bitches love my spots

Dating Eustass Kid had its benefits. You couldn't deny that.

You were never worried about your safety, not with your lumbering concrete wall of a boyfriend constantly looming beside you in public. You never had to worry about emotional or physical neglect, not when he devoted every day to making sure your needs were satisfied, in and out of the bedroom. He was funny and surprisingly charming when he wanted to be, and he cooked crazy delicious racks of barbecued ribs. And despite his demeanor and… unconventional choices of words on occasion, he did not believe in traditional gender roles. For what it was worth, the two of you were on perfectly equal footing. Most of the time.

Thus, if you were to give a single complaint about Kid, it would be his lack of responsibility.

Indeed, Eustass Kid had a chronic case of 'I'll Do It Tomorrow' syndrome. The symptoms: perpetual procrastination. The prognosis: uncertain. The laundry: unfolded. And the girlfriend? Annoyed.

"Kid, I'm tired and my back hurts. Can you please fold the laundry and empty the dishwasher?" You were slumped over on the couch next to the red-head as he idly flipped through channels on the television.

"You were standing just two seconds ago, why can't you do it?" he muttered back, voice gruff from his own long day at work.

You groaned. "Because I've already vacuumed the entire apartment, taken out the garbage, and cooked dinner today. Is it a crime to ask you for a little bit of help?"

Kid simply huffed. "Yes."

Sitting up, you kicked his thigh with your foot, making him yelp.

"What the fuck, babe?!"

You backed off, your lips in a stern pout and your arms crossed defensively over your chest. "You pay the rent here, too, you know. It absolutely would not kill you to do some of the chores. We both have the same workload during the day, so what's the harm in helping me out every once in a while, huh?!" You stood, about to march to your bedroom to cool off, when an idea popped into your head. "You know, if we ever adopt a dog, and I become the only one taking care of it, we're going to have problems." With that final nail in the proverbial coffin, you marched out of your living space and toward the shared bedroom, fiercely closing the door behind you.

Kid was left dumbfounded on the couch, slack jawed and taken aback by your sudden, though arguably warranted, outburst.

But that dog comment… that was pushing it.

With a grumble, the man stood up, violently thumbing the power button on the remote control to turn off the TV, before making a beeline toward the kitchen area and yanking open the dishwasher. Sure enough, it was completely full of dishes that were sparkling clean and had easily been sitting in there for over 24 hours. He bit back any sense of guilt and perfectly organized each and every piece of dish ware, even going so far as to polish the silver before placing them in their designated drawer. He stomped over to the laundry closet, ripping open the door, unfolding the hamper, and expertly folding every article of his and your clothing, not a single out-of-place crease to be found. Grabbing the laundry hamper against his hip and prosthetic arm, he slammed the door closed and marched into the bedroom, entering the quiet space like an MMA fighter entering a ring. The forcefulness of his movements made you jump from your place on the mattress, gripping your phone in your hands with wide, startled eyes.

"What makes you think I won't be able to take care of a dog?" he demanded, all of his anger going toward flawlessly organizing your laundry. He even color-coordinated your panties.

You bit back a laugh. "Baby, you know I love you."

"Yeah?" he grumbled.

"But you are seriously bad at getting things done in a timely manner."

This time, he didn't have a wise-ass retort.

"And if your behavior continues when there's another living being in the house, when that living being is one that you wanted, then I hope you can see how it wouldn't be fair for me." You placed your phone onto the comforter beside you, sitting with your legs crossed on the mattress as you watched your boyfriend transition from color-coordinating your underwear to his own. He had a boyish pout on his lips the entire time. "Imagine if we were to have a baby of our own. If I went through the trouble of carrying that thing inside of me for nine months and forcing it out of me, only for you to do none of the work, how do you think that would make me feel?"

Kid shoved the top drawer of the wardrobe closed before slowly meandering over to your spot on the bed and plopping down next to you, his mass making the entire mattress bounce. "Pretty shitty, huh."

"'Pretty shitty' wouldn't even begin to cover it," you teased, though he knew you were one hundred percent serious. "Same goes with a dog, or a cat, or whatever animal we might have under our care."

"I guess I understand," he uttered, awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs. The skin of his right hand picked at one of the joints of his left-hand prosthetic, a habit he unconsciously did whenever his pride was even slightly damaged. But he was an adult. He knew you were right. You usually always were. And he loved you so much because of that.

You scooted closer to him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and nuzzling your nose into the skin of his neck. "Tell 'ya what."

His eyebrows quirked upward.

"If you can prove yourself to be a consistently responsible man, who always gets his chores and duties done on time with no delay, then we can adopt a puppy."

Kid snorted through his nose. "How am I supposed to do that, other than just doing the basic chores?"

When he looked down at you, you were smirking. An honest to goodness, conniving smirk. "I have an idea."

---

"What the fuck is that?"

Kid, once again, was planted on the living room couch, the cushion he always resided on retaining a permanent ass indent even when not being sat on. In front of him was you, that same shit-eating grin on your face, and a tchotchke children's toy package clutched in your hand. The package was absurdly garish, too many pinks and purples for his liking, and the toy itself resembled a tiny egg with an tiny ancient LCD screen in the center. It was attached to a metal ball chain.

"This is a Tamagotchi, you've never played with one before?" you answered, your Cheshire Cat smile never once leaving your lips.

"No, I wasn't a girl," the man retorted.

"Oh hush, even boys used to play with these back in the day," you instantly refuted. You sat down on the couch next to him, your thigh against his, as you ripped open the package, or at least attempted to.

Your man laughed at your pitiful attempts to rip open the plastic barrier between the two of you and the tiny egg keychain within. Without a word, he took the object from you and ripped into the plastic with one fell swoop, the awful tearing sound grating both of your ears as he freed the toy, sending the circular battery that it came with across the room with the force of his movement.

"Your first task," you began, pointing at the watch battery that now lay across the living room from you. "Go pick up that battery."

"What? Why?" Kid opened his mouth again to say something else, but was silenced by the stern look in your eyes.

There was nothing more frightening than an annoyed girlfriend.

With a suppressed huff, Kid stood from his seat, marched across the floor, and retrieved the tiny metal object before returning it to you.

With a pleased smile that still screamed cockiness, you looked up at him and cheered, "Good boy!"

"Don't even start with that," he immediately silenced, fighting the grin that threatened to break out on his own mouth at the sound of your laughter.

You giggled as you unlatched the compartment on the back of the toy, slipping the battery into place and closing it up. With proud shoulders, you held the egg in the palm of your hand, the metal chain wrapped around your middle finger. "This, my beloved boyfriend-could-be-fiance-if-he-tries-hard-enough, is a Tamagotchi. It's a little virtual pet. You control it using these three buttons, but it's actually it that controls you."

You punctuated your sentence by yanking out the tiny paper tab that was wedged into a gap in the plastic shell. A grating beeping noise emitted from the small device, and a pixelated egg appeared on the green LCD window.

"It's up to you to keep it alive into adulthood. It starts as an egg, and in about 10 minutes, it will hatch into a little baby. It will poop, demand for food, and want your attention for playtime. And sometimes, it will just want attention for no reason in particular. After enough time, it will grow into a juvenile, and after even more time, it will mature into an adult. The success of your care determines which adult it will grow into."

"Seems easy enough," Kid uttered, staring at the tiny egg in the palm of your hand.

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," you countered. "If you don't clean it in time, it will get sick. If you don't give it medicine fast enough, it will die."

"It actually dies?"

"It actually dies." You feigned grief, throwing your empty hand over your head like a war-torn wife. "It ascends into heaven with little angel wings and a halo. I'm not even lying."

Kid fully laughed this time. "All of this still sounds so easy." With careful hands, he removed the object from your finger and held it in his own grasp. "You'll see, babe. I'm about to be the pest god damn Tamagotchi owner you've ever met. We'll be getting a puppy in no time."

You stood from your spot on the couch, rubbing your hands on your pants and tossing your boyfriend an award winning smile with extremely sinister intent. "Good luck!"

---

Eustass Kid was a professional maritime welder. He worked with a crew of engineers to fabricate boat hulls for military vessels. It was an extremely labor-intensive job, but it paid wonderfully and included massive benefits that allowed him and his girlfriend to live in a modest apartment close to the harbor where he worked. His uniform was typically cut-and-dry. A baggy blue jumpsuit with his company's logo on the left breast pocket, a pair of thick gloves to protect his one remaining hand from the intense elements of his work, and a helmet to protect everything else valuable. But on that following weekday, he had one extra addition to his uniform.

A tiny, pink plastic egg was chained to one of his belt loops.

"Dude, what the fuck is that?" one of his coworkers called out, gravely voice echoing around the employee locker room. "Looks like a kid's toy."

Kid pridefully puffed out his chest as he shoved his lunchbox into his locker. "It's a pet."

"No, it's a fucking piece of plastic," another chimed up, adjusting his own gloves.

"It's called a Tamagotchi. I need to take care of it until it grows up into an adult."

The two men stared at Kid like he had officially lost his marbles. There wasn't any hint of sarcasm behind the red-head's voice, and the way he unlatched the device from his belt loop and carefully pressed the buttons gave him away instantly.

"Your woman put you up to this?" one of them asked.

"No, my girlfriend is amazing and wonderful," Kid replied, unwarranted and definitely not answering the question in full.

His coworkers decided that it would be in their best interest to drop the subject entirely. With pensive shrugs, they finished gearing up before heading out to the yard to begin another long shift on the docks.

Kid stayed behind, cleaning up the poop that had been left for him by the pixelated baby on his commute.

---

Welding was loud. Extremely loud. This meant that, even from the safety of his breast pocket, the little device couldn't be heard. It's piercing beeps for attention fell on deaf ears as its owner was busy behind a heavy-duty face shield, blasting metal with intense heat and plasma for work. When Kid stopped for lunch, there were four turds waiting for him on the tiny screen. He spent the entirety of his break playing with the little guy, failing time and time again at the one built-in mini game the minuscule console came with before finally picking up on the pattern and winning five games in a row. One of his coworkers, who strangely enough also owned one of these toys, told him how to put the baby down for a nap. That gave him some piece of mind as he finished his shift.

The baby beeped the entire way home. But he obviously wouldn't check it while behind the wheel of a car. He might be stupid, but he wasn't that stupid.

And when you came home from your own shift at work later that evening, Kid was hunched over himself on the couch, large hands pressing the comically tiny buttons of the machine as little beeps and blips resounded from the speaker on the back of the toy.

"Babe, look, it's a child now." Kid pridefully held the device up for you to see. Sure enough, the virtual pet had matured from a tiny black blob to a slightly larger white blob. It floated in the middle of the screen, mouth opening and closing periodically as if to constantly beg for food.

You couldn't deny it, you were actually pretty impressed. It had only been a single day, though. There was plenty more time to see how this test would play out.

And play out it did. Within three days, the floating white blob had transformed into a teenager, its stubby arms outstretched to its side and legs perpetually stomping up and down. It continued to beg for food during Kid's working ours, and continued greeting him with massive turds when he would clock out, but he was successfully raising it.

It was the following weekend when the thing actually grew into an adult. And you were shocked. Not only had it fully grown, but it grew into the pinnacle of health. The Tamagotchi character that was longed for by the community, the one that represented unparalleled success in caretaking, on time feeding and bathing and consistent playtime. Never once had the thing become sick.

"Am I good or what?" Kid boasted. You could practically see him sparkling with how happy he was at his success. "Perfect bill of health, absolutely zero complaints from him. I even named him Leonard."

"I can't even lie," you uttered, gazing wide-eyed at your boyfriend as he engaged the character in another round of the mini game. "I really shouldn't have doubted you."

"Exactly, you shouldn't have," the man responded, puffing out his chest even further. He grunted when you poked him in his stomach, causing his back to hunch.

You were smirking yet again. "You still have to see this test through to the end," you added.

"What do you mean? This is the end."

"Nope. You have to make sure to care for it until you can't anymore. Until it dies." You crossed your arms over your chest.

"Psht, this little fella ain't going nowhere, babe. He's going to live forever with how good I am at caring for him, just you wait and see."

---

Leonard, unfortunately, did not live forever.

