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voidwatching1988

Jun 20

Out Of The Shadows

A/N: thank you for the request @voidwatching1988 "Crocodile and a"Jenny of all trades" type of reader. She isn't flashy like the women who swoon over him or the others, nor does she fall for charms. She sort who isn't really seen or noticed til she is needed and gone when the work is done, but one night he hears her playing a guitar singing. Dark, muddy, like she was calling for the dead or a demon to rise from the depths. Unnerving, but damn does it attract him to her"

Word Count >5.000

Plot: you are the one running rain dinners from the shadows making sure everything is running smoothly. A boiler incident though got you on the rader of the boss and when he overhears you sing one night he finds himself drawn to that voice

Warnings: sfw, use of(Y/N), actually there's nothing muchto be put here, i have no clue how boilers work so sorry if this is totally wrong, not proofread, the lines sung are from the song below

Characters: Sir Crocodile x FReader, cameo by Robin

Rain Dinners woke before the sun did. Not because it wanted to but because it had to and so did you. By dawn, deliveries would start arriving. The kitchens would need supplies. The casino floor would need cleaning. Staff would begin trickling in, half awake and already complaining about the heat.

The building was a beast, really. A massive, hungry thing made of marble, gold, machinery and money. You remembered your first few weeks here, how you got lost and began drawing yourself a map so you wouldn’t have to ask for directions. And during that month, you also learnt, that beasts were always breaking something.

Now, nearly two years later, you simply accepted it.

The day started with a leaking faucet in one of the guest restrooms. The night clerk caught you halfway through breakfast. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No, you're not," you sighed. "Which room?"

"Ladies restroom on the first floor" he said and handed you a key.

You shoved the last bite of toast into your mouth and headed upstairs. The leak turned out to be nothing dramatic, just a pipe that was a bit loose and needed some adjustment. It didn’t take you longer than five minutes to fix the problem.

Ten minutes after that, one of the dealers cornered you in the hallway. "Can you look at this?" he asked, holding up a hand wrapped in a blood-stained cloth.

You blinked at him and then pinched the bridge of your nose. "What did you do?"

"I dropped a bottle," he answered and shifted on his feet like a guilty little kid.

"You grabbed the broken glass instead of calling me, didn't you?"

"...Maybe," he mumbled innocently and you sighed deeply.

You pulled him into an empty room before he could drip blood across the expensive carpet and examined his hand. The cut wasn't deep, stupid maybe but not deep. You grabbed the first aid kit cleaned it and then wrapped it up, Threatening to smack him if he removed the bandages before tomorrow.

By the time you escaped, the kitchens were looking for you, again. One of the ovens seemed to refuse to heat properly and the cook swore it was because it was possessed and held a huge grudge against him. You just rolled your eyes and checked it, only to discover that someone had kicked the temperature control panel hard enough to knock a connection loose. Within twenty minutes the oven was cooperating again and worked flawlessly. The cook called you a miracle worker to which you just shook your head and told him that miracles usually required less swearing.

By noon you had repaired a chair, treated a burn, helped unload a shipment of liquor and chased three employees out of a storage closet they were absolutely not supposed to be using for romantic activities.

A completely normal day, at least for you because you didn’t know it any differently.

The afternoon heat settled over Rain Dinners like a blanket. Customers flooded the casino floor. Coins clinked, cards were shuffled, customers laughed and cursed, waitresses danced between tables carrying trays balanced on one hand. The whole building was humming and alive and business was exactly how the boss liked it…..good and running.

Which was why the sound caught your attention immediately as you walked down the corridors because that sound was not supposed to be there. It was a metallic groan, rather faint and almost buried beneath the noise. Most people wouldn’t have noticed but working here for as long as you did, made you very aware of sounds that were uncommon.

And this particular sound made you freeze, and you focused on it and of course you heard it again. Low and sharp and definitely wrong. Your stomach dropped because now you knew what it was.

Without a word, you abandoned the stack of inventory papers in your hands and headed toward the maintenance corridors as fast as you could. The deeper underground you went, the hotter it became and you already started swearing inwardly. Steam pipes lined the walls. The air smelled metallic and then you heard it, a dangerous hiss, followed by another and another.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

The doorknob of the boiler room nearly burned your hand when you turned it and opened the door. Steam was filling the chamber and the pressure gauge was climbing far too high and you tensed. One glance told you everything. A valve had jammed and the backup release had somehow not activated. You knew if the pressure continued building up like this, the resulting explosion would maybe not destroy the whole place but it would start a fire, possibly several. In a building full of alcohol, expensive carpets, wooden furniture and panicking customers.

