#this is unedited

He remembers pain, a lot of it, Luna tending to him, and various members coming both to check on his condition and to receive instruction and advice. He’s found himself with a rare moment of true quiet and space for himself. Until you appeared, that was;

Angrier than he ever expected to see, yet he immediately knows why. The realization makes a frown settle over his own features, and he doesn’t dare break away from your tense gaze.

You strode towards him suddenly, hand slowly coming up in the air as if to punch him, tell him off with a disapproving finger, do something to express your fear and anger toward him for his stunt. All he did was stare with his mouth firmly planted in a deep frown, not wavering in his expression for a second even when you stopped suddenly by his side, keeping your hand in the air and staring at him with a fury hardly being kept in check. His stare almost challenged you to try and retort against the sacrifice he made, and oh how it made you wanna—

But then you sighed. Stepped back. Lowered your arm back to your side. Your brows creased upward in distress, and, oh, no, was your bottom lip quivering?

“You’re an asshole.”

“Well, isn’t that a pleasant way to greet a friend?”

“You shut up with that, I thought you—“

You halted your words, turning your back toward him as horrified eyes stared forward in an attempt to steel yourself. A hand ran down your face, stopping at your mouth. What a horrifying sight that was. Not even a sign of warning.

“C’mon,” he wheezed out with a slight upward curl of his lip. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

Yet the silence his remark was met with brought his lips back to a frown, a more melancholic expression. He called out your name and was met with nothing.

“I braced myself: what more could I have done?”

And you know he’s right. He’s being realistic. You have no right lashing out so aggressively toward him. If anything, you should be praising his bravery, his sharp thinking, his ability to still uphold witty banter with you in the state he’s in. But you can’t. Not when your racing heart hasn’t settled it’s violent thrumming against your ribcage, bruising it and your mental sanity, since the shot rang out. Not since you saw the blood spill out of him. Not since you saw the intense look of pain on his face.

So for now, you hate him for it. For all of it. Even though it wasn’t his fault. He anticipated it at least, so you hate him for it.

He calls for you again.

And finally, you look over your shoulder, eyes glassy and expression fierce. The sight makes Senku want to shiver.

“I did…what needed to be done…” he starts gently. “It’s up to you guys now. And I’ll help where I can.”

Ever the efficient one, that Senku. How it could infuriate you like nothing else. You would think him made of steel at times with the way seemingly nothing fazed him. But with the way you saw his blood pour out from him so quickly, the anguish on his face, it reminded you that he was more human than anyone you’ve ever met. So passionate, so full of life. Nearly childlike in the way he winced as every uncomfortable stir and breath he in and exhaled.

The tension in your face dropped. Senku’s own expression perked up, but mostly stayed firm as you approached him tiredly, pulling up the chair by his bed and taking a seat, hands hesitating as they reached for his.

He stared down at the space in between them, and then back at you just in time for you to raise your own exhausted gaze toward him. Don’t you dare push me away, they pleaded with him.

A little knock of his knuckles against yours gave you the permission you were looking for, and your carefully took his limp hand in both of yours, holding them gently. He chuckled a little as he stared upward, while your gaze remained steady on the bed, and offered a small squeeze in return, which in turn relaxed the tension in your shoulders.

you mewl when you start to move, letting out a shaky breath as you bounce agonizingly slow on his cock, still adjusting to the stretch. you throw your head back, a soft moan slipping past your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck, letting a hand run through his hair and grip at the roots. he chuckles again, rolling his hips into you, drinking in every whine and gasp and moan that you give him. he takes another puff of his cigar, hand trailing from your ass around to your hip to rub soft circles into your clit. you keen at that, head falling forward onto his shoulder.

"captain!" you whine.

"shh, shh, baby," price shushes you gently, softly connecting his lips to yours as he breaths smoke out his nose. he swallows your moans as you let them into his mouth, and you feel dizzy against him as you roll your hips, greedily chasing the electrifying pleasure. you quiver around him, reduced to a whimpering mess as you're stretched out around his fat cock. he's all you can focus on, everything else dissolving but his length inside you and the smell of his musk and cigar.