After 14 full days of carrying around the device on his work uniform, Kid had forgotten it on his nightstand the night before. He could hardly focus at work, his mind plagued with worry over the little plastic toy, crying out for attention on his nightstand. As it got older, it began to need more and more help with cleaning, feeding, and playing, just like a regular pet. And he accidentally abandoned it when it needed him the most. He knew you wouldn't touch it, this test was for him and him alone. You were already very responsible enough for a dog, and he needed to prove himself to you. But he had left his baby behind in the dark bedroom of his apartment.

He practically raced home, ripping off his uniform in the doorway and sprinting to the bedroom, hands trembling as he desperately grasped for the little egg on his nightstand.

And what greeted him was the one sight he had begun to fear the most. His baby, his own flesh and virtual blood, was surrounded by twinkling stars. Little angel wings protruded from his body as it flew perpetually into the virtual heavens.

It was almost enough to make a grown man cry.

And when you came home from your last shift of the week that evening, your heart nearly broke at the sight of your big, strong boyfriend sitting on the couch with the egg clenched in his right fist. You could practically see tears in his red eyes as he gazed up at you, his lower lip quivering ever so slightly.

"He died, babe," was all Kid said.

You hung your bag beside the door, approaching the couch and sitting next to your boyfriend, wrapping your arms once more around his shoulders and gazing at the toy engulfed in his large hand. It was a bittersweet sight, little Leonard going to the virtual afterlife. 14 days was long for a Tamagotchi.

"Aww, baby…" you cooed, kissing his cheek. "It's going to be okay. You did absolutely amazing. Leonard couldn't have been with a better father."

Kid inhaled a somber sigh, leaning into your embrace as he gently placed the toy on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Thank you, babe… I really appreciate it. I think I really grew to like the little fella."

"The good news is that you can always restart. You can play until the battery dies." You hoped this reassured him even slightly, your hand rubbing in between his shoulder blades in reassuring circles.

"True, but I think I'll give it a few days. Let his memory solidify."

Kid was such a sap at the weirdest of times. It was truly adorable to you, and you couldn't help but smile. Kid might have had a lot of faults, but deep down he was a good man. A great man. You couldn't have asked for anyone better to spend the rest of your life with.

Suddenly, the man piped up, interjecting your tender thoughts. "So can we get a dog now?"

The sun had barely peeked above the dark horizon when you stepped out of your car, the humid air of late summer immediately causing sweat to begin to stick to the fine hairs of your arms. It didn't matter how dark it got, August was always the worst month for constant heat and humidity. Oh, how mere seconds away from your vehicle's air conditioning made you long for the cold, artificial air. Nevertheless, you shouldered your far-too-heavy work bag, grabbed your brand new water bottle from the cup holder below your stereo, and locked your door behind you.

The school was truly a sight to behold.

A modern building, full of polished glass windows letting in ample amounts of sunlight, during the day, of course. A long metal arch covered the concrete walkway, benches lining the way to the front door, each commemorating families who had donated thousands of their hard-earned money to support the success of this esteemed institution. Blooming flowers and shrubbery filled the outside, and a large foam board sign was displayed directly outside the front door. Yet, it was still so early that the lights weren't even on, making it hard to read.

WELCOME TO NEW WORLD TECHNICAL HIGH SCHOOL

You smiled, inhaling an anxious gulp of air into your lungs. Your heart thrummed with nervousness, apprehension, but above all, sheer excitement. You gripped the strap of your work bag tighter.

You had spent the past six years working for this moment. A Bachelor's in Digital Media and accelerated Master's program for your teaching license, along with a tandem student teaching role for a full school year in the East Blue provided you with the perfect amount of experience to take up this brand new role, your first official full-time job, and your first job post-grad.

It was an honor, a privilege, to be welcomed into this wonderful academic community--

"Can I help you?"

You flinched, biting back a surprised yelp as you quickly turned around, heart nearly leaping into your throat. Only two illuminated sidewalk lamps from behind the stranger helped you see their face.

A head of disheveled, short green hair, a stern frown, and a peculiar scar over his left eye. One ear was pierced three times, and a steaming cup of coffee was clenched in his left hand. His right hand was posed over his utility belt… was that a knife sheathed down there?

You nervously took a step backward, holding up your own unoccupied hand in defense. "I'm sorry, I was just admiring the outside!"

The stranger looked over your shoulder to the welcome sign before gazing back at you. His eye bags could not have been bigger. Guess your excitement for the first day of a new school year wasn't quite shared.

"'Suppose it looks alright," he uttered. "You must be a new staff member."

"Yessir," you nodded vigorously, proudly announcing your name. "I'm the Digital Media trade instructor." The title sounded so wonderful coming from your mouth. So what if you had spent the night before practicing it in the mirror?

The man simply hummed. Not even a cordial response left his mouth as he walked past you, pulling a single silver key from a retractable belt clip and slipping it into the lock in the front door. You couldn't be too annoyed, however, as he silently held the entrance open for you to scamper through.

"Guess I was just surprised, too," he uttered, taking a cautious sip of his piping beverage as he meandered over to the security desk next to the front door. "I'm usually the only one in this early. Sometimes the custodians'll be here wracking up extra hours, but I like making sure the building is completely clear every morning." He placed his cup down, shaking his hand and suppressing a wince due to the heat radiating off of the drink. "I'm Zoro, by the way. School security. You'll probably be seeing me around a lot… sitting here, doing crosswords."

There was no way this guy was the type to do crosswords in his spare time, nor did him being a security guard explain the long knife in his utility belt, but you didn't have time for questions.

"Thank you so much for letting me in, Zoro," you happily quipped, giving him a polite bow of your head. "Is there anything you'll be needing from me?"

The green-haired man shook his head back and forth. "Once Vivi arrives, she'll show you the ropes, get you your placeholder badge, all that fun stuff."

You flashed him an excited grin, making the man smirk, silently appreciating your enthusiasm. It was probably a refreshing change of pace compared to the bullshit he must put up with on a daily. With a wave of your hand, you turned on your heel and trekked past the entrance pillars, past various displays of trophies, awards, and student artwork lining the walls, and turned down the first corridor- the A Wing.

Thankfully, your primary classroom was one of the first in the hallway, separated from the more hands-on trades like Autobody and Electrical. The door was already unlocked for you, with a small sticky note directly above the door knob.

'Welcome to your brand new classroom!' - Your new colleagues'

Your smile nearly reached your ears, a barely contained giggle seeping out. The excitement was overwhelming, your very first school job and your coworkers were amazing!

You flicked the light switch upward upon entering your room, marveling at the sight. The entire space was packed with the newest models of desktop computers, each with their own tower, keyboard, and tethered mice. A locked closet full of camera equipment was situated in the far room, and beside that, a rolling cart stocked with touchscreen tablets in perfect condition. A whiteboard was posed at the front of the class, but a high-powered HD projector hung from the ceiling, allowing the image to be displayed on the glossy surface instead of using it as an old-fashioned writing tool. Your own desk contained the same model of desktop computer, as well as your very own staff laptop and all the fixings. There was a small glass vase containing a modest bouquet of summertime flowers placed next to the untouched laptop, and an empty lanyard marked with the school's logo elegantly wrapped around the neck of the vase.

You placed your bag down on the rolling chair behind your desk, carefully removing the lanyard from the glass container and looping it around your neck. It would look so official with your ID badge, but you unfortunately wouldn't have one of those for another week or so. Instead, you complied with the lightness of the fabric chord unhindered by the weight of identification as you began to unpack your school bag. Your boxed lunch, carefully crafted the night before, was tucked into the empty bottom drawer of your new desk. A brand new daily planner, set of gel pens, and box of pristine mechanical pencils was added to the next one up. You still had a small shopping list of supplies to really deck out your classroom, but the one piece of decor you did have was a tiny photo frame gifted to you by your best friend on the day of your college graduation. With a fond grin, you placed it on the window sill behind your desk.

"Is that our brand new teacher I spot in there?" a cheery voice piped up from the hallway outside. A head of bright blue hair was peeking around the door frame, a blinding white smile gracing a beautiful face and complimenting a pair of deep brown eyes.

"Ms. Nefertari!" you called, quickly rounding your desk and approaching the woman, the high and mighty vice principal, and the one who had interviewed you for this position.

"Oh, there will be none of that honorific nonsense here, we're both around the same age, aren't we?" Vivi grinned, grabbing your hands in her own and clasping them tightly. "I'm so happy to see you up so bright and early! Zoro was telling me that he almost didn't know who you were!"

"I could barely sleep last night, I was just so excited," you explained, hiding the disappointment as the woman in front of you released your hands. Her's were just so soft and warm, full of comfort and understanding, signs of an amazing authority in the school.

"That makes me so excited to hear, I've spent all summer telling my colleagues about you and how wonderful of an addition you're going to make to our faculty!" Vivi twirled a strand of her blue hair around her finger before casually tucking it behind one of her ears. "It's not just you, we have one other member of staff who I just hired a few weeks ago. It's not like me to hold off on hiring so late in the season, but we had a sudden departure and we desperately needed a role to fill. Hopefully the two of you get along, you'll be meeting him at around 7 today when we meet up for the staff orientation."

That's right, the students still had one more day of summer before they too were forced back to the realities of an academic lifestyle. That provided you with another 24 hours to get your giddy excitement under control, to be a positive, calm role model for all of your new students. You'd be learning together, after all! And with another new face in the school along with you, the relief flooded your veins. You wouldn't be the only one entering this new lifestyle, you'd have a team backing you up, another new member to bounce ideas and feedback off of.

"I'm looking forward to meeting him!" you chirped.

"Your positivity is just infectious! I can't wait to introduce you to Nami and Ikkaku, I feel like the three of you have the same energy and zest for life," Vivi gushed. The woman peeked over her shoulder. "By the way, do you like the flowers?"

You followed her gaze to the small vase sat atop your desk. "I love them, that's such a generous gift!"

"Those were actually from Sanji, our Culinary trade instructor. Call it being charming, or call it sexual harassment, but he always gifts flowers to new female coworkers. You should've seen the ones he gave Nami." Vivi quickly backpedaled, waving her hands back and forth. "He means well though, he really means well! You'll see when you meet him later today! Also, if you ever forget your lunch, he'll make you the most delicious meals with the school food, you'll never want to have another school lunch after trying his cooking!"

"That sounds wonderful," you added, your smile never wavering.

A ringtone sounded from Vivi's neatly-pressed coat pocket, the woman removing a cell phone from the fabric and gazing at the screen. "Oh, excuse me! I have a call to take. Meet me in my office at around 6:50 before the staff orientation starts so I can get you acquainted with the other new guy!"

"Thank you, Vivi!" You waved her off from the doorway of your classroom and watched as she took broad steps down the hall and turned the corner, retreating to the main office as she uttered a greeting into her phone.

You pulled your own phone out of your skirt pocket. It was only 6:00AM, meaning you still had plenty of time before any of your expectations were slated to begin. Closing your classroom door behind you and leaving it cracked, you began to walk down the hallway of the A wing, gazing around you at the walls covered with student art and framed photographs of student accomplishments. Plaques of commemoration were scattered above lockers, and photo collages from different trades were displayed as far as the eye could see. Photos of students working on cars, sitting atop heavy-duty machinery, artistic captures of welders and electricians pulling off the impossible for such young ages. Masterful young chefs concocting delicious meals for their students, glimpses into the broadcasting club, the robotics team, the botany club, and the medical research team. Whatever a student could dream of, it seemed they'd be able to find it at this school.

The thought made your heart swell with pride.

You also had that tell-tale itch on your tongue, craving for water.

A quick glance around the space helped you spot a raised water fountain near one of the restrooms, and you hastily ducked your head, adjusting your hairdo to keep it out of the flow of ice cold water from the tap. The sound of footsteps echoing down the same hallway was unnoticed by you as you drank like a dog, not realizing just how dehydrated you really were. If only the tap water in your apartment tasted this good.

Your hand released from the water release valve and you stood up, wiping your mouth on your shirt sleeve. You took a broad step back, and harshly bumped into a firm body behind you.

A sickening crack filled your ears.

You whirled around, eyes wide with shock, only to see a laptop on the floor, the outer shell instantly demolished beyond repair due to the impact with the tiled floor. The man standing above it also gazed at it with shock, before turning to you.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" he barked, his vulgarity sending a shock through your spine. He dropped his small messenger bag on the floor and frantically began collecting the damaged remains of his laptop. "I just got this fucking thing, too, and your clumsy ass had to go and ruin it."

