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₊˚⊹ ᰔ Risotto Nero

𖹭 Fatherhood wasn't something Risotto initially planned–Although, he never expected to end up in a loving relationship either. But as he did with his blooming relationship, he accepted the pregnancy wholly.

𖹭 Holding his newborn daughter for the first time did something to Risotto, he never felt his chest tighten up so much at seeing how small she was in his arms. He's never been an emotional man, but you swore you almost saw a tear roll down his cheek when her tiny little hand gripped his thumb.

𖹭 He's very attentive to his daughter as well and immediately claims night duty, (insomniac and workaholic alert!). In his office, he has a spare crib right by his desk so he can be right there when she starts crying. Actually enjoys the nightly company of having her with him, and he'll occasionally talk to her about what he has planned.

𖹭 Funnily enough, probably has some of the best naps when she's sleeping on his chest. The small warmth and her soft snores put him at ease and he's actually sleeping.

𖹭 INSANELY overprotective, but it's in a very quiet, subtle way. The house is full-on baby-proofed, nothing will hurt his kid, absolutely nothing.

𖹭 I imagine that he's probably scared her before in the middle of the night because he has his nights where he overthinks and watches her while she sleeps. He does not realize how terrifying it is for a child to wake up to a pair of red eyes boring into them in the middle of the night.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Prosciutto

𖹭 Definitely a girl dad, a proud one at that. Now don't get me wrong, he'd be a boy dad too, but I'm just saying, he treats his daughter with a lot more softness, while he'd be a little stricter with a son.

𖹭 Spoils his little girl too, but prides himself on raising her to be an elegant but dangerous woman. He knows how boys are, she has to have standards after all, and how to defend herself!

𖹭 Speaking of which, he is quick to instill confidence in her, there will be no room for doubt or insecurity. She's interested in something simple as drawing? Getting her a notebook, coloring book, high quality crayons–The whole deal. He's an extremely supportive father.

𖹭 Another insanely protective father, he will even scold YOU if miss out on something. Outlets are covered, corners are cushioned, any type of shelf is screwed to the floor. Absolutely nothing in that house will hurt his kid.

𖹭 Because of this… Your daughter's first word would probably be “Papa”. It would happen on a random Sunday morning where Prosciutto is making breakfast, and his daughter is trying to get his attention. As soon as “Papa” is uttered, he nearly snaps his neck to look at her in complete shock. He quietly gets her out of her high chair and holds her close, and he is silently emotional, and he's quiet for the rest of the day because he's repeating that memory in his head.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Formaggio

𖹭 “Nine months in my womb, making ME suffer… And you come out looking like your stupid dad?!” — You probably after having your newborn son with Formaggio.

𖹭 Christ, and this fucker is SO smug about it too. Your son is basically a mini-me of Formaggio (only difference is that he doesn't have his dad's fuckass haircut). Definitely teases you about how your genes didn't even try, which earns him a smack on the arm, but you did at least get something. Your son has your eyes, and honestly, thats probably one of the features that Formaggio admires most about his son.

𖹭 Formaggio is actually quite a chill dad honestly. He has no problem watching over his kid, but… Crying and diaper duty he is still working on. His first instinct is to have you do it, but he's not that much of a bastard. So, he learns.

𖹭 Actually comes really easily after learning and now he has an ego that he's better than other dads now.

𖹭 He's a fun, chill dad for the most part. When he has the baby, he's usually sitting on the couch with a beer, watching a game, while your son is fast asleep drooling on his chest. It's actually a really cute scene. You snuck a picture, and he has a copy of the picture in his wallet along with your guy's wedding photo.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Illuso

𖹭 Yet another girl dad, (sue me), but he would be absolutely THRILLED to have a daughter. Makes sure she gets the cutest and prettiest clothes, he wants to make sure EVERYONE knows she's the prettiest baby in the room.

𖹭 Even if she doesn't have a lot of hair, it is stylized, and yes. He is one of those dads who puts those extremely large bows on his kid's head, it's a little ridiculous and comical. You'll walk into the nursery and see your daughter dressed to the T with this damn bow that's bigger than her head.

𖹭 He will fight ANYONE, and I mean ANYONE who messes with his baby. Somebody will fuck around and find out and end up in the mirror world getting their shit rocked.

𖹭 Honestly really hates being stern with his daughter, but he knows it's for the best. He honestly looks so hurt when she gets upset with him or cries because of him, but he's trying not to cave or show it.

𖹭 Your daughter ends up a lot like him with the arrogance and smugness, like father like daughter, and it entertains him so much. Especially finds entertainment in it because she'll act a certain way with one of the La Squadra members and he'll be egging it on. You usually have to step in for this.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Ghiaccio

𖹭 Fatherhood is definitely a bit of a struggle for Ghiaccio at first, and he needs to adjust a lot for this. The first fit your son has had Ghiaccio overstimulated as hell and stormed out of the room so he didn't do anything he shouldn't.

𖹭 After Ghiaccio adjusts, it's like night and day. Funnily enough, coming to hold his son has become his way to melt off the stress, he gets antsy if he hasn't held his boy in a long while. First time he properly held his son, you offered to take him back, making Ghiaccio mutter out a half-hearted, “Fuck off.” as he continued to hold him.

𖹭 Does a LOT of research, (Melone helps), and follows all parenting advice to a T. He does NOT want to mess this up. He refuses to fail his kid like that. He teaches you everything too if you aren't aware, however, if you are, you two are the ultimate parent duo. Somehow you both master being parents in a short amount of time… Sort of, you're both still learning and there's always room for trial and error.

𖹭 Having a kid actually really helped Ghiaccio with his anger issues, it even encouraged him to seek anger management, which he started when you first announced your pregnancy.

𖹭 Both Ghiaccio and the baby are cold (the genes got passed down), so cuddling is really nice during the warm months, but god is it hell when its cold out. You need like two heaters in the room to fend off the cold.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Melone

𖹭 This man, oh this crazy scientist of a man had a blast studying your body throughout your pregnancy, although it was quite annoying at times, he ensured you were treated like absolutely royalty.

𖹭 “Di molto!” That damn phrase was the first thing he uttered as he held his son. God he was so excited. Out of everyone, I think he was the most excited about having a kid, to be honest.

𖹭 Probably was the man that everyone went too for baby advice since he's extremely knowledgeable with these things. I mean, 100% sure only he and Ghiaccio went to college and he HEAVILY studied the human body, so he knows what he's talking about.

𖹭 Follows some parent groups on social media to learn every tip and trick he can to use on his baby. He's very pleased whenever these tricks do work.

𖹭 His son developed his father's curiosity, and Melone spends a lot of time trying to teach his son just about everything that catches his eye, but keeping it compressed so it would be a little understandable for a little one. He's a great dad, a solid dad, he enjoys fatherhood to its fullest and lowkey asks for more kids.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Pesci

𖹭 Really nervous when approaching the topic of fatherhood and his insecurities really cloud his thoughts, so he doubts his capabilities as a father really, but he's happy when you're here to help guide him through this new territory.

𖹭 When his daughter is born, he's all emotional, she has his crazy green hair and his eyes. He's an emotional crybaby and whispering promises that he'll be the absolute best for her.

𖹭 After the birth, he takes care of taking care of the baby stuff so you can rest. He does pretty well too! He went to some parenting classes, so he has a grasp on what to do. He also definitely distances himself from any assassin work, but he keeps in contact with La Squadra, especially Prosciutto who was helping Pesci when it came to the baby.

𖹭 A big fan of these baby carriers too, where he can have the little one strapped to his chest while he does stuff. It also brings some comfort to him to have her so close.

𖹭 End up having the chunkiest baby out the rest of La Squadra, and he can't help but adore her chunkyness. Another father to spoil his baby so much, anything she wants, she gets. Unfortunately, he's really horrible with discipline and saying no, so good luck with that. He'll learn, but it hurts him so much doing it.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Sorbert & Gelato

𖹭 TWINS. It's actually kinda funny that you ended up with twins, both ended up being boys, and they are HELL. They inherited Gelato's chaos, which makes it worse. They're inseparable and cause a lot of mischief… Their duo name is “Double Trouble”.

𖹭 Thank god Sorbert is there because man, that glare that he has? Makes those boys behave almost immediately.

𖹭 Sorbert and Gelato make a good duo in taking care of the boys while you're resting. I mean they already did everything together before you came into their lives, nothing's changed at all, however they bicker a lot more since Gelato tends to let the littles to get away with more.

𖹭 Usually the twins go to Gelato when it comes to roughhousing, but one will usually tend to wander to find Sorbert for some quiet time. Despite what you might think, Sorbert is the one making the dad jokes.

𖹭 Sorbert and Gelato make for good balance, both being on two different spectrum of being fathers. They're both good parents! They're both pretty good influences for the boys and the boys learn a lot from them.

𖹭 Bonus: The twins are complete baba boys, (baba is a gender neutral term for mama/papa btw!). They usually go to you for any sort of softness, because even when Sorbert and Gelato are both different spectrums of being fathers, neither of them are really considered “soft” if you ask me.

Please do not feed my writing to AI or repost it anywhere else, please and thank you. <3

getting ogled at by you on the couch as you were positioned on all fours, tongue wagging and eyes widened; akin to an obedient little pet sat before him whilst his legs draped open for you to get in between them. Which was a very appropriate descriptor, considering your whole little get up. A black spiked collar laced around your throat, with a chain he could pull on. A leather clad bikini, cat ears atop your head and a tail with a plug attached…stuffed between those plump, round asscheeks. Your body as a whole was truly something to be admired….with perky tits, thick thighs and a sweet treat between them that had not only Kyojuro himself but hundreds of thousands of other men paying your bills every month. With wild, salacious and downright freaky content you’d upload for all of your viewers to enjoy. To some, it may have seemed a bit disrespectful or uncouth to be doing so whilst being in a relationship. But he wouldn’t dare complain when he not only got first dibs; seeing it filmed in realtime but the privilege of being the only guy ever to be your co-star….and the one fucking you senseless when the cameras were off. However, you wanted to do things a little different today. Hence why his best friend was standing in your house with a professional recording setup from his photography and videographer business, ready to catch all of the action. The filth, the freakiness and of course, your real life dynamic in the bedroom, put on display.