"so perfect for me," he mumbles against your flesh, placing kisses before softly biting your neck.

"captain..." you moan again, bouncing sloppier now, more desperately.

"please!" it's almost a sob. you don't exactly know what you're begging for, but the plead leaves your lips anyway like a last prayer. Price laughs dryly, letting his eyes slip shut and head fall back against the headboard.

"God, you're pretty when you whine. poor baby, you cant do it alone?" he teases, rolling his hips against yours pointedly. you moan louder now, falling forward slightly as he starts to fuck up into you. your back is arching against him, barley processing his words.

"come on, sweet girl," he says softly in your ear, his thumb on your clit making you throb and squeeze on him, hands searching for something, anything to grip on to. "thaaat's it.. just needed my help, huh?" he says soothingly as you dig your nails into his back.

"oh, god!" you squeak, letting a strangled cry into his ear.

"fuck! I'm gonna-" you cut yourself off with a loud moan, all strength leaving your body as Price thrusts up, repeatedly abusing your g-spot. His fingers dig into your hip, other hand clenching his cigar so hard it nearly crumbles in his grip, but not a single part of your brain cares about that now. The orgasm hits you in shaky waves, reducing you to a throbbing, soaking, shaking mess as it washes over you.

"yeah, good girl," He says softly, pressing a kiss to your temple as his pace slows. He takes one last puff before haphazardly dropping his cigar into the ashtray on his bedside table, not even giving you a chance to catch your breath before he's fully lifting you up and flipping you onto your back.

“That’s fair- I’ve had to escape the crowd quite a bit myself these past few days.”

The little hollow is small, just enough for two people to stand in intimate quarters. There’s dappled sunlight on your face, a warm green glow all around, and the sounds of the great feast, voices in revelry, are muffled. Only a scant few inches separate your bodies - though his heart still quickened, Laios would have been much more nervous in this situation only a matter of weeks ago. But after his experience in the dungeon, all that he went through with you and the rest of the party, he feels changed. He sees it in you, too - the way you meet his eyes with ease and a gleam of confidence that was not there before. Significant enough that even he could tell the difference. It made him happy to see you this way.

So why are you looking at him like that, now, with your eyebrow raised, head cocked to the side?

He looks down and finally notices you’re carrying something in your hand; a square of waxed paper with two pieces of meat on top, thin strips rolled up into bite sized spirals and pinned with wooden skewers, glistening with brown glaze. A third one is poised between your index finger and thumb, being held out in offering.

“Are you alright, Laios?” You question, and he blinks back into focus, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah, just lost in thought…” He feels heat on his face. “I must be more spent than I thought.”

“Maybe this will help you feel better!” You beam at him, and your smile strikes him right in the heart. “I bet you haven’t tried it yet- actually I know you haven’t because I just watched it come out of the smoker… But I bet you’ll love it!”

He lifts his hand, but you’ve already started raising your own hand up towards his mouth to feed it directly to him. His fingers go back to his side to fidget with the leg of his pants as he leans in, mouth wide. You bump the corner of his mouth, leaving behind a spot of sauce.

“Oops,” you giggle. But he has no time to think about how vibrant you are, because his mouth explodes with rich flavour when he pulls it from the skewer with his teeth, sweet and tangy spiced glaze covering the savoury, fatty deliciousness of the meat. He expects to chew, but his tongue pushes into the meat easily and the fat and muscle disintegrate equally in his mouth as his eyes widen.

“What is this?” He asks incredulously around his mouthful.

You grin at him. “Dragon belly! Other than that, I don’t know.”

Laios swallows, sad that it’s over so soon, though he’s already eyeing the next two pieces in your hand. “It’s so rich! And the way it melts in your mouth! This is great!”

“Right?!” You say in enthusiastic agreement, and offer up the remaining two bites from the palm of your hand. He takes one and devours it, forgetting to even savour it for its deliciousness, and his desperation to get it into his belly. “Take the other one, it’s all for you. I’ve had a lot already, I just wanted you to try it.”