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you--" you attempted to apologize, before the sight of cold, golden eyes caused your words to freeze in the back of your mouth.

"Just get away from me," he uttered, trying to quell the shaking of his hands as he held the broken device in his arms, one of his hands cradling fragmented pieces of the outer shell. "I was supposed to get a case for it today, so much for that." His sarcasm was bitter, unwarranted.

Your own hands were shaking, more apologies begging to release from your tongue, but his cold, angry stare kept your lips glued shut. With weak legs, you pivoted on your heels and staggered back to your room, trying to block out the expletives that continued to flow from the man's mouth as he desperately clung to the laptop, gone far too soon.

Exaltatus: (Latin) held in high regard, worshiped

A single white 1986 Ford Escort was parked in a small lot full of disrepair, between two spaces, its front right tire sagging into a pothole. The front bumper was more centimeters away from the brownstone foundation of the church building in front of it. You parked across the lot, eyeing the back license plate. The navy blue backdrop posed a stark contrast to the bold white lettering, though both were faded with sun damage, and a splotch of red stained the top right corner and appeared to trickle downward, stopped in time. You close the door of your own car, approaching the front steps of the church. The cold, autumn air stung the inside of your nostrils as you took a deep inhale, relishing in the crisp scent of decaying leaves in red and yellow hues. A single pot of burgundy-colored mums was placed on the top step, a tiny cross embedded in the dry dirt. You gave it a faint smile before turning your attention to the heavy wooden door leading to the foyer of the chapel building.

You knew he was already in there, probably lost in a deep prayer. You pushed open the front door as slowly and quietly as you possibly could, breathing an inward sigh of relief at the lack of sound it made. You stepped into the building, warmth from the ancient boiler system of the building making your body feel immediately blanketed in comfort. You repeated your slow movements, trying to close the door as slowly as you had opened it. You turned around to assess the room in front of you. A modest foyer with a few commodities: two tall chalices of Holy Water, a painted plaster statue of Mother Mary, and a few old chairs with torn up cushions, all lit by the light beaming through the stained glass windows high up near the ceiling. A long table was on the far side of the room, covered in mass pamphlets from the week’s prior services.

Directly through the foyer, and immediately in front of you, was the main chapel. You took careful steps, trying your very best to not make a sound. The matted crimson carpet that greeted you in the chapel’s doorway did not do much to help your efforts, making you resort to a rolling heel-toe motion to reduce the thud of your steps. A cacophony of silence filled the entire space, making you hyper-aware of every little noise you might make, every rustle of your clothing sounding like thunder in your ears. You creeped down the center aisle past rows of mahogany pews with red velvet cushions pushed down from generations of patrons sitting on them. Books of Gospels lay in small boxes nailed to the back of each pew. There was a single ceiling fan high up in the archway of the ceiling, slowly spinning in monotonous circles, doing nothing to push the air around the giant room. A large crucifix was mounted to the brick and brownstone wall overlooking the altar, a foreboding message for all who were to sit and pray in front of it. On the center podium of the altar sat a single lit candle, with a small flame standing still in the dead air, only flickering to the movement of dust particles suspended from gravity.

And in the very front, kneeling on the bottom-most stone step leading up to the altar, was the man you were looking for. A green cushion sat under his knees in a weak attempt to keep them from bruising on the cold, solid floor. His shoulders were hunched over, hands clasped in front of him, clad in black from head to toe. He was mumbling something quietly in Latin, sounds you couldn’t make out through the breathiness of his voice.

He would do this exactly four times a week, at exactly 5:45 PM, no sooner or later. He would park his white Ford Escort in between two parking spaces, enter the chapel, kneel before the cross, and pray like he was taking his last breath.

It hurt to watch, knowing what he’d been through in the years prior. It was his idea to move to a quiet suburban town in central Connecticut, hoping to find some refuge away from the locations he feared so much. “The town needed a new preacher,” he had said. He was now miles away from Sterling and New Haven, his ex-wife, the clinic, the Martins, the demons.

And yet, as if stricken with paralyzing fear, he would still return to that green cushion on the bottom step of the altar, hunched over in a sorrowful prayer to the Lord.

A pitying expression passed over your eyes as you quietly took a seat in the front pew. You stared at the way his collarino hugged his back. It was form fitting but left plenty of breathing room, which he clearly needed, as a very small spot of sweat was pooling between his shoulder blades. The back of his neck was ever so slightly glossy with a thin layer of moisture that accumulated on his hairline, black baby hairs held down to his skin. He had clearly been in this same posture for a while.

You sat and waited, giving him all the time he needed. You knew he knew you were there. You seamlessly fit into his four-day-a-week schedule, arriving at exactly 6:30 PM. It was just as routine for him to finish his worship, turn around, and see you in the front row, staring at him with unbridled love in your eyes, silently telling him that he could take all the time he needed and you would still be there waiting for him.

As if on queue, he lowered his hands, dropped his shoulders, and straightened his back with a satisfying pop in one of his vertebrae. He rolled off of his knees and onto his feet, standing up straight, black slacks falling to cover his ankles which were covered by black crew socks. He released a tense sigh through his lips, and finally turned around to face you.

His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. He'd been crying.

Without a word, you patted the spot to your right side, beckoning him to sit, which he quickly obeyed. Only two long strides and he sat by your side, left thigh against your right, anxiously grasping your hand and holding it in his clammy one as you tucked your head onto his shoulder and into the crook of his neck. He smelled like burnt cedar and myrrh. His thumb grazed over your skin, back and forth, taking in the texture of your flesh. You had so many questions for him, lingering on his wellbeing and mental condition, but he was the one that spoke first.

"How's the weather?" His voice was hoarse, and crackled deep in his throat, his baritone sending a slight shiver down the back of your neck.

You let out a small snort. "That's all?" You raised your eyes up to see what little of his face you could at your angle, but you saw the corners of his mouth lift up in a pleased smile. Relief flooded your veins. He'd be okay tonight. You couldn't help the childish giggle that left your lungs. "It's cold outside, but I like it. I love this time of year."

He squeezed your hand tighter in his. "I'm sorry we didn't have time to go pumpkin picking today."

"Don't apologize," you spoke in a relaxed tone. "There's always tomorrow."

You could hear every inhale and exhale that left his nose. "You're right," he uttered. "There's always tomorrow."

Silence once again enveloped the two of you, your eyes watching the candle burning on the altar, red wax dripping down to the metal plate below it.

"John?" you asked, meekly.

"Hm?" he hummed.

"Are you okay?"

It took a moment for him to respond. His hand grew clammy again, and you felt his shoulder shudder a little as he swallowed a thick glob of saliva in his mouth. "Yeah," was all he said.

You lifted your head from his shoulder, facing him straight on. "Yeah?" The way you stared at him was tender, yet challenging. You couldn't be fooled.

His dark blue eyes fluttered between your sweet face and the candle on the altar, before finally settling on you. He met your gaze, then your nose, then your lips, then back to your eyes, which burned with an intense emotion he couldn't quite describe.

"I'm..." he began. "I'm getting there."

This response made your smile once again. A red flush creeped onto his cheeks.

"That's good enough for me," you replied back. You took the opportunity to angle your body more towards him, reaching forward with your left hand to grab his unoccupied right one. "You're doing amazing."

John refused to let himself cry in front of you. As much as he knew you were always going to be there to comfort him when he needed it, he felt uncomfortable with the way pure sorrow engulfed his entire body, mind, and spirit when he really let himself go. When he cried, it was violent. Years of pent up trauma, images of unholy sacrilege crawling out of his mouth, stinging like a potent venom as his body would convulse with tormented shivers. Sometimes, he was worried he would rip bald patches into his hair with how hard he would pull on his own head.

He knew that you had an idea of how bad it was. He let you in on it occasionally. You knew that deep down, he was fighting with demons that you would never understand, now matter how many times you tried. But you were okay with that, as long as you could wake up each morning with John living and breathing for another day in your arms, in your bed, in your life. He didn’t know how you did it, how you let yourself be so docile in the face of his demons, but he didn’t question it either. Somehow, he was blessed with a rock, a grounding force that kept him on his feet when he didn’t think he had the strength to stand. He found someone to lower the gun from his mouth, to put the knife in a locked drawer away from his reach. Someone to bandage his mental wounds, kiss him into contentment, hold him as tight as a vice yet as warm as an inferno.

That’s exactly what you did. You leaned forward, lacing your fingers in his, holding him within your aura as you placed your lips on his, pulling him into Eden, your scent flooding his brain, making his neurons go haywire. His eyes fluttered closed and he pulled your laced hands towards him, letting go of your fingers to instead wrap his larger hands around your waist, sending electric shocks through your clothing and into your back. You could almost feel his pulse through his lower lip, hammering through his capillaries, flooding his face with a warm, embarrassed heat. You smiled through the kiss, the feeling making him subconsciously do the same. Your happiness was infectious, even when he couldn’t actually see your stunning expression.

Your hands, now free, roamed up his chest to the top of his collarino, thumbs pushing at the satin-covered white plastic tab sewn into the shirt. Your hands trailed up his neck, along his jawline towards his ears, and into his hair, leaving fire in their wake. Once your fingers found their home in his soft black strands, you finally separated for some much-needed oxygen.

John always found it hard to make eye contact with you after kissing you, but as with everything else you did to him, you managed to crack him open eventually. When his azure eyes finally did make their way back to yours, you flashed him a bright, genuine smile, nose wrinkling and eyes closing in bliss.

If John was a demon, you were his crux. You were the blinding white light of Heaven’s gates waiting for him to let go, waiting for him to fall into you, waiting for him to let you be there. This thought finally made a pure smile break out onto his face, a faint chuckle leaving his mouth, unable to stop the giddy feeling that bubbled deep in his stomach like a swarm of butterflies. Never before had he felt a love quite like what you gave to him, and it was moments like this that made him endlessly thankful for your graciousness, your empathy, and your company.

But you didn’t need thanks, he was just as much a fortress for you as well. You nestled into his sturdy chest, breathing in the rich aroma of incense that clung to the polyester of his shirt, fingers trailing back down to wrap around his shoulders and pull your bosom flush against him. The weight of your body made him ease backward onto the pew, cushioned by the flat velvet on the seat below, your body covering him in a comfortable red warmth. You trailed kisses up and down the exposed parts of his neck and jaw, watching with mild pride as he tilted his head back slightly, allowing you to trail a gentle lick of your tongue along his Adam’s apple. You felt it bob anxiously under your movements, making you grin.

It somehow hadn’t occurred to either of you that you were still on holy grounds, in a centuries old church, the front door of which was still unlocked. The crucifix that hung above the altar was the sole witness to your actions, and you’re sure what you were about to do would get you both sent into the darkest pit of Hell. But you couldn’t find any ounce of fucks to give. You’d crawl through every level or torment that Satan would bring you if it meant eternal life with John. And with the way John’s hands gripped the small of your back like he would die if he let go of you, you didn’t think he would mind either.

In a sudden rush of courage, John’s hands swiftly traveled from your lower back to your shoulders, looping under your arms so his hands were planted firmly on your shoulder blades, allowing him to yank you down into an even deeper kiss. Your body felt hot and heavy above his, not aided by the firm leg that propped up and settled itself between your thighs.

A high-pitched noise akin to something like a kitten’s needy mewl left your throat. You didn’t even think you were capable of making sounds like that, but the unintentional gesture seemed to pump more adrenaline out through your lips, into John’s mouth, down to his core, branching out through his veins. He pushed you up and away from him, his leg falling from between yours and chests rising heavily, desperate for the now-stifling air of the sanctuary. You eyed the man in front of you questioning his actions before he took your hand and pulled you upwards to your feet with him. He led you from the front pew toward the altar steps, quickly leading you up the stone and to the pedestal in the center, the wax of the candle that still burned on the plate now significantly shorter than it was when you first entered. He led you around the back side of the altar, your back facing the clergy seats, the hand that wasn’t clasped in John’s stabilizing yourself on the stone behind you as he swiftly caged you in between himself and the sacred table. The force of your body pulled the ceremonial cloth down slightly, creasing it in spots of pressure.

An unopened Bible still rested on the center of the altar. John’s eyes looked over your shoulder at the Holy text, before he bowed his head into the crook of your neck and inhaled a deep, shaky breath.

"God..." he mumbled, the vibrations of his hoarse voice making you tremble in his arms. "Please forgive me for what I am about to do."

