#not spoiler but be wary of next tag

[bitteropinions]

I ain't gonna say it , but I will. Immediately, the ones that had his back -had his back almost immediately from the jump, the ones that wanted to, but didn't; make's sense. I highly doubt they meant it in a culture sense, but it most definitely showed when my sisters and I watched it. Especially coupled with small movements and other scenes when taken into viewpoint. However, everything is entirely new still so I will make a more in-depth post when the view rate seems more appropriate to release spoilers, but yeah, I have a lot to say concerning the aiding in this flim.

[sacredsymbol821]

3 months and 3 expansions later (with breaks for work and stuff) I finally made it here lets go

[hollythius]

A LOVER’S RETREAT TO MONDSTAT

tldr: cyno x reader, tighnari x reader. i was tempted to write this as all three of them together but i decided against it. COLLEI IS LIKE A DAUGHTER TO ME…slight spoilers for the windblume event! slightly jealous tighnari in his part. mostly fluff. reader is from sumeru i guess…sososo sorry that tighnari’s part is shorter :( i wanted them to both be around the same length but oh well.

TIGHNARI grips you tighter as the four of you reach mondstat’s city gate. the watchmen are looking at you with a little too much ‘windblume spirit’ — and he can admit it’s making him a little wary. collei is talking excitedly about her friend amber, and cyno is making jokes that nobody understands. you sigh, feeling tighnari squeeze you tighter when you pass a group of particularly drunk-looking guards.

“jealous of them, ‘nari?” you laugh. your boyfriend scowls, glaring daggers at whatever poor sap decided to look at you that night.

“you know i’m protective,” he interjects. he’s right— you’d never once felt truly in danger around him. tighnari’s gloved hands snake completely around your waist, and his hair tickles the back of your neck. he presses a kiss to your nape, before resting his face in your hair. “i take care of what’s mine, you know.”

before you can reply, tighnari is suddenly dragging you up the path that you have somehow fallen behind on. sly bastard!

CYNO isn’t touching you as you arrive in mondstat, but he’s standing so close to you that it’s driving you crazy. something about him being “cyno the adventurer” and you being “y/n the beautiful dancer from sumeru”. why he had to put ‘beautiful’ in there, you didn’t know. but it was clear that he was trying to save some sort of face in front of his friends.

your relationship was certainly no secret; and especially since this was a vacation there was no reason to be shy. windblume was a time for romance for archon’s sake!

the traveler came and introduced you to a few people— namely sucrose, amber, and albedo. plans were made to go camping. you were ready for an exciting night under the stars on the beach with your lover.

“y/n, would you like to share a tent?” cyno asked, his white hair down and flowing down his shoulders. you gave him a funny look, and he gave you one right back.

“what sort of question is that? we live together, cyno.”

cyno blushed and scratches the back of his neck. “well, i suppose i just wanted to ask.”

you sigh, moving to sit right next to him. cyno’s arm winds it’s way around your waist until his warm hand is rubbing affectionately at your hip. instinctively, you lean closer into him until you’re practically in his lap.

“thanks, cyno.” you whisper, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and delighting in how red his face goes in a matter of seconds.

tag list: @

[wardenparker]

The King's Queen - chapter 6

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* So much more fluff with no apologies in sight. But also, discussions of death/deceased parent, investigations, and medications. Summary: A stressful breakfast is followed by even more stressful meetings for King Javier, but the sharing of a drink together each night is becoming tradition. Notes: Warning tags are DELIBERATELY VAGUE this week, my darlings. If you want a full disclosure of tags, containing spoilers, feel free to slide into my DMs before you read.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

The two days that pass seem to be in a push-and-pull relationship with time. Appointments drag, the clock seems to tick slower and slower every moment, but then the second that you have time with Javi time flies past you in a blink. A few guests have arrived to stay at the palace during the official week of mourning so your meals have been more formal, but you’re starting to settle into the routine. Today is different, but it will be good. Today your brother is arriving, and you practically run to the breakfast room after Flores helps you dress in an appropriate black dress with subdued jewelry. To go out you’ll need a hat and veil, but that will wait. For now, you’re eager to see Javi again after having spent another night in his arms in your bed.

Javi has already had a meeting. Three of them, in fact. Finding it highly irregular to have Lucas demanding an audience before breakfast, he had told his man to have him come to his dressing room. Discreetly staying behind to attend the meeting as his cousin had raged that the King’s body has not yet been displayed for his state funeral.

“Good morning.” His eyes light up when he sees you rushing towards him with a smile on your face.

“Good morning, mi amor.” It doesn’t matter to you that other people are in the room already, you walk directly to his arms and kiss his cheek. “How has your morning been?”

“Interesting.” He murmurs quietly and glances over at where his cousin is making himself comfortable at the breakfast table by demanding hotter tea.

His gaze tells you everything it needs to, and you offer him a pinched smile. If you were wary of Count Lucas Gutierrez of Ibiza at first glance, you can readily say now that you loathe and wish you could avoid the man. He is demanding, slimy, and arrogant. A narcissist. And of course all the things that go hand-in-hand with that. Instead of remarking on it though, you nod, and take your place to Javi’s left side at the table. “I have the first meeting with the wedding planner after lunch today,” you remind him conversationally as a footman sets your plate in front of you and another immediately appears to pour your coffee. Being served is still new and uncomfortable for you but you thank both men for doing their duties. “And Sebastian is arriving this morning.”

“Is it wise to bring in a foreigner?” Lucas has obviously been listening, even if he is a few seats away. Removed from his normal seat and pissy about it. “I mean,” he gives a flat smile that is meant to be charming but there is a cruel light to his eyes. “The position as personal assistant to the queen is one of high honor. What message would it send to give it to an American?”

“That the future queen is cognizant of the importance of family and the connection between the crown and her own parents, and that is why her brother has had the appointment.” Maisie drolls, sipping her own coffee as though Lucas were no more than a fly on the wall. “He is not getting a cabinet appointment, he will be managing her calendar. They are very different things.” Additionally, Julius has already arranged a member of staff to be the support person for the approaching wedding and coronation, to make sure that cultural expectations are met. The whole thing is actually remarkably well organized right out of the gate.

“Besides.” Javi adds. “The Queen’s personal assistant is just that – personal.” He smiles at you. “Just because I was comfortable with keeping Julius on does not mean that I could not have chosen someone else. There’s not been a Queen’s personal assistant since my mother’s death.”

“It will be a very smart decision, I am sure.” Maisie nods as if to dismiss any more question of the topic and picks up her fork to start eating only after the king does.

The way that Lucas smiles makes Gabriela stiffen beside you and her head ducks down even more towards her plate. Aware that his smile is not meant to be comforting. “Of course.” He coos, syrupy sweet. “I am only looking out for the optics of your reign, cousin. It is a heavy burden to carry for anyone, especially you.”

Looking up, you frown to see Gabriela looking spurned and Lucas gleaming with slick confidence beside her. If this keeps up you’ll be seating them on the opposite side of the table at meals. “All the more reason to surround ourselves with people we trust,” you tell him with a breezy air that belies the fact that you don’t trust him as far as you can throw him.

The silence over the breakfast table is a second too long before Lucas answers. “Of course.” He agrees, waving his hand like it was the natural answer.

“I trust everyone will be prepared for the formal processional to the cathedral tomorrow?” Javi had insisted on delaying the ceremony for a proper examination of his father’s body to be performed, and as such it will technically be a day late. The examination is necessary, though, to everyone’s mind. Everyone except Lucas, but Javi will have to tell you about that later.

“It should be today.” Lucas scoffs but shakes his head. “King Miguel will lie in state for the country to mourn.”

“We will be prepared.” Maisie assures you, steadily ignoring Lucas as she eats her breakfast. “Gabriela and I will be beside you, princessa.”

“I appreciate you both immensely.” Without admitting it in front of Lucas, you are fully grateful for their presence in your first true appearance as princess. So far the country has only heard your name, nothing more.

Javi is thinking along those same lines. “I am sorry that your first appearance must be my father’s funeral.”

"There are far worse circumstances we could be in, amor." You set your hand over his on the table momentarily and give it a supportive squeeze. "I am glad you don't have to face the occasion alone."

“It has been a difficult time for us all.” He smiles softly and is happy that you don’t let Lucas get to you. The man’s anger at the examination of his father’s body surprised him and now he doesn’t know what to think. Delaying the viewing by a day isn’t too much to ask.

"Have you decided how long you will wait to crown your princess?" That thought, at least, is happy, but it is surprising coming from Gabriela. Firstly because you did not think she would want to contemplate Javi committing to you more fully, but also because she rarely speaks when her husband is present.

“I have not decided.” Javi admits. “We could do the coronation on the same day as the wedding. But I do not know if Margarita would want that.” He knows a wedding day is special, and a coronation is as well. He doesn’t want you to feel as if the wedding is overshadowed by the affairs of state.

“Apologies, your Majesty.” Maisie smiles easily, not wanting Gabriela to feel embarrassed in front of her husband. “The Contessa is eager to celebrate a new princess. We know that the wedding is still being planned.” In fact, both women are an integral part of the planning process already. “But to elevate the princessa to Crowned Princess can be done simply, no?”

“Yes, you are right.” Javi sends Gabriela a small smile. “Perhaps we should crown the princess the day after the King’s funeral? Give the people a little light in such a dark time? What do you ladies think?”

“Very appropriate.” Maisie praises, looking pleased with the change of topic. “Perhaps in the gardens? It would be lovely, and very lively.”

“When your mother was crowned, there were sweets and a string quartet.” You remember reading all about it and seeing the pictures in online archives. “Maybe…we could pay tribute to her in a small way? Use the rose garden as she did?”

“I would like that.” Javi nods, swallowing harshly as he thinks of how considerate you are. “You should wear her tiara.” He suggests. “Unless you would like to pick another. Her first tiara was always her favorite. It has been in the family for over four hundred years.”

“I will wear whatever you like best.” Sentimental value, cultural value, all of it is wonderful. What matters most to you is making the statement that you are here to support Javi as he cares for his people. Your people. “I will add a meeting with the appropriate members of our staff for this morning. That is one less thing from your plate, querido. Maisie and Gabriela will help me make sure that it is perfect.”

“Tonight, perhaps we can visit the dungeon?” He asks you with a smirk. “That is where the Royal Jewels are kept.” He explains after a moment when it’s obvious you are confused.

“After dinner?” You suggest with a smile. If you go off together after dinner then there will be no detaching yourselves from other – presumably last minute – questions or issues. You can simply climb into bed together afterward.

“I think that is a perfect way to end the evening.” Javi hums and Maisie can’t help but giggle. “Of course it is.” She announces to the table. “It’s every girl's dream to play with priceless, royal jewels.”

The entendre is not lost on you, and you almost choke on the sip of coffee you had just taken. Narrowing your eyes at her across the table, you manage to barely swallow your smirk. “I am sure the Crown Jewels will be treated with the utmost respect,” you answer, knowing that Javi is not likely to be in the mood for anything besides more cuddling on the night before his father’s funeral.

“The utmost respect.” She agrees with a small wink, ignoring the way that Lucas pouts because the conversation is not going the way that he wants.

Julius appears, oblivious to the barely contained giggles radiating from yourself and Dama Maisie, and moves to Javi's side silently. "Your Majesty," he murmurs only when he has reached the space between you and Javi at the table. "My apologies for the intrusion, but your next meeting is in a few minutes."

“I am afraid I must leave you.” Javi stands and leans over to kiss your cheek.

“Cousin, I can attend in your place.” Lucas jumps to his feet, abandoning his own breakfast. “So you do not have to worry about such things.”

There is a moment where the entire table pauses, all heads turning to look at the count in confusion. The outburst is entirely unprompted and more than that, it is unwanted. "The king can attend his own meetings, but your generous offer to help is duly noted." Turning back to Javi, you place a kiss on his cheek in turn and give him an encouraging smile. "If you are able to join us for lunch I will be very happy to see you, but otherwise we will catch up on our meetings at supper tonight. Have a good and productive day, mi amor."

He nods and along with Julius, quickly disappears out of the breakfast room. “That was odd, was it not?” Javi asks his assistant as they walk down the hall. As his father’s assistant, he would be around Lucas more when the count was working closely with King Miguel.

“I wish I could agree, your Majesty.” Julius walks half a step behind him, as is traditional, but makes sure to keep his voice low. “But it is far from the first time that the count has offered to take up royal duties unsolicited.”

Javi stops and turns towards Julius with his head tilted slightly, a frown on his face. “He was often around the palace.” He realizes. “Did he spend much time asking for additional duties from the king?”

Careful not to sound as though he is passing judgment of any kind, Julius does nod and urges the king to keep walking. “He has been desirous of a cabinet position,” he explains as matter-of-factly as possible. “For quite some time.”

“What were the king's thoughts on this?” It’s easier to think of his father as ‘the king’ right now. Allowing him to compartmentalize like Miguel had told him he would need to once he had taken the throne.

“That…” Julius pauses, recollecting King Miguel’s exact words with care. “Until he could be desirous of the position because of an urge to help instead of an urge for power, it would not be allowed.”

“I see.” The journey to the room where he was having his meeting continues as he thinks about this carefully. “Who is the meeting with?” He asks, the meetings over the past days jumbling together through his grief.

“This is the cultural attaché, your Majesty.” It does not phase him one iota that the new king seems to have forgotten — having constant demands on your attention would make any man’s memory blur. “With the sculptor who will be creating the statue in your late father’s memory. They are bringing miniature models for you to choose the tribute you think is most appropriate.”

“I see.” He knows that it is important he chooses the best one. “The meeting with my father’s doctor is later today though?”

“It will be after the attaché.” Julius replies with a nod. “I knew you would be anxious to hear the results, so it will be this morning.”

“Good.” Javi nods. “After that meeting, I wish to speak to the cabinet members. Convey the information myself.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” Toying with the king’s schedule is nothing new to his assistant. He will make whatever King Javier needs happen with the least fuss possible.

“Are we pushing anything too vital?” He is aware that he will be incredibly busy during the transition, but he wants to give any news to his cabinet personally. Most of them served with King Miguel and he felt he owed them that courtesy.

“Not if you do not mind taking a working lunch, sire.” Just because King Miguel had a habit of working through meals did not mean that King Javier would be the same way, and Julius wants to make sure he knows which rules are hard and fast for the new monarch. If meals with his fiancée are a priority, Julius will do everything he can to make it happen.

“I think that as long as you can assure that I have dinner with Margarita, then working through lunch should not be an issue.” He knows that he will have to make some sacrifices and changes, especially in the early days of his reign so he is successful.

“That is what will happen, then.” Filing away that lunch meetings are acceptable but dinner with the future queen is a priority, Julius nods and walks with the king into his office. “I will show in your next appointment, sire.”

The king’s working office isn’t a throne room like so many envision. Perhaps in the days of old, but the large office is functional. The desk is nearly three hundred years old, made from hardwood that has been lovingly polished and maintained. The heavy leather chairs that sit in front of it are meant to be comfortable and yet be slightly imposing. He had been in them many a time and can attest to that when his father was still sitting on the other side.

Julius escorts an elegant woman of around thirty into the room along with the cultural attaché that Javi has met many times at various events over the last ten years or so. Both parties show their reverence with a deep curtsy and a bow, respectively, and the woman carries a large case in her nervous hands.

“Good morning.” Javi is nervous as he shows her over towards the separate area that is less formal than the desk. The couches and coffee table were picked by his grandmother, although his mother had them recovered after he was out of his toddler phase. “Please, sit. Would you like a refreshment?”

The woman shakes her head politely and manages a smile. Her case is heavy and she sets it on the floor to open it carefully. “Thank you for making time for us, your Majesty. We know your schedule is a busy one.”

“A statue in honor and celebration of King Miguel is very important to me.” He promises as he watches her carefully. “His reign should be memorialized for the people.”

"In that, your Majesty, I believe we are in agreement." In extracting her figurines from her case, she sets them carefully on the coffee table between her and the king. "The late King Miguel, may he rest in peace, was very involved with the growth of King's College on Menorca. They have offered us a place on their campus for his tribute with your approval."

He takes his time, wondering how many hours have been put into these figurines. Picking up one and his lip trembles slightly when he sees how perfectly it resembles his father when he was a younger man. “They are exquisite.”

"I—thank you, sire." The young woman is very aware of her own abilities, but the unsolicited compliment makes her practically tremble with pride. "I was a recipient of the arts scholarship at King's College that His Majesty King Miguel, may he rest in peace, made in your mother's name after she passed. So you see...without their generosity I might never have been able to pursue my dream. And so this means a great deal to me, as well."

“Then it is fitting that you create this statue.” He’s touched by the story. “And include that story underneath your name on the plaque.”

"If I may, sire?" The young woman picks up the figurine that depicts King Miguel standing, with one hand resting over his heart and the other holding a book in its palm. He is wearing his most habitual choice of crown and there is a flower in his breast pocket. "The flower is called a Gloria cosmo," she explains, pointing it out carefully. "For Queen Gloria, may she rest in peace. And the book..." She smiles shyly. "I wondered if you might know his favourite book. It is not something that was widely known."