All for you. He takes it from your hand. You crumple the wax paper, shoving it in your pocket to dispose of later, and watch him, gleaming in the filtered sunlight. He eats this one with intentionality, looks down at you with warmth, his mouth full. “I love you,” he thinks. It startles him to hear the words, even in his own head, the weight of that realization gripping his heart in his chest. His expression drops, but you don’t seem to notice.

In fact, you lift your hand and swipe your thumb across the corner of his mouth, and Laios freezes before you draw it away. And then you look down, pondering the spot of glaze with pursed lips. “Hm.” Evidently you hadn’t considered how you were going to get it off your own hand. You settle to just lick it off, and his heart flips in his chest. He feels electrified, swallowing the delectable bite down thickly. So close, so close…

He grips your wrist, still staring at your thumb before he raises his eyes to meet yours. Only a half step forward and he can feel your bodies touching. He is overwhelmed by his want.

“Laios…?” You question softly, smile fading, though he cant quite read the expression it faded to. But you’re not nervous, by the way you haven’t broken eye contact - at least he hopes. His heart is pounding. But if there’s any time to be bold, to take action, it’s now, right?

He leans in, a crawling pace that belies his trepidation, giving you every chance to back away. But you don’t push him or jerk back, so he tilts his head, eyes slowly fluttering closed - this is how you do it, right? Yet something catches him, right as he feels the breath from your parted lips on his own. Your eyes - he realizes you were still staring at him wide-eyed as he drew near, as his own eyes closed. Why were you staring at him?

He pulls back, eyebrows drawn, and yours go to match as he searches your gaze, heart sickly thudding under his sternum as his stomach tightens. He feels out of control now, internally cursing his correction, agonizing in the span of a second over whether he should’ve just gone with it. His options now are to retreat, or to question:

“Is this… Is this okay? Can I…” But the words falter. He can’t make the words “kiss you” leave his throat. His face and ears are burning, and he is starting to sweat under his collar.

You sigh and tilt your head, though your face doesn’t relax. He feels a spike of sick, cringing panic in his gut, until you open your mouth: “Please, Laios,” you insist breathily, “please kiss me…”

He blinks; with a sigh he is flooded with cool, sweet relief. “Oh…” He lets go of your wrist and raises his hand, tucks a wayward strand of hair behind your ear, presses his calloused palm into your velvet soft jawline, fingers wrapped gently around the nape of your neck. Your eyes soften at his touch, your hand goes to rest on his bicep.

“It’s real now…” He thinks, feeling you gently squeeze his arm. “It’s actually happening…” But the look in your eyes feels wide open, he blinks into your warm gaze before finally shutting his lids and leaning in to press a stiff, chaste kiss to your lips, holding for a heart racing moment against your plush mouth, until he finally pulls away.

He can see you looking between each of his eyes, and suddenly you break into a smile and laugh. Both of your hands go to cradle the back of his head. He doesn’t have time to wonder why you’re laughing at him before you pull him towards you and meet his lips again, different now as you kiss him, this rolling and sucking motion that stokes up a fire in his chest. It’s an unfamiliar rhythm but he catches on, if a little sloppy and ungraceful, as he presses his face into yours with increasing fervour. The sensation of your fingers through his hair prompts him to cross his arms around your back and hug you close to his own body, a vain attempt to crush you into him and meld together.

He only pushes into you harder when he feels you retreat, chasing your mouth as you pat the back of his head. But finally you grip his hair and force him off, he whimpers in pain as you gasp for breath.

“What was that?” He questions, a little hurt and confused, though your bodies are still pressed together.

“Maybe you can breathe with that big nose between us,” your chest heaves, hungry for air, “but I sure can’t.” You smile, and your whole mouth glistens with your mixed saliva. You wipe it with the back of your hand. “Your mouth tastes like the dragon belly,” you muse, laughing breathily, and you lean into him. The feeling of you against him is nice.

“You just taste like saliva,” he remarks, and ponders for a moment because, it tasted almost like nothing and yet he only wanted more, more, more. “It’s very very subtle. Mostly tastes like nothing. Kind of like skin, kind of… mineral? Almost sweet, even,” he elaborates unprompted, fingers ghosting absentmindedly up and down your back. Almost sweet, because while it wasn’t necessarily sweet, there was a sensation of sweetness that exploded in his mind… who knew the taste of someone’s spit could be so addictive?

He finds you still looking at him, this time with a clear streak of amusement in your expression. He’s almost embarrassed, most people don’t exactly ask for the taste profile of their own saliva, but the feeling is dispelled when you trail your hand down his arm, to interlace your fingers in his.

“You make me want more of that dragon belly…” You sigh.

“Me too,” he nods, eyes closed to recall the flavour. and after a beat, he feels you pull him gently.

“Well, we ought to hurry, cause that stuff was going fast,” you say, already parting through the branches again and pulling him along, “but I’m sure they would spare whatever’s left for the King himself.” You turn your head and give him a sly smile.

Oh yeah, that’s why he was hiding. He cringes a little into the back of your head. Being king is cool and all, but he’s been feeling the weight of everyone’s lofty expectations.

He knows he smells of cigar smoke when your nose scrunches up in disgust as leans over the table. He sees you take a breath through your mouth, your lips pursing. His eyes narrow, and he uses one hand to massage his temples.

Right. He usually tries not to smoke in front of you, you can always smell it though. He had nearly forgotten that fact until now. At the end of the day, he's already exhausted. Langley. Interns. Spilled his coffee on the way to work. He hasn't eaten since lunch and it's killing him.

"What problem are you on?" He ask, trying to keep his voice down despite the fact he can clearly see you haven't made it past the third word problem and the first answer is wrong. He knows you're smart, he can feel his hand grip the wooden table. Nearly, giving himself a splinter in the process.

You were being lazy. The thought irks him, what was your purpose exactly? Did you just want his attention? His thoughts nearly spin out of control until you respond, "I'm on the third one," He can't help but notice how tired you sound.

"When is it due?" He snarks, not wanting to put up with this just this moment.

"Tomorrow morning..."

"You're older brother can't help you?" He sighs heavily, his irritation only growing. Did you put this off? How long have you had this stupid assignment for?

"Phillips is already asleep," You reply, starting to fold in the edges of your homework. The papers are folding in on itself and so are you.

"Great..." He scoffs, standing up. His pace is firm as he crosses the kitchen and throws the fridge open. It sways slightly at his action before settling once more.

He wraps his hand around the first beer he sees, before tugging it out and popping the can tab. It's dry but the condensation soon wets his hands and his lips. The fizzy liquid goes down his throat cold and for a brief moment under the dim kitchen lighting he forgets everything he was mad about.

"Son of a'bitch..." He grumbles, wiping the back of his hand over his lips. "Have you had dinner?" He ask, realizing he hasn't even had dinner himself.

You shake your head and he can swear he feels a headache forming. How long have you been sitting there? Why haven't you eaten? Had his eldest son ate dinner? Where was your mother? He thought the damn woman was responsible for you but clearly something had slipped through the cracks. At his annoyance, you fill in the blanks, "Mom made me some but I was working on my homework at that time and I forgot to eat it,"

Russell takes another long sip, as if the longer he indulged the easier it would be to make you fizzle away like the bubbles in his beer. His imagination was only so strong, your form is fuzzily on the edges of his vision. Just out of focus.

He crosses the kitchen again, kicking a chair into place. The movement is swift as he sits down besides you and looks over the problem, deciding to ignore the first one. "Sweetpea," He speaks up after reviewing the worksheet.

"Yes?" You know that tone too well, your father never calls you nicknames unless he's mad at you. And he's trying so hard to not appear like he is.

"This worksheet is five problems, what could possibly be the delay?"

"Each problem has three parts," You explain, and he's flabbergasted.

"And? The first one is wrong! You're a smart girl, honey."

"It's a new unit,"

He catches himself rolling his eyes again and he grabs your eraser off the table and harshly scratched off the incorrect problem. His voice is raised compared to before, "First off, stop fidgeting. Second off, this sheet is a mess go grab another piece of paper."

—

He's not sure what happens. After explaining the third problem he finds his voice raised. Adler is pacing the room, and why are you crying? He wasn't being that harsh! We're you always this sensitive. You run up to your room with the flimsy homework about nearly finished.

His wife isn't happy, especially since she was woken up to his yelling. She goes on and on about being nicer, how you're just a kid. That he smells like shit and looks like it too. Sometimes he wasn't sure why he even married at her. But after she's done yelling he sees it- she only wants the best for you. Not just for you but for himself.

Your mother isn't just yelling because she's angry, she's concerned. Either way, he reluctantly goes to your room to apologize. He nearly refuses, but he knows he's wrong. He should have just put it to bed when he came home.

He messed up, and he can hardly swallow it when he hears crying on the other side of the door. He knocks anyways and the crying quiets near immediately. He swears he can feel his stomach flip. "Kid?" He starts, pushing the door open despite the lack of response. "I know you're not asleep, c'mon." His hand rest on your shin. You're hiding underneath the covers and the bed dips under his weight.

He can hear both of your breathing as things go quiet. The room is hot and sound of the fan fills up the room. One of the stuffies he got you as a child is poking out underneath the covers, the thought of you seeking comfort in something he got you; despite what he did. He isn't sure how to feel about it.

His voice is gruff when he speaks again, "I'm sorry." The words sound awkward coming from him. You're all of sudden forced to reckon with the fact that you're not sure another time you've heard that from him before.

Your chest tightens, and you shove the blankets off of you so you can look at him. For some reason, he seems genuinely apologetic and you can't help but wonder if that's because of what your mother said to him. "You're only apologizing because mom told you too,"

He can feel his face twitch, no wonder you think that. His eyes stare holes into you for a moment. "Your mother's a lovely woman kiddo, but she doesn't make my decisions for me. I'm apologizing because it was wrong. It wasn't okay for me to raise my voice like that. Now or ever. So no, I'm not apologizing just because your mom told me too," He sighs heavily, and he can't help but wonder if he's doing this right.

His words make you uncomfortable, you're not sure what to say but at the very least you nod to show your listening, "then why'd you do it?"

"I had a long day," He'd quiet for a moment, the silence only punctuated with the feeling of his hand squeezing your knee and a gentle pat.

"That isn't a good reason, dad." You spit out so fast he's impressed. He can't help but smile.

"That's my girl," He waits for you to smile before he pulls you into a hug. He can feel your chest heaving as you attempt to hold back tears and he pretends not to notice. His hand runs up and down your back, you can't help but notice how large his hands are.

His finger tips are rough but he's taking a noticeable effort to be gentle. Comforting. He kisses the top of your head, and he smells your hair for a moment. You were his. His baby. His little girl. He didn't ever want to come a day where she resented him.

"You're thinking too much again," you point out and he stiffens, he's not used to people being able to read him so easily.

"How did you know that?" He's shocked, and you have the nerve to look pleased with yourself.

"You get a certain look in your eyes," You reply and your chest fills. He's the one who pulled away to look at you. Your arms are shaking as you hug him again.

What if he thinks you're weird? For wanting such comfort? You were older now, even if he thought it was weird he wouldn't tell you. Despite your worries, your father's arms envelope you steadily. It's already late and you can feel your father's heartbeat through his shirt. All of a sudden, his cigarette smoke is less noxious and a comforting reminder of himself.

You go to comment on it but you don't realize how tired you are until you attempt to speak. "Go to sleep kiddo," He sighs, his chest rising as he leans you onto your bed. Your eyes follow him as he stands by your bedside, the mattress rising with the loss of his weight. The sense of loss feels prominent as his form takes up your doorway.