He raised his head and locked his deep blue eyes with yours. You could drown in his rich irises, swimming in the scent of him and breathing nothing but his taste. You wanted to devour him. You wanted him to devour you.

He seemed to want the same exact thing. Uttering one last plea for mercy from God under his breath, he spun you around so you were bent over the altar, eyes planted on the Holy book that lay directly in front of you. The crucifix stood over the two of you like a drone, nonexistent eyes watching your every action, judging, punishing. A Father of the Church, a Son of Christ, shouldn’t behave in this way. But as John ground his hips into yours from behind, groaning from deep within his abdomen at the feeling of his hard cock straining in his slacks, he cursed the sacred grounds he stood on. He’d been face-to-face with demons enough times to know that if God didn’t want to save him then, He wouldn’t step in now.

One hand pushed down on the center of your back, forcing you downwards even more onto the stone, breasts pushing down against the hard surface. Your own hands struggled to find a comfortable position to support yourself, and you ended up keeping them limp at your sides. John was much stronger than he looked, and despite how hard you struggled, you wouldn’t be able to push yourself up from under his hand.

He used his other hand to push up your shirt and reach around to the front of your pants to undo the light bindings of the article of clothing covering your legs. Your pants dropped, followed soon by your underwear, crumpled pathetically around your ankles. You couldn’t move, and couldn’t crane your head backwards to watch as John undid the buttons and zipper of his slacks, dropping them to the ground, his cotton boxers, also black, following suit. Your eyes were locked on the Bible that was in front of you, the side of your face gently warmed by the still-burning candle.

Your breath caught in your throat when John leaned over you, both of your bodies arched over the altar stone. He breathed into your ear, sending goosebumps to rise in waves over your exposed skin, a shiver running from the apex of your skull to the very tip of your toes.

"I've always wanted to do this..." he uttered, a barely audible whisper floating into your consumed mind.

You grinned, though he couldn’t see your face very well. “That’s very naughty of you, Father Ward.” Your voice was laced with a bratty tone, but your giddy amusement was still palpable in your words.

The hand he had placed on your back crawled up to your neck, gently looping calloused fingers around your throat to tilt your head back slightly, giving him just a little more access to the lobe of your ear. He bit down on it, not hard enough to injure you, but enough to send a sharp sting through your nerves. His hand around your throat never squeezed, instead served as a cradle of support, holding up your head but leaving you vulnerable to his every move.

“Says the woman who stole my breath away under the eyes of the Lord.” You could just hear the laugh that escaped along with his husky utterance. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve wanted this as much as I have.”

You let out your own airy laugh. You could both read each other like open books. “If God wanted you to stop this, He already would’ve.” You finished your blasphemous sentence bygrinding your exposed pussy onto his cock, desperately craving the friction and warmth that he would soon bring to you. “Father Ward,” you moaned. “You’re not going to keep me waiting like this, are you?”

John hummed, backing up from your form enough to reach his unoccupied hand downward towards his cock, giving it a short pump before easing it into your exposed cunt. He failed to bite down the groan that left his lips, the sound of it bouncing off of the open air around the two of you. You sighed in relief, his warmth, inside and out, flooding your body in waves of deep reds and oranges, like embers being injected into your blood.

You loved when he held you down like this, and he knew it. In this position, you were completely at his mercy, just as the two of you about to fuck on the sacred altar of the Lord left you both at the mercy of God’s seemingly inevitable wrath. ‘Well, if Jesus died for our sins,’ you thought to yourself.

John was never rough. Even if he tried to be, or wanted to make an attempt, he couldn’t ever bring himself to that level of animalistic instinct. Instead, he was slow, careful, calculated. At every moment he was thinking of you, being swallowed in your aura that blossomed out from your skin like a supernova, making electric shocks ride along his fingertips that crawled blindly around your body looking for a place to plant themselves and drink you up. He leaned forward over you, hips slowly gyrating back and forth, barely moving his cock out of you, keeping you plugged up and whining barely audible whispers. He reached his neck forward to leave a tender kiss on the back of your neck before baring his teeth slightly and grazing your vertebrae, sliding the tip of his tongue along the barely-there red mark he left on your skin. He could never be rough with you, ever. But sometimes, he just needed to indulge in your taste.

You were one of the only things left in this forsaken world that made him feel human again. If he didn’t get to taste you, to know that you’re really there in front of you, is living even worth it anymore?

Overwhelmed with warmth, palms sweating as they dragged back down to your hips, holding you against his pelvis, John finally allowed himself to indulge, causing a shaky sigh of relief and pleasure to exit your lungs. He pulled out just enough to rob you of the stability that his hips brought, before thrusting back in and pushing your hips against the cold stone under you covered by scratchy fabric that rubbed uncomfortably against the skin of your thighs and slightly exposed stomach.

You couldn’t think about the feeling of the cotton under you for long though, as John trailed a hand around your hips, dipping in between your thighs, rubbing your clit in gentle, counter-clockwise strokes that left you catching your breath in whispers. John let out a groan from behind you, the feeling of your walls convulsing around his dick when he stroked your clit making him shudder. You were biting your lip, keeping your voice inside your throat, embarrassed at how you might sound crying out into the exposed cathedral hall where your voice could echo for miles without quieting. John was not too pleased with this. He kept his fingers on your clit and upped his thrusting pace just enough as he leaned back over you again, whispering in your ear.

"You're at the altar," he murmured. "Are you going to preach for me?"

“John…” was all you could get out before involuntarily letting out a moan when he pressed down on your clit at the same time as he angled his dick upwards just enough to send a sudden jolt of red-hot pleasure spreading through your whole body.

“The clergy…” John uttered, “needs more than that.” He was clearly so enthralled in the act that he couldn’t speak properly, brain distorted by the feel of you. “Let me worship you. Talk to me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his words. “Don’t keep talking about the church. It ruins the moment.” You reached a hand backwards to grab his unoccupied one that sat gripping the flesh of your waist. You made an awkward attempt to lace your fingers into his, instead just settling on holding his calloused hand in yours, squeezing him, holding him to you through another connection. Too many things were happening at one time for him, making him drop his hand from your clit without even realizing.

He trailed kisses down the back of your hairline and neck, down to the dip between your shoulder blades. Hot gasps left his mouth with each thrust. Kiss, gasp. Kiss, gasp. It was wildly hot. You felt a smile grace his lips while they were connected to your skin. “I’m sorry, dear. I can’t help it.”

"I know you can't, Father Ward." You gave his hand a squeeze.

John rocked a decently hard thrust into your hips at his official title, making you moan out loud, closing your eyes as the sound of your voice, predictably, bounced in waves around the empty chamber you were bent over in front of. Souls you couldn’t see were surely damning your voice, your lust. His hand once again returned to the swollen nub at the base of your labia, continuing his swirling motion. Faint squeals and whines were leaving your lips at a higher regularity now, John’s moans growing in volume as his slow but powerful thrusts caused your walls to flex and mold around him.

If lust was so inherently evil, then the two of you were damned from the start, fitting perfectly together like you were molded from the same sinful cloth, destined to be together at the end of every possible life.

You squeezed his hand yet again, groaning under your breath as you pleaded, “John… John… oh God, John.” His name was a prayer on your tongue, a mantra, an orison directed towards no one else but him. Your voice was full of love. It circled around him in pink waves.

John felt a tear form in his eye, slowly sliding down his cheek and onto his chin, dropping onto your skin below him. He flushed, embarrassed, but you clearly didn’t feel anything. Or if you did, you didn’t care, too enraptured in the feeling of his movement against your body. He bit his lower lip, squeezing your hand as tight as he could without hurting you, keeping up his pace. He felt a flame forming inside of him at the base of his dick. It was so hot it almost hurt, sending bullets of pleasure from the tip to his head and back again.

You had the same sensation. Warmth blanketed your lower body in sheets of deep purples and magentas as your legs shook under you, tired from standing upright and straining against the altar stone. It was hot, so hot, and you felt yourself grow even more wet around his cock. You closed your eyes tightly. You couldn’t bear to look at the empty pews anymore. Your mind was composed solely of John’s face, the pleasure he was gracing you with, and the love he injected you with through the pads of his fingers.

A low, guttural sound from John behind you directed your attention back to him. He uttered your name in a tight growl, shoving himself into you. You could feel it too. You were so close, so close to enlightenment.

Suddenly, without warning, it hit you like a bolt of lightning. You cried out, legs trembling, hips gyrating on their own as scorching pleasure rocketed through your hips, thighs, cunt, up to your chest, making your heart palpitate. You could barely control your breath, chanting John’s name along with a chorus of expletives that definitely should’ve gotten you expelled from the church. A cacophony of colors filled the inside of your eyelids like a kaleidoscope.

John relished in the feeling of your orgasm, his cock twitching inside of you with the feeling of his own impending end. He would never hurt you intentionally. He would never be rough with you. But the intense feeling of your cunt clenching around him pulled him violently towards his own climax, causing him to leave a sharp bite into the back of your neck, making you squeal. It wasn’t nearly enough to draw blood, but a deep red indent was left in the place where his teeth marked your flesh.

He'd apologize for it later, knowing deep down inside that it wouldn't take any convincing for you to forgive him. You'd always forgive him.

John’s world was filled with bright colors as his orgasm washed into him, an intense, sweet sting leaving his hips as he came inside of you, not even bothering to think of the potential consequences. Neither of you could care less. You were swallowed up in each other, fused together in mind, body, and soul. John’s body completely covered yours, keeping you pinned over the altar stone, legs still shaking from aftershocks and exhaustion.

What felt like an eternity was only a few short moments before John pulled out of you, regrettably letting go of your hand to feebly stumble backwards. The front of his collarino was creased and felt damp against his torso. His cock was completely spent, flaccid, hanging pathetically between his legs as he caught his breath enough to pull up his pants and fasten his black belt around his waist again. His three fingers that were rubbing your clit were covered in a thin layer of your clear fluid, which he mindlessly whipped on his slacks. You were still bent over the altar, catching your own breath, one hand held out in front of you, the other, the one that was holding his, facing upright by your hip, subconsciously grasping out for his hand again.

John simply looked at your body in a fucked-out daze. You were ethereal even in your most vulnerable form. You were human. You were alive and living and you were in the same room as him, sharing the same space, the same air. Your life was beautiful. You were beautiful.

He didn't even register the tears that were freely falling from his eyes now.

You finally pushed yourself upright, bending down to shimmy your own pants back up your legs. Heart finally slowing down from its adrenaline rush, you turned around to face your lover. Your eyes widened when you saw his tears. You barely had time to say his name before he was embracing you in his arms, holding you as close as he possibly could, one arm around your waist, the other holding the back of your head against his shoulder. He was cradling you, silently sniffling into your neck. You let him unwind for as long as he needed, holding you behind the altar, under the crucifix. Your hands wrapped around his torso, squeezing him full of as much love as you could muster.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Your fingers crawled up to his hair, playing with the short, black baby hairs that sat at the base of his skull. You didn't question his thanks.

He continued. "I love you."

Your heart fluttered. You knew John loved you, so deeply. He loved you despite the horrors he had been put through. He loved you despite his old, lost loves.

"I love you," he said again. "I love you so much. I love you. Thank you."

You smiled, dipping your head into his shoulder, your hairs tickling his neck. His white collar was hard against your face, but the warmth he provided made it bearable. His arms were a fortress around you, and you were his foundation. You didn’t have to question what his words of praise meant. You already knew.

Thank you for making me human. Thank you for making me feel okay. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for letting me love you. Thank you for letting me live. Thank you for being alive.

With a short inhale, you spoke into his chest.

The way his hands freed you of your pants held both nervous apprehension and excited giddiness.  You could feel the way the tips of his calloused fingers trembled as he guided your hips out of your clothing and let the fabric pool around your feet.  Strong arms and a solid chest supported you in the darkness as you stepped out of your clothing, gasping as his arms swooped below your ass to scoop you off your feet.  The way Law chuckled, such a deep, sensual sound, as you involuntarily wrapped your legs around his hips, had a heat pouring in your abdomen that you hadn’t experienced in a very long time.  He carefully moved through the darkness and held you against the concrete wall, quickly adjusting to your preferred pace of kisses along your lips, jaw, and neck.