He smiles softly, knowing this is the one that he wants for him. “One Hundred Years of Solitude.” He answers quietly, his thumb brushing over the figure. “I think that I wish for this to be the statue, but—” he looks up at her. “I wish to ask a question.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” The artist nods immediately. “Anything.”

“I want to know how much for all of the figures. These.” He asks, biting his lip. “I want to buy them.”

“Your Majesty I could not possibly.” Within seconds she is shaking her head and motioning for him to take the figures right away. “It would be my honour to give them to you. And the final statue will have a likeness of Marquez’s masterpiece in his hand.”

“No, I must pay you.” He insists. “You have spent considerable time on these.”

“Perhaps…” A small smile graces her lips thinking that the new king might cherish these statuettes of his father, made by her own hands. “Perhaps you might remember my name when the guest list for a royal event comes up. Your Majesty is one of the only people in the world who can actually pay in exposure.”

He cocks his head to the side and he hums. "I see." He leans back and weighs the figurine in his hand as he looks towards the others still sitting on the edge of the case. "Then I will have another request of you?"

The young woman looks to the man she came in with – the cultural attaché who had worked with King Miguel for numerous years. When the man seems be as confused as she is, she simply turns back to the king and nods. "Of course, sire."

"The princess, my— the future queen, will be Crowned in the gardens the day after my father's funeral." He explains. "I would like you there. And if I may ask another favor, I would like a figurine of that moment. Her first moment wearing the Crown of Mallorca." He gives a small smile. "As a wedding present to her."

She melts in her seat, one hand over her heart in almost the same expression as the statue she has created. "It will be a momentous occasion," she murmurs, quietly in awe. "And it is a very romantic gift. I will make certain that it perfect."

"That, I must insist on there being payment." Javi tells her. "No matter how much you offer it as a gift."

"As your Majesty wishes." It will mean a great and meaningful commission for her, to have done two pieces for the crown, and she nods gratefully. "If there is anything specific you wish to be included in the image, it would be useful to know ahead of time," she tells him then, taking out the sketchbook that she had brought in case the king did not approve of any of her designs and she needed to start from scratch. "A material you might prefer, or a favourite stone of the princess's?"

"I think we should use local limestone." Javi frowns slightly and looks towards the artist with a curious expression. "Would that be too hard? Too soft? I had thought marble, but I think that it would be more symbolic that way."

"Limestone is perfect because it is soft." The young artist assures her king. "That is what makes it desirable for my craft. I will plan to use limestone as you suggest, sire. It will be a beautiful tribute to your princess." She, like everyone else in the country, was surprised to hear of a princess's existence but that surprise has become intrigue. No one ever thought that Prince Javier would settle down, and now it seems that he has found his match.

"Good." He sits back, relieved that he had chosen correctly and a small hum of pleasure comes out of his throat. "I will make sure that my assistant gets your contact information and you are formally invited."

"Thank you very much, your Majesty." She is beaming at him as she clasps her empty case shut again and stands with the older man who had shown her in. She curtsies again and it is surer this time – the nervous shake of anxiety gone from her posture and replaced with excitement.

"Come," Julius motions toward the door they had entered mere minutes ago. "I will collect your information and make sure you are added to the formal invitation lists." He will, without mentioning it for now, add this charming young woman to all of the guest lists for the foreseeable future. It will be good to have new faces in attendance and especially those who represent the next generation of the kingdom's future.

Javi continues to stare at the figurines of his father, noting the craftsmanship and the way that he can practically see his father's face in the material. Making him miss the man even more and he sighs as he picks up the entire set to bring over to the bookshelf behind his desk.

When Julius returns a few minutes later, he is nearly silent while he observes the new king at his desk, only clearing his throat when he is certain that he will not disturb or frighten the young king with his appearance. "The royal physician is here, your Majesty."

Theres a slight sense of dread that curls in the pit of his stomach, wanting to make him refuse the visit. As absurd as it is considering he had asked the doctor to meet with him. Insisted upon it. Now that the moment is here, he cannot shy away from it. A document with his father's seal is under his fingertips as he looks down, admiring the decisive signature. "Send him in." He nods, pushing down the childish fear and facing the truth to come.

Julius nods, retreating for only a moment before reappearing with Dr. Garza. The man's presence is a familiar one for Javi, as he has been the Royal family's primary physician for nearly ten years, but today he is nervous and his movements stunted. He almost looks scared. "Your Majesty," he murmurs, bowing deeply to the new king.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me.” Javi is very aware that the doctor is a very busy man and just because he is king does not mean the people come at his beck and call. His father has continuously reminded him that the monarchy was there to serve them, not the other way around. “Can I offer you a drink?”

"I think it would be best...to abstain, sire." Dr. Garza steps forward again and Julius motions for him to sit, but the doctor remains standing. "I am scheduled to examine your fiancée after this meeting and I would hate for any impairment in my judgement to lead to an undesirable result."

At first, Javi frowns, immediately wondering if there is something wrong in the short time you have been apart. Only to realize why the doctor would be examining you. "I see." He clears his throat and knows that he shouldn't argue against the tradition, knowing that you have been run through full physicals already in the US, but of course his own country would demand their own examination.

"I am sure the princess is in perfect health. It is only a matter of custom," the doctor assures him, but shifts nervously again on the rug.

"Is there something upsetting you?" Javi asks, motioning towards the couches in case the doctor wished for a more informal setting. Some do no like to feel as if they are called onto the carpet, he knows that too well.

"Your Majesty, the final examination of your father..." Dr. Garza gulps down a heavy sigh. "It yielded something...unexpected."

"Had the cancer spread?" He asks softly, his eyes betraying the hurt of losing his father so quickly after finding out about his sickness. If only there had been more time.

"Well...yes...sire." Garza licks his lips nervously and extracts an envelope from the pocket of his jacket which lists all of the official findings in medical specificity. It is his job to put those findings into layman's terms. "The cancer had spread. With what I found, I would have optimistically have given your father three-to-six more weeks. However...the advancement of his disease is not what I was referring to as unexpected."

Three-to-six more weeks. Less time than he had been told, more time than he had. Javi looks over at the figurines on the bookshelf. "What else would be unexpected?" He asks softly, unsure of much medically.

"There was a medicine found in your father's blood work that was not prescribed to him." Though Garza hesitates to use the term drug, that is technically correct. He just knows that it has negative connotations so he says 'medicine' instead. "It is a prescription medication that neither I nor any of the doctors at the hospital ever recommended or prescribed for him. And it..." Garza shifts in his seat. "It is not something that we would have recommended for him either, given that it often does not interact well with the chemotherapy medication that he was properly prescribed."

Silence fills the office for a long moment, Javi absorbing the news and feeling the way that his stomach churns. "He was...he was poisoned?" He manages after a moment. "Is that what you are telling me? The king was murdered."

"It is not strictly what I would call a poisoning, sire." Dr. Garza interjects quickly, feeling panic strangle his own heart in a moment of intense irony. "But we need to determine where and how the king obtained this warfarin. You see..." Gods help him, he has to explain this to the man's son... "It was in the bottle that he had in his pocket. But the label was different. So either the king had replaced his diazepam with the warfarin that caused the blood clots that killed him...or someone else did."

"My father did not like taking medication." Javi reveals, frowning as he looks down at his hands, trying to think of what could have possibly happened. "He took what he had to, but he – he wouldn't – there's no way he would change his medications out." It feels like his chest is tightening and he shakes his head. "I— no, he couldn't have – Julius—" He turns towards the man who probably spent more time with the King than anyone else.

"An investigation will have to be opened." Julius advises solemnly, the tightness in his voice betraying just how troubling he finds this fact. "This could only have been done by someone close to the king, so I can only imagine that the royal guard will want to undertake the investigation personally. And as quietly as possible." He shakes his head, knowing that he will be a primary focus on the investigation early on. He hardly ever left King Miguel's side for the last few months. "As quietly as possible, sire," he advises again. "Or else whoever did this may flee."

Javi's eyes close and he takes a moment, needing it to relearn how to breathe. "Make it happen." He orders, opening his eyes again to look up at his assistant.

"Yes, your Majesty." Julius motions to Dr. Garza that the meeting is over, ushering him from the room, when he returns a moment later after escorting the doctor out of the ante-office, he returns with a solemn, drawn expression. "I would not mention this to anyone beside the princess," Julius cautions, knowing that the new king has chosen his wife-to-be to keep his secrets. "We cannot yet know who was involved."

"I don't know if I can tell her." Javi admits. The truth of this is just too horrific, but he doesn't know if he can honestly keep it to himself.

"This is a heavy fact to carry on your own, sire." Julius warns, though he understands that it is difficult to process. Or to speak the words aloud. "I would offer myself to keep this secret, but I know that I will be investigated heavily because of how close I was to your father. They will suspect me immediately simply because I had access to him." Shaking his head, Julius stands in front of the young king and his voice turns firm. "May I speak freely, your Majesty?" He asks with caution.

"I don't believe that you would have murdered my father." Javi admits quietly, not really meaning to speak his mind, but he is too off kilter to guard his words right now and he would rather be frank. "You loved him, there would have been nothing for you to gain." He frowns and remembers that the other man had asked to speak freely. "Yes, please speak your mind."

"That was all I was going to say," Julius murmurs, sitting down across from the younger man with a soft, melancholy smile. "That I loved your father very much, and that all of the best things in my life were things that he had had a hand in. He encouraged me to better myself, even in his employ, and even introduced me to my wife. I—" Julius shakes his head again. "I cannot possibly express my gratitude for everything your father did for me. So no, your Majesty. I never would have wanted him to leave this world. Not ever."

He had never known that. Not that his father had caused the introduction between Julius and his beloved wife. "I know." Javi nods. "I know that you would never harm him. But I need to know who would."

"Unfortunately, there are many candidates." It is not something anyone ever likes to contemplate – the thing that would cause someone to actually commit murder – and Julius shifts in his seat to look King Javier in the eyes. "But we will find the person who did. I am sure of it."

"I will be investigated as well." Javi seems almost surprised when he realizes that. "They will look into me for my father's death."

"Yes." Again, Julius nods. "And your princess, as well. But you will both be quickly eliminated. They will only suspect you formally so that they can say they overturned every possible angle." He does not believe that the young king had any hand in the misdeed whatsoever and he knows that the guard will not believe it either.

"Perhaps it is a good." He leans forward and wipes his face with his hand. "Looking at everyone. I don't want this person to get away with this."

"I cannot imagine that anyone does." Reluctantly, Julius stands again and smooths the trousers of his suit carefully. "I will bring the Head of the Guard to you, unless you would like some time to yourself before having that discussion?"

"Give me two minutes." Javi tells him quietly. He knows that he cannot fall apart, not now. He will wait until he has time alone with you.

"Of course, your Majesty." Julius goes out, intent on ordering a cup of tea from the kitchens to be delivered to the king immediately. There are some things that are just good for the soul, and that includes tea when one is upset.

The window of the study is actually a set of French doors that lead off to the rear of the palace, overlooking the gardens. He wonders how many times his father had decided to take a stroll to clear his mind.

For a few moments he stares off into the middle distance, contemplating taking a walk himself, before his personal cell phone buzzes in his pocket. It is not often that he gets a message there since few people actually have the number, but when your name flashes across the screen it is the best possible scenario for someone contacting him.

Margarita: Just wanted to see how you're doing and make sure that you're remembering to breathe. Te amo, querido! Julius says you're working through lunch, so I will see you for dinner tonight. ❤

He smiles down at the screen, already feeling slightly relieved at the message you sent him. Not knowing how you manage to do it, but you had an uncanny knack about putting him at ease. He takes a breath and types back his own message.

I am looking forward to dinner and even more, to sleeping in your arms again. I love you.

******

After breakfast, Flores quietly comes to your left shoulder and leans down. “Your Highness, the plane is twenty minutes out. Would you like to meet it on arrival? I can have one of the drivers take you in the car or in the boat if you would prefer.” She asks softly, making sure an obviously curious Lucas cannot overhear her.

“The boat would be wonderful.” To show your brother his first glimpse of the palace the same way you saw it sounds perfect, and it will be a little faster than taking a car. More direct, at least. Given the fact that you’re supposed to meet with the royal physician this morning, you can’t dally too much in picking up Sebastian.

“Of course, your Highness.” Flores loves the role of temporary assistant but doesn’t begrudge the addition of your brother to help manage your day to day affairs. She will be working closely with him and wonders what he is like. Hopefully he will be as kind as you are. “I will have the footmen travel to the airport with a truck large enough to carry back any and all personal items your brother might have brought.” She curtsies slightly and quickly backs away to carry out her tasks.

“Well, it seems as if that is my cue.” You had sat at the breakfast table with Maisie, Gabriela, and Lucas a little longer after Javi left for his meeting but it is time to get the day rolling. “Ladies, I will see you soon. Good morning, Count.”

Lucas narrows his eyes, wondering where you are scurrying off to. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark. “Gabriela.” He grunts. “Let’s go for a stroll in the gardens. It has been a while and I miss my wife.”

No one at the table believes that for a second, but Gabriela dutifully stands and excuses herself to follow him out the door. Maisie, left to her own devices until you return, decides to go and see what information she can put together on the style and color choices from the last few royal weddings as a resource for you. Reading and research are one of her strong suits and it will keep her busy for a time.

As promised, when you reach the dock, the same speedboat that had brought you across the small channel is waiting with a driver that is in a water friendly version of the drivers for all the palace cars. “Your Highness.” The swarthy man’s coloring is indicative of a man who spends his life on the water and he bows respectfully before he steps into the boat to offer you assistance climbing aboard. “The tower radioed. We will arrive five minutes before the jet lands if we push off now.”

“Thank you very much.” You are careful getting into the boat in a dress and heels but the man keeps you steady, waiting until you are seated to start off for the private landing strip at the airport. The sun is bright today but the weather is not too hot, making the breeze that blows over the water as your driver cuts through the waves seem very refreshing. If it were not for the impending funeral, you might be tempted to call the day’s atmosphere perfect. But there is much to do before perfect can even be thought of.

There’s not to be much conversation as the boat slices through the water but the driver cannot help but look back to check on the newest Princess. Curious about you and he smiles when he sees that you are soaking up the sun with your head back and your eyes closed for a moment. It seems as though you have a bit of the Prince’s spirit and that is a good thing in his opinion.

Sea air helps immensely as you try to shake off the mood Lucas left over the breakfast table, and by the time Valentino – you asked his name – cuts the boat’s engine at the dock you’re feeling much better. Sebastian’s arrival is only five minutes away and the only thing to remember is not to squeak and run down the strip to hug him. That would be…slightly less than dignified.

“I will wait with the boat, your Highness.” Valentino tells you before motioning towards the boat. “Would you like a drink while you wait?”

“If you tell me that you have a bar stashed in his boat somewhere, I shall be very entertained to see that one day.” You smile, and when the older man chuckles, you laugh with him. “Thank you, Valentino, but I am just fine. I will return to you with our other passenger in a few minutes.”

“Yes, your highness.” He smiles and bows again. There is a small bar built into the back of the control panel and perhaps the prince will show you since he loves to drive the boat around. For now, he will wait for you to return.

The jet is just taxiing on the runway when you reach it, and the difference between this morning and when you arrived a few days ago is stark. This morning you are wearing mourning clothes and a modest veil, but nothing in the world could disguise the ring on your finger or the way the guards on duty snap to attention when they see you. Your face has already been in the tabloids, so it is not exactly difficult for them to do so. Instead of saying anything you merely stand politely by, waiting for the door to open and expel your brother into the morning sun. Hopefully he’s slept on his flight. There is a lot to do today.

Sebastian adjusts his suit that he had quickly changed into. The jet had the bonus of a bedroom in it and he had been extremely grateful for the chance to try and sleep since he knows the first few days will be chaos. He will be learning a new regimen and new country in addition to dealing with a king’s death. Nodding to the stewardess, he thanks her and exits the jet, immediately looking around for his baby sister.

Stepping out into the middle of the runway once you see the familiar line of your brother’s trusty black suit, you give him a very polite wave instead of hopping forward like you want to. You’re on display now, and manners are everything, so as soon as Sebastian is in front of you, you mouth “Bow” at him silently. He looks at you with a half smirk before acquiescing, and only after that do you step forward with open arms to give your brother a hug.

It is very different having to bow to your sister, but Sebastian makes up for it with the crushing force of his hug. “God I missed you.” He admits, observing propriety by not swinging you around like he might have before. “How are you doing? How is he doing? What can I do to help?”

“I missed you too, Sebby.” The admittance and the force of hugging him is an enormous relief and you barely manage to stop yourself from giggling. “We’re doing pretty well, all things considered, but there is a lot to fill you in on. Let’s get back to the palace and I’ll get you as up-to-speed as I can until we’re alone. There is a lot going on.”

“Of course.” He nods and takes your arm. “Um…where is the car?” He asks, looking around and not seeing one.

