#(trafalgar)

Chapter 2: A Hearty Hello

The scent of antiseptic lingered faintly in the room, mellowed now by something warmer—soup, maybe, or tea. Low amber light filtered through the overhead panels, casting everything in soft gold. The monitors beside the bed beeped slowly, steadily.

You stirred.

Your body was sore, but not in pain. The blankets were heavy with warmth. Your head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, but there was no panic. Only quiet. And then—

A presence.

Someone was sitting nearby.

You blinked slowly, vision adjusting. A tall man in black leaned forward slightly from the chair beside your cot, elbow resting on one knee, his storm-grey eyes narrowed in quiet observation.

A sharp jaw. Short beard. Dark hat.

And the first thing you thought was:

He’s handsome.

Law didn’t speak at first.

His gaze locked with yours—steady, assessing, but not unkind. He was watching you, but not like a doctor watches a patient. Like a man looking at someone he hadn’t expected to wake up quite yet.

Seconds passed.

The corners of his lips twitched. Not a smile, exactly. But something.

“Good. You’re awake.”

His voice was smooth. Deep. A little rough around the edges, like it didn’t get used on gentle words very often.

But before you could even think of replying—

“OH! You’re up!”

A sudden pop! of white fur over the edge of the bed nearly gave you a heart attack.

That’s a bear.

You screamed.

Loud. Panicked. The cot jerked under you as you flailed backwards, nearly toppling over the side.

“W-WHAT—!?”

Bepo reeled back, paws up. “Ah! Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“Is she okay?!”

“Rossi, move—”

The door burst open as three more figures shoved into the med bay in various stages of urgency.

Corazon skidded in first, almost tripping over his own boots, followed closely by Shachi and Penguin, both holding bowls of soup and wide eyes.

“She’s up?!” Corazon blurted.

“She’s up?” Penguin echoed.

“She’s awake and screaming!” Bepo wailed. “I didn’t mean to startle her!”

You were still halfway hanging off the side of the cot, breath heaving, wide eyes bouncing between a talking bear, a man with a heart-print shirt, and four strangers who all looked weirdly familiar and extremely chaotic.

Law pinched the bridge of his nose.

“…Everyone, out.”

“But—”

“Now.”

Corazon raised a hand in surrender and started herding the others out, murmuring something about “let the poor girl breathe before you kill her with hospitality.”

The door hissed shut again.

Silence returned.

Law slowly stood, reaching to steady the IV line beside you, then glanced down at you again—this time, brow slightly raised.

“…You’re safe,” he said, voice a little softer now. “This is my ship. The Polar Tang. You collapsed in the storm.”

A beat passed. Then—

“…And that was Bepo.”

He gestured vaguely toward the door.

“…He’s sorry.”

You blinked. That’s as much as you could manage with the overload of information being thrown at you. And the bear.

“P-Polar Tang?”

Law’s brow twitched ever so slightly at your stammer, but he nodded, arms folding loosely as he stayed by your side—close enough to monitor, far enough not to overwhelm.

“…Yeah. Submarine-class ship. Heart Pirates.”

His tone was calm. Direct. Like he was used to explaining things to people who'd just been hit by chaos and needed a moment to remember which way was up.

He gestured toward the chair he’d just vacated.

“You collapsed near the docks. One of my crewmates brought you in. You had a high fever, signs of dehydration, mild exposure to the cold. You’ve been out for a few hours.”

His eyes flicked across your features again—assessing, steady. You could almost feel the questions forming behind them, though none had been asked. Not yet.

Then, more gently:

“You remember your name?”

Before you could answer, the door hissed open again with a sheepish creak and—

Thump

A cup of steaming tea was slid in across the tray beside your cot like a peace offering.

Corazon, now crouched halfway into the room, grinned from behind the doorframe with wild hair, a bandaid crookedly stuck across his cheek.

“…He’s not great at the bedside manner part,” he stage-whispered. “But the tea’s decent.”

Law didn’t turn around. “Cora—”

“Just leaving!”

SLAM.

…

The silence that followed might’ve been awkward, if not for the tiny wisp of steam curling from the tea.

Law sighed, rubbing at his temple like this was just another day in the life.

“…He’s the one who found you.”

He glanced at you again, expression unreadable.

“You’re lucky.”

Then his voice dipped just slightly, like something in the room had shifted and he noticed it too.

“…You really scared him. And the rest of us.”

You nod slowly. “U-Um… right. S-Sorry? I guess.”

However, before you could say more, your vision blurred as you brought a hand up to your head in a wince.

Law’s eyes narrowed just a fraction as he saw you sway, his hand shooting out on instinct—steadying the IV pole with one hand and your shoulder with the other before you could pitch forward.

“Don’t move too fast,” he said firmly, his palm warm through the fabric of your borrowed shirt. “Your body’s still recovering.”

He waited a moment, fingers lingering until he was sure you weren’t about to keel over again. Then he withdrew, slow and deliberate, folding his arms once more as he studied you.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he added after a pause, voice quieter now. “Not for being sick.”

The heat of his gaze lingered a second too long—curious, cautious, but not unkind. Like he was trying to read more than just vitals.

“You’ve got no ID. No personal belongings. You weren’t carrying anything when we found you.”

A beat.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Behind the door, you could feel the presence of Corazon, Penguin, and Shachi probably listening in like nosy aunties, trying their best not to eavesdrop but failing miserably.

A low murmur.

“Do you think she’s a runaway?”

“Or a lost princess?”

“Shh, she’ll hear you—”

THUD

“Ow! Bepo, that was my foot—”

Law’s brow twitched again.

But he did not address it. He just kept looking at you.

Waiting.

In turn, you felt yourself stiffen up.

“Um… y-yeah. I remember what happened, but…"

You felt yourself instinctively tug the covers as you shot him a fearful look, backing away slightly.

“But… y-you’re a… pirate?"

But Law didn’t move.

Not right away.

His expression didn’t twist into a smirk, or a threat, or even surprise. He just… blinked once. Calm. Still. His gaze didn’t harden, but it did sharpen slightly—like a knife being re-sheathed, not drawn.

Then he spoke, voice level.

“I am.”

His arms stayed folded, but something in his posture shifted—less confrontational, more… measured. Like he’d had this conversation before. Like he knew that look in your eyes.

“But not the kind you're thinking of.”

A pause. His gaze flicked briefly to the tray where the untouched tea still steamed.