Law was quickly falling for the sounds that snuck past your tongue when he gently lowered his canines over the sensitive skin of your jugular.  You were absolutely divine.  He needed to thank Shachi later for being the one to give him the encouraging push to talk to you.

Your nails weakly scratched the skin of Law’s back, making him smile into your skin as he ground his hips into yours.  His boxers still concealed his painfully erect cock, but the friction the cotton provided against your clit had you panting and shivering in his arms.  

You wished you could see him in the darkness.  Were his cheeks as flushed as your’s felt?  Perhaps his gorgeous tanned skin blushed a darker hue of crimson that complimented his stunning face even more.  Maybe his lips were wet from your heated kisses, shining in a dirty, erotic combination of your spit.  You wanted to see the torso that felt so alluring under your fingertips.  Were there any other tattoos on his body?  How big was the piece on his chest?

Law once again captured your lips in a mind-numbing kiss as one of his hands fell to his boxers to slip his cock through the slit in the front.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You bit down a yelp as you jumped in his arms from the noise directly next to where your bare body was pressed into the concrete wall.  Law cursed under his breath.

“Aye, Law, are you in there?  What the fuck are you doing, man?”  An agitated voice rang from outside the door.  “Some guy puked his guts out on the floor, I need the Smelleze!”

“Give me a second!” Law hollered back, helping you unhook your legs from his waist and lowering you to the ground to fumble blindly for your pants.

“Are you jerking off in there?  You freak,” teased the voice outside of the door.

“Shut your trap, Penguin,” Law snapped back.

“You were, weren’t you!  Bro, I’m a guy too, I’ll just come in.”  The man, Penguin, had clearly made a motion to turn the door handle with the way the metal jingled.

Law groped for you in the darkness and accidentally fondled your breast in the process.  He quickly found your shoulder and ushered you behind the door’s hinges before hiking up his jeans and zipping his fly.  You kept your mouth zipped air-tight as the door opened and the muted neon purple light from the club flowed into the closet.

“Where’s your shirt?” asked Penguin.  You could almost hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

You saw Law from behind the door grab a bottle of chemical cleaner from the small shelf built into the far wall.  “Here’s your puke stuff.  Can you get outta here?”

“I need the mop, too, shithead,” teased Penguin.

You fought desperately to bite back the laugh in your lungs at the way Law grabbed the mop bucket with such fervor that the wheels on the bottom of the caddy skipped over the floor with a gaseous sound.  Penguin, who still had no idea you were behind the door almost completely naked, also found the sound to be humorous, given his dry laughter.

“Sorry for cockblocking you, I’ll pay you back later.”  The man finally closed the door behind him, once again shrouding the closet in darkness.

A stuffy silence fell between the two of you.

“I am… so sorry,” muttered Law.  You felt a pang of pity in your chest at how dejected his voice sounded, a complete contrast to his bold and confident demeanor just a few moments prior.

“Hey, don’t be, it’s alright,” you reassured, moving through the darkness to blindly reach for him.  “I guess that’s our karma for being in a broom closet.”

You felt Law’s shoulders bounce with his subtle huff.  “Guess you have a point.”

Your attention was suddenly drawn to the faint light from the floor.  Your phone had lit up in your discarded pants, illuminating through the fabric.  You bent down and scooped up your clothing, grabbing your phone out of your pocket after pulling your pants back on.

Namiiii GIRL where are you???  Some guy threw up on the dance floor and almost got Ikkaku’s shoe, so we’re waiting outside.  Did you get kidnapped or something????

“Shit, my friends are waiting for me,” you sighed, flipping on your flashlight and quickly scanning the floor for your bra and shirt.  After pulling all of your clothes back on, you gazed through the darkness to where you assumed Law was still standing.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, go see your friends,” he responded, his voice soft and tender.  For someone you had only just met, his presence filled your heart with a fuzzy feeling that was so foreign to you.

“Thank you, and hey, it was wonderful meeting you.”  You groped through the darkness, hand landing on his muscular chest.  You leaned up, pecking a warm kiss to his lips before finding the door knob to the closet and slipping out as inconspicuous as you could.

You made your way through and club and back to the entrance as fast as you could, eyeballing the man, who you figured must have been Penguin, mulling over a mound of powder on the floor.  The bartender with sunglasses who took your orders earlier was very clearly making fun of the other.  The incident must have made many people evacuate the bar, as the lights were slightly less colorful and the floor was substantially emptier than it had been.  How long were you even in that closet?

Your feet carried you through the entrance and back out onto the main road.  After glancing around briefly, you spotted Nami and Ikkaku waiting under the overhang of a closed Irish pub.  The curly-haired girl spotted you first, calling you over with a wave of your hand.

“There you are, gosh we were starting to get worried!”

You trotted up to them, hoping that your hair and make-up weren’t too messed up.  “I’m so sorry I took so long,” you sighed.

“What were you even doing, anyway?” Nami asked, her hands on her hips and her lips pursed in both curiosity and concern.

“You’re not gonna believe this…” you muttered.

Your friends waited patiently for you to continue.

“That hot bartender from before,” you began.

“Yeah?” the two women urged you on.

You simply flashed a coy smile.  Nami and Ikkaku seemed to get the hint almost immediately, as they burst into a fit of squeals and giggles.

“No way, no way!” Nami cheered, almost bouncing up and down.  “Did you guys actually fuck or–”

“Nami, keep your voice down!” you hushed, laughing along with her.  “We… uhm…”

“Let me guess,” Ikkaku gestured.  “Cockblocked by the guy that puked?”

“How did you know?”

The brunette smiled.  “Everyone cleared out of there like the plague was back in style.  Figured that would make sense.”

Nami sneered at her friend.  “You’re one to talk, you almost keeled over with that guy!”

“He almost barfed on my feet, I couldn’t help it!”

You laughed through their bickering, a feather-light feeling flowing through your veins.  The events of the night, though not progressing as far as your body might have wanted, made you feel as though you were on Cloud 9 regardless.  You followed your best friends as you walked down the road back toward your apartment.

“So, what was his name?” Ikkaku asked.

“Law,” you responded.

“Did you get his number?” Nami questioned.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

“Shit.”

---

Law’s eyes were finally adjusting to the normal white fluorescent light of the club now that the patrons had filed out and he could begin cleaning his bar.  He popped an earbud into his ear and reached for his phone to turn on his own music when his thumb stopped short of his messages app.

There was a handwritten note taped to the door of your apartment.

Your feet stayed planted in front of your door as your eyes glazed over the sloppy writing over and over again.  You couldn’t even bite the inside of your cheek as a nervous tic, the harsh bruise still covering your jaw causing aches and pains even two weeks later.  It was embarrassingly noticeable.  Your friends questioned it, your professors questioned it, passersby on campus gave you strange looks.  It was humiliating.

A victim of domestic abuse.  That’s what the school psychiatrist had told you.

Humiliating.

The note was snatched from your door, the tape on the back of the paper ripping off with an obnoxious tearing sound.

Right.  Law was still there.

Standing next to you, he crumpled the note with a firm scowl on his face, steely golden eyes seeming to flicker with a barely-subdued rage.  In the two weeks since the incident with Bellamy, he had barely left your side.  And you liked it better that way.

“Pussy,” the medical student swore under his breath, his gentle hand against the small of your back a harsh contrast to his words.  “Come on, let’s go inside.”

You silently nodded, blinking out of your paranoid daze and fumbling for your key in the pocket of your coat, undoing the lock and pushing the heavy door open.  The apartment was still occupied by only you, with your roommate having gone home for winter break.  In her absence, however, Law took over.

It seemed the two of you had formed an unconventional routine, with Law making sure to keep tabs on your mouth injury every single evening.  For the first four days, he continued to supply you with an antibiotic rinse for your tongue, going out of his way to cook bland and soft foods for you to easily ingest without irritating your injury.  He masterfully reduced the inflammation of your bruise and even helped you apply concealer for the first few days before you grew exhausted of the tedious ordeal (and the pain of your beauty blender being blotted over your tender jaw).  He did all of this without question, without expecting any thanks or repayment, and you, likewise, didn’t comment.  You were afraid that if you did, the influx of tears behind your eyelids would finally spill out.

So instead of vocalizing your questions, your concerns, and the nagging confession in your mind, you insisted that Law sleep in your bed, under your sheets, with your legs tangled together and his calloused, tattooed hands planted safely on your back and waist.

“Hey.”

A quiet, firm voice saying your name shook you from your thoughts.  When had you been seated on your couch?

“What are you thinking about for dinner?”  Law was washing his hands in the kitchen, peering around the doorframe to where you sat.

You shrugged.  “I don’t think I’m too hungry.”

The faucet was turned off, the sound of the man drying his hands on a cloth towel following suit before he entered your living space, sitting next to you on the couch.  You wasted no time crawling into his lap, resting the uninjured side of your face across his legs.  His hands ghosted across your shoulder, and you couldn’t see the way his eyes softened with remorse.

“I still think you should go back to the school psych again,” Law mumbled, rubbing your skin through the fabric of your shirt.

“They won’t help me,” you replied, voice muffled thanks to your curled up position.  “She’s just gonna tell me to go somewhere different.”

“Maybe that’s what you should do,” he added.

Those same hot tears began to sting, slipping out of your eyes and pooling across the bridge of your nose.  “It’s fucking humiliating.  All of this.”  You balled your fist against your chest.  “I don’t even feel safe in my own apartment anymore.  Why did I let myself get involved with that crew?”

“You couldn’t have known,” Law added.  He lost count of the amount of times the two of you had this conversation in the past 14 days, but that didn’t matter to him.  He’d tell you as many times as you needed to hear it- none of what transpired was your fault.

“All he did was hit me once and yet I’m a mess because of it.”

Law’s jaw clenched.  “Doesn’t matter how many times.  He hurt you.”

“But–”

“No ‘buts’,” Law’s firm voice refuted, shutting down your protests.  “You were hurt, end of story.  You’re not accounting for the emotional abuse he put you through, the words and comments.”

“I hate that word,” you uttered.  “Abuse.  It’s sour.”

“It is.”

You rolled onto your back, gazing through your teary eyes at Law, who gazed down on you with nothing but patience and tenderness.

“Don’t you ever get sick of me acting like this?” you suddenly asked.

Law’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, his throat tightening with pity at how feeble your voice sounded.  “Never.”  He leaned over your form slightly, tracing the backs of his inked fingers over the unblemished side of your face.  “Have you ever felt sick of me when I have bad nights thinking about my dad?  Have you ever thought I was annoying when I’d come to you crying as a teenager?”

You frantically shook your head.  “Of course not.”

“Then you need to believe me when I say I’ll never feel like that with you, either.”  His words were level, soft yet firm, and you were left with no choice but to believe him.  “Doesn’t matter if he hit you once, twice, or not at all.  You were hurt by him regardless, and you deserve to be able to feel the emotions that come with that.  Because it was you who got hurt, no one else matters in this situation but you and your emotions.”

“I suppose so,” you said back meekly.

“And,” he began again.  “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help from a professional to guide you through this.  I could even join if you wanted me to.  Regardless, I think it would be good for you to talk to someone with more experience than me.”  A small smile crawled onto his lips.  “I’m really only good with physical illness.”

“Nah,” you replied, your own shaky grin appearing.  “You’re patching me up on the inside just fine.”

“You know… if it would help you feel safer…” he suddenly blurted, anxiously averting his eyes from your tender gaze.  “I wouldn’t be opposed to you lodging in my dorm until all of this blows over.  Or… longer than that, even.”

You felt your face warm up at his offer.  “You mean it?”

“He’s leaving notes on your door.  If I’m being honest, I’m too anxious to leave you here alone.”

Law had a justified point.

“I have a futon,” he added.

“I don’t want the futon,” you stated.

Law’s knuckles continued to stroke the side of your face, the softness of your cheeks feeling like the finest velvet over his rough skin.  “When the school psych opens again next semester, we’ll go and get you a referral.”

“And I can move my favorite pillows onto your bed,” you chirped with a grin, the weight of the situation finally lifting off of your shoulders, even just slightly.

“And I’ll start carrying around my nodachi on campus–”

“NO!  I don’t want you to get arrested!” you nearly shrieked, a full laugh erupting from your lungs at the thought of Law’s obnoxiously large sword that he purchased in high school for the hell of it.  You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to lay on the couch next to you.  “Just promise you won’t leave me alone…” you mumbled shyly, voice barely above a whisper.