“Did you honestly think I wasn’t going to give you the coolest arrival I possibly could?” You grin at him and steer him toward the docks, waving your arm grandly in presentation. “Valentino is taking us back in the boat, and you’re going to get the best view of the palace from the water. I promise.”

“Wow, seriously?” He asks, a boyish grin on his face as he takes in the sleek lines of the speedboat. “That’s mighty fancy, your Highness.” He teases. “All for little ol’ me?”

“Javi picked me up in it when I got here a few days ago.” And the mortification you felt at not recognizing him immediately is still burned into your brain. “But I figured…if you’re going to be working and living here, you might as well get the perks of how beautiful it is right off the bat.”

“That’s…incredibly romantic for a …how did you once put it?” Sebastian hums evilly. “I think you said that he was ‘a soulless, boring, impotent, stuck-up prick’.” He knows you were drunk and venting all your fears, but the soft smile on your face when you mention ‘Javi’ must be pounced on like only a sibling can.

“Oh my god, do not say shit like that out loud in public anymore,” you hiss, stifling a laugh because you know he’s quoting you exactly. “And for the record? I haven’t slept with him yet. I mean I’ve slept with him, like actual sleep, but his father just died. The mood is not exactly sexy.”

“But you want to.” That is surprising, considering you used to compare yourself to a sacrificial virgin having to be dragged to the marriage bed. You hadn’t been amused when he reminded you that you weren’t virginal.

“I—” Honestly you can’t even deny it, and you end up shrugging right before you get to the boat. “I really do. But I’ve waited this long. A little more time won’t kill me.”

“This long?” Your brother barks out a laugh. “He must be amazing.” He smirks. “My baby sister looks so happy.”

“He’s…really kind of extraordinary, if I’m honest.” You fluster as Valentino helps you into the boat and you settle back in your seat again. “I am happy, Sebby. I know it’s different than what I expected, but maybe that’s a good thing. Having my expectations subverted works for me, apparently.”

“Apparently.” He snorts, leaning back and watching you for a moment. “So, how are you handling it? You said you’re happy, but how’s the stress?”

"Some aspects are surprisingly less stressful than I had anticipated, others are more so." Motioning for him to sit down beside you, you thank Valentino as he sets off for the palace again without a word. "Like the first thing you'll be present for?" You murmur to your brother, lowering your voice. "Is an examination with the royal physician."

“Oh boy.” Seb pulls out his phone and opens his calendar. “Your last period was two and a half weeks ago, right?” He asks, confirming a date and then looking up at you for your answer.

"Yes, it was, and I am not going to pretend that your magical ability to always have chocolate and ice cream in the apartment at exactly the right time is not half my motivation for making you my personal assistant." That makes both of you laugh, and you get momentarily distracted by the shine of your engagement ring in the sunlight before you look back at your brother. "I'm...I'm honestly really glad you're here, Sebastian. The more I think about it, I don't know if I could do this without you."

“You’ll be running circles around me in no time, Princess.” He tells you with confidence. “You’ve always had the uncanny ability to immediately master something if you really want it. And this?” He cocks his head at you and gives you a brotherly smile. “You’ve decided that you want this.”

"I really do." It's almost a shock to your system to hear it put so bluntly, but you can't deny it. "He's wonderful. And he's going to be such a good king. Anything I can do to help him, I want to do all of it just to see him be brilliant at something so enormous."

“You will be brilliant at it as well.” Sebastian promises. “You have been born for this and now your heart is in it as well.”

"I think you'll like him." As the speedboat rounds the corner and the palace comes into view, you reach over and squeeze your brother's hand. "But first? Welcome to your new home."

“Oh wow.” His eyes widen and he has to stand, taking in the view is the magnificent palace, imagining that if it’s this stunning on the outside, it will be even more so on the inside. “It’s – you’re literally living out a fairy tale.”

"I really am." That releases a torrent of giggles from you, and you have to gather yourself up quickly to be princess-like again. Sebastian's reaction is everything to you, and you can't help but gaze up at the palace with the same awe. "Your room is technically in the staff wing but Javi let me choose the room myself. It's basically the size of our old apartment inside the palace."

“As it should be.” He decides, adopting a snooty tone playfully. “Seriously though? I’ll be fine anywhere as long as I have internet.”

"Fastest internet I've ever experienced in my life." You promise him as Valentino turns the speedboat around the corner of the cliffside and toward the dock for private palace use. For royal use. "Hopefully I'll get to introduce you to Javi's assistant fairly quickly. Julius is invaluable and I know you two have e-mailed back and forth a little but he really is just a miracle in human form."

“Who is your maid?” He asks, scrolling through his information. “Flores? She would be the one to ask about attire and things like that until I get my bearings?”

"Flores is a godsend." As the palace gets closer and closer, you feel yourself taking a surprising breath of relief. As if you had missed it for the thirty or so minutes you were gone. "You'll meet her right away. Between the two of you I really think you'll be able to cover all the bases pretty easily. And then there's my ladies in waiting for all the other bits of guidance."

“Ladies in waiting.” Shaking his head, he marvels over the way your life has changed. “I’m sure I will get to know them as well.”

"It's a whole new world here, big brother." You hum as the speedboat comes to a graceful stop at the dock. "And I think you're actually going to like it."

******

Dinner is stuffy and formal due to new arrivals in the palace. Extended family has come to the capital and will be staying through the funeral and your crowning, though they were polite enough not to interrogate you directly at the table. As soon as you could politely get away, you took Javi's arm and happily let him lead you away to have a cocktail together on your balcony. Another pitcher of that delicious Clover Club Cocktail and two glasses will be waiting for you to unwind with.

Every step towards the seclusion of the balcony that he has been sharing with you brings a little nervousness for Javi. It's a good possibility that it would become a tradition, one that he would enjoy immensely and tonight his heart is heavy with the knowledge that he has. Although he knows he needs to tell you, it's not something that he wants to start, keeping secrets. But how does one tell them that they will be investigated for a king's murder?

"You seem distracted, querido." It's just a small observation, but he had seemed to have a dark cloud over his head all through dinner. "If you do not have the energy to go to the vault after your day I will more than understand."

"No." His expression clears and he sends you a smile as he reaches over and pats your hand. "I feel as though the happiness of the moment will be much needed in the coming days." He admits softly. "My apologies if I have been negligent in attention."

“Not at all.” You shake your head and sip your drink, but turn to give him your full attention on the balcony. “Can you tell me what is upsetting you?”

"I met with my father's doctor today." He tells you quietly, looking down at his drink and sighing. "There will be an official inquiry in King Miguel's murder."

"Murder?" Hissing the word on the quietest whisper you can summon, you feel like your heart has stopped beating and it's a miracle you don't completely drop your cocktail. "My god. Javi, I'm— are you okay?" Setting the glass aside, you immediately reach for him to offer the comfort that you've already learned he craves. You're very alike in that way. "They're certain that it was intentional?"

"He— his medications were in purposefully tampered with. What was in the bottle was not the prescription and my father did not like taking medicine to begin with." Javi explains.

"Shit..." The word drags out as you shake your head, and you take a moment to breath as Javi leans into your arms out on the balcony. "I'm so sorry, love. So, so sorry." What else do you even say? His father was intentionally killed. Assassinated. It's completely beyond belief.

"They— they are going to question you." He decides you need to know everything about it. "Question me. I would rather they insult my integrity than for someone to get away with taking the last few weeks I had with my father away from me."

"Of course they will." You nod, albeit slowly, and gently squeeze his arms as he leans against you. "They should question everyone who had something to benefit from your father's death. Of course that includes us." Perhaps it is a particularly American point of view, but you don't even consider it an insult of integrity. It's just being thorough, and you can't even imagine a world in which this investigation is not thorough.

He sighs softly, relieved that you understand. He had been worried that you wouldn't, and resist an investigation, which would only make them look into you more. "They will exclude us quickly. It was never a secret about my desire to not be king."

"I imagine they will look into me much more deeply." A fact which, again, does not bother you. In fact you're fairly surprised at how unbothered you truly feel. It isn't even for Javi's benefit. "If the people do not know that their kings have arranged marriages already, they will find out soon enough."

"You have just arrived, and had few meetings with the king." Javi is sure they will clear you out of their questions. You did not kill his father.

"Javi." With one hand on his cheek, you offer him the most reassuring smile you can possibly muster in this moment. "I did not kill your father, and I had absolutely no reason to want to hurt him. But the investigation has to treat me as an equal suspect to everyone else, which means they will look into me in every way. And that definitely includes how you and I met." A few days is no time at all, and it will not take them long to clear your name from the list, but it still has to happen.

"I know." He leans into your touch and presses his forehead against yours. "I love you, Margarita. I don't know if I would be this calm if you weren't here."

"I love you, too, querido." It is deeply, earth-shakingly true, and you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. "We will get through this, and we will see the person responsible punished." Somehow you're certain of that, and it's a strength that you'll have to draw on in the weeks or even months to come. Depending on how long the investigation takes. "And in the meantime, it is our job to set an example for the people. To give them good things to look forward to despite the gloom."

"Which is why we need to keep our plan to visit the dungeon." Javi insists. "Our plans should not change because of this."

"Then how about we have a drink and go downstairs?" You suggest, wrapping one arm around his waist. "We can have our second glass when we come back up, before we crawl into bed?"

"That sounds like a perfect ending to a rather stressful day." He admits quietly. "Although one day, I swear you will be tired of me."

"I find that highly unlikely, handsome." Picking up your glass again, you raise it to him in a small salute and take a sip. "I don't remember Cinderella ever getting tired of Prince Charming in the fairy tales."

"That's because the movie ends at the 'happily ever after'." Javi jokes. "You don't see where Prince Charming snores or does other things in his sleep. Or chews with his mouth open."

"What else do you do in your sleep besides cuddle me?" Deciding to turn the conversation to something distracting like silliness, you raise one eyebrow at him and smirk. "And get morning wood, of course."

“I don’t know, I’m asleep.” He cannot believer that his face does not burst into flames it is so hot. “And I— I apologize again for that. I should not have pressed it against you.”

"You don't need to apologize." He had been embarrassed by it this morning but you waved it off, and now you simply smile. "Honestly I might have been more upset if it wasn't there," you tease gently. "At least I know you were having good dreams."

“I dreamed of you.” He admits, reaching for your hand. “And I know that if it was under different circumstances, I would ask to touch you.”

"There's no pressure for it to happen until you're absolutely ready," you promise him, watching your fingers lace through his as he holds your hand. "But when you're ready, I can all but guarantee that I will be, too."

“You want me?” Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising, but it is. Surprising in the light that he’s aware of his own appeal but had thought that it would be something that was admitting later on, after time was spent together.

Charmed by the sweet softness of his reaction, you nod gently and shift slightly closer to him on the balcony as you sip your drinks together. “Badly,” you admit with a laugh. “But I’ll happily wait as long as you need. There really is no pressure.”

“There’s pressure.” Javi snorts, grinning when you do giggle. “But I want our first time to be free of the black cloud over us right now.”

“So maybe I should say that there’s no rush,” you clarify. “I had my appointment with the royal physician today, by the way. Officially not pregnant. But I knew that already.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through such an exam.” He apologizes, picking up your free hand and kissing it.

“The doctor was very polite, and it was done quickly. Honestly? I wish all gynecologist exams were a simple ultrasound and a pee test.” Given what they really are like, you just shrug and offer Javi a smile. “And now it’s done. So the decision of when to take the next step is purely up to us.”

“I want it to happen naturally.” Javi admits quietly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Not because of anything but that you and I want each other.”

“It will be. Whenever we’re ready.” You’re certainly not about to pressure him, and you tilt your head back to kiss his cheek softly. “But until then, I do like waking up in your arms.”

He hums, happy that you enjoy being close to him because your presence calms him down and he has slept through the night when he hadn't expected to sleep at all. "Let’s go look at every woman's favorite thing." He teases. "Jewelry."

“I’m not even going to debate you on that.” The two of you finish your first glasses together and he leads the way – down into the bowels of the palace to the vault where the Crown Jewels are kept.

"The dungeon was converted around the time of my great-grandfather." Javi tells you as the stone walls start to slowly get closer and the electrical runs in conduit since it was obviously added after construction. "The security has improved, but I don't think anyone really wants to break into a dungeon. For obvious reasons."

"They would if they knew what was down here." There are soldiers posted along the long hallway – palace security wearing a badge of special significance, and you follow their lead by returning their small nods of acknowledgement on your way to the main door. A broad man with an unmoving expression takes one look at the pair of you and moves to unlock the door with an elaborate code.

"Anything and everything in here can be worn." He explains. "Although some are used for special occasions only."

"Good lord..." You murmur, gasping softly as you look around the twinkling room at all of the gems winking back at you in their soft, golden lighting. "I didn't think there would be so much!"

"It is a lot, isn't it?" Javi asks as he looks around, trying to see it through someone’s eyes who has never seen it before.

"I mean it's beautiful, it's just...a whole lot." Your hand is still in his, and you tug him forward a little so that you're both fully inside the middle of the room. "Do you want to show me your mother's tiara, querido?"

Of course he does. “It is over here, with my father’s— my crown.” The lights shine on the pair as they sit on crushed velvet pillows.

There is a trio of headpieces under the brightest light in the dungeon. King Miguel's preferred crown sits beside a more petite version of its magnificence, and beside that there is a glamorous tiara of countless carefully carved diamonds in a combination of shapes and sizes to create a repeated teardrop pattern that takes your breath away.

"It's gorgeous," you sigh, equal parts afraid to go anywhere near it and wishing you could reach out and touch it.

“Perhaps you should try on the others first.” Javi offers, pushing a button on the wall so that it slides open and rows of tiara’s and crowns appear. “So you can say you didn’t just choose the first one.”

"I don't think anyone could blame me for choosing the first option, but I'm also not about to protest looking at more tiaras..." It's such a surreal thing to say, and you cling a little more tightly to Javi's hand as he walks you over to the wall that just popped open in every conceivable way. "Do you have a favourite?" You ask him, eyes drifting over the large collection. "Besides your mother's, I mean?"

“I do.” Javi moves over to the case and selects a specific on. It’s too elegant for his more causal dinner suit. The sapphires that are in the middle shine like fire, surrounded by the diamonds. “This one.”

"Oh wow..." In the back of your head you have a feeling that you're probably not going to be able to manage full sentences which each of these gorgeous pieces of jewelry, but you inspect the twinkling sapphires and diamonds in his hands with wide eyes. "I—I can wear whatever one you want," you promise him, knowing that the moment you are crowned will be caught on camera to be added to Balearican history books. "As long as you're proud to be putting it on my head, the tiara can look like anything."

“Whichever one you wish, my Princess.” He murmurs, smiling at the awed expression on your face. “They will all look lovely atop your head.”

"I can't believe I actually get to wear one of these," you admit with a sheepish grin. "That you actually want me to wear one. With everything that it means..."

“There is no one else I wish to wear it.” Javi murmurs softly. It’s true, even as much as he had cared for Gabriela, you have come to mean more. His father had been right that he would move on after she and Lucas had been married.

"I love you, too." Even murmured into the darkness, it is such a relief to mean it so deeply. For almost your entire life you were terrified that it might not happen, and now here you are. Completely in love with him in a mere two days.

“You will be a queen who is beloved by her people.” Javi predicts with a smile. “And her king.”

“I truly hope so.” Although it might be awful to admit, in this moment, that his love currently means far more to you. It is only because you have not yet had a chance to really be a part of this kingdom — only of his life.

“So, do you have anything that speaks to you?” He asks curiously. “My mother said her favorite tiara spoke to her. She wore others, but that was the one she wore most.”

“I think something a little less grand calls to me,” you confess. It is almost like the feeling tells you that modesty will be an immense virtue in this case. There is one on the second shelf that is composed of small, winking diamonds and scrolling gold so that it almost looks like curls if you think about it on someone’s head. It is delicate and elegant without being too small or understated. “Wearing your mother’s tiara for the crowning will be the most appropriate, but I believe that this one,” you point it out carefully. “Might be my favourite?”

“Elegant, understated and sophisticated.” Javi takes the crown from the shelf with care and he smiles down at it. “Try it on?” He asks, looking up at you.

“Is that…okay?” It seems like the sort of thing that belongs untouched in a museum even though you know logically that these things are just incredibly expensive and elaborate jewelry. Jewelry that is meant to be worn.

“Margarita, all of these jewels are to be worn by the royal family. Which you are now a part of.” He reminds you. “It is perfectly okay. If you wanted to wear a tiara while in your pajamas and drinking wine, it would be okay.”

“That sounds like the most decadent idea you could possibly have.” And you can’t help but laugh at it, feeling light and giggly at the image.

“Perhaps.” He chuckles. “You might like to have a party like “The Princess Diaries 2.” He jokes, remembering the Princess sleepover party that had actually seemed pretty cute.

“A bachelorette party of preteen princesses?” That makes you laugh again, and you eye the tiara in his hands. “I didn’t think real princesses had bachelorette parties.”

“Real princesses can have any kind of bachelorette party they want.” Javi reveals. “There is normally a press blackout on those days. And it’s held somewhere that is discreet.”

