the door to the bathroom he hears the sound of snickering from the kitchen. Fucking hell, are they making fun of him?

----

“So when do you graduate?” Y/N asks. They’re driving to campus in his pre-owned, pale-yellow suzuki. Driving is a hassle because he needs to take the long way around to avoid midtown traffic, but he’s got his own parking, so he won’t complain. 

“I finished med-school last year and now I’m writing a PhD and doing post-graduate training.” Law’s grateful for how easy it is to avoid her gaze when he’s got his eyes on the road, but he still feels the pressure to keep a civilised conversation going.

“Post-graduate training?” she asks.

“The residency,” he explains.

“Ohh, wow. It’s so complicated becoming a doctor,” she says with a small chuckle. “You did 8 years and then on top of that you need more training.”

“Well, some people think it’s better to be over prepared when having the constant responsibility of real human lives in your hands,” Law says. It’s supposed to be a joke.

It doesn’t land at all.

When they get to the university, Law lets her into the small cafe at the bottom floor of his building and says, “I’ll drive back at 3, be ready at the exit by then if you need a ride back. The bus is also quite comfortable.” With that he flees up to his office on the fourth floor.

When he makes his way down to the first floor at 15.00 sharp, she’s not there. It’s a mild disappointment, but it does give him the opportunity to call his favourite person on the way home.

“Bepo, thank god,” Law says when he picks up the phone. “Shachi and Penguin are killing me over here.” 

“Oh, no. What happened?”

“Penguin is travelling for a week and his new girlfriend is staying here while he’s away. I’ve never even met her before and he didn’t bother to tell me she was coming.”

“What? That doesn’t sound like Penguin,” Bepo says. 

Law feels his cheeks heat up, not wanting to admit that he has fair share of blame in the situation. He wants Bepo to be on his side.

“Yeah, it’s weird, but anyway. How are you? It’s been a while,” he says.

Bepo is doing his residency out of town, which is how Law ended up living with Shachi and Penguin in the first place. Bepo used to live here. Law used to live alone. It would be a lie to say he’s never regretted the decision to change that. 

“-but I think they’re warming up to me. Though I can’t be sure. Anyway, I’ll get by,” Bepo finishes.

“Everyone likes you, Bepo,” Law comments casually. It’s really the truth. He can almost hear Bepo blush on the other side.

“But tell me about Penguin’s girlfriend! I didn’t know he had one. I honestly thought he was-” Then he is cut off. 

“Sorry, didn’t catch that last part,” Law says loudly. The car speakers might be going bad.

“I didn’t know he had a girlfriend!” Bepo repeats. 

Law frowns. Bepo thought Penguin was what?

“Law?” Bepo calls out.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Law says, realising he turned quiet. “He told me a couple of weeks ago that there was someone and that he was hoping they would get together. He was really excited about it too. Although pretty shy concerning the details, didn’t want to tell me much. You know how he gets.” 

“Eh, yeah…” Bepo says unsurely.

“You okay, Bepo?”

“Super! Is she nice?”

“Well, yeah. Or I don’t know. She’s kinda mean about Penguin,” he admits. 

“Mean how?”

“Like calling him an idiot and stuff.”

“I see, yeah, that’s not nice.”

“It’s probably fine. He’s a grown up, he can make his own choices. Other than that she seems nice. She's really pretty.” Law winces over the fact that he felt the need to add the last part. It's unnecessary to let others know that he feels this way about her, even if it is just Bepo. 

“What did Shachi do?”

“What?”

“You said he was killing you too?”

“Oh, yeah well… He’s just really friendly with Y/N, and I feel like they’re ganging up on me. It’s nothing big,” he says, pulling up to his usual street parking spot.

“Y/N?”

“Pen’s girlfriend.”

“Oh, weird.”

“Yeah,” Law says.

There’s a pause.

“So, are we still on for movies next week?” Law asks. “I’m staying from Sunday till Thursday. Most nights there’ll be a boring dinner, but I can catch something later in the evening.”

“Yes! Let's see the new Sora movie!”

“Again?” Law asks, as if he wasn’t thinking about suggesting it himself.

“Yes!”

Law laughs and says, “Looking forward to it. I’ll call you later in the week okay?”

“Okay! And good luck with the whole Penguin’s-girlfriend-situation!”

“Right,” Law sighs and cuts the engine.

That night Law goes to bed early. He lies in bed for hours, desperate for sleep to take him away, but sleep doesn’t come. When it’s like this he usually gets up and has a glass of water, a cup of tea, a cup of coffee if there’s really no chance of getting sleep, but tonight he forces himself to lie still and just try. 

Because sleep would be the only thing that could save him now.

----

“Law,” she gasps.

“Yes?”

He looks around, but there’s no one there. He’s in a dark room, a few windows letting in beams of sunlight far up the wall, but they only make the rest of the room feel darker. The ground is dirty and he’s sitting on his knees. He tries to stumble his way up when the voice speaks again. He feels a burst of pleasure brought on by the sound and falls back down on his knees, a slicing pain spreading from his kneecaps down towards his feet.

“Law, do that again,” it begs him. It’s a beautiful voice, like silk, the soft feel of it strokes him pleasantly over his skin.

That’s when he realises that he’s almost naked. He’s wearing clothes, but they’re unravelling slowly, falling apart at the seams. The cold air kisses his skin as it part by part gets exposed. 

“Law,” the voice says again, “I need you to touch me.”

“Yes,” he chokes out. “Where are you?”

Looking around, he still can’t see anyone else, but now the room is dimly lit by an open door letting in heaps of sunlight. It looks like he’s in a prison of some sort.

He’s not able to stand, but he staggers his way along the ground towards the opening. He can feel his clothes fall off him, one by one, and when he reaches the door he must surely be naked, but he doesn’t check.

The door leads out to a green meadow and when he reaches it, he can stand up. He runs out to feel the grass under the soles of his feet. 

He turns and looks back at where he came from and sees that he was inside an enormous, old tower mill. Its long sails are circling in the wind and every time they reach the ground, they’re closing off the entrance from which he just came.

“Yes, that’s it. I’m ready now,” the voice sings in his ear, a lot closer than before and he turns in a whirlwind to see a heap of hay before him and amidst it a naked woman, writhing in pleasure.

“Now, Law,” she orders, opening her eyes to meet his’. 

Law moves over to her and embraces her, sinking into her and she laughs out of pleasure. A melodic laughter that fills the world with sound and he lets go of the noises stuck in his chest. A long satisfied sigh, followed by a short grunt and a-

“Law,” she moans.

“Yes,” he answers. “Y/N, what do you need?”

“More.”

With a shudder it all slips away from him. 

He’s in his own bed, sweaty and alone. He’s achingly hard and instinctively rubs himself to ride the high of the dream.

Fuck. It feels below him having a sex dream, especially about someone he just met and who-

A sound is heard and Law freezes up. No, it can’t be. He must be hearing things, maybe he’s still dreaming.

He hears it again.

A noise that sounds a lot like moaning.

Law’s room is at the end of the corridor and it’s the room that in theory should have the most privacy, but when the assholes who rented out this apartment renovated it, they found that making two rooms out of one would be profitable if they didn’t put too much money into materials. That’s why Penguin and Law’s room is basically the same room only separated by the thinnest of walls, making it impossible not to hear whatever’s going on in the other room at all times.

It’s always been a nuisance, but it’s never been this much of a catastrophe, because Y/N is obviously engaging in some kind of sexual activity and Law can hear it. He would do his best to ignore it, pop in some ear plugs and deny it ever happened, if it weren’t for the fact that the sounds are so delicious. 

It’s crisp, each sound travelling through the thin walls without losing its quality. Law is able to differentiate what sort of actions might have spurred the different noises on, on a detailed level. He can hear when it’s pure pleasure and when it’s an aching need for more. 

He starts imagining what she might be doing. 

The obvious answer would be that she’s alone and masturbating, but what if she brought home someone? Someone who fucks her deep and slow, giving her just what she needs. Law reaches a hand down to touch himself again, but suddenly stops.

She’s with Penguin.

Even if she’s the type of person to do something like that, which he hopes she’s not, Shachi was hanging out with her tonight. He would stand up and put a stop to it before it came to that.

But what if she’s fucking Shachi? 

It’s not believable, but the thought is kind of hot. They’ve been having fun this week. Going out, just the two of them. Maybe the tension became too much and they lost all control.

Once again he’s got to stop his hand from reaching for himself.

Shachi would never do that to Penguin and as long as Law has known him, Shachi has never shown interest in a woman. To think that he would all of a sudden change his sexual preference just so that he can cheat on his best friend is ludicrous. Maybe Law is projecting.

But of course Law wouldn’t do that to Penguin either. Just because he wants to knock on her door and offer up his assistance everytime he hears her making that sound, so close to begging, doesn’t mean he would ever act on it. 

He wouldn’t.

But he’s got to do something. He needs to take care of himself or he will never be able to sleep afterwards. And these sounds are way too good to not take advantage of. Better than any porn. The perfect soundtrack to all his fantasies.

Fuck. 

He spits in his hand.

Yes. 

It sounds like she’s close now, the noises are getting quieter, but are coming more rapidly. It doesn’t take a lot before he’s close too. The dream. The sounds. The fantasy of having her on him, being the one getting her to make these sounds. It’s too much. He comes hard into his hand and can’t stop the groan that follows.

When he comes down from the high it’s suspiciously quiet from the other side of the wall. 

Oh no. 

She must have heard him and now she knows what he did.

He’ll never be able to look her or Penguin in the eyes again.

----

The next morning she doesn’t give him any reason to believe she caught on. If she did, she at least is not intending to make a scene about it. He’s eternally grateful. He can pretend to forget it ever happened if she is willing to do the same. 

Law spends the next couple of days avoiding both Shachi and Y/N like the plague. He works long hours, he eats out, he stays out, he comes home late and leaves early in the morning.

By the end of the week he’s fucking exhausted, but he’s managed to keep himself out of any inappropriate situations, with absolutely no help from Shachi, who must have noticed Law’s awkward predicament and has been doing everything he can to put him on the spot. A single day hasn’t passed without Shachi texting Law, asking if he can help drive Y/N somewhere or give her a hand with something else. It's infuriating.

Speaking of, Y/N’s been getting increasingly more comfortable in the common areas, walking around mostly in Penguin’s baggy shirts and shorts. No bra. 

It’s fine. 

He's almost made it to the day of Y/N's departure without embarrassing himself when it all comes crumbling down. 

In the middle of the night, there’s a knock on his door. He opens the door ever so slightly and peeks through.

"What do you want?" he asks gruffly.

It's Y/N holding up a bottle of wine.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

Law gives a wave of dismissal, she did not.

"I was just thinking and, uhm, well I'm leaving tomorrow and I've hardly gotten the chance to talk to you. So, last chance to bond, I guess." She laughs nervously. "I heard you like white wine?"

It hits Law how much of an asshole he's been.

To her it must have seemed like he had no interest in getting to know her at all. Come to think of it, he’s been treating her as if he suspects she’s not gonna stick around. What if Y/N is the love of Penguin's life? And he treated her like garbage just because he couldn’t get over his own crush on her? 

"Yeah, let me just," he says, going back into his room to put on a shirt.

"Wow, those tattoos really are rad," her voice rings way too close and he turns in a whirlwind. He left the door open and she had seen it as an invitation to come in. 

He's about to ask her to leave his room, they can do this in the common area like normal people, but that’s when Y/N sits down on the bed and scoots up to lean into the wall. 

He must have looked pretty appalled because next thing he knows she says, "I’m sorry, are you very particular about your bed? Should I sit somewhere else?"

Law doesn’t say anything because yes he is, but at the same time he really isn’t. And he can’t really ask her to leave his room now without sounding like an asshole, so he joins her on the bed, his heart rate picking up.

She opens the bottle and hands it to him, no glass, no cup. It even has a fucking screw cap. Jesus. To avoid embarrassing Y/N by being a total snob he takes it and takes a sip. 

Fuck, that’s vile. This must be the cheapest riesling available. 

"Shachi did those, right?" she asks, pointing at the tattoos on his chest.

He forgot to put on a shirt. A little late for that now.

"Yeah, he’s a really talented artist," Law says, shifting a little further from Y/N, now that he’s aware of how they’re almost touching. "He doesn’t do a lot of work anymore though. He's a teacher now. PE and swimming."

"He told me," she says, taking a swig of the wine before placing it on his bedside table. "You guys are so cool. I'm glad Pen has friends like you."

The mention of Penguin is enough to get Law to scooch an inch further away.

"Then there’s Bepo, you should meet him too. He lives out of town for now."

"Oh, I've met Bepo!" she says. "Big, blond guy, right?"

"Yeah, how did… when?" he asks her, confused. "When did you meet Bepo?"

"Last fall, I think," she says unsure. "He's great. Are you two close?"

Law can’t make out what to say. This makes no sense. Unless Y/N and Penguin must have been friends a long while before getting together. If that’s the case, it makes him feel even worse.

"I'm sorry I barged in and tried to force this whole thing on you. I just hated the idea of not getting to know you," she says. "You know, Penguin showed me your manifesto."

"My what?"

"Your manifesto? Three years ago, maybe four," she explains further, "you guys were at some party and everyone there were assholes, you got so angry with the world you decided to make a manifesto there and then? And then you-"

"Declared it at the party," Law finishes, wincing at the memory. They had been celebrating exams in the first year of med-school. "I was a fucking nuisance."