Wonderful, just wonderful. Oh what a great day. You were dealing with a lot of tough situations each day but this, this was the worst case scenario right now. You moved, crossing the room immediately. The metal housing radiated enough heat to sting through your gloves that you always carried with you and had put on to prevent injuries. The gauge climbed another notch. A loud bang echoed inside the boiler.

Your pulse quickened and you forced your hands to remain steady, they could shake later on but not now. "Okay," you muttered to yourself as you grabbed a wrench. "Let's not explode today."

The machine though seemed to disagree or at least not care about what you wanted. A violent burst of steam shot from a side pipe and you swore as the wrench slipped from your hands. Your sleeve snagged on exposed metal and the pressure gauge continued climbing.

Nobody else was coming, why would there, nobody else even knew what was going on here and maybe it was for the better. At least this way no one would shout in your ear and panic.

For one ridiculous moment you imagined tomorrow's newspaper. Local Casino Destroyed By Angry Boiler. Owner Probably Irritated.

You barked out a laugh despite yourself, knowing that the boss wouldn’t just be irritated but more likely furious that no one took care of it. “Get yourself together we can do this,” you encouraged yourself and got back to work.

Five minutes later sweat soaked your shirt. Ten minutes later your hands hurt. Fifteen minutes later the release valve finally moved and a deafening roar erupted from the machine. Steam blasted through the emergency vent and thankfully the pressure gauge began to drop. Slowly yes but steadily. You didn’t exhale in relief just yet and instead kept watching it. Waiting, inwardly preparing for it to increase again. Until the needle finally settled back into the safe zone.

You had no clue why you held your breath for a moment but when you heard the boiler rumble peacefully, as though it hadn’t nearly turned itself into a bomb, you let out a deep exhale and leaned against the wall. You were exhausted, covered in grime and burned in three separate places. "You're welcome," you muttered to the machine and that stupid thing remained ungrateful, typical.

By the time maintenance supervisors arrived, alerted by delayed system warnings, you were already gathering your tools. One of them stared at the boiler, then at you, then back at the boiler and at you again. "...Did you fix it?" he asked in sheer disbelief.

"Looks that way or do you see someone else here," you said not getting why he looked so stunned.

"You did this by yourself?"

"There wasn't really time to wait," you shrugged.

The man looked pale and you finally understood why. Because now that the danger had passed, the staff would realize exactly how close Rain Dinners had come to becoming a very expensive disaster. You didn’t really care and instead picked up your toolbox. "Try replacing the valve assembly before it happens again." Was all you said before you walked out.

There were still three broken lights near the west hallway. And somebody had apparently dislocated a shoulder trying to impress a waitress. Work didn't stop just because you prevented a catastrophe.

The shoulder turned out to be exactly as stupid as advertised. You found the injured man sitting in the employee break room with an ice pack pressed against his arm and a waitress trying very hard not to laugh at him.

"I can explain," he said immediately.

You sighed as if you cared about how that happened. "No," you groaned but he felt the need to tell you the story nonetheless.

"I was attempting a backflip," he explained a bit embarrassed and the waitress couldn’t hold her laughter back and snorted. She tried to turn away from the two of you while you pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Why?"

He looked offended at your questions because to him it was obvious. "To impress her," he said vaguely gesturing to the waitress.

You looked at her and she shook her head. "I was impressed before the backflip," she stated.

Oh and that was the moment you almost laughed because the waitress seemed to have just devasted him with those words.

"You're both making this worse," he mumbled slumping a bit into himself and then wincing because of his shoulder.

You sighed and reset the shoulder anyway. His screaming could probably be heard from the casino floor and was definitely not adding to him trying to impress the waitress. Afterwards, you left him with instructions to rest, which he immediately promised to ignore.

Another completely normal interaction.

The sun was setting by the time you finally returned to the maintenance closet that doubled as your workspace. Toolboxes lined the walls. Shelves overflowed with spare parts. Bandages occupied the same cabinet as pipe fittings because there simply wasn't enough room for proper organization. You dropped into a chair and for exactly thirty seconds you could just breathe and relax because then someone knocked. You ran a hand through your hair, staring at the ceiling who didn’t offer any assistance. "Come in."