“Hmm.” Pretending to think very hard about it, you end up grinning. “So not Vegas, then? I would never consider Vegas discreet, although they do say that whatever happens there, stays there.”

“I have always wanted to visit.” His eyes widen at the thought and he grins. “Although I’m sure you would want to go to Monte Carlo.”

“Is Monte Carlo better?” The way his eyes widen makes you want to promise you’ll take him to the States immediately, but you know that that is tricky. Especially right now. “I don’t know anything except that it’s supposed to be very fancy.”

“It is. But it’s less…flashy than Las Vegas? At least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve been to Monte Carlo many times and I’ve enjoyed it a lot.”

“I guess we’ll have to see what we want to do.” You will encourage the thought constantly, though, knowing that he has spent a long time being denied things. Adventure within reason should not exclude some safe travel destinations. “Both of us.”

“A— a joint thing?” He asks in surprise. Delighted surprise, but surprise.

“It can be whatever we want.” The gentle reminder that he makes his own decisions now does not go awry, and you don’t harp on the fact that it’s because his father has died, either. “We can certainly do something together if that is what you want.”

“I think that we should decide when it comes. First we have to get through the other pressing matters.” Javi tells you, guiding you towards the mirror that is gilded and has been in the family for years. “Now, see what you will look like wearing your tiara.”

It seems like the air is sucked out of the room when he turns you to face the mirror, and frames himself against your back to set the delicate tiara on your head for the very first time. Its scrolls and shimmering diamonds look brilliant in the low light, winking back at you in the gilded mirror and making you look nearly ethereal. Before this moment you would have said it was silly to talk or think that way, but here you are – standing in front of a mirror and gasping at the image in front of you so earnestly that you actually might shed a tear.

“Beautiful.” He whispers, his fingers trailing along your shoulders to rest there. “The Princess that will become queen. My bride to be. My margarita.”

______

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My Masterlist!

[delicatebarness]

i cant read your mind | chapter nine

Summary: Ah, the return of John Walker.

Warnings: MCU Spoilers. Major The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Spoilers.

Word Count: 928

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A/N: Oh look, an update. ALSO text like "This... Bold and Italic." is spoken in Wakandan. But, I am also excited to go back to annoyed Bucky next chapter when John's back in the picture.

Tags: @blackhawkfanatic | @cjand10 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @missvelvetsstuff | @buckys-metal-arm | @matchat3a | @shadowzena43 | @torntaltos | @honeydew3064 | @scott-loki-barnes

The door swung open as Bucky entered the apartment, his strides long as he made his way over to the kitchen. “Well, the Wakandans are here,” he paused momentarily, looking at you. You sat with your knees up to your chest, scrolling on your phone, your gaze met his the second he mentioned the Wakandans. “They want Zemo, bought us some more time.” 

“Were you followed?” Sam asked, as you returned to your phone. You ignored their conversation, taking an interest in your phone again. 

A small gasp escaped your lips, Karli bombed a GRC supply deport, you thought as Bucky vocalized to Sam and Zemo. You listened intensely as Bucky explained what happened to them, while you read along with the article. 

You kept searching for any information, coming up blank as all the articles reused the same information. Going over the list of demands, wondering how the world can agree. Was Zemo right? Is the only way to stop it, by stopping her? 

“But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?” Zemo asked in response to Bucky.

The couch dipped by the side of you as Bucky sat down. You met his concerned gaze as you glanced up from your phone. You could see the worry over his features. 

Sighing softly, you put your phone down on the cushion next to you. Bucky’s eyes remained locked on yours. 

Without a word, you reached out, placing your hand on his arm. His muscles were tense beneath you, a testament to the stress. His expression began to soften as he looked down at your hand, then back up at you. You gave him a reassuring smile, his lips turned into a faint smile in return. 

He shifted closer to you, his other hand moving to cover yours. Your thoughts couldn’t drift away from the sensation of his touch, his conversation with Sam and Zemo faded into the background. 

~

Zemo led the way into an old courtyard, “Shame what’s become of this place,” he mused. “When I was young, we used to come here for fabulous dinners and parties. I knew nothing of the politics of the time, of course, but I remember it being beautiful.” 

You, Sam, and Bucky looked around, scanning the surroundings. “I’m gonna take a look around upstairs,” Sam said, “See what you can find out here. And, keep an eye on him,” he directed to you and Bucky, nodding towards Zemo. 

“I’ll stay out of your way,” Zemo replied with a slight smile.

You followed Bucky as he approached another group of people, “Donya? No?” he asked cautiously. 

You sighed, sharing a frustrated look with Bucky. This mission was proving more difficult than you anticipated, but you knew giving up wasn’t an option. Bucky continued to search for leads, but the local resistance made his task even more challenging. 

You observed Zemo, he began moving toward a group of children, surprisingly gently. He started singing a familiar tune. You watched his body language, it suggested he was trying to gain their trust. 

“What the hell is he doing?” Bucky muttered as Sam came up beside you, his eyes narrowed toward Zemo. “He’s up to something,” his tone wary.

“Yeah, but we need him,” you replied. “At least for now.” 

Zemo walked back toward you, a triumphant smile on his lips. “Cute kids,” he said simply.

~

The narrow streets of Latvia felt even more claustrophobic as you walked alongside Bucky, your senses on high alert. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily as you approached the location of Zemo’s lead. 

Suddenly, you heard hurried footsteps ahead of you as John Walker and Lemar closed in with determined expressions.

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit,” Walker stated, his voice was sharp. 

Sighing, Bucky rolled his eyes. “Ah! How’d you find us now?”

“Come on. You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Lemar retorted while gesturing toward you and Sam. 

Stepping closer to Walker, a playful smirk danced on your lips. “Wow, Johnny, I didn’t realize you were so invested. You like keeping an eye on us, don’t you?” 

Bucky shot you a warning look, however, you ignored it. Stepping between you and Walker.

“No more keeping us in the dark,” Walker stated, looking over Sam’s shoulder and offering you another one of his winks. If hadn’t been enjoying Bucky’s reactions so much, you would have vomited. “You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” 

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky scoffed at him. Walker’s eyes remained on you. Sending him a smirk, you listened intensely to the men’s conversation. 

Moving around Sam’s body, you placed a hand on Walker’s arm, your fingers tracing the fabric of his uniform. “You know, it’s nice having a strong, decisive man around. Makes a girl feel… safe,” your voice dripped with flirtation as you smiled up at him. 

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing on you. His patience snapped as he muttered in Wakandan. “Touch him again, and see what happens.” 

“You know, Bucky, it’s cute when you get all worked up.” you teased back to him in Wakandan. Your eyes gleamed with mischief as Walker looked down at you in confusion. 

“I’ll kill him,” he retorted, the tension showing in his shoulders as he stepped closer, edging his way between you and Walker. “Try me.” 

You shrugged nonchalantly, taking a step back after sending Walker a wink. 

As the group continued walking, you couldn’t help but feel Bucky’s gaze on you.

---

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[burntheedges-updates]

over again, chapter 3: dinner

This is my updates-only blog! Follow me at @burntheedges Joel Miller x f!reader summary: you fell in love with Joel Miller in Austin, Texas, in 2001, but you thought you lost him and your whole family in 2003 when the world turned upside down. now it's 2024, and you find the surprise of your life waiting for you in Jackson, Wyoming. or, five times you and Joel fell deeper in love, on both sides of the apocalypse (and one time you did something about it) 18+ minors DNI chapter tags/warnings: fluff, flirting, banter, angst, bisexual!reader (like me), dancing, holding hands, a bit of pining, kissing (!!!) (the smut is coming so soon, y’all) a/n: Welcome to chapter 3! We’re finally getting somewhere with these two… and there’s a bit of dancing. The Austin section of this chapter was the preview I posted a few weeks back, but it's been edited a bit. music note: All songs mentioned in this fic are on the playlist. The first 19 songs on the playlist are the mix CD mentioned in this chapter. The playlist post has annotations about the first 19 songs with mild spoilers, so skip reading those for now if you’d rather wait. I was a teenager in 2000 and I grew up in the south (and lived in Texas for a bit, later), so I was aiming for songs I would have heard on the radio and songs the reader and Joel definitely would have heard on the radio and when they went out dancing. word count: 8.2k

series main post | series playlist | ao3 | ch 1 | ch 2

Chapter 3: Dinner

Jackson, Spring 2024 

Despite your agreement in his kitchen, you don’t talk to Joel the next day, or even the one after that, except in passing. He’s still taking care of Ellie, and you end up staying in the stables overnight to help with the birth of a foal. (You try to imagine yourself from Before doing anything like that, but it’s impossible.) At least you’re able to sleep again, after that. You’re too tired not to. 

It’s been three days when Joel catches you outside around dinner time and asks if he can walk with you, as he’s planning to pick some dinner up for Ellie. She’s feeling better, apparently, but not up for the dining hall quite yet. You remember being wary of it yourself when you first arrived, so you don’t blame her.

Joel falls into step beside you, in silence at first. The air between you is more comfortable than it was three days ago — it feels easier to walk next to him, less fraught to look at him. You imagine touching his hand again and it seems possible. You were exhausted then, it’s true, but it was also overwhelming to be around him like that after so long. Now you’re a little more used to the idea. 

You use the quiet moment to look him over, checking the outline of his shoulders, his hips, his gait against the Joel in your memory. He’s grayer now of course, but so are you. He’s the same shape but somehow even broader than Before — same Joel, just stronger, and hardier, and more weathered. You can see a hint of discomfort in his walk, but you all have that these days. The sign of a person who has to walk everywhere. It wears at your joints. 

You don’t notice how long you’ve been checking him out in silence until your gaze wanders back to his face and you find him smirking at you, knowingly. 

“See something you like, darlin’?” You feel a rush of warmth towards your face, but you’re not really embarrassed. 

“Maybe I do, neighbor.” You tilt your head at him and smile a bit. “Same as always.”

He shakes his head and works his jaw to hide a wider smile. “I’m pretty sure we’ve said that to each other before.”

“Yeah, I think we did. That night we had dinner at your place after Sarah was sick.” It’s easier to recall things like that, now that you’ve let yourself start. It’s like the memories were just waiting for you to acknowledge them and now they’re all pouring out. 

He tenses a little when you say Sarah’s name, making you wonder if you shouldn’t have. But she was yours too, and you can’t let go of that. You never have and you won’t start now. Not even for Joel. 

He looks away and then back at you, seeming to shake it off and moving a little closer to nudge your shoulder. “You still remember what I taught you? Pretty sure we had our first lesson that night.” He winks, the old flirt. You laugh. 

“Joel, I haven’t danced with anyone since the last time I danced with you. I can’t promise I even remember the steps.”

He pauses, slows to a stop, and turns towards you fully. “Maybe we should give it another shot, see if, um,” he clears his throat. “See if we still partner so well.” You meet his eyes, and you see he’s feeling the same things you are – hesitation, hope, maybe a little fear. Maybe a lot. 

That feeling that’s been pulling at you – that second chance you’ve been thinking about for months – becomes almost tangible in the air between you as he speaks. It makes you feel brave.

You step a little bit closer and reach out to slide your hand into his. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, and you hear his breath hitch.

“Tommy always did say we could light up a dance floor.” You look down at your hands and decide to go for it, too. “I’d like to see if we can, still.” You’re talking about more than dancing, and you both know it. “But I know Ellie comes first, and I don’t want to rush into anything and mess it up. I missed you,” you see he’s formed a shaky fist with his free hand, while the hand holding your own is relaxed and warm. “But we’ve done a lot of living without each other.” 

You look back up at him, hesitantly. You don’t want to push for too much, too fast. You have no idea what fast or slow mean for the two of you anymore. 

Joel nods, twining his fingers through your own and squeezing gently. “We have. But even now I’d never have doubted you’d understand about Ellie. You’re a great mom.” 

He uses present tense, which makes you suck in a sharp breath. You feel it again, that echo from the past. It still hurts. Maybe it’s like building muscle and it’ll fade the more you let yourself feel it. 

“She doesn’t know you, of course, and she’s wary of strangers. And we need to get to know each other now. But we can take it slow.” He smiles at you, a bit sadly, and squeezes your hand again. 

“Slow is fine with me, cowboy.”

He looks surprised, and then huffs out a short laugh. “No one’s called me that in 20 years.”

“No one’s called me darlin’, either.” For a moment, you just lock eyes and take each other in.

“Do you want to come over for dinner soon? Maybe next week, I want to try to get Ellie to leave the house first.” He looks hopeful, but also still hesitant.

“I’d like that, Joel. And I’m happy to wait until she’s ready. I’m still getting used to these- um, these feelings, myself.” He nods, and you know in that moment he understands what you can’t put into words. 

“It wasn’t easy for me, at first. I reacted badly.” He shakes his head, and you think maybe this is an understatement. You reach out to grasp his wrist, right above where your hands are intertwined. “I was cold, barely living back in Boston. Mostly just dying, slowly. Not ready for all the ways that kid can get under my skin. Not ready to have someone I would- that I could let down again. Everything she did reminded me of–“ he clears his throat. “Of Sarah. And I didn’t talk about her or let anyone else talk about her for 20 years. Even saying her name, it’s…” He trails off and looks down the road back towards your houses for a moment, working his jaw as he gathers his thoughts. 

“Anyway. I think I know what you’re feeling. I’ve been there myself.” You nod, not sure what to say, or if you can get any words out. You squeeze his hand, this time. 

He steps back a little, stepping out of the moment you’ve just shared. “Anyway. We should get on. I’ll let you know about dinner, and maybe you and I can meet for lunch sometimes? Until then?” You nod and smile, even as your hands separate well before you enter the dining hall. 

…

You don’t manage lunch, but Joel does come back to you a couple of days later with an actual dinner invitation for the following Saturday, five days away. You agree of course, even though you know how anxious you’ll get with five days to wait. He must see it in your face because he reassures you, “Ellie told me to ask you, darlin’.”

So you manage, anxiously, counting down the days until Saturday. You keep busy in the stables and the garden and even eat with Tommy and Maria a couple of times, trying and failing to ban all teasing about it. He takes mercy on you when he sees the state you’ve wound yourself into by Friday afternoon. 

“Everything’ll be fine, sunshine. No need to look so gloomy.” You can’t help but roll your eyes, wondering if you’ll ever escape Tommy Miller’s puns about the weather. You see Maria doing the same but Tommy just grins, unrepentant.

“I just don’t know what to expect, which makes it worse.”

He reaches over to pat you on the arm. “Ellie’s prickly, sure, but she adopted him the same as he adopted her. She cares about what he cares about. It’ll be fine.” 

You’re not so sure, but you take the reassurance as it’s meant and try to breathe through some of your anxiety. It sort of works.

…

On Saturday you distract yourself with baking so you’ll have something in hand when you arrive at their house later. You haven’t made cookies in years (you hadn’t had the chance in years, before Jackson) but you think they turn out fine. You run out of things to do eventually and find yourself staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. With fifteen minutes to go you wrench yourself away (he knows what you look like and you’re both old, now, anyway) to finish getting ready. You glance at the shoe box by the door, wondering if you should bring it or leave it – maybe it won’t come up? It probably will, though. You sigh, unsure, and decide to leave it. You can run back and get it if you need to. Cookies in hand, you head next door. 

You wonder if Ellie was waiting at the window, because she yanks the door open before you can knock. She raises an eyebrow at you and asks, “What’s that?” nodding at the plate in your hands.

“Cookies. You’re looking better.” You hand her the plate. 

“Cookies!” her eyes get comically big as she takes them from you. Joel, demonstrating how much of a dad he still is and always will be, calls from the kitchen, “not until after dinner, Ellie!” She immediately frowns, looking mutinous. You grin at her as she rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t worry, that whole plate is for the two of you. Plenty to go around.” She looks a bit mollified, and heads towards the kitchen. You follow.

You find Joel at the stove, spooning something out of a pan and on to three plates. “Whatever that is, it smells amazing, Joel.” 

He smirks at you over his shoulder. “It’s pepper chicken.”

“No fucking way.” 

It’s out before you can help yourself - you haven’t had a meal like that, from Before, in ages. Ellie snorts. “He’s been talking this up all day, it better be fucking good.”

He eyes her a little, but you cursed first (whoops), so what’s he going to say? He looks back to you and explains that Tommy helped him figure out how to make it with what they have in Jackson. “Hopefully it’s about the same.” 

The three of you settle at the table as he sets out the plates, and you notice they’ve put a candle in the center of the table. 

“Nice ambiance,” you say, grinning at him a little, trying to shake off your nerves.

Ellie laughs, a single emphatic ha!, loud and bright. “He would not stop talking about that candle all damn day. I told him it was cheesy, so he wanted to get rid of it, but then I told him you apparently liked cheesy romantic shit, so he should keep it.” Joel is staring Ellie down and clearly wants her to stop talking, but she’s looking at you and you’re nodding to encourage her.

“Oh? I do like cheesy romantic shit.” Ellie laughs again, clearly at his expense. “What else did he say?”