"It's a solid piece of work," she says with a chuckle. "Pen took a photo of the napkin you wrote it on and showed it to me that weekend. I thought you sounded like you were just the coolest person ever, so I tried following it for about a month."

Law looks at her, completely horrified. He remembers the embarrassment that is that so-called manifesto.

"Well, most of it," she adds. “Not number four.”

He snort-laughs loudly, remembering vaguely what he wrote and says, “I’m pretty sure I specified that the fourth point is directed at William, so you’re off the hook.”

“You’re right!” she exclaims. 

"I was young," he explains, half jokingly. “Drunk too.”

Her laughter trickles like pearls on a string and Law catches himself smiling. He self consciously rubs himself across his chin, forcing the smile away.

"I've wanted to meet you for a long time, Law." 

"Oh?" he asks, mouth suddenly dry.

She's a lot closer to him now. He can feel his will power is worn thin from all the push and pull through the week. He just wants to accept it. Accept her and take what she wants to give him. It's obvious now that she is coming on to him. This can't be anything else. Her eyes flutter, peeking down at his lips. Her hand is resting on his knee, making small circles with her finger tips. He wants this so badly.

When she leans in he's very close to meeting her half way, but instead he says, "You should go."

"What…? Really?"

"Yes," he says firmly, looking down.

"Okay."

She walks to the door and he follows her out. Before she leaves she grabs his wrist.

"Why?" she challenges him, forcing him to look her in the eyes. 

“I can’t do that to Penguin,” Law explains.

“I thought you wouldn’t care about stuff like that."

“Then you got me wrong, because I do care."

“Come on, what’s really the problem? I’ve heard stories about you and your borderline questionable morals, you know,” she says teasingly, still holding a firm hold around his wrist. “I didn’t think you’d be bothered by silly rules.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” Law hisses, ripping his arm out of her grip. “I still have some dignity left, thank you very much.”

“What? Law, I’m sorry, I didn't mean-” she calls out after him, but he’s already closed the door on her.

What a fucking mess. 

He collapses back on the bed, fighting the urge to groan loudly into his pillow. When he notices the bottle of wine still on the bedside table, he grabs it, intending to drown his sorrows, but then he takes a sip and-

Nope. No chance. That’s the most disgusting thing he’s tasted in a long time. 

Ugh, it's gonna be a long night.

----

Penguin comes back the next morning and Law waits. He hears him leave his suitcase in his room. He waits. He hears him talk to Y/N and Shachi by the breakfast table. He waits. Then he hears the goodbyes, the dangling of keys and the slamming of a door. Only then does he dare to leave his room.

He sneaks into the kitchen, desperate for coffee and freezes when he sees it. Penguin is there all right, but so is Y/N. Shachi is nowhere to be seen. Law has made a grave error.

“Hi, Law!” Penguin says cheerfully. “You’re back early? I thought you would be gone till tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m actually not going until next week. They changed the dates a while back.”

Penguin frowns. 

“Uhu, okay,” he says slowly, “so you’ve been… here, this week?”

Law nods, acting like everything is totally normal.

“Then I guess I won’t have to introduce you to-”

“Yeah, we met-” “We’ve already-” Law and Y/N say simultaneously. 

“Great,” Penguin says, clearly displeased. “Just what I needed.”

“Oh, come on, Pen,” Y/N pleas. “Can you be normal about this?”

Penguin looks at her, then he looks at Law, then back at her. 

“Oh my god, did you guys fuck?”

“What, no!” Law sputters. 

“Please say it wasn’t in my bed,” Penguin moans.

“We didn’t do anything,” Y/N says. 

“You know I don’t trust you an inch, you fucking snake,” Penguin says pointedly at Y/N.

“Ok, I admit I tried to, fucking sue me. But I was rejected,” she spits back at him. 

Law is having real trouble understanding the dynamic of their relationship, but his main priority is to reassure his friend. 

“Don’t worry, Pen. Nothing happened,” he says in all seriousness.

“Thank you, man. I honestly didn’t know if I could trust you on this,” Penguin says.

“Of course you can. I would never do that to you,” 

“I can’t believe you’re on his side,” Y/N sighs. “You’re so immature, both of you.”

“He’s MY friend,” Penguin says childishly.

“Why on earth are you jealous? He’ll still be your friend even if I fuck him, right Law?” Y/N asks, looking expectantly at him.

Wait, what?

“I’m not jealous, is it too much to ask that my sister keeps away from my mates?”

Sister?!

“Yes, it’s weird. You shouldn’t care-”

“Guys, stop!!” Law shouts. 

The two of them stop arguing and look at Law confused, and wow, they kind of do look alike when you think about it. Law is stumbling and has to grab a hold of the chair to keep his balance. He slides down into the seat.

“Hey, you alright there, buddy?” he hears Penguin ask.

“Your sister?” Law asks in a quiet anger. “You never said- I didn’t know you-”

“Law, speak up. What is it?”

“She is your sister?!” Law sputters as he looks up at Penguin.

“Yeah, how did you not know? You’ve been fucking her all week,” Penguin says bitterly.

“Oh my god, he did not-” Y/N butts in.

“ Shush ,” Law almost shouts at them. “You didn’t want us to meet because she is your sister?”

“Yeah, of course, I don’t want my sister to-,”

“I have been beating myself up over this all week, Pen,” Law says angrily, “because I thought that she was- If you had only told me from the start, maybe I would have known she was- And then I wouldn’t have had to…” Law wants to cry. "I've lost so much sleep over this."

“Law! Slow down,” Penguin says worriedly. “Who did you think she was?”

“Your girlfriend, Pen,” Law says bitingly. “You know, the one you told me about three weeks ago. You’ve never even mentioned a sister.”

In the background he can hear Y/N laugh quietly.

“Who do you mean my girlfriend?” Penguin asks, confused. 

“Pen, I think he means Shachi,” Y/N says, biting down her laugh.

“No, of course I don’t mean Shachi,” Law says quickly. “I thought you were-” He stops himself and looks at her. “What? What do you mean Shachi?”

“We’re kind of a thing,” Penguin says blankly, looking at Law with unsureness. All annoyance and aggravation seeps out of Law.

“Oh,” Law says simply. “How long has- uhm, since that happened?”

“Couple of weeks now,” Penguin says slowly. 

The two of them look at each other blankly.

“That’s… cool. I’m very happy for you,” Law says honestly, although somewhat strained.

“Thanks man, that’s- that’s very… yeah, thanks."

The silence is weird, mostly because of the big argument that raged on moments ago, which has now fizzled into nothing. Luckily for all of them, Penguin’s phone rings and he walks out of the kitchen to answer it, sending his sister a threatening glare before exiting.

"So you're siblings, huh?" Law asks her awkwardly. 

"Yeah," Y/N says. "I've been abroad a lot, so we don't see each other very often."

"Ah," Law says. 

This puts her actions into a slightly different perspective and Law is embarrassed by his own.

"I'm sorry about last night," he says. "I was mean."

"No, don’t worry about it," she says quickly. "It wasn’t fair of me to force you into that situation."

“Well, but I thought you were… as we already have established that you’re not. And that Pen was… which he isn’t," he says dumbly.

Long silence.

"Yeah, then that would have been cruel of me," she nods.

"It wasn’t on you, you didn’t know.”

“I’m just glad that it wasn’t because you hated me,” she says. “Penguin always talks about you and I was really looking forward to getting to know you.”

“No, not at all, I never hated you,” he reassures her. Memories from the past week come back to him. The looks, the touches, the dream. He feels warmth flooding to his cheeks and neck. 

“I just had a lot of thoughts about you,” he explains, “and I hated myself for thinking that about Penguin’s girlfriend."

"But I'm not," she says slowly, "Penguin’s girlfriend."

"No, you're not," Law says, feeling a smile slowly spread.

"So, what kind of thoughts are we talking about?"

“The bad kind,” he says.

“Care to give me a demonstration?” 

“I thought you knew all about me and my borderline questionable morals?” he asks pointedly.

“Oh my god,” she moans. “You must have thought me the worst person in the world.”

“Only the second worst,” he corrects, “after me of course. I almost gave in to you.”

“Oh?”

They move closer.

“For fuck’s sake!!” cries Penguin from the corridor. “I leave you alone for one minute and-"

Law’s manifesto 1. Fuck those guys who talk down, they’re not worth shit 2. We do it for the kids, not the profit 3. But we do need to live, so fucking unionize 4. Eat shit, William 5. Don’t let anyone treat Bepo like that

Read on AO3

Read my other Law/Penguin/Reader love triangle fic

[finniestoncrane]

If I could request Reevesverse penguin with an absolutely needy as fuck reader. Like they’ve already cum like 3 times but they are BEGGING FOR MORE 🙏🙏🙏

Please and thank you! Your writing just… goosebumps

Farrell!Penguin x Fem!Reader, word count: 700 good god i want him to dehydrate me to the point that i'm just a wee withered crisp sitting on his lap HNG 💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fingering, kissing, groping

Oswald lifted his hand to his mouth, inhaling as he brought his fingers into his mouth, parted lips closing around them as he savoured the taste of you. Your slick, your arousal, your satisfaction, all of it dancing on his taste buds as he sucked his fingers clean of you. Even at your third orgasm, you tasted as sweet, as strong, as you did the first time he'd made you cum that evening.

Through almost closed lips, too fatigued to even open your mouth properly, you mumbled your pleas.

"Ozzie... I could... I could go again..."

"Are you kiddin', sweetheart? You'll pass out."

He looked at your eyes, glazed over, lust-filled even after your two previous orgasms, both of them pleasurable and satisfying, but clearly not enough to completely cure your hunger.

"I'm fine, I can take it. I want it, please. Please."

It was hard for him to say no to you. A lot of his sense of pride, his affections, his dominance, his masculinity even, they all hung on his ability to spoil you. To treat you as he knew you deserved. But there was a little bit of him that delighted in teasing. And beyond even that, there was a distinct pleasure in hearing you beg him. It made his cock throb each time your lips formed the elongated vowel in the middle of your "please". Being wanted felt good, being needed felt even better.

"Whaddaya think this is, baby? Some kind of charity case? I'm a busy man, sweetheart. I gotta get back to work."

You reached out for him, catching the sleeve of his suit jacket as he moved to flatten the collar down, pulling him back to you and finding him surprisingly easy to control, almost like he was expecting you to keep begging, or that he wanted you to. One he was seated again, you shifted yourself onto his lap, ample space for you on his thick, wide thighs to get comfortable.

"No, please... come on, Ozzie. Once more, just a little more. It won't take much, I swear. Just your fingers again... I'm so close already."

You were writhing in the seat, jerking your hips a little as you tried to find the friction you were desperate for him to give you. Oswald watched your body moving, how it seemed so desperate, so needy, and the familiar stir at the front of his pants threatened to give him away.

Reaching down the front of your already soaked underwear, his fingers trailed over your swollen, tingling lips, the cool of his ring making your whole body twitch, head thrown back with a gasp as he spread your folds open. One finger tickled up the length of your entrance, teasing over your clit.

He cooed, a warm rumble from his chest that sent a shiver over you. As you digested it, let it warm you, surround you, he leaned in, a soft kiss pressed to the front of your throat, Oswald's strong nose against you, nuzzling into you.

"Please... please, Ozzie... please..."

Begging him always worked. He liked to be needed, to be wanted. To have you so desperate that you were willing to debase yourself just to get what you were pleading for.

You were close already, riding on the high of your previous climaxes, rocking yourself back and forth on Oswald's fingers as he kissed your throat, tongue flitting out over his lips to taste you, not quite satisfied with how much of you he had already savoured.

With you fucking yourself on his fingers, he let himself grab at your body, anywhere his hands could reach he touched, held, aiding you in the rough rocking that was getting you off. And he pulled you closer as you whined, shaking and convulsing as you orgasm took control of your muscles and limbs, the heat spreading through you, dissipating slowly with the relief it always brought.

Holding you to his chest, Oswald sighed, satisfied in his own efforts. He was a man of his word, it was important to him to stick to it. But if you asked again, for just one more, he would have to oblige.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XLI. “guilty as sin?”

parts: previous / next

plot: left reeling from an abrupt interruption, you and Bruce fight a losing battle against rising tides. Crane makes himself clearer than ever before.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, smut, brief mention of past suicide attempt, psychiatric hospital scene, brief seizure

words: 12k

a/n: hiii lovelies !! consider this a holiday gift <3 i thiiiiink it’ll be worth the wait :)

He’d come much too close. And not close enough. Your lips lingered on his like a searing knife. A flame that came too near and singed off the top layer of skin.

His head buzzed as he followed Alfred without thought down the steps. His fingers traced the ghost of you as they skimmed his lower lip. It had only been a second, but you’d sent such a jolt through him that he’d swore he’d been struck by lightning. Why did Gordon have to come now? 

The edges of his vision blurred knowing you were up there waiting; if he’d remembered to shut the door, maybe he could’ve ignored Alfred. Asked to kiss you. Maybe you would’ve reciprocated. Maybe. Then he could’ve tasted you. 

Nah. No way.