“Well I’m ready when you two are….show me what you got—oh shit….hold on. Lemme’ just press start here—“

before he could even give his usual disclaimer that all of his subjects hear prior to him starting, Uzui was rattled with the image of watching his best friend’s cock be whipped out of his shorts by an insatiable (y/n)! Tugging at his waistband, you’d work them down his thighs until it’d spring out and immediately, you’d twirl your fingers around his shaft. Pumping slowly until you got the sudden inclination to take that leaking head between those plump lips and suckle his shaft. Drool seeping down the corners of your mouth and lewd sounds erupting from you both as you found your stride…

“Fuuuck….that’s it, my love. Use that pretty fucking mouth to get me off.”

instructing as his eyes rolled back and he’d allow you to have free reign. Naturally, he knew you craved some semblance of control so he’d grasp that metal leash tighter and guide your bobbing head up and down. Slurping and gagging noises emitted from the depths of your throat whilst you’d prompt him to jolt his hips upward; slightly fucking it from that angle. Remaining in the previous position, the arch in your back would grow slightly deeper and that rotund ass and puckering hole would be captured right in lens’ view. One he’d take much pleasure in marking with spanks as he maneuvered you around and tugged at that tail to invoke more sensations throughout that body. Meanwhile, Uzui would twist and turn the device to ensure he was getting every angle possible. This certainly wasn’t his first rodeo in terms of risqué work. He’d done his fair share of boudoir shoots and had even worked on adult film sets in the past. But watching the guy he’d been close to since high school get sucked off by his girl was certainly new. What was even more so shocking, was how perfectly he matched your energy! Not only keeping up with your lecherous demands but bringing them out as well.

“Yes, fuck this throat, baby. Make me choke on that big dick.”

“Damn right I will…here, open. Let me—there you go, swallow that spit. What do you say when I reward you?”

“Mmph…thank you, daddy..”

“That’s my good girl. Now back in…get it all out.”

Alluding to the copious amounts of saliva that had been drummed up from your esophagus by your man’s rough paced movements. Tears had begun streaming down your face and each time he shoved your head back down, the further that appendage went. Until it was no longer visible and Uzui would capture you struggling to gasp for air as you clawed at Kyo’s chiseled thighs. “Through your nose, my love…I’ve trained you so much better than this. Don’t get shy just because we have a guest.” Prompting you to giggle in between those strained moans. He’d continue taunting you with thoughts and promises of what he’d do if you took all of him….telling you how he was going to make you come until your legs trembled and that he was certain you were a dripping mess and he couldn’t wait to sink his throbbing cock into that warm pussy. Something he’d do with your constant pleading and Uzui’s direction to switch now. Gripping your leash tighter whilst hoisting you from the floor, he’d make haste in maneuvering you onto the couch and pinning your legs behind your head; folding you into the perfect mating position.

“That’s it….keep those legs pinned back, my angel. I don’t want them in my way. That position is so fucking sexy.”

Kyojuro didn’t even bother checking in to see if Uzui was filming before he’d grasp that collar and keep you reigned in as he plunged himself into that tight orifice. The loud squelch could be heard in conjunction with your adorable little squeals and that made your man all the more ready to devour you. His thrusts were steadily paced…enough to give you time to get acclimated to the size and shape but enough to garner some real stimulation. He’d make three quick strokes; pulling all the way out and then going back in all the way to the hilt. Upon doing that, he knew that you were ready and would begin pounding you with all the strength he could muster. Burrowed over onto you like a predator with its prey, the fiery haired hunk of a man would slide that thick, girthy member in and out. At this point, you’d begun to constrict around his shaft and he could barely fit four inches in but it was just enough to drive you both insane.

“Oh fuuuck…so tight, my love. You’re squeezing me so good. I can barely even fit..”

“Yeah, but this fat dick will stretch me out, won’t it, baby?”

“You’re goddamned right it will….you’ll take every inch and thank me for it.”

sealing his declaration with a light slap to the face and the increase of his speed. Those heavy balls beginning to slap against that puckering asshole as the lens focused on the two of you up close. A thin layer of glistening slick mounting between your bodies as that skin smacked in unison. That fucked out expression being captured perfectly on film as that pierced tongue dangled from your mouth and those beautiful eyes rolled back. Kyojuro could barely contain himself…watching all of your perfect features move in conjunction with one another. Those plump tits bouncing with each thrust, that pudgy tummy folded up and jiggling with those cute little stretch marks and of course, that round ass ricocheting with his chiseled thighs. Crying out as you pleaded for more, Kyojuro continued rutting into you with all he had….sweat beading from his forehead and his legs quivering. Meanwhile, Uzui was barely holding it together himself…watching you two fuck like animals would make even the most trained professionals lose sight of their mission. He’d lean in closer, trying to catch a better glimpse of the action, only to be met with the sight of your tight cunt suctioning around his best friend’s throbbing cock and that plug, coated in your creamy juices still puckering with each move he made. Which was egged on when he’d scoop up a nearby vibrator and demand you hold it against your swollen clit as he drilled that fertile hole.

“You’re close….I can feel it. Hey, Uzui. You might want to get a little distance for this one. You’ll be replacing your entire setup.”

Warning with the smirk of a man who seemed to be in on a secret no one else was aware of. But it came a second too late and before he even had time to react or even register what his friend was saying, he’d be met with a display unlike anything he’d ever spotted on his camera.

Your shrill cries were growing louder and as that orgasm neared, you’d beg him to continue and quicken his pace, which was only natural as he felt himself growing closer to his own climax. Meanwhile, Uzui was fixated. Unable to look away from the lewd display taking place before him. And before long, that previously warning heeded warning, went all but ignored as he was enthralled by the sight of your tight, drooling cunt, swallowing that cock and eventually…exploding with a stream of juices that showered both him and Kyojuro both. You’d flail uncontrollably and just as he promised, that camera lens also fell victim. As you struggled to come back to reality, the two men would cackle in awe at your very…unique talents.

“Woah…goddamn…you weren’t lying.”

“I told you..she’s something else.”

In that moment, both of them would turn their attention back towards you. Uzui, still sporting that toothy grin plastered across his face and your boyfriend, bending down to ensure you were okay.

“Still with us, my love? Are you alright?”

The combination of that deep voice, gentle words and the slight tug of the collar sending another twitch through your spasming hole. You’d take a glance down at your skin, the couch, your lovely cohost, cameraman and all of those surroundings…with only one thought:

“Yes! I want more…both of you, fuck me..right now.”

The sudden command catching Uzui off guard but Kyojuro was obviously no stranger to these sorts of requests. In the absence of a second man, it was nothing for him to stuff one of your holes with a toy whilst his cock occupied the other. Your insatiability was both shocking and sexy! Even so, Uzui hesitated for a moment. Not out of fear or shyness but out of respect for his best friend. He’d participated in many threesomes and even his own polyamorous relationship but this was a little different.

However,

“Well…you heard my lady. She wants us both to keep her company. What do you say, Uzui?”

“You sure about this? I mean, you don’t mind another man—

he didn’t seem to mind one bit! And you certainly were not shy about your desires.

“Trust me. We’ve both been wanting this for a long time. If I want him to share me with anyone, it’s you…besides, I know you feel the same way, I’ve read your texts…now stop acting like a fucking Boy Scout and come give me that dick.”

That coy smirk, devilish stare and sheer bluntness were his absolute weaknesses. There was nothing else for either of them to do except fulfill your wish. Taking a seat on the couch, your boyfriend would position himself so that you could climb on top and Uzui could mount from behind. Wrangling your arms around Kyojuro’s neck, he’d grasp your waist and prompt you to poke your ass out so that the white haired male could get a firm clutch. It was very obvious during filming, that he had become extremely turned on. That much apparent by the tent in his sweatpants. Reaching over, Uzui would retrieve the bottle of oil that had been lying on the couch, along with the small container of lube. That plump, round bottom was perfectly arched and spread open so that he could also catch a glimpse of that puckering hole that was swallowing up that plug and tail attachment.”

“Go ahead, take it out…you sure you can handle it?”

Teasing him as he coated his shaft with the thicker substance. He’d stroke it a few times, chuckling as he fed you a couple smacks to those juggling cheeks. Even bending down to lob saliva into it as he slowly drug that metal end out of you. You couldn’t help but to giggle at the sensation…feeling the cool gel hit your flesh and eventually, his aching tip prodding at it.

“I’ll do a little more than handle it, sweetheart. Hey, Kyo…why don’t we show our little minx here how we used to run in our college days.”

And it were almost as if a switch flicked on within your man. Truth be told, you weren’t the first girl they’d taken down in tandem. There were many of nights where they had girls of every variety in their dorm room. Hovering those tall frames over her as she took them both down their throats. Their favorite type were the ones that looked like you…thick with the rest of the usually shamed features to match, pretty brown skin and eyes that could convince them to commit murder. It was no surprise to Uzui at all that Kyo was in love with you. Even so, when he was divulging into the gritty details of you guys’ sex life, he became curious. You were obviously on an entire different level. Doing things that would be considered taboo. From BDSM to rimming…but it was a regular Tuesday for you guys!

Hoisting you up once more, Kyo lowered you down onto his shaft that you had been cockwarming and stuffed that warm pussy and seconds later, Uzui took dominion over your other entrance. Before you even had a chance to acclimate, he’d take those veiny fingertips around your throat and the other set into your beautiful curls, tugging your head back.

“I think you’re right. It’s been a while since we’ve had some fun together.”