“If we were the dangerous sort, we wouldn’t have dragged you out of the storm and kept you alive.”

The silence hung for a second longer before the door creaked open just enough for a mop of blond hair to poke through.

“…We’re nice pirates,” Corazon added helpfully, lips pulling into a goofy smile as he squeezed his way in. “Very cozy. Good dental plan.”

“What’s the dental plan—” someone whispered behind the door.

“Soup and floss,” Corazon said without missing a beat, holding up the cup of tea like an offering.

Then his expression softened as he looked at you—less theatrical, more genuine.

“You okay, sweetheart? You're safe now.”

Law let out a long, silent exhale through his nose.

“…I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he muttered.

Corazon grinned wide. “Nope.”

Then, gently nudging the tea toward you: “Think you can eat something soon? I made soup. Well—Shachi did, but I supervised.”

“You almost added sugar instead of salt.”

“It was a creative decision!”

Law raised a hand like he might actually strangle someone.

But you were safe.

And warm.

And not alone.

And maybe that's what prompted you to open your mouth next, as you cleared your throat. All eyes flickered to you.

“Um, well… truth be told… the last thing I remember was being chased by pirates. Who were… n-not nice.”

Silence. The kind that urged you to continue.

“I, um, work at a restaurant in this town as a chef. Or at least, I did. Got fired today, something about budget cuts.”

You swallow hard with the memories swirling fresh in your mind as you continued.

“Um, a few days ago, some pirates docked in town and had been frequenting the place. I didn’t think much of it at first, but… then they started to follow me.”

A slight shiver ran through you, and a part of you hoped no one noticed it.

Everyone did.

You continued.

“I managed to sneak out the back door in previous days and shake them, but tonight… they… they were waiting for me. Until the end of my shift, all outside.”

Another shiver.

“They saw me. I panicked. Took off and then it started to rain, and—”

And your spiel ends as you look down with a sheepish, half-sorry expression, alluding to the conclusion.

Corazon’s smile faded after that.

Not completely—but the corners turned downward, replaced with something quieter. Protective. His free hand slowly slipped into the pocket of his coat as he listened, every word you said lighting a flicker of concern behind his eyes.

“…So that’s why you were running,” he said softly.

The tea in his other hand wobbled slightly—he didn’t even notice.

Law, meanwhile, had gone still again. Not out of coldness, but calculation. Like the information was slotting into place behind his eyes. Pirates. Docked recently. Townsfolk being harassed. You, targeted.

His voice, when it came, was low and clinical.

“Did you catch a name? Their flag? Anything that stood out?”

His tone wasn’t pushy—but there was steel beneath it. You got the sense he wasn’t asking just for your sake. He was filing it away.

Your eyes dropped sheepishly to your lap.

“…No, sorry,” you murmured. “They never said. But one had a red tattoo on his throat. Like a snake, I think. And the guy with him—he laughed weird. Loud. Real loud. It gave me a headache.”

Corazon blinked. Glanced at Law.

Law’s gaze darkened just slightly.

Behind the door, you could hear someone whispering again.

“Red snake tattoo… rings a bell, doesn’t it?”

“Didn’t they hit that little port two months ago?”

“Bepo, write that down—”

“Out,” Law snapped at the door without raising his voice.

Scramble. Thud. Whispers gone.

Corazon cleared his throat awkwardly. Then walked over, setting the tea down near your hands, careful not to crowd you. He crouched to eye-level with a soft creak of his knees, expression gentle.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore, alright?” he said, voice low, kind. “They’re not getting anywhere near you now. Not on our watch.”

He offered a little smile, lopsided and warm.

“You’re safe here. And you're not alone.”

Law stepped forward beside him, arms no longer crossed.

“Not until you decide what you want to do next,” he added, more bluntly—but not unkind. “We’re not going to throw you out. If you need time… you’ll have it.”

Corazon nodded once. “And soup.”

“Please stop bringing up the soup.”

At their words, a warmth ran through you. One you hadn't felt in years. One that was both overwhelming in the relief it brought you and the safety it wrapped you in.

And it's for the first time, that you mustered up a smile.

A small one, yet it seemed to silence the room again.

“Um, thank you. Thank you very much. For all the help. And I'm sorry for any trouble I caused you all.”

Cue two heads and a ball of white fur peeking in from the door, with a synchronized:

“Awww, she's nice!”

“Let's keep her!”

That last one earned another glare from Law.

However, Corazon's expression softened immediately—like your words reached some tender part of him he didn’t often let show.

He reached out gently, brushing your hand with the back of his fingers.

“Hey… no apologies,” he said, voice low and warm. “You didn’t cause trouble. You needed help. We were lucky we found you when we did.”

Then, tilting his head with a slightly sheepish smile:

“Okay, I found you, but who’s counting?”

“He hasn’t shut up about it,” came Shachi’s muffled voice from the door.

“He’s already made you a nickname,” Penguin added. “Cinna-bun.”

“That was private!” Corazon snapped toward the door, face flaring red.

Bepo peeked all the way in this time, waving cheerfully. “Cinna-bun is cute though!”

Law groaned softly and pinched the bridge of his nose, but his eyes flicked back toward you—quietly, almost imperceptibly. He was watching your hands tremble. Watching you shrink into the blanket like you might disappear.

He stepped forward.

“Here,” he said, picking up the mug of tea and wrapping your fingers around it gently, helping guide it to your lap. His hands were cool. Steady.

“Warmth helps with shock. And it’ll stop the shaking.”

You blinked.

He was so close.

And for a man who spoke like a scalpel, his touch was surprisingly gentle.

Law stepped back a beat later, hands sliding into his coat pockets again like nothing had happened.

“If you’re up to it… we’ll bring food next. Then you can rest again.”

Corazon smiled, already halfway to the door. “Soup’s still hot.”

“And I made extra rolls!” Bepo added proudly.

“’Course you did,” Penguin sighed.

The three of them crowded back out, leaving only Law behind in the soft-lit room.

He lingered a moment.

“…You’re safe here,” he said, almost as if it needed repeating. “And if those pirates show their faces again…”

His eyes darkened.

“…They won’t leave this town breathing.”

A beat.

Then he turned, coat swaying behind him.

“I’ll be back with food.”

Another day with the schedule from hell. The fact that it was a Friday almost seemed to make things worse. The weekend was right there, oh so close and yet so far. You had half the nerve to call out that morning as soon as you opened your eyes. But ultimately, who would you call out to? And with Nami out and Hancock temporarily seeing patients out of Main instead of Kokoyashi, there was no one else to count on. 