His left hand flexed at his waist, holding the tension of a quiver as it grieved the loss of your warm skin. He thudded hard down the last stair, thoughts wandering to how quickly he could get this over with; he hadn’t expected the tension to linger like this, consuming his entire body, even as he shook Gordon and Martinez’s hands and listened to them speak. His hips sitting in the chair didn’t feel right—too hard, too static, he needed to move. 

Something about paperwork regarding something about a court, something about a trial, something about testifying against Risou or signing away the rights. As much as he tried to blink back to the moment and engage with what was in front of him, he remained untethered. 

Focus. Seems straightforward. Jail time and some institutionalizing. That part of him burned again thinking about how animalistically they treated patients. Focus. My word has weight. 

It was a constant refrain as your fingers brushed your bottom lip: why did Alfred have to interrupt? 

You swore you felt a shift in the air—but maybe you wanted to think so. There couldn’t be a world where he had actually wanted to kiss you, right? Where his breath on your neck meant anything... You pulled your legs up to the couch and leaned against the back. Head pounding. Heart racing. 

The room was extraordinarily empty without him. The television’s screensaver ping-ponging within its frame, the gentle whir of the mini fridge to your left. Though the door was open, you couldn’t make anything out; with how unstable your body was, consumed with the shock it just endured, you couldn’t begin to snoop.

At the back of your mind were your worries: would Mar be okay? Would Bruce have to leave? Did someone escape? What happened? Soon after they materialized they were flushed away by the pounding in your mouth and the tingle in your hands and feet. His lips touched mine. Your thoughts were jumbled and incoherent besides. Our mouths touched. 

The caffeine wasn’t helping much, and any possible adrenaline from his abrupt departure had been drained by holding him close. Your heart’s thunderous pace was relentless, even as the seconds turned to minutes and your eyes began to close. 

An hour later Bruce sat with his head in his hands, supported by weak wrists from endless stacks of paperwork. Two untouched mugs of coffee sat where Gordon and Martinez had. Too busy slogging through formalities, they hadn’t bothered. Bruce was glad for it. Could have prolonged their loitering. 

Alfred wandered back with the click of his cane, setting it against his chair while he walked the two cups over to the sink. Bruce knew it was awful, but despite the images from the crime scenes and Martinez’s bright, happy-go-lucky tone while he incessantly spoke, his mind was stuck on the room upstairs and its possibilities. Yet now, when he could finally move back to you, his feet were welded to the floor. 

“Should I anticipate the young lady coming over more often?” The cups clinked together as the man rinsed them, and Bruce tried to play off his surprise.

Should he? “I don’t know.” Something ensnaring had sunk its teeth in and overtaken him; he was drawn to the room like a moth to flame. Had your mouth truly touched his? Not your chin, or some trick of the air?

“It’s good to have a friend.” 

It rang discordantly through him like a bent gong. Friend. When he was procrastinating climbing the stairs to see you because he worried he’d trip and fall onto your lips and lose his hands in your hair. When he was overflowing with unused, pent-up energy that wouldn’t lower to a simmer. 

The alternative of being questioned by Alfred about having a woman upstairs had unglued his feet, not able to bear where he might steer the dialogue next. Within a few seconds he was jogging up the stairs and counting each step.

He repeated a mantra to hype himself up as he stood in the hall. He needed to breathe. That’s all. Breathe. A deep breath, then walk inside… “Sorry for—” 

You were sound asleep on the couch, but he slunk in a few more steps to make sure. Your breaths were long and deep, your eyelids with a slight flutter, both signs that he shouldn’t wake you. Sensing the chill in the room, he padded to Alfred’s study and grabbed the blanket laid atop the chair by the fireplace. He fluffed it in the hall so he wouldn’t disturb, and held his breath as he tossed it over you. In a blip he was gone, sending a text to Alfred through sweaty palms about letting him know if you woke, then descended to the batcave before anything else could be said. 

You startled when you felt something on top of you. An emerald green quilt covered you to your chest, the occasional snags of white thread in its valleys lending a homemade quality. Waking up in unfamiliar rooms started to wear on your sanity, but thankfully Bruce had kept the decorations so slight it didn’t take long to orient. 

Pushing off the blanket Alfred had undoubtedly tossed on, you slapped around for your phone. Getting to your hands and knees revealed it tucked at the bottom of the couch, squarely between the cushion and the arm. 

HOURS. You’d been asleep hours. 

3:02 a.m. was the time blaring from your home screen. You had a single text from Mar updating you with a group picture from Mora’s, but she hadn’t responded to any of the messages you'd sent prior. She hadn’t invited you, though you probably wouldn’t have gone. You didn’t think you were allowed to feel bad in such a case, but it stung.

Impossible to decide if it was a blessing or curse that Bruce was nocturnal, you padded out to the hallway with the quilt wrapped around you like a cape. What had compelled him to make a cape on his suit? Were capes intimidating? Heroic? Distracting?

The stairs were cooler than you remembered, but you stalled after the first set. Standing in the hallway where you’d embraced, like this. The air, the night. Your melancholy was admittedly lower, but you knew a hug from him would fill you the same. You forced yourself down to the foyer, and jumped when you met Bruce sitting in your seat at the table. He startled too.

“I let you sleep, I thought you needed it.” He sounded apologetic, nervous. You shook your head and pursed your lips. 

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He got up and opened the fridge. You entered the room in full, careful to scoop the edges of the blanket dragging on the ground. “Want anything?”

The eye contact was fleeting; the second your gazes met, you both cut away like a dodged bullet. You snuck to your chair across the table, furthest from where he stood, and nodded. “What do you have?” 

“Bread, cheese, broccoli." He sifted through unknown items and withdrew some ciabatta and a cheddar loaf. 

“Grilled cheese is good.” What you wanted to say was that you didn’t deserve for him to be cooking, that you’d overstayed your welcome, and it was embarrassing you were here. Arguing with your host, however, seemed even more remiss—and you didn’t want him to turn around yet. His presence was stifling. 

While he prepared a pan on the stove, you rolled the quilt into a compact cylinder and placed it on Alfred’s seat. 

“Was that warm enough?”

“Yeah, perfect.” Had Bruce given it to you? “Thanks.” 

He didn’t respond, busy slicing cheese and toasting the bread. Had he noticed what had happened upstairs? You couldn’t have imagined it. You really, really couldn’t have…

“Want a drink?”

Each syllable was a firework popping. 

“Think there’s juice.”

You got up while he placed the bread in the pan. A container of orange juice glistened on the top shelf, and you followed Bruce’s opening of the cupboard to his left and grabbed two glasses. 

The drink was sweet, with a tang that was an ideal distraction from the elephant in the room. If he wouldn’t mention it, you weren’t opening that can of worms either. 

Seeing as he’d only made one sandwich, which he put on a single plate and walked over to you, you sought to test the waters after taking a bite. Maybe it would ease the pressure. “You call that a sandwich?”

Bruce straightened, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

Admittedly, it was delicious. “It’s fine, but…” you eyed the pan on the stove. Feigning a groan, you rolled up your sleeves and grabbed the spatula. He moved to stand but you waved him down. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

As you began making the sandwich the exact same way he had, placing the toast down, the cheese on top, flipping it at the same time, he grew increasingly suspicious. “That’s how I made it.”

“It’s different.” You flipped the sandwich once more, then placed it on a small plate from the cup cabinet. You sat it at his table setting and gestured to him. “Try it.”

Bruce looked up at you with discernment. You bit your cheek to stave off a laugh. Slowly, almost methodically and with a great hesitance, he picked up the sandwich and took a bite. It didn’t take a second for him to catch on, speaking with food in his mouth. “Tastes the same.”

“Probably won’t taste it on the first bite, detective.” You put the spatula away, wondering if you shouldn’t do the dishes to make the load easier on Alfred in the morning. Or their housekeeper. Or whoever did the cleaning in the kitchen. The gentle crunch of another bite was music to your ears, and turning back toward him revealed the most concentrated expression you’d ever seen him make. It was a brutal ordeal not to fall to the floor and laugh until you saw stars.

He opened his mouth with what you were certain would be another comment about how it was not different, so you interrupted. “Just take a few bites. Really think of the flavors.” Slowly, you wandered back to your seat opposite him. He was almost entirely finished with the sandwich, and had just swallowed an especially large bite. Perfect.

He was almost glaring. “Are you messing with me?” His brows were knit together, his jaw tight, his eyes roaming the tabletop as he struggled to uncover the difference. 

Once his gaze landed squarely on you, you folded. He lowered what remained of the sandwich as you barely held a laugh. “Why would I ever mess with you to get you to eat?”

Bruce’s eyes flashed, but yours were already shut with silent, full-bellied laughter. Something about how late at night it was. How dark the kitchen was. How seriously he took things. How awkward things felt after your embrace. When you managed to open your eyes a good twenty seconds later, you noticed the flicker of a smile on his lips. 

He’d totally fallen for it. While he wanted to join in on your contagious laughter, he felt supremely unnerved. He bought himself time by moving the plate to the sink, hoping your laughter wouldn’t be so easily contained as he waded through confusing thoughts. 

Only twice in recent memory had he forgone his own perception for the words of another, and both belonged to you. He recalled the creature vividly; in fact, at least once a week it would infiltrate his dreams. But you had a different story—so he bowed to you. He wanted to feel stupid for overthinking a grilled cheese at three in the morning, but it hung over him like nothing else. Not a raincloud, per se… that was too sinister, too foggy.

He peeked over his shoulder to watch you pour another glass of juice. A blanket, maybe? A weighted blanket? It was a heavy feeling, but one he wasn’t so nervous to give in to. Like something supposed to soothe. Why did he believe you so easily, and why did he want to believe you? It couldn’t be familiarity; if Alfred had tried the same antics, he would’ve outright refused. Possibly taken one bite, then made it clear the two sandwiches were precisely the same… God, it was ridiculous. 

A chuckle escaped him. It must’ve been at the precise time you’d taken a particularly big sip, because he heard the strangest, bubbliest garbling sound and turned to see you with chipmunk cheeks struggling not to blow your drink. Another laugh ripped out of him, and you slapped the table and shook your head, eyes crinkled with humor pleading for him to shut up. Bruce bit his lip and turned away, breathing tightly through his nose. 

He liked hearing you laugh. He liked seeing you playful and lively. He liked having you in his kitchen, even if he might have to mop after you went to bed if you couldn’t get it under control. He looked to check if you’d managed, and you had. Your bright eyes staring back at him from across the room. You were alone again, and he swallowed thickly. He could move the pitcher to the counter, the same with your glass. Shove the placemats to the floor…

“Not gonna finish it?”

He glanced at the quarter of sandwich left, his eyes blurring the edges of the toast as his pupils struggled to focus. He popped it into his mouth and centered on the taste of the cheese and roughness of the bread against his tongue. It was barely enough to keep himself tethered as he plunked into his seat. 

You grinned and asked about what went down with Gordon, and he responded with the most detail he could muster: it wasn’t much. All his effort channeled into what you were saying, because the other side of the seesaw was hyperfixated on your mouth. No, your eyes. Your lashes. Your fingers. The intangible location of your voice ringing in his head Whew.

And so you talked for the next hour. Trying to pretend like you hadn't clung to each other like koalas mere hours ago, hoping he was forgiving about you tricking him into eating, playing a cat and mouse game with eye contact that drew progressively more tense though the conversation remained logistical. 

The topics weren’t enthralling by any means; updates about the people you’d help house (all situated, some starting new jobs soon), opinions about the candidates for mayor (you and him agreed that Mr. March was what Gotham needed, but were unsure if he’d break in with such genuine focus on people over profit), and a bit about how the election was covered in other states (as you told him: ‘almost nonexistent’). Regardless of how exciting the discussion was or was not, the simple act of engaging with Bruce was addicting.

You truly didn’t talk about anything invigorating, or even anything about each other or your individual lives—the time just flew. By the time you both started talking about each other, the room was misty, and you couldn’t stop staring at his mouth when he spoke. 

“Speaking of,” Bruce piggybacked on the campaign talk to direct things more personally. Each time he went to City Hall, he risked being found out. Each time you went there, you risked being openly harassed—if you hadn’t been already and had the foresight not to tell him. 

“How do you deal with being treated that way at meetings?” He intensely focused, like you were about to say some ancient, secret code he couldn’t miss a second of. While it felt like being spotlit, it was so unusual for you to hold anyone’s attention that it was frightfully endearing. You didn’t have to ponder long for the answer to spill. 

“I just think about how pointless it is to value their opinions. I don’t respect them.” You took another sip of the juice as you shrugged. His eyeline followed the glass, perceptive as ever. “If they think I’m weird, or gross, or whatever else, it probably means I’m doing something right.” Even as you said the words, you struggled to internalize them. Though you technically believed it, your chronically unmet desire to be valued proved a shaky foundation to dismiss scrutiny. You wrapped your arms around your chest, noticing a subtle flick of Bruce’s eyes down and back again. “And I don’t like them anyway. Why do I care what they think of me?”

He wished he could walk into rooms and not care. Throw away their opinions without thought. As a Wayne, this was another way he was isolated from normalcy. His gaze cast down from yours, following a small crack in the wood midway through the table length. He had to play into the elite’s hand; he didn’t have a choice. He was more them than the other way around. “Easier said.”

“I guess it’s about caring more what I think.”