A young waitress poked her head through the doorway and you half expected her to tell you another man injured himself trying to be tough and flirty. "The kitchen sent me."

Well, that was not what you expected yet, also not really surprising either. "What happened?"

"The freezer door won't close," she explained quietly her hands fidgeting a bit with her sleeves as if she felt bad for disturbing you.

You stood up, again, because apparently more than a 30 second rest wasn’t in for you today. The waitress winced sympathetically.

"You should probably rest. I can tell the kitchen you’re currently busy," she mumbled and you smiled at her and grabbed your wrench.

"I appreciate it but I'll rest when the building stops trying to kill itself."

She laughed though you weren’t entirely joking.

Elsewhere, several floors above your current suffering, Miss All Sunday stood inside Crocodile's office. Not many people were allowed to be there, not many got to see him but she wasn’t like anyone else.

The office itself was quiet. The only sounds came from turning paperwork and the faint crackle of a cigar.

Crocodile sat behind his desk. Golden hook gleaming beneath the lamplight and cigar loosely between his lips. His expression was unreadable which was usually not a good sign. He had a report in his hand, his eyes tracing over the words about a boiler incident.

"Explain," was all he said. One word nothing more but Robin was used to it.

"One of the boilers in the underground floors acted up, a valve seemed to have been refusing to work," she explained calmly, repeating the words that the maintenance supervisor told her.

Crocodile's eyes lifted from the report. "The report says a catastrophic failure was avoided."

"Yes."

He took a slow drag from his cigar and looked at Robin. "Why wasn’t I informed?" he asked.

Robin smiled softly because she knew that he would probably not like the answer. "Because it had already been handled when the maintenance team arrived."

Silence and his expression shifting, a mix of curiosity and something else. He leaned slightly forward his elbows resting on his desk. "Handled by whom?"

"The clerk," Robin answered, knowing that Crocodile had no clue who she was talking about, she knew that you were usually the one doing the work and then disappearing because you enjoyed being in the shadows.

Crocodile's gaze narrowed exhaling a deep plum of smoke. "The one from the report?" he asked and Robin nodded. He stared at the report he had read it but flipped it open again nonetheless:

Single employee responded. Single employee repaired malfunction. Single employee prevented shutdown. Single employee prevented potential fire. Single employee left before whole team arrived.

It read less like a maintenance report and more like a bizarre folk tale. One clerk wandering around solving disasters.

"Tell me his name," he ordered Robin and she smiled a bit wider.

"Her name," she corrected and definitely enjoyed his reaction when he found out, that the one doing the heavy lifting and the dirty work was a girl. "(Y/N)" she added.

"What’s her position here? Clerk is a wide range," he said after a moment.

"Various," Robin answered. "She assists maintenance, also kitchen operations, first aid, unloading of shipments, inventory, she repairs gaming tables occasionally, basically she’s doing everything at once."

Crocodile stared and leaned back slowly. The movement somehow felt more threatening than shouting. "So." His voice remained calm. "Rain Dinners employs a woman whose official position appears to be everywhere without being seen," he huffed taking another drag from his cigar, smoke drifting through the room. He looked back down at the report and Robin didn’t miss how his expression had shifted into something close to curiosity, not because the employee existed because people like that existed everywhere, competent workers, useful workers, reliable workers but that wasn’t the reason. No, what interested him, was that this one had managed to remain invisible from him.

Rain Dinners was his, despite Robin being the manager, every department, every manager, every profitable venture was his. He knew where money and supplies moved. He knew which employees excelled, which stole, which lied, well mostly because usually Miss All Sunday would point that out to him, but still he knew the people who worked under him. Yet somehow there was a woman walking through his casino plugging holes before anyone even noticed they existed.

That was unusual and unusual things warranted attention. "Have her personnel file delivered. And then tell me why you didn’t tell me about her earlier," he grumbled lowly.

Robin wasn’t intimidated though, she just remained calm and relaxed. "As you wish," she whispered and then turned to leave.

The office door shut and silence returned. Crocodile glanced once more at the report. Prevented major infrastructure failure, potential fire avoided, business uninterrupted. A corner of the paper had been stained with grease. Probably from whoever wrote it or perhaps from the woman herself, he didn’t know but he didn’t care. There were more important matters to address. Kingdoms to manipulate, rebellions to monitor, organizations to command and one anonymous employee wasn't worth dwelling on.

At least that was what he told himself.