In that moment, you soon realized that you were nothing more than a toy for their enjoyment…a vessel for their carnal pleasure only. With a firm grasp on your hips, Kyo began bucking his own upwards to fuck into you whilst Uzui began feeding you upright strokes…pounding into you at both ends. They’d begin slow at first until that pace quickened and they were moving like a well oiled machine; hitting your spot from both angles simultaneously…juices immediately forming once more and cream slathered both of their members…(y/n)’s face contorted in pleasure as theirs were almost arrogant, proud of how easily you were broken. But make no mistake, you were handling your own, still begging for more through those loud screams and moans.

“Yes! Fuck me! Give me those dicks…so deep in my pussy…so deep in my ass…oh shit!”

“Fuck, you’re so tight! Oh my God, ‘s best anal I’ve ever had.”

“Your pussy’s dripping, my love and squeezing me so good…you’re going to make me fill you up.”

All three of you spewing those filthy thoughts in tandem as you worked to sate each other’s desires. One tugging at your hair and the other choking you as tears pooled down your smiling face. They’d mark you with smacks and spit until they’d covered every inch of you. As a result, you’d clutch their shafts until you’d feel them both pulsating inside of you…as if you didn’t want to let go until they released inside of that aching womb. As they continued working at your core, you’d thank them both in that seductive little tone for pounding you and begging for their cum.

“Oh my God, you’re such a good little whore, baby. Kyo, dude you’re so lucky. Fuck!”

“Tell me about it…I’m gonna explode, angel. Please, come for us….”

An indication that he was extremely close to his peak and Uzui wasn’t too far behind. Although you were like an insatiable fiend, who’d push yourself beyond your limits, you were also on the brink of releasing yet again. So after his plea, you’d hold on tight to your boyfriend as he fed you the deepest thrusts he could muster…almost hammering up into that needy cunt whilst Uzui slowed his to a medium pace, feeling the stretch of that asshole crowning around him and seeing you slather him with creamy secretions. Their balls smacked vehemently against both your clit and holes, and were saturated as well. Finally, all of you felt yourselves becoming jaded and with a few more movements, you’d sprang a leak yet again, squirting all over them once more. This time, however, they’d force you to do so with them inside and the feeling was indescribable.

“FUCK! SHIT!—SO FUCKING—“

“We know, my love. Let it out, let go….”

Holding you to his chest as those once confident screams and laughs turned into trembling cries of pure bliss. Now, that just left your two suitors. “We’re going to fill you up, baby. Don’t worry…you’ll get all of this nut from us.” Still throbbing and just on the very edge of coming, they’d both speed back up for one final push and almost in unison, you’d feel them stop and hear sounds of loud grunting, followed by yelling. They’d both jolt around, spilling every last remnant of their seed into your respective entrances. All of your eyes would roll back and your bodies would go limp. Uzui, who’d been seemingly backed up, found himself collapsing onto the couch next to the two of you. Mopping up sweat from his forehead, he’d finally glance over, to see you and Kyo engaging in sloppy kisses.

“Holy shit…you guys are wild. Kyo told me you two had fun but I would’ve never guessed you were getting down like this.”

Realizing soon after that the footage was still being captured and that your livestream had quite caught an eyeful. You’d look over to your phone to see that this little escapade had amassed thousands in donations. Which had far exceeded your tip goal. In addition to comments asking for Uzui to join the rotation.

“Well…something tells me you’ll be getting to find out a whole lot more. I think my fans like you.”

That’s what led him to you.

No theatrics. No creepy messages written with blood from your victims. Just proficient scenes and terrified rumors spreading through the Narrows about a vigilante who doesn’t leave unnecessary survivors behind.

The others call you reckless. 

Jason even slightly admires you.

Bruce calls you dangerous and a threat.

Meanwhile, Tim calls you at three in the morning while you’re stitching a knife wound closed in your apartment bathroom.

“You killed Falcone’s accountant?”

You pause, thread hanging from your fingers. “You don’t sound very upset.”

“I should be.”

“But?”

Silence hums through the phone speaker.

You can almost picture him sitting at his computer in his bedroom, eyes shadowed by monitor light, fingers moving relentlessly against the keyboard while he tries to decide whether he’s interrogating you or checking if you’re still alive.

Finally, he sighs. “But he sold out witnesses to Blackgate inmates.”

“Mhm. Sounds like a motive, huh?”

“That sounds like murder.”

You tie the stitch off with your teeth. “You called me instead of your dad.”

Another silence.

“I just… wanted to hear your side first.”

                         ༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶

Tim starts covering for you before he even realizes what he’s doing.

He reroutes their usual patrol routes. Deletes camera footage before Bruce can review it. “Accidentally,” misfiles reports involving your sightings.

At first, he tells himself he’s buying time.

You’re violent, probably unstable—but not beyond saving. That’s exactly what he believes. That’s what he needs to believe. 

Because when the two of you meet face-to-face, you never truly act like the monster Gotham paints you as.

You sit on rooftops beside him with your knees pulled up and your mask halfway off while rain drips from the edge of the building. You steal tea from gas stations and complain about how bitter it tastes—then give the rest to him. Sometimes you even laugh at his stupid jokes so hard you nearly fall backward off ledges.

Tim memorizes every expression you make.

The squinting of your eyes. The crinkle of your nose.  The twitch of your lips. Every scar across your skin like jagged splotches of paint.

It gets bad when he starts wanting your attention all the time.

A text from you can ruin his concentration for hours.

A complement sticks in his head for days.

One night, you show up bruised and stumbling into his room through the window without warning.

Tim nearly drops the mug in his hand.

“You look awful,” he blurts.

You grin tiredly. “Missed you too.”

The city lights blur gold behind you. Blood darkens your sleeve steadily, dripping onto the ground like the rain outside. 

Tim moves forward and grabs your wrist and drags you further inside.

“You need stitches.”

“Hey, no, I’ve had worse.”

‘That’s not comforting at all.”

You laugh under your breath while he shoves supplies onto the bed with more force than necessary.

“You always this bossy?”

“With you? Yeah.”

You sit still while he cleans the wound. That alone feels strange. You usually fight everyone tooth and nail whenever they try to help. But not him.

Tim’s fingers brush your ribs while wrapping the bandage, and something sharp twists low in his stomach when you don’t pull away like expected.

“You know Bruce is getting closer to finding your safehouses," he says quietly.

“Mhhh, I know.”

“You should leave Gotham for a while.”

Your eyes lift up to his. “You want me gone?”

“No—god no.” 

His face heats up immediately after.

The corners of your mouth pulls upward slightly and Tim suddenly hates how easy it is for you to affect him.

“You.. kill people,” he says, harsher now, trying to regain control. “You can’t keep doing this forever.”

“Yet you keep protecting me anyway.”

His hands stop moving.

“You noticed that,” he mutters, as if it was supposed to be a secret for himself.

“It’a not hard to notice these things about you, Tim.”

That should scare someone as private as him.

                         ༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶

Bruce eventually finds out and confronts him.

“You’re compromised.”

Tim clenches his jaw. “I’m handling it.”

“You’re emotionally involved with him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Tim snaps.

Silence for a few moments. 

Then Bruce’s expression hardens and it makes him feel fifteen again.

“He’s manipulating you.”

Tim looks away first.

Because maybe Bruce is right..

Maybe he is compromised.

He knows you’re dangerous. Knows you’ve crossed lines the rest of them never would. Knows there’s constantly blood under your fingernails that will never wash out. But every time Tim tries imagining Gotham without you in it, the thought feels wrong enough to make his chest ache. So, so wrong.

He keeps making excuses to protect you. He can't stop it. Even if you should be locked up in prison.

But a few days later? You don’t give him an opportunity to even try covering it up.

Not publicly at least.

To the others, he sounds like he’s snapping back into reality when your name comes up—logical and detached. 

Like before you happened.

“He’s escalating.”

“He’s unstable.”

“He doesn’t listen to reason.”

All.. technically true.

But privately, something colder settles into his chest because he finally understands that you were listening the entire time, since the beginning.

You just never cared.

So the church sat abandoned in Crime Alley for almost a decade.

Everybody knew gangs used it for meetings. Weapon trades. Drug storage. Trafficking safehouse. The kind of place cops ignored because stepping inside meant getting shot before backup arrived.

Bruce—well, as Batman—had been building a case against everyone in there for months.

Now here we are.

You burnt the entire building down with everyone still inside.

Tim arrives with the others just in time to watch fire claw through the collapsed roof and burst into even larger flames.

Smoke pours into the night sky in thick black waves.

Law enforcement scream at civilians to stay back.

Jason looks particularly grim as he grew up Catholic. This, despite being turned into a place of crime, feels like an insult to something that once guided his life.

Dick is simply horrified and Bruce doesn’t say anything.

Damian scoffs, even glances at Tim as if this was his fault.

Tim stares at the heat shimmering off the ruins and already knows it couldn’t have been anyone else but you because this is exactly the kind of message you send.

His comms crackle suddenly.

“Red Robin,” Barbara says sharply. “I found him on traffic cams three blocks east.”

“Don’t engage alone,” Bruce orders immediately.

“Understood.” Tim lies without hesitation.

—

He finds you on a rooftop overlooking the burning church.

You’re sitting on the ledge with one knee raised, watching the flames grow taller and the smoke curling like hands in the cold. Like it was simply background noise. Like corpses weren’t burning in there.

Your gloves are blackened with soot and there’s blood on your jaw that doesn’t belong to you.

“You killed all of them!”

You glance over calmly, and with no shame, “Yeah.”

For some reason, that makes the anger burn hotter in his chest. “There were fourteen people inside.”

“And?”

Tim steps closer. “There could’ve been hostages.”

“There weren’t.”

“You didn’t know that!”

“I checked.”

“You promised me! You promised that you’d stop doing this..”

“I promised to try.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“You knew that when I said it.”

Your words hit harder than they should because he did know. Deep down, he always knew.

Every conversation. Every rooftop argument. Every moment you let him patch your wounds while nodding silently through his lectures about mercy and restraint.

You were just humoring him, weren’t you?

Below, part of the church roof collapses inward with a shower of sparks.

You barely glance at it. 