He looked again at those beautiful eyes. Why should he care if they thought he was an idiot? Did they define his family’s legacy, or did he? After all, did the public decide if Batman was good or evil? When he stopped people from getting mugged? Saved kids from trauma? He followed your fingers as they wrapped around the glass. When he stopped you from being assaulted?

Bruce’s eyes had trailed again to his own fingers and thumbs. You prompted him. “What?”

Lamenting on the public’s opinion had pulled the air from the room. Did he value a public that had stolen his family? A public which, until very recently, had all but smited Batman, and condemned the Wayne legacy to a drugged-up skeleton hiding in his tower? 

“My mom.” He sighed from the bottom of his lungs. You followed his rapid blinking, how his eyes scattered across the table. His voice was more timid than you knew it to be, his body fidgeting. “She, uh.” He bit his lip, and you flung away creeping thoughts. “I spent most of my time with her. She lived as if there was always an audience.” Memories of her toying with the hem of her pajamas during a movie night, checking the mirror she kept in her pocket to see if her lipstick had moved. Even when she was alone, she had to be camera-ready. What had she endured to make her behave that way? How little did he know her? Know them?

And he hated to say that. Lived. 

His brows fused together, his back straightening to meet the chair. You leaned forward, hoping he knew you were a willing, attentive audience to any part of his mind. That these moments were gifts, not burdens. He didn’t look up.

“You’re right.” You struggled to avoid the jump in your stomach at his acknowledgement. “Living for the public’s estimation is borrowing a legacy. Can be taken at any point.” He sat in silence after that, time which allowed a smile to spread to your eyes and your chin to rest in your hands. 

“Keep going.” His eyes stuttered up to yours, and the slightest tinge of pink speckled his cheekbones. 

“About what?”

“Anything.”

He flushed to red, and your thoughts became jumbled again. So sweet. His lack of arrogance was staggeringly apparent, and rapidly becoming the hottest thing about him. It was terrifically difficult not to think about how that humility might translate elsewhere.

An expanse of possibilities had his mind inching toward disaster. Surely ‘anything’ didn’t include making a speech about how nice you looked, or how much he enjoyed seeing you across his table. The neckline of a tee had never bothered him before, but now it chafed. He glommed onto the first question in an effort to distract from the tension building in his chest. The question spiraled out of his journals and into the open air between you. “The meetings. How do I throw people off?”

“Of Batman?” Taking advantage of the single space you could reveal his alter ego felt holy. It made him feel larger, a little more imposing. The tired frame of the man in front of you was the same armored creature slinking through shadows in the night. Too often you forgot that, and now it was scintillating. He nodded. The room heated a few degrees. You wrung your hands together beneath the table, suddenly clammy. Well, to start… his eyes were so Vengeance it was virtually comical. He noticed the flicker.

“Tell me.”

You might tell him anything. He could rifle through your thoughts like you’d handed him a stack of your journals back home. Reminiscing on that moment where you’d faltered an apology to the faceless man, and the click of your eyes on his that spurred instant recognition. If you could slow it down, piece it out any further, you would. But it was simple. Agonizingly simple. 

“You can’t really wear colored contacts, so.” 

His eyes narrowed. You knew he was suspicious. For all he knew, you could’ve been stalking him for months and tracking his every whereabout, and you didn’t have any way to convince him otherwise. “You actually recognized me from my eyes?”

Crossing your fingers he wouldn’t notice your increased consideration, you soaked in the possibility that you’d been enamored from the beginning. His absorbing eyes, just as expressive as they were right now. Oh, if he kept looking at you... “Guess so.” 

He shifted in his seat, something you read into far too deeply. His fingers tapped the table’s edge, occasionally clenching to grip it. Speaking of absorbing.

Your attention focused on his fingers, and he realized you’d been staring at them. He tucked his hand into his lap, fingers straining toward something he couldn’t get. He tracked your eyes to the jug, noting you swallow when your lashes fluttered. The air in his lungs compressed. “Nothing else?”

You had a twinge of doubt; a shred that dissipated when you and him walked arm in arm and you’d felt how stacked his muscles were. Something you never would’ve known hid beneath his oversized wool coat. You mustered enough energy to stop blush from creeping onto your cheeks. Unfortunately, it meant not leaving enough to refrain stumbling over words. “You’re uh, pretty dense. Walking me to the hallway, muscly. Felt them, it.” To make matters worse, you’d said it while making ceaseless eye contact, so you noticed every twitch in his face when you did. Don’t breathe, don’t blush, don’t let oxygen get to your head…

“Lose the muscle, then.” 

You couldn't make out if he was joking. “Yeah. Don’t need ‘em.” You wanted to demand he stop boring his eyes into you. You were parched and desperately needed relief, but your hands shook and rattled against your thighs. You’d cause a scene if he kept it up too long. 

“What would’ve thrown you off?”

You hummed, wondering if any combination of traits or behavior could’ve convinced you that a person of the precise build and brooding demeanor was not a vigilante. Separating him and Batman was impossible. You dug your palm against your chin to freeze the tremble as you mused his question in avoidance of your blooming desire. “I don’t know.” His eyes dropped to your mouth, and you reflexively bit your lip. “Clumsy. Talkative. Casual, maybe. Batman seems so… cold, and calculated. So serious, and uptight.”

“I have to be. My family.”

“They already assume the worst of you, what’s some superficiality?” You stuttered when you noted he continued to linger on your lips. “You need something that gives an alibi to your nights.”

“Like what?” He was looking at you again, and you went weak. 

Your face heated to a fever pitch. If there was one quality Batman didn’t possess, it was sex appeal. At least, not in how he, uh. You hollowed thinking of how brutal and merciless he could be if he handled you with those gloves, and that armor… “I mean, if you want to lean playboy,” your lips pressed into a hard line, not believing you’d introduced it to the airspace. 

His pause was unraveling. “I can’t bring people here.” 

“Go there?”

The tension pooling in your stomach bubbled into a laugh at the absurdity. His brow quirked. “What?”

“Talking about pimping you out, it’s, it’s ridiculous.” 

That laugh again. He reached for his glass. “Eventually word would get out that I’m not sleeping with them.” 

“Why not?” Too busy taking care of me? You pressed your thighs together.

“Can’t have anything take up my nights.” Why did he—feel jealous? At the thought of touching anyone but you? He released his grip on the cup before he broke it. You bit your cheek, brows cinching. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s weird. Already deleted it.”

He heard tight, shallow breaths escape his nose. Whatever it was, it was likely a good idea. You were full of good ideas. Full of, of… less weirdness than he was right now.

“I was thinking about if you did, but it was fast, but then—”

His eyes flashed. “Fast?”

“I don’t know!” Bruce’s face was bright red, his jaw slack. Get a shovel and bury me. “I told you. It wouldn’t make sense, it would be too short.”

“Too short?”

The room spun. With how goddamn perceptive he was it was a matter of seconds before he noticed the heat in your cheeks, the shake in your hand, and the barely-concealed panting. He laid his palm flat to the table. You felt it painted across your lower back. You squeaked. “I’m feeling tired, um,”

“You can sleep here, same room.” Why did he say that? “As last time.” 

“Okay.” You downed the last of your glass to cool your throat, and grabbed the jug to put back in the fridge. 

You sounded out of breath, he felt breathless, and you were leaving so hurriedly. “Y/N,”

You stood up so fast you slammed your legs into the table and knocked over the juice. It splattered across your shirt and pants, dousing the fabric, and you scrambled to place it upright. “I’m sorry,”

“It’s alright.” His elbow brushed yours as he soaked up the wreckage with a dishrag, and you banged the chair back in an attempt to distance. 

“I need to, um,” the frenetic energy had you about to pass out. 

“You can use the shower upstairs.”

“Thanks.” 

The instant you were out of his eyeline you sprinted up to the bathroom and pushed your back against the door, floundering for air. The nanosecond he heard you in the stairwell he bent over the table and took deep, labored breaths that did nothing to neutralize his headiness. He didn’t know what he meant by saying your name, but his next thought was how you might look splayed out on the table.

Fuck. You tossed your clothes on the counter and got the water running, jumping in despite its freezing temp. It met your blazing skin and melted in small streams down your legs, but it didn’t comfort. You turned the knob hotter. 

Steam tinted the shower glass, adorning the aged shampoo bottles with pearls of dew. Cold didn’t work. Heat didn’t work. So scorching it practically scalded your shoulderblades. It did quicken your heartbeat, but it was already racing. 

That meal was dangerous. Being alone together so late, staying over so often… a plume of hot breath fell out of you. It was a miracle you were showering and not straddling his lap. Was it?

Would it… be so bad? 

It was as though your body had already given in; the room’s lighting was hazy, your breathing increasingly deliberate. You thought back to what Mar had joked about many a night at Mora’s: “There’s no such thing as bad thoughts.” She’d said it while thinking about getting a third or fourth drink, but it settled into the thick of your chest differently now. 

You swallowed hard as you pressed your back to the glass. The coolness brought a gasp to your lips, and your mind shot to Bruce’s sigh against your ear. Your heart was a broken metronome; speeding up as your fingers flexed down your torso, catching when you hesitated.

No bad thoughts, huh?

Your trembling fingers slid across your stomach, then paused. Not in his shower. Not in his bathroom. Not in his home. Not when he’d been so… vulnerable with you. Your throat went dry, your pulse echoing between your thighs in rebellion. How he’d gripped your shirt. His pause. You could’ve sworn… What if he kissed me? Feeling his heartbeat knock against yours and the heat of his breath on your neck threatened the stability of your legs. 

Maybe he’d hate you for fantasizing about him; maybe it was creepy, and horrible, and nasty. Maybe it was inappropriate and weird; maybe you’d loathe yourself in the morning, but the morning wasn’t here, and neither was he. As much as you fucking hated it, you could keep a secret. 

You ached, so sensitive to touch you had to start gently, practicing godly restraint. It took a Herculean effort but you shoved your guilt to the side, telling yourself it could come back when you stepped out of the shower. Right now, as your fingers swirled circles over your clit, you needed to imagine his hands on you or you might die. The all-consuming desire slammed a fever to your cheeks and let your reason slip away with little fight. 

The outside of your thigh flushed beneath the grip of your free hand. You never touched yourself in the shower, the water destroying any lubrication, but it didn’t make any difference when you were this drenched. You kept repositioning, making the circle tighter and tighter with increasingly firm pressure for your fingers to stay in place. 

However he wanted, you were ready—against the wall, on the counter, his bed, his car, Jesus, even the bare ground. You bit your lip to the point of pain as your wrist began to ache, speeding up as you imagined his cock slipping in and out of you. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, muffled moans slipping past his lips. He could hardly breathe, his air so ragged, body impossibly tense. You’d feel so good, so fucking good, he couldn’t take it. He was so close already. His hips drove off the bed as he chased the image of you. Jesus fucking Christ, he couldn’t think, stroking himself faster and faster, imagining your, oh, your, your mouth, fuck,

Your tongue jammed against your teeth and your jaw trembled as your body tensed toward an orgasm. Lewd, sinful noises of your wet cunt absolutely begging for him to pound into it, slamming deep into you over and over—you could take it, fuck, you could take anything. If he heard you, if he came in right now, if he said he wanted you, you’d fuck him. All fucking night, until you memorized the taste of his fucking sweat and the exact angle that made his eyes roll, oh my GOD—

This was sacrilegious; you were here, and there was no way you felt the, he prayed you wouldn’t hear him—mmm. How would he explain this? Panting and trembling in his bed, envisioning the shapes you could make, how you might sound, how you’d look at him as he… goddamn.

You forced your fingers to slow down, your orgasm building too quickly. Unwillingly pulling your hand away brought a fantasy: he was so fucking frustrating, he would absolutely, positively, god, he would make it hell, wouldn’t he? 

He’d never whined while he stroked himself, never sweat through his sheets, never felt his heartbeat in his temples, but he didn’t want this feeling to end. It was hell moving his hand away, his chest caving into itself as he caught his breath, but he wouldn’t finish until he got enough of you. Enough of your lips on his neck, of your gasps in his ear, of making you feel so, so good… His praise fell out in wanton moans. “Yes baby, perfect, ah, ah,” 

Making you beg, right when you were the most strung out… His voice in your ear telling you no, not yet… lacing his fingers between yours and guiding your hand away. His lips warming your cheek as he kept teasing. Your face going red as you writhed beneath him, begging him to move your hand back, the water pounding the shower floor cloaking your pleads. “Let me just, fuck!” The dull ache in your hand was yours, but that was the beginning and end, all but levitating under his imagined touch.

“Yeah, right there?” His lashes fluttered, his tensing abs creaking the bed as he nearly lost it.

You were even more responsive after only a few second’s break. “OH,”

“Baby,”

You groaned, sighing out gasping pleads for him to fuck you, understanding this feeling had been growing for weeks, realizing how horrendously fuckable he was. Even when he made rude comments, when he was pissy, annoyed, “please,” you begged the air to bring him to you, “please, Bruce, please please,” you were so gone you couldn’t breathe. It was happening so quickly, the tsunami of how it felt to fantasize about him… 

He shut his eyes and imagined you saying his name, begging him to cum. Bruce, let go for me… His brows knit together and his jaw slacked, stroking himself faster when goosebumps tingled up his spine. Faster, his cock twitching, you’re doing so well, baby, so needy… you made him so desperate, so pathetic, nothing but a fucking toy for you… he stroked his cock like it was you gripping him, moaning and grinding on him like it was all yours. It was. He was all yours. All… fucking… 

The tension snapped when you visualized his shower-sodden form standing in the doorway, so real you could almost reach and pull his pants down his hips. Your vision whited out and your heart stalled, an involuntary groan pulling itself out of you as your abdomen tensed forward, folding in on yourself. The guilt sideswept you at your most vulnerable, transforming the pleasure into a sharp knife and the heat in your face to burning coal. 