“That’s enough of that, I think,” Joel interrupts, cutting Ellie another look. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

You roll your eyes and see Ellie does the same. She grins at you, but then seems to catch herself – like she’s enjoying the back and forth, but isn’t sure of you yet. Fair.

You take a bite of the chicken and can’t stop the moan you let out at the taste. “Holy shit, Joel. How did you manage this?” When you look at him he’s already staring at you, fork dangling from his fingers, looking a little bit like he just got hit over the head with something. “Joel?”

He coughs and adjusts his seat. “Um, right. It wasn’t so hard, just traded for some ingredients from the garden. It’s good?”

“It’s great,” Ellie says. Clearly it’s true because she’s making the chicken disappear at the speed of light. At the same time she’s somehow also darting her eyes between the two of you, like you’re doing something suspicious. She lets the silence hang for a moment, but then asks, “so, what have you been up to for the last 20 years?”

“Ellie! I told you, we don’t need to hash everything out all at once. We can take it slow.” Joel cuts in, eyebrows furrowed in her direction. 

“Oh come on, Joel, you’re such a dinosaur. But like, not one of the cool ones. Just ask! Why waste time?” You wonder what you did to make Ellie want to ask. You were nervous before, but now you’re feeling a bit like you’re walking a tightrope again. Is this a good thing or a bad thing? It’s impossible to tell, but it feels like it will go over worse if you refuse.

“We can talk about it. I don’t mind.” You try to give Joel an encouraging look as you respond. He’s quiet for a moment but then agrees. 

“Alright. Don’t see why we shouldn’t, I guess.” His voice takes on a teasing note as he looks back towards Ellie. “Let’s just jump right in, since you want to so bad.” She rolls her eyes at him again.

“So, let’s hear it! Where have you been?” 

You take a deep breath, trying to decide where to start. You know from Tommy the outline of what they did, where Joel has been – the locations, a few major events, and so on. But you don’t think he knows much about your story. You set down your fork and begin. 

“On Outbreak day, I was in Boston at a conference for work. Joel and I talked on the phone that morning before the conference, but by the end of the day… well. Everything changed.” You take a sip of water. This part, at least, you’ve told someone before, so it’s not as hard to organize your thoughts. “I tried to call, I think everyone did, but the phones went down pretty quick. There was chaos, and then there was what became the QZ, later. But I left before they really got it going. I went south – all I wanted was to get home. To get to Texas.” You’ve been speaking to Ellie, mostly, but at this point you finally look at Joel, and you find him staring at you, unblinking, with the unreadable expression on his face that you know means he’s trying to hide some strong emotion. You look away from both of their gazes and down to the table, gathering yourself.

“I found a group heading south and went with them. We made it to Baltimore, but it was such a goddamn mess. They didn’t want to keep going and I didn’t want to go alone – I knew back then that I wouldn’t make it far – so I stayed, thinking I’d find another group. But staying for a little while turned into a long while and, well. You’ve probably heard what happened to the QZ there in ‘07.” Joel nods, you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You look at him again and find him the same as a moment ago, but with his fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white. You realize you’re staring and look away.

“At that point I was clinging to the hope that my family was still alive with the barest tips of my fingers. But having to leave Baltimore pushed me further south, and I ended up in Atlanta. And, well,” you look at Joel. “I ran into Joyce.” Joel starts in his seat, hands relaxing in his surprise. 

“Joyce Roberts?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yep. That Joyce. Can you believe it? Just walked right into her on the street one day.” You look at Ellie again. “Joyce lived on our street, back in Austin. This was in ‘08, I guess? And we had a whole reunion moment, and then she just looked at me, and I knew. I knew what she was about to say.” You feel yourself start to choke up, and close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I know now that she was wrong, but then, it was crystal clear, like a movie playing in front of my eyes as she told me what happened. She said she’d seen you that night, Joel, you and Tommy and Sarah. You sped out of the neighborhood in the truck, and somehow she saw Tommy again, in the chaos after that plane crashed. After that she lost you again, but she asked after you later at one of the camps. She said they told her that according to their records, all three of you were dead.” You’re whispering, at this point, but you try to breathe through it. 

“I guess the, um, the news about what happened with Sarah and then... after… that news got around from the field hospital, but not quite correctly. So some list of survivors got updated wrong. It’s not like those lists were worth much, not for much longer. It was before everyone stopped trying to keep track like that.” You open your eyes, and glance at Joel. He’s pale. 

“But anyway. She was sure, and it had been five years. It killed whatever hope I had left.”

You’re quiet for a moment. You see Joel is barely breathing next to you, his hands clutching the edge of the table. Ellie’s eyes are wide and her face says she’s not sure if she should make any noise at all. You know Joel knows what you were alluding to after Sarah’s death and you don’t want to bring it up any more than that, not now. You’d heard it from Joyce and it’s been a weight ever since.

“Um, anyway. I guess I’ll… we can talk about that another time.” You glance between them and rub your hands on your thighs. Breathe. “So I was in Atlanta for a while. Probably about 8 years? I just worked, like everyone else. Made some sort-of friends.” You hesitate, thinking about Michelle. You decide you’ll come back to it later. You’re already choking on the words as they leave your mouth. 

“But by ‘16, I had to leave. It was getting… weird, in the QZ. And for other reasons.” You take another sip of water. “By that time I was more capable of surviving on my own. Like everyone these days, I guess. So I headed west, thinking I’d go home, see what was there. Turns out I beat Tommy back to Austin by a year or two.” 

You turn to Joel. “That’s why he barely found anything in the house. I, uh, got there first.” You see it dawn on him. “Yeah. I have some stuff over at my house, I wasn’t sure we’d talk about it. I can go get it later.”

“What- what stuff?” He looks like he wants to know and doesn’t want to know, at the same time. You know the feeling. 

“You remember the photo calendars we had made in ‘02 and ‘03? Those, and a couple other pictures. Sarah’s favorite book. One of your shirts and the- um. The belt buckle.” You cleared your throat. “Some new clothes for me. And, um.” You meet his eyes. “That mix CD, from when we got together. Some other little stuff.” He looks overwhelmed. “Yeah, there’s a lot. I’ll bring it over, ok? You can go through it, keep stuff.” He nods, looking far away.

Ellie looks like she’s about ready to burst. “What CD? And what happened in Atlanta? What about after Austin? What next?”

You smile a little at her questions. “Ok, let’s see. Well, Sarah helped Joel burn me a mix CD – do you know what that means?” She shrugs, saying she knows what a CD is. “Ok, close enough. Basically Sarah and Joel created the list of songs and put it on the CD. It had some of our favorite songs to dance to on it. I haven’t seen a CD player in years but I took the CD anyway. 

“Atlanta…” you swallow. “Let’s come back to that, ok? After Austin, I kept heading west. I found some people in west Texas who weren’t so bad to stay with, for a bit. I think I was there for about two years? And then I decided to head to Kansas City, but I heard some bad stuff before I ever got there. I ended up making it work with what was left of the Dallas QZ for a while. I did ok there, anyway. And then last year I decided to head out this way, and Tommy literally stumbled over me on a patrol and scared the shit out of me and turned my life upside down in the process.” 

You stop, and the three of you are quiet. All you hear is the sound of your own breathing.. You aren’t sure what else to say without getting too deep into things you don’t feel ready to talk about, from Baltimore and Atlanta and Dallas. None of them were easy and all of them still hurt at least a little bit. You hope Ellie doesn’t ask but you’ll try if she does.

Joel looks like he’s still trying to take in everything you said, but he finally says, “I wonder if we ever passed each other. Tommy and I, well, our goal at the beginning, as much as we had one, was to get to Boston. To you. But somewhere around Dallas we heard that the initial Outbreak in Boston had been so bad, there were barely any survivors. And I-“ he clears his throat. “I, um, wasn’t in the best shape, back then. It convinced me you were gone, like Sarah, and well. I wasn’t… I couldn’t…” he just shakes his head. “We didn’t actually get there until years later. I guess we could try to match it all up, make a timeline.” 

You shudder. Were you ever in the same place at the same time, unknowing? You almost don’t want to know. 

“I don't think I’m ready for that.” He shakes his head, agreeing with you. “I think that’s all I can do tonight.” You look back at Ellie. She’s studying you. 

“We can talk more later,” she agrees, “but I have one question.” You nod, fixing your face into something neutral. A slightly mischievous look comes across her face. “Can we listen to the CD? We have a player in the living room.” 

You start and bang your hand on the table. “You do? Fuck, I never thought I’d find one.” Joel sighs, and rolls his eyes as you shake out your hand. “I’m allowed to curse, old man, I’m just as old as you.”

“Not quite, darlin’.” He smiles at you. You start to come down from the emotional rollercoaster of the last half hour and smile back. 

“Let me go grab the CD.”

You run back to your house, and after a moment’s thought, grab the entire shoebox. He can look through it later. 

When you return to their house, Ellie and Joel have moved to the living room, and she’s elbowing him and saying something you don’t catch that makes him put his face in his hands. She grins and spots you in the door. You hand her the CD.

Ellie inspects it carefully, seeing the handwritten tracklist in the little paper insert that has yellowed a bit with age. “Joel, did you really make this?” He nods. 

“Sarah did the technical work but we made it together.”

“You weren’t lying, he really was a cheesy romantic. How many of these are in Spanish?” He sighs in a long-suffering way, falling back onto the couch. It makes you smile. 

“Like I told you, it’s who he is.” You look at him, and despite the grumpy act he’s putting on for Ellie, he winks at you. It sets off fireworks inside of you and you smile, helplessly.

Ellie gets the CD in the player, and the whirring noise it makes as it spins the disc sends a wave of nostalgia over you, unexpectedly strong. You resist closing your eyes, knowing what you’ll hear first. You want to see Ellie’s reaction. 

You try to control your face, watching as “La Bomba” starts. She looks confused, and then incredulous. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

You start to laugh, and you see Joel chuckling, too. You know “Suavemente” is up next so you look at him and hold out your hand. “Want to show her?” He gives you a look, and for a moment you aren’t sure what he’ll do. But he stands, of course, and takes your hand. 

“Sure, darlin’.” And then he starts to move.

You weren’t lying when you said you hadn’t danced in 20 years. But somehow, in Joel Miller’s arms, your body remembers what to do, and you start to move across the room together like no time has passed. 

Joel had taught you how to dance in his backyard, with Tommy and Sarah laughing nearby. He had shown you a bit of merengue and how to two-step that first day, and much more later, but most of the time you had just let him lead in both partner dances and line dances. Some of the songs on the CD were ones you used to dance to in his living room or in night clubs, and some were just for you. You wouldn’t say you’re doing any particular style now, as the second track starts, just that you’re dancing and following his lead. 

Ellie whistles and cheers you on from the side, but you can’t look away from Joel. His eyes are locked on you and it feels impossible to look anywhere else. You float through the dance, feeling like your feet are barely touching the floor. 

When the song ends and “Lambada” starts, you force yourself to step back, a bit overwhelmed with how much the dance affected you. 

“Ellie, do you want to learn?” She looks surprised, and then uncertain. 

“Um, maybe? I’m not sure I want to dance with anyone.” 

You tilt your head as you look at her, a hunch forming in the back of your mind, and smile. “Maybe give it a try?” She nods and Joel beckons her over. As they get in position you search through the tracklist to a song you think might work for a lesson. You skip ahead to the Shakira song later on the list because you think the slower beat will help.

You sit on the couch to watch Joel start to direct Ellie around the room, but it pretty quickly becomes clear that it’s not working. She’s fighting him with every step and they keep bumping into each other. It seems you were right – maybe Ellie, headstrong as she is, would do better leading. You stand up.

“I think we’re teaching her the wrong part,” you say as you cut in between her and Joel. He smirks, gesturing for you to take his place as he moves towards the couch. “Ellie, why don’t you try leading for a bit.” You direct her and it’s immediately pretty obvious that she’s more comfortable controlling the dance. She learns a couple of easy steps and starts to lead you carefully around the room, picking up on what Joel had been trying to do as well. 

After a couple of minutes you look over your shoulder at him, grinning, but you see that he’s gotten distracted by the open shoebox on the coffee table. He’s got his belt buckle in one hand, thumb tracing the design absently, like he still remembers the exact shape of the letters after all these years. With the other he reaches in to pull out the 2002 calendar. It’s the one with you and Sarah on the front, smiling for the camera and posing in front of the lake you used to visit in the summer. 

You don’t even realize you’ve stopped dancing until Ellie bumps into you. “What’s wrong?” she asks, looking around you at Joel. “Oh.” 

Joel seems to realize you’re both looking at him, and he looks up at you, that familiar unreadable look on his face. “Sorry, I just looked in and couldn’t help it. I–”

“It’s alright. Maybe that’s enough of a lesson for today, anyway.” You smile a little. “You can hold on to the box, we can figure it out later. Or talk about it. Whatever you want. I kept, um, one of Sarah’s hair ties, with the yellow beads. There’s another one in there.” There’s one more thing back at your house that you decide to keep to yourself for now. Neither of you are ready for that. “And, um. I gave Tommy your mom’s bracelet. For Maria.” 

Joel snorts. “The one you always hated and thought was ugly as sin?” You laugh. 

“Yep, that’s the one.”

The atmosphere in the room has gotten heavier, the moment clearly over, and the two of you have become awkward, losing all the ease you found when dancing. Ellie steps into the middle of it, and says, “well, I still have questions, but I can already hear Joel telling me I’m being rude like the cranky old man he is, so next time, I guess.” 

You feel a bit lighter at her words. Next time? You’ll take it. “I’d like that. Thanks, Ellie.”

You start to head towards the door, and Joel carefully sets everything back in the box to join you. “You can look through it, Ellie, just be careful.” She nods, sitting gingerly next to the box on the coffee table, looking over its contents with wide eyes. The two of you step out onto the porch to say goodnight. 

You’re quiet for a moment, looking at each other. Joel regards you thoughtfully, and says, “that went about as well as it could, I think.” You agree. 

“The dinner was great, Joel.”

“Well, that too. But you and Ellie, is what I meant. I think she’s still wary of everybody but me, but seems to me like she wants to get to know you.” 

“I really hope so. She’s a force of nature, isn’t she?” He nods, smiling, and you can see in it how much he cares about her, his adopted younger daughter. 

“Sorry she brought all that up so quick.”

“It’s fine, Joel. I wanted you to know, anyway. Both of you.” 

He nods, but looks a bit hesitant. “I know we said slow and agreed, darlin’, but I hope you don’t mind if it ends up being real slow after all.” You reach out to reassure him, lightly touching his right arm.

“I need time, too, Joel. There’s things you don’t know about me yet, and things you probably want to tell me, too.” He doesn’t look reassured. You think for a moment, and add, “We know the foundation is there, right? But what we built is long gone, so we just have to see if we can build it again.” He’s looking at you like he can’t tell if you’re sincere or making a construction pun to tease him. It’s both, but he doesn’t need to know that. For now. 

“Alright, darlin’. That’s maybe enough feelings for one day.” He laughs as you roll your eyes at him. “But I have to tell you something, though, before you go.” He moves his arm and you start to move your hand away from where you were still touching him, but he catches it and laces your fingers together. 

“You’re so kind and smart and beautiful,” he starts, and your breath catches in your throat. He smiles at you. “It took my breath away back then and it still does now. I’ll be mad until the day I die that I missed out on 20 years of you, but I still can’t believe you’re here, in front of me.” He tilts his head and squeezes your hand. “You’re especially beautiful tonight. I felt as lucky to have you in my arms during that dance as I did back in ‘01.” 

Your face has gone hot and you raise your free hand to your cheek, knowing he can tell. 

“Joel–”

“No, I want you to hear it. You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen outside of your house with the moving truck that day we met and it’s still true now. And watching you talk to Ellie and get to know her?” He shakes his head a little, but he’s smiling. “I never thought I’d feel this way again, never thought I’d get to watch two people I care about get to know each other like that. I just wanted you to know how much it means to me. That’s all.”

That’s all, he says. Like it isn’t everything. You’re biting your lip, holding back tears by the time he’s done. You reach out to cup his cheek with your right hand. “Joel Miller, you smooth-talking son of a bitch.” He laughs outright at that, sounding a little choked up himself. 

“I’ve never been able to defend against those moves. Not that I’d want to.” You smile as he leans his head into your hand. “I’m feeling it too, ok? We should go slow, yes, but… well, like I said, we’ve got the foundation. We’re just easing into it.” He grins, and you see a glimpse of him at 32 that you weren’t expecting to ever see again. 

“Probably better, at our age.”

“Better for you maybe, old man. I’m still younger than you.”

“Darlin’, you turn 50 soon, and we both know it.” You shove him a little, grinning. He smiles back, that half smile that used to get under your skin and take your breath away. It still does. 

“Well, Joel Miller, with that I think I’ll turn in.” You start to turn away, but he reels you back in for a short hug. He holds you tightly for just a moment, whispering, “Thanks for the shoebox. I can’t… well. I’m going to take my time with it.” He pulls away.

“Take all the time you need.”