“They trafficked children, Tim. You expect me to feel bad?”

“I expect you to act human!”

Your eyes snap toward him with a sharp glare. “And what exactly counts as human in Gotham anymore?”

You slowly stand from the ledge and Tim instinctively shifts his stance.

“That’s new,” you murmur.

“What is?”

“You’re preparing for me to attack you.”

The observation embarrasses him immediately because it’s true.

A month ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about standing within an arm’s reach of you. Now he’s measuring distance automatically. Watching your hands too.

Not that he thinks you’ll hurt him but because he’s finally accepting you absolutely could.

Then you laugh under your breath, almost… disappointed. 

 “That look doesn’t suit you, Tim.”

“You killed fourteen people.”

“And they deserved worse.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s usually true.”

“That doesn’t make you judge, jury, or executioner!” His voice echoes across the rooftop.

And for the first time all night—or maybe, ever—you look genuinely annoyed with him.

“And what does your way accomplish, huh? They go to Arkham? Blackgate? Then they bribe someone and walk free six months later?” You step closer. “How many victims get hurt while you people wait for the system to magically start working?”

Tim hates that Gotham proves your arguments right often enough to rot beneath his skin. But there’s still a line. There has to be.

“You think this fixes things? You think burning people alive makes the city safer?”

“If it’s necessary, yes.”

The immediate certainty in your voice chills him more than if you’d shouted. No hesitation or conflict at all. 

You believe in this completely.

And suddenly Tim understands something awful.

You are never going to stop.

Not for Batman, Gotham, or the police when they eventually catch you. And not for him.

The realization hollows him out completely.

You must notice something change in his expression because your irritation fades.

“Tim?”

He looks away and—

“You should go,” he says flatly.

“You’re just upset, huh?”

“No kidding.”

“You know why I do this.”

“I know you enjoy it.”

Your face hardens again, “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

You step toward him slowly. “You think I’m a monster now.”

Tim wants to say no immediately. He almost does say it, but the word reaches the back of his throat and dies there. 

Your eyes search his face carefully, and whatever you find there makes your shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly.

“You were different with me,” Tim says finally, quieter now. “I thought.. maybe there was still a line you wouldn’t cross.”

“There is.”

“Oh, really?”

“They were traffickers! What don’t you get?”

“You keep changing the rules each time.”

“No. You keep expecting me to become somebody else.”

It’s true.

Tim spent months trying to carve softer edges into someone built like a weapon. And some part of him resents you for failing at becoming the person he wanted.

You exhale slowly and glance toward the large flames consuming the fallen church one last time.

“I’m not one of you.”

The worst part is that he doesn’t want you to be. Not completely. Even now, standing here covered in smoke and blood and gasoline, there’s still something in him desperately trying to separate you from the monsters he hunts every night.

But he can’t anymore.

“You should leave before Batman gets here,” he finally manages to say.

“You plan on turning me in?”

Tim closes his eyes briefly.

God.

A month ago, that question would’ve been impossible.

Now he doesn’t even know the answer.

“...I don’t know.”

You look uncertain but end up saying, “Okay.”

You move past him toward the edge of the rooftop and he doesn’t stop you.

Right before jumping, you glance back once–rain beads against your lashes and cheeks.

“You’re still going to cover for me tonight.”

It wasn’t a question. It was certainty.

And it hurts Tim’s heart even more because he knows you’re right.

                         ༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶

The next few weeks feel hollow.

Empty in a way Tim can’t explain without sounding insane.

You stop contacting him completely after the church rooftop.

No surprise visits bleeding onto his furniture. No sarcastic texts through burner phones at two in the morning.

Nothing.

Tim tells himself that’s a good thing, which it should be a good thing. But the problem is that Gotham starts feeling unbearably dull without you in it directly.

And Tim hates how quickly he notices the absence.

So he still tracks your activity.

It becomes routine after patrol.

Sit at the Batcomputer. Pull up police scanners. Search crime reports. Cross-reference explosions, disappearances, and gang executions with areas your informants usually frequent.

Every few nights, something pops up.

A drug house found abandoned with six dead inside.

“GCPD officers responding to anonymous tips discovered six deceased individuals inside an abandoned apartment building in The Narrows late Tuesday night. Authorities believe the location was being used as a distribution hub for illegal narcotics. Investigators have not released a cause of death, and no suspects have been identified at this time.”

An illegal weapons shipment intercepted and destroyed.

“A large shipment of illegal firearms was destroyed early Friday morning after an explosion rocked an industrial warehouse in Gotham’s East End. According to police sources, the weapons were believed to be part of a trafficking operation linked to organized crime. No arrests have been made, though authorities continue to investigate the circumstances surrounding the blast.”

Two traffickers pulled from Gotham Harbor with broken necks.

“The bodies of two men were recovered from Gotham Harbor Wednesday morning after dock workers alerted authorities. Medical examiners confirmed both victims suffered fatal neck injuries prior to entering the water. Police have not publicly identified the deceased but stated both men were subjects of multiple ongoing criminal investigations.”

A Falcone safehouse burned to the ground.

“A four-story property allegedly connected to the Falcone crime organization was reduced to rubble following a late-night fire in Bristol Township. Fire crews battled the blaze for nearly three hours before bringing it under control. Officials have not determined the cause, though investigators have described the circumstances as ‘highly suspicious.’”

Tim watches security footage frame by frame whenever he can get it.

Most clips only catch shadows of you. A hood disappearing over rooftops. A blurred silhouette moving through smoke.

Once, there’s a still image clear enough to see your jawline beneath your mask for half a second.

Tim stares at it for almost ten minutes.

He doesn’t even realize Jason walked into the cave until a hand smacks the back of his chair.

“You’re doing it again.”

Tim closes the image immediately. “Doing what?”

“Getting weird.” Jason leans over the console, unimpressed. “You’ve been staring at that screen for hours this week.”

“I’m working.”

“No, you’re brooding.” Jason squints at him. “Which is Bruce’s thing. You’re usually more annoying.”

Tim flips him off without heat.

Jason snorts, but the amusement fades after a second.

“Seriously, though. What’s up with you lately?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

Tim ignores him and pulls another file onto the screen.

Three dead gang members with chemical burns.

“GCPD is investigating the deaths of three suspected gang affiliates discovered inside a warehouse in Burnham District early Sunday morning. According to preliminary reports, all three victims suffered severe chemical burns, though officials have not disclosed the substance involved. Authorities have yet to identify any suspects and are examining possible links to recent organized crime activity throughout the city.”

It's obviously your work. Yet his stomach twists unpleasantly anyways.

Jason notices the report.

“Oh.” Understanding flashes across his face. “It’s about him.”

He watches him carefully now, expression sharpening in a way that makes Tim instantly defensive. “You’re still hung up on that guy?”

“He’s.. a problem.”

“That’s not what I asked. But for what it’s worth, I kinda get it.”

Tim blinks once. That wasn’t the response he expected.

“People like him make sense at first.” His gaze drifts toward the cave floor. “You think they’re saying what everyone else is too afraid to admit.”

“And then?”

“And then they keep going.”

Quiet settles between them. The cave hums softly with computer noise and distant dripping water.

Tim rubs tiredly at his eyes.

Jason glances sideways at him.

“You look awful, y’know that?”

“Thanks.”

“No, seriously. You’re slower too.”

Tim immediately stiffens. “I’m not.”

“You missed three attacks during training yesterday.”

He knows exactly what Jason means.

Sparring with Cass.

A rare opening in her defense.

A hit Tim normally could’ve countered.

Except his mind had drifted for half a second toward a news report Barbara mentioned earlier—an entire gun operation dismantled somewhere in the East End.

Tim had wondered if it was you.

That single distraction cost him getting slammed flat onto the mat.

Jason watches realization cross his face and grimaces slightly.

“…Damn,” he mutters. “You got it bad.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re losing sleep over a homicidal vigilante.”

Tim pushes back from the computer abruptly. “I said shut up.”

Jason raises both hands immediately.

But he still looks concerned as Tim walks off.

—

Dick emotionally corners him four nights later.

“You skipped family dinner again.”

Tim keeps typing without looking up. “Busy.”

“You’ve been busy every night for two weeks.”

“I patrol Gotham, Dick. That tends to happen.”

Dick leans against the console beside him anyway.

“You miss him.”

Tim’s fingers stop over the keyboard.

Dick sighs softly at the reaction. “Tim…”

“He’s killing people.”

“Obviously.”

Tim finally looks at him then, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “Then why is everyone acting like I’m insane for being affected by it?”

Dick’s expression shifts slightly. Not exactly judgmental--just tired. “Because you’re grieving someone who’s still alive.”

Dick sits beside him quietly. “You wanted him to choose differently,” he says after a moment.

“I thought he would.”

“And now?”

Tim stares at the surveillance footage playing silently across the monitor. A warehouse explosion downtown. Two survivors crawling from debris.

“…Now I think I just wanted to matter enough for him to try.”

Dick goes quiet after that.

There’s nothing comforting to say.

—

The worst moments happen late at night.

Usually around three or four in the morning.

The cave empties out by then. Bruce upstairs. Alfred asleep. Gotham temporarily quieter between disasters.

Tim stays alone at the Batcomputer with cold coffee beside his elbow and police chatter murmuring through speakers.

That’s when he starts checking your old messages. Not intentionally at first, just absentmindedly. Then it's a habit.

Tiny things stick under his skin now.

A blurry photo you once sent of a stray cat.

A voice message where you laughed after he got hit in the face during patrol.

Tim rereads them enough that he nearly memorizes timestamps.

It feels pathetic.

Worse, it feels obsessive in a way he recognizes immediately because he’s spent years profiling dangerous people. He knows unhealthy attachment when he sees it.

The problem is that understanding it doesn’t make it stop.

                         ༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶

One night, Barbara walks into the cave quietly while he’s replaying security footage from your latest crime scene. “You’re monitoring him again.”

“He blew up a weapons convoy.”

Barbara crosses her arms. “That’s not what I meant. Even better, that's not what anyone is asking of you.”