He’d never wanted someone more, and nowhere was this more evident than the pure flight that was his climax. Maybe calling after you in the kitchen had been a vow, a premonition. Your name fell from his lips like poetry; like water flowing through a river. 

After a speedy wash through riptides of shame and yearning that threatened to drown, you stared at your clump of dirty clothes that had fallen behind the toilet. As much as you trusted Alfred and the maid to keep things pristine, and how you were fairly certain you’d been the only person to use this bathroom in decades, you couldn’t bring yourself to put them back on. You couldn’t bring yourself to move. Couldn’t bring yourself to remember you actually existed.

Standing in your towel, hoping clothes would magically appear, you shivered in front of the massive bathroom door. The steam from the shower was heavy against the mirror, manipulating shapes that looked a lot like sin. The towel was long and thick, arguably the biggest tell that he was a billionaire. You’d never seen a towel so long or so wide, it nearly hung to your ankles. You tightened it and took deep, regulating breaths. The notion of seeing him after he’d consumed your fantasies made you want to die. Your hair was still dripping, your knuckles shaking as they gripped the cotton at full strength. 

You narrowed your glare to the golden doorknob. I can do this. I’ll just walk up and ask for a shirt. It’ll be fine. Just fine. Painfully, you reached for the door, hoping for the metal’s coolness to soothe you, but you’d been in the shower too long. It was warm and slick, matching the temperature of your own skin. Your heartbeat quickened, and you swallowed hard, still acutely aware of the echoes between your legs and praying it wasn’t stamped to your forehead. 

You slammed the door wide and found yourself standing alone in the open hallway. It was dark, thankfully. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell you were only in a towel. Maybe he’d already have clothes right by the door and you’d only have to face him for a few seconds. Maybe you wouldn’t even have to look at him. Pretend you got some shampoo in your eye. 

The steps to his doorway were much too difficult. Your legs were lined with lead. You did another pep-talk as you situated in front of his door, making sure to knock with your opposite hand to try and feel less naughty. You released a shivering breath.

Shit. Bruce’s heart stopped when he heard your knock, and he tripped over himself as he stumbled out of bed toward his bathroom. Faster than he’d ever done anything in his life, he desperately bent himself over the sink to wash off his abdomen. The water was too cold, it was making things too sticky, it needed to warm up, warm UP!

Another knock. You would leave if he didn’t show up soon. Maybe you were having a reaction, oh, shit! He grabbed a towel and scraped at his skin and tossed it behind him, throwing on a folded tee atop his dresser as he fumbled his way to the door. He’d bought new Benadryl, but where was it? Had he brought it up with him to the movie room? Was it in the medicine cabinet downstairs? Was it in here somewhere—

“Hi, um.” His eyes landed on your bare shoulders before stuttering up to yours. Your lashes were clumped together from the shower, face flushed from the heat. Probably why he couldn’t get hot water. “Do you have a spare shirt?”

“Yeah.” He could barely hear himself talk over the ringing in his ears. Of course you’d show up like this, not even a few minutes after… he bit his tongue as he turned and ransacked his dresser drawers. His cheeks turned red as it dawned on him that you might have heard… fuck. 

He cleared his throat as he moved to the middle drawers. “Uh, how was your shower?” He hoped you’d say something to the tune of: Oh, long and uneventful. The shower is so loud in there, could hardly hear myself think. Definitely couldn’t hear you jacking off to me. His fingers shook as he pulled on the handles. There seemed to only be pants in the middle drawers, and your faint response reminded him you were stranded in the hallway. “You can come in.” His increasing anxiety nearly made him implode when he heard you step inside. The last drawer came up empty. 

“It um, it was, yeah, fine.” 

He didn’t know whether to look at you or not. He moved silently to his closet, hoping Dory might’ve hung some of his undershirts. Could you see how red his face was? Oh god, did the room smell weird? Could you tell something was off? Were you about to confront him about it? 

He was acting strange. Not so strange as to be concerned, but a bit off. Like you’d interrupted something. How did he spend his evenings when he wasn’t out as Batman? Was he prepping for Batman, but you’d gotten in the way? Did he hate that you were here and felt like he could finally stop the facade, but now he had to plaster on a kindly demeanor? Was this a kindly demeanor? He appeared… frazzled, though that could be a total projection given you’d just climaxed to… you gulped. Not now.

Relief flooded you as you realized his hair was wet, and his shirt clung to his torso. If he’d showered at the same time, he probably couldn’t hear! Your tone was too sunshiney for the apology, but you didn’t have the capacity to manage it. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your shower, I’m sorry, I can wait.”

He hesitated before continuing his thumbing through hangers. “I didn’t shower.” 

The room was silent a few beats. He kept searching through his closet, which was decidedly massive, while you stood clinging to your towel for dear life. You would rather Alfred saw you dripping in the hallway than stand shivering within a few feet of Bruce’s bed. 

His bed looked comfortable. All too inviting. Your attention was split between watching his body move, and trying to take a photograph of the room’s layout with your mind. The guilt that gnawed at you was quieted in his presence, overwhelmed by being with him again. Truly all-consuming; so tall, strong, capable, understanding, smart… he was everything.

In his effort not to make you uncomfortable, he hadn’t looked at you since you knocked. He tried to focus on finding a tee shirt, any non-collared shirt, but kept coming up short. Was this the last shirt he’d just put on? Jesus… 

His attention snagged on the corner of his bed, horror flooding him as he realized he may have left cum on his sheets, or his blanket, and oh god, you might see it— “Uh, you can grab whatever you want in here.” He stepped to the side, waiting for you to step up and start looking before he rushed to the bed and scoured his sheets. 

As you neared, his chest thundered. His body still caked in sweat, he probably smelled like shit, you could probably tell exactly what he’d been doing, you always read him like a book, fuck… he needed to check his bedsheets, make sure there was nothing on them, okay, you were starting to peruse the hangers,

He stepped to turn, eyes locked to his bed just a few feet away, cursing himself for creating a sweat pattern in the sheets, when he heard you gasp. Whipping his head around showed his foot had caught the edge of the towel and yanked it off of you. He squeezed his eyes shut and stepped back, apologies propelling from his chest. “I’m sorry, shit, sorry, sorry,” 

Some rustling and whooshing sounds, then you spoke. Bruce stood in the middle of his room in total darkness, mortified, refusing to open his eyes until you left. He’d accidentally caught a view of your lower back before he’d realized his fuck up, and failed to rid his mind of the image. Sure that his face was beet red, that his sheets were dark with sweat, that his body was beaded with it, his hands and torso still dirty and incriminated, tearing your only covering off of you, he prayed a bomb would explode under his feet and take him to an early grave. 

“Lock a woman in your tower just to get her naked?” He went utterly still until he heard you laugh. You aren’t mad? He felt his heartbeat in his fingertips and the tightness in his chest loosen. “I’m covered now.” 

Blinking back to the room to see you standing in his dress shirt, one button at your waist holding everything together, your eyes crinkled at the edges holding back a smile. His eyes narrowed as if to ask, and you obliged, like you were beginning to share a secret language. 

“I’ll be sure to spill juice on this in the morning.”

Playing it off. He wasn’t about to get in the way. He looked at the white shirt you’d chosen, and smirked. How was he still standing? “Just Dior.” 

“At least it’s not the Prada.” You winked at him and turned to leave, the spin fluffing the back hem enough to skirt his leg. Certainly you could see how enamored he was if you looked back, and right then he might not have cared—but you didn’t. When you shut the door he fell to the edge of the mattress, planting the heel of his palm to his forehead as he caught his breath. You were a goddamn force.

Impossible to stifle your heaving breaths, you moved from his doorway with utmost urgency. The cool air of the tower traveled underneath the linen to relieve your heated skin as you made your getaway up the stairs. You couldn’t believe you’d said that, or winked, or that he’d very likely seen you naked. Or that you were in his home again. Dressed in his clothes. Fresh from a shower where you begged him to be inside you.

Your body already knew which direction to walk; you already knew the height of the knob and weight of the door, and how many steps it took to fall into the bed. It was starting to be normal talking to Bruce. Normal to be in his tower. You both… knew each other. If he’d pulled that towel shtick a month ago you would’ve argued, stormed away, and avoided him at the next meeting like the plague. But you believed he didn’t mean it, and thought it adorable how he’d stammered an apology through a clenched, closed face. Though initially distracted by the accidental kiss (?!), it was endearing how he’d launched into your arms. How you launched into his. 

He felt familiar; he felt safe.

He scrubbed the shirt in the sink, showered, and managed to change his sheets before staring at the ceiling until the sun rose. Whirls of smoke crowded the room, permeated only by drive-by thoughts that attacked just when he thought he might be falling asleep. Of going to your room. Your room. In his home. Knocking on the door. Your door. Admitting that he wanted to listen to you talk. Or stare at you. Or both. Or more. All night.

The thrill was short-lived. Whenever his muscles tensed like he actually might, the ceiling turned to meteors. His reputation. Family. Batman. His heart bled. He would crush you. 

That was something Alfred failed to understand: his life was fundamentally incompatible with others. Either layer was too much on its own, but when they stacked? When he was a Wayne and when he was Batman? What would happen if the world found out? If they threw him in jail, then you too? If he kept up this public persona, which he figured he’d need to, he would only become a bigger and bigger target. What happened to Alfred could happen to you, or worse. 

Even if nothing tragic ended up happening, your life would be irrevocably shifted. You wouldn’t be able to get coffee. Go to bars with your friends. You’d need security outside your apartment, people following you at all times. Always looking over your shoulder, always doubting the motives of whoever wanted to get to know you. Whatever you chose to do for a career would be squashed. After that first headline, you’d live and die by his association. He loathed being under perpetual shadow, preceded in every. little. thing. by preconceived notions, cursed to contrived interactions for eternity. To put you in the blast radius… fuck. He fisted his sheets and grit his teeth until his jaw popped. It couldn’t even be a question. If he wouldn’t wish this on his worst enemy, how could he do it to you?

That was if you felt the same, and how could he ever know for sure? You never failed to speak your mind or put him in his place, absolutely, but the imbalance was too great. Even for you. He’d never trust anything other than the word ‘no’. 

By the time Alfred knocked on his door in the afternoon, he’d cemented his conclusion into a megalith. It was dangerous, cruel, and selfish of him to pursue you. Like Alfred had said: you were a friend. A secret, temporary friend, and he could enjoy his time with you as such. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he pushed it any further, no matter how much he yearned for it. When he considered cutting you off entirely his body locked up, his mind procuring a million alternatives; the most convincing of them being that you were lonely here, and it would be kinder to lend some companionship until you left for home. 

And wouldn’t that be the ultimate show of care? Seeing an incredible flower, wanting to cut it, but letting it grow? He was convinced you’d thank him for sparing you, anyway.

You awoke to gentle taps at your door and someone clearing their throat. “Breakfast is ready. Or—lunch.”

Bruce. The room wasn’t yours, the sheets too expensive for you to mistake them for your own. His shirt had slid off one shoulder and crumpled under your side. “I’ll be right out.” 

Sliding off the bed reminded you that you didn’t have any underwear. How would you sit—

“Dory left your clothes here. Want me to bring them in?”

You pulled the shirt straight and fastened a few buttons. “Sure.”

“Now?”

You grinned. “Now.”

Like a true gentleman, he opened the door slowly and kept his eyes to the ground, holding a shallow wicker basket in front of him where your clothes lay folded with a candy on top. “Dory washed them.”

“Tell her I said thanks.” You bridged the space between, taking the basket from underneath to nullify any possibility of your bodies touching. He nodded, making brief eye contact before sighing and grabbing the door. Your spine prickled with the ghost of his fingers on your back, his breath on your ear. You bit your lip. 

“Do you want to walk down?”

“Oh I uh, I need to change,”

“I’ll be outside.” He left with a nod and the click of the lock.

In the spirit of speed, you pulled on your pants and tucked in his dress shirt, finishing the buttons so Alfred didn’t get any ideas. You stretched your arms, shook out any residual sleepiness, and pulled your hair back. You grabbed your phone to check the time, and noticed three missed calls: Dr. Crane, Dr. Crane, Dr. Crane. The blood left your face. 

You shouted out to Bruce, starting to pit his shirt. “I’ll be a minute, I’ll meet you down there.” 

“Sounds good.”

You scurried to press your ear to the door, making out the faintest footsteps down the staircase. Shit. Shit, shit. The last call had been a few minutes ago, and you pressed the phone to your ear with a force that threatened to crack the screen in half. With each passing ring you grew more nauseous, kicking yourself for continuously forgetting to call. But Bruce had been fine, right? Bruce had been normal, and polite, and talkative, and open about his feelings. 

“Y/N.” 

“I’m so sorry for forgetting to call, I woke up—”

He launched into a scolding, in a voice somehow made sinister by how measured it was. “I haven’t been asking a lot of you, because I assumed you would take the initiative to tell me what I need to know.”