Three hours later, after fixing the freezer door, replacing two light fixtures and treating a cook who had somehow sliced his thumb while cutting bread, you finally escaped. The desert air greeted you the moment you stepped outside. It was cooler now, almost gentler. The stars stretched endlessly overhead. For the first time all day, nobody was looking for you. There were no emergencies, no repairs and no disasters.

You sat on an empty supply crate behind the building and let out a long breath. The quiet felt strange and almost unfamiliar. Most people spent their days chasing excitement. You spent yours chasing problems. Maybe that was why silence always felt like borrowed time. You rolled your shoulders and stared out across the moonlit sands.

Tomorrow would bring another broken pipe, another injury, another crisis because something was always happening. Things broke and someone had to fix them. You had never really minded being that someone. Even if most people forgot your name five minutes later. The desert wind stirred your hair and for now it didn’t matter, you could worry about it tomorrow. Now you just wanted to spend a few more minutes here before heading back inside.

Far above, in an office overlooking Rain Dinners, a single light still burned. And behind that window sat a man currently reading your personnel file for the third time. Though neither of you knew it yet, that ordinary day had quietly become the beginning of something neither of you would be able to ignore forever.

By the time you climbed the narrow staircase leading to the staff quarters, Rain Dinners still glittered beneath you.

Music drifted from the casino floor, coins clattered and laughter echoed through the polished halls. The guests were most likely gambling till sunrise while you had finally reached the door to your own sanctuary because you had clearly reached your limit for today.

Your room sat tucked away in an older section of the building where servants and maintenance workers lived. It was small, clean and enough. You had a narrow bed standing against one wall, a wardrobe occupied the opposite corner and a single window overlooked the town. You didn’t need a grand room or luxury to make it feel comfy, you just needed it to be yours. And you needed your guitar.

It leaned beside the bed, it’s wood scarred from years of use and one tuning peg had been replaced by hand. The finish had worn away where fingers rested most often. It wasn’t beautiful in the aesthetic way but it was beautiful to you because it had always been with you.

You set your toolbox on the floor with a dull thud. Your hands stung, there was grease beneath your nails and a burn across your wrist where steam had kissed your skin earlier that afternoon. With practiced ease, you lifted the guitar into your lap and settled beside the open window. Cool desert air slipped inside.

Your fingers found the strings without thought. A slow melody spilled into the night. Soft, gentle, nothing like the noisy chaos downstairs. You closed your eyes and the tension in your shoulders eased little by little. The building seemed possibly far away, the tasks, the work everything seemed to blur away in this moment because now it was just you and your guitar. You played until your eyelids grew heavy, then carefully returned the instrument to it's place beside the bed.

Tomorrow would come early and you’d have to fix things, look after them, patch people up and just be the shadow that was everywhere and nowhere at once. But it was okay. You didn’t need the spotlight you just needed to know that your work was appreciated and that even though most didn’t even know your name you were still part of this, you were still the one to keep the machine running.

The next morning began with a clogged sink, followed by a missing inventory ledger, a roulette wheel that refused to spin properly and that all before lunch. By afternoon, a water line burst beneath the east hallway. By evening, your shirt was streaked with dust and oil, your hair had escaped whatever attempt you had made to tame it, and someone had shoved half a sandwich into your hands because they had noticed you hadn't stopped long enough to eat. You took two bites while tightening a loose pipe, it was a luxury really.

By the time you staggered back upstairs, long after sunset, every muscle in your body protested. You washed the soot from your face as best you could, changed into an old shirt and opened the window before you reached for your guitar. This time the melody though was different. It was lower, slower, rolling through the room like thunder. Your fingers pulled sounds from the strings that seemed older than the world itself. The notes lingered, heavy and almost haunting. The kind of song travellers might sing around dying campfires. Without realizing it, you began to sing. Your voice wasn't polished, you knew that, it wasn’t delicate. No, it carried gravel, it sounded deep, a voice shaped by lonely nights and it fit the song perfectly.

Outside your window, the desert listened. So did someone else. Not far away, Crocodile emerged from his office after another night buried beneath reports and ledgers. The casino had quieted, only a handful of staff remained awake. He intended to retire for the evening but then music reached him. And it wasn’t the music from the casino. He stopped, the melody floated through the marble halls, slipping through the hallway like the smoke of his cigar.