Tim exhales sharply through his nose. “I’m keeping track of a violent vigilante. That’s literally our job.”

“Tim. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately,” she says carefully. “You zone out during patrols. You’re exhausted all the time. Bruce said you nearly fell asleep during surveillance yesterday.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” She sighed, “Did he mean that much to you?”

Tim wants to deny it but the truth sits too heavy in his chest now. So instead, after several long seconds, he just says:

“I liked who I was when he was around.”

Barbara’s expression changes immediately into something sadder because she understands exactly what he means.

Around you, everything felt more alive.

And now every night feels gray by comparison.

                         ༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶

Tim plans it three days in advance.

That alone should probably tell him this is a terrible idea.

He tracks your movement patterns carefully, pretending it’s tactical analysis instead of fixation.

Safehouses. Informants. Patrol routes. The areas you still seem protective over despite everything else.

You’ve gotten harder to follow lately. Like you finally realized they know too much about you.

Tim wonders if that’s because of him.

The thought leaves something sour in his stomach.

—

“Red Robin, status?” Bruce’s voice crackles through the comm.

Tim crouches on a rooftop overlooking Robinson Park, eyes fixed on the distant street below where a familiar figure moves between alley shadows. You.

His chest tightens so fast it almost hurts.

“Perimeter clear,” he answers.

Beside him, Dick grapples toward the next building. “We’re heading east. You coming?”

Tim’s gaze never leaves you. “Need to check something first.”

Bruce responds immediately. “Negative. Stick with—”

Static cuts through the comm suddenly.

Tim muted the channel himself.

For a second, guilt punches through him hard enough to make him hesitate. Then you glance upward briefly, hood shadowing your face, and the hesitation dies instantly.

Tim moves.

—

By the time Tim lands across from you in the alley, you’re already turning slightly, posture alert beneath your jacket.

Your eyes narrow. “Thought you were avoiding me.”

Rainwater drips from fire escapes overhead, tapping softly against concrete between you both.

There’s a healing cut crossing your mouth. Bruises along your throat. A slight stiffness in your left arm that suggests another injury you haven’t treated properly.

“You’ve been killing people.”

You shrug lightly. “Gotham’s still standing.”

The familiar frustration flickers through him, but he crushes it down quickly. Tonight can’t become another argument. You’ll leave.

And Tim can’t handle you leaving again.

He steps closer slowly. “I’m not here to fight.”

That gets your attention. Your expression shifts carefully, suspicion threading through it now. “No?”

Tim shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have said you enjoy it.”

He continues before he can rethink any of this.

“That rooftop… I was angry.” His throat feels tight suddenly. “And I know I pushed you harder than I should’ve.”

You stare at him in silence.

Lower your guard. Just enough.

“I know why you do what you do,” he says quietly. “I still don’t agree with it, but…” He exhales shakily.

“I miss talking to you.”

He sees the slight change around your eyes.

God, you missed him too.

The realization nearly ruins his focus.

Your shoulders ease. “That’s probably the most honest thing you’ve said in weeks,” you murmur.

Tim steps closer again—close enough to touch. And it hurts because even after everything, you still trust him a little.

“You really scared me that night,” he admits softly.

“I know.”

Another step closer.

Your guard lowers further.

Tim sees the exact moment you decide he isn’t a threat.

And then—

One hand violently yanks your jacket forward while the other drives a taser hard against the side of your neck.

Electricity cracks sharply through the alley.

Your body jerks in shock, but you’re stronger than most people. Faster too. You react almost instantly despite the hit, grabbing his wrist hard enough to bruise.

Your eyes snap wide with betrayal.

Tim nearly falters right there.

Then you start reaching for the knife hidden beneath your jacket. Panic slams through him so he swings before thinking.

The metal handle of the taser slams hard against your temple. A sickening sound echoes against the alley walls and you stagger immediately.

Tim’s stomach drops.

Too hard.

Way too hard.

Your grip loosens from his wrist as your balance gives out completely. For one awful second, you look confused more than angry. Then your knees buckle.

Tim catches you before your head slams against the pavement.

Silence floods the alley afterward except for his breathing.

“Oh.. oh my god,” he whispers.

Blood runs slowly down the side of your face. Your body hangs limp in his arms. Tim stares at you in horror.

He didn’t mean—

No, no, that’s a lie.

He did mean to knock you out.

Just not like that.

Not hard enough to leave you unconscious this fast. Not hard enough that blood is already slipping between his fingers.

His pulse pounds violently.

You’re breathing.

Tim checks three times, even as his hands shake.

Some distant part of his brain screams that this is insane. That Bruce would lose his mind if he saw this. That Dick was right. Barbara too.

You trusted him for one second and he used it against you.

The guilt should stop him here.

Instead, Tim carefully adjusts your unconscious weight against his chest and activates the grapple line with his free hand.

Because beneath the horror, beneath the panic and shame and nausea—

There’s still overwhelming relief.

He found you again.

                         ༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶

Consciousness returns slowly.

Your head throbs immediately. The second you start waking up, a deep, nauseating ache pulsing behind your eyes and through the entirety of your skull hard enough to make your stomach twist. For a few seconds, you stay still, breathing shallowly against the soft surface beneath you.

Dim lighting somewhere nearby.

Then memory falls back into place.

Your eyes snap open.

Pain flashes instantly through the side of your head as you jerk upright on instinct—the movement sending pain flashing across your shoulders. You stop short when something tight pulls sharply against your arms and torso.

Rope.

A lot of it.

For a second, you just stay there, disoriented, pulse pounding heavily in your ears while your vision adjusts to the room.

Safehouse.

The furniture’s too expensive not to be the bats.

You’re sitting against the corner of a large couch, arms pinned behind your back, bound tightly from wrists to upper torso in intricate patterns that press firmly across your chest and ribs before knotting down your spine. Another length winds securely around your thighs and calves, all the way to your ankles, forcing your legs together against the couch cushions.

These weren't sloppy restraints.

These were careful. Completely deliberate.

Recognition slowly settles in.

Shibari.

You flex experimentally against the restraints once and nothing budges.

The rope has enough give to avoid cutting circulation, but not enough to create leverage.

"...fuck," you rasp.

Movement comes from a nearby corner.

Tim looks up from the armchair so fast it's almost jarring. Relief morphs across his face. "You're awake."

You try pushing yourself off the couch—as if you're in any position to—only for dizziness to burn into you hard enough that you suck in a sharp breath, causing Tim to stand immediately.

"Easy.."

"Easy? You hit me with a crowbar."

"It wasn't a crowbar."

"Oh, wow. That makes it so much better."

Despite yourself, your gaze flicks around the room automatically.

Minimal furniture. Reinforced windows. Medical supplies scattered across the kitchen counter beside empty mugs and glass. Two laptops open nearby with surveillance footage frozen across the screens.

One camera points directly toward you from the corner ceiling.

Tim notices where you're looking. "It's not recording constantly."

You stare at him flatly. "That's your defense?"

His lips purse tightly.

You notice now, how awful he looks. Wrinkled, probably dirty clothes. Messy hair. Eyes bloodshot. Bruising dark beneath them like he genuinely hasn't rested since dragging you here.

"You.. were out for almost two days," he says quietly.

“You hit me that hard?”

“I didn’t mean to. You had a concussion," he swallows nervously.

"So you tied me up."

"You kept trying to move and.. well, fight me while unconscious."

"Hm."

Your skull still aches every time you move too quickly. There’s probably a nasty bruise hidden in your hair judging by the tenderness alone.

Tim seems to notice and he immediately moves towards the kitchen counter before returning with water and painkillers.

You eye him suspiciously when he kneels Infront of the couch.

"They're not drugged."

"You tased me, cracked my skull open, then kidnapped me. Forgive me if trust feels difficult right now."

He suddenly looks ashamed.

Good. He should be!

Still, after a moment, you open your mouth enough for him to give you the pills carefully.

The intimacy of it feels strange. Humiliating, almost. Especially restrained like this.

Tim's fingers brush your jaw accidentally while passing the glass, and both of you go still for half a second. Then he pulls away quickly.

Silence stretches for a long moment.

“You’re not getting out.”

You look back at him flatly. “You say that like I haven’t escaped worse.”

Tim leans forward slightly, hands resting on his knees now. “Look. You scared the hell out of me and.. I needed you somewhere I could watch easily.”

"And this somehow counts as helping?" You laugh once under your breath despite yourself.

His jaw tightens. "You're clearly not stable. You've been killing more people than usual."

"Well, the last guys were selling guns to Black Mask."

"That doesn't matter!" The sudden sharpness in his voice echoes through the room and you blink.

"You don't get it. Every time I tracked you lately, it got worse." His eyes lift towards yours again. "You stopped caring about collateral. You stopped covering your tracks. Half the crimes looked borderline suicidal."

Tim laughs under his breath, exhausted and humorless.

"You know what the worst part is?" he mutters. "I still checked if you were alive every night."

Something uncomfortable twists low in your chest so you look away.

The ropes shift softly against your skin as you settle back against the couch cushions.

“…Untie me,” you say eventually.

“No. I told you, you’re not leaving.”

You look back at him sharply. “You hit me hard enough to hospitalize someone.”

“I know.”

“You can’t keep me here forever.”

His eyes hold yours and silence is infinitely more unsettling than words would’ve been.

You shift again against the ropes, testing the give one more time even though you already know the answer. The bindings stay firm around your chest and wrists, holding you tightly against the couch cushions.

“I’m serious, Tim. Take this shit off.”

His eyes flick briefly toward the ropes before returning to your face carefully, like he’s gauging your mood.

“No.” He sighs.

You stare at him. “No?”

“We’ve already been over the fact you’re unstable.”

“That doesn’t justify you kidnapping me.”

“Neither do your excuses for killing people.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, Tim.”

“No, but it answers why you’re staying restrained.”

Frustration flashes hot through your chest instantly. “You have serious issues.”