“Dr. Crane,”

“However, given your history of dodging my calls—”

“I’m sorry, I’m really not trying to dodge anything,”

His sigh sounded like a curse, which sewed your mouth shut. “You’re not working, correct? No longer in school?”

You paused to ensure you didn’t interrupt him again. “Well,”

“Are you keeping his status from me?” 

“Not at all,” you looked to the doorway as if Bruce had his ear to it. 

“Perhaps you’ve formed an alliance with Mr. Wayne.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do.”

The room dropped ten degrees. 

“Come to my office today before five. I have some things to show you that should convince you to take the precariousness of life seriously.” He hung up before you could reply, leaving you stranded with a gutting blend of anxious guilt. 

If only Alfred hadn’t scheduled Wednesdays to be meeting days… then the pancakes wouldn’t be burnt, and the juice wouldn’t be insulting, Christ.

Bruce’s wrist ached from manually driving orange halves into the juicer for the past half hour, a task which had made the pan on the stove start to smoke, which contained the pancakes, and he hadn’t even began with any sausage or bacon, or eggs—why had he said things were ready? Because he had five blackened pancakes sitting on the table and a half jar of juice sitting uglily on the counter? 

He heard you descending the stairs. Despite his pep-talk the entire morning, and the one he gave before waking you, a lightness besieged him while in your presence. It decorated the walls of the kitchen when you stepped inside. “Where’s Alfred?”

“Meetings.” He tossed the last rind, embarrassed by the pitiful juice rations. “The juice from last night was for today, so I, it won’t be as good.” As he walked to place the glass by your seat, his ears turned pink and the silence in the room ricocheted. Every step pounded in his head, hyperaware of your placement in the room, his limbs tingling at the squick of your chair across the floor. He peeked over his shoulder to see you taste it. He grabbed some utensils and tucked into his seat, feeling a peculiar need to micromanage his table decorum. 

You grabbed some pancakes and he handed you a fork. “They’re burnt, I was juicing the oranges, and,”

“It’s fine.” Your smile was meek, but the twinkle in your irises made him forget. You took another small sip. 

“So it’s horrible?”

Your eyes crinkled once more; it was happening more often now, and he soared higher each time. “Telling on yourself there, Bruce.” 

Who knew his name could sound poetic? That he’d clutch each time you said it like a security blanket? If it hadn’t been made abundantly clear in the past twelve hours, he might’ve realized in this moment—as he roamed the slopes and valleys of your face with the spirit of a loving caress—that he adored you.

Your face slipped, and his matched. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t sleep very well.” You took another drink from the glass, your eyelids heavy. “Nightmares.”

“You could’ve woken me.” Did he sound too indignant? Possessive? Needy?

“They weren’t too bad, just tossing and turning a bit.”

Whatever it was, you didn’t want to discuss it further. He chewed on some pancake (that was somehow sour, dry, and too wet—either your tastebuds were nonexistent, or you were capable of more politeness than he knew), and thought through his next move. The creasing by your eyes had withered, your grin the same. “What do you like to do back home?” Remembering how you lit up talking about your town, and your cat. Wearing his earnest on his sleeve. 

Your lashes fluttered, chewing slowed. “Be in nature. Go on bike rides, drives, camping.”

“You said the trees were nice.” He tucked another bite into his cheek, hoping either the conversation or his insistence on eating the entire plate would lift your spirit. 

“Yeah, they are.”

“What else do you like about it?”

“I don’t know.” You rested the fork and moved the plate away. If he followed his ambling convictions, he might assume you were angry with him. If he followed them deeper, he might think you had a reason to be. 

“Sorry if bringing up your hometown isn’t—”

“It’s alright, not feeling very… energetic today.”

You played with the rest of your food while Bruce finished his. Each passing second you appeared more dejected, and by the time he rose to put his dish away, he was about ready to blurt how can I help?! so loudly it would’ve interrupted Alfred stories below. 

You bumped into his back when he turned to meet you, and he blushed. A quick swivel and he’d put your pancakes down the chute, rinsed the plate, and cleared his throat. “I know a place outside city limits, lot of empty roads. Used to test drive out there.” He cleared his throat again as he wrestled a stammer. “I could take you on a drive, might help.”

You could’ve cried. Domestic Bruce was a sight you were rarely privy to, but it kept your heart beating. The clock on the stove read 3:47, and Arkham was a twenty minute Uber from your apartment. When he turned and looked at you once more, god, you turned into a puddle. He was so pretty. He searched your face for a second, then went still on your eyes. The smallest upward tilt of his mouth made tears well. Sitting passenger while he gunned it down abandoned roads, taking a turn too hard and slamming your bodies together. Maybe your lips could skim again, or press, or… 

“Can you take me to my apartment?” You brought your hands to your chest and turned before he could notice a tear slip. Whatever waited for you in the shadowy offices at Arkham was menacing, and you couldn’t tell the one person who would actually listen.

“Sure.” A pause, which you held your breath in for, your stomach tight. “Now?”

“I’ll grab my stuff.” You longed to sprint the stairs all the way to the top and howl jagged, desperate truths from the rafters, but you walked calmly to the room above his, knelt to grab your folded shirt and shoes by the door, and followed him to the garage. You blurred your eyes to focus on the material of his shirt and not the outline of him underneath. A pipe set to burst. 

Hopefully he wouldn’t ask you on the drive about what your plans were. The cabin air was stifling, especially so lying on your back. Once Dr. Crane told you what you needed to know, you could regroup. Journal about it, even. In some shorthand. Codename. Pretend you went on some journalistic assignment and discuss it that way with Mar, if she would listen…

“Here.”

Your neck cricked with the rocket speed in which you scurried out of his car. You made it halfway down the alleyway, planning a low shout of ‘thanks!’ once you were out of his forcefield, but his door was opening. No, Bruce, please… if he initiated a hug, or even a fucking high five you would pour everything out.

“You left your bag.” 

Oh. You both walked toward each other, and his strides were so long it took a single move from you to be mere inches from him. The pleather wrinkled in your fist. You muttered your thanks, and took off without a second glance. 

Turned out there weren’t many rideshare drivers who would accept trips to Arkham. After being tossed around by a dozen drivers, the only acceptance was a gruff looking older man in a Chevy pickup. He made a joke about ‘the loony bin’ when you got in, and you grit your teeth for the duration of the drive. 

At 4:47 you pulled up to the steely gates. You’d planned a speech to hype yourself up, but faced with the memory of Bruce black and blue in vicious restraints, you instead pretended you were visiting a jail. A jail, or a school that was funded in a strange way. Anything to not sob at his supposedly very precarious existence.

The guard at the front desk didn’t look at you while you checked in. You stood with twiddling thumbs in the empty waiting area; an area with no seats or benches, the sole accompaniment being a fish tank and a cacophony of creaking metal. 

You checked your phone: five minutes passed. If he didn’t hurry, he’d blame you for showing up late. Even though you’d run up to your apartment to change, ordered Uber after Uber while on the toilet, forgone a snack…

“‘Ave a good one, chief.” A man with a forceful tone and heavy accent cut through the hallway and nodded at security. He was recognizable, you’d seen him before, but you couldn’t place it…Thick brows, black eyes. He paused and tucked a folded paper into his black leather jacket. His eyes flit to yours, and his cheeks coiled into a grin. A gold-capped tooth twinkled under the LEDs. “Ay sweetheart, how you doin?” 

The man from City Hall. Except Bruce wasn’t here to grab you by the elbow and escort you away. You nodded. “Doing okay.” Your voice lost its gusto. 

“Aren’t we all, eh?” He chuckled and it pierced your gut like a dull knife.  

“Ms. Y/L/N?” Your gaze moved a few feet to the right to the lady you’d checked in with. Goosebumps prickled your arms when you walked past the man. 

“Don’t worry. The people here, they run a tight ship.” He winked, then went on his way. The woman escorted you to Dr. Crane’s office, the first room on the right. You heard him before you saw him. “Ms. Y/L/N, finally. Follow me.”

He sped past you, his clipboard dipping in a ‘come here’ gesture behind him. You had to jog to keep up, though he wasn’t tall. The hallways were tinged green with stale lighting, the concrete floors crunching the arch of your shoes. He stopped halfway down the second turn and pointed to a small window situated at two-thirds the height of the door. 

The bolts smelled rusty when you walked closer, Dr. Crane’s narration starting immediately. The room was empty, except—no, it wasn’t. Someone sat facing the opposite wall in the far corner with their legs pulled to their chest. 

“This is Ms. Reál’s room.”

She turned as if she heard her name spoken, and you made out dozens of scratches across her face and neck. Some were old, some freshly scabbed over, some oozing and raw. The freshest ones trickled streams of bright red down the orange jumpsuit. Your voice shook. “She’s bleeding, can you—”

Bella locked eyes with yours through the window, and she shrieked. She clawed her way up and threw herself at the door, pounding and screaming against it. You gasped back, the force of her torment shaking the door. Your body spun to him, shock crossing your face. “Can someone go help?” 

“Keep looking.”

“It’s too—”

“Too what, Ms.?” He tucked his clipboard into his chest, his expression so neutral you couldn’t make sense of it. Bella’s screaming was dampened by the reinforced walls, but remained booming and apparent. 

“Personal.” You’d never met Bella Reál, and surely you weren’t cleared to see these things. As a prominent government figure, she had to have a similar process to Bruce. Paperwork, NDA, consent… 

“Look, Y/N.” His jaw clenched, the clipboard digging into his armpit. You couldn’t feel your body as you inched closer, keeping your eyes low and shutting them when the psychiatrist could no longer see. All you heard were her screams. Screams that began to roar and pierce through your chest. He clicked his pen impatiently, and you wondered if he could tell your eyes weren’t open. You snapped to attention when she sounded like she’d been struck. 

She was flat on her back, body convulsing. Her head and eyes moved wildly, and you reached to grab Dr. Crane’s coat. Your fingers were numb, and you scoured the room for things she could hit her head on. Her bed was about a foot away, the metal edges sending you into a tailspin. “She’s seizing, get a nurse to, her bed,”

“She’ll be alright.”

Your head whipped back, the slack expression transforming to a glare. “What are you talking about?” You turned to look again, and her convulsing had brought her about a half foot closer to the bed frame. You yanked the doorknob but it wouldn’t budge. Your mind went white. 

Dr. Crane was nonchalant, pulling out his clipboard to note something as you slammed your palm against the door in a futile effort to loosen it. You stopped when logic caught up to you, realizing that might scare Bella more. 

“Psychosis can involve many nights without sleep. High stress, low food intake, unwilling to take medication because they believe they’re unchallenged. It can all lead to Ms. Reál.” The clip snapped against the board, and it echoed along the hall. 

Bella’s seizing had begun to calm, just inches from the metal corner. You caught panting breaths as you gathered your wits. Using her name like she was a symptom. Like something on display. “She needs someone to help her.”

“I wanted you to see the best outcome.”

“Of what?” Anger was seeping into your voice. Dr. Crane’s brow raised, and his knuckles tightened against the board. 

“Ms. Reál didn’t have someone like you. By the time we got her inpatient, it was too late. Her seizures had already stolen her sanity.”

“How did she get those cuts? Why isn’t anyone monitoring her?”

“We have cameras in all patient rooms, Y/N.”

Your name in his mouth felt like a razor. “So, what? You think Bruce—Wayne will end up the same way? Caged and catatonic?”

“Catatonia is the opposite of what you just witnessed, ma’am. It would be in your and Mr. Wayne’s best interest to follow the advice of professionals rather than the whims of an impressionable amygdala.”

His smugness made Bruce sound like he was singing in a church choir. Fucking stuck-up… “Is this why you brought me here? He’s doing fine.”

He squinted. “Defensive.”

“He’s taking his meds, he hasn’t seen any owls, he hasn’t had an attack, he’s been completely normal. Which is why I haven’t been talking, there’s nothing to report on.”

“Nothing, hmm?”

You shrugged, completely out of sorts. Why were you talking about Bruce now anyway? “She needs someone to help her.” You turned to look through the window, but it slid closed. “What the fuck?”

“You’ve seen what I meant you to.”

“And what aren’t I meant to see?”

His lips pursed. “If Mr. Wayne is functioning as you say, then I have nothing more to discuss.”

“So he’s fine? Since he’s been taking his meds, he’s had no side effects,”

“You seem to have it all figured out.” He walked back toward his office, this time without motion to follow. “Call me if he’s catatonic or otherwise.”

After another pass at the window to get it to open, you ran after Crane. “When is he in the clear?”

It was like you weren’t there, and it was insulating. When he pushed open the door to his office, you jammed your foot inside to keep it from closing. “I want to help him. If there’s anything more I need to know, tell me.”

It was tough feeling thankful he’d responded with his voice dripped in disdain. “Dr. Vry recommended you on the basis that you were uniquely immune to the charms of the Wayne estate. I’m not sure she was correct.”

“I—”

“Your face flushes when you speak of him.” He stared you down like he physically had you in a chokehold. Your throat constricted. “You’ve become increasingly defensive the more time you’ve spent in his presence.” He stood from his chair. “And you now seem very assured in your estimation of his symptoms.” The clipboard slapped onto the wood and he strolled to his door, gripping the handle but not opening. “Almost like he’s spoken intimately with you to assuage any anxieties.” The light blue of his eyes was arctic, and you were so flabbergasted by his insinuation you couldn’t move. “Why would he do that with someone he isn’t colluding with?”