The voice carried another verse, this time it was deeper, muddier, enough to raise the hair along the back of his neck and it sounded like it was performing for the desert and not an audience. He found himself turning toward it before he had consciously decided to. Step by measured step, he followed the sound through corridors he rarely walked, towards a forgotten corner of his own establishment, a small room occupied by someone whose name had only appeared on his desk that morning. He did not know why he kept walking. Only that, for the first time in weeks, something inside Rain Dinners had captured his attention completely and he intended to see what it was.

The melody never faltered. Your fingers moved from memory alone, gliding over worn strings, polished smooth by years of use. The room was dark save for the lantern burning low on your bedside table. It’s warm glow spilled across faded floorboards and the open window where the desert breeze drifted through thin curtains.

And so you sang.

"When the door opened wide, a man stood inside and said come in out of the rain..."

Your voice carried softly into the corridor, heavy with old stories and older warnings. Outside your door, footsteps slowed and then stopped right at your door.

"His eyes were dark like the eyes of a shark, his face was neither young nor old..."

Crocodile stood motionless. The hallway behind him was silent. Only the distant sounds of Rain Dinners remained but none of it reached him, not in this moment because now only the song did. It sounded less like entertainment and more like an old tale being remembered. One passed from generation to generation until nobody recalled where it had begun.

"I paused for a beat before moving my feet and crossing that wide threshold..."

His cigar had burned nearly to the filter and he hadn’t even noticed. He found himself mesmerized, standing before a plain wooden door tucked into a servants' corridor, listening as though any movement might break the spell.

"It was a summer night and a fire burned bright, but I began to shiver and shake..."

An amused thought crossed his mind. An old song about a dangerous stranger. How fitting. A corner of his mouth twitched upward. Not quite a smile but something very close to it.

"He gave me a coat of fur, a smile demur, and a plate full of devil's food cake..."

The lantern inside cast your shadow against the wall.

You kept playing and singing, completely unaware that the owner of Rain Dinners stood scarcely a few feet away. For the first time since he had learned your name, Crocodile saw not the indispensable worker everyone relied upon. He saw a woman alone with something she loved. And what struck him even harder was that you weren’t performing for someone else, you had no expectations or desire for praise, you just did this for…..yourself. Just you, an old guitar and a voice that sounded as though it belonged to the night itself.

"He sat down on a chair like a lion in his lair and lit up a thin cigar..."

His gaze instinctively dropped to the cigar between his fingers. The irony was so precise it was almost unsettling. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if you had somehow known he was there but the thought vanished as quickly as it came.

No, you didn’t because you continued playing without hesitation, without faltering for a second and without a single glance towards the doorway. You were indeed completely oblivious to his presence. That, somehow, fascinated him more than if you'd gasped or stumbled over the words. Every woman who entered his casino knew who he was. They stared, whispered, some sought his favor, others feared him. You didn't even know he was listening. He remained where he was until the last note faded into silence.

Only then did the floorboard beneath his polished shoe creak. Your fingers stilled against the strings and you turned your head, your eyes finally found the tall figure standing quietly in the doorway. Neither of you spoke as smoke culred lazily upward from the cigar between his fingers.

It almost seemed as though the song had called him there and neither of you knew what to make of that. You didn't gasp. You didn't scramble to your feet or drop your guitar in a panic.

You simply sat there, your fingers resting lightly over the strings to mute their quiet hum. You recognized him, of course. It was impossible not to know the man who owned the very walls you kept from crumbling. You took in the heavy coat, the golden hook gleaming in the low light, and the cigar trapped between his teeth.

For a long, heavy moment, the only sound was the distant desert wind. "Is something leaking on the top floor?" you finally asked, your voice still carrying the rough, gravelly edge from your song.

A heavy exhale of smoke escaped Crocodile’s lips, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a sharp, genuine smirk. Any other woman in this building would be smoothing her hair, batting her eyelashes, or trembling out an apology. You were just wondering if you needed to grab your wrench again.

"No," he rumbled, his deep voice filling the small, cramped room. "The top floor is perfectly intact."

"Good." You leaned back against the window frame, not breaking eye contact. "Because I'm off the clock."

Crocodile took a slow step into the room, his towering frame making the modest space feel suddenly entirely too small. He didn't look at the grease beneath your nails or the soot smudged across your cheek. His dark eyes were fixed entirely on your face, analyzing you with the calculating intensity of a predator who had just discovered an entirely new breed of prey.

"A single employee," he began, his tone smooth and quiet, "who prevents major infrastructure failures, repairs gaming tables, patches up bleeding staff and disappears before anyone can thank her." He paused, his gaze dropping briefly to the worn instrument in your lap. "And then summons demons in the dark."