You yank harder against the bindings without thinking. Rope tightens across your ribs sharply enough to force a hiss from between your teeth.

Tim’s expression changes immediately. “Hey—Stop doing that.”

“Get the hell away from me.”

He ignores that completely.

The couch dips beside you as he sits down carefully, close enough that warmth presses against your side.

His hand settles instinctively against your thigh before he seems fully aware he’s doing it, fingers rubbing slowly over the muscle like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.

The touch sends immediate alarm through your system. You jerk sharply against the ropes again. “Don’t touch me.”

Tim pulls his hand back instantly.

Something guilty flickers across his face, but it disappears just as quickly beneath stubbornness. “You’re shaking.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s already been disproven.”

“You need to relax.”

“Relax?” Your voice rises slightly. “You lied to me. Pretended to apologize. Then knocked me unconscious and tied me up like some psycho—”

“I said I was sorry.”

“And I said untie me!”

“No!”

Tim’s exhausted, yes. Guilty too. But he genuinely believes keeping you restrained is the correct choice. It sparks something nervous and ugly beneath your ribs so you cover it immediately with anger.

“What, you think this fixes things? You think tying me up makes you different from the people we fight?”

“That’s not fair..”

“No? Then what is this?” You pull against the rope crossing your torso. “Because it sure as hell isn’t concern anymore.”

“You planned this,” you say quietly now.

He doesn’t answer.

Your pulse starts climbing harder. “You tracked me for weeks.”

Tim exhales sharply through his nose. “You make it sound really insane when you say it like that.”

“It is insane.”

“I know this is insane.” His voice lowers immediately afterward. “But I couldn’t just.. keep waiting for a phone call from you. I needed you back!”

“You don’t own me nor are we anything. So stop acting like it.”

“You disappear for weeks at a time. You nearly die constantly. Half the city wants your head.” His eyes lock onto yours intensely. “What exactly was I supposed to do?”

“Not this!”

The answer comes instantly and Tim goes quiet again after that. Neither of you do or say anything for several moments. Then Tim’s gaze drops briefly toward the ropes around your torso.

“…I tied them carefully,” he says quietly.

You blink once, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What?”

“They aren’t cutting circulation.” His voice stays low, oddly focused. “I checked every few hours while you were unconscious.”

“You watched me sleep tied up on a couch for two days,” you say flatly.

Tim winces slightly.

You sigh. “So, was all that missing me bullshit fake?”

His expression changes into hurt immediately. “No, no—“

“Right.”

“I meant it.”

“Sure you did.”

“You think this was easy for me?”

You stare at him incredulously.

Instead of at your face and answering like a normal man, his eyes slowly—almost hesitant—flick up and down. To the bindings. The rope crossing your chest and waist. Your wrists restrained behind your back. Your legs secured tightly enough that moving is awkward and unbalanced.

“You like this,” you accuse suddenly.

Tim freezes, letting out a bewildered squeak.

“You think tying me up fixes whatever’s wrong in your head, huh?” you continue, voice rising slightly now that nerves are fully bleeding into anger. “You couldn’t control me before, so now you’re restraining me in some fucked up safehouse—”

“That’s not what this is!”

“Yes it is. You’re obsessed with me!”

“You—you think I don’t know that!?” Tim’s hand is gone from your thigh now, but the warmth of it still lingers through the fabric of your pants in a way that’s deeply unhelpful.

You shift against the couch again, trying to sit differently, trying to relieve some of the pressure from the rope binding your hips and thighs together.

The movement drags the ropes tighter across your waist and between your legs. A sharp breath catches in your throat before you can stop it.

Tim notices instantly.

His eyes flick downward again.

You try shifting again, this time more to hide yourself than escape, but the bindings make every movement controlled and limited. Your knees stay partially bent from the rope securing your calves, leaving you frustratingly aware of every point of contact against the couch cushions.

“Don’t,” you bark immediately.

Tim’s gaze lifts back to your face and heat flashes up your neck instantly. Oh, this is humiliating.

You turn more sharply against the couch armrest, trying to angle yourself away from him. The rope circling your hips prevents most of it.

“…You’re kidding,” he says quietly.

“Shut up.”

Your answer was too quick. Too defensive.

Tim stares at you openly now, disbelief slowly mixing with something far more complicated. “You’re seriously—”

“I said shut up.”

Panic is beginning to creep underneath your ribs.

This is bad.

Very bad.

You’ve spent months chasing each other across rooftops. Fighting. Arguing. Bleeding beside each other. And now you’re tied up in shibari by the same guy who kidnapped you after fake-apologizing—

And your body decided this was somehow exciting.

Something is clearly wrong with you.

Tim runs a hand slowly over his face. “You were yelling at me thirty seconds ago.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“Not just mad apparently.”

“Stop looking at me.”

“I’m trying to process this.”

“There’s nothing to process.” You shift instinctively against the ropes again out of sheer frustration. The bindings press irritatingly against sensitive nerves, causing you to let out a small, very accidental gasp.

Tim hears it and his eyes widen slightly.

Yours narrow in immediate warning.

"And you said I enjoyed this." His gaze drifts briefly again before he catches himself and looks toward the wall which makes everything worse because now you know he’s actively trying not to ogle.

“You tied me up like this,” you accuse immediately, desperate to redirect the situation. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

“I wasn’t thinking about—that.”

“Bullshit.”

“I wasn’t!” Tim’s face is visibly warm now, ears slightly red beneath the dark hair falling across his forehead. “This was supposed to keep you restrained. Not— not whatever this is.”

“You researched bondage!"

“I used effective knots!”

“Okay, well—joke’s over! Let me out of this bullshit!”

The second the words leave your mouth, Tim’s mouth twitches. Barely restrained amusement. “…I’m trying really hard not to laugh.”

“There is nothing funny about this.”

“You’re tied to a couch while trying not to get hard…er.”

“Timothy.”

“Sorry,” he says immediately.

Then, after a beat—

“…No, I’m not actually sorry.”

You glare at him, but it lacks any real bite now. Mostly because your pulse is pounding too hard to maintain the same level of hostility.

Tim shifts closer.

“What are you doing?” you ask immediately.

Tim’s eyes flick to your mouth.

Then back up.

“Is this one of your psychoanalysis things?”

Tim studies you for another long second before lifting one hand slowly toward your face. His fingers brush lightly along your jaw near the bruise he left there.

“No, it’s not. I really am sorry,” he murmurs.

Your shoulders tense slightly when his thumb brushes your cheek. “You’re making this weird. Untie me before you do something stupid,” you mutter.

“Before I do something stupid?”

“Yes.”

“Little late for that.” Tim shifts even closer.

“Hey—”

He doesn’t answer, just pauses before finally leaning in. The kiss starts softer than you expect. Tentative. Like he’s still half-convinced you’ll run away (even if you’re in no position to).

Instead, your breath catches embarrassingly against his mouth. And that tiny reaction seems to snap the last thread of restraint in him.

Tim kisses you harder, one hand sliding against your jaw while the other braces beside your hip against the couch cushion.

Your stomach flips violently.

You make a quiet sound against his mouth—half protest, half something else entirely—and Tim exhales sharply like the noise nearly wrecked him. “You’re impossible,” he mutters softly against your lips

“And you’re a kidnapper,” you whisper back immediately.

“Still got you hard.” Tim kisses you again, more confident now, more controlling.

Your hands being restrained only makes the whole thing worse.

Or better, unfortunately.

A soft, frustrated whine slips from your throat when he tilts your head slightly to deepen the kiss, and the second the sound reaches him, Tim freezes briefly.

“No,” you mumble against his mouth, trying to turn your face away out of pure embarrassment. “Don’t say anything.”

“You’re shy right now,” he says quietly, sounding genuinely stunned.

“I am not.”

To be continued…

© 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐬 — do not copy my work.

a/n: i wanna say sorry for being very slow with updates and posting, finals are going on so i’ve been desperately focusing on those things! this is also, as you can tell, not completed as i didn’t write the smut + ending yet. i decided to post just this in the meantime so you guys aren’t left with nothing. i’ll post the continuation of this separately probably in a week🥹. but hey, you have to admit the song i linked to the title lowk fits m!reader perfectly + Catholic Jason, how i love you. you may also be wondering how you’re tied up, which if you can imagine, is these 3 combined (but obviously on a more masculine body):

03:47

Three minutes and forty-seven seconds until the run ended.

One life and a timer with no saves or mercy.

He'd decided to spend the last of his minutes pinning you against one of the many caramel colored concrete walls of the Care Center’s west wing hall.

"Don't move," he growled, a rumble that vibrated out of his chest and into yours where it was crushed under the weight of him.

His leather jacket was left lying on the floor, boots planted wide as those arms hooked under the backs of your knees and hoisted you clean off the floor.

Back slammed against the wall and punched the air out of your lungs with no way of restoring them as his mouth crashed into yours with no finesse.

Just teeth first followed by his tongue along the hot wet shove of him in.

Strong muscular organ forcing your lips wider apart as it kept pushing, wrapping around yours and pressing flat against the roof of your mouth before dragging down along your teeth, kissing like he was trying to eat you whole.

Above his head (actually on his head, twitching and pivoting like they were picking up every sound in the building) the pair of tawny wolf ears flattened back against his hair when you whimpered into his mouth.

He liked that sound.

They pinned tighter and his throat rolled out a low purring growl, gravel-on-gravel noise that no human chest was supposed to be capable of.

"Mmmph—“ you tried to say anything, his name, maybe, but he didn't let you.

His slick and hot tongue shoved deeper, slick and hot as he tilted his head to fit his mouth harder against yours, nose mashing against the side of your own, stubble scraping your cheek and underside of your jaw, rough little burns of sensation that pricked up into pleasure every time he pressed in for more.

He pressed for more constantly.

Every time you broke to breathe he chased your mouth, caught your lower lip between his teeth and tugged before plunging his tongue back in with a low warning growl.

Your head knocked against the concrete behind from the fierce hunger he put for kisses, grounding his hips up into yours and the movement rolled your whole body up the wall a few inches.