Trafalgar Law was a powerful man.  Captain of his own strong pirate crew, infamy following his footsteps everywhere he walked.  If his renowned hat and iconic sword didn’t give him away to strangers, his jolly roger certainly did, sticking out like a sore thumb when lined up next to other more traditional skull and crossbone designs.  Law knew his worth, he knew his status and rank as a wanted pirate captain, and he was damn proud of it.  Every day he worked to hone his devil fruit powers and grow stronger, leading his Heart Pirates with diligence, grace, and a firm, unwavering fist.  Indeed, Law was the very definition of a formidable, intense mind and body.

“Law, I can’t reach the spice jar on the top shelf, can you help me?”

Trafalgar Law was also a very weak man.  If irony was a person, they would be Law’s biggest schoolyard bully.

The sight of you on the tips of your toes, reaching up with your entire body length, one hand holding yourself against the galley’s metal countertop to keep yourself stable while struggling to reach the glass allspice jar that seemed miles away from your desperate fingertips.  You made Law’s ruthless, unrelenting heart melt into a puddle of gross mush.  The captain stood from his seat at the crew’s eating table, leaving the book he was skimming through abandoned to instead offer his help to you.  You stepped aside to allow room for the taller man who fetched the jar with embarrassing ease.  With a barely audible huff, he passed the item to you, and you graciously took it into your own hands.

The smile you flashed at him, bright and joyful like a mid-June day and stretching from ear to ear, was far better than a regular ‘thank you’ in his eyes.

“You’re the best, Law, seriously!”  You excitedly resumed your work flipping through a small journal full of baking recipes, eager to spend your downtime on the Polar Tang doing something nice for the rest of your crew.

And although Law struggled to admit it out loud, he’d do anything to keep that smile on your face.

Ever the professional, level-headed man, Law barely blinked twice when he realized what he saw out of the corner of his eye when he carefully slipped out from under his bedsheets, leaving you nestled under the warm blankets in a peaceful slumber.  The light from the gas lamp he kept lit in his quarters overnight barely supplied his retinas any way to take in what he noticed, but he still spotted it.

Right beside your curled up form was a splotch of deep red fluid staining the plain white bedsheets.  A larger stain ran from between your legs and up the back of your shorts.

Law grabbed a small agenda you kept beside the bed which helped you keep track of any of your bodily needs being on a pirate ship away from land for most of your time.  You would always blot the days you got your period with red ink to stay on top of when your cycle would most likely appear.  Just as Law anticipated, your cycle arrived a week earlier than you had initially planned.

He made quick work of marking the day’s small box with a blot of red ink for you.  Tucking away the agenda, he shoved aside any of his current early morning plans and instead placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, lightly jostling you awake.  With a grumble, you tucked your head into your arms, hiding your face from the world in a feeble attempt to get more precious sleep.

“Baby, wake up,” Law said with a hushed tone.

“What do you want,” you mumbled into your pillow.

You made a motion to roll over and face your boyfriend, but the slight movement of your body immediately alerted you to the uncomfortable, wet feeling in your shorts.  You propped yourself up on your elbows, gazing over your body, eyes falling on the obvious blood stain that lay below you.

“Oh my god–”

Law’s hand wrapped around your wrist and beckoned you closer.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I ruined your sheets,” you responded with worry laced on your tongue, now fully awake and aware of your situation.  “I didn’t know it would be here so early…”

“You couldn’t have known,” he reassured you with a calm demeanor.  His pulling on your wrist finally caused you to maneuver carefully towards him, allowing Law to scoop his arms under your legs and haul you out of bed.

You cringed at the feeling between your legs.  “I’m so sorry.”  Your arms wrapped around his neck for stability. 

Law responded by placing a kiss to the top of your head.  He used his foot to open his small private bathroom, allowing you to step out of his arms and onto the floor.  Wordlessly, he started the tap of the metal bathtub, letting hot water flow into the basin.  You watched helplessly as he opened a tiny wooden linen cupboard, procuring two towels, an unopened bar of light soap, and a very small bottle of a lavender scented body wash.  

The sight made you crack a smile.  “Where did you get a lavender body wash?”

“Stole it from an inn we stayed at on an island.  Free soap and shampoo can’t be beat,” he muttered.  You snorted, which made your boyfriend smile at you, amused by the situation himself.  He turned back to you after placing the items on the side of the bath.  “You get undressed, I’ll change the bed.” With a frown, you removed your bed shirt.  “You really shouldn't, I'm the one that made the mess.”

“Nah, you can’t make a mess when you’re sleeping.”  Law held out his hand towards you when you removed your ruined shorts and underwear.  You were bare in front of him, knowing that you had absolutely nothing you could hide from him even if you wanted to.  (He had already seen every inch of you.)  

“What?” you asked, confused, looking at his hand.

“I’ll clean your shorts.”

“Huh?  No, they’re disgusting now, I can just throw them out!”

Law grabbed the tiny bottle of body wash from the side of the tub.  Staring at you with his steely gray eyes, he uttered something under his breath that was drowned out by the sound of the gushing water flowing into the basin.  Suddenly, your hand grasped the body wash, and Law’s hand held the cleaner portion of your panties and shorts.  With a smirk, he said, “I’ll clean them.”

“You’re so stubborn,” you retorted with a pout that quickly turned into a pleased smile.  “You treat me so well.”

“Of course I do.  Now get in the bath and clean up.”

“Aye aye, captain,” you mused with a chuckle.  Law rolled his eyes, leaving you to bathe in private, knowing his coy smirk gave away any hint of feigned annoyance.

You rinsed your lower body before settling into the bath, sighing at the warmth flooding across your skin.  The metal wash basin kept the water insulated, which kept you much warmer for longer.  It was pure bliss, steam slowly flowing through the air.  You could easily fall back into a nice sleep like this, but you could already hear Law’s disapproving voice in your ear advising you not to.  ‘Your skin will dry out and you’ll get sores and those will get infected,’ he’d probably say.  He was always so matter-of-fact when it came to anything medical, not that you could really blame him.

With a hum, you poured some of the body wash into your hands and scrubbed it along your body, inhaling the soothing scent that wafted through the steam.  Your boyfriend was really too good to you.  Most people would be revolted waking up to a blood stain from a period in their bed, but Law couldn’t be phased by anything.  It was nature, it was a fact of life.  He gave you no room to be embarrassed, which made you quickly shove down any shame you felt and replace it with relief and glee that you were lucky enough to end up with a man so understanding and empathetic in his own strange ways.

You didn’t know how much time passed, your eyes closed taking in all the warmth you could from the soothing bath, now accompanied by a lingering floral aroma in the air.  You jumped slightly at the sound of the narrow door swinging open with a creak, revealing the lanky form of Law with a brand new change of clothes in his hands.  Tucked in his arm with your clothes was a small box of tampons and a slightly larger plastic bag full of wrapped pads.

“I got them from the crew bathroom, I realized we ran out in here.”  He placed the items on the lid of the tiny toilet that occupied his private bathroom.  “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine, really, just a bit embarrassed still,” you replied.

Law nodded.  “I get it.”  He procured your previous pair of underwear from the pocket of his sweatpants.  With a smug grin, he held them up in his one hand, making the fabric sway back and forth in the air.  “Look, no stain.”

Your eyes widened.  They looked brand new.  “How did you do that?”

The raven-haired man simply shrugged, waggling his fingers on his free hand.  “Little devil fruit abuse.”

You groaned.  “You do too much!”

He shoved them back into his pocket.  “I think I do just enough.  But if you want to pay me back somehow, I wouldn’t say no.”  He flashed a coy wink toward you.

You cupped water in your hands and flung it at him, making him jump backward with a shout.  “You sly bastard!” you chided with a hearty laugh.

Law couldn’t fight his own chuckle that bubbled from his lungs as he perched on the edge of the tub, leaning his elbow on his knee as he dragged his lean fingers through your damp hair.  You leaned into his touch, warmth from the bath water as well as his tender caresses making the blood in your veins spark with boundless affection… until a hefty yawn forced its way out.

You pouted.  “You treat me so well, but you did wake me up.”

“Yeah?” your boyfriend added.

“I’m expecting you to let me sleep in tomorrow to make up for this.”

“No-can-do, sweetpea.  You’re on morning watch.”

You loved Law with every fiber of your being, you really did.

But you could not deny that his personal hygiene tended to lack, especially in times of high stress.  Typically he would just mask any lingering odor with some extra sprays of a mild cologne or an additional application of antiperspirant, but it would always get to a point where you would practically beg him for a good shower.  And if you didn’t, one of his other crew members certainly would.

The worst victim of his stress-induced musk, however, was his thick mop of black hair that he kept covered with his plush white cap all hours of the day.

Late one evening, deep below the surface of the ocean, Law sat at the Polar Tang’s communal dining table, sipping a cup of lukewarm black coffee and flipping through the recent issue of the World Government’s newspaper, discarding the fresh pile of wanted posters that didn’t concern him.  Down the table from him, Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo were intensely focused in a game of rummy.  Other members of the Heart Pirates milled about the ship, either preparing to tuck in for the night, fulfilling evening duties pertaining to the submarine’s upkeep, or simply lounging as their higher-ups currently did.

Clad in flannel pajamas, you rounded the corner into the galley and smiled upon seeing your beloved captain and first mates in a state of stress-free relaxation.  Law heard you enter and immediately flashed a small smile in your direction, setting his paper down.

“Hey, baby,” he said in a coarse, tired voice.

You smiled even wider, excited whenever he shoved aside his pride to address you with such pet names around his friends and crew.  “Hi, Law, hi Bepo and Shachi and Penguin,” you addressed the other three sitting at the end of the table.  Penguin simply nodded his head, lips held in a firm pout as he debated his hand compared to the cards already placed down on the table.

You took the open seat next to Law, reaching across him to grab the pile of wanted posters to flip through them.  Most were pirates you had never heard of, small-time rookies from the Grand Line or having just entered the New World.  Some were much more local, a new, substantial bounty from the West Blue being included in the stack.

“You always love looking through the posters every week,” Law simply stated through the rim of his coffee cup.

Flicking through the parchment you nodded in affirmation.  “I like seeing if anyone I know shows up!”

“She wants to see when she’ll get her own wanted poster,” elaborated Shachi, turning his attention away from their game.

You scoffed, but Law saw right through your futile attempt at deflection and uttered a hardy chuckle.  “You need to get yourself involved in more fights with the Marines for that to happen.”

You hunched your shoulders in defeat.  With a sudden switch to your sullen mood, you cocked a smirk and reached your hand upward, aiming towards the brim of Law’s fluffy white speckled hat.

“Maybe I can just trick the Marines with this,” you boasted, pulling the cap off of your boyfriend’s head freeing his unkempt black hair.  You were the only one, aside from Bepo, he allowed to touch his beloved hat.  He found you even more adorable when you wore it, but he’d never reveal that information toward you.

You held the brim in your hand and raised the object over your head to plop it on, but before it could make contact with your hair, you paused.  An offending odor intruded your nostrils.  You brought the underside of the hat towards your nose, taking an apprehensive sniff.  A foul, musky scent, somewhat salty and definitely humid, singed the fine hairs in your nose.  You yanked the hat away from your face with a groan.  

“Oh my god, Law!” you shouted, bewildered.

“What?” he asked plainly, completely confused at your sudden reaction.  

The three men at the end of the table had now completely forgotten their card game and instead turned their full attention on the two of you.

“Your hat smells disgusting, when’s the last time you even washed it?”  

Law drummed his fingers on the surface of the metal table.  “Uhm… probably a year or so ago?”

Down the table, Penguin released a harsh snort from his own nose.

“How often are you supposed to wash hats?  I didn’t even think they needed to be washed.”  Law felt himself grow slightly annoyed with the confrontation.  He grabbed his hat back from you and attempted to place it back on his head, but your hand latched onto his wrist while your other flew toward his hair.  

Your fingers threaded through his bangs and along his scalp.  You recoiled your appendage after only a few fleeting seconds, eyes wide and aghast.  “Your hair is so greasy, Law,” you said under your breath.  You knew you should probably have this conversation away from the prying ears of Law’s three best friends, but it couldn’t be helped at this point.

“So?  Hair sebum is natural,” he responded, finally being able to replace his hat.

“Yeah, but not that much,” you uttered back.  “You should wash your hair at least once a week to keep up on it.”

Law’s jaw clenched.  “I’m not stupid,” he said back, an annoyed venom on his tongue.

“Never said you are, but you really should wash your hair.”  You stood from your seat, grabbing the stack of wanted posters to bring with you to review in bed.  “Goodnight, guys, see you in the morning!”

The three stooges waved you a goodnight while Law simply scowled down at his newspaper, not reading any of the words.

“Has it really been that long since you’ve washed your hair?” Shachi asked.  “Even I'm not that bad.”

“Oh, stuff it.”  Law folded up the newsprint and left it on the table, trudging out of the galley with a grunt.

An hour or so had passed, and you were curled up on the plush cot you shared with Law, warm and cozy under the blankets.  You kept your eyes closed when you heard the door to the room open and then close slowly so as to not make much noise.  You felt the bed dip downward with the force of Law laying down.  He shuffled toward you, his chest against your back, wrapping his arms around your body and holding you tightly against him without a single word.  Cold, damp hairs tickled your neck, and a faint smell of lavender and honey filled your senses.  You smiled in the dark.

Law’s hands were littered with deep scars and rough calluses.  The pads of his lean fingers were hardened, barely there fingerprints left on the pages of his books.  His palms were cold, thick skin keeping the warmth out.  His tattoos only seemed to heighten the poor image of his hands, the black-inked word of “DEATH” spread out on his fingers.  The cold man had no positive feelings regarding his hands.  While they could give life, they also took it away.  His hands caused loss more than they granted the privilege of a heart beat.  Cold as ice and hard as stone.

But you nestled your cheek into his hand like a warm, downy blanket.

You entwined your fingers with his, stroking the side of his hand with your thumb, filling his chest with a tachycardia.  You would always laugh at the way blood rushed to his cheeks.

Your hands guided his own to your body, across your neck, shoulders, down to your collarbones, along your breasts, trailing fleeting patterns down your sides like electric shocks.  Your eyes closed in bliss as he embraced you, mouth parted with a content smile.

One day, Law finally thought to ask you.

“Why do you like my hands so much?”

His voice was more stern than he wanted it to be, but you showed no change in your calm demeanor as you turned your head towards him, a smile growing on your lips.  “You’re always so gentle with me.  Your hands feel so nice.”

Your simple response made Law’s brain brownout.  His eyes widened the tiniest amount, and you covered your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle your laugh.

“Is it really so surprising?” you added.

Law shook his head, snapping out of it.  “No, I suppose not.”

The way his eyebrows furrowed in his ever-permanent pouting expression gave you all the answers you needed.  You stood from your seat and paced your way toward the man, putting a tender hand on his shoulder as you leaned forward to peck a sweet kiss to the side of his scruffy cheek.  

“I know you don’t feel the way I do,” you whispered, reaching your other hand downward to ghost your fingers across the tattoo on the back of his hand that rested on an open journal of notes.  “But I really do love your hands.  They bring life.  They’re warm and gentle.”  Your fingers made their way under Law’s palm, encouraging him to flip his hand over so you could trail the pads of your fingers across his calloused distal palmar.  “They’re also rough, like a fortress.  Like a shelter.  And I love that.”

Law couldn’t see your face from behind him, but he could hear the bright smile you adorned through your tone of voice.

“Never heard of them referred to as a ‘fortress,’” he responded to you, voice low and apprehensive as he watched your fingers dance across his own upturned ones.

“They’re my fortress,” you stated.  “I love when you hold me.”

He simply chuckled.  “You’re too cheesy for your own good.”

You retracted your hand from his, instead wrapping both your arms around his shoulders, leaning your head into his plush hat.  “You love it when I’m cheesy.”

Law snorted at his phone before shoving it back into the pocket of his baggy sweatshirt, trying to turn his focus back to his anatomy textbook in preparation for an upcoming exam.  It was quite hard to fully turn his mind off, however.

A rumor had started circulating around the small college campus by a certain girl, peeved at how ‘Her date ended in a complete disaster!  She walked in on him making out with another woman!  He led her on!  He’s such a scumbag!’  Given this girl’s reputation as a fairly popular figure, the accusations were quickly pointed at Law.  Not like his friends helped to bail him out in the slightest.  Though, she failed to mention many important details, such as the fact that they were in a public bookstore, the fact that she spent the better part of three hours insulting everything about Law’s personality and interests, and had made him pay for her overpriced lunch with his already feeble college income.  Not like her expansive social circle would care about Law’s point of view, anyway.

Oh well.  It certainly could’ve been worse.

And besides, the girl Law did end up dating as a result of his disaster outing ended up being the best thing to ever happen to him, and it had only been about a month.

She was quick on her feet, dedicated and committed to her friends, hobbies, and work.  She was as intelligent as she was witty, sensitive and empathetic, the kind of girl who would help elderly folk cross a busy street… and then bash a dent into the side of a pompous asshole’s overpriced SUV for not stopping while she helped the elders.  And it was true that she attended the same college as Law.  She was even in one of his general education lectures, but the class attendance was so large that she had never stuck out to him.

Until now, of course.

Now, he turned heads by making a beeline toward her at the start of every lecture, the girl moving her bag to the side to free up the seat she had been clearly saving for him.  He dutifully took notes on PowerPoint slides that had no relevance to his future as a cardiopulmonary surgeon while she whittled away the monotonous hours playing Minesweeper on her laptop.  But she was the one who would lend him the required reading for the class, Law being too frugal to pay for his textbooks himself and instead choosing to coin them off of others, or straight up pirate them.

They seemed like a match made in heaven.

“And I’m Dr. Heart Stealer’s girlfriend,” she boasted to nobody but Law while taking a bite out of her deli sandwich in the cafeteria.  “If I ever see that girl on campus again, I hope you dip me super far down and make out with me sloppy style.”

Law nearly choked on the potato chip in his mouth.  “Never say that ever again.”

“What, you don’t want to make out with me?” she asked, feigning offense, clearly knowing that he was more concerned about the other part of her sentence.

“No, I want to make out with you.  But if you ever say ‘sloppy style’ to my face ever again I’m getting a restraining order.”  The look in his eyes told her that he was serious, but the smirk on his lips proved otherwise.

“And Dr. Heart Stealer claims another victim,” she sighed woefully.

Law flicked a chip crumb from his hand toward her, laughing under his breath as it bounced off of her forehead.  A surprised giggle left her throat as she pretended to scoff at him.  She swallowed a witty comment with a hefty bite of her sandwich.

“I’m too hungry to keep bickering with you,” she muttered with her mouth full.

“There’ll be plenty more time for that,” Law countered, smiling into the back of his tattooed hand.  A chime sounded on his phone, causing him to pull the device from his pocket.

“Time to go?” she asked, wrapping up her unfinished sandwich in the aluminum foil it had come in.

“Unfortunately,” Law groaned.  “I have another exam this afternoon.”

“You’re going to become the world’s greatest surgeon with the amount of tests they make you take as an undergrad,” she added, packing up her things and watching with bright eyes as Law did as well.  “If I ever have a severe heart condition, I’d want you to give me a transplant.”

‘There’d probably be conflict of interest about a surgeon operating on his wife,’ he thought, before quickly scrambling his thoughts.  His cheeks flushed with a deep red hue.

“Hey, what about that was so crazy?!” she demanded with a laugh.  “Why are you blushing?”

She slipped her hand into his, noting his quiet mumble in response, as they proceeded out of the dining hall and into the chill air of early autumn.  She shivered and pulled the collar of her coat tighter around her neck with her free hand.  “I don’t know how you can stay so warm dressed in so little,” she sighed.

“When you’re raised in the North Blue, you get used to the cold,” he stated back.

“Us South Blue folk don’t have it so easy, but you’d probably melt instantly in our summers,” she replied with a laugh.

“I don’t know how to swim, either, so that would definitely suck.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she demanded, whirling around to face Law and cutting off his walking path.  “You don’t know how to swim?!”

“Nope,” he responded, accentuating the P sound with his lips.  “My dad likes to joke that I’m cursed or something.  When I get in the water, I just sink.”

“I’ll teach you how to swim,” she boasted reassuringly.  “I only ever float.”

Law glanced down at her chest for a brief second, then back up to her eyes.  She smirked at him.

“Saw that.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

Instead of continuing the endless cycle of denial, Law simply laughed, snatching her hand back into his and dragging her to her own dorm building so they could depart and he could take his last exam of the day.

“Want me to get anything while you’re hunched over some paper?” she asked.

“Some popcorn would be nice,” he answered.

“And a movie?  We can watch that new crappy B-rank film that just came out LineTube.”

Law answered her last question by placing a warm, slightly chapped kiss against her lips.  “A movie sounds fantastic, baby.”

With a wide smile and sparkling eyes, she nodded and darted back into her building, adrenaline coursing through her veins as a result of his sudden, fiery kiss.  Law chuckled as he watched her round the corner into the building, shouldering his backpack and proceeding toward his lecture hall.

He never thought he could ever have this much fun in a relationship, especially not a romantic one.  He shouldn’t have doubted this girl in the first place though, not with the way she gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a breathtaking kiss and public display of completely fake rom-com style betrayal in order to bail him out of a shitty date.  She had been nothing but a light in his otherwise boring life in the month that had passed.  No longer did Law wake up just to go to class, study, eat, and study some more.  Now his daylight hours were spent hanging out with this gorgeous, hilarious and impactful girl who liked to spurt out facts about insects just as much as he liked to indulge in graphic descriptions of open heart surgery.  And studying, obviously.

His best friends loved making fun of him for it, but he could see it in their eyes just how much they loved her too.  Having her around encouraged Law to go out more often, visit his friends’ apartments, go out to bars and restaurants, or take spontaneous drives around town at night.  He was like an entirely new person.  Still broody and short-tempered, but far more understanding and even somewhat outgoing, more than he had ever been before.

PLAY IT SAFE!  USE PROTECTION!

Law stared blankly at the bowl of condoms situated outside the student activities office.  A tiny index card placed beneath the pink plastic bin said they were free to take, but the biology undergrad felt beyond awkward reaching into the bowl to grab a few.  Would he even need them?  Everything had been going so well with you that he was worried he was going to jynx himself with every tiny action and idea.  For the first time in his life, he found something he truly, desperately wanted to hold onto.  He had fallen in love… and fallen hard.

Biting back his growing anxiety, and ignoring the off-put stares from students walking by, Law reached into the bowl, grabbed three wrapped condoms, and frantically stuffed them into the pocket of his baggy cargo pants.  He briskly trudged out of the building and began his walk through the brisk winter air across the campus to the dining hall where you promised to meet him.  A light snow was floating through the air, coating the frozen ground with powdery white that crunched beneath his shoes, the salted pavement of the walkways helping with traction.  His heart hammered at the mere thought of seeing you again- you had been so busy with final exams that the two of you had barely been able to spend time together, the pressure mounting even higher as the two of you wrapped up your third year as undergrads.  And although you were only officially dating for about three months, Law was endlessly looking forward to the next time he got to see you.

And he was really counting his blessings.  For the entire two months of winter break, you were staying together in his single dorm on campus.  He didn’t have much of a home to return to, usually choosing to stay with Shachi and Penguin.  You chose not to return home, finding distress in your family life.  And besides, who wouldn’t want to spend the winter cuddling under fluffy blankets with an adorable, nerdy med student?

Law pushed through the doors of the dining hall and proceeded into the expanse of tables and chairs, the same dining hall where he first found his heart racing at the sight of you.  The circumstances recently had been far nicer though, and it turned out his chronic resting-bitch face made for a pretty good bodyguard-type vibe, exactly what you needed to feel safe walking around the open campus of North Blue University.  You were hunched over one of the small tables in the back of the cafeteria, your chin resting against your fist as you flipped through a comic magazine, one that Law had leant you a week prior.  The bio student felt his lips pull into a small smile at the sight.

Sensing his approach, you picked your head up, a broad grin immediately appearing on your face as you stood from your chair and engulfed him in a hug.  A baggy crew-neck sweater adorned with the university’s logo enveloped you, your lavender and vanilla perfume wafting around Law in serene waves.  While he wasn’t ever a fan of PDA, there were so few people in the dining hall that he felt comfortable placing his hands on your waist and dipping you back just enough to reach the soft skin of your neck, peppering a smattering of kisses over your skin before releasing you.  Your bright, airy chuckles made his stomach twist with nervous butterflies.  The condoms in his pants pocket felt like they were lava, oozing and searing through the fabric.

“How was your last final?” you asked excitedly, pulling away from him to gather your things from the table.  You closed the magazine and held it toward him, Law happily accepting it back and tucking it into his backpack.

“It went well, I think.  I’ve never been great with language classes, though,” he muttered back, awkwardly rubbing his neck where the short black hairs reached the top of his spinal cord.

You grinned, almost blinding the man, slinging your own bag over your shoulder and grabbing his hand in yours.  Your fingers intertwined seamlessly.  “I’m sure you did absolutely amazing, you ace every single class you take.”

“I appreciate it,” Law replied, his voice low as he smiled at you, your eyes creased as they adjusted to the outside light.  “How were your’s?”

As quickly as your face beamed upon seeing your boyfriend, it morphed into a disinterested scowl.  “Language was fine.  Math on the other hand…”

“I thought it was an open note exam,” he inquired.

“It was.  The bastard TA decided last minute to make it closed-book.  Didn’t tell anyone until today, when the exam started.”  You were grumbling, stuffing your free hand into the pocket of your coat.  “I swear, the dude sitting next to me looked ready to end it all.  I might have too, but I have too much to look forward to.”

Law’s chest panged.  He knew it was a simple joke, but ever since forming your relationship, seeing you in any state other than happy and content was a health hazard for him.  He squeezed your hand, keeping the skin of your palm warm.  “I’m sure you did fine.  You tried your best, at least.”

“True, that’s all you can ask for, really.”  You stifled a yawn.  “Trying my best.”

The black-haired man’s heart raced more and more while approaching the door to his dorm building with you in tow, the three metallic-wrapped items in his pocket growing more and more scorching the closer he got to his room.  He was convinced he might pass out.  He was wildly regretting the choice to grab them, worried that you would get the wrong idea if you saw them, thinking he’d be pressuring you into something you weren’t ready for, thinking that this entire two-month relationship was nothing more than–

“Law?”

Your delicate voice broke him from his anxious spiral.  When did the two of you get into the elevator?

You were staring up at him, large eyes creased in concern.  “You look really nervous.  Are you alright?”

He gulped.  “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?  I can just go back to my own room if you’re suddenly not feeling well, I still have some things I have to pack up,” you offered.

Law’s hand was growing clammy in yours.  He prayed you couldn’t tell.  “No, you can stay.  I’m fine.”

Your own hand flexed in his, and while you turned your gaze away from him, you didn’t seem convinced at his answer.

One thing Law still struggled with, and something that he would probably always struggle with, was facing his emotions head on.  The last thing he wanted to admit out loud was the fact that he had grabbed three condoms from the student activities bowl with the hopes that two months of living in a small room with you would mean a potential score.  He didn’t even know if they would fit.  Were condoms one-size-fits-all?  He had no idea.  He’d never had sex before.

The low beep of the elevator’s button panel signaling their destination shook him once again from his own mind.  You losened your grip on his hand, worried that it was you who was the cause of his sudden nervous demeanor.

“Hey, Law,” you whispered, the quiet hallway absorbing your voice.  You stopped him in front of the elevator as it closed, standing directly in front of him to capture his eyes with your own.  “Take a deep breath with me, alright?”

You slowly inhaled through your nose, feeling how your ribs expanded ever so slightly as your lungs swelled with the warm air of the dorm building.  Law followed your lead, sucking in oxygen through his nose.  You had some sort of supernatural ability to make him feel better instantly, better than any form of medication or clinical treatment.  His shoulders relaxed as he exhaled with you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be,” you replied, a small smile on your lips.  You stepped closer to him, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth.  “I just want you to know that you can talk to me if something’s bothering you.”

Law swallowed another thick glob of spit down his esophagus before mustering a weak nod.  “I know.”

Footsteps down the hallway sparked a fire under Law’s feet, quickly dragging you to his door as innocuous as he could, jamming the key into the bolt and clicking open the lock.  He pushed the wooden barrier open with his hand and ushered you inside as you giggled over his frantic movements, not wanting to be seen by any potential bystanders.  Choosing to ignore any playful comments about his shyness, you instead kicked off your shoes and shrugged off your coat, making a beeline to Law’s single twin-sized bed and flopping onto the surprisingly plush comforter that covered his mattress.  As clinical and stoic as Law was, he had an absolutely adorable bedspread.  A simple blue comforter with an ocean wave pattern on it, plain white sheets, three pillows, and a large stuffed animal of a polar bear, which wore a peculiar orange shirt with a strange symbol embroidered on the front.  Everything was wrapped in Law’s scent, that familiar comfort of cedar and lemongrass.

Law chuckled, deep and husky, at the sight of you immediately wrapping yourself in one of the throw blankets situated at the foot of his bed.  “Comfy?”

You hummed in response, flopping onto his pillows and curling up under the throw, hiding your face and taking a deep inhale of the laundry detergent he used.  You might have fantasized about sharing a bed with him for the rest of your life, but he didn’t need to know that.  At least, not yet.

You peeked out from under the blanket as Law milled around his room, neatly situating your bag on the ground next to his, an action which made your heart flutter.  After only three months of steady dating, the two of you had already fallen into a routine when visiting your individual rooms, as if you had been together for an eternity.  Life with Law came so natural, despite the rocky start the two of you had upon first meeting.  The Law from the study room almost five months ago was a completely different man compared to the one nearly folding his clothing and organizing his desk to prepare for your stay, humming a small song under his breath.  He had reserved the top drawer of his wooden wardrobe for your clothing, the few sets of pajamas and day clothes that he wanted to keep in his room for when you spent the night.  (He had a few sets in your room, too.)

Deep in the crevices of your mind, you wondered what married life with him could be like.  He’d probably be just as domestic, if not more so.  He’d probably make such a great father…

“Hey,” he spoke, shaking you from your own trance.  The two of you were one in the same.  “Tired?”

“Nah,” you responded, sitting up slightly, letting the blanket fall around your abdomen.  “Just watching you like a creep.”

The laugh that left his lungs shook your ribcage, a heat fluttering through your veins.  “Do you wanna get changed?” he asked, pulling open the drawer below the one he reserved for you.

You swung your legs off the side of his bed, eager to get into cozier clothing.  “Obviously.”

Neither of you had seen the other naked.  Instead, you changed with your backs to each other, heads down, only turning around when the other gave permission to do so.  It was… comforting.  You assumed your stance behind Law with your back to him, quickly shedding your shirt, followed by your bra.  The sound of rustling clothes behind you signaled that Law was doing the same.  You had just pulled an oversized t-shirt over your head when you heard a few small paps on the floor, and a panicked, ‘Shit,’ from Law.

Not thinking, you turned around to look at what happened.

Three condoms lie on the floor next to his pants, Law frantically fumbling to scoop them off the ground.  He had forgotten to take them out of his pocket and stash them in his desk.  The force of him removing his baggy cargo pants pushed them up and out of the open pocket.

You quickly turned your back to him once again, your face flushed with heat, eyes wide.  It was too late, though.  He knew you saw.

“I…” he muttered, rapidly finishing changing and shoving the three metallic-wrapped packs into his desk drawer.  He was flustered, stuttering over his words.  He stumbled between muttering frantic apologies and explaining himself when you finally turned around.  His face was flushed a deep crimson as his golden eyes scanned your face for any form of discomfort or distrust.

“Were those for… me?” you asked, voice soft, apprehensive.

“No– I mean…” Law’s jaw snapped shut.  “Th… They were.  But only if you, you know– wanted to.  Or… fuck.”  He desperately searched for any appropriate explanation, terrified at the mere prospect of potentially driving you away from him, after he had come so far.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest at the thought.  On shaky legs, you approached the panicked man, gently grabbing his shoulders and grounding him.  “Hey, Law… breathe.”

He nervously licked his chapped lips, drawing a shaky inhale through his nose.  His eyes were clenched shut, too ashamed to look at you.  Your chest ached.

“Can we sit down?” you asked carefully, your hands trailing down his arms to grab his hands.  His fingers twitched at the contact, but he reciprocated your grasp.

You maneuvered yourself across the room, crawling back onto his bed and wrapping yourself in his blanket.  Law stayed seated on the very edge of the mattress, his feet dangling a few inches off the ground from his lifted bed frame.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, hanging his head.  His fluffy black hair shielded his eyes from your view.

“Please, don’t be,” you pleaded, scooting up behind him and resting your forehead against his vertebrae.  “It’s really alright.  I was just… surprised.  But flattered.”

Law slowly loosened his muscles.  He hadn’t expected ‘flattered’ to be the term to use.  “Really…?”

“I mean… yeah,” you replied.  “I’m surprised that you’d want that from me.”

The man’s stomach flipped.  He carefully turned around to face you, picking his legs up to sit more comfortably on his mattress.  “Why would you be surprised about that?”

The way you pursed your lips at his question made a million more concerns run through his mind.  You quickly shook your head back and forth.  “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

Law kept his gaze on you solid as your eyes darted between his wall, his hands, his blanket.  You nervously fiddled with your cuticles.  “The only time I’ve ever had sex with anyone, I bled for, like… three days.  And it hurt.  A lot.”

The man’s jaw clenched.

“I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt him, so I just kinda let it happen.  But ever since then I’ve been…” you swallowed.  “Scared.  Like… I’m worried I’m broken.”

He wanted to slaughter the man who hadn’t noticed your pain, no matter how long ago the incident was.  The look on your face told him that it still cut you deep despite your calm tone.  Law leaned toward you, concern heavy on his face.  “Did you speak to a doctor about that?”

You nodded.  “Only once.  My old gynecologist as a teenager suggested it could be anything.  He was like, ‘It could be absolutely nothing, or you might have endometriosis.  But you’re so young, so it’s probably nothing.’  So to deal with it I just never got close to a guy since then.”

The black-haired man rolled his eyes.  “That doctor sucked.”

This made a small laugh burst from your lungs.  “He did suck.”  After a few brief moments, you finally made steady eye contact with your boyfriend across from you.  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“What?  No,” he blurted, waving his hands in the air.  “You didn’t disappoint me, you could never disappoint me.  If anything… I’m happy you trust me enough to share that.  I’ve…”  His voice trailed off.

You anxiously waited for his next words.

“I’ve never had sex before.  With anyone.  So all of this is still pretty foreign to me, too.”

A strange sense of relief filled your chest.  “Really?”

Law felt a tiny smirk twitch onto his lips.  “Does that surprise you?”

“A little, yeah.”  You were visibly loosening up, once again growing comfortable where you sat across from him on his bed.  “I mean, you’re crazy hot.”

Even more blood rushed to his cheeks making him feel warm from the crown of his head to the heels of his feet.  “If it helps… you are, too.  That’s… uhm… why I got those.”  He gestured with his head to his desk drawer.

You hid your face in his blanket, embarrassment pulsing through your blood with each rapid beat of your flustered heart.  “This makes me feel even more bad for being so scared.”

Law ghosted his hand over your shoulder, pulling you out of your slouch.  You reminded him of an armadillo in a way, curling up into a little ball to protect yourself from danger.  His mind flashed back to the movie night your friends had some months prior, when he found you behind the building with your head on your knees.  “Never feel bad, I’m serious.”  His voice was firm yet soft, revealing his intentions to make you feel as safe and protected as he could.  “I don’t care if we never have sex at all, or if it takes a long time.  I really don’t care.  As long as you’re… okay.  Healthy.”

You apprehensively peeked out from the blanket once more.  “Really…?”

“Really.”

The man bit down his surprise as light tears welled in the corners of your eyes.  You shuffled across the bed, closing the gap in between your bodies and wrapping him into a strong hug, the blanket shrouding his body as the two of you fell backwards onto his pillows.  You buried your head into his neck as his arms came to rest against the small of your back, holding you securely against him.  He could feel you grinning into him, tiny trickles of hot tears falling down the skin of your cheeks.

“I genuinely think you’re the best man I’ve ever met,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against the cotton of his shirt.

“I’m just sorry you’ve had such bad experiences,” he uttered back, staring at the ceiling as he held you against him.

“Don’t get rid of the condoms,” you sighed.  “I have a feeling we’ll need them eventually.”

Law grinned, squeezing your form in his secure arms.  “On your own time.”