"I wasn't summoning demons," you replied plainly. "Just playing."

"It sounded like a warning."

"Maybe it was." You met his stare head-on, completely immune to the heavy, intimidating aura he naturally projected. "The building tries to kill itself every day. You learn to stay on your toes."

Crocodile chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated in the quiet room. He had empires to run, rebellions to fund, and millions of berries to manage. Yet, looking at you, unimpressed, unbothered and entirely capable, he realized he hadn't been this fascinated by anything in years. You weren't a shiny, flashy distraction. You were the foundation holding the floorboards together, dark and steady.

"Tomorrow," he said, turning back toward the doorway, the heavy fabric of his coat swishing softly. He paused at the threshold, glancing at you over his shoulder. "Leave the maintenance calls to the rest of the staff. You will report to my office."

You raised an eyebrow. "Is a pipe broken in there?"

"No," Crocodile replied, his smirk returning, darker and more promising this time. "But I have a sudden appreciation for old songs. And I expect my employees to cater to my interests."

He didn't wait for your answer. He simply stepped back out into the shadows, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor until they faded entirely.

You sat in the quiet for a moment, listening to the hum of the casino far below. You looked at the door, then down at your calloused, grease-stained hands. With a heavy sigh, you carefully set your guitar down. Tomorrow was going to be a very different kind of day.

The next morning, you didn't go to the boiler room or the kitchen. You stood outside the heavy mahogany door of the office, your hands wiped clean of grease, though a faint scent of oil still clung to your shirt. You didn't feel nervous, you felt annoyed that you weren't out repairing the cooling system.

You knocked once and entered without waiting for a command.

Crocodile was behind his desk, the golden hook catching the morning light. He didn't look up from his papers immediately, a test of patience you had no intention of failing. When he finally leaned back, his eyes traveled over you, not as a piece of property, but as someone he was finally beginning to understand.

"You're late," he remarked, the smoke from his cigar drifting lazily between you.

"I was finishing a repair on the second floor," you replied, crossing your arms. "If you wanted me here, you shouldn't have broken my schedule."

A slow, dangerous smile crept across his face. He stood up, towering over the desk and walked around it until he was standing uncomfortably close to you. He didn't expect you to shrink away, and you didn't, you simply held your ground, staring back with the same steadiness you used when staring down a failing boiler.

He reached out, his gloved hand tracing the air near your jaw, stopping just short of touching your skin. It was a gesture of possessiveness, but his eyes held a flicker of genuine curiosity, the first sign that you were becoming more than a curiosity to him. "You sing every night?"

"When I feel like it," you answered, your gaze remaining fixed on his.

"For yourself?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Who else?"

He was silent for a moment before the corner of his mouth lifted. "A waste," he simply stated, making you frown.

"Most people in this casino spend their lives trying to be seen by me," he said, his voice a low rumble that made the air in the room feel heavy. "You, on the other hand, seem determined to remain a ghost."

"Ghosts are more useful," you said coolly. "They don't get in the way of the work."

"I don't want a ghost anymore," he countered, finally closing the distance to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a sharp contrast to the cold gold of his hook. "I decided that I prefer to end my evenings with music reserved for me." He took aslowdrag from his cigar. "I've tolerated broken pipes, failing boilers, and incompetent staff." He continued, his gaze flicking to the guitar. "But I've no intention of discovering that the only thing in this building capable of silencing it belongs somewhere else."

He stepped back, his expression unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze remained.

"So you stay where I can keep an eye on you," he ordered, gesturing toward a chair. "The maintenance team can handle the leaks today. I have a feeling you’re going to be much more occupied with me."

You looked at the chair, then at him, and for the first time, you felt the sharp, electric thrill of being the one thing that Crocodile couldn't quite figure out. You sat down, and for once, the tools stayed in the box. For the first time in years someone else had decided you belonged somewhere other than fixing the next disaster.

Taglist: @jintaka-hane @fleetadmiralsoffice @hakiofdreams @welcome-to-the-grandline @sailing-to-laugh-tale @legends-of-the-grandline @devilfruitdiaries @waannty @luna-the-moon-guardian @sweetsaltygingerbitch @mapachito (once again I'm just reminding you that if you want me to stop tagging you please tell me or if someone wants to get added)

voidwatching1988

Thank you, I've been kinda down lately so this makes me feel better.