...

Austin, Spring 2001 

On Sunday, you changed your outfit five times before telling yourself to get a grip and putting back on the first thing you had pulled out of your closet, 45 minutes ago. Joel had seen literally all of these clothes before; he’d lived next door to you for six months. Get it together. You looked at yourself in the mirror, messed with your hair one last time, and then forced yourself to leave the bathroom and head downstairs. 

In the kitchen, you glanced at the clock – 5:54pm – and picked up the cookies you baked that morning, heading next door to the Millers’. 

You knocked on their door, and after a few moments with no response you knocked again. Odd. You put your ear to the door and heard music and Sarah laughing. You tried the door and realized it was unlocked. 

As you crossed the threshold you called out, “Millers? Anyone home?” Inside you could more clearly hear the music coming from the backyard, so you left the cookies in the kitchen (where something smelled amazing) and headed towards the back door.

You found it open, and you could hear Sarah laugh again as you moved closer. “Dad come on, you stepped on my toes!”

“Sarah Miller, I raised you not to tell lies.” Joel sounded out of breath, but he was laughing as he said it.

“Well, that’s definitely a lie if I ever heard one.” You leaned in the doorway, smiling as you watched Joel lead Sarah around the yard to “Rie y Llora.” Tommy jumped out of the way as Joel steered Sarah right into him in retaliation for that remark. They hadn’t noticed you yet. 

“Celia Cruz, huh?”

All three Millers turned at your question, all three smiling at you. It was a little overwhelming, as always, to have the attention of all three at once. Sarah elbowed her dad lightly and laughed, saying, “she’s Abuela's favorite.” Joel rolled his eyes. 

“It’s good music for learning,” he muttered, clearly not for the first time. 

“It looks to me like Sarah already knows what she’s doing.” You smiled at the look he shot your way.

“Ha! See, dad?”

“Sure, baby girl. Why don’t you go take Uncle Tommy for a spin, since you know what you’re doing.” With that, Joel spun Sarah towards Tommy, who caught her easily and started leading her around the yard. You laughed, and then looked back towards Joel. He was watching you with that half smile that always gave you goosebumps. 

“Do you know how to dance, darlin’?”

“In a club? Sure. Like that? No way.” 

He grinned at your answer. “Want to learn?” He held his hand out, guiding you towards him once you placed your hand in his. 

“I’ve never danced like this before. I’ll probably stomp all over your feet.” Joel placed your right hand on his shoulder, and took your left hand in his right.

“You let me worry about where our feet go, darlin’. I’ll show you the basics and then you just follow me.” And over the next 15 minutes, that’s exactly what he did. 

Soon you found yourself slowly moving around the yard to “Lambada,” definitely slower than the music called for. At some point Tommy and Sarah went inside to work on finishing dinner but you barely noticed. You were focusing on keeping up with Joel. 

Just as you started to feel a little bit confident, a slow song that you didn’t know started to play. Joel slowed the two of you as well, starting to mostly sway in place instead of moving around so much. He pulled you a little closer with his left hand around your waist.

Catching your breath, and taking your focus off of your feet, you asked, “what brought this on? I don’t think I’ve ever come over to find y’all mid-dance-lesson before.”

“Sarah’s got that school dance coming up and she’s a bit nervous.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I tried to tell her I only know how to do this and a few of those line dances they do in the clubs Tommy goes to. Not whatever dancing they’ll be doing – probably closer to your club dancing.” He winked at you, and you held on a little tighter to his shoulder. “But then she reminded me that her cousin’s party is coming up, anyway, and they will definitely be dancing just like this. So, we were practicing.”

“Cousin?” You asked, confused. Tommy didn’t have kids, and you were pretty sure there were no other Miller siblings.

“Ah, technically it’s my cousin’s kid, on my mom’s side. Easier to just say cousin. They all live down in San Antonio.” He shrugged. You nodded. 

“Well, you did a good job teaching me. Bet that’ll be a fun party.”

You realized at that point that you had slowly swayed in the direction of the trees closer to the back of the yard. You were under the shade of one of the trees, partially out of view from the house. You'd moved closer together as the dance slowed and you found yourself with your right hand on Joel’s neck, fingertips almost touching his hairline. Your eyes darted from his arms, holding you securely, to his shoulders, flexing under his shirt, up to his face. 

You looked up to find Joel looking right back at you. “See something you like, darlin’?” He smirked. You felt a rush of warmth towards your face, but you weren’t really embarrassed. You felt like your whole body was tingling, like you were heading towards something you’d been hoping for for months. Like you were racing forward and up ahead there was a cliff you might fall off of, but you’d fall together. Like the fall was the point, the destination. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“Maybe I do, neighbor,” you managed. He grinned in response, tugging you just a bit closer. Any closer and you’d feel him pressed against you everywhere.

“I know I do.”

“What?” You’d lost track of the conversation. His proximity was going to your head. 

“See something I like.” As he responded, he let go of your hand and brought his right hand up to cup your face. You saw him glance from your eyes to your mouth and in response, you pressed closer, winding your hands into his hair. Joel leaned in, and you barely felt the touch of his lips to yours, when the back door opened and Tommy shouted, “dinner’s ready, love birds! Get in here!”

Joel groaned as he stepped away from you, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I guess we should head inside.” As he said it, he lifted one hand to trace his fingertips along your cheekbone before running his hand lightly over your shoulder and down your arm. “Stick around after dinner? I’d like another dance.” You smiled as he reached down to take your hand and lead you toward the house, walking backwards and keeping his eyes trained on yours. 

“Smooth moves, Miller. Save some for later.”

He was still smiling, but suddenly you felt the intent in his gaze, more focused than even a moment ago. “Oh darlin’, don’t worry. For you I got plenty more.”

…

Dinner with the Millers was always fun, and this occasion was no different. Tommy and Sarah teased Joel mercilessly, and he got them right back, though he was always a little softer with Sarah. 

You talked and joked over dinner, noting Joel had made one of your favorites – pepper chicken – and he winked at you when you thanked him for it. Sarah updated you about her week after she got over her cold and her excitement about the upcoming dance. After dinner she rushed upstairs to talk to a friend on the phone as Tommy headed out the door (“to do some real dancing, y'all should come out sometime”). You were left with Joel in the kitchen, clearing the table together and starting in on the dishes. 

“You don’t have to help with that, darlin’, I can get ‘em later.” 

You bumped your hip against his as he slid in next to you at the sink. “It’s no bother, Joel. Let me help.” He smiled at you, softly, and nodded, picking up the towel to dry the dishes. 

You worked quietly, sometimes recalling a joke from dinner, but you mostly just enjoyed the moment together. As soon as you handed him the last dish he set it aside, still wet, to take your hand and lead you back outside. He switched the music back on with the volume low as you passed the boombox.

In one smooth motion, Joel turned and pulled you back into his arms, into the stance you had only just left before dinner. But this time he pulled you close from the start, tucking you up against him and smoothing his hand across your lower back. 

“Well hello there, darlin’. Fancy meeting you here.”

You smiled, and rolled your eyes a little. “Hey, cowboy.” You let your fingertips play with his hair along his neck. You noticed a light shiver in his shoulders as you did. 

You smirked. “Joel, are you ticklish?” 

“No, and you better not let on to Sarah that you wondered anything of the sort.” He glared at you playfully as he said it, spinning you a little into a new spot in the yard. You laughed, a bit winded even though you'd barely moved. 

“Hmm, seems like information that would be worth quite a bit to some people around here,” you mused. You brushed your fingers lightly across his hairline again, and he squirmed again in response. 

He hid a smile, pulling you in so he could whisper directly into your left ear. “But darlin’, if you keep my secret, I’ll make it worth your while.” It was your turn to shiver. 

“Oh? How so?” You’d never heard your own voice so breathless. 

He chuckled, and raised his left hand from your hip to your jaw, tilting your head to your right as he tucked his face into the left side of your neck. He ran his lips lightly from your shoulder to your jaw, sending shivers down your spine as you inhaled sharply. He kissed you, lightly, right at the hinge of your jaw, and then on your cheek, and then his mouth met yours, softly, barely there and then with gentle pressure. 

He pulled away after only a moment, and you met his eyes in a daze. His gaze was dark, and you felt like you were moving through molasses. Everything was slow, and soft, and heady. You were floating through it and Joel’s hands on you – on your cheek, holding your left hand – were the only things keeping you tethered.

Joel murmured your name. “Let me take you out.”

“When?” Your reply fell from your lips so quickly it made him smile, and you smiled back, unashamed. 

“Friday? Sarah’s got a sleepover.” He smoothed his thumb over your cheekbone. “We can go dancing, show off these moves.” 

You laughed. “Joel, I’ve barely got one, maybe two moves. You sure we don’t need another dance lesson before we take this show on the road?”

He huffed a laugh too, and turned you a little. “Just follow along with me, darlin’, I won’t let you stumble.”

You bit your lip, and nodded. “Friday.”

“Friday,” he agreed, pulling you in again. As his lips met yours again, you wondered how you were going to wait five days for more of this. Joel pulled himself away with a small groan, resting his forehead against yours. “We should stop before we get too carried away, with Sarah home.” You nodded. 

You danced a bit more, finishing out the last couple of tracks on the CD. Joel kept his forehead against yours at first, and then tucked your face into his chest, resting his cheek on top of your head and slowly swaying as the last song trailed off into silence.

You didn’t want to let go quite yet, and it seemed Joel didn’t either, as neither of you moved. You could feel your happiness at finally taking the leap together glowing in your chest – from dancing around each other to an actual dance, the months of talking and flirting had finally gotten you somewhere. But you couldn’t help but wonder.

“Joel? Why now?” You asked it softly, face still tucked into his chest. He hummed lowly in response before pulling back to meet your eyes. He regarded you silently for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. 

“I think we both felt it, right? That first day. You were – you are – the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I knew I wanted you,” he smirked as he noticed you bite your lip at that admission. He squeezed your hip. “But I realized pretty quick that with you, I wanted something real. I haven’t dated anyone in a long, long time. I wanted to take it slow, and get to know you first.” You nodded. You wanted that, too. 

“But darlin’, I realized the other day, when you were here with Sarah, that maybe there’s a line between taking it slow and just being afraid, and I was flirting with it. And I’d rather be flirting with you.” He grinned as you rolled your eyes a little bit at his joke. “I’ve been afraid for a long time. Afraid of letting someone in when it’s not just me I have to worry about.” He looked towards the house. “But Sarah loves you.”

“And I love her, Joel. That girl is special.” He smiled and nodded before looking back at you.

“I know you do. And she’s been teasing me about asking you out for months.”

“Oh yeah? Well you should know better than to ignore her advice, Joel.” 

He sighed, long-suffering, and nodded. “I know it.”

Joel pulled away and started to head back to the house, right hand reaching for your left. You felt a little shaky, like you really had been floating for the last half hour. 

As you approached the front door, he squeezed your hand. “I’ll see you Friday, darlin’.”

“You sure will, cowboy.” He smiled and pulled you in for another short kiss. 

“Now get, before we get any bad ideas.” 

You laughed, and headed out the door he opened for you. 

“Night, darlin’.”

“See you Friday, Joel.”

...

a/n: see you 8/20 for chapter 4 (aka, when the smut arrives lol)

update: ch 4 now posted!

Tag list

@morgaussy @jay-zzle @bluetattoos @dins-riduur-anthe

[lasthaysileeshipper]

sunrise on the reaping and preserving fandom history

if you couldn't already tell from my onslaught of previous posts about sunrise on the reaping, I am a bit wary and really hope this book isn't told from the pov of a 12. there are a few reasons for this—and I'll be the first to admit that a couple of them may be a bit selfish.

first and foremost, however, I simply don't think we need this to be from a 12's pov. we've seen enough of them. I don't think we need haymitch's pov at all and I'd prefer not to have maysilee's either, but I'd take her pov over his. if I had to pick a 12 to be a pov character for this book, it would be mrs. undersee (if this doesn't happen in canon, I probably will write a dual pov qq2 fic from the povs of each of the twins... in addition to my planned dual pov qq2 fic between haymitch and the victor of qq1... I care about this era a lot, can you tell?).

second, and perhaps more selfishly, I've been writing the d12 qq2 era characters for quite a while and am kinda attached to my hcs as a result. I know canon compliance ultimately doesn't matter but having canon info about this era kinda makes me uneasy, for reasons I'll get to next.

third, I worry that if we get more canon information about 12 in this period, that so many iconic pieces of qq2 era fanworks will be overshadowed by canon compliant works. I will thus be leaving links to my favorite pieces of qq2 era fan work below the cut (just because this post is getting long as is).

I encourage anyone who sees this post to make your own post with a link/s to a piece of qq2 era fan work/s that you love with the tag "2qq fanworks preservation project". these works can involve any canon or fanmade characters, any ships, can be in any medium (videos, art, fic, edits, etc), so long as it takes place either slightly before, during, or slightly after qq2. I'm also including any piece of fan work that includes maysilee in some way (even if she is being referred to in the past tense), since she's so closely linked with the time period.

caring about fandom history may sound silly, but I have a strong passion for media preservation and a long cherished history with this fandom. thank you all so much for reading! be sure to look below the cut for my personal contributions to this project!

p.s: if what you are posting is a fic, please leave a synopsis and age rating! regardless of what you chose to share, give credit to the original creator (and go show them some love!).

as promised, here are some qq2 era fanworks I cherish (a lot will be haysilee fics, but what y'all submit doesn't have to be):

second quarter quell short film by mainstay pro

I don't feel like I need to say anything other than this is an iconic piece of thg fandom history. if nothing else, please watch this.

2. that's what this is by fandomfatale (rated t)

For him she is as beautiful and as dangerous as anything in the arena. His sense of self-preservation is the only part of him that pushes her away. [Haymitch’s thoughts after he and Maysilee part ways in the arena.]

one of my favorite haysilee fanfics ever

3. what a shameful thing by dance_elle_dance (rated t)

She's dying - right here, right now. This isn't what was supposed to happen. Haymitch wasn't supposed to develop any sort of feelings for the tributes, especially not like this. Especially not for her. (Originally posted on 9/6/11.)

another one of my favorite haysilee fics

haymitch's pov as maysilee is dying

4. brace yourself by ibbonray (rated t)

The Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games, as experienced by Maysilee Donner and a certain Haymitch Abernathy.

a longer qq2 fic

told from maysilee's pov up until the very end

chapters are framed with poems

haysilee

5. immortals by lori_s21 (rated t)

This is the Quarter Quell and the story of the girl behind the Mockingjay pin. A tale of loves, passions, hopes and a fight for survival. Maysilee/Haymitch UST (or is it…?). Slight spoilers for Catching Fire.

another long form qq2 fic told from maysilee's pov until the very end

haysilee

6. a song that has no words by weasleytook (rated g)

A different time, a different games, but Haymitch and Mrs. Everdeen have always been connected.

haymitch/mrs everdeen this time

in which they have a short-lived, whirlwind romance after his games

immediately post-qq2 (which is why I'm counting it)

viola (mrs everdeen)'s pov

this fic is where my obsession with this ship began haha

7. enticing artifice by lineycantdance (rated t)

Sundown pales the ribbon-blue sky streaked with spun-candy clouds. The shades of peach and mauve that stain their wispy edges are muted in comparison to the arena’s artificially intense hues. At least this sunset isn’t an illusion. We’re enclosed but not encased.

“We haven’t seen another soul in three days,” Haymitch tells me.

“There’s only eight of us left,” I say, “and these woods have plenty of hiding spots.”

He marvels at the watercolor sky through the treeline. “In a place like this, it’s not hard to imagine that it’s just you and me. The first man and first woman.”

I can imagine it, too. And isn’t that part of the cruel joke the Gamemakers are playing on us?

“Watch out for the forbidden fruit,” I say drily. He gives me a mischievous look. “Actually, I was thinking of a different story about the first man and first woman.”

When Haymitch Abernathy and Maysilee Donner are reaped as tributes in the Second Quarter Quell and thrown together in a deceptively beautiful arena, they must face untold horrors therein—and what they mean to each other.

an in-progress qq2 fic

haymitch and maysilee dual pov

haysilee

8. savor the moment by the.goal.is.greatness (rated t)

You don't know how lucky you are to be loved.

haymitch reminiscing over his and maysilee's relationship post-canon and finding solace that katniss and peeta got to have what he and maysilee didn't

haysilee/everlark parallels

haymitch pov

9. forget by aimmyarrowshigh (rated t)

Forget. Haymitch drinks and drinks and drinks. And still, the memories of Maysilee remain.

drabble

haysilee

haymitch pov

10. symbol of a guardian angel by lineycantdance (rated t)

Upon meeting District 12’s tributes for the 74th Hunger Games, Haymitch can’t help but feel like fate is twisting the knife. Year after year, he’s had to accompany his classmates, neighbors, and, in more recent years, their children to their certain deaths, helpless to save them. This year’s pair somehow seems more tragic given what little he knows about their families. However, what unsettles him most of all is that the girl appears to be donning the token of the ally he couldn’t save.

haymitch pov

haymitch sees katniss wearing maysilee's pin on the train and it all comes flooding back

honestly this is a scene I always meant to write but never got around to

11. forty-six by embersandash (rated t)

Haymitch is struggling with the prospect of sobering up before the 74th annual hunger games after 23 years of dead children.

