#(completed requests)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think due to him being like… super-human, he cums in huge amounts. Thick and heavy (but healthy!) loads every time. I also feel like it would be extremely easy to be impregnated by him for the same reasons. 

Another thought… he’s probably embarrassed by it at first, but he loves cumming inside of you. He’s open to cumming elsewhere on you, but only if you ask him- as he doesn’t like the mess of it (that’s not to say he wouldn’t clean it up for you. Although he may make you help him clean by making you eat it if he’s in the mood for that). 

However, post-Nibelheim Sephiroth would refuse to cum anywhere but inside of you. His seed belongs in your womb, and nowhere else.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Sephiroth would have a huge kink for sucking on your breasts, but is super shy about it. It probably comes from his lack of a mother. But Sephiroth just finds a lot of comfort in holding you tightly while feeding on your nipples, even if nothing’s coming out of them (although if you do end up lactating… he’d be more than happy to “help” with pumping). He also likes gently biting the soft flesh of your breasts too, or squishing one in his hand while he nurses on the other. And he especially loves it when you play with his cock while he feeds.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Sephiroth is the biggest virgin ever, and nothing will ever change my mind. By the time he was given more freedom in life, he had no interest in seeking out any type of relationship, especially not random hookups (also probably due to his insane fans, he really wants privacy). That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t want a romantic relationship with you, he just doesn’t seek it out on purpose. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where he can hold you tightly, faced towards him. He likes looking into your eyes and pressing his forehead against yours while he makes love to you; he’s just really intimate about it, being so vulnerable and connected with you.

To post-Nibelheim Sephiroth, it’s the same position but there’s another reason he likes it on top of the previous one. He feels like he’s trapping you, his pretty prey. Like he’s refusing to give you an escape from his love. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I’d say he’s more serious. Of course, he’d probably tease you a little bit, depending on the mood he’s in, but he isn’t like… going to do anything weird or gross to see if you’ll laugh. Overall, I think he’s more romantic about it, as he’s very serious about his love for you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Considering that the rest of him is completely bare of body hair, I doubt that he’d have anything down there either. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s incredibly intimate during the moment. Like I said before, he’s very serious about his love for you. Definitely will tell you (even if it’s just whispers or grunts into your skin) how much he loves you during sex. He’s also very into hand-holding. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Tends not to, as he doesn’t really feel the urge to do it. I can see him doing it out of desperation either before reaching that point in your relationship or if he’s seriously pining/in love with you but too afraid to confess. And even when he’s away on long missions, he more than likely won’t do it, unless if you give him a good reason to (maybe one time you called him late at night during a mission where he was away for a week, and he couldn’t resist your sweet, sultry voice telling him how much you needed him). Also, as for another secret of his: if he ever does masturbate, he likes to use your panties on his cock.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding and/or pregnancy kink. He’s obsessed with the idea of breeding you. Again, it probably stems from the lack of having his mother in his life- but knowing he can make you into one? Just the thought of stuffing you full of his cum repeatedly, ensuring you’ll be properly bred by the end of it is enough to make him painfully hard. It takes him a while to admit this, but once he does, breeding you becomes one of his favorite things about sex.

Post-Nibelheim Seph is a lot more open about this, though. It’s your duty to help him create an heir to the planet that you’ll rule alongside him, after all.

And if you do end up pregnant, he’d be all over you the entire time. Something about your swollen belly turns him on way more than anything else ever has. He’s extra gentle with you, though. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Mostly, he likes to keep this stuff in the bedroom. It’s where he’s most comfortable and can be most vulnerable. Or in the bathroom/shower. But he’s certainly not into doing it anywhere where you might get caught, since he’s a very private/reserved person. 

Although post-Nibelheim Seph would probably be more open to semi-public sex, but only in secretive/hidden ways. Like toying with you through your clothes, before leaving you dripping and desperate for more.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

His biggest motivator is just how deeply in love he is with you. Especially if he’s been away for a while. He always becomes a lot more attached to you after being apart for so long, finding that holding you while being inside of you is very comforting. He loves cockwarming.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s definitely not into “sharing” you or even himself with anyone else. Again, Sephiroth’s a very private person, and he absolutely is keeping his sex life completely private. This is probably due to him growing up in a lab and having no privacy until he was older, which… I’ll leave it at that (since this is a horny post and not a sad post).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s open to giving or receiving. Obviously, with his lack of experience, he needs help in learning how to properly use his tongue/mouth on you, but Sephiroth is a fast learner and quickly picks up on what makes you feel good. For example- he realizes that when he sucks on your clit, you shake and nearly cum from that alone. Once he realizes this, your poor clit is going to be swollen for a while. ALSO: I cannot get the image of him having to tie his hair back before giving head out of my mind.

When receiving, I feel like he’d become pretty submissive/whiney? He tries so hard not to thrust into your mouth, clenching his eyes shut and gripping at whatever he can with his hands. But the second he looks down at you, swallowing him whole? It would become very difficult to not spill all of his cum into your mouth. Although; if he’s feeling “mean” (or just post-Nibelheim in general), he’s definitely going to grab your hair and fuck into your mouth. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I feel like depending on the mood, he’d lose himself in you and start slamming his full length into you desperately without even realizing it. Especially considering how he’s basically super-human… you’ve basically got your own fuck-machine, if that’s what you want him to do lol. But he’s also very loving, and likes taking his time making you feel good. So really, either one. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Doesn’t like these as much considering that he wants to take care of you afterwards. But, I think he’d prefer it over masturbating. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Depends on the kind of risk, really. He’s pretty open to trying whatever you want, as long as it doesn’t break any boundaries (like hurting you (for sane Seph at least) or sharing you). 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Sephiroth can go on just about forever if he really wanted to. But that’s if he’s well-rested and isn’t super busy with SOLDIER duties. And I feel like he’d last a decent amount of time. He certainly won’t stop until you’re satisfied, at the very least. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I feel like he doesn’t see the need for them. But if you wanted them, he’d be open to it, although it’s not something he brings up on his own.

However I feel like he’d really enjoy using one of those extra long tentacle toys on you. Probably because of his alien DNA instincts lol. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Depends on his mood. A lot of the time, he likes to be sweet and intimate with you, but if the situation calls for it, he can be pretty unfair and tease you endlessly. But again, only if you want him to be unfair. 

Post-Nibelheim Seph can be very unfair, whether you like it or not.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I think he’d be really good at controlling how loud he is. Definitely isn’t the type to be overly loud, and would probably hate most dirty-talk. Sephiroth is more about telling you how much he loves you and how good you make him feel. Also, I love the idea of him whimpering/softly moaning. But it’s a quietier noise, one that only you get to hear.

Post-Nibelheim Seph would make the same noises, but would talk more, I think. Still wouldn’t be into the generic dirty-talk, but would talk more about how good you look under him, how it’s your destiny to make him an heir and/or be his, etc. Except he wouldn’t use that (imo gross) controlling, “daddy” type of voice, but instead that sensual, calm tone he’s always using. (His entire dialogue in the beginning of Remake makes me so horny for him and that’s what I’m basing this on).

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I think he’d be into fucking you in front of a mirror. He likes seeing his cock nearly split you apart, and gets more pleasure out of knowing you can see it too. Post-Nibelheim Sephiroth would be super into this, and would like holding your face in a way that ensures you’re watching the entire time.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Considering how tall he is, he’s definitely pretty big. I can’t really give an exact length or anything since I’m completely inexperienced in anything (aside from writing) about sex, but I think he’d be long and thick, but not in a gross way (although it’s probably big enough that it’s uncomfortable at first. But not always). And at the same time, I just know that Sephiroth has a pretty cock. It’s as pale as the rest of his skin, and the tip is a nice pretty red shade, similar to his lips. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Before meeting you, he pretty much never felt the need/desire to have sex. Afterwards though, he’d probably be able to go at whatever pace you want. As for himself, every couple of weeks is probably satisfying enough, unless he's been away on an extended mission.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

No matter how tired he is, Sephiroth will always wait for you to fall asleep first. He feels the need to protect and take care of you, so he’ll hold you until he can feel/see that you’re resting peacefully. Only then will he allow himself to fall asleep. However, if he’s having a rough time (due to work or trauma or whatever else), he likes falling asleep in your arms, holding you as tightly as you can. He finds it very comforting.