Oh fuck, you could feel a thick, hot pressure wedged between the cheeks of your ass through the layers of fabric, nudging and insisting, grinding slow upward strokes that bullied right into your tailbone and higher.

Tail behind him, russet-brow plume of coarse fur, was whipping back and forth with manic speed, slapping against the side of his thighs and your toes located there, making soft whipping noises you could actually hear over the wet sounds of his mouth on yours.

He broke the kiss barely, his forehead stayed pressed to yours and a string of spit connected your bottom lip to his upper, breath panting hot against your mouth while his pupils were blown wolf-wide, black devouring the blue.

"Two minutes forty," he rasped, reading the clock somehow without looking at it like his ears had counted the ticks. "Clock's eatin' us."

"Leon—" you finally got the word out and it came shaky, close to half a moan as his bulge pushed up again at exactly the wrong moment and the word cracked in the middle. "Leon, the timer—"

"Yeah." Another harder roll of his hips letting you felt the large shape of him trapped behind denim and whatever thin layer of his underwear was keeping it from being skin, dragging up the cleft of your ass.

A low chuckle rolled out of his chest that sounded like a wolf who had cornered his prey.

"Don't care." His mouth dropped to your throat and he bit hard enough that the canines in his mouth, sharper than yours, dented your pulse.

He held the bite and sucked, growling into the wet seal of his lips around your neck until you felt the vibration down in your ribs. "Gonna lose? Fine. Losin' with you on my cock."

The gloves came off as he let one of your legs drop to yank the black tactical glove off his right hand with his teeth, spitting it onto the floor.

Bare palm coming back and cupping the side of your face, thumb dragging over your kiss-swollen lip and the pad of it was feverishly hot.

"Look at me."

Looking up at him, his eyes caught the red of the emergency light and threw it back.

"Good boy."

Your cock jumped so hard in your jeans you felt it slap the inside of the denim as he hitched your leg back up, reseating you on his hips so that his bulge aligned right where he wanted it.

When he pressed up, you gasped and it immediately broke into a moan when he started grinding in earnest drags of his clothed cock against the seat of your jeans, hitting that spot where the seam ran up between your cheeks and turning the pressure into torture.

"Feel that?" His voice was right against your ear now, flick of the tip of his tongue against your earlobe.

Another satisfied growl and the wolf ears on top of his head swiveled forward.

02:13

He broke off the kissing only to start work on your clothes, the leather of his jacket creaked as he shifted his grip with one massive bicep still hooked solidly under your left thigh, holding your entire weight while his freed right hand dropped between your bodies and yanked at your belt.

It gave with a clatter, button of your jeans popping, zipper hissing down in one pull.

His hand shoved inside, calloused palm hot and rough, fingers closing around your bare cock and squeezing as you keened and your head fell back against the wall with a thud you barely felt because his mouth was already at your throat again, sucking a bruise into the side of your neck while his hand started stroking, thumb dragging over the wet slit at your tip and spreading the precum down your shaft in one long slick pull.

"Leon—" His nose dragged up the side of your neck, inhaling as the ears flicked.

He could smell how turned on you were.

The idea short-circuited something in your brain and you felt yourself leak more into his palm, a hot bead of it running down the side of his thumb.

He hummed in approval, purr coming back and this time it didn't stop, a continuous low rumble coming out of him while he worked your cock with slow torturing strokes, twist at the top, drag at the base, squeeze under the head on the way up.

01:47

The countdown chirped an alert tone as he pulled his hand out of your jeans, now slick and shining with your precum, bringing it up to your mouth, two fingers pushing past your lips.

Tasting salt and musk from yourself while his fingers pressed down on your tongue, eyes watching your mouth work with hunger and ears staying forward while his tail kept lashing.

When he pulled his fingers free they came out with a wet pop right as he was shoving your and his own jeans down.

He had to let your leg drop again for a second to get the zipper done before he had you back up against the wall, legs splayed over his forearms as the hot weight of his bare cock was suddenly resting against the naked inside of your thigh.

Couldn't help but look down.

Fuck.

He was thick and veined, head already wet and shining where it had leaked against your leg.

A nest of dark blond hair at the heavy base as the weight of it rested on your skin like a brand.

lower, at the very root, something fuller and already distended, a swollen ring of flesh that hadn't been there the last time you'd seen him naked.

You stared at it for a heartbeat too long and his hips ground forward, hiding it from view.

"Eyes up here," he growled, nose bumping yours. "Eyes on me when I put it in."

His spit-wet fingers pressed between your cheeks, found your hole, circled it once before sinking the tip of one in. You jolted and he hushed you with a softer kiss, tongue sliding into your mouth in slow exploratory strokes while his finger worked its way knuckle-deeper, second knuckle and curl.

"Nngh—"

"Yeah. There it is."

Another finger as you stretched around him and he watched your face the whole time, drinking every micro-expression with predatory attention. The purring in his chest got louder and his tail had picked up speed again, hitting against the wall beside your hip constantly.

01:12

"Leon—please—"

"Please what?"

"Please—"

"Use your words, sweetheart." His fingers scissored and you sobbed. "Clock's tickin'. Tell me what you want."

"Fuck me. Please fuck me. Leon, please—"

The fingers vanished as something bitter and heat-radiating replaced them, blunt wet head of his cock pressed against your hole and his arms readjusted under your thighs, hitching you higher to angle you down.

Then he let gravity do the first half of the work.

Your own weight dragged your body down onto him inexorably as the stretch grew obscene along a burning, splitting fullness that made your mouth fall open in a silent scream.

His cock split you open inch by inch, grinding past the ring of muscle, shoving deeper and deeper until your ass finally met the base of his thighs and you were seated on him completely.

He was panting, tongue out a little and ears flicking back, purr taking a rougher tone, almost a growl now as his eyes had gone half-lidded with the effort of not just rutting into you immediately.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck. You're tight."

"Leon—"

The first thrust was upward, a hard snap of his hips that bounced you against the wall and punched the breath out of your lungs. The second was harder, by the third he had a rhythm as he was now fully fucking you, cock driving up into you over and over while his biceps held your thighs open and his mouth found yours again.

The kissing got sloppier as teeth clacked and his tongue wasn't doing technique anymore, just shoving into your mouth in time with his thrusts, fucking your mouth the same way he was fucking your ass.

High broken whimpers and gasped curses poured into his open mouth, tail on his back whipping crazily.

00:48

The countdown chirped another warning, drowned by the heavy panting against your mouth, grin of white and sharp teeth pulling up at one corner. Sharp teeth. "Hear the clock, baby?"

"Ngh—"

"Gonna lose balls-deep in you." A hard thrust and the head of his cock punched your prostate, making sparks explode behind your eyes. "Gonna lose with your ass clenchin' on me. That what you want?"

"Yes—"

"Yeah you do." Another thrust and those additional ears twitched, tail whipping harder. "Want me to fill you up while they're loggin' my death screen?"

"Leon—Leon, please—"

"Beg."

"Please, please, please, please—"

He snarled, lips pulled back off teeth and the rhythm broke into brutally deep strokes that jackhammered up into you and made your whole body bounce against the wall.

His mouth was on your throat, teeth right at your pulse as his cock was hitting that spot inside you on every single thrust.

His tail had gone wild, slapping out of rhythm with anything.

Your own hard member was trapped between your bodies, dragging back and forth against the hard ridges of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. Every thrust ground the underside of your shaft against the cut of his abs with perfect friction and pressure.

The angle was killing you while the purr-growl in his chest had become a continuous rolling snarl and he was saying things against your neck. “Mine, take it, good boy, made for this… fuck fuck fuck.”

You came hard without warning with your whole body locked rigid in his arms and your hole clamping down on him so hard you heard him grunt, cock pulsing thick ropes of cum up between his abs and pooled hot in the dip of his navel before he ground forward and smeared it across both of you.

The mess spread up his chest, glossing the dark hair you could see in the open V of his collar, dripping back down onto your own stomach in long sticky strings.

"Fuck—" he snarled. His teeth bared. "Fuck, yeah, that's it—"

It started.

That swollen ring of flesh at the base of his cock you'd half-seen earlier was getting bigger fast, it pulsed where it pressed against your stretched rim and each one left it thicker and harder, inflating.

The width of it pressed against your hole from the outside before his next thrust shoved it past and popped it inside you, causing your whole body to seize around the sudden new fullness of it.

"Oh god—oh god, Leon, what is—"

"Shhh." His face dropped into the crook of your neck and bit down hard, canines dent on skin that held on.

Low growl in his chest had become continuous, broken only by short panted breaths against your throat, thrusts now jagged and stuttering, short hard jerks of his hips that couldn't pull out anymore because the knot wouldn't let him.

Every short stroke dragged the swollen base against the rim of your hole and the head hammered your prostate at the same time, causing you to sob into his hair, post-orgasm body wracked with aftershocks that hadn't stopped and might never do.

Couldn't help but clenching into him and dragging a helpless groan muffled into your neck, making his hips snap up one last time, burying himself to the absolute hilt and held.

The flesh at the base of him expanded inside you, ballooning out and locking against the inside of your rim with a pressure that bordered on too much before settling into a perfectly full feeling.

Bigger than anything you'd taken from him till now, distending you from the inside and pressing on your prostate from a new angle, locking the two of you together until it went down.

Spoilers: it wouldn't go down for a while.

Your weak and shaky hands found his head, scratching behind one of those ears with trembling fingers, soft and warm fur, cartilage under it twitching at your touch and the sound he made was a low, broken whine muffled into the side of your neck.

The ear pressed into your hand, tail had stopped lashing, now gone rigid behind him, fluffed out and frozen as he reached his end as well.

First pulse of it was a flood as he swelled briefly thicker, followed by so much heat. The first spurt of his cum jetted deep somewhere far inside and there was nowhere for it to go as the knot trapped every drop.

Another pulse came right behind it, followed by the next, third soon after and Leon was rumbling into your neck "good boy, takin' all of it, fuck, fuck," and you felt yourself filling, swell of it in your belly.

00:19

Warm pressure building up on the lower curve of your abdomen from load after load pumped into a space that had no exit. His cock twitched hard inside you with every pulse along the knot and the double rhythms together made your whole body shudder.

He kept coming, those pulses might have gotten weaker but they didn't stop. You stroked the back of his ear with shaking fingers and he whined again and his hips made a small involuntary jerk that ground the knot deeper and made you both moan in stereo.

00:09

00:08

00:07

The buzzer was about to drop.

"Leon…" you whispered. "Leon, the clock—"

He lifted his head from your neck, eyes unfocused with pupils still blown wide, a smear of sweat at his temple where his blond locks were sticking.

"Hold on." A faint but cocky smirk emerged on his face as his right hand left your thigh.

Your weight transferred entirely to that one massive bicep still hooked under your left leg and the knot anchoring you to him from inside.

Sudden redistribution made the knot shift inside you in a way that lit up every nerve at once.

His freed hand dropped to the small of his back.

There was a click, familiar hiss of a holster releasing and then the matte black weight of his sidearm was rising in his bare hand.

He sighted across the corridor in a single fluid motion, arm extended past your shoulder, muzzle inches from your ear and you saw what he was aiming at.

A spider the size of a dinner plate crawling up the far wall on long iridescent legs, its abdomen glittered gold.

The gunshot was deafening at that range and your ear rang, muzzle flash painting Leon's face orange for a split second and across the corridor the spider bursted while emanating a sparkle noise.

Timer increasing drastically as seventy more seconds were granted.

01:17

Leon holstered the gun one-handed without looking, smirk widening into a lazy grin against your jaw.

His tail had started moving again back and forth like a metronome.

"Well." His voice was a soft rasp. "Looks like we gotta stay just like this for a whole minute, sweetheart."

"Leon—"

He rolled his hips a fraction to make the trapped knot grind against the inner walls of your ass. "Might as well enjoy it."

His arms cinched tighter under your thighs, lifting you a fraction higher onto him and it made the knot tug at your rim from the inside in a way that made the entire load of cum he'd pumped into you slosh.

"Easy. Easy now." He peeled away from the wall and you felt every fucking step he took to carry you down the corridor with his cock still locked inside by that knot swollen and warm puddle of cum trapped behind it shifting while his balls were pressed snug to your ass.

Your spent cock, still trapped between your bodies and smearing through the mess of your earlier load on his stomach, was already trying to perk back up.

"Almost there." He murmured against your temple, smirking.

"Bastard."

He laughed lowly while the wolf ears flicked smugly forward. "Save room's right around the corner. Hang on."

He shouldered through a half-open door with a ruby placed in the center and kicked it shut behind him.

Moving close to the foosball table with you still impaled on him, he sat himself down on the edge of it. The new position settled you fully into his lap, your weight pressing down onto the knot and you whimpered as it ground deeper than it had been before.

"I gotcha." His hands skimmed up the backs of your thighs, voice gone soft, growl still there underneath, but the edges were softening.

His face dropped to your shoulder, tongue dragging up the side of your throat slowly, almost apologetic where the marks from his teeth were, purring satisfied.

You scratched behind the ear again and he shuddered, hips giving one involuntary little hitch up into you and the resultant slosh made you both groan in unison.

"Stop doin’ that or we’re gonna be here all night."

"That a threat?"

The first time Doflamingo noticed something was wrong with you was during an interrogation. 

No, not wrong. Perhaps simply… different. 

The room smelled thickly of iron and sweat, muffled cries occasionally cutting through the heavy silence between questions. Most people couldn’t last more than a few minutes there. They turned pale, looked away, trembled whenever blood splattered too close. 

But not you, no. You stayed there, not frozen but focused. 

Your attention stayed fixed on the scene before you: the man strapped helplessly to the chair, the thick blood staining his face, the strings digging into his flesh with cruel precision. Doflamingo hadn’t expected your reaction. Your eyes followed every movement of his hands so carefully, as though you were dissecting the scene only to recreate it inside your mind afterward. 

He almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

The man tied to the chair let out another broken sound, and you flinched slightly at the noise — proof you weren’t insensitive to it — but then your gaze drifted back toward Doflamingo himself.

His predatory grin met yours, sharp and dangerous beneath the dim light, before he turned back to finish what he had started.

The room eventually fell silent.

When he was finally done with his prey, wiping his bloodied hands lazily with a cloth, Doflamingo stepped back toward you. Together, you stared at the body slumped against the chair while blood spread slowly across the floorboards.

You should have looked away but instead, your eyes tracked the crimson pooling beneath the corpse’s ribs.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he drawled. 

“I’m just wondering…” you began quietly, “why do you smile when you threaten people?”

Doflamingo’s grin widened instinctively. “Mm? What kind of question is that?”

“I don’t know…” you looked at him. “Most people snarl. Or yell. You look happiest when someone is afraid of you.”

He stared at you for a moment. Not offended. If anything, intrigued. “You trying to psychoanalyze me, sweetheart?” he teased.

This time, you smiled. “Maybe.”

“And what’s your conclusion?”

Your gaze flickered briefly toward the blood staining his fingers before returning to his face. “I think you enjoy control more than violence itself.”

A low hum rumbled in his throat. “Mmh… interesting.”

Then his hand suddenly caught your jaw, large fingers curling against your skin before he pulled you into a kiss, far too pleased by the fact that you had looked directly at the monster in front of you instead of turning away.

Once back in your room, Doflamingo lounged lazily against the headboard, shirt long abandoned somewhere on the floor, his glasses still perched carelessly on his nose. One arm rested behind his head while the other draped across his stomach. 

And you sat beside him, the silk bedsheets casually encircling your waist, your skin still warm from your lovemaking. You were quietly tracing the map of violence written across his skin. Your fingertips slid slowly over old scars on his torso. You examined them with curiosity while his muscles shifted faintly beneath your fingers as you traced another scar near his shoulder. 

“This one was deep,” you murmured. 

Doflamingo hummed lazily. “Mm. Bullet.” 

Your thumb pressed gently against the uneven skin. “You almost died?” 

A grin curled at the corners of his lips. “Don’t underestimate me, dove.” 

You glanced up at him briefly before your attention returned to the mark, studying the shape of it. He watched you do it silently. 

See, most people avoided scars as they treated them as ugly things. Things to ignore. But you touched them like they were precious artifacts, like proof of his past, of his present. 

Your hand drifted lower until your fingers eventually curled loosely around his wrist, your eyes settling on the blood drying across his knuckles from earlier. 

“Does it bother you?” you asked softly. 

Doflamingo grinned lazily, almost excited by the question you are going to ask, as if he perversely enjoyed indulging that hidden side of you. “What part?”

“The sound.”

“The sound?”

“When bones break.” Your eyes lifted toward his. “Does it ever stay in your head afterward?” 

Silence lingered for a moment before a low laugh rolled from his chest. “Baby,” he tilted his head slightly, “you ask the prettiest questions.”

You frowned a little as your gaze dropped back to his hand. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” His grin widened. “That’s what makes it cute.”

Your fingers brushed over his knuckles again, thoughtful. “Well?”

Doflamingo watched you carefully now, amused. Most people wanted distance from the brutality he carried around him, but not you. You wanted to lean into it, to study it. And somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to stop indulging you. “No,” he admitted after a moment. “Not the sound itself.” His hand suddenly caught yours, large fingers folding around your wrist before guiding your palm flat against the scarred center of his chest. “It’s the feeling people make right before it happens,” he said smoothly. “That moment when they realize they’re powerless.”

Your breath caught slightly. Doflamingo noticed immediately. Of course he did –  the subtle quickening of your pulse beneath his fingers, your bare chest rising more dramatically.

“Do you like that answer?” He chuckled quietly. 

You hummed, while your pupils dilated. “I think,” you murmured slowly as a faint blush spread across your chest, “you like being feared because it means nobody can hurt you first.” 

For once, Doflamingo went still, but his grin returned quickly, sharper. “Maybe I should start being careful around you then.”

His words captured your attention immediately, and your eyes locked onto his gaze, the lenses of his glasses reflecting your own image back to you. Your fingers remained against his chest, feeling the steady weight of his heartbeat beneath scarred skin. Even now, relaxed in the privacy of his room, there was still something dangerous about him. 

Your thumb brushed absentmindedly over another faded mark near his sternum. “And what about this one?” you asked quietly, trying to ease the tension building in your mind. 

Doflamingo glanced downward. “Knife.”

“You remember every scar?”

A low chuckle escaped him. “Are you asking because you’re curious,” he murmured, “or because you wanna hear the stories?”

“Both.”

“Greedy girl.” His hand slid from your wrist to trail slowly along your forearm until it reached your jaw, his large fingers curled there lazily, tilting your face toward him. “You know,” he purred, voice lower now, “most people get nervous touching a body that’s hurt this much.”

“Perhaps… but I think… I think it makes you feel more real.”

Something unreadable flashed briefly across his face at that. 

Then his thumb pressed lightly against your lower lip, and you parted them instinctively beneath his touch. His expression darkened immediately as he slipped his thumb into your warm mouth. 

You were still looking at him with that same unbearable curiosity, like you wanted to crawl inside his mind and nibble at each of his ugly thoughts hiding there.

Doflamingo thought he might be addicted to it. He leaned closer as he slid his thumb off your mouth and his mouth met yours slowly at first, almost teasing. Warm, deliberate, the hand on your jaw tightening just enough to remind you exactly who was holding you. But the moment you kissed him back, something in him sharpened instantly.

A quiet hum vibrated in his throat. “Careful, sweetheart,” he warned softly against your lips, amused. “Keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna start thinking you enjoy dangerous things a little too much.”

And maybe you did.

As your fingers slid unconsciously against his chest again, Doflamingo exhaled another low laugh before suddenly pulling you into his lap in one smooth motion. The movement drew a startled breath from you.