Or

Why Haymitch picked Katniss.

Implied Haymitch/Maysilee.

haymitch sees katniss wearing maysilee's pin and it inspiring him to get her home (a headcanon which I adore and wholeheartedly believe)

12. blackbird singing in the dead of night by pasalubong

Most of the Capitol is left in the dark about what happened to the famed games stylist, Tigris.

Her name fades into a distant memory. Other stylists best her work. The Capitol forgets.

Haymitch doesn’t.

Or: Tigris is Haymitch’s stylist during the Quarter Quell.

okay so maybeeeee this was written post sotr announcement... but it's before release so I'm counting it

and also I am just in love with the entire concept

I hope tigris being haymitch's stylist is canon and if it's not it will be in my heart

[shintin]

Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 4 (Bogeyman)

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

They didn't know a wounded man would show no mercy when they took the best thing he ever had away from him. What did they say? Don't poke the dragon if you can't take the heat; if you do, expect the flames.

Genre: explicit smut, toxic relation, romance, angst (Mafia au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, Alternative Universe/Modern Setting, no spoilers from manga and anime, dominate Vash the Stampede, sexual situations, dub-con, graphic violence, gore, angst, toxicity, gun-play, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.

Song Recommendation: Sam Tinnesz - Ready Set Let's Go

Note: Don't hate me after reading this chapter. I promise there'll be fluff.

Chapter Index - Next Chapter

TW: This chapter is covering a huge amount of violence, gore, and triggering matters. Please, be aware.

Midvalley's bloody mouth formed around the word 'fuck', and it didn't take a genius to know he was about to unleash a barrage of expletives. So before the first syllable could escape his lips, Vash swung a punch at his nose and silenced him instantly. The crunch of bone beneath his fist was nearly orgasmic, mixed with a rush of adrenaline, and by the time he pulled his fist away, blood was squirting from his victim's broken nose.

Midvalley spat, and a tooth landed close to the blond-haired man's boots.

Disrespectful dog!

Vash was going to shove his foot up his ass just for that. He stood up, flexed his fingers, and circled the man, brimming with disgust at his behavior. With a scowl, he paused and glared at him with contempt.

That tight black suit looked like it'd been painted on, highlighting every bulge and curve of his middle-aged physique. And that jasmine-colored button-down shirt? It was like he was trying to blind people with his poor taste in color coordination. And let's not forget that slick black hair that'd probably been drenched in way too much hair gel. He probably thought he looked like a suave ladies' man, but in reality, he just looked like a desperate dog trying to impress his owner. It was a sad sight, really.

The said man attempted to protest, but the words became garbled when Vash grabbed him, seized him by the collar, and began pulling him towards a room he despised the most in his own house. Usually, he would delegate such tasks to his trusted men, but this time, he felt compelled to handle it himself. After all, it was a personal matter that he couldn't entrust to anyone else. Besides, he was hungry for revenge, and the goose before him was ripe for the taking.

With the Midvalley’s limbs tied up, he felt every drop and bump as Vash dragged his ass in the corridor and hauled him towards the table. The black-haired man squirmed and wiggled like a worm on a hook, and Vash could tell by the panicked look on his face that he had exactly that feeling. The sinking feeling that his life was balancing on edge, and Vash was about to fucking Sparta kick him off.

Mercy was deemed unnecessary as they quoted the age-old warning that one who fights monsters should be wary of becoming a monster themselves and that gazing into the abyss for too long can cause it to gaze back. The realization that it was already too late to avoid this fate dawned on him, as he believed he had no place in heaven, though he couldn't be sure if that were yet another falsehood.

Buybull!

Midvalley fought valiantly, but Vash managed to maneuver him onto a metallic table and untied specific ropes so that he could strap the freak to the table while simultaneously rendering him immobile.

Midvalley's eyes darted to the corner of the room, where a lifeless body lay in a pool of blood. Yep. It was yet another victim of the Saverem Mafia's ruthless tactics, as they continued their campaign of torture and killing useless pieces of shit to extract information on Nicholas D. Wolfwood's murder.

Even though the young Don already had a name, he was obsessed with finding the person who had pulled the trigger and made it his mission to turn the perpetrator into a perfect punch bag. So when he received word that one of the murderer's underlings had been captured, he couldn't wait to meet him in person.

And so far, it’d taken all of Vash's willpower not to put a bullet in this meathead's hollow brain. But he had to admit that his torture methods had become more extreme ever since losing Nick, probably driven by his never-ending grief. With him gone, he had no one to keep him in check or remind him of the consequences of his actions. No. He no longer had anyone to tell him wrath was one of the seven deadly sins.

Bible basher!

Midvalley recoiled in horror and disgust at seeing the dead man's bloated face. His voice was thick with terror as he spoke. "What the fuck, man? Is that Hoppered?" he spat out, his eyes fixed on the lifeless body. Realizing what had happened seemed to dawn on him slowly as the situation's implications sank in.

Vash's response was nonchalant, as if the sight of the dead man's body was nothing out of the ordinary. "Consider it a friends' reunion," he said with a shrug.

His voice was always calm and collected, belying the violence and danger surrounding them. It was clear that he had become desensitized to the brutality of his world and had learned to detach himself from the emotions of others. His words were like a cold reminder of the harsh reality they all faced and the cost of doing business in the underworld.

Midvalley spoke through split, puffy lips, his broken teeth making his words garbled and difficult to understand. Even with his injuries, he tried to maintain a calm demeanor as he negotiated. "Look, whatever my men have done, we can work out a deal," he said, strained with pain. His nose was swollen and bruised, and he looked like he had gone five rounds in a boxing match with his hands tied behind his back.

"I have nothing against them," Vash said calmly. "Not really." His words belied the dark and dangerous glint in his eyes. Very clear that he was a man of few words and that his actions spoke louder than anything he could say.

Midvalley was silent for a beat, staring at Vash incredulously as his brain processed that the man before him wasn't after what he thought he might be. "Then why the fuck are you doing this?" he asked, his voice rising in hysteria.

Vash leaned close, letting him get a good look at his face. The deadly glint in his eyes usually did the trick if it wasn't the gun that warned people away.

"D-do you want money? I can arrange that."

Vash let out a weary sigh and straightened, his eyes fixed on his prey. He knew trying to explain himself to this man was futile and would only waste his time. Besides, he didn't give a shit enough to bother.

His attention was drawn to a tray of utensils lined up neatly. Without looking away, he grabbed the first tool his hand landed on. A serrated screwdriver. Specially made for torturing. One of his brother's favorites.

The black-haired man's eyes widened comically when he caught sight of the screwdriver. Oh, yes!

Vash smiled. "Haven’t gotten to use this one yet,” he observed, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He twisted the screwdriver and gave them both a good view of each sharp point. For some reason, he had turned into a master of this craft. Once this sucker went in, taking it out would hurt even worse. He couldn't fucking wait.

Midvalley's voice was strained and pleading as he spoke, his eyes fixed on the screwdriver. "Let's talk about this. Why are you doing this? Why do you want to kill me?" he asked, his voice shaking with fear. "Whatever has made you upset is not worth you killing me over. My men won't let you be." Too desperate to save himself, he was willing to try anything to convince Vash to spare his life.

“Did you really think I was going to kill just you?” Vash volleyed back, quirking a brow to show how unimpressed he was with his warning. Midvalley's face turned beet red, like the geraniums Rem used to put in little Vash's room when he was a kid. He always loved those flowers.

Focus!

Midvalley's rage boiled over, his threats spilling from his mouth in a torrent of fury. Veins had popped from his forehead. Not a pretty thing to watch. Too bored to care, in response, Vash stabbed the screwdriver straight into the man's stomach. Midvalley gaped at him; his mouth parted in shock. A moment passed, and then he was coughing up blood.

Red.

Red.

Red.

Everywhere.

His favorite color.

It'd sliced through Midvalley's flesh, eliciting a cry of pain and horror. The blood poured from the wound, staining his pink shirt and the metallic surface beneath him.

An array of emotions filtered through the stabbed man's eyes. Pretty sure Vash could see the five stages of grief in there, too. How delicious!

Vash's hand reached out towards Midvalley's forehead, pushing back the black strands of hair with a casual flick of his wrist. The other man gritted his teeth in pain and discomfort.

Vash's voice was amused as he spoke, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. "I don't enjoy empty threats."

“You’re fucking crazy,” Midvalley choked out, looking down at the screwdriver sticking out of his abdomen in disbelief. Definitely, a vital organ had been hit.

Vash's hand moved slowly, deliberately, as he pulled the screwdriver out, the suctioning noise barely audible, drowned out by the other man's screams. It was a moment of intense emotion as Vash's unleashed anger pulsated through him. He remembered how this maniac had sent pictures of Nick's corpse to prove his death. The memories flooded back, and Vash could feel the weight of his loss bearing down on him.

There were five nails embedded in Nicholas' flesh. Not one. Not two. Not three. Not four. Exactly five nails. Two pins in his wrists. Two on his ankles and the last on the left side of his chest, in his heart, as if making a shitty replicate of Five Holy Wounds.

And he had no idea whether the nails had been pounded into him while he was still alive or if his dead body had been crucified as a form of post-mortem humiliation—senseless violence.

Rage was a factor. Gasback's mercenaries had made it clear that they could nail an angel to prove a point. Nick's face was unrecognizable from the blood and bruises, but Vash would know his Wolfwood blind. He would know him in death, at the end of the world. He had memorized every inch of his body, every scar and curve, and edge, with his lips and his hands, and this mother fucker Gasback dared not only to take him away but to send fucking pictures instead of his lifeless body.

No ablution.

No funeral.

No farewell.

The pain fueled the violent storm in his head, and he plunged the screwdriver back in when the images flickered before his eyes. He had to kill all of them and very soon. The pain in his chest was becoming unbearable.

Vash's hand shook as he ripped the screwdriver out of the body and took a deep breath. He had to remind himself that this man didn't know him yet and needed to keep his cool to get the information. Rubbing his forehead, he tried to steady his nerves. “Have you heard of Wolfwood?” he asked, taking out the screwdriver. He grabbed a white napkin and started cleaning it. It was a strange sensation. The more blood stained the napkin, the more his inner peace increased.

“I don’t know,” Midvalley shouted in frustration. “Maybe, I guess. The fuck does it matter?” Writhing in agony, he let out a guttural groan as his body convulsed with each wave of pain. His struggles were in vain; he could not find relief. But Vash, standing over him, continued to intensify the pain with his forefinger, leaving him feeling fucking helpless.

“I need you to think,” Vash said, ignoring the stupid fucking question. “You were there the night he was killed," he continued, his eyes narrowing. "Your boss had beaten him so badly he was barely recognizable when you took pictures of him and sent them to me.” Renewed anger punched him in the chest, and it took all his self-control not to plunge this screwdriver in his eye right then and there. He still needed to learn the truth. He needed names—those of anyone who had laid a finger on his beloved Nicholas.

"You're Vash the Stampede!" the man mumbled, his eyes widening in recognition. He knew he was in deep trouble, and there was little chance of forgiveness or mercy knocking on his door. The Saverem family was known for always paying their debts. Vash. The legendary outlaw was known for his brutality and ability to overtake anyone who crossed him.

Midvalley sniffed, with no remorse reflected in his eyes. The professional hitmen never were. Somehow, they had long ago twisted their morals and ethics to justify the violence they inflicted upon others. In their minds, the victims deserved their fate, and any injuries were their own fault.

“The faggot had interfered in things he should not—” he replied petulantly, and before he could even finish his sentence, Vash brandished the screwdriver and shoved it in the man's crotch. A tremor of rage ran through his fingers. So much anger that it blocked Midvalley's screams and cries. He pressed the tool harder, and his crazed eyes watched as blood spurted out and stained his gloves and dark purple sleeves.

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

He needed to do it harder because the pain-soaked screams sent shots of pleasure down his spine. And every time he heard them, he could only think about Nicholas. He could never stop thinking about him, even as the begging followed the screams.

Harder. Harder. Harder.

He pushed the screwdriver harder.

Midvalley's insult was like a sharp dagger to his already bleeding soul, piercing right through the little leftover of his being. The pain and anger he had been suppressing for so long flared up like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

The plea came out breathlessly, a desperate "please" that hung in the air. The speaker's desperate plea, however, was not enough.

“Please, what?” Vash demanded through gritted teeth; his brow furrowed with sweat dripping down his temple from exerting himself. It still wasn't enough. It would never be.

Because Nicholas was gone, Vash would never see him again. Because they had taken him away and with him, all of their shared futures and dreams. Because—FUCK THIS! He had to carry this loss for the rest of his life. All by himself. This wasn't fair.

“Please.”

Vash took a step back and stared at his masterpiece, the screwdriver suspended on the flesh that used to be the man's dick. He had intentionally pressed it far enough to ensure his balls would be pierced.

Midvalleys’ cries were full of agony, and his desperate pleas made Vash feel as good as he was capable of feeling. Not fucking enough. He wanted him to scream so loud until his cries would give out and his voice box would shatter completely.

Psychologists have indicated four ways for the human mind to cope with grief: sleep, forgetfulness, insanity, and death. Sleep allows them to step back from painful things, like when someone gets injured or bad news, they often pass out. But at times, wounds get too deep to be healed easily. The saying that time cures pain is a fallacy. Yes, time heals most pains, but the rest are doomed to be forgotten. Rarely does the mind suffer such a heavy blow that it takes refuge in insanity. Because most of the time, the truth is nothing but pain, and the reason abandons it to rid itself of suffocating pain. Here comes the last escape way, aka death. When someone dies, nothing can hurt them anymore. At least, that's what's being said.

Vash's eyes were wild and fierce, his pupils dilated and his irises pulsating strangely. They were constantly moving, never able to settle on one spot for long, as if he was possessed by a demon, unable to control himself and driven by a violent madness, as if he couldn't focus on anything except his own twisted thoughts. At that moment, he indeed had the potential to be the mania kingdom’s king, ruling over a land of bedlam and destruction.

"Who pulled the trigger?" Vash asked, his tone unpredictable and chaotic.

“FUCK YOU, SAVEREM,” he snapped back.

Vash nodded, accepting his answer for what it was. He walked across the titled room in quick, jerky steps, seemingly just going through the motions to stop himself from ripping the man's gut out with his bared teeth.

Vash suddenly stopped and looked up at the white ceiling, his mind racing with a thousand dark thoughts. After a pregnant pause, he turned and asked in a low, intense voice, "Which of you nailed him to that cross?"

Midvalley spat on Vash's shirt, but he didn't react. He just watched, waiting for the answer he knew he would finally give. Though the man attempted to intimidate him with his false bravado act, Vash could sense the fear and desperation hiding behind his façade. The idiot wasn't desperate enough yet, wasn't scared enough. He was still attempting to keep his dignity. But that would change very soon.

Midvalley smirked, the corners of his mouth curling up in a cruel grin. "You can't bring him back,” he trailed off, licking his lips vulgarly. “Accept it and move on," he added as if to taunt Vash further.

Again, Vash nodded his head. Good. Because this kind of behavior fueled precisely what he had planned for him. His last cries would be such a soothing, beautiful song. He was going to enjoy every bit of hurting him and making him bleed, and Midvalley? He would wish he had never been born.

*

It smelled like rain in the morning.

The room.

It was thick with the scent of wet stone and upturned soil, the air dank and earthy. You took a deep breath, trying to keep the smell in your lungs as you tiptoed over to the pipes that ran around the room. Pressing your face against the cold, hard surface, you closed your eyes and listened to the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the metal somewhere outside.

The raindrops were your only connection to the outside world, a lifeline that kept you from drowning in the suffocating stillness of your nest. As you stood there, feeling the rhythm of the rain in your ears, you were reminded that clouds had a heartbeat, that you, too, had one.

The rain was relentless, as if someone had emptied their pockets over the earth, not caring about where the contents would fall. The raindrops burst upon hitting the ground, shattering into a million pieces like shards of glass, and people cursed the days the drops dared to tap on their doors.

You were a raindrop.

Your own father had emptied his pockets of you and left you to evaporate on a concrete slab.

This was your new life.

Your room —your cage with four walls—was located in the basement of the house, decent size but sparse in terms of furnishings. The cramped space contained only a few essentials: a mirror, a lumpy bed with a deflated pillow and scratchy blanket, a nightstand, and a dresser. Just like the rest of the house, the wooden floorboards creaked with every step, announcing your presence to anyone nearby. You had a feeling that you would soon learn the exact spots that wouldn't make any noise as you tried to move around without drawing attention to yourself. On the bright side, you had light bubbles here, and a bathroom was attached to your room, with a door providing much-needed privacy. It was a relief to be able to take a shower without worrying about prying eyes.

Piteous!