When George notices what you're wearing, he suddenly falls silent, eyes widening at the sight before him. It's not sexy exactly, at least it wouldn't be if it was hung up somewhere, George wouldn't have even noticed it usually; but on your body, the way it clung to your curves, highlighting the places on your body that George loved the most (not that there were any that he didn't). George felt like he was drooling at the sight and had to discreetly wipe his chin to check when you weren't looking, feigning a nose scratch as he watched you bend down slightly to mess with the muggle tv ahead of the movie you were showing him for the first time. He can't look away, transfixed upon the curve of your bum, deliciously round and illuminated by the colourful pattern of your pyjamas, his eyes naturally drawn to the print. He clears his throat, forcing himself to look away, trying to focus on anything else in the room in the hopes it would hold his attention.

"George?

Your voice calls out to him and he turns his head to look back at you, throat forcing down a swallow as he looks upon your body, this time from the front. Your nipples are hard, now more noticeable than ever since the removal of your bra, breasts swishing at you move. George is completely transfixed, hardly able to string two words together in reply to you.

"I said do you need anything before I sit down?"

"No Angel, got everything I need right here," he says with a grin, arms reaching out to you with little grabby hands that insist on you coming to him right away. You laugh and let out a little squeal as he hoists you up onto the bed, positioning you between his thighs and gently urging you back to lay your head in his chest as he pulls the duvet over both of you. His chin tucks neatly on top of your head, always the perfect fit, as his arms snake around your waist so that he's holding you securely. The heat from his body radiates through your back, soothing you and relaxing you all in one. You realise with a great sense of contentment that there's nowhere you'd rather be than right here.

The film begins to play and you can't help but babble excitedly about how this was your favourite muggle Christmas film, the one that officially started your Christmas viewing every year and how you were so excited to show him all of your favourites in the years to come, if you didn't manage to squeeze them all into this particular festive season.

George is half listening, never one to drown out someone speaking so passionately about their interests, especially not his girl, but he's finding himself at increasingly distracted by your body laying between his legs. It's a wonder that you haven't noticed the prominent bulge rubbing against your lower back, especially with the way that it keeps twitching as if trying to seek out more contact, the blood in George's body racing to that one spot so quickly that he's almost dizzy.

Your legs are smooth and soft against his, just as silky as the lingerie you'd worn on your anniversary, the thought of those little panties never far from George's mind. Your chest rises and falls with every steady breath and he's helpless to look away from your breasts having the perfect view from his vantage point above you as he can stare right down into the delicious slope of your cleavage.

It's instinctual, primal almost as his arms unfurl from around you to stroke the smooth skin of your thighs. You shift a little on the spot, eyes still focused upon the television though George sees the way you lean into his touch, silently asking for more. His left hand slips along the exposed skin of your stomach before reaching up to cup your breasts. Your nipples are already pebbled and George's lips upturn into a smirk, his teeth dragging the skin of his bottom lip into his mouth just slightly as he watches the way your breasts fill his palms. His right hand slips towards the edge of your little shorts, toying with the fabric that lays dangerously close to your outer lips of your pussy, his fingers sliding down to your bikini line. Your hips rise slightly, silently beckoning him as your head raises slightly, allowing him unobstructed access to your neck.  His lips ghost against the skin of your neck and he smirks incessantly again when he feels you shiver slightly in his hold, goosebumps rising on your skin.

It's more erotic than it's ever felt, the sensuality of his touch so innocently arousing, like the days when you had to be quiet sneaking around in George's bedroom at the Burrow.

"Can I touch this perfect pussy Angel?" George coos into your ear, his fingers slipping just underneath the material of your shorts but still staying respectful as he awaits your answer.

"Please Georgie," you say breathlessly, opening your legs further for him, your arousal undeniable.

Instead of his fingers slipping out and down into the waistband of your shorts as you'd predicted, his fingers slip underneath the sides of your shorts, the thin material barely concealing your pussy.

You gasp as his fingers brush the smooth outer lips of your pussy, his touch featherlight and teasing as he traces the outline of you. Your hips move on their own accord, trying to prompt him to touch you more intimately, to stop teasing. His fingers suddenly pull open your outer lips and slip towards your little hole, long and deft fingers now tracing your inner lips and smearing the juices he finds there. One long digit draws up your wetness, tracing the seam of your cunt until he finds the sensitive nub at the core of your pleasure. Your head falls back onto his shoulder as his left hand squeezes your breast through the thin top in perfect timing with his ministrations, finger circling both your nipple and your clit in sync. He presses long and delicate kisses to your neck as his fingers play with you perfectly like a musician that had perfected their craft. You're writhing in delight, gasping out his name like it's the only thing you can remember.

Your chest heaves against the material confines of your top and he's quick to rectify that, lifting the flimsy material over the curve of your breasts, leaving you exposed to both his eyes and the chill of the room around you.

"You're so beautiful my Angel," he coos in your ear, the very tip of his index finger gently flicking the top of your clit, making you cry out at the sensation. He's soft and gentle but always with the tense of teasing, always wanting to hold back from the most obvious route to extend your pleasure. You can feel his erection pressed into your back, the wordless need conveyed so effortlessly that it makes you run up against it, wanting him to feel even a hint of the pleasure he was giving you.

"This is for you sweetheart, don't think of me right now, just enjoy it."

It's unbelievable that he could even conceive that you could think of anything else other than him in that moment, his fingers working over your most sensitive part so beautifully with the expertise of a man just like him that had been fucking your good for years. He knows exactly where you need him, your favourite spots, the ones that draw those long and bliss filled moans from your lips, the ones that make you cry out his name like a prayer and most notably the ones that catapult you to your edge in mere seconds.

"I love you so much," he whispers, fingers now circling the top of your clit in perfect rhythms, just beneath the hood in a steady rhythm that he knows you enjoy the most. You can't sit still, writhing under his touch, legs opening and closing as if simultaneously denying and accepting the pleasure bestowed upon you. His hands feel like pure magic on your body and you find yourself holding off your orgasm just for the chance of more.

When his fingers pull away from your skin you let out a low whine as you reach out for him in desperation for him to continue. You feel his chuckle, the vibrations passing between your bodies where you rest on him.

"Do you want my cock sweetheart? You've been so good."

"Please Georgie," you say breathlessly, trying to turn your head towards him but failing, the height difference not allowing you to see his face.

"I have an early Christmas present for you Angel. Take off your shorts," he gently commands before adding, "and that little top, I want to see every beautiful inch of your body on me."

You do as he asks in seconds. Even using magic couldn't have made your clothes disappear faster as you eagerly await the gift of George's cock, knowing that it had been the best gift you'd ever received years prior.

"Face away from me, I want you to see something," George instructs, giving you a warm but teasing smirk as he reaches out for you one again. He's completely naked before you, sat in much thrice same position that he was before but now the taught and freckled skin of his body is on display for you. The lines of his wide and strong shoulders, taught stomach and incredibly long legs, as well as the sight of his swollen cock all add to your arousal and you don't wait any longer to join him on the bed. You do as he asks and guide yourself to face away from him, looking down at where your cores rest just above each other, a delicious tease to what comes next.

He reaches down and grabs his swollen length, giving it a single stroke before his left hand rests in your hip to guide you, offering his cock for you to slip down onto.

You almost shudder in complete arousal as his bulbous tip slips between your folds, resting for only seconds at the very core of your pussy as you slowly sink down until he's penetrating you, filling you right to the brim. You're rendered both speechless and breathless by the sheer size of him, still the most glorious surprise even years later.

The groan that falls from his lips makes your walls clench around him, your eyes closing at the feel of your walls twitching and stretching to accommodate him. You delicately sit up, pulling off his hips for a moment as you slowly rise before sinking back down cautiously, testing the waters. You slowly increase the rhythm of your hips and in no time at all, your hips are canting on him faster and faster. You're both equally as loud in your affections, unable to hold back your cries of pleasure at the sensations. It wasn't often that you ever made love like this, at least not in this position, so unhurried.

He suddenly wraps a long arm around your middle and manoeuvres you so that he's now almost sitting, your bum nestled perfectly in his groin as he begins to move his hips quicker and harder against you, his right hand slips across your front and down to your clit, increasing your pleasure exponentially. Even in this position he's an artist with his fingers as he begins that perfect rhythms once again, finding that spot that makes you howl like a banshee, his name falling out of your mouth like a mantra.

"Look up Angel, look straight forward."

You do as he says, opening your eyes and fighting the urge to close them once again when his cock shifts just that little bit deeper from his change of angle, his hips flush to your bum.

You gasp when your eyes focus in front of you, seeing your reflection mirrored back, though you hardly recognise yourself. In this position, you're directly facing the mirror that you'd moved to accommodate the Christmas tree, not having noticed it's rather risqué new home. Your face is relaxed and yet also contorted into sheer ecstasy, eyes half lidded and pouting lips wide open. Your body is on display in the most exposing way, your legs separated by George's long legs, your breast cupped by his large hands and your clit being so meticulously toyed with. You're exposed and vulnerable but looking at you now, you don't see that, nor do you shy away from the view that you'd usually avoid under any circumstances. You look empowered and sexy with the smile of a woman that was satisfied in every sense. George looks incredible over your shoulder, his face scrunched up with the effort of his thrusts and the pleasure it brought as his slightly freckled hands occupy every inch of your body.

"Watch how I'm fucking you, how fucking beautiful you look."

It brings you closer to the edge quicker than you'd care to admit, seeing your reflection bounce on the cock of her boyfriend, your eyes fixed upon your spread open pussy that George was mercilessly teasing with his fingers. Your hips move faster now, almost bouncing on his cock as he groans and growls, his grip tightening on your breast as if to signal his own closeness.

"George, George!" You cry out, reaching your peak in an alarmingly short amount of time as you writhe on him. You want to keep your gaze upon your bodies in the mirror but your eyes close upon their own accord, the pleasure too much that it feels like it's consuming you. In the periphery of your mind, you can hear and feel George climaxing only seconds later but you're too lost in yourself to actively notice, still swimming through the brilliant haze of your orgasm, mind foggy from the sheer force of your climax.

When you come down from the high, you're panting and covered in a thin sheet of sweat, clinging to George as you feel him in much the same predicament below you. You glance back at the mirror, seeing your reflection wearing a contented smile, looking as cock drunk as you felt.

"So beautiful," he muses, your eyes meeting in the mirror whilst his hand slipping up and down your legs soothingly, slowly bringing your body back to normal. He slips out of you slowly, knowing how overstimulated you'd be and collapses back onto the bed. You turn to look at him, breaking your fixation upon the mirror and slide in beside him, his arms opening up for you instinctively as he wraps the duvet around your naked bodies once again. Your eyes divert briefly to the screen seeing that the movie is close to ending and there's a small pang of sadness that you'd missed most of the film, though you were far from sad at the distraction.

With a slight groan, George reaches across to his bedside table, grabbing his wand as it lay there and casts an enchantment upon the hot chocolates that lay long forgotten on the side, magically making them warm again. He hands you your mug as you sit up straighter in bed, pulling the duvet up with you to fight off the chill and graciously accept the warm mug, watching as a few extra marshmallows appear on top. You turn to George in confusion, watching as he winks at you and places down his wand again, sipping the hot chocolate with a moan of pleasure.

“Let’s start the film again baby,” George suggests, his eyes focusing on the television that was currently playing the credits to the film. “Start it from the beginning… we’ll see how like I can make it through before you distract me again.”

Initially, you'd been horrified by your reflection, as most demons were the first time they caught the sight of themselves in a window, mirror, or questionable puddle on the street.

You were green, for starters, with an ombre of deep plum extending up from your hands to your elbows, where it faded into a variegation that followed the branching paths of your veins. Your hair had become a dark green as well with the texture and growth patterns of vines—you often had to prune the leaves that would fray the tendrils like split ends. The only parts of you that weren't some shade of green or purple were your eyes, which were as golden as honey.

Despite maintaining a more or less humanoid form, you'd noticed early on that your body behaved more like that of a plant's—it wasn't just your hair that resembled the specimens you'd tended during your living career as a botanist. You felt better when Heaven's light shone brightly in the sky and you could catch a few rays on your daily errands, you leaked sap rather than blood when cut, and you (conveniently) gave off a naturally floral smell that leaned more toward the sting of mint when you were sweaty.

Your "plant-ness" had been confirmed definitively when you'd ventured into the vicinity of Hell's version of Venus flytraps while doing some field research. One had lunged at you—a fully grown specimen that towered over your smaller form—only to pause mid-rear and unhinge its fleshy jaws to absorb your scent.

You'd expected to die your second death—or at least have an unpleasant time respawning—but it had dismissively snapped its jaws shut again and leaned back into place to await real prey. That "real prey" had unfortunately become your former research assistant, which was all the confirmation you'd needed to know that you were, in fact, not a meat-based demon.

It gave you the perfect advantage when it came to being the leading scientist studying the rare, volatile plant species Hell had to offer and making new discoveries all the while on what they could be used for. It'd taken your established business of supplying the Pride Circle's florist, grocers, and garden-equipped event venues and raised it to the next level. It allowed you to perform actual research with funding the way you'd never been able to while alive.

It was an odd thing, to be more fulfilled after death.

You were mulling this all over while waiting at the front counter of Rosie's Emporium for an emergency batch of sinner meat for some hungry little seedlings back home.

You regularly received shipments of the stuff for your meat-eaters out in the greenhouse, but the little propagations you'd been raising from seeds had reached their munching age sooner than you'd expected. After one had taken a daring nip at your fingertip despite being able to smell that you weren't the sort of menu it craved, you'd made your viny locks presentable and then walked straight to Cannibal Town.

"Here we are, dear~!" Rosie trilled as she brought your wrapped slab of sinner flesh out from her refrigerated storage. She plonked it down on the counter and you gave her your card to ring up while she hummed a jaunty tune. "I had somethin' to tell ya next time I saw you… OH! I'm supposed to see if it's alright to give your contact info to Carmilla."

Your eyes widened a touch. "Carmilla Carmine?" you wondered, accepting your card back once the payment had been processed.

"Uh-huh! The very one!" Rosie said with her signature toothy grin. "We were talkin' about ya work after it came up that you were a regular customer of mine 'n' she's interested in somethin' for her hospital. Would ya mind if I share your number with her so she can get in touch?"

When it came to botanical research, as you well knew from life, scientific or medical inquiries often meant funding. And Carmilla Carmine was loaded. Plus, what if whatever she wanted you to look into would bring new medicinal discoveries to the Pentagram? The thought alone thrilled you.

Despite being in Hell, you still recognized the opportunity to help others with your unique talents and those were your favorite projects to take on.

"Absolutely," you said, an eager smile curling your emerald lips.

Carmilla ended up wishing after the next overlord meeting that she hadn't stacked her morning with subsequent meetings. Velvette's attitude had taken it right out of her, but she supposed she could manage if it meant successfully securing the free time she intended to block out more often each week to spend time with Clara and Odette.

Speaking of…

"Mijas, why don't you find something to amuse yourselves for the next couple of hours," she suggested from her seat at her desk, offering a small, gentle smile to her daughters. "Then perhaps we can do what we please with the rest of the day ahead?"

Clara's eyes lit up. "Oh, can we try that new bakery down on Mayberry?!" Odette gave her less reserved sister a chiding glance, to which Clara wilted just the slightest bit. "What? You like coffee, too!"

"Black," Odette murmured simply, indicating with one word that she wasn't interested in whatever fancy coffee concoction her sister was eager to pour down her gullet.

Zestial, still lingering following Carmilla's explanation of what exactly had gone on with the severed angel head in the meeting they'd just left, smiled at the girls with an affectionate glint in his green eyes. "Forsooth, young one," he intoned to Odette, "the adventure alone may be just as satisfying as the treats thy sister seeks…"

Odette faltered a little—she looked up to Zestial and he had some notion of that. Because of that, he often tried to balance her will with Clara's whenever he was around to do so. "Hm," she murmured considerately, giving her sister a wary glance. Clara was already bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. "I suppose that may be true."

"YAY!" Clara chirped, snatching Odette in a sudden hug that turned into the two of them half-dragging the other out of the room. Even Odette's quiet laughter could be heard before the door swung closed.

Carmilla chuckled and turned a companionable look to Zestial. "They mind you almost as much as they mind me, Zestial," she noted, not for the first time. "Sometimes a touch more."

Zestial's eyes crinkled at the corners when his smile widened. "Ah, children oft grow accustomed to the voices of their parents, dear Carmilla," he assured her. "I wouldst not take it to heart."

"Not at all, my friend," Carmilla said, her wing-like hands folded neatly on the desk in front of her. "If they're to listen to and trust anyone's word that isn't mine, I would be comforted to know it's yours."

"You honor me," Zestial said, bowing slightly. "What hast thee in thy queue for the remainder of the morn?"

Carmilla opened her calendar on her computer, eyes flicking over the labeled blocks with evident disinterest until one in particular caught her eye—her next one, thankfully. It would be a nice palate cleanser between the youngest Vee's abrupt takeover of her monthly meeting and the less interesting discussions she'd have to follow.

"Business as usual, save for one," she replied. At Zestial's curious look, Carmilla explained, "My next—my team at the medical facility is still at a dead-end regarding their research for a medical treatment that could expedite regeneration. I spoke with Rosie at our last meeting and she mentioned a botanist she supplies who may be able to assist."

"A botanist?" Zestial repeated with a mixture of surprise and intrigue. "Surely the Pentagram hast wrung dry what we might learn of Hell's plantlife these past centuries."

"From most of it, yes," Carmilla said, her eyes alighting with determination as she made her case. It was that determination that had crafted her empire. "However, that has excluded the types with a penchant for sinner flesh. My hope is that an answer may lie in them—and, if not, then another possibility is off the table."

"And this botanist Rosie hath recommended has found a way to study these beastly species?" Zestial asked. All his years in Hell and he'd never heard of such a sinner—much less any sinner willing to give it a try.

"This botanist, apparently, is the way to study them," Carmilla said right as a sharp but careful knock sounded at her door. "Speaking of… Enter."

The door opened…and revealed you.

And Zestial…well, Zestial was transfixed.

You were fascinating from first sight. Verdant from crown to foot, every subtle trace of his own vibrant green eyes over your form revealed new details, your very appearance the stuff of dryadic mythologies, the envy of folklorists the world and Pentagram over.

And of course it made sense that you could manage what no other sinner thus far had when it came to the Hellish vegetation that held a penchant for flesh—you, yourself, looked to be more plant than flesh. A walking, breathing garden.

It took Zestial a moment to realize he was being introduced. It was rare in itself to catch him off his guard, but this was of an entirely different level. Was his own base makeup as a spider demon reacting to something in your plantlike composition? Or was he simply…

…flustered?

"Zestial?" Carmilla murmured, noticing the change in her friend immediately. "Are you well?"

"Ah, of course, dear Carmilla. My apologies," Zestial recovered with grace, chuckling a little as he caught your name on the second go and reciprocated in kind. "Forgive me, little one. I am Zestial, as Carmilla hath so kindly stated on my behalf. I am normally not so unfocused, I assure you."

Carmilla bit down a smirk.

You were simply grappling with being in the same room with two of the most formidable, prolific overlords the Pride Circle had to offer. Because they—well one of them, at least—wanted to meet you. It was hardly believable, even as you stood there now.

"Wouldst thou like me to leave thee to thy dealings, Carmilla?" Zestial asked.

The cadence of his voice, you decided, was almost hypnotic. You'd heard plenty about both Carmilla and Zestial, but you'd not gotten as accurate of a mental picture for Zestial as you had for Carmilla. He seemed…gentler in some ways than you'd expected. Perhaps that was part of his guile which then led his prey so willingly in.

Something, something, something, said the spider to the fly, you mused as Carmilla responded to her colleague.

"You are welcome to linger, Zestial, if you wish," Carmilla said, gesturing to a little lounge area just off to the side. She knew he knew her office about as well as she did, but thought—with an edge of humor—that he might need a bit of direction in his current state.

Carmilla turned to you then and nodded toward the chair opposite her desk. "Shall we get down to business?"

You smiled politely and seated yourself while Zestial made himself scarce—even so, his presence was still distinctly felt throughout the office as you explained your research and facilities to Carmilla and she explained, in turn, what she hoped to gain from the funding she had to offer. After she finished her explanation, she watched you speculatively, gauging your reaction.

"Do you think such a venture is worth the effort?" she asked.

Over the course of your conversation, she'd gathered that Rosie hadn't been exaggerating in her excitement over you. You indeed knew your stuff and had a measure of matter-of-factness that she already at least partially trusted to give her your honest opinion. You were both demons of science and business, after all.

You'd been considering her proposal throughout its full duration but gave it a moment more thought now out of sheer respect for the overlord in front of you. When you were alive, you'd aspired to be someone like her. Top of your industry, funds to spare and invest in your most capable colleagues, in businesses, and ultimately your retirement.

You'd made it near the top but hadn't managed to attain any of your other admittedly unrealistic goals and you hadn't ended up needing a retirement fund in the end either. You'd settled down a bit in your afterlife, but you'd be lying if seeing where Carmilla had carved out a space for herself didn't put that sparkle of ambition back in your eyes.

"I do," you finally said and despite the fact that Carmilla's expression didn't change, you saw a similar sparkle flare in her gaze. "Particularly in the enzymes that help these plants digest their prey. It's possible that they could be used in a way that reverses their effect—"

"—and regenerates the flesh rather than dissolves it?" Carmilla wondered, her tone betraying the thrill she felt at perhaps finally having a breakthrough in one of her oldest projects.

You smiled. "Precisely."

Carmilla leaned forward slightly. "Then you'll take this venture on?"

"Gladly," you said. "I know you had a hard stop at two, but we can schedule a followup to draft something for expectations, a timeline, all that, if that works for you?"

"I will compare our schedules and set something for us," Carmilla said, pulling one of her desk drawers open and pulling out a checkbook. She plucked a pen from the cup nearby and started filling out the next blank check. "I would be delighted if you could start imminently. Consider this, outside of our future agreement, something of goodwill."

She neatly freed the check from its book and handed it to you. You did your best not to show your shock on your face, but you couldn't help the faint bristle that swept through your vine-like locks.

You'd never cashed a check this big in your entire existence. You were fairly sure not many had.

"I can start this afternoon," you said, your voice a little breathy. You cleared your throat and stowed away the check. "And I'll keep an eye out for your next email. Thank you for the opportunity—I'm looking forward to working together."

The smile Carmilla turned your way was almost doting. She saw some of herself in you when she'd been first starting out. Granted, she'd been far more ruthless—she'd had to be in order to achieve her status and guarantee protection for herself and her daughters—but still, she saw it.

She saw you out the door before turning a curious glance to her dear old friend, who was still lingering in her lounge area. She'd had an eye on him throughout the meeting when she wasn't fully focused on you and she'd paid particular attention when you'd been giving your goodbyes and had politely extended one to him as well. She'd spotted a few expressions on that mysterious face that even she'd never seen before.

"Zestial…," Carmilla murmured, having trouble keeping a smirk off her face.

Zestial spotted her expression—removing his gaze from the door that had been closed for at least a few minutes following your departure—and sheepishly scowled. "Carmilla, please," he intoned, one of his spidery hands moving to rest against his forehead. "I canst explain even to mineself… Most assuredly, I canst find the words to explain it to thee."

"Explain…what, exactly?" Carmilla asked, settling on the adjacent armchair to the one he occupied.

Zestial opened his Jack-O-Lantern-like mouth to speak but halted before doing so. His brow furrowed as he struggled to parse his feelings—something he'd not had a need nor a reason to do in quite some time. He considered himself rather emotionally intelligent. Stumbling across something so unfamiliar was near-unfathomable.

"I daresay I do not know," Zestial admitted, visibly uncomfortable.

Carmilla's smirk became a fond smile and she reached out to pat his hand—an age-old sign of reassurance between them. It seemed they were exchanging moments of support today with how things were unfolding.

"Well, my friend, it seems you'll have some research of your own to do," she said with a teasing lilt, chuckling a bit when he rolled his eyes at her. "And luckily—for both of us, it seems—our arrangement went through. So this will likely not be the last you see of our little botanist."

"She's not coming?"

You were admittedly a little disappointed. You'd had some actual progress to show Carmilla today.

Six weeks into your research for her purposes in finding something that would naturally expedite the regeneration process of the average sinner and she was due for her next check-in—her first had primarily been to show her around your facility and explain what your first steps would be.

Zestial had accompanied her, along with her daughters, but all of you had remained in your parlor and the non-carnivorous section of your greenhouse. It was safer that way and you assured her there was nothing there that couldn't be discussed or demonstrated where she didn't have to worry about her kids becoming plant food.

Your assistant flushed with chagrin and hurried to explain, "The meeting's not off! She's just been held up."

"So she's…rescheduling?" you guessed, trying to make heads or tails of your assistant's news. "I don't pay you for riddles, you know."

The impish sinner flushed hotter and scrambled to say, "Of course! I'm sorry—Zestial will be attending in her place is all!"

Your brows rose. "Zestial?" you repeated, ignoring the pleasant weight that name had come to have on your tongue.

You'd reined in your silly little crush fairly well so far—he was an overlord, after all, an ageless overlord. Way out of your league. But, boy, was he a charmer.

"Yes! He'll be here when Carmilla would have—oh, just about a half-hour or so!"

You hummed, confirming the time before nodding absently and leaving your assistant to rifle through their stack of papers solo. "Grab the door when he arrives. I won't hear it from the greenhouse," you said. "Just let me know over the walkie when he's here."

"Of course!" your assistant chirped, looking glad for an excuse to hightail it.

You scoffed softly but said nothing more as you returned to your work, thinking you should clean up a little bit before your company arrived.

Zestial could've throttled Carmilla for putting him in his current position. Could have, but would not have all the same—he respected her far too much for the play alone.

He'd had a pleasant enough morning stroll as he awaited your allotted meeting time—keening screams of sinners bounced off the walls and rose high into the carmine skies above at the mere sight of him, the sizzle of acid on flesh met his ears as one particular demon attempted death preemptively, and the Hellish air was crisp with the faintest burn of brimstone.

Perfectly pleasant.

Just like Carmilla had been when she'd phoned him and asked perfectly pleasantly for him to go alone to the check-in he'd originally intended to simply accompany her to.

On the surface, she'd seemed just fine—a bit harried maybe to the untrained ear but fine all the same.

To his trained ear, he'd heard an underlying note of mischief.

He'd sorted his strange feelings in the time he'd had to think it all over, particularly in the instances he was able to linger in proximity as Carmilla's escort whenever she popped in to check your progress. He was…interested in you.

He didn't know you well enough to declare any specific feelings for you—he was quite the old-fashioned gentleman, you see, and no aspect of such things was taken lightly by him. However, he'd managed to at least admit to himself that there was something to-be-determined present.

And he'd made the error of admitting such a thing to Carmilla. Carmilla who was now playing matchmaker, he suspected.

A dark chuckle traced past his thin smile. He'd find some way to get her back for this.

Zestial could almost envision the high-arching glass walls of the greenhouse as he drew nearer to the edge of the city and the wavering smile on his sharp features softened slightly. He was anxious at the idea of being alone with you for the first time, but the idea wasn't unappealing, he had to admit.

Small talk had been exchanged here and there thus far yet this might be the first full, at-length conversation the two of you would have. He was rather looking forward to it.

Darkness pooled out beneath his cloak and swirled upward, engulfing him until he, himself, was a work of shadow. Like a whisper, he carried forward, too quick for any normal sinner's eyes to keep track of as he left the city center and traveled the familiar route to the outskirts of the Circle.

In this more rural area of Pride was where you'd established your greenhouses, your lab, and the home you'd made amidst it all. It was the only area with enough space. The house was admittedly lackluster in comparison to the well-equipped, carefully tended facilities it sat adjacent to, but you practically lived in those facility buildings anyway. You slept more at your desk than your bed most nights.

Zestial reformed in full on the doorstep of the main greenhouse, from which several wings branched, ringing the bell and anticipating you—or, more likely, your latest assistant—letting him inside. He was mulling over how he might be able to sneak in a few non-botanical questions edgewise during today's activities when the door swung open.

As anticipated, your anxious little assistant appeared on the other side.

He was admittedly a little disappointed, but not surprised. You surely would be soon to arrive once the scrap of a sinner before him alerted you to his presence.

Despite clearly expecting him, your assistant—whose name he didn't bother to retain, as you'd had five or six cycle through in just the short time he'd known you—nearly yelped as they acknowledged him. "Oh, Zestial! Welcome!"

"My thanks," Zestial said, having to nearly bend in half to address the pint-sized demon now clutching his clipboard like a lifeline. It jittered in his hands as harshly as their arrow-shaped tail jittered behind them. "Might our fearless leader be present for today's report? Carmilla doth send her regrets that she could not attend."

Empty regrets, all, Zestial added silently, ruing his friend as much as he appreciated her efforts.

"O-Oh, of course!" the demon crowed sharply, stepping aside for Zestial to enter.

Zestial straightened as soon as he was through the doorway, his smile curling as he appreciated both the now-familiar colorful sights of all the various plants, flowers, and fungi lining the walls and the fact that this ceiling was of such a height that he didn't have to hunch his tall stature just to exist. Despite the tall average height of demons throughout the Pentagram, this was more of a novelty than it had any right to be.

A blare of static sounded behind him and, for a second, Zestial wondered if Alastor had inexplicably dropped in on this meeting—however, he saw the little assistant fiddling with a walkie-talkie when he turned around.

"Stupid thing… Ugh, whatever, I'll just take you to 'em," your assistant said, tossing the walkie carelessly into the roughage nearby.

Zestial's eyes narrowed on the leaves the device bent down in its decent, able to imagine the displeasure that would cross your face once you saw, but turned away to follow the creature before any more time was wasted. With a small flick of his hand, the shadows around the walkie adjusted its position and allowed the assaulted plants to perk back up before any lasting damage was done.

"Are you most certain that you are permitted to escort us this way?" Zestial wondered, more amused than anything now that the plants were sorted. This assistant would be the shortest-lived of all and he was rather looking forward to seeing your normally polite, calculating features turn toward something more furious.

"It's fine, just stay close!" your assistant squeaked, not even seeming to glance up at the wing they were leading him into…

…which just so happened to be the carnivore wing.

Zestial gave a doubtful hum but followed all the same. Perhaps the rules had changed for this visit. Even so, he hardly feared a plant of all things. He more feared crossing your boundaries or upsetting you despite the fault lying clearly at your assistant's feet.

And truthfully, if he could be so bold, he'd begun to sense you might have a bit of a soft spot for him. So he might be in the clear regardless.

His eyes found you with ease despite your lush coloration blending in with the plants you cared for. His gaze was still tracing over you when you glanced up at the sound of footsteps, eyes rounding first in shock, then in anger, and then in something close to fear.

"Have you lost your mind?" you demanded immediately of your assistant.

"Your walkie stopped working again," he stammered, raising his hands as if he'd had no other choice but to walk himself and your guest into the most dangerous sector of your greenhouses.

To them, anyway.

"Get out. We'll discuss this later," you growled and the impish pest ran off without a second thought. Almost apologetically, you turned and said to Zestial, "We should move out of here for now, too, these are—"

Your words caught in your throat and Zestial didn't realize why until he glanced sideways just in time to see one of the carnivorous, flytrap-like plants surge forward, maw agape and teeth bared and eager for the sinner flesh it smelled. His flesh.

He was so floored at the sight alone that he didn't have time to react—an oddity in itself for the overlord. So when your arm shot out and took the bite in place of his, he was jarred enough at last to step back.

The plant chomped down, eliciting an uncomfortable grunt from you as it took a chunk out of your arm. The sound was similar to that of breaking a stalk of celery and a limey sap leaked from the bite once it freed you from its jaws.

More offended than pained, it seemed, you bonked it on what might serve as its nose after it spat the bit of your forearm back out. "Serves you right, you little ingrate," you murmured. The other plants surrounding it seemed almost humored at its misfortune.

"My dear, your arm—," Zestial began to intone only for you to gently wave him off and encourage him to walk with you.

"I'll feel better once we're not in here. It's not safe. For you or for them," you remarked. With a slight smile, you suggested, "That one might've caught you off-guard, but I can't imagine the lot surviving your wrath if it'd succeeded in getting a bite."

Zestial chuckled warmly, although his gaze flickered with concern toward your bite wound the whole walk to the lab entrance. You paused at one point and he realized why when he saw a clipboard on the path and a self-satisfied plant looming over it with a shred of your assistant's shirt in its teeth.

"You know what," you murmured, picking up the clipboard and freeing the bit of fabric from the plant's jaws like a mother would fuss over a child, "thank you. Saved me some time."

If a plant could preen under one's attention, this one managed to.

Zestial couldn't help another chuckle.

"Sorry again for the run-in with Cerb," you said a bit later after giving Zestial the lowdown on your latest findings to pass on to Carmilla. "Tyler shouldn't have brought you back there in the first place, but that batch of plants is just now reaching adolescence. They're still a bit rowdy."

Zestial had insisted on taking your meeting to your parlor, in part so your arm could be tended to. Despite your insistence upon being made of plant fiber and that meaning you'd be fine once the sap settled, he'd insisted harder and that had landed you both where he'd requested to be, first aid kit in hand, and attentively cleaning up your wound.

"Cerb?" he repeated curiously as he finished swabbing the last little drops of sap away and unrolled some gauze between his long, spindly fingers.

If your anatomy allowed you to blush, you would've just then. "I…name them," you admitted with eyes averted as Zestial smiled at you. "All of them. Cerb is named after Cerberus."

"How darling," Zestial mused, wrapping your arm with care and smoothing the bandage at its end. You watched his huge hand wrap around your arm, gentle as could be. You spotted a bit of sap on his fingertip at the same time he did—while you were mortified, he was intrigued. "What a fascinating form you have."

"It's come in handy, I guess," you admitted, offering him a cloth from the kit to wipe off his hands. "Thank you for doing that, by the way… You didn't need to."

"There is much I needn't do, my dear," Zestial said as he cleaned his hands, closed the kit, and settled back into the armchair adjacent to yours. "Even more I desire naught to do. Such things for thee are not among them."

Your throat tightened a little as you studied him, wondering what lay past his smile and honeyed words. He'd come off almost tender just then…had he meant to? Or was your brain—whatever that was made of—just working overtime?

"Amongst them, however," he continued, frowning faintly at your wrapped arm, "wouldst have been not to cause thee injury due to my diverted attention… And, for that, you have my sincere apologies."

"It's not on you," you said, reaching out toward his hand to comfort him. It was instinct and it only occurred to you that it might be too forward when your hand was hovering above his on the arm of his chair.

You glanced up and met his eyes—there was anticipation in them and something softer as he inclined his head, granting permission. You rested your hand against his with that blessing.

"Like I said," you continued, ignoring the quick drum of your heart, "you shouldn't have been brought back there. Not yet. I was going to take you and Carmilla to see them after they'd been fed today, but things shifted around when Carmilla had to raincheck.

"I'm honestly just glad that I reacted quickly enough… I'd hate for you to get hurt, especially on my watch."

Zestial smirked. "A novel concept. However, I have at least some standing over a Hellspawn plant, I assure you," he declared with a low rumble of pride.

You couldn't help but find his stroke of ego a little funny. "I believe that," you assured him. "But I imagine it hurts quite a lot."

Curiously, Zestial asked as he turned his hand slowly over to hold yours and examine its plum coloration, "Thou dost not feel pain?"

You tried to remind yourself he was more likely examining you like a science project and not coming onto you as he stroked the pad of his thumb across your knuckles.

"Not in the same way others seem to," you replied honestly. "Not in the same way I remember experiencing it while alive."

"Doth that apply to all things?" he asked with that same quiet interest. "Pain, hunger, fatigue…pleasure?"

"Pain is different," you said, treating this as an analytical discussion because otherwise you might have to entertain the possibility that he was trying to get to know you. The thought alone was dangerous enough. And outlandish to boot. "Pleasure is a bit up in the air. Not much of that in Hell. Hunger and fatigue are normal. And they both get worse when our 'sunlight' is at a minimum."

"How very interesting," Zestial mused. "And, regarding sustenance, what doth thine diet consist of?"

"I probably eat more leafy greens than when I was alive, but other than that, it's about the same," you said, watching his claws trace careful circles across the back of your hand and finding it more and more difficult to separate your budding feelings (no pun intended) from this portion of the meeting.

Zestial nodded, almost to himself, as he inquired, "Doth tea or coffee find their way unto such a list?"

Persistently not overthinking his questions, you responded with ease, "I tend to prefer tea, but I like both. Caffeine processes similarly to when I was alive."

"Then mayhap," Zestial suggested, a faint sigh in his words as if he'd been working up to something, "once thine injury hath healed, thou mightst join me for tea? If thine schedule allows."

Okay, maybe you were wrong and this wasn't a purely scientific interaction.

A little rustle of shock shook your leaves and Zestial's eyes caught on the movement with undisguised interest. You just now realized his ever-present interest was also an interest in you. And just based on the weight of his gaze as it turned back to yours, this question of his carried multitudes.

A slow smile spread across your startled features and only that eased the tension in the overlord's frame across from you. "I'd love that, Zestial."

Warmth bloomed in the towering spider demon's expression. "Splendid."

He made a mental note to find some way to thank Carmilla for her passive interference.

TW: Child cursing (idk if that triggers anyone but I’m labeling it anyways 💀)

~ 10.5 years after “Loose Ends”

Waking up early in the morning wasn’t too bad. But waking up early with a four year old was hell.

“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” Layana burst into the bedroom, jumping on the bed. Your body jostled at each bounce, head rattling and jerking around. “It’s Zoo Day, Mommy! Time to wake up!”

Oh you were so going to murder your husband for telling her you were going to the zoo. If he had kept his mouth shut—maybe, for once—you could’ve slept to your alarm.

“Hey, Layana?”

“Yes, Mommy?” Her hazel eyes widened. You wondered how much longer it would be until they took on that signature amber.

“Go tell Daddy I have a hole ready for him in the backyard with his name on it and that he’s sleeping there—forever—starting tonight.”

“Okay!” She ran out of the room, going to her brother’s where Law had spent the night. 

You sighed, rubbing your face. You closed your eyes, determined to fall back asleep and wake up when you had planned. The bed was warm, the blankets were soft. Your breathing became even. Pure, silent bli—

Familiar chimes blared through your phone, ringing against bedroom walls.

You groaned, loud and dramatic, reaching for the demonic device and turning off your alarm. 

Yeah, you were determined to introduce Law to the shovel with his name engraved on it after today’s outing of course. There was no way in hell you were doing today alone with a four and almost one year old—or you’d be the one dying at the end of the day.

By the time you made it downstairs in clothes that were light and comfortable for a day filled with walking, your little family was already seated with their breakfast in the nook.

Layana was trying to keep most of her cereal in the bowl while Luke was shoving chewable, dry, baby cereal into his mouth, avoiding the scrambled egg that was put on his high chair.

“Someone woke up hungry,” you noted, grabbing a plate from the cabinet. You scooped some fruit onto it with the cooked omelet that was still warm, and made your way over, sitting next to Layana and across from Law with a glass of juice. “Chin-up, sweetie. Over the bowl.” You tried helping your daughter. She stuck her chin out instead.

Eh, close enough.

“I heard I’m dying today?” Law peered over his coffee mug at you.

“Daddy’s dying?!” Layana cried.

“Yes. When we get home from the zoo.” Your eyes stayed on your plate, voice even as you cut into the omelet. “I need his help first, then he can die.”

“Daddy can’t die!” Tears formed in her eyes.

“Aw, honey.” You leaned into her space. “That means we can eat all the chocolate and bread we want if he does!” You whispered not so quietly.

Law grunted in disapproval.

Layana thought about it. “But that doesn't mean he has to die! He just has to go away and we can visit him on the weekends. Just like my friend Bonney does at school with her dad!”

You choked on your omelet.

Law only looked at you with an amused, ‘You started this.’

Fucker.

You grabbed your juice, throat raw as you swallowed. “Daddy isn’t dying. Mommy's just being silly because she’s mad at Daddy for ruining your surprise.” You glared at him.

He rolled his eyes. “You didn't tell me it was a surprise or not to say anything.”

You gritted your teeth. “We had this conversation last time—with the concert.”

“You mean The Wiggles, Mommy? I love The Wiggles!”

“Yes, honey. Daddy needs to keep his mouth shut.” You smiled sweetly at him and then at her.

“Yeah! Keep your fucking mouth shut Daddy!”

Law spit out his coffee, dribbling onto the shirt he slept in. You paused mid-bite, fork filled with fruit. Luke babbled with food falling out of his mouth.

You set down your food. “Layana…where did you hear that word?”

“Well, Bonney said it one time on the playground when she was getting bullied. And I heard you say it one time to Auntie Lami. And there was another time Daddy said it to you one night in your bedroom…when I was supposed to be sleeping.” She bowed her head at the end, realizing she told on herself.

God. No parent could be perfect, but you had really fucking tried to cuss less around your children. Old habits died hard.

“Those words are…not nice words to say to someone. They’re grown-up words, and should only be said when you’re older to understand how they can hurt the person you’re saying them to. A lot of times, they’re used when we’re angry.”

Her black brows scrunched together, trying to understand, “So, Daddy was angry and hurting you?”

Of course that’s what she connected from what you said.

Four year-olds asked way too many fucking questions.

“No—I mean—” You stammered, face rising in temperature. Your eyes flickered to Law, pleading.

‘A little help here?’

He remained quiet, smirking as he took a bite of his own omelet.

“You mean?” He pressed, lips spreading into a smile.

Karma was a bitch.

“We…say those words to each other sometimes to let out steam.” Your brain scrambled to make an excuse. “Helps with…work.”

Law snorted.

Layana nodded with intention. “So, when I’m a grown-up, me and my person will say those words to each other to help with work?” Hazel eyes widened, pure innocence shining in them.

“Sure—I mean—yes. When you’re a grown-up.” You nodded once, sharp, hoping the conversation was over.

Luckily, she focused back on her breakfast, picking out the marshmallows from the regular bits.

You exhaled, relieved. Your husband’s signature smirk never left his face—even when he got up to grab a rag to wipe down the table scattered with drops of milk and soggy cereal.

XXX

About two hours later, you were pushing the stroller with Luke while Layana dragged Law through the walkways of the Zoo.

“It’s a baby elephant!” She gasped, pointing and trying to see, then turned to her father. “Daddy, can I get on your shoulders?” 

“C’mere.” He bent down and scooped her up, effortlessly putting her on top.

“Yay!” She squealed, excited for the better view. Her arm bent at her nose, imitating a trunk and failing miserably to imitate its sound. 

You walked together to the next exhibit—giraffes.

Layana extended her neck as far as it could go. “Mommy, what sound do giraffes make?”

“I—uh—I actually don’t know…” you admitted. “Let’s watch and see if they make any sound.”

The four of you watched together, waiting to hear something from the long-necked creatures. 

You all finally heard it. A low sound that sounded almost like…a moo?

“Why did I think they’d sound more like horses?” You grumbled.

“Giraffes are so funny! They’re just big ol’ cows!” Layana giggled. Law winced at the grip she had on his hair with her one hand.

You went to the aquarium, saw flamingoes, kangaroos, monkeys, lions, zebras, meerkats, and so much more.

Luke demanded to be held at some point. He was on your hip at the fox exhibit when an older woman came up. Layana switched between walking and being pushed in the stroller by Law—taking her brother’s place.

“You four are such a beautiful family. And your daughter is so well-mannered. Such a sweet angel,” she complimented.

“Thank yo—”

“Look, Mommy. Fuck!”

You stopped expressing your gratitude as the senior woman’s eyes widened in shock.

Layana was pointing to a fox coming closer to the fence.

Law bent down to her. “Layana, that’s a fox.”

You smiled apologetically to the older woman—who breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, a fuck! There’s fucks-es!” She declared with confidence.

Other families began giving you the side-eye. One mom covered her child’s ears.

“We might…need to invest in a speech therapist soon,” you stated evenly towards Law.

The older woman snorted. “I’ll say.” Her face was more amused than offended.

Thankfully.

“A therapist? Like Mommy does? But I’m happy! Not like Mommy’s people who need help.” Layana argued.

Law chuckled. “No, sweetie. A speech therapist helps you pronounce words.”

“Pro-nan-ce?” Midnight brows pulled together at the large word.

“Say words right,” you clarified.

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Okay.” She turned her body back to the exhibit. “I love fucks-es. They’re so cute.” Her eyes sparkled at the animals she was cursing.

You sighed, “Let’s…go to the playground.”

“Playground? There’s a playground?!” Layana jumped in place, long, black hair flew everywhere.

“Yes, it’s…” You grabbed the map out of your pocket, fumbling, trying to unfold it with one hand.

Law reached for it himself, but Luke held out his arms towards his father instead. He obliged, holding him to his chest.

With both hands free, you unfolded the map, looking for the playground, hearing Luke coo and giggle. Out of your peripheral, you could see Law’s finger prodding and poking at baby fat. “It’s back this way, towards the entrance and food court.” You bent down towards Layana, showing her the way with your finger. “Get in the stroller and we can head that way, cool?”

She grinned. “Cool, Mommy.”

You pushed her in the stroller with Law’s free hand on your waist, taking your time to enjoy the day and perfect weather with your family.

Less than ten minutes later, Layana was running to the playscape.

“Daddy, come play with me!” She requested as she ran.

Law sighed.

“I'll take Luke to the side over here and lay out his mat.” You jutted your chin out towards your daughter. “Someone needs to make sure she doesn't break a bone.” 

He pursed his lips together—displeased at the premonition, passing off your son, and trailing after your daughter.

‘Works every time.’ You smirked.

You reached for the diaper bag under the stroller, sitting on the empty bench behind you and Luke on your lap. With practiced ease, you pulled out his play mat—balancing him on your leg—and letting gravity unroll it before you settled it onto the ground. Luke clapped his hands in delight, ready for some floor time.

Once you sporadically placed toys on the mat, you eased down, sitting together on top of it.

Luke instantly reached for the cold chewy you had placed down and started mouthing on it. You heard a joyful screech you knew all too well—eyes instinctively searched for your daughter.

Layana was a blur, sprinting across the playground. Law wasn’t far behind, keeping up with her speed effortlessly.

A reason why you manipulated him into the one always chasing after her. He could actually stay on her heels for extended periods of time.

And the other reason was entirely selfish. Your heart never failed to swell at watching them play together. 

Law finally swept her up from the ground, her giggles filling the sweet spring air.

“Rawr, got you!” He snapped his teeth playfully at her, close to her throat.

“No, Daddy! Don’t eat me!” She protested, laughing and kicking at nothing.

“But I eat little girls like you for breakfast.”

You snorted.

“I’m scared, Daddy! Put me down!”

“You don’t sound scared.” His antics were dramatic as he pretended to gnaw at her arm.

“Mama.” Luke crawled into your lap—chewy abandoned and baby toy in his hand.

You looked down to your son who was pulling at the different rubber strings of his circular toy, hair matching your own shade.

You gave his head a kiss. “Yes, sweet boy?”

He gave the toy a hard, frustrated tug, failing miserably to untangle a knot. Luke dropped the toy in his lap and signed his version of “help”.

“I got you.” You picked up the toy and untangled the knot. Rubber strings became loose and long. “Here you go.”

He smiled big, with the few teeth he had, and went back to moving the rubber around. 

Unable to resist that smile, you pressed your lips to his neck and blew a raspberry on the rolls of fat that protected him.

Luke giggled, loud and utterly adorable—filling the playground and spring air with happiness.

You inhaled a large breath of air before unleashing it on him again. His laughter was longer as eyes lit up in joy and sparkled in the sun.

You repeated the action, hell-bent on getting as many baby giggles as you could out of him. Feeling eyes on you, you looked up to see who was watching.

There were a few parents observing your interaction with soft smiles on their faces, but the person you cared about the most was watching from afar.

Golden eyes at the edge of the playground were crinkled as Law grinned, gentle and warm. Your heart sped up at the loving expression on his face.

“Daddy! Come play pirates with me!” 

He turned away, climbing up to where your daughter was on the playscape.

“Land ho, Captain Daddy!” Layana yelled, looking through the plastic telescope. “We have to get the treasure!”

“Furl the sails,” Law commanded.

“Huh?”

“For docking, we have to roll the sails.”

“Oh. Right!” Layana jumped down and ran to the other side of the playscape. “Sails rolled!”

“Furled.”

“I mean—furled, Captain Daddy!” 

“Perfect. Where’s the treasure map?” Law walked over to your daughter, posture straight. The aura around him snapped into place—like he was made for the role.

Which was completely ludicrous. That man hadn’t captained a boat his entire life—let alone a pirate one at that.

So why was the idea of him being one turning you on so much?

Your eyes followed them off the playscape where Layana crouched down a few yards away and started digging away woodchips with her hands.

“I found the treasure!” She held up a rock, shining in the sun as bright as the pride pouring out of her body.

 “I knew I could count on you. Let’s go give it to the queen and her loyal subjects.”

The two of them stood up. Law shifted his foot in an attempt to cover the hole Layana had made before making his way over to you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Last I checked, pirates keep their treasure. Not give it to monarchs.”

“We’re good pirates, Mommy! Not bad ones,” Layana claimed, bowing and handing you the rock.

Law took a knee, lips hovering at your ear, “Only the beautiful monarchs get our treasure.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, amused. You flipped the rock over in your hand, still cool in temperature from the earth. Luke reached for it. You passed it off. “We shall accept this gift that you have so graciously bestowed upon us and guard it with our lives. It will remain in our royal vault forever.”

Small, black brows scrunched at your words, trying to comprehend all what you said. Instead of asking for clarification, Layana only said, “Okay, Queen Mommy.” She then turned and ran back to the playscape.

Law plopped next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You leaned into him.

“Tired?”

“I’ve been at sea too long. My first mate can make some new friends while I tend to the queen,” he murmured against your head.

Your lips twitched at his words. You shifted to look at him. “And who tends to you?”

His mouth was already at that sweet spot behind your ear. “Pirate captains don’t get tended to.” He dragged his lips down to your neck.

“Law,” you whispered, breathless.

“Hmm?”

“We’re in public. At a playground, nonetheless.”

He sighed, but pulled away. “I know.” Golden eyes glanced around before landing back on you. He tugged you closer to him. “Doesn't mean I can't partially tend to you.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “We both know there’s no such thing as partial.”

With a smirk, Law shrugged. “It’s always worth trying something new.”

“Well, maybe tonight you could—”

“Mommy! It’s your turn to play with me!” Layana shouted from across the playground.

You held in your groan. “Looks like the queen is being summoned,” you declared instead, pushing yourself up to stand. 

Before you could take a step forward, Law grabbed your hand, rooting you in place. “Finish your sentence.”

Your eyes fell to where he was on the ground. You bent down to reach his ear. “You could pay your full respects to your queen, Captain.”

The mat beneath your foot scrunched as you turned on your heel, swift and quick, smiling at the dumbfounded expression on your husband’s face.

“No waking up tonight, got that Mr. Lucas?” You heard him scold your son—who only babbled in response. 

You looked behind your shoulder only to see Law holding Luke up with a stern expression on his face with an equally firm, straight, tattooed finger.

Shaking your head, you found your daughter, tapping her foot and a hand on her hip with dramatized impatience.

“I don’t think Daddy is dying tonight.”

“What makes you so sure?” You cocked an eyebrow at her.

“You made your kissy face at him,” she observed, nonchalant.

Your head jerked back. “My kissy face?”

“Yeah. The face you make when you’re about to kiss Daddy.”

You huffed, stomping through woodchips towards the playscape, ignoring how intuitive four year-olds could be—especially yours. “Whatever,” you grumbled under your breath. “Let’s play.”

Her face lit up, following you up the stairs, imagination already running wild as she bossed you around through scenes you couldn’t see, unfolding behind her eyes.

XXX

Later that night at home, you came downstairs after lulling Layana to sleep. Easier than previous years, but still a daunting task. The family excursion seemed to make it quicker—for once—from the endless walking and running around.

You sank into the couch, propped your feet up on the coffee table, and turned on the TV, searching for something to watch. Law came down when you pressed play.

He sat to the left of you, grabbing your foot and started massaging it with expert precision.

“That feels amazing,” you sighed, eyes closed. 

“Mmm. Have to make sure you don’t bury me tonight.”

You yawned, looking at the smile on his face. “You’re cleared—for tonight that is. We’ll see about tomorrow.”

His laugh was short. “I wouldn’t expect less from the malicious queen.”

“Malicious? I just told you I’m sparing you tonight. Pretty sure that means I am bestowing my gracious, holy mercy upon you, Captain,” you teased. “Watch your tongue or I’ll have your head,” you warned, too playful and light for the words you spoke.

His smile widened. Law paused his massage and leaned his body towards you, lips hovering above yours. 

“Of course, your majesty.” 

His kiss was short and sweet before he went back to the task he placed upon himself. When he switched feet you couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure you weren’t a pirate captain in your past life?”

He blinked at you, brows close to touching with a small smile on his face.

“What?”

“I don’t know. Just something about you screams…pirate,” you shrugged. “I had to ask. It’s been bothering me since the playground.”

Law tilted his head down, raising an eyebrow, “That long?”

You shifted your gaze to your lap, doing an awful job of pretending that you weren’t embarrassed and shrugged again. “Taking control, leading, giving out orders… It seemed natural. Like you should be commanding ships and battles,” you mumbled, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

He chuckled. “This isn’t the 17th century.”

“I know that!” You snapped. 

“I think you’re just biased,” he smirked.

You gasped, “Me? Biased? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

His hand fell at your side, torso invading your space. You angled back, only for him to follow. Eventually, you ended up imprisoned between him and the couch. A captivity you always welcomed.

Law moved your legs, placing them around his hips. A hand landed by your head while the other remained on your thigh.

“I know exactly who I’m talking to, and I think she was looking at my tattoos and piercings, making her own assumptions based on my appearance," he claimed, speaking against the shell of your ear.

“I would never—! I—” 

He thrust himself against you. Even through the barriers that separated the two of you, it made you moan.

His grin was on your skin. “You?” Law taunted.

“I told you what it was.”

“Mmm.” He was at your neck now. “And it turned you on, didn’t it? Don’t lie, angel. I know you like it when I take control.” His fingers at your thigh trailed too slow, too unhurried to where you needed them to be. “Just admit it,” he pressed, words quiet at the crook of your neck. 

His hands were now at your waistband, sliding under and towards your—

A loud cry came through the baby monitor downstairs. You flinched at the sound, breaking the spell.

Law sighed, hand resting on your stomach. He frowned against your skin.

Well, more like pouted.

“I specifically told him we were having time to ourselves tonight hours ago and before I came down here.” He glared at the monitor.

“I can take care of it,” you volunteered. Law pushed himself away—still scowling—as you moved to stand. You walked around the couch to start heading towards the stairs.

“Fine, but you’re coming to sleep in my bed tonight. Not the twin we have in there. He needs to learn how to sleep in the room by himself for one night.” His scowl deepened.

You smiled, wrapping your arms from behind Law—who was still sitting on the couch and gave him a peck on his forehead. “I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

He hummed in agreement. “Better be. Or I'm carrying you across the hall myself.”

“Understood, Captain,” you teased, taking the steps up while Law turned off the TV. 

“Careful, angel.”

You ceased, not even halfway up the steps yet. “Hmm?”

Law stalked towards you, stopping at the step beneath you. A look in his amber eyes you knew all too well—dark and dangerous. Classic conditioning made your underwear even wetter at the sight. 

He placed his hands on your waist. “You keep saying that and I might make you scream it tonight.”