You strolled into the office. Too few hours had gone by since you were last there, but instead of a dead, empty office, Jean Bart was already sitting at the desk next to yours. 

He had turned everything on. The room was spruced up and smelled like coffee. The piece of equipment you couldn’t figure out yesterday was displaying a happy connection screen, and to top it all off, Jean Bart already had the schedule pulled up on his computer. 

He turned in his chair as you entered. You stopped short, wondering if this was a dream and if you’d slept through your alarm. 

“Hey,” you greeted him, surprised, “What’s… up?” You blinked a few times. 

“I heard you could use some backup,” he said, sipping his coffee, glancing toward the screen. “By the looks of it, you really need it,” he mused. 

And just from the way he said it alone, you had half the nerve to send him back to Law. It wasn’t Jean Bart himself— you thought very highly of the multi-talented nurse, especially having worked with him yourself— but the very fact that Law sent him down here. 

Because you didn’t need help from him, of all people. 

“Hancock, Hogback, Trafalgar, and Crocus are all in today. Crocus has a good amount of post-ops from the late morning to the early afternoon,” Jean Bart recited. “Chopper has been doing well with Dr. T’s patients, but I can already see a few he’ll want sent down here.” 

You took a look at the schedule. Goddamn, Jean Bart wasn’t kidding. Crocus was one of your heavy hitters, but given that he was halfway out the door to retirement, he wasn’t in nearly as much as some of the younger doctors were. But, for as much as Crocus ranted and complained about wanting to retire, he was just as stubborn as the rest of the providers at NBUMC. He tried retirement once, lasting less than a month before he came back and began taking patients again. 

He was an absolutely brilliant doctor, one whom you respected highly, but his protocol was killer, and he always timed his blocks in the middle of your allotted lunch time. (Not that you got a regular lunch nowadays anyway.)

“Jean,” you started, setting your things down as you logged in to punch in. You shot him a tired, meaningful look. “You know I love you.”

“I’m here of my own free will, and this has nothing to do with your ongoing feud with Dr. Trafalgar,” he stated before you could even levy the accusation. He was good, and despite the little time he had spent in imaging, he knew you well. 

“I know how busy your clinic gets,” you said pointedly with a frown, “You should be with your team.”

“It’s a light day.” Jean Bart shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee. 

“A light day?” You quirked a brow because Trafalgar Law’s clinic and light are two words that didn’t belong in the same sentence. “Now I know something isn’t right.”

Jean Bart crossed his ankle over his opposite knee, tilting his chin down as he gave you a stern look. He spoke your name like he was gearing up for a scolding. 

“Is it so hard for you to accept help?” he shot straight to the point. His voice was level and unaccusing, just filled with exasperated understanding. “Or is this still about Dr. Trafalgar?” 

You sighed, opening your mouth to deny him, but your reaction was apparently enough evidence. 

“He’s not a bad guy,” Jean Bart affirmed somewhat sternly. He turned in his chair to fully face you. His long legs were planted on the floor, and he leaned forward so his elbows touched his knees. Jean Bart continued to hold his cup of black coffee between both hands. “And I think you know that.”

“I don’t like him,” you stressed, and Jean Bart said nothing in response. He looked at you with a neutral expression, still poised for a lecture. But if you were going to take a lecture from anyone in the building, it would be from Jean Bart. 

“Well, if you don’t like him so much and don’t want Dr. Trafalgar— who you don’t care about, by the way— to think you need help, then…” He shrugged, heaving a heavy breath. “He can fuck off, right?” 

You gaped in amused shock, your breath stolen straight from your chest. 

“Jean!” you cried in disbelief, a mischievous smile on your lips. 

Jean Bart sat back in his chair, offering another shrug and a bounce of his stern brow. 

“If he means so little to you, you shouldn’t care what he thinks. And if you get an extra pair of hands on a busy day, then that’s just a win for you,” he continued, taking another sip of his coffee. “Who cares what he thinks? Fuck him, right?” 

You howled with laughter and pure shock. Ever respectful Jean Bart hardly ever used foul language, let alone spoke ill of another coworker. The sheer combination of his words and nonchalant attitude had you completely aghast. 

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you laughed, although you died down quickly as you took in what he said. 

Because you didn’t care about what Law thought of you, by all means, this was a great day to connect with a friend whom you’d worked with in the past. And with having Crocus in the middle of the day, Jean Bart could handle everyone else’s patients while you focused on the intricate cases. 

“So…” you began, already anticipating Jean Bart’s reaction. “He did send you down here to help me?” 

He let you sit with that question hanging in the air for just a moment. And you dared to consider that Jean Bart looked acutely disappointed. 

“We don’t care about what Dr. Trafalgar thinks, so it doesn’t matter, remember?” He peered at you from over the lip of his cup. 

You glanced away. You expected as much. Jean Bart was never one to play these types of games, and you knew it. You turned back to your computer, clicking around to make a mental list of what you needed to do for the day.

“But if we were to explore some different realities for a moment—” Jean Bart continued. You didn’t even swivel your chair to look at him. — “And if you didn’t completely dislike Dr. T— which we all know you do, of course— then I might assert that he doesn’t see you as weak and that perhaps you should just talk to him.”

“Jean—” you groaned.

“But that’s a preposterous thought exercise.”

“Note taken. Thank you for being here and helping me today,” you conceded.

You didn’t take your eyes off your computer, nor did Jean Bart with his, but both of you held your morning drinks out toward each other, bumping them against each other without a word or a glance. It was a cheers to a good day.  

***

You had to hand it to him; having Jean Bart there was a lifesaver. He knew exactly what to do, needed little direction, and to top it all off, he could anticipate your needs like a goddamn mind reader. 

“I restocked the gel in room 2. We were getting low,” he called as you were about to enter.

You ran over to the doorway between the imaging hall and the office, leaning against it adoringly. 

“Have I ever told you that you’re amazing?” you grinned. 

Jean Bart scoffed playfully. He stood at the desk he had claimed next to yours. He had done away with the chair, instead raising the table to stand at the desk. When you were on a roll, you also liked the height function. It made your workflow much more streamlined by keeping things at eye level, rather than having to sit down all the time. And when the clinic day was mostly done, you could lower the table to sit and review your data. 

“You were trying to get me to leave earlier this morning,” he muttered.

“Through no fault of my own!” you called over your shoulder as you left to tend to your patient. 

You could give your full attention and efforts to each person you imagined without worrying as much about the pile of others that cluttered your waking hours. This was precisely what you had always been trying to advocate for. Having even just one additional person at a given office, especially Main, was like inhaling a fresh breath of air. 

Things were going so well that you even had time to run to the restroom, and you looked like you were going to get a lunch break today. Jean Bart insisted on finishing up the last of the patients, and so you took your time wandering back to imaging from the restroom just down the hall. 

You were considering getting something at the food cart line when you rounded the corner—

“Oh my god!”

“Whoa there! Is there a fire no one told me about?” 

You nearly barreled Sanji over at your velocity. He had to physically stop you, gripping you by both your biceps as he stumbled a step backward, absorbing your momentum as he went. 

“Sanji! Hi!” you exclaimed with surprise the moment you caught your breath. Sanji smiled at you with as much sweetness as he usually did. “What are you doing here?” 

He laughed at the question, letting go of your arms to mock a thought. He hummed to himself, stroking his chin with his hand as he gazed at you cheekily. 

“What am I doing here?” he repeated playfully.

You rolled your eyes at him, swatting him on the arm. 

“You know what I mean,” you scoffed. 

“I was just a bit worried, is all,” Sanji admitted, looping his thumbs in his coat pockets. “You weren’t answering your phone last night, and I heard that Hogback was throwing a tantrum all yesterday.” He jabbed his thumb in the vague direction of Hogback’s wing. “Wanted to make sure you got home safe, hopefully at a fairly reasonable hour.” 

You cringed at the mere mention of last night, and Sanji’s expression fell.

“That good, huh?” he hummed, oblivious to the fact that you were thinking about more than just a late clinic. 

“Sorry I didn’t get back to you,” you said, fully aware of the exact time he’d called, along with all the thoughtful messages that followed his attempt. He’d practically said the same thing in the two messages following his missed call before politely bidding you a good night, and you didn’t even have it in you to text him back. 

God, were you the worst person on the planet?

Sanji laughed again.

“Don’t sweat it, you’ve been through a lot. Given everything that’s been put on you, I would’ve told ya that taking care of yourself is the number one priority over messaging a goof like me back!” Please, stop talking. “I know it’s a bit last-minute, but I would love to treat you to a relaxation day this weekend to get your mind off things. I know the best spot for brunch. That’s actually why I came down here.”

You tried to muster a nice face to cover up your pained expression, because everything would’ve been so much easier if Sanji had been like every other guy who’d incessantly ask you out. But if that wasn’t the most perfect response you’d ever heard… and it stressed you out more. 

“You know, after the week I’ve had, I probably wouldn’t make for the greatest company…” 

“Nonsense!” Sanji beamed. “I bet you’d be excellent company no matter the mood.” He was adamant. “If you’d rather take Saturday to sleep in, let me take you out on Sunday. You’ve been working incredibly hard to carry this entire department. The least you deserve is to be treated.” And when he spoke, Sanji said it as if it were self-evident. 

You opened your mouth to dispute him, but Sanji tilted his head toward you, already appearing like he had a retort ready. And quite frankly, you weren’t up for a dispute with him. 

“You’re letting me get the bill this time,” you asserted. 

Sanji hummed with amused thought.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he teased, “I’ll swing by your place at, say, nine?”

“Ten,” you countered, gulping down the weariness in your tone. “You don’t have to pick me up, you know.” 

Sanji shrugged. 

“We’re taking the load off you this week. Let me pick you up.” He wasn’t leaving any room for argument, not with that oh so understanding gleam in his eyes. 

You took a breath, swallowing your frustrations in the face of what must’ve been the world’s most perfect man. How could you be expected to turn him down when he’s being so thoughtful? He’s not taking no for an answer, and you didn’t think you had it in you to fight him, no matter what. Because in the face of someone who’s trying to be so good and do so right by you, how could you possibly show any of your jagged edges?

“I’ll text you my address,” you conceded. 

Sanji flashed you a wink.

“Perfect,” he said, and he was on his way. 

You continued to stand still even when Sanji left, and as if on cue, Law slowly turned the corner. He revealed himself by a few steps before stopping, almost as if he was waiting for your conversation to finish before making his presence known. 

And you didn’t even want to look at him. You wanted to stand completely still and disappear from his gaze like he was a T. rex and this was Jurassic Motherfuckin’ Park. But despite being cold-blooded himself, Law was no lizard, much to your dismay.

“What do you want?” you snapped. 

“I wanted to talk to you about a patient,” Law answered curtly, “Wanted to see if you could be on my first afternoon slot.”

“Oh, so you’re done freezing me out?” You turned toward him with a fury that you’d been holding onto for the past week. “You don’t need to hide behind a scheduler anymore?” 

He spoke your name with a familiarity that you could only assume he thought was helpful. 

“I was trying not to interfere.”

“Like how you sent down Jean because you didn’t think I could handle myself?” you huffed. “Because you thought you could play hero and prove a point?” 

Law’s expression didn’t change, nor did the tone of his voice. 

“Jean Bart requested to come down here,” he said slowly and levelly. 

“That’s a surprise,” you shot back, “I didn’t think you’d ever let anything happen that wasn’t a part of your manicured plot to control the whole goddamn hospital!” 

You knew you were raising your voice, but you couldn’t stop. You crossed your arms over your chest, holding yourself tightly as if you were in desperate need of a sweater. You didn’t understand why you were so angry at him. And what was worse was that Law hadn’t given you the slightest reaction in return. 

“I'm not trying to undermine you,” he spoke, his voice measured and low. 

You scoffed, glancing down the hall toward imaging. 

“Not trying to undermine me. Heh, sure,” you snarled. Your eyes were darting all over the place. You couldn’t decide what to do with your hands. Your feet shifted, unbalanced. “Just deciding that the imaging department no longer meets your godly standards, that you’re slowly replacing me with your own team. Because it doesn’t matter that I’m doing all this by myself while the entire department explodes on me! It doesn’t matter that I’m fucking good at what I do!”

“You’re the best at what you do.” Law’s voice almost sounded like a whisper in comparison to you. 

“I am the best at what I do!” you raved, finally snapping toward him fully. Your hand exited your coiled posture just enough so you could gesture at yourself. You turned on your heel. Your hands went to your hips, then your hair, before you turned back to Law. “So if I’m so replaceable, you might as well let me train Chopper myself so you can have your perfect clinic the way you want it.”

You exploded onto Law like a flashfire, and through it all, he let you. You said what you wanted—what you needed—and Law only spoke when you simmered down. 

“You didn’t want to go with him,” he replied with the slow bob of his head, like stating a fact. “You said yes to something you didn’t want, so you’re taking it out on me because you know I’m the only one who won’t back down when you break.”

He might as well’ve slapped you. That’s what his words certainly felt like: a direct slap to the face. 

“I’m not broken,” you grunted. The heat rising to the top of your skin made you feel clammy. “Maybe if you bothered to notice, I wouldn’t have—” Law stared on as you bit back your words. Your eyes narrowed at him. “You know nothing about me.”

He stared right at you, taking a breath in and then out.

“I know more than you want me to.” He almost sounded resigned. 

Your teeth formed a clenched line.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you gritted, quickly turning on your heel to make it back to imaging. 

***

And so, perhaps taking Jean Bart’s advice wasn’t as easy as you thought. Because even despite your outburst in the hallway, when Law’s first afternoon patient rolled around, he acted like nothing happened. In fact, he acted like more than nothing had happened, as if negative things had happened, which was somehow possible and worse. 

He stood by the door like he’d been tending to do for the past week. He barely approached you, only keeping enough proximity to be able to see your monitor and the direction of your probe. And just like Law had been for quite some time now, he was utterly silent. 

He stood and watched at a professional distance, and yet you could practically hear his comments in your head. As you scanned, his commentary came to you as clearly as if he were speaking, telling you to adjust your gain or rotate a few degrees. You continued your work, fighting with the imaginary Law in your head, fortifying your arguments for when he questioned you about your choices. 

But his scrutiny never came. And when he said, “Good,” it was like you were fragile. 

The one time he didn’t say “better,” Law just gave you “good,” in the same way one would be pleasantly surprised with a dog. Because you supposed he thought you needed to hear “nice job,” so you didn’t explode. Well, it was far too late for that. 

You stormed out of the exam room. You didn’t even linger to talk to Penguin or Shachi. You just made straight back to your wing because even with the help today, there was too much to do. 

***

Jean Bart may have helped with the patient load, but you were still drowning in administrative work. Wapol had been the one to train you when you were onboarded—although the word "trained" was doing a lot of heavy lifting—and when he disappeared, the responsibilities had to fall on someone. 

The team had been stretched thin as it was. NBUMC originally had about seven employees in the imaging department, and as satellite offices were opened to reach more patients, each of those technicians was relocated. Eventually, it was just you and Wapol at Main, and with him gone, you were made the de facto leader. 

Although that upgrade was made in spirit only. You advocate several times for a title change—and more importantly, a pay raise—but it never came. And so there you stayed, a bandaid treated like industrial welding. 

You peered ahead in the schedule to see how things next week were looking. The schedule was subject to change, but you wanted to get a sense of who was in at the very least. As you clicked through the days, you realized you had a relatively heavy week ahead, with every single day except Thursday being completely slammed and overbooked. 

You inhaled, your hands sliding up your neck to cover your ears as you stared at the screen. It would have sucked on a regular day, but it would be unmanageable if Nami was still out next week. That, and Hogback appeared to be experimenting with his schedule again—likely going after research grants as usual. 

You sent Nami a quick message asking how she’s doing, quickly turning your phone face down to swallow the guilt of checking up on her with an ulterior motive. 

Your hands moved to cover your face, your elbows digging into the surface of your desk. But you shot back to an upright position as Jean Bart emerged from the imaging hallway. Like the sweet man he was, he had taken care of shutting down all of the outpatient imaging rooms. 

He stood in the doorway, scrutinizing you for a moment. 

“You’re going home on time, right?” he said slowly. 

“Yeah, just finishing up the schedule for next week.” You nodded tiredly. Jean Bart seemed unconvinced. 

“You should get a start on your weekend,” he suggested with a parental earnestness, “Staying any longer isn’t going to do any good.”

“Trust me, the moment I get a reply back from Nami, I’m out of here.” You slumped deeper into your chair. And perhaps it was your sheer and apparent exhaustion that was enough to convince Jean Bart that you’d keep your word. 

“Text me when you get home,” he said tentatively, gathering his things to head out for the weekend. “And if you ever need help down here, just message me.”

“Will do.” You offered him a small smile, barely mustering the energy to swivel in your chair to send him off. “Get home safe. Enjoy your weekend.”

“You too,” he called back before leaving the imaging wing. 

You turned back to your desk and checked your phone. Nami still hadn’t answered. Part of you wondered if you should just call it a weekend, but you also knew that if Nami couldn’t come in on Monday, it would be easier to start arranging things now than at the ninth hour. Hancock wouldn’t be too happy about being asked to move clinic locations again, but she’d be much more agreeable the more notice she had. 

You decided to wait things out another ten minutes, rooting around on your computer in search of any emails to respond to, secure messages to read, or requests to approve. You were doing decently well for yourself. With the bit of free time you had between patients, you got caught up on most of your administrative work. 

And just as you were deleting emails, you noticed a notification for the shared cardiology department drive. 

“PORCIUS HOGBACK uploaded a new file to ‘NBUMC CARDIOLOGY LEADERSHIP DRIVE’ entitled ‘ECHO—” 

The title of the document caught you off guard, so much so that you had to do a double-take. Because what business did Hogback have to do with anything regarding imaging?

You immediately went to the drive. The shared folder was intended to share protocols, schedules, and resources, but the document uploaded to the “General” folder was a document entitled “Echo Leadership Responsibilities.”

You wasted no time clicking it open. And the moment you read, “Patients are experiencing extensive wait times at the imaging department—” you knew exactly what had happened. 

Dr. Hogback had accidentally shared a letter of complaints about you with the entirety of the department leadership and physicians. It was addressed to Dr. Saturn, detailing everywhere Hogback disapproved of your performance, down to your badge. 

“The NBUMC Dress Code Policy clearly states in section 2 (Identification Badges), point F that ‘badges are not to be defaced with stickers, pins, labels, or other decoration or writings’...” the complaint wrote. 

And you stared at it, rattled by the new information that you were supposedly going to take with you into the weekend. It was just… ridiculous. Unbelievable. Not only did this document exist, but Hogback was too much of an idiot not to realize he had shared it all to a public drive. 

There it went: the rest of your barely salvageable mood. You sat with your face in your hands, hunched over your keyboard as you just simmered. Your brain was fried. Your patient was non-existent. 

You should save this dumb letter and figure out a game plan, but what were you even devising a strategy for? You weren’t even sure if you could look at the thing again, but you knew you had to. You needed to read it all twice over because it would eat you alive if you didn’t. And you needed to figure out what you were going to do about it. 

And then the door opened and closed. The sound had you on a knife’s edge. You weren’t sure how long you could restrain yourself before you lost it.

“This is really a horrible time,” you bit. You sounded like you were on the brink of tears. “You’ve got to stop doing this.”

But Law didn’t answer. You didn’t even hear him walk across the room, but when you heard the clicking of your mouse, you couldn’t help but jump slightly. You glanced up to see the blue NBUMC logo. Law still kept a hand on the back of your chair, leaning over you with his hand on your mouse. He had logged you out. 

“I was doing something—”

“It’s after work hours,” he said, glancing down at you from where he stood, “You don’t need to worry about it.” 

“Law—”

He swiftly unplugged the USB that connected your wireless mouse to your computer, pocketing it before you could blink.

“You know, you only call me by my first name when you’re worked up. I wonder why that is?” he hummed, standing up straight a step back from you with his hands in his pockets. 

You blinked at him for a moment, needing a moment to register what he said. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken his name in the first place. 

“I’d like to think I haven’t made a habit of using your first name at all.” You frowned, trying to muster up any brain power to engage in this exchange. 

“You’ve said it,” he hummed, shrugging, “That one time.” 

“I quite am literally going to combust if you don’t leave,” you snipped, almost impressed with yourself at how you’d been keeping it together. 

“That’s actually why I’m here.” He leaned back against an adjacent desk. Although considering how absolutely leggy the man was, he’d have an easier time sitting on it— and even then his feet would certainly still be planted on the floor. He smoothly pressed the control panel, taking the surface of the table up to be a more convenient height for him. “I wanted to make sure you were still alive after your little meltdown earlier.” 

“God, you’re so annoying.” 

You reached for your badge to tap back in. In addition to the scheduling, you also wanted to tackle some of the things that Hogback detailed in his letter. You were certain that you’d be hit with that like a tsunami sooner rather than later. And if you had to defend yourself, you’d rather be prepared. But when you tried to grasp your badge, you realized it wasn’t there.

Law removed his hand from his pocket, letting your badge dangle from his fingers by the reel. You made a grab for it, but with a flick of his wrist, Law took the badge in his hand and pocketed it again. 

“You can have it once you’ve left the building,” he said sternly. 

And with those words, Law officially drove you to your limit. You slumped back in your seat. Your feet perched on the leg of your swivel chair as you glanced down at the floor. Your elbow leaned against the armrest to support the way you planted your forehead in your hand. You didn’t think you could put up a fight even if you tried. 

“Why do you do this?” you breathed, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted. You hid your face in your hand, letting your stray hairs fall over your forehead. “You’re always interfering, and poking at me, and judging me and everything I do. I just want you to stop looking at me like that.”

Law didn’t move from where he leaned, his palms planted on the desk behind him. 

“Looking at you like what?” 

“Like I’m another one of your cases!” Your head snapped up to scowl at him. “I already had enough asshole doctors talking down to me before you decided to make me your pet project. And you know what? I can’t take it anymore! I’ve been trying to keep this entire department together with no help, no backup, no direction, or anything else! You don’t know what that’s like to have all this pressure on you with no help while everyone around you seems to have it out for you!” 

And for a moment, Law didn’t say a thing. He stood still next to you, and you resented that he was still there. You were on the verge of breaking, and you were determined not to cry. You didn’t want to cry at work, and certainly not in front of Trafalgar Law, no matter what he’d said the day before. 

When he finally spoke, he did so steadily and softly, “I know exactly what that’s like.” 

The response surprised you, not just the sincerity of it all, but that Law of all people could possibly relate. You scoffed.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you muttered sarcastically.

“No, I’m quite serious,” Law responded, pushing off from where he leaned to come around behind you. He took hold of your shoulders, gently but deliberately guiding you back to sit up against the back of your chair. His touch was out of place, but clinical in a way that didn’t set you off. “It’s now I know that you don’t want encouragement. You don’t want help. You just want to stop thinking, don’t you?”

Law leaned over you, planting both hands on the back of your armrests. His chest pressed against the back of your seat. You looked up at the computer monitor in front of you.

It had timed out, showing your reflection in the black screen. You looked exhausted. Your clothes were a mess, and your hair was far from the neat style you had put it in to start your day. Your face looked drained, and your eyes lidded with fatigue. And the way Law seemed to dwarf you as he leaned over you didn’t escape your notice. But you sat still.

“I just want to be switched off…” you whispered. You sighed, leaning back as you felt the slightest bit of resistance where Law stood. 

Law reached over you, plucking your water bottle from the side of your desk to hold in front of your face. 

“Drink,” he said. 

You looked at it for a moment, wondering if you had even cracked the thing open today. You took it from him, doing what you were told. 

The sip shocked your system, and the next breath you took felt like just a fraction of the weight on you was lifted. Law watched you—studied you—through the dark monitor. A shadow flickered across his gaze. 

“That’s it… That’s what you want,” he ruminated. You met his eye in the reflection of the monitor. “Not the water. The command.”

“Don’t make this into something it isn’t,” you muttered.

Law glanced down at you, dragging a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“If you tell me what you want—” He twirled the end of it around his finger. —” I’ll give it to you,” he cooed. 

You brushed his hand away, lingering with his hand on top of yours. You watched the way his tattoos popped on the dark monitor, how his white coat appeared so clear as his form framed you. You basked in the feeling of his hand against yours, the movement of shooing him away halfheartedly. 

You shook your head, casting your chin down as your skin burned. You felt vulnerable under his scrutiny. You always did.

“I—” you started, feeling your voice stall in your throat. You considered your following words, wanting nothing more than to spit them out. But heat radiated off you in waves, smoldering with frustration, embarrassment, and stress. You took a breath, eyes still cast downward. —“I won’t beg,” you asserted, almost inaudibly. “I won’t give you the satisfaction of you making me.” 

“I don’t want you to beg,” Law countered, his voice as grounded as his touch felt. His hand slid under your chin, applying just enough deliberate pressure to raise your chin so that you could look at yourself in the reflection. “I want you to hand it over,” he said. “Let me make it stop for just a little bit.” 

You brought your hand to his wrist, brushing your fingers up toward his forearm. His skin was firm, and the muscle under it even more taut. He spent so much time hiding under stylish button-ups, scrubs, and that damn white coat that you almost did a double-take. Law was already tall, but now that you had your hand on him, he was even bigger than you could’ve anticipated. Stronger.

You leaned your cheek into the palm that cupped your chin, letting your hair brush against the arm that hung down over your shoulder. 

“Take it,” you breathed, closing your eyes, “I don’t want to think anymore.”

You whispered it like a wish. Like a prayer. 

Because you didn’t care anymore. You were on the brink of collapse, and it didn’t matter that you and Law had been at each other’s throats since day one. It didn’t matter that the only thing that ever came out of his mouth was a snark. You didn’t even care about his picky attitude when it came to your work, or that he was an insufferable know-it-all who thought he knew you better than you knew yourself. It was because of it all.

Law read you before you even had to speak. Your work together in the cath lab was nothing short of mind-reading. And no matter how he pushed you, he always struck a nerve with the precision of an acupuncturist. He knew your boundaries better than you even wanted to admit to yourself. 

It needed to be him. 

And goddammit…

You trusted him completely. 

Law spun your chair around, and when he kissed you, he did so like a man who’d been teetering on the knife’s edge of restraint. His hands cupped your face, his fingers tangling and messing up your already disorderly hair. You stood as he backed you toward the desk, clumsily kicking your chair out of the way as he forced you to sit. Law fumbled for the controls on the side panel, and the desk raised jerkily to bring you to a better height.

His lips were firm, and his scent seemed to completely envelop you. You couldn’t quite place the taste of his tongue, except that it was so undeniably him. His skin was cool to the touch by a micro degree or two. His hair was softer than you expected. 

You wasted no time in sliding your hands under his coat. Law shrugged it off onto the floor, grabbing your hips and pulling you to the very edge of the desk. You wrapped your legs around his waist, fumbling with his tie as you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to loosen it or pull him closer. Law made the ultimate decision, recoiling back for just a moment to rip the tie loose, throwing it over his head and onto the floor before bringing his mouth to your neck. 

His hand was under your shirt, palming your breast from under the cup of your bra. Your hands were clawing at the buttons of his white button down.

You ground against him, feeling the slick spot of your panties grow wetter and you arched your back as he sucked on a sensitive spot in your neck. 

With an annoyed huff, Law tore your scrub top up over your head, reaching around your back to unclasp your bra with one hand. Everything was thrown to the floor. You had barely made it halfway down the line of buttons that bisected his chest. 

Law’s mouth was back on your neck, biting the space just above the curve of your jaw and just below your ear. His fingers slipped below the waistband of your pants as you stared over his shoulder with unfocused eyes and parted lips at a random part of the ceiling. 

“This is insane,” you panted, nearly seeing stars as his fingers set a brutal pace against your clit. You instinctively reached down to grab his wrist, but Law’s opposite hand pinned yours to the edge of your desk. 

“You asked for this.” His mouth was directly against your ear. You almost flinched away from the deep rawness of it, your body already shaking from the merciless way he toyed with your sopping clit. “You said you wanted it, so don’t act shy now.”

His fingers slipped down, and two slid with ease into your soaked cunt, drawing a strangled cry from your throat. You were absolutely soaked, allowing him to thrust into you with ease. You clawed at the back of Law’s shirt, hardly able to contain the scream that escaped you. 

He didn’t let up for a second, overwhelming your every nerve as he fucked his fingers into you, curling them to hit that delectably sensitive spot that had you seeing stars. You tried to spread your legs farther, but you were restrained by your scrub pants. You made a pathetic attempt to pull them off, but being so overwhelmed by the barrage against your nerves left you unable to even grasp your own waistband properly. 

You whined as Law pulled his fingers out, causing a horrifyingly obscene wet noise to follow. He ripped your pants off you along with your ruined panties, spreading your thighs to plunge back into your sopping wet cunt.

The back of your head rolled against the wall behind you as his pace intensified. Your keyboard had been pushed off your desk. The monitors you did your work on were askew and stuck to your clammy skin. 

Law’s opposite hand came to pin you down by the front of your pelvis, his thumb swirling sadistically over your clit. You slapped a hand over your mouth, your legs beginning to tremble as he hit that sweet spot over and over and over again. The wet noises that came from between your legs were humiliatingly loud.  

“Law—!” you sobbed, feeling your own slick drip down your cunt and over your tight asshole. You could barely think. You could barely see straight. And Law didn’t even allow you one moment of reprieve from the way he set your nerves on fire. “I—I can’t…!” you stuttered.

You felt him grin against your temple. He pulled back, forcing you to meet his eye as he kept his unrelenting pace. 

“Look at you,” he cooed, cupping the side of your face with his palm. His thumb ran lovingly over your cheek, then your bottom lip. “Not so smart now.” You hated how his laugh made your cunt ache. 

The tension was building in your stomach like a knot, coiling pressure so intense you weren’t sure if you could handle it. 

“All that attitude… Where is it, huh? You don’t have anything clever to say now, do you?” Law grinned, flicking your clit in a way that nearly brought tears to your eyes. 

“It’s gone!” you gasped like you were struggling to keep your head above water. “Gone, it’s gone!” 

“Yeah, it is,” Law purred, planting a light kiss on your temple. Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth agape as you shook. “Because your brain is useless. You’re mine to play with. You’ll never be in charge here. No, no, no… Not with me, you won’t. Isn’t that right?”

“Fuck—!” you moaned, feeling the pressure build within you. You clawed at him, scratched at your desk, tried to find something to brace yourself on. “Law— I—!”

“No, no,” Law chastised, hooking his thumb on the corner of your mouth. “You don’t get to use my name like that. Not after you’ve been running that mouth all over my goddamn clinic,” he growled. “You know what to say, baby. Be a good girl—”

“Sir—! Please!” you broke apart without another word of encouragement. “Please, let me, sir—”

“Cum on my fingers. I want you dripping all over your desk.” 

He gave the command, and the dam inside you broke without another second. You clenched around him, biting down on the collar of his shirt as you choked back broken sobs. Law fingerfucked you through the high, keeping a slow but steady momentum as you recovered. 

And when he spoke again, you could barely hear him. 

“You have a condom, sweetheart?” he muttered. You could hear the clink of his belt. 

You shook your head.

“It’s okay,” you panted, “I just need—” 

Law grabbed the sides of your face from under your chin, tilting you up to look at him. You watched lazily as his eyes darted across your gaze, taking in his good work. The way your flyaways stuck to your forehead. Your already fucked out expression. He huffed a little chuckle, the corner of his lip raising in a smirk. 

“I couldn’t possibly have fucked you dumb already,” he cooed, sliding the fingers that were just in your pussy into your mouth, staining your tongue with bitter musk. 

You shook your head profusely. 

“No, wait, I’m sure. Please.” 

Law slipped his fingers from your mouth, an amused smirk still plastered to his lips. He looked at you like you were a marvel, glancing over you like you were a prey animal who just did a trick.

He grabbed you by the hips, spreading you open as the head of his cock pressed against your drenched folds. He leaned forward to speak into your ear again.

“You’re lucky I already looked in your chart.” 

Law braced your hips, driving into you with one brutal thrust. Your walls stretched with a delicious soreness as you cried into his shoulder. Your hands balled up in the front of his open shirt. The rest of the buttons had been undone sometime within the haze of it all. 

You threaded a hand at the root of his hair, pulling him forward to meet your lips as he drove into you. He grunted into your mouth, and the low, masculine noise sent shockwaves directly to your core. He kissed you deeper, tilting his nose as he fucked his thick length into you, swallowing the cries you let out. 

You were so fucking full. 

You shuttered, lips parted as Law stretched open, each snap of his hips stealing your voice from your throat. He pulled you against him, leaving no room to run from his strokes. His thumb came back to your clit, and the moment he applied pressure, you immediately pressed your hands against his chest. But even as you pushed, Law didn’t budge a bit, maintaining his ruthless pace. 

It was becoming too much. You were vibrating. Seeing stars.

“You asked for this.” Law bit your earlobe, his voice ghosting the shell of your ear. You could feel the force of his consonants. “Don’t you dare forget it.” 

He slammed into you harder, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck. You let out choked, helpless moans into his collarbone as your legs threatened to give out. 

Law shoved you back onto the desk, hands forcing your thighs wider. Your computer monitor rattled behind you, threatening to fall off the surface altogether. Your cup of pens had already spilled onto the floor, and miscellaneous items were swept away as you tried to find something else to hold onto. 

“Look at you,” Law huffed. His eyes had long been overtaken by obsession. He grabbed you under your knee, forcing your leg higher and bullying even deeper into your overwhelmed pussy. “Can’t even take cock right without me holding you in place.” His chest puffed at the thought, a breathy laugh spilling from his lips. 

“Fuck— No! Ah—! I can’t—!”

“Say it.” Law’s lips curled upward. His pupils were blown. “Say you can’t take it without me pinning you down.”

You trembled, his voice soaking you more than you wanted to admit. 

“I need it…” you whined. “I need it—!”

Law’s smirk wavered for a moment. His fingers dug into the skin of your hips, keeping you angled and steady against his animalistic momentum. 

“Not it,” he corrected, taking his hand from your hip momentarily to force your gaze to his. Law looked as desperate as you in his own way, jaw clenched and hair messy. “Me.”

You twitched around him, your walls squeezing despite your brain not registering what he was really saying.

“You! Please,” you sobbed, “Law, I need you—!”

“Good fucking girl.” Law slung your leg over his shoulder, his thrusts turning merciless as your back completely collapsed against the surface of your desk. Your hands wandered his forearms, finally having something to anchor yourself to. “You like this? You like when I fuck you stupid?”

“Yes!” you cried, your back arching.

One of Law’s hands went back to your clit. 

“Yes, what?”

You gasped, glancing down at the way his thick cock drove into you and his tattooed fingers punishing your clit. 

“Yes, sir!”

Law snarled, placing a kiss on the calf that sat on his collarbone. The desk shook under you. The pounding of the surface against the wall behind you was undeniable, and Law’s thrusts only grew more jagged and brutal.

“Say it again,” he commanded. You could feel the same pressure coiling in you.

“Yes, sir! I love when you fuck me stupid! Please—” 

“Cream on my cock.”

Your mouth hung open as your release ripped through your body, but Law didn’t let up, letting you paw at his arms as he fucked you through the aftershocks. 

Law didn’t last for long after, his strokes breaking rhythm as he drove into you. He pushed your leg by the underside of your knee again before spilling inside you, fucking hot, white cum into you. And he didn’t pull out, even as he slowly caught his breath, and you gradually came back to reality. 

You let yourself deflate against the surface of your desk, all too aware of its sensation against your sweaty back. Your neck and hips were sore in several places. And Law was still over you, hands planted on either side of your head as he stared down. You met his golden eyes with your tired ones. 

He was flushed, his hair messy, his shirt undone and wrinkled, yet still rolled up to his elbows. He was still bottomed out inside of you, stretching you out in a way you were sure you’d feel for the rest of the night. As if you wouldn’t feel the rest of what you’d just done. 

But overall, he looked much the same. His face was almost as neutral as always, save for the glint of something in his curious eyes that you didn’t have the brain power to dissect even if you wanted to. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt him rise from where he had hunched over you. 

You swallowed.

“We did not just do that…” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. 

Law traced the spot on your neck he’d been sucking on earlier, his words almost absentminded, “You handed it over,” he said with little thought, “And I finished in you.” 

Your chest puffed in a laugh.

He said it so… matter-of-factly.

The motion caused you to drench Law’s length more than you already had, his sticky fluid seeping out from around his cock and down his balls. 

You were going to have to get creative with the cleanup. At least something to hold you over until you got home. A weekend would go by until you saw him again. A whole weekend. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Glossary for Nerds

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII

Tag List: @aveocadeo @augustanna @starzbrii @sporkslol @r3nstar @chillerkiller @weepingjudgediplomatbasketb-blog @notbleachtea @yunloyal @valval08 @qui-sap @vilemint @all-mights-wife @breakingthebank13

In the rhythm of the "wack" meme: No age in bio, no tag! Minor, no tag (MINORS DNI ANYWAY)! No series interaction, no tag!

NOTES: I'm thinking a goal of 275 notes might give me time to write the next chapter AND get something else out. That, or if I happen to get 2-3 chapters ready. Whatever happens first.

Also, I was thinking to myself "is it really a slow burn if they have sex this quick?" and then I realized it's been 50k words I think I'm safe hahahahahaha... ha. haha... i'm losing it