You couldn't help but feel ashamed as you realized that even the most minor things, like a bathroom door, had become a source of comfort and relief for you. It seemed pathetic, in a way, that you had been reduced to finding closure in having basic human necessities.

Fuck it!

You had to do it. You had to find solace wherever you could. At least, this was better than planning your miserable end.

After all, you were a prisoner. A captive. A slave. A toy. A leverage, as they said. Your life was no longer your own. So you had to act like one.

With a heavy sigh, you turned away from the pipes and made your way over to the bed. Your steps were slow, your body heavy with exhaustion. You collapsed onto the mattress and felt the bed sink beneath your weight, enveloping you in a warm embrace.

As you lay there, your mind drifted back to the past few days, to the moments when you had crumbled and wept until your eyes were swollen and raw. It had taken an indiscernible amount of time for you to piece yourself back together, to gather the strength to function again. You still felt messy, like some parts of you had been rearranged in ways you couldn't quite understand. But you were no longer in ruins, and that was the best you could do for now.

You had managed to survive, right? Despite all the odds, and that still was a fucking win.

Although you tried to keep yourself occupied, you still managed to think about the reasons behind your predicament. It all traced back to him. Vash. You found yourself thinking about him more often than you cared to admit. It was a dangerous game to dwell on the memories of his eyes, odd kindness, and cruel, calculating attitude. You remembered how he had held you as you fell apart, his gaze unwavering as you poured out your soul to him. And yet, you also remembered the coldness on his face when you had begged him to end your suffering, the way he had almost seemed to enjoy your pain. There was a strange pull towards him, a magnetic force that drew you in, even as it threatened to destroy you.

The thought of facing Vash again filled you with a dilemma. You wondered how he would greet you and whether he still had any use for you after your failed attempt to escape. You had no idea what had driven him to this miserable, murderous lifestyle or what your father had done to him to make him so vengeful. It was tempting to try to find some humanity in him, to make excuses for his bloodlust and cruelty.

No! Stop it!

Any attempt to justify or excuse his actions would only lead to further danger and harm.

He was a monster! He was a monster! He was a monster! He was a monster! He was a monster!

As if the universe was eavesdropping your thoughts, the door creaked open, and a tall, blond man stepped inside. His eyes wandered around the room before finally settling on you, startled by his sudden appearance, sitting on the bed. His hair, styled in a 90s fashion, gave him a retro look that contrasted with the drab surroundings. His friendly blue eyes and the slight wrinkles around them suggested a certain maturity and experience that set him apart from the other assholes you had encountered in this place.

While you were shocked to see someone so unexpected in this grim situation, the man's smile put you at ease, as if he were a kind father playing with his son and their Golden Retriever dog in the park. He wore a graphite grey sweatshirt and matching pants that gave him a casual yet stylish appearance, in contrast to your own attire of a loose shirt and leggings, which suddenly felt inadequate and exposed.

Feeling vulnerable, you pulled the sheets over yourself, fearing the worst, even though the man seemed like a good person. The lighting in the room was dim, casting shadows that added to the moment's tension. It was as if the Gods had conspired to bring this man into this room, but you couldn't be sure if it were for better or for worse.

"Seven Hells!" the man exclaimed in a worried tone, his hands on his waist as he looked around the windowless room. "This place is like a prison." He locked eyes with you again as if just realizing the situation's awkwardness. He scratched the back of his neck nervously and approached you, his expression apologetic.

As the man approached, you felt a twinge of fear, and you backed up on the bed with fisted hands under the sheets. You watched him warily as he came closer, unsure of his intentions. "I forgot to introduce myself," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Bradd, the counselor." His voice was gentle and reassuring, and he offered you yet another kind smile.

You gazed at his outstretched hand and then up at his face, but you didn't make a move to shake it. You had learned the hard way that trust was a luxury in this place, and everyone had hidden motives and agendas. As you sat there, frozen in place, Bradd's smile faltered slightly, and you could see a hint of disappointment in his eyes. It was a small gesture but enough to make you feel guilty, like you were somehow letting him down by not accepting his offered hand. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to take the risk, not when so much was at stake.

"Oh," he said, pulling back his hand with a resigned sigh. "I should've expected this." He flexed his hands and cracked his knuckles.

Bradd shrank back a little, and an awkward silence settled between you. The elephant in the room did not dim his smile, or the sparkle of curiosity in his eyes. "I wanted to say that I hope you're enjoying your stay," he said, his voice tinged with irony, "But I don't think that would be an appropriate sentence, given the circumstances." He looked around the room, tapping his pants nervously before deliberately sitting on the furthest corner of the bed from you. A small act to make you feel a sense of relief. Unlike Vash, who had no concept of personal space, Bradd seemed to understand the importance of boundaries. As you watched him, somehow, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he was someone you could trust.

You're an idiot!

"What do you want from me?" You were tired of asking the same golden question to everyone you encountered, and it seemed like no one had a clear answer.

"Straight to the point. I see." He took his time breathing. He took his time shifting in his seat. He studied your eyes, chose his words, and touched two fingers to his lips. He seemed to have dominated the concept of time. Impatience was likely not a word in his vocabulary. “I’ve heard . . . stories. About you.” A small smile played at the corners of his lips. “I simply wanted to know if they were true.”

"What have you heard?" you asked, your fists clenched tightly beneath the sheets.

Bradd opened his hands and studied them for a moment before looking up at you with a grin. "I heard," he said. "That you bit his finger, then ran away and shot someone before passing out in his arms." His tone was light and casual as if he were discussing the weather rather than a potentially severe trauma. You couldn't help but feel shocked at his words. It was true that you had been through some tough times recently, but you had never imagined that your experiences would turn into a joke in such a way.

A wave of hot, terrible shame washed over you, creeping up your neck and forcing your head down once again. Never in your life had you felt this. Nothing like this. This sense of humiliation and regret seemed to consume you from within. It was a consequence of your own actions, of acting like a clown and making foolish mistakes. Who in their right mind would return to the cage of their own accord, willingly subjecting themselves to this kind of torture and abuse?

“Is it true?” he asked, his voice probing.

It was clear that he was not trying to make fun of it, yet you still felt as though you were climbing a mountain of air, struggling to find solid ground amid the shifting sands of speculation while your feet kept slipping. You needed to get a grip on something, to find a way to anchor yourself before the tide swept you away. “Rumors are more likely to bite you than I am,” you said, your voice dripping with bitterness.

He studied you for too long, then chuckled and shook his head, the amusement still evident in his features. “You really did it!” he said, his voice tinged with both admiration and disbelief. Why the fuck were these assholes getting off on your misery?

You couldn't afford to be lulled into a false sense of security by this dude's friendly tone. You had been through too much already, had seen too much horror and pain, to trust anyone blindly. You needed answers, and you needed them now. "I want answers to my questions," you said, your voice firm and resolute. "I want to know what you're going to do to me, and I want to know that my sister is safe. He threatened me with her life, and I must ensure she's healthy and unharmed. I won't cooperate otherwise." It was a bold move to assert your agency and right to know the truth.

Again, you're an idiot!

Bradd's eyes lingered on you for a few moments longer as if assessing your character and gauging your resolve. "Your loyalty is refreshing," he said, his voice sincere and genuine. He clearly appreciated your determination and willingness to stand up for yourself and your sister. "You'll do well here."

“My sister—”

"Follow me," Bradd said, already on his feet and walking towards the door, leaving you with questions like why wasn't he pointing a gun at you, or at the very least, keeping a closer eye on you? It all seemed too easy, too convenient. Shitty good cop, bad cop game.

Hesitantly, you stepped outside and looked around. The basement was dimly lit, with only a few small windows near the ceiling letting in a meager amount of light. The walls were made of rough stones, giving it a cold and musty feel.

In one corner were a few old couches arranged haphazardly around a low coffee table. The couches were worn, their cushions sagging from years of use.

The rest of the basement was mostly empty, with a concrete floor and a few support beams running along the ceiling. You guessed before turning it into a slammer, once upon a time, it was a place to escape the hustle and bustle of the outside world and relax.

Based on the look in his eyes, Bradd noticed it was your first time seeing the space beyond the confines of your cell.

He cleared his throat but said nothing.

He shook his head.

He started walking.

He didn't touch you, and you shouldn’t notice, but you did.

As you walked deeper into the bowels of the building, you had no idea what to expect. Everything around you was a blur of exquisite embellishments, lavish accessories, and superfluous decorations. You wanted nothing more than to burn the whole place to the ground, to watch as the flames consumed every inch of the house and reduced it to ash.

As you walked through the maze-like corridors, you noticed the armed men passing you by, nodding at Bradd and walking away without so much as a second glance in your direction. Being left to roam freely amid such danger was a strange feeling. You couldn't decide whether Bradd was a skilled, professional who knew how to handle his charges, or a complete idiot who was placing too much trust in your willingness to cooperate. As you pondered this, Bradd turned to you and spoke in a soft tone. "I don't want you to hate me," he said, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hostility. "I'm only your enemy if you want me to be."

It was an odd thing to say, as though manipulating you to gain your trust and lead you into a trap.

“We’ll always be enemies,” you replied, your voice cracking into ice chips. The words felt heavy on your tongue, but you knew they had to be said. "You people have kidnapped me," you added, your tone accusing and resentful. It was true, and you couldn't let Bradd forget it.

Bradd sighed. “I think you’ll change your mind.”

Did he really think he could simply talk you into surrendering to your captivity? He glanced at you with a small smile. It was a shame, you thought that such a kind face should be wasted in such a horrible place. “Your life could be a lot better than before. You can have whatever you want.”

You refused to look at Bradd, even as you felt his gaze resting heavily upon you. "No, thank you," you replied, your voice firm and resolute. It was a small victory, but one that you clung to nonetheless. No matter how tempting they might seem, you couldn't let yourself be swayed by his words.

You followed Bradd down a long, carpeted corridor until you arrived at an elevator made of rattling metal. He swiped a key card, and the doors opened with a soft hiss. As you stepped inside, you felt a sense of apprehension growing within you. The elevator began to descend deeper and deeper into darkness. Suddenly, he touched your elbow, and you pulled away from him, your eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You might reconsider," he said persuasively.

"I don't think so." The elevator doors opened, but you didn't move. Instead, you finally turned to face Bradd, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. He cocked a brow at you and offered you his arm as if he were a gentleman escorting you to a ball. What the fuck? You pretended not to notice it and walked off the elevator and down the hall, keeping a safe distance between the two of you.

“It'll be in your best interest to give him what he wants.” He wasn't looking at your eyes.

"What?" you asked, your breathing coming fast and sudden. You looked up and noticed someone approaching you. Who was this person, and what did they want?

Bradd leaned in close and whispered, his lips barely moving. "Tell him everything now that you have time," he said urgently. "His patience is ticking." Your jaw locked tight, and your teeth began to ache as you tried to process his words. Was he trying to warn you about something, or was this just another one of his ploys to manipulate you? You couldn't be sure, but something inside you begged you to take his warning seriously.

Bradd averted his gaze as if he wasn't talking to you at all.

"Sir," the man said, bowing his head respectfully. You'd seen him before. What was his name? Rollo. He couldn't have been more than 20 years old, with a stocky, sturdy build that suggested he was packed with muscle. He spared you a sidelong glance. His brown eyes were warmer than you had expected them to be. "I'm sorry for the interruption, Mr. counselor," he continued. "But everything is ready, and we are waiting for you."

You wondered what he meant by 'everything' and whether it had anything to do with your current situation. But you kept your thoughts to yourself and simply waited to see what would happen next.

"Thank you." Bradd smiled too slowly. "We'll be there in a minute."

"Where are you taking me?" you asked as Bradd stepped toward the door; your heart quickened with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. You didn't know where you were or what lay beyond that threshold, and the lack of knowledge made your palms slick with sweat. Your eyes darted around, searching for any clue or hint as to what awaited you on the other side, but all you saw was the looming door and the blank walls surrounding it.

Your companion reached for the door handle, and you held your breath, your body tense with fear. What was waiting for you on the other side? Death? Torture? Or something even worse? The not-knowing was almost unbearable, and your mind raced with all kinds of possibilities, each more terrifying than the last.

As the door swung open, your eyes widened in shock. What you saw was beyond anything you could have imagined, a big ass room, white tiles covering every inch of the floor and walls. But the pristine surface was marred by splotches and spatters of blood as if someone had been dragged or thrown across the room.

You were already on the verge of vomiting when you spotted two bodies lying in a twisted heap, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing. The bodies belonged to two men, one dressed in a rumpled suit, while the other had a screwdriver stuck in his temple. Both had clearly suffered brutal injuries, with deep gashes and contusions marking their skin.

You stepped back, trying to gulp but your throat all dry.

The center of the room was dominated by a giant metallic chair, its cold surface gleaming in the harsh overhead lights. The chair was massive and imposing, with thick straps and restraints wrapped tightly around it to hold the person in place.

Oh, Gods! Someone was there.

You shuddered involuntarily and glanced towards the elevator, but your knees shook. You wanted nothing more than to turn and run and get as far away from this room as possible, but you couldn't move. You were frozen in place, trapped by the horror of what you had seen. Then you felt Bradd's hand on your back, pushing you forward. You looked at him with scared eyes and shook your head. Nothing good could happen in this room.

"Don't worry," Bradd said, his voice low and reassuring. "Today is not your turn." But his statement did little to calm you the fuck down.

As you walked forward, your eyes landed on a familiar sight: a strawberry blond-haired woman who had been captured like you. She was tied up and gagged, with tape over her mouth, and she immediately started screaming and wriggling as soon as she saw you.

You couldn't tell if Elendira— your dad's favorite assassin or better to call 'whore'— was screaming because she thought you could/would help her, or if she was just shocked to see you still alive after weeks of being left on your own. You had no idea what the fuck she was doing here and why they had beaten her perfect, smooth face. Her tailored jacket and skirt didn't seem that special now.

For all your care, she didn't seem to be in a position to help you at the end of the day so you couldn't give less of a shit at this point. A sudden feeling of animalistic rage and resentment swept over you in addition to your fear. A hope that they would force her to atone for her sins and then kill her for them.

Even in this small way, the thought of hurting your dad brought you a faint sense of happiness, which surprised you the most. Living among devils was starting to turn you into one, it seemed. After all, there was a saying: "Lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas."

"Does she know you?" Bradd asked, coming to a stop. You hummed in confirmation, taking in Elendira's appearance and broken bones. Nope. You felt nothing.

When she saw your indifference, she looked like she had seen a bogeyman. But she was wrong because she had yet to meet the real bogeyman. "Tie her tighter. She's a sneaky one," you said, still keeping your gaze fixed on her.

"We do this all the time," he answered simply, walking behind you.

Trying to focus on the hatred bubbling up in your throat instead of thinking about what awaited you, you looked at the enormous one-way mirror wall as Bradd led you behind it. Inside the room, all was quiet. It was soundproof, with speakers and cameras in the corners that you guessed would help you and Bradd hear whatever was going to happen on the other side. What kind of horror was about to happen?

You inspected Bradd from the corner of your eye, looking him up and down. "You kill people often?" you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral. He seemed like a gentleman, but then again, didn't they all? For sure, you were no expert in recognizing Mafia freaks.

He shrugged in response. "Not until I have to," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

You smiled and raised your arms, clasping your wrists together and holding them up before Bradd's chest. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze going back and forth between your face and your hands in surprise. You tilted your head and asked, "You won't handcuff me?" You looked at him with questioning eyes, wondering why he wasn't taking the usual precautions to keep you under control.

He answered your question with another one. "You want me to handcuff you?" he asked. You weren't sure what to make of it.

"You're not worried about me losing it and killing another?"

"Aha!" Bradd said, rubbing his earlobe. "You mean that incident?" He started chuckling, and your confusion only grew. "You didn't kill Steve—"

"I didn't?" you jumped in the middle of his sentence, taking a step forward which caused Bradd to take one back. Of course, they still found you an abomination, and your position hadn't changed, but you were just happy you hadn't taken any innocent's life.

"No," Bradd responded and crossed his arms across his chest. "Even though I hoped you would. I hate that prink!" He rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. How the hell did this man end up here, at a place with no roots of humanity?

You were about to open your mouth to speak when Bradd pressed his forefinger to his lips, signaling you to be silent. "Now," he said, pointing to a chair with his head. "Go sit there and try to keep it quiet. I have a gigantic headache and can't handle annoying cries." He massaged his temple, and you could tell he was in a bad mood. Before you could ask any questions, the door behind Elendira opened, and Vash walked in, dressed in black and scowling. You felt a shiver run down your spine, realizing you hadn't seen him this scary.

You quickly made your way to the chair and sat down, trying to make yourself as small and inconspicuous as possible. Now you knew why you had to keep your mouth shut. Bogeyman was here to punish a bad girl.

*

Vash walked in, and Livio and Rollo followed behind him like obedient servants. Livio seemed to be the type of person who would follow his boss everywhere, like a loyal dog, while Rollo appeared to be a bit more reckless and would do anything to prove his loyalty—a young, stupid boy.

Just as expected, when Vash ripped the tape from Elendