Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fuck did his head pound with a headache. People crying over debt, criminals yelling at him as they spat in his face about how “innocent” they were when they truly weren’t, it took all of his energy not to just break their neck, but such is the life of a lawyer. It gave him the opportunity to live comfortably, even as far as luxury, whether it be making innocent people lose everything they had, or criminals winning and not receiving their due punishment all because they paid the right price, it didn’t matter to him. He got what he needed from them and that was all he cared about.

Power and influence. 

Was he called the perfect lawyer because of how cynical and cruel he was? Perhaps so, but he knew the people who scowled and cursed at him were the ones barely scraping enough money to provide for themselves while their sense of justice branded their soul, it was what made their pure essence. What stupidity, the lawyer thought. But whether the people carried their pride for divine justice or believed truly that they were above all, he benefited the most, and he didn’t care enough about “morality” for him to hinder in his steps to, if not already there, greatness. But what he did hate, however ironic it may seem, his employers. Well, no that isn’t very much true, he despised everyone but himself. In his eyes he alone was the perfect one, after all, people chose him for his skill, his accomplishments, for he was perceived to be the perfect lawyer, and he was. But never will he care a second glance towards his employers, rolling his eyes at their sob stories, or his lip twitching, showing off his unusually sharp canine in utter annoyance when his other employers would go on and on about how intelligent they were, when clearly even to a fool, they weren’t. He was almost sure he could hear their voices still ringing within his ear. Oh what pleasure he would take in smashing their heads in like pumpkins,

But such is the life of a lawyer.

His hand violently rubbing at his temple, he straightened himself as he approached the door, dusk already long gone and the sky was now left as black as ink, the only light source he had was the nearby lamps from the street and the warm light coming through the stained glass window of the red oak door. With his other hand, he placed it upon the golden handle and with a turn of his wrist, the lock and bolt unlocking with clicks and taps, the oak door swung open. 

“Ah, Dio, Welcome back!” The manager of The Blood and Liquor greeted all too familiarly for Dio’s liking.

The Blood and Liquor was the most refined bar you could find within a hundred miles of this godforsaken city named Liverpool. Every wood used to make up the decor whether it be the wood paneling or the counters and chairs, was of polished red oak, perfectly soaking up the comforting warm hue of the fluorescent light shining from the bulbs that hung low above the bar in an up and down pattern. The bar smelled of cigars, liquors of all sorts, leather, and an unfamiliar scent of floral perfume, taking Dio by slight surprise, though he quickly resumed back to his natural state, not paying no mind to it. For all of Dio’s life, his senses were much more heightened than the average man, quite useful for his field of work he believed. To sniff out the scum in people, he would half-heartedly joke to himself.

Dio clicked his tongue as a returned greeting, his eyes scanning around for who was in the bar. No one. Dio hummed to himself in delight, for it was just how he liked it to be; isolated and alone. 

He walked languidly, his shoes clicking with each step he took. And with each step he took, the smell of that floral perfume grew stronger and stronger. Now seating himself at his usual spot at the bar, he caught a glimpse of a woman’s back facing right towards him from the storage, the floral perfume ever so slightly dissipated, and he waited.

Sitting there for a good few minutes now, Dio’s eyes carried none of the air of amusement as they dragged from the bottles of expensive alcohol facing him to the manager that had been apprehensively standing near by his side the entire time.

“Where is the bartender?” Dio demanded with annoyance, his patience running thin. His headache was already enough, and now to add more to his bad mood, there was not in sight a bartender at the bar. How ironic.

In a rushed and hurried manner, the manager replied with haste,

“My apologies Mr. Brando-” But before the manager could finish his sentence, he found himself in a matter of seconds on the floor, with a tooth loose in his mouth and blood pooling within.

Wiping the blood stains and splatters on his knuckles with a handkerchief, Dio replied with a threatening voice,

“Don’t make the same mistake twice by calling me by my last name, understand Barkeeper?"  His eyes, though colored dark red like fire, were cold, and would truly send fear even to the hearts of the brave.

This was a warning, only a taste of what would happen if the barkeeper wouldn’t do his duty. The manager should have acted much more wisely, everyone knew that Dio, of all lawyers, no, of all people, had the worst temper, and his skill for fighting was incredible since he had begun his life in the slums. The barkeeper cursed profusely at his stupidity for upsetting the lawyer. Scrambling up to his feet in quick motion, he grew used to the taste of iron in his mouth, too afraid to spit out the blood and molar in fear of offending the lawyer even more. With a bloody smile, the man shakily responded in sugar coated words,

“O-of course good sir, we had recently hired a new bartender so she is rather naive, so I will apologize on her behalf for her negligence of not being here at the present moment, I will bring her out now.” 

Dio grimaced at the manager’s appearance, his lip twitching in annoyance, a known habit of his. With a flick of his hand, Dio presented the barkeeper the same handkerchief he had used to clean his hand, not bothering even to cast a glance at him.

“Your appearance disgusts me, get out of my sight and clean yourself,” Dio stated, staring at the storage door with a slight sense of curiosity to who could have been the bartender and what had kept her this long.

With a small ‘yes sir’, the manager scurried off as fast as he could to the storage room, handkerchief held over his bloodied mouth, as a black and purple spot started to appear upon the man’s left cheek. 

He cursed the man's, if even deemed a man, name who was his father, yet here he stood like a greedy drunk, violent and parched for just one drink. And in the end, he carried that very man's last name. He was no different than him. 

“Y/n! What the hell are you doing? Get your ass to your station, we’ve got a customer waiting for fuck’s sake!” The manager screamed at you from around the corner, hidden from your view. You jumped, spilling the cocktail you had made as practice. Where was he even yelling from? As curses slipped from your mouth due to now half your drink gone, your wiped your hands and counter and yelled back, 

“I’m going I’m going! Jesus…” Though still annoyed at your manager, you asked hurriedly,

“Where the hell are you even? Why are you hiding?!” 

“Oh I uhm… Needed to clean myself, I spilled a drink on myself haha…- Just go do your job and stop asking questions!” 

Your face of confusion, you thought to yourself how that should have been your excuse, but with a shake of your head, you paid no mind to your annoying higher up.

With a quick sweep over your uniform with your palms, you pushed through the storage doors and with haste, you began walking to your position. There sat a man at the bar with a presence that suffocated and swirled in the room whole. You faltered in your steps, only for a second, but the man noticed this anyhow. His eyes that were once resting themselves upon the bottles that sat on shelves before him, lazily dragged over to your figure. How he intimidated you with his blood colored eyes, dark and sultry they were. Your eyes then caught sight of his golden hair that you presumed was once neatly combed back, for now while most of it was still held in its place, strands of his hair were untucked, just brushing above his eyes. His attire, though formal, was worn informally, for his jacket lay slacked upon his shoulders and a few buttons on his shirt were opened along with a slacked crimson tie, revealing his collarbone. Noticing you had traced the handsome man’s figure for far too long to be considered appropriate, you cleared your throat and hastened your walk. Now facing him, you gave him a quick smile as you rubbed your neck in nervous attire, you asked softly, 

“Hello, what will it be?” Trying your best not to sound flustered, the only thought coursing through your mind being who is flustered over just the sight of a man they had just met?

His eyes being quick, took in your figure as he now identified where the floral perfume had come from. He rested his gaze upon your eyes once more.

“Cognac,” The man asked gruffly, the side of his chin resting in his palm.

You thanked him internally, relieved that he didn’t ask for something complicated, and with a nod you spun around and began to prepare his drink.

You poured the drink steadily into a crystal glass, watching as the cognac ran and dribbled upon the ice laying at the bottom. And when it began to brim, the glass in hand, you returned yourself to face the man once more, placing the drink in front of him.

“Your cognac sir,” You said, sliding the glass to him on the counter. 

Not bothering to even return you a glance nor a response, the man grabbed hold of his drink, taking a leisure sip. 

As if he too was fascinated by how the spirit acted around the ice, he swirled the glass, soft musical clacks echoing through the nearly empty bar from the ice. You observed the man carefully as you turned back only slightly to the counter, busying yourself with cleaning cups and glasses left behind from other customers. But even with towel and glass in hand, your eyes never truly drifted away from the peculiar man. Long did he stare at the drink, the image of the glimmering ice and amber hued spirit reflected upon his eyes. With a groan, he brought the glass up to his lips once more, his expression, cross.

“Not the best day at work huh?” You asked hesitantly. You were never good at small talk, you’ve been like that since primary school, and talking to anyone made you uncomfy or at best shy, especially with a man you don’t even know. However, something compelled you to speak to him. You felt he had a lot to say, that he was interesting, and you wanted to know more about the man before you, as bizarre and out of character for you as it sounded.

The man hummed nonchalantly in response without another look towards your direction, taking another sip. You looked back down to the glass you were wiping, regret of even bothering to speak washing over you in an instant. 

Dio never cared for small talk, it always infuriated him. They always wanted something from him, never a conversation. Not that he would have preferred to converse, it would lead in the end to nowhere, unproductive and useless. A means to soothe the silence that apparently bothered people. Perhaps they too couldn’t stand the ever ringing sound of their stupidity within their skulls. Dio glanced up at the woman, watching her figure now fully turned away from him cleaning, her silence ever speaking. It perturbed Dio however, that she didn’t know of him. Everyone in this hellish town and even out of city knew of him. Well, better to say everyone feared him. But she didn't. She was rather cute and his curiosity nagged at him. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to keep himself amused for just a bit? 

“You could say that.” 

The man took another sip as he waited for you to take the bait, crashing his arm down once more. Though surprisingly, it didn’t make much sound.

You spun around in surprise, not having expected the man to have responded after such a long silence. Clearing your throat, you turned your body fully, and with your glass and towel in hand, you composed yourself in such a way to appear cool headed and nonchalant, when in reality, you were quite eager to hear him speak once more. His voice was as smooth as honey with a hint of husk, you would even go as far to say you were allured by it. You saw very well that he was a handsome man, but you would have never expected a voice as his. Not that this was a bad thing, it was rather more of a pleasant surprise that caught you off guard.

“Oh? Care to explain?” 

Your eyes, pretending to be focused on your duty, carefully trailed up once more to catch the man’s expression.

Dio smirked in amusement, seeing as you had now taken the bait. He shifted in his seat, straightening himself and brought his gaze to meet your own, your eyes ever so slightly widened in embarrassment as they shot back once more to the towel in hand. But his smirk was fleeting, as he was now reminded of his troublesome job and the pounding headache that had almost gotten rid of. Great. Just when he had muted the insufferable shrill of his employers, they were now back. He rubbed at his temple, his migraine coming back full blown. His hand gripping tightly at the crystal glass of cognac, he stared at his reflection from up above before bringing the glass to his lips once again. But his thirst was unsatisfied. He raised the glass to eye level, looking at the ice reflecting and refracting light all around, the remaining drop of the spirit mixed with the droplets of melting ice at the bottom. With a soft groan of annoyance, he slid the glass across the bar back to you.

“Another,” The man grumbled. 

With a nod, you grabbed for the empty glass and turned around, reaching for the cognac on the shelf. 

You handed the man his glass, and being slightly mischievous and having only a slight interest in the man you convinced yourself, you placed your fingers upon the drink in such a way, your fingers “accidentally” grazed upon one another. You couldn’t help but smile cheekily to yourself. And while you thought you were oh so sly, your eyes locked upon your own hand, the man’s gaze however raised up to your features in suspicion. You were not terribly as discreet as you thought, but he played along anyhow, a low rumble of a chuckle left from his chest for a moment so brief that you had missed it, as he accepted fully now the glass of cognac. 

Dio was right, you were amusing. 

“Tch, what is there to explain? The only thing I would be explaining to you is things you would most likely already know; the world is filled with scum called humans,” The man stated.

“Quite a declaration, but how can you be so sure and speak for everyone?” You challenged, not with any passion or of true anger, but curious where your prompt might lead the conversation. 

His eyebrows furrowed in a crease, as his lip twitched ever so little once again like many times before, but it appeared to be not so much as towards you, but towards the mere mention of people bothered him fully. He then reached in his pocket with his expression unchanged, and pulled out a toothpick. His eyes casted aside, he pinched the little sharp piece of wood between his index finger and thumb as he stuck it between his teeth in a hurried manner. You watched his mannerisms, even more curious as to what he might do next, your hands slowly putting down the first dish you had cleaned for the shift. This was going to be a long night. When he was finally satisfied, he pulled the toothpick from his mouth, as he stared at it with contempt. Still held tight between the two digits, he rolled the toothpick back and forth once again, his gaze never leaving it. And his gaze, was fogged with brooding thoughts unknowing to you.

“I’ve met thousands of people in my lifetime, and yet they are all pigs of a different breed. Whether they preach about morality or praise themselves to be greater than God himself,” If looks could kill, his could. The toothpick between his fingers continued to roll, when suddenly he stopped.

“they all squeal the same when butchered.” A light snap echoed from the man’s hand, the toothpick splintered in half from him, flicking it with his thumb. With a slight look of disgust, he brushed away the now broken toothpick, never caring to give it even a second glance. His eyes in languid manner looked down at his almost empty glass, and brought to his lips. It only took a matter of moments before said glass lay now barren, a frustrated groan leaving his dampened lips.

You swallowed down the air that choked you within your throat. Surely he didn’t mean he hurts people in some matter of form as an occupation, right? But even with the insinuation he brought forth, your curiosity, though not by the choice of you, grew tenfold. Finding yourself once more captivated by the man, you forcefully broke away your gaze from him as you now saw an opportunity to do so, noticing his glass was once again empty. And being the attentive bartender you are, without another exchange, you reached for his glass, the bottle of cognac already set prepared behind you.

“Here sir let me-” 

But as quickly had you reached for it, your hand was stopped. Confused, your eyes trailed down to your surprisingly unmoving hand, when you saw a large hand holding captive over your wrist. 

It was the man’s. 

You winced ever so slightly as the hand’s knuckles grew white with each passing second as he applied more pressure, tension hanging in the air. But his gaze remained cool, almost cold. You returned your sight to him but not to his gaze, staring uncomfortably at his upper chest as to not dare to make eye contact, unsure of what such an action could mean. And as if hearing your thoughts, the man forcefully tugged at your arm, pulling you over the counter so you were now forced to match his gaze. And you almost could have sworn you saw for but a brief moment a sadistic smile upon his face.

“I do not recall asking of you another glass of cognac, or perhaps I’m mistaken?” You shuddered with each syllable that left his lips, surely you must fear him now? After all, anyone with right mind would be in such a situation as this. But to your surprise of discovering, though wary, you didn’t find yourself fearful of the man. In fact it felt right, as if this is how it should be, how you wanted it to be, as bizarre as it sounded.

You slowly nodded in agreement to the man’s statement, and with quick haste you pulled away from the man’s hold in a snap, though his grip had already loosened at that point. 

“Yes sir, you are correct…” You mumbled, subconsciously rubbing the once held wrist as if it were in pain or caused some sort of discomfort. But you didn’t dare keep his gaze any longer, your eyes now darting to the floor. The man hummed to himself, now showing openly that smirk that you had barely caught sight before of. 

But your eyes were only found for a few moments looking at the floor, for now you heard out of the silence a mellow ringing of vibrating glass upon the counter. You looked up. Before you spun the same glass that once carried the man’s cognac and thus also the same one you had just reached out just a few passing moments ago, the half thawed ice echoing its musical clacks as such as before. But only now, it rang in a muffled manner as such to the small pool of water that began to melt away. And while the as if dancing glass perhaps would have entranced you and partially did, you only felt the pair of fiery eyes that bore into you, observing your every move, as if studying you. A shiver shot down through your spine.