You breathed out a response. “Colluding—”

His voice rose: “I brought you here to remind you of what is at stake. If you keep anything from me, any behavior even slightly outside of the norm, there is little between him and a coffin.” He opened the door with a gust that blew your jacket askew. 

“When is he safe?”

“If Mr. Wayne makes it to his next prescription pickup with no side effects, and no deviation in mood, interest, or reality, you are relieved of your post.” 

“When is that?”

“Is he attached to you?”

These turns threatened to send you flying. Bruce, shaking, clinging to you. Answering every text, every call; stepping in line with you at meetings, driving you home, orchestrating hangouts. Opening up in ways you couldn’t imagine he’d spoken to anyone before. And how Dr. Crane had forced that level of vulnerability. The guilt grew fifty tons. “You made him have to rely on me, I don’t know what kind of answer you’re expecting.”

“I would advise you to begin untangling yourself from my patient now, to prevent an unfortunate situation.” 

An unfortunate situation? He talked of Bruce’s death like it was gum stuck to his shoe. Oh, Jesus, your head started to spin. 

“Look what he did the first time you left.”

The wind knocked out of you. He stared back with his dead eyes, his creaseless face glassy smooth. This was the most forthright he’d ever been in saying it was your fault. Stars popped into vision. “He has medication now,”

“Which is why you are even capable of leaving, and need to start the severing at your earliest convenience. Good day, Ms. Y/L/N.”

Luckily the hallways were clearly marked in bold, bright letters, or you wouldn’t have stumbled out. Since it’d been less than fifteen minutes, you requested your same driver. If he didn’t accept, you’d call Mar until she answered. Get wasted at a club. But the man accepted, and ten minutes later you found yourself bumping over Gotham’s potholes.

Bruce wasn’t fragile. He could handle someone leaving. He could handle you leaving, and certainly you from before the attempt. He’d said it wasn’t your fault. That your arguing hadn’t caused it. He’d told you to leave multiple occasions since. He could. He could. He could. 

The man dropped you at the parking garage entrance. Pedestrians sidestepped you, a man shoved into your shoulder to ensure he wasn’t inconvenienced. And you took it. 

You checked your phone to see if it was worth a trip to Rai’s. A text message from an unknown number had been sent three minutes ago. 

Meet me at the old deli under the Tricorner Bridge. 2am. Come alone. Tell no one.

[saltysskin]

The Penguin x ex detective

MDNI

(NSFW//Oral//Ass play//Fingering)

Summary: An ex detective is introduced to Oswald Cobb after being caught snooping around his club for clues of her missing friend. After sparing the detectives life, Oswald calls on her to return a favor, looking after his mother (who has dementia) long enough for him to find a doctor for her. After the detective proved her loyalty by defending Francis Cobb’s home from intruders, he decided to keep her around. Only for something more to blossom between them after multiple tense interactions with each other.

“You enjoy seeing me like this?” His voice sounded sinister and low, he pulled me even closer now holding me against him. “Like what?” My big full eyes stared up at him as my brows furrowed. “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about,” His accent came through, narrowing his eyes at me, almost glaring now. I pulled away to admire him for a moment, such nerve to grab at me the way that he was. “You’re sweet on me, Oz,” my voice was soft and familiar making his eyes widen by my statement. “It’s okay,” I cooed at him, rubbing my hand through his black chest hair, “I’m sweet on you too.” Before I could say anything else, Oswald began to kiss me, as he leaned down to reach me, I stood on my tip toes to reciprocate. He opened his mouth pushing his tongue in between my lips, making me respond similarly. I caressed his face with my hand, making his grip on me tighten. His large hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me up against himself, feeling his belly and chest through the clothing. He brushed my hair behind my ear, while still applying kisses to my flushed face. “Sweet on you, huh?” He mocked my accent, “What would you call it then?” I hummed up towards him.

As we continued to kiss, I didn’t notice Vic barging in to retrieve something that he’d forgotten. “Vic, Jesus!” Oswald called out making me pull away from him, to find Vic with a horrified look on his face, afraid Oswald would kill him from interrupting. “S-sorry! I left my phone,” He explained before making a hasty exit for the door. “I gotta lock that fuckin’ door,” He growled before limping over towards the door to do just that. I was stunned, my head was swimming and I couldn’t think of anything other than climbing that man like a tree. I removed my jacket, showing my black tank top underneath it, exposing my shoulders. I tried to keep my composure, my body swayed where I stood. “I’m not done with you,” He insisted, grabbing me pinning me between the kitchen table and him. His fingers tucked into my cleavage pulling at my clothes. He unbuckled my belt, then my jeans, unzipping the zipper slowly. Admiring the patterns on my panties, Oswald pulled my jeans down past my ass. Making me gasp, while keeping my hands flat on the table. After standing back up he pushed two of his fingers into my mouth, insisting that I suck on them, so I do. Lathering my tongue up against his thick fingers, I begin to move my head back and forth before he pulled them out and quickly pushed them into my underwear. Oswald noticed my trimmed bush immediately, growing harder by the second. He found the lips of my pussy and pushed them apart. I couldn’t keep eye contact with him, I was too flustered, too shy. I writhed underneath him as he stimulated my clit with his thumb, pushing one of his fingers inside of me. “Tight little thing, huh.” His voice was low and breathy, “Can’t even fit both fingers in,” He continued, as I let out a moan in response. “I should’ve done this a long time ago,” He added, as he began to kiss my neck, sucking on my skin and earlobe. I cradled the nape of his neck with my left hand, keeping my right hand against his shoulder. Oswald pushed one of my legs into the air and over his shoulder, before pushing his second finger inside of me. Able to see what he was doing now, he stared down towards my pussy with his fingers inside. Shining from my juices I watched him, watch me, letting sweet moans escape my lips. “Oswald,” I hummed, grabbing at his shoulders now, he pulled his fingers out of me then brought them up towards his lips. Sucking at his fingertips before kissing me again, not allowing a chance to breathe. Oswald began to pull at his belt buckle, before I insisted on helping. Unbuttoning his pants then unzipping his zipper before kneeling down in front of him. I pulled his pants down to his ankles, glancing at his leg brace for a moment before staring up towards him. I removed his boxers, exposing a large cut cock, curving upward. It was weeping from the tip, throbbing from how hard he was. Just by me grabbing his shaft made Oswald grunt. I put him into my mouth, and closed my eyes, enjoying every second of this. It’d been awhile since I’ve done anything like this, but I was unable to stop. He placed his hand on the back of my head, pulling my hair into his fist to get it out of the way. “Good girl,” He cooed down at me, watching my every move. “Ahh wahhh,” I tried talking with my mouth full, “Yeah keep talking baby,” He mocked, grinning down at me. “Tell me how much you like this,” He insisted, before moving my head more aggressively with his hand. “Awwwss ahhh” I played his game, with tears welling up in my eyes now. Moving my tongue against him before he suddenly pulled out, resting his member against my face. “Come here,” He grabbed at me, pulling me up to my feet before pushing me onto his kitchen table. He removed my panties throwing them to the side before spreading my legs open again. “Look at that pretty, pink pussy,” He breathed out, before spitting on my slit and attempting to press himself inside. I grabbed at his member to guild him inside, feeling pressure and resistance. Bullying his way inside Oswald began kissing my legs, as I let out small cry’s in response to his girth.

He pulled off my tank top exposing no bra to protect my chest. My nipples were hard and erect, making him lick his lips before leaning forward to kiss them. Bucking his hips into me, as he began sucking on my chest again biting at my nipples. My legs wrapped around him desperately wanting more of him, “Just like that,” I moaned before lifting my leg once more to all him deeper. He pulled out for a moment before flipping me over onto my stomach, standing on my tip toes to match the height of Oswald. With a slap of the fat of my ass, Oswald was mesmerized by my behind. Staring at me from behind for a moment before spitting again but this time on my asshole. Pushing his cock inside of me, he hooked his thumb into my behind. Stretching it, due to his thick digits, I began bucking while bent over so close to climaxing. “Oswald I—” I whined as he continued slapping my ass. “Tell me what you want baby,” He purred, still working his thumb inside my ass. Oswald hurried his bucking, grunting more often now, with sweat dripping down his forehead onto my naked body. He grabbed one of my arms pulling me backward to gain leverage on how hard and deep he can go. “What’s wrong? Too cock drunk, detective?” laughing to himself as my eyes rolled from the back of my head. I pushed Oswald off of me in a desperate attempt to change positions once more; feeling him pull out of me as he stumbled backward. I walked over towards one of his leather chairs and motioned for him to sit down, which he obliged. He limped over towards the chair of choice. He was completely covered in dark hair, with excess body fat plumping up his body. After sitting down, his cock still stood erect, waiting for me. I climbed ontop of him and lowered myself down, guiding him inside once more. “Fuck,” He groaned before I began to bounce on his lap, wrapping my hands behind his neck and allowing my ass fat to smack against his legs. “Ugh yes,” I moaned while throwing my head back in pleasure. He wrapped his hand around my neck, squeezing just enough so I don’t pass out. His big forearm rested between my breasts, using his other hand to fondle my now sore nipples. “You like that?” He gritted his teeth at me, but continued to stare at me and the state he had me in. With Oswald bucking even faster than before, meeting me as I continued to bounce my eyes began to cross. My clit began to vibrate then suddenly a wet hotness was felt. My eyes were kept rolled back, and I was left speechless with my mouth agape. I was climaxing, my body shaking and sweating from my animal antics. I was cradling Oswald’s head against my breasts when I came to. Still naked sitting on top of him, I lifted my head still seeing stars when Oswald looked at me while I still hung onto him. Taking in his glossy eyes and full lips. He was handsome, more so than ever—he was exhausted, his hair damp from the sweat, his labored breathing underneath me. I brushed his short black hair behind his right ear, before kissing it softly. After crawling off of Oswald he grabbed at my wrist, pulling me back towards him for a kiss. He kissed me hard, pushing his tongue inside my mouth once more. Shifting where he sat groaning to himself while watching me walk away with a white sheen dripping down my leg.

[mandiemegatron]

Seeing you reblog the little heart pirates gave me a fic idea, if you're interested in writing it:

Y/n having to look after the heart pirates after they were turned into kids somehow, until a way to turn them back into adults is found

Just thought it'd make for something silly and fluffy 😁

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ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ : 16+, ꜱɪʟʟɪɴᴇꜱꜱ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʟɪʟ ʙᴀʙɪᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴅᴀʏ, ʟᴀᴡ ʀᴇʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀꜱ, ʙᴇᴘᴏ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʙᴜᴛ ᴄᴀʟʟ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ "ᴍᴏᴍ".

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ : 3,390

𝘼/𝙉 ; 𝙄'𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙖 𝙛𝙚𝙬 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙛𝙪𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙧𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚. 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮, 𝙢𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙀𝘿 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 !! 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙨𝙠, 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙖 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚 !! 𝘼𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣, 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙄 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙨 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙦𝙪𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚!!

𝙉𝙤 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙖, 𝙬𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙣 💪

“I was literally gone for less than an hour.”

Returning back to the meeting spot less than a mile away from the Tang, your arms filled with bags containing fruits and vegetables, you'd shockingly come back to an exhausted few crew members, muddied and beaten up.

Dropping the bags, you quickly went to Shachi and Penguin who were looking worse for wear, along with Uni who sat beside Shachi, bandaging the red head up.

“Where's the Captain?” You asked, brows furrowed slightly in concern. Uni shook his head, giving a small shrug before responding,

“Honestly, I think he went looking for you, but since you're here and he's not…”

You and Uni shared a look before you stood, looking behind you where you'd just come from and crossed your arms with a sigh. Looking over Uni's head, you spotted a stressed looking Bepo and walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm as you asked,

“Bepo, you okay sweetie?”

The mink shook his head slightly, staring down at his paws as he mumbled,

“I don't feel so good…”

The second those words left him, he slumped, falling towards you in his cross-legged position and you struggled to catch him, quickly shouting,

“OI! Someone help me with Be-”

Your words caught in your throat as you turned your head, shouting over your shoulder only to find Shachi, Penguin and Uni now gone, with three young kids now in their spot.

You were staring at each other and their hands before all three of them gave a loud, surprised scream, shaking and holding each other as small voices shouted out,

“What the fuck just happened?!”

“Shachi?! Dude what?!”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”

You went to shout when suddenly Bepo began shrinking in your arms, smaller and smaller until you could just hold him in your arms, the mink now looking like he was no older than seven or eight.

You stared down at the sleeping Bepo and slowly turned back to the others, shock and confusion written over your face as you asked,

“W-what the fuck happened while I was gone?”

As if hearing your voice in his sleep, Bepo curled into your arms, his head resting on your chest as a slow snore came from his lips. Your heart ached and you held him to you gently as you walked closer to the other boys.

“Y/N! You're not little!”

You looked down at the voice, coming from under the now too big Penguin hat that sat atop the boy's head. You leaned down just enough to lift it so you could see the bright blue eyes under the shadow of the brim. He couldn't have been older than nine.

“You're right Penguin, I'm not little! Can you tell me what happened while I was gone?”

Shachi whimpers and reaches his hands up. You sigh and shuffle Bepo to one side before bending down and hiking Shachi's small body up your side, holding them on each hip with a slightly strained look on your face.

“... We fought someone.”

You glance down at Shachi as he holds onto your boiler suit, his body now swimming in his own, as were Penguin, Uni and Bepo. You nodded softly and asked, “What do you remember?”

He's quiet for almost too long. You give him a slight squeeze to calm him and he finally mumbles,

“Captain went to look for you… some woman with a devil fruit came and tried to take the ship right after.” You praised Shachi with a gracious smile, thankful they had some memories intact.

“So the Captain didn't fight her?” Shachi and Uni both shook their heads with a soft “Don’t think so…”. You sigh in relief, knowing he'd be able to find out how long this would last, or finding some cure if need be.

“Y/N?”

You give another soft sound of relief at the sound of Law's voice, not noticing the tonal difference right away as you turn and start,

“Captain, I'm glad you're alr-”

Your words taper off as a young Law, no older than eleven or twelve, comes around the trees, a grumpy frown on his face and arms crossed over his now tiny chest. Your brows furrow as you take in the white splotches that decorate his skin. He'd always had light tanned tinted patches over his body from the healed white lead poisoning, but this looked like it had been untreated. He too, looked like he was drowning in his clothes.

Your heart sank as you put down Shachi, handing Bepo to him and Penguin who held their mink brother as gently as possible. Taking those few steps to your Captain, you knelt down and laid a gentle hand on his head, fighting back the tears in your eyes as he heavily flinched away from your touch.

“Law.”

Bright eyes stare up at you under the brim of his now too big spotted hat. You give him a bright smile and hold your hands out to him, palms up towards the sky.

“I'm not afraid of you, honey. Come on.”

Law's wide eyes stare at your almost familiar smile before he practically throws himself at you, clinging to your boiler suit as tears threaten to spill down his cheeks. All that trauma he thought he'd dealt with crawled up his throat like vicious bile, his heart aching as he wished he could call out for the one person he missed most. Luckily, you and your bright smile were close enough to his that Law found some strength in your arms.

Your arms wrap tightly around him as you promise,

“We're gonna figure this out, okay sweetie?”

Law pulls away to glare up at you and he mutters darkly, “I'm still your Captain…”

You grin in response before lifting him off the ground and holding him the same way you'd held Bepo earlier. “And for now, I am acting Captain until we figure this out- stop fidgeting, I swear to God I'll fuckin’ drop you.” Law glares again as he huffs, clinging with one hand on the back of your suit as you lean down to collect Bepo once more.

“Alright well, back to the ship for now. Let's get you guys fed and I'll see what I can do…” Worry eats away at you as the six of you make your way back to the ship. Luckily she wasn't that far, but with five whining kids drowning in their old clothes, it took a good hot second.

“Y/N, carry me!”

“She's already got me and Bepo, you can walk, Shachi!”

“Y/N! I want a snack!”

“Y/N, can I have a snack too?”

“I'm so tired!”

You were never so grateful to come up on the Tang as you were right now, overwhelmed and overstimulated with a snarking Law on one hip and a snoring Bepo on the other. You felt a tug on your suit leg and you looked down at a wide eyed Penguin.

“How are we gonna get on the ship?”

You grinned and knelt down, telling them to gather in tight and hold on as best they could. You clung to your grocery bags and the kids tightly before using your immense leg strength and jumped, ignoring the scared screams from the kids as you tried to focus on landing on the deck without a rolled ankle.

You let them down slowly, moving the bags off to the side as Ikkaku, Clione and Hakugan ran out of the main door, panic on their faces as they took in their now child-bodied crewmates and Captain.

“Girl, what the FUCK happened?!” Ikkaku was so much more than confused, anxiety and worry written on her face as she takes in the situation.

“Devil fruit lady, apparently. I had gone shopping and came back to them looking like they got their ass beat-” You ignored the shout of “Hey! That's rude!” as you continued, “I went to help Bepo, he said he wasn't feeling well, I asked for help and suddenly I turned around and… they were kids.”

They look down at the kids and Law is quick to retort, “Go and get the ship started, I want us out of here as fast as possible.”

Ikkaku looks at you and you give a small nod, grunting as Law's little hand grips at your cheek and pulls, shouting at you, “I'm still Captain and you still need to listen to me!” You gently swat his hand away and pull away from the kids, picking up the produce bags and motioning for them to follow you. Calling over your shoulder, you spoke to Hakugan,

“Bring me some old clothes, I'll hem some up so these guys don't have to walk around naked.”

You glance down at hearing a soft grunt, noticing how Uni struggled to carry Bepo. You leaned over slightly and plucked the small mink from his arms, giving him a smile as he grinned up at you in gratitude.

“Y/N, can I still have a snack?”

You sigh and reply, “Yes Shachi, I'll make you guys a snack once I have you dressed. I will not have five naked kids running around the ship.”

It felt like an entire day had already passed by the time you'd finished fixing up some decently presentable clothes for your crewmates and Captain, though in reality, it had been only about three hours.

“I wish my hat wasn't so big…”

You glanced up from hand stitching the last pair of pants that were for Law, seeing said Captain pouting with his hat sitting in his lap, his hands running over the spots sadly.

“I can try and make you one, if that would help.” You offer as your eyes flickered back to the pants. You miss the tired look in Law's eyes as he stares at you before going back to petting his current hat.

“... it's okay. I'm just hoping this will pass sooner rather than later.” He glares at the splotches on his hands before lifting one and murmuring, “Room.” He frowns deeply when nothing happens.

“Room.”

Your eyes flickered back up to your forlorn Captain, watching with sad eyes as his voice cracks a little. “Room!”

“Law.”

Teary-eyed and hopeless, Law stares back at you as he barely gets out,

“You have no idea how shitty this is.”

You give your own frown, shaking your head slightly as you validate him. “You're right, I don't have any idea what this is like, but I can imagine the pain you're going through and all I can tell you is I've got you.”

Law hops off the chair and settles in beside you on his couch, watching your hands as they weave the thread through the fabric. He rests his cheek on your arm, letting his eyes close as he admits softly,

“I miss Cora-san.”

Tears prickle your eyes as you lean over slightly to press a kiss to the top of his head. “He's still here, my love. He's still with you, in every breath you take, every beat of your heart - you know that.” You settle him back into the couch comfortably before getting up and rummaging through his desk, pulling out a slightly faded and dinged up picture.

You settle back into the couch and pull him close again, your one hand resting on his head as you hand him the picture. Immediately his eyes well up as he clings to it, his thumbs running over the crooked smile on Cora-san's face. You ruffle his hair gently before picking up the pants and finishing them silently.

“... thank you, Y/N.”

You give him a loving smile, pressing another kiss to his head before you murmur softly,

“You're so welcome, sweetie. Why don't you take a little nap and once I'm done these, I'll go make some dinner. I don't think that snack Ikkaku made is going to tide Shachi and Penguin over for that long.”

Law snickers with a sniffle, wiping at his eyes before laying down and curling into a comfortable ball, his head resting beside your thigh. You absentmindedly run a hand over his hair, lulling him to rest, only stopping when his breathing was slightly heavy and evened.

Your heart ached as you looked down at him, his small hands clutching the picture like a lifeline. You could nearly feel the love that radiated Cora-san, his smile warming you from the inside out and you can't help but think, ‘How warm and kind this man must have been, to love Law so unconditionally.’

You slowly stood and stretched, sighing softly as you placed the now complete pants off to the side. You had one important mission left before you could start dinner.

Rummaging through his office closet, knowing you'd seen something specific a while back, you give a silent cheer as you pull a certain sweater out, the black feathers matching exactly. You laid the sweater over Law, the feathers right near his face and as if on instinct, one of his hands reached up and pulled the sweater tighter around himself, hiding his face in the black fluff with a murmured, “Cora-san…”

You threw a hand over your heart with a muffle sob before turning and walking out of the office, turning the light down enough that he could rest properly. You had to walk away right that second or you knew you'd break out into tears.

Closing the door, you made your way towards the kitchen only to see Ikkaku and Hakugan running after a now clothed Shachi and Bepo, who were laughing and screaming as if they were on a playground.

“Oi, oi! What's going on?”

Bepo turned and gave an excited scream before running at you, arms up as he cheers out,

“Y/N Mom!”

You freeze with a choke, your tone incredulous as you mimic back, “Mom?!”

Bepo latches to your leg, clinging like a leech as he screeches happily, “You came back! I though you were gone forever!”

You must have had a look of panic on your face as Ikkaku comes over and claps a hand on your shoulder, giving you a slight shake as she laughs out, “Yeah, Mom, we thought you were gone forever!” Her joking manner helps simmer down the shock as you try to joke back, “O-oh, yep! No way, not me!”

You bend down and pick up Bepo, poking his nose gently as you begged slightly, “Don't call me mom, it's a bit much.”

Bepo pouts and holds tightly onto you, grumbling cutely to himself though you manage to hear, “Sorry mom- Y/N…”

There's another kid attached to your leg and you hear Shachi mutter to you, “I wish you were my mom, I bet you'd be the best mom in the whole world.” Your heartstrings pull at his words as your hand goes down to ruffle his hair.

“Come on, let's get some dinner started, I bet you guys are starving.”

Bepo, Shachi and Penguin cheer, the latter two running right to the kitchen to sit at the island as Bepo wiggles himself free from your grasp. You sigh and look to Ikkaku and Hakugan, who both simply shrug their shoulders and begin helping you prep.

“Did you tell the rest of the crew what happened?” You asked Ikkaku, who nods as she begins slicing somehow the veg you bought.

“I did, everyone said they'd stick to their current duties until the Captain says. I told them to come find you if there's any issues, for now.”

You give a hum of agreement, knowing this was the best course of action until something decides to change. You hoped and prayed silently that it would happen sooner rather than later.

Taking care of kids was definitely not on the register for the day.

It was nearly midnight when you finally got to cleaning the dishes. A heavy hand suddenly connects with your shoulder, startling you from your inner thoughts and a gasp of shock leaves you as you take in the now fully grown Shachi.

“You're back to normal!”

You fling your arms around his shoulders and he holds you just as tightly, his hands gently rubbing up and down your back as he gratefully agrees, “Yeah, finally. That was a terrifying thing that I never ever want to happen to me ever again.” You can't help but laugh in his embrace, relief flooding your system as you peek over his shoulder and look up at a now normal sized Uni and Penguin.

“Thanks for taking care of us, Y/N. You're the best Heart Pirate mom we could have asked for!” Penguin half-jokes, but there's a clearly appreciative look on his half hidden face. You wave him off and slowly let go of Shachi, who only jokes himself,

“He's right! You really are the best Heart Pirate mom!”

You pinch Shachi’s cheek before again waving the boys off as you ask, “Is Bepo okay? What about the Captain, has anyone checked on him?”

Shachi nods and gently moves you away from the sink, preparing to finish the dishes for you.

“Bepo is in his room, fighting off the embarrassment from calling you ‘mom’ multiple times, and Law is asleep, funny enough.”

If Shachi had seen the picture Law had in his hands, or noticed the sweater that covered him, he didn't say, though there was a shared feeling between the four of you that you all understood.

You nodded gratefully, giving Shachi's shoulder a quick squeeze before you excused yourself.

Making your way to Law's office, you knock gently before peeking in, watching as Law slowly sits up on the couch, rubbing a once again tattooed hand over his face. You sighed happily and smiled softly, pushing into the office and shutting the door behind you.

You kneeled at Law's feet when you made it to the couch, your hands on his knees as you gently asked,

“Hi my love, how are you feeling?”

Law blinks tiredly at you for a few moments before noticing the tattoos that adored his hands. His breath catches in his throat and he's quick to bite out, “Room.”

The familiar blue, shimmer orb surrounds you two and a heavy, relieved sigh leaves Law as he drops his hand, along with the Room. His hands cover yours and he lifts them, pressing a quick kiss to each of of them as he murmurs,

“Better, now.”

He then holds your palms to his face, his facial hair leaving a soft prickle against your skin which you've come to love. He leans down and catches your lips in his, his hands moving from yours to hold your cheek and cradle the back of your head. Both your eyes slip shut as you hold each other, the kisses soft and simple though full of adoration for each other.

When he finally pulls away, Law averts his eyes as he murmurs with a dark blush, “I… I think Cora-san would have liked you.”

You can help but grin at his words, tilting your head slightly as you ask, “You think so?”

Law nods, his eyes still off to the side as he continues, “You're a lot like him… in some ways.” You motion with a small nod for him to continue, but he doesn't, simply gracing you with a slight side eye and a small smirk.

“Thank you, Y/N. For everything you did today.” He pauses before adding genuinely, “And for everything you do for me. I'm incredibly lucky to call you mine.”

Your loving smile makes his heart skip a beat, as do the words that tumble from your lips before you pull him into another kiss. “I love you, and I'm so lucky that you love me too.”

As the two of you reconnect, a worn polaroid slips from the couch and hits the floor, the warm smile radiating brightly off the picture as if proud to see this joyous moment. Quick fingers snatch it gently from the floor and hide it back into the desk, two loving smiles looking down at the one before the drawer shuts as Law murmurs,

“Come on, let's eat. I'm starving.”

You don't have the heart to tell him you'd already eaten, so you simply agree, “Sounds good, Captain.”