“You are attentive, you do your job well, I would like another,” The man stated through his smile, the soft tapping of his index finger vibrating throughout the red oak counter. And with a nod, you grabbed the glass once more and began your duty again. How sadistic he was indeed, shaming you for presuming him of a drink only for him to switch around and praise you for another, it was a game he was playing with you. But perhaps there was something wrong with you too, perhaps you had your own sense of conflict, the battle between your own sadism and masochism, for who would allow someone to treat them as such if they too did not enjoy it?

How entertaining you were, Dio affirmed. How even threatening he posed himself to be, you remained obedient and still, though obvious it was that thoughts had begun to swirl and spin around your head, much like the glass. And as quickly as he concluded the statement, he heard your pleasant voice once more.

“Forgive me for asking such a straightforward question, but uhm… You, you don’t hurt people as a job, right?” You asked hesitantly, as you slowly slid the now full glass of cognac across the counter, your eyes darting towards his face again to catch his expression. It felt like such a childish and feeble question, but you didn’t know how else to word it or make it sound more professional so to speak. The man’s smile turned to a grin as a boastful laughter escaped from deep within his chest, his head slightly tossed back, as if affirming your question was indeed childish. A blush crept up from your neck, tainting now your cheeks a vibrant red, a meek smile finishing the last touches to the bashful expression.

Returning to a calm state once more though still carrying his initial smirk, he chugged down his final glass of cognac for the night, and with a sudden slam he brought his gaze right towards you, if not your soul.

“No, no I do not ‘hurt’ people for a living, well no, that is a lie. I bring people to a false sense of their own ideal of ‘justice’. But whether or not they are truly innocent is not my decision for the making.” 

His smile was gone as soon as he began to describe to you in a form of a riddle of what he does as a job. Piecing together the clues he brought forth, you concluded,

“Oh, so a lawyer? That’s quite a proudful job, bringing people to justice and all, but why say ‘false justices’?”

The man inhales heavily the air, as if trying to intoxicate himself with the surrounding aromas, trying to drown the idea of his occupation out of his head. But of course, however dull or muted the voices of his employers had become, they were always still there. He raised his head, his expression changed from one of annoyance but to now with smug. He looked at you like you were so naive, and perhaps you were. Perhaps you believed in the good of man, that there, buried deep beneath the calloused shallow heart of a man, lay the potential of true kindness. Of ever forgiveness, a mimicry of an omnipotent God.

“Because, I, as a lawyer, never choose my employers nor their fate, therefore if they are a murderer, my job is to make sure that they win; that they are secured for innocence. If my employer believes that they possess the right for utter innocence, whether villain or not, that I must do.” 

The man leaned back in his seat, his index finger never ceasing its tapping, in fact, each tap seemed to grow in intensity, the verberations traveling throughout the counter, a mere simple graze from your hand and you could feel very well the pulsating thumps his tapping had caused. Much unprocessed anger, you half joked to yourself. 

You bowed your head ever slightly, your eyes fixated with the glass held between your hands and the towel you wrapped over them, a soft hum in understandment leaving your throat. How naive you truly were. But perhaps for such naivety, perhaps you were not so in truth. Because in truth, you knew very well that the world is not one of sunshine and pure good, but you hope that one day, one day you could possibly paint the canvas of the world as if it were. That even though you knew how much terror and vile sins contaminated the earth as you knew it, that one day it would be pure as your naivety hoped. Your naivety is not one out of foolishness and inexperience of the world around, but from the sparks of hope you have lingering within your heart.

His grip firm on his glass, 

“Tell me, bartender, what led you to work here?” He softly demanded.

You momentarily paused your cleaning, your eyes locking upon him. The fact he invited you to converse more startled you, only slightly, but startled none of the less. A smile softly emerged upon your face as you placed down your second cup for the night, picking up once again another glass in routine, your destiny for the rest of the night ahead. With each flick of your clothed thumb upon the unclean dish, you began telling the strange man before you your reasonings.

“There’s no grand reason as to why I work here really, I just happen to be good at mixing some cocktails and was hired.” 

The man glared at you from his half lidded eyes, sipping away at his spirit.

“Is that so? I see.” 

If you did not wish to share no more, he would not press on. But Dio knew, he did not even need to press on at all. In the end, you would conveniently continue onward with only you as being the motivator and decision maker, or so you believed. The human mind, even such as his own, was a tricky thing to comprehend, and much more so to even begin to fathom understanding someone else’s. But to Dio, it was nothing more but a game of cards, a play of poker, a gambling game. You could decide not to elaborate any further, thus meaning Dio would lose his bet. But, there was a high possibility that you would. Stakes so high in fact, Dio would deem himself to be foolish not to take it, and considering he had already begun to understand the inner workings of your mind, he might as well declare victory. And in a matter of silent seconds, 

Dio had won jackpot.

“Well, I suppose there is one reason…” You began.

A grin soon took hold of Dio’s expression, finding pleasure in being right about every mannerism he would soon make sure to memorize about you. His eyes never breaking away was your initiative to continue.

“I always found people interesting, their lives, their problems, their goals, just how they work in general.” 

Your eyes stared at your distorted reflection upon the crystal glass. They had to be at least two hundred dollars if not more. The way it captured and highlighted the colors that swirled and beamed around the crystal’s reflection, the bulbs that hung low above the counter playing its share in the vivid image. But it was soon distorted once again with your towel wiping over the surface of the glass, a fluid motion you were all too used to. With a paycheck such as yours, you could not even begin to dream about owning such fine glasses as these, even working at such a refined bar as this.

“It’s curious, how people feel so comfortable sharing intimate details with just some bartender, a stranger to them. You would think they would tell these kinds of intimate details about their lives to some close friend or even a family member, but here they are telling me instead, that is of course presuming they haven’t told others yet.” 

The glass you once held echoed a loud clack as you placed it on top of another identical crystal glass, creating a tower of sparkling crystals. And while you had your eyes fixated with the fine and delicate glasses, the man’s eyes were fixated on you, soaking your image into memory, etching your person and figure whole into his mind, his eyebrows cocked in curiosity at your explanation.

“But as odd as it is, in some way, it makes perfect sense to y’know? To share such private and vulnerable problems with a stranger.”

A silence hung momentarily as the man eyed you from behind his glass, soon to be broken by the clack of his cup to the counter.

“Do tell.” His voice, though seeming uninterested, his stare told another story. Your expression unwavering from your busied hands, you resumed. 

“Well, I mean think about it, it's the very fact that I, the bartender, am a total stranger. Y’know, that someone who doesn't know you or what you’ve done, or what you’re even like, would even begin to have any subjective thoughts about you. So to me, the stranger, the bartender, the customer is a blank palette to me.” You laughed at yourself, placing down your final dish for the night.

“I’m sorry, that was kinda corny even for me, I mean like, what do I even know? I’m spewing nonsense so don’t mind me.” Your head rose, your eyes interlocking with his own. A blush soon arose upon your cheeks from the sudden intense gaze of his, shooting your head downwards once again. 

The man followed in suit by glancing down at his empty glass, the rhythmic tapping he had once ensued now long had stopped.

“I see,” He murmured. 

Breaking the tension, a muffled yell was heard ringing through the empty bar from beyond the storage doors. With a jump, you snapped your neck in the direction of the sound, soon noting it was your superior’s voice, your hands trembling softly upon the glass you had just placed down. Straightening yourself once more, you shout back,

“Coming, coming!” 

But before you rushed off in frantic hurry, you turned back to the man at the bar, your eyes tracing him quickly. There was a strange feeling of guilt washing over you. And as any human being would ever want, you pondered as how to console your feeling of said guilt.

“Excuse me sir, but I’ll be just a moment, forgive me.”

Such simple words, and from any bartender these words have been uttered before, it really didn’t mean much. Plenty of your customers must have heard you say something similar to them as well. But in those moments, you didn’t really give it much thought, rather than thinking of the customer as a person, they were an impending paycheck, as cruel as it sounded. If you made them wait too long, the tip would be small if any. But with him, this particular customer, you said it with earnesty, with almost even as far to say as care. You wanted to let him know you would want to stay in his company if you could, that even if he said little and even reacted a little harshly, you found him to be the most intriguing customer out of anyone you had served.

With a soft nod to yourself, you broke away from him and rushed off, pushing through the storage doors, leaving them swinging with creaks and groans back and forth. And so, the man was once again alone.

“Why do you keep yelling! And also, why the hell are you all black and blue? You look like you got into a bar fight!” You began shouting at your manager through but a whisper, your back slightly hunched forward as if afraid your customer would hear you as you swung your arms in annoyance. 

He groaned as he leaned into his palm holding his ice pack, the side of his face already beginning to distort into a bluish purple colored mess, his cheekbone almost double the size as it was before. Watching in disgruntled manner at his features, you waited for him to respond, the subtle sound of teeth grinding in confined pain reverberating from him. With a grunt, your superior shifted onto his other foot, matching your bent over pose. He reeked of dry blood and pungent sweat, your nostrils flared in response. 

“It’s none of your fucking business, Miss Y/n!” He defensively roared back in only but emotion, but his volume as hushed as yours

“You keep dawdling with that customer and not doing your job, you’re not paid to chit chat y’know!?” He scolded back, a moan quickly followed through seething his still grinding teeth. As your manager was about to continue his reprimanding, he groaned in pain, soon interrupted by curses leaving lips under his breath, he slowly lowered himself as though his body were limp and weak, allowing himself to collapse on the foldable chair placed behind him near the storage cabinets. A satisfying sigh left his lips as he practically sunk into the chair, his head thrown back. You scoffed, what can of reply was that? Surely he had some better excuse to pull you away from your job? You almost knew he had pulled you back here as if with subtlety to gain your sympathies and condolences with his mysterious injury. But you didn’t feel like humoring him, as you were tired and exhausted yourself, sure you felt a little bad, but not enough to care.

“Uh, you do realize my job is to keep my customer satisfied? If they wish to chit chat then I’ll chit chat with ‘em as much as they like!” You barked back a little too loudly. With quick action to clear your throat, you straightened yourself upright. This talk was far too childish, and wasn’t worth your time. 

The manager however did not even bother to respond, too busy with moaning and groaning his misery away, far too dramatic you thought. And with a final sigh, your superior slumped forward in his chair, like a toddler tired after their tantrum. 

“Fine, fine, do whatever you want, just quit fucking dawdling then…” 

And with a satisfactory sigh, you spun around towards the storage doors, a little too eager to go back to your work, of course you would not admit this to yourself. With your hands slightly trembling, you concluded it was due to the chill air in the storage, not that you would allow anything else to be your conclusion, you pressed firmly against the steel doors, a loud and obnoxious squeak groaning from their hinges. And finally, you approached the bar, only to see, you were alone with but an empty crystal glass.

A groan of disappointment slipped past your lips without your consent, considering the fact you did not want the world nor even you to know your bizarre developing feelings of curiosity for the peculiar lawyer. Your eyes scanned the room for him, perhaps he changed locations as he waited for your return, or maybe grew curious about the pictures that hung on the Blood And Liquor’s walls? But not a soul was in the bar to be found. Your finger began a steady rhythm, tapping softly upon the oak counters. How odd, you never had such a habit nor felt prone to do so. You glanced at your hand, never ceasing its tapping, over, over, and over again, just like the man’s. With quick haste, you slammed down the thumping hand, as if punishing yourself for such inappropriate behaviors, though the habit was normal in itself. Were you going insane? It felt as though everything were heightened, your senses, your feelings, everything felt rather too keen and sharp. And with a drop of your head, you admitted defeat that the man, was truly gone. Biting your lip, you hated to rely on your superior considering how much of an ass he was, but you pushed onward and asked through strained question.

“Hey, who was that guy?” 

As if on cue, the manager stumbled through the storage doors holding an almost comically sized ice pack, he probably changed the old one for something colder, or perhaps and more likely, for something that would more likely gain your sympathies, but all he earned from you was a suppressed laugh. 

“You mean, you don’t know him? I presumed you did and you were just stupid and infatuated with his good looks and that’s why you went and talked to him!” He responded in his usual whiny tone.

Turning slightly towards your managers figure, you asked in cross expression,

“And what do you mean about that? I am-” 

Your body burned with all the anger that had accumulated over your stressful day that you had begrudgingly shared with this prick. And the prick, or, sadly as you had to call him formally, your manager, did not help your mood as he infuriated you with each snarky comment that left his chapped lips. And oh, did you plan on taking every opportunity and chance to relieve your anger on him. That was, until your fingers grazed over something peculiar, something of small and even as far to say of insignificant size, but none of the less caught your interest. As if a wave washing calmly over the shore, your expression changed in an instance, the cherry tint of anger on your cheeks flushing away and your pupils grew large in curiosity. Your interest piqued, you glanced down to what lay beneath your palm, only to see a plastic card of some sort, perhaps a business’s contact. Dulling out the sound of your cocky manager as he rambled on and on about something you most likely did not care about, you took hold in quick action of the card, and began reading the index, an unknown name almost popping out before your eyes, begging you to read it.

“Dio Brando…” You murmured right under your breath. The name rolled off your tongue in pleasing manner, almost as if leaving you wanting to repeat it again and again, entrancing even. Was that the name of the mysterious customer? As if on instinct, your eyes shot towards the entrance of the bar, your mind running upon itself, wondering and perhaps even hoping that he left his business card behind on purpose just for you. When from the corner of your eye, a row of neatly handwritten digits on the corner of the card caught your attention. Your cheeks burned red as your lips quivered in poorly contained excitement and joy, and though the reaction being the same as your heaving anger from before, oh how differently you felt now. As if fluttering butterflies you flew, and as high to cloud nine you landed. It was his number.

“I genuinely believe you live under a rock, Miss Y/n! Everyone within a hundred mile radius of Liverpool knows of the great lawyer Dio Brando, even if you don’t care much for politics! His charm and intellect, and of course his good looks, is nothing but eye catching! As for me however, I’d say I’m much more of a catch, but women seem to care for a guy who is nothing but an asshole to them rather than the nice guy.”

You scoffed at his self proclaimed title, your irritation beginning to resurface again. But you would not him damper your mood as many times before, not with how pleased you were feeling with how the night had played out. And so, you turned to your superior, a very obvious fake smile grimaced across your features, you ignored his sentiments. 

“I’m clocking out Sir since I’ve washed all the dishes as you asked, have a good evening.”

Your manager whipped around to face the counter of which you were just standing at, his face red as a tomato. You were correct. You, though at snail’s pace, had finished your required duty. 

“Hey you need to help me lock up Miss Y/n, Miss Y/n!”

But it was useless, for the Blood And Liquor’s fine oak doors slammed behind you, leaving your superior alone, his foot stamped against the floor in annoyance like a child.

Your feet slightly tripping and stumbling upon the rough pavement, you shot your head back and forth towards the directions of the sidewalk, looking, or praying rather, you would just catch a glimpse of the mysterious man. One glance was all you needed to be satisfied, just one. And as you were about to accept defeat, your chest heaving from the sudden rush of adrenaline, a flash of starry-like blonde just barely fleeted your peripheral vision. In shakened gasp, you straightened your slouched position to one being acutely aware, scanning the area. And there he stood, like a relic of a statue basking in moonlit night at the end of the sidewalk. His back was turned towards you, so his whole figure in itself was not visible, but his side passing gaze, pierced through both shadow and light, glared right at you. How strange, you thought, how your words clung to your throat like dew upon morning grass, how with each swallow of your sore throat proved to you more so what words you lacked. He was, you bashfully admitted, magnificent. But, how much you wanted to approach him, ask him about the card he could have possibly left by mere chance, you stood there unmoving, your hand trembling as you traced your throat as if to give it the strength to speak, of course not even a whimper escaping. You did not know him by name nor as a person, but you knew, from the whispers under your skin, sending soft tremors throughout your body, what power he held. He was as terrifying as he was beautiful. 

His fiery gaze flickered over your figure, mesmerizing your lovely expression and reaction. But when his eyes met your own once again, his canine shined from the moon rays, his lips curling into a devilish smile. And with that, he was gone with the shadow of the moon, as fleeting as a light’s ray.

You stood there, utterly dumbfounded as to what came over you, your hand dropping to your side. What such an expression could possibly mean? Perhaps he found you to be childish for chasing him down, or even laughable? But your questions hung within your head like a smog over black morning waters. As you pondered and reconciled with yourself, and considering how uncareful you are, your hand loosened for but a moment, and with a gust of wind, the card you once had captured slipped past your fingers, escaping your grasp. The trees began to flutter and rustle as if they were in chittering gossip about only you, watching as how the card trailed farther and farther away from you along the summer night’s breeze. A gasp left from your dry lips, your heart tightened at the sight of the insignificant piece of plastic being carried away, the mockery from the creaking branches and the shivering leaves growing ever louder. That is right, that is what it should be, a piece nearly worth nothing of plastic, a man you had only served some spirit, a gentleman you had just met. Perhaps this was God’s sign that this meeting was never meant to be more, than just a meeting. 

As you cursed inwardly at yourself for being so careless, you noticed the card began to drag downwards, its weight far too heavy for the gust of wind, and now found itself caught in the crack of the sidewalk, bending slightly in the breeze, perhaps taunting. Shaking yourself forward from your fluster of emotions as to not miss the moment of capture, you bent over with haste toward the card, your grip now firm and certain as to not let it escape you this time. Perhaps it was just mere luck that the card fell victim to the crevice in the pavement, but you believed, though no substantial proof there was, that it was not just mere luck. You, in your very heart, however foolish and out of character it was for you as it seems, were now sure you were to meet him again. After all,

Fate is a tricky thing.

And lo and behold, you did meet the man, time and time again. In fact to clarify, it had now been two years since your first meeting of the strange man titled Dio. And in that time, you had become closer to the man, and as your intimate time with the man grew and grew, so did fond thoughts about him, reappearing within your head time and time again. 

Wearing casually his shirt with only but some undergarments of your own, the shoulders of the button up drooped over yours in slight humorous manner, as of course, the man was much larger than yourself, not to mention his back and shoulders be much broader than your own. And just as he was many years ago, you sat at the island bar, though unlike him, the bar was in your very kitchen. And with a sigh, you brought the glass of wine to your lips, your posture slightly slugged over upon the counter, your legs interlinked around the barstool on which you had yourself seated upon. How lonely it was, you thought. The apartment that you shared ownership remained unusually quiet, almost uncomfortably so. Your legs shifted. With a soft clack you set down your glass of wine, a whine slipping past your lips, your chin now resting within your palm. 

Was he always this late? Your eyes dragged over to the clock that incessantly ticked and tocked upon the kitchen wall before you, its obnoxious ticking placing you farther and farther in the depths of your foul mood. It should not have bothered you in theory, considering how soft in reality the sound the clock made, but it irritated you nonetheless, terribly. Your legs shifted yet again. The utter silence of which you acknowledged just a moment earlier played its part in your mood, reminding you how irritable it made you feel, and the wine did not help one bit. In fact, it seemed to enhance your bitter thoughts and other emotions at play. But, at the same time, it soothed you none the matter, a love-hate relationship you had. And with brisk movement, you reached for your glass, only to find out it was already empty. With a huff, your legs untangled themselves from the barstool, and placed your feet upon the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, the bottle of wine ever looming across the room. Trickling upon trickling the bottled poured, your grip tight around it, and your expression, cross. You understood very well that he was a busy man with busy work, but you have needs of your own, perhaps you got a little lonely sometimes with him being this late gone. 

“It’s almost as if he’s married to his own damn job…” You mumbled to yourself in half light-hearted joke, the wine nearing half full of your glass. Well, to you half empty, but the debate can be decided on another day where you are less bothered to say the least. 

The wine was smooth against your tongue but harsh upon your throat, a feeling that unlike its description would presume, pleased you best. A dry wine was always preferred over dessert wine on such occasions as these. And so, with the glass in hand, you seated yourself once again at the kitchen island upon the barstool. 

But your mind wandered, you just could not help yourself, even if your irritation was garnered towards him. The false image of gentleness from the wine, how it coaxed and lathered your mouth in odd but soothing silky touch. But that is not what you adored about this particular brand of wine, oh no. What you craved with each sip that you took, was the burning pleasure it left behind. The biting and nipping of alcohol burning away at your throat, the warm feeling that pooled within your stomach as an aftermath. How with each swallow, it left your throat far more raw than the last sip. It was painful as how dry the wine was, you admitted, but that is what you shamefully adored about it best. The rough and burning sensation that the wine, so delicate in name, Belle Amour, was all so contradicting in both identity and taste. And that, attracted you to the wine ever more so. 

As you sat hunched over in depressing air with your wine in hand, the chittering of keys echoed to your ears behind the heavy duty doors of your apartment, soon followed by the clicking of the locks unhinging themselves. And that is when, though of course against your petty will, a smile grew from your lips, your eyes locked upon the entrance.

As the large door creaked open with slow and sturdy ease, there stood the starry-like blonde man, your husband. 

“My Darling,” Dio greeted from the entrance, his broad arms stretched out wide, impending for your soft embrace. His expression, though evidently tired, still carried a smile upon his lips. 

With not so pleasing eager as to meet your husband, as your plan was to meet him with bitter and with sulk, hopped off the barstool. Your feet in your signature fluffy pink slippers (he preferred barefoot or with socks) slightly shuffling as you approached him, soon falling in his cushioned embrace as your arms quickly found place around his waist, your hands set upon his back. His signature cologne traveled around you like a dizzying fog, intoxicating you with its familiarity. You were rather displeased with him to say the least, but to deny that the mere action of his arms wrapped tightly around you did not soothe you would be… Well, utterly a lie.

Not that the peacefulness of his embrace lasted long, the wine after all had ignited a spark within you, blowing fan at your irritation, enhancing it. You let go with rapid movement, your lips in a pout, your forehead creasing from your furrowed brows as your nose crinkled, a common reaction you would have when you were displeased. 

“Dio, this has been the fifth night in the row where you come home so late! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you preferred spending the night at your job rather than with your wife! Which oh by the way, you’ve done before!” You scolded your exhausted husband, your hips bucked slightly to lean on your right leg, your hands placed just above the hip bone.

But as always when you would bicker and prod at the poor man, he was all but too cool. Jacket hung in arm, Dio bent low to unhook the back of his cap toe shoes, sliding his feet out with ease as he processed your complaint, a gentle smirk placed upon his features. With you still standing there with your hands placed upon your hips, he walked gently before you as not to shove or be aggressive in any manner as he took his coat that he had been carrying and had finally placed it on the coat rack. If anything, he was exemplary in his manners, and it irked you even farther. He always was. 

With your foot tapping in impatient brittle, your husband raised his hands upon your shoulders, rubbing them soothingly. 

“You’ll have to forgive me, those scum I begrudgingly have to call my employers kept me late as they ranted to me for the hundredth time it seems about their damn predicament. Honestly, it’s their fault they got themselves into that fucking pyramid scheme…” Dio’s face grew sour as he mentioned his work life, his grip slightly tightening around your shoulders, not hurting of course, but the increase of pressure was noticeable.

But even with his soft plea of forgiveness, your annoyance did not wither away, even though your heart ached for but a moment at his gentle touch. But you were his wife, surely you were more important than his employers? 

Dio locked eyes with you one last time before walking ahead of you, leaving you at the door entrance. Catching eye of the wine bottle placed upon the counter, Dio strode over to it, his non-dominant hand already gripping at the counter as his dominant hand reached at the cabinet above him for a glass of his own. He never cared much for wine, but he did not dislike it either. However, ever since he had become your husband, his liking for wine grew, as that was your own very favorite booze. But he would always prefer harder alcohols like spirits or liquors.

With a soft clack of the glass being placed upon the marble counters, the wine gurgled softly out of the bottle as Dio poured his own share, your glare following his movements, and he knew how intensely you were eyeing him as his smug expression grew. 

You understood fully well, even beneath the pettiness and irritation, that to ask of him such a thing as to make him prioritize you above all else, would be impossible and selfish. You adored your husband, ever since you served him his first cognac if you were being truly honest with yourself, so to ask him to throw away his wants and needs would be wrong on your end. But even with this in mind, the wine played its own part in your current state, and you could not help but want his attention to be focused completely on you, even if the want was selfish.

“Oh ok I understand, oh by the way honey there was something I had to tell you, or remind you… Oh yeah, you have something called a phone? You could oh I don’t know, call me from the office that you’ll be running late? And because of your inadequacy of communication, the dinner I made, got cold and I had to eat by myself!” Enunciating the last words as to make your point, the tapping of your foot grew increasingly more loud, rising the same with your passion. 

You knew this whole bicker and prodding from yourself was quite childish, even for you. But seeing his handsome face with that stupid smug expression of his, his hair tousled slightly just how you liked it, and as if a cherry on top, his work shirt was unbuttoned with his tie quite loose, revealing to you cheekily his collarbone and upper chest, but only barely of course, all you could do was puff out in exasperation.

Turning now fully towards you, he leaned against the counter on his one forearm, the other holding his glass of wine as his eyes trailed your figure until finding your eyes once again. Your glare wavered but a moment, your throat reflexing in a swallow, perhaps out of nervousness or the lack of water, you were not quite sure. What an ass he was, making you flustered like this.

“I see you helped yourself to one of my shirts,” Dio commented as he brought the wine to his lips, but his eyes devoured you whole, never allowing you to rest for even but a moment from his gaze.

With a huff, you rolled your head away from his stare. 

“Don’t change the subject, Dio.”

A chuckle reverberated from your husband, his relaxed position unchanging. Soon the sound of his glass being placed upon the counter clattered softly, his arms now crossed as his wine now sat behind him. 

“What are you trying to do, Y/n?” His voice demanded firmly, but his smug expression never left his chiseled features. Even when you for a moment hated his guts, his pretty face sure did help for you to feel less bothered in some form or other. Or… did it make you feel more bothered? 

You scoffed at his accusation, your tapping of your foot finally ceasing with a final light stomp, a mocking laugh escaping past your throat. 

“I’m not trying to do anything! I’m merely holding you responsible for your careless actions!” 

Dio hummed all too delightedly for your liking, his hands placed yet again on the counter behind him, only this time he used it as a prop to help him move forward, approaching you at a carefree pace. Your lip twitched in annoyance, and perhaps even in the air of being intimidated, your body subconsciously moving itself backwards away from him. Not that you ever feared that he would hurt you. But, to deny he did not cause you fluster, cause your heart to beat at rapid pace far much more than you would deem comfortable, was foolish. Your foot fell back on itself, placed behind the other in support. And while your eyebrows stayed furrowed and your lip still raised slightly in annoyance, your eyes however, widened little by little as he brought himself closer to your figure. 

“Hmm, you’re right, I should take responsibility for what I’ve caused, seeing how you’re just… Trembling in need, how immature of me,” Dio chuckled in your ear.

He circled you like a hawk, eyeing down his prey, his calloused hands tracing over your pulse, cupping the side of your neck. You let out a shaky breath, his spell already having its toll on you. You just could not help leaning your head to the side for him, just a little. Biting your lip, you cursed at him inwardly for making you feel like this, your eyes fluttering to a soft close as a trembling sigh left your parted lips. 

As his other hand found its way around your waist, like a python around its newly found meal, his lips just grazed over your life line, his breath, fanning at your neck in heated mist. How he enjoyed the power he held over you, how he made you squirm and writhe under just the very graze of his touch.

“Oh what’s wrong, my morning dove? Where is the passion, the anger you had garnered towards me just a moment ago, hm?” He cooed mockingly against your neck. You could feel his teeth just barely grazing over your supple skin. Damn him. 

You clicked your tongue in irritation, a sign he knew all too well; you may be agitated, but you had no intentions of fighting back, whether you admitted it to him or not. 

“You are such an ass Dio,” You whined out, your bottom lip barely pouting out. 

He did not care that you called him vulgar profanities, in fact, he instead teased your neck, just barely ghosting his lips over your flesh, the subtle throb of your pulse quickening under his phantom kisses. 

“Y’know, I never realized how adorable you looked in my clothing… Perhaps I’ll hide away your clothes from now on so you’ll resort to wearing my belongings…” 

His lips carried up the column of your neck, soon finding the crevice of your jaw too quickly, a sadistic shuckle reverberating against your skin, until he nipped playfully at it. But he grew bored with this static position, but the very idea of your body laid before him, vulnerable, accepting. Now that, enticed him. The hand that once cupped your neck so tenderly, began to trail oh so slowly. Over your pulse, your strained tendon, then trailing over the curvature of your lower neck, until finally finding place between the indents of your collar bone, caressing with mocking manner between them and just barely over your cleavage. You shuddered with each thing he did, your resentment growing more faint by the second, like a whisper fading into a warm summer night. It was beginning to be replaced by something far more fearsome than your prior anger, something far more, unholy if you will. But with each trembling breath, with each rise and fall of your chest, Dio chuckled against your skin, your submission ever pleasing. The pads of his fingers found way quite quickly to the buttons of the shirt, slowly, almost tortuously slow, flicking them loose from the casually-worn garment holding them still, the valley between your breasts steadily revealing itself to him and the nearly empty marble kitchen. The only factor proving it to be not as entirely empty as it seemed however, was the echo of your faint whimpers of your denial of need for him. Your petty will of not wanting to give up your annoyance so easily, and his sadistic chuckle pressed against your neck, finding your inner turmoil just endearing. 

“Which is why it is such a shame, because they too will end up ripped away from your body anyhow. Such a shame.”

With your eyes that were once fully closed fluttering to a half lidded side-glance towards Dio, you cocked your head barely in puzzlement. You quickly glanced down at the shirt you wore. It was just fine? So what did he even-

Ah, now it made sense. 

With a sharp gasp eliciting from you, the hand of your husband grasped the hem of the dress shirt, his forearm flexing as it ripped the very shirt off your back, the muscles flaring and rippling under his very skin, his strength impressive. Afterall, who could just tear off a shirt with their bare hands?

“I’m not mending that y’know,” You commented with snark, trying oh so hard to hide the soft tremors in your voice, the way your body shook in utter need, in utter anticipation for his ravenous touch. But he knew your subtitles, every little detail of your mannerisms. What husband knew not of such a thing? Well, not that was the whole truth either. Let it be stated just this; that perhaps he dedicated himself to learn every quirk and manner of yours since you fiddled with towel in hand that crystal glass at the Blood and Liquor. And Dio knew all too well that cute little twitch your supple lips did when you tried your very best to bite back the gnawing and gnashing of pure lust, just dedicated to him. He let out a chuckle that vibrated from deep within his chest, his eyes partly creased in amusement. 

“Then maybe I’ll just have you walking around the apartment naked from now on, hm? And I'll be greeted with this delicious body of yours, every, single, time.” 

Even though Dio had seen your body hundreds if not a thousand times before and had been married to you for quite some time now, you cast your gaze away, your neck, red and teased exposed to him in tempting allure: He still had such an effect on you. How adorable.

As you concurred that the floor seemed as of now the most interesting thing to gawk at, with your face burning red as an ember and your body the flames of such a heated thing, a sudden tug pulled at your chin with firm grip, forcing you to lock eyes with Dio. It was his hand. How soft and gentle your skin was, Dio proclaimed to himself, how perfectly your chin lay between his two calloused digits, as if your very body was molded from his own embrace. 

“Ah ah ah, I never told you to look away, did I, my wife?” Dio cooed, bringing your face even closer to his own, his nose just grazing over your own in tempting manner as if to take a sweet kiss. 

But he never did. No, Dio, was a true tease at heart. Well better say a sadist. He let his hot breath bounce upon your face, his lips just taunting your own, and his eyes. Half lidded and sultry they were, fluttering between your own gaze and your puckered lips, still stained from the wine you had drank just a moment ago. His grip upon your chin tightened, signaling to you his own growing need. But knowing him, he would torment himself just to get a rise out of you. His thumb then caressed your bottom lip, now barely parted under his touch, a hum of approval echoing from the man before you. And seeing his intricate defenses little by little crumble apart as his eyes darkened with sinful glee, you found it opportune to poke at him, just a little. 

“If I didn’t know any better my dear husband, I’d say you wanted to kiss me, seeing as how…” You trailed off, letting your own hands find way to his cheekbone, the pad of your fingertip dragging low till finding his own lip. A groan of satisfaction practically purred from within his chest, his skin nearly blistering with heat. 

“Bothered you are with our proximity,” You finished the statement with a gentle tug at his own work collar, your lips placing soft nips and pecks upon his ear and jawline. You felt his growing frustration, his once crumbling barriers now reduced to nearly soot upon your palm. But, be wary when you break the restraints of the one and only Dio, as you are responsible for whatever will come after. And those consequences, were about to reveal themselves to you in a matter of seconds.

He let go of your chin roughly, taking hold of your waist with feral grasp, and with quick haste, lifted you up as if you were nothing but a bag of feathers to him. And as if punctuation to the end of a statement, with a yelp from you, he practically slammed you on the island. His eyes glowered at you which could only be described as perhaps mania, the way they flickered hungrily over your barely covered body, his hand kneading into your flesh as if fearful you would disappear in dust. They continued their ravenous exploration, first by squeezing with almost bruising force at your hips, asserting himself over you, dominating you. That whatever marks he decorated upon you, whether love bite, bruise or cut, he shall be the one to cause such discomfort, such masochistic pleasure within yourself. Only he can mark your body as he saw fit. Only him. Then, still hungry for the utter softness of your flesh, he cupped your sides, almost tenderly you would have admitted, if it were not for the sudden shove of your body, your back shivering from the barely clothed feeling of the cold counter embracing your back. Your eyes, wide and innocent-like dashed around madly, your face as red as a cherry as he manhandled you, your consequences ever clear. You were facing the horns of a red-seeking bull. 

“Bothered you say? Oh my sweet dove, I’m far beyond, ‘bothered’,” He murmured against your ear, his teeth not even bothering to be gentle as he bit into the curve of your earlobe. A sharp whimper earned from you, and a wicked grin from him. 

“I’m practically enraged, my dear. Pathetic excuses of humans squawking in and out about how it was a mistake that they were there, whores daring to put their filthy hands on me to lower their needed pay, it was a miracle I didn’t tear her head off, much more her hand. Well, not that she didn’t go without penalty,” Dio retorted far too lazily for one to presume that the woman he spoke of was completely uninjured and out of harm’s way. Opening your mouth to ask and question about the situation, you were shut up quite quickly with the feeling of his feverish hands, as if closing a zipper, your lips sealed shut. You would worry about the woman later, as for you, you had yourself to worry about. Oh, you knew you were not going to do much walking this week. 

His hands kept you pinned to the countertop, not a room for negotiating if you wish to move or not, utterly still. But he grew restless, watching your barely covered chest rise up and down temptingly, the curvature of your breasts just teasing him from past your bra. His expression grew aggressive, his lip twitching as always but his eyes dared not to tear away from the beautiful image before him, drinking up your splain body upon the scorching cold island. And with immediate force, he took hold of your bra, viciously ripping it off, eliciting a scoff from you, covering up your sudden embarrassment from being exposed with annoyance. 

“Dio! Y-you have to stop ripping things, for Christ’s sake!” 

Your eyes darted madly across the room, begging to find a solace of place, as long as you did not meet his unsatiated glare. 

“You aggravated me on possibly the worst choice of day, so face the dire consequences like a good little dove that you are, and please your dear husband, hm?” He responded with chill nonchalance, flicking your bra flimsily away to God knows wear. 

Now letting go of your hips, the feeling almost as if they were raw from how strong of a hold he had on you, his digits curled under his shirt, and with a forceful tug, he ripped it off over his head, his impressive build revealing itself to you as many times before. You knew by now, being married to him for a bit of time, well, by now you should have been used to it, that it should not have such an affect on you as it does now. But it did. Your husband’s body was a sight to behold, muscles upon muscles layered in hardened planes, contorting and adjusting themselves with each subtle movement he did, his blonde hair just barely grazing over his firm broad shoulders. And while his figure truly did leave you in awe, that is not what made you squirm and writhe for his touch, oh no. It was that gaze. The look as if his hunger could never be satiated, never bated by a thing. Even when first meeting him, it felt as though he consumed you entirely, whether it was by his intense gaze or how he preoccupied your mind wholly. 

And now as he towered over you like many times before, it was as if his intense glare was a spark, and you, dry wood. 

“Now, what shall I do with you?” 

His hands grew bold, but then again, he never was not bold when it came to taking things he wanted. The callous pads of his fingers teased the edge of your breasts, never giving you that satisfaction of touching you. A begrudging whine then escaping past your pursed lips, your scowl now growing even farther. You were utterly putty in his hands.

A grin spread forth upon his face as sinful ideas and thoughts flooded his head, an expression even the devil himself would cower from. 

“I could take you right here right now, plunge my throbbing cock into your gaping hole,” He began informing you, his threatening smile growing by the second. 

“But that would be rather too quick, too satisfactory for you, wouldn’t it? No, far far far too quick. I want to feel you writhe under my fingertips, I want to see you claw at anything; my back, the countertop, praying to the mighty God above that I’ll bring you sweet release.”

His hands began to dip low, finding the delicious indent of where flesh and soft skin met your pelvic bone, creating soft divots of a valley leading to a heavenly canal, if Dio felt poetic. His fingertips, were as playful as he was. He napped the elastic of your panties, reveling in the way your hips stuttered from the nip the band of the elastic had brought forth. God you drove him near release from just your suppressed whimpers and shivers. 

“But alas for you, I’m a starved man, and my taste for you must be quenched, whether you give it to me or not.”

And with that, a feral groan which could be described as close to a growl, he too ripped off the panties with haste, flicking off the offending piece of clothing to join the other articles of ripped cloth that lay mounted on the floor. Why even bother mentioning it at this point, you joked sarcastically to yourself. But your sarcasm was soon gone in a flash, pleasure coursing through your veins like molten lava, threatening to consume you whole, if it had not already.

Two large digits, rough and padded with callouses curled into you with extreme force, not caring whether or not if you were ready. For Dio was a cocky man; he knew you were already ready for him, even if he did not ask. Lewd sopping sounds echoed through the quaint kitchen of your abode, decorated with the gasps that left your supple lips. Damn him, and damn his exquisite touch. In and out, curling and unfurling itself was the motion that his hands grew used to over and over again. Dio watched with utter delight how the white pearly beads dribbled downward his knuckles, coating him in your utter essence. You haven’t even had your release yet, but look how wet you were for him, how lewd indeed. How it fed his ego so. But he began to grow persistent, growing more feverish with the need to watch you relapse under his touch. He was about to reach his own breaking point. To hell with your release, he was about to go insane with his own needs, and he was going to get what he wanted, whether he was patient or not. And as of right now, he had the patience of a wolf, its teeth gnashing and gritting as before him, stood a lone lamb. 

With sudden force, Dio pulled his hand away from between your thighs with a pop, and all you could do was release a shaky sigh of protest at the sudden feeling of barren void. He watched in piqued curiosity at his disheveled hands, viscous fluid coating his fingers entirely. It was an erotic display, seeing how even though not having reached release, what a number you had done on him, how evident your arousal for him was. You were not sure if you should feel ashamed or sinfully proud. 

“Suck.”

It was not a question for you to only spat in witty retort, but a demand. And in this very setting, with the kitchen hot and stiff with the smell of sex and bodily perfume you could not quite name, it was law. 

With timid eyes, your gaze raked over his dirtied hand that hovered just at the slope of your lip. And the very moment your quivering mouth just barely revealed a gap, Dio shoved his two fingers in you, earning in his sick sadistic favor choking gulps from you, accommodating to his every whim. 

“Yes, yes just like that, what a good dove you are, taste your need on me, taste how badly you want me to ruin you…”

Like wicked psalms he cooed, the sound of his restraint echoed as his teeth gritted, his jaw evidence of the sound as it reflexed and adjusted to each grit. 

And with that, he pulled his hand out just as quickly as before, the enticing sound of metal clicking soon followed with a thud made you swallow. You were not quite sure whether you were fearful or excited; perhaps both.

In all of its glory, his pride, his emblem, his cock lay nestled between you already glistening thighs, the pearl of precum leaking from Dio’s tip onto your thigh added another layer of erotic sin to the scene. Sure it was not your first time with him, but even still, you could not help but feel a bit frightened each time you see it, the same question to yourself being, ‘just how did I get that to fit into me last time?’. And God, did Dio love seeing that inner conflict so easily recognizable on that dainty little face of yours.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet after riling me up? Surely you knew this would happen when you try to play ringmaster with a hungry lion?” Dio murmured mockingly. 

“You see, what most people forget is,” With his eyes glued on you solely, his hands with masterful work grabbed your damp thighs, relishing the softness of your supple flesh, soon giving them a firm squeeze. He could not wait to see the bruises peeking beneath when you wore that office skirt of yours at him.

“A lion, whether tamed or on leash, is still a lion. And my dear, how I will love sinking my fangs into your awaiting flesh,”

And as if a conclusive bullet point, his fangs of ivory bit as though to make certain to hold you in place at the crook of your neck, your confused wails of unsure understanding if you felt pleasure or pain encouraging him. It was not enough to pierce through your soft barrier of skin, but surely enough to leave a mark. Damn you were not going to hear the end of it if your coworkers saw it. And that, well, was most likely. This was when the last coherent thought you would recall for the remainder of the night.

As your whines turned into whimpers as you adjusted to the force of his bite, Dio grew more fervent, needy to hear you break just for him. And what better way to break you than perhaps take what was rightfully his; you. And of course, your ability to walk that is. With that, his teeth still grazing aggressively over your now tender neck, biting and marking your once pale skin, with deft hands, he pushed without remorse one of your thighs. Higher and with precise power on the counter he pinned your soft thigh, firm and unmoving, and you laid upon before him like a decadent feast, gaining him more access. God you looked so pretty when you were shivering under him. It made him feel like, well… A god. 

And you? Why, his temple of course. 

“Your body, my temple…” He groaned in barely managed words against your neck, not so much as for you to respond, but rather declaring aloud to himself his rights. 

And just as the word suggested, he planned to worship his temple; lips, teeth, tongue, hands, fuck anything as long as he was touching you. So be it if he broke his temple, he could always rebuild upon the base of it again, and again, and again. Brick by brick he would lay them down upon the very same foundations, no matter how many times it took. And by whatever deity stood watching over him high in castle skies, he would enjoy it thoroughly. Perhaps even the perfect deity themselves, built upon trepidations of foreign beliefs and prayers of an unholy race, would soon realize why, man truly sins. 

Dio would show the man on high above, he would make sure of it.

With muffled groans that resonated from deep within his chest as if he were truly letting go of himself, he kept your one thigh pinned with utter brute force, his teeth threatening now to break through your battered skin. He could not take it anymore. And so with a snap of his hips, so began his both mindless yet calculated torture; your paradise. 

With a sheening cry, you clawed at his back for some semblance of support, but only found the tops of his defined shoulders with each drag of your nails. His thrusts were rough and animalistic, hell it brought tears to your eyes even as he battered you from within, over and over again. Brick by brick. Some might argue that there was no love, no remorse in his chase for utter euphoria, but you argued otherwise. This is how he showed his care for you, his love, no matter how twisted and brutal it seemed to be. Each afterimage of the teeth he once bore into your flesh, you would gaze. Each welt or bruise he left, you would shudder from the mere touch of it. And each snap of his positioning cock, would have you limping. Was it bruteful? Oh yes, but these little subtitles, the aftershocks Dio left on your body, even if a day or two had passed since, was his ode of love to you. For what better love letter was there than the one etched into your very skin and flesh?

His hand flexed and whitened as he lost himself in your heat, a familiar sensation it was, but he never grew bored of it, he never will. With a string as though proof of your intimacy of his saliva, Dio pulled away from your battered neck, admiring how barely you processed a thing other than his cock ravaging you. Your lips were swollen from his ravenous kiss, your neck thoroughly marked with pretty little dots of dark plum purples with fading reds, rows upon rows of subtle indents of where his teeth had just held you. Your cheeks were brazen red. But that was not what Dio searched, his breath growing ragged and panting, practically an animal frothing at the mouth with need. No, what he desired most, he needed to see your eyes, to watch them flutter madly as you did not even register the world around you. But your eyes, your eyelashes adorned with shimmering diamonds of tears, tears caused by him and him only, were creased tight and away from his sight. The hand that held sturdy the marble island came with bullet-like speed to your jaw, grabbing hold of you with demanding force.

“You look at ME when I fuck you, ME!” He spat similar to a sound of a growl, a rumble emanating deep within his flushed rising chest.

And there was no room for argument. 

With bashful eyes, still shimmering from your weeping of such complete euphoria that could be compared to a rhapsody, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. You never understood why he always demanded for your gaze, but he always did. And you always complied. Was it the fact that he needed to see with his very own eyes the look of pleasure, only caused by him to flicker like burning flames in your eyes? Did he seek for his image in your gaze as he ravaged you whole, your eyes, no longer the windows to your soul, but rather the mirror of his reflection? He adored you wholly, but he will form you as he wished, he would watch with his own very eyes, the color of mortal red as if it were a representation of his bloodthirst that could only be quenched by you, you were completely his. 

As if to outline the very silhouette of your bodice, his calloused hand let go with force of your jaw and with fervor touched and caressed every spot on your body he could find. He gripped at your waist, then trailed his digits on the side of your ribs with almost teasing touch, next your limp leg, giving it a harsh squeeze. He explored your body countless times, here and before. He fondled your breast with aggression, just how you adored and so brought it to his lips as he leaned down low, giving it a nip. He was mad, like an animal in heat, driven with purpose. He always became more aggressive as he neared his release. 

"Mine, mine, mine,” He would grovel against your skin, making sure that if that pretty head of yours would ever forget, your flesh, your skin, hell even the very marrow in your bones would not soon forget his homage over your body. Again and again he would repeat, a mantra in lustful dance of old. 

His hips began to stutter, his grip tightening and all you could do was shiver and whine like the prey you were in the lion’s jaw. It was surreal to say the truth. Everything, every tough, every kiss, every sound, all of it was ever present to you. It was almost overwhelming. You felt him grow rampant. He would break soon, or would you? You were not quite sure. But you knew one thing for certain; you would never doubt his love for you, no matter how harsh it would seem.

A conclusive bullet point was his reach for pleasure was, groans of curses growls of barely cohesive words slipping past Dio’s lips like a madman gone haywire. He drove his teeth back into the very crook of your neck, a primitive assurance of you never leaving him. His cock sung within your cunt, spasming uncontrollably as he shot his marking deep within you. Your tears were too relentless, your wails forcing your throat to be sore, coming out to only sound like broken cries. You felt him claim you, like many times he had before. It dirtied your inner thighs, it dirtied the marble countertops, and most likely the floor too. And all you could do was pant, to let your hands and arms roam lazily over his back in awe, and your legs to shiver and quake with each spurt of his seed as you wrapped yourself around him. 

“Mine, mine, mine…” Was all he ever said, his grip finally beginning to loosen.

And as you laid there like a woman drunk out of her mind, you held your lover, and he held you.

He was a cold man and was feared by many, always addressed and known as the man with the title of Greatest Lawyer. But, to you he was your beloved Dio, your husband. And if the world should scowl and insult Dio as a heartless fiend, let them. Because you knew that no matter what you said, what you would praise of truth, they would not listen. And if that is the destiny, so be it shall you hold him dear.

“I’m yours, I promise you…” You cooed in half hazy statement, but no less truthful.

This was your life, your destiny, and you would not change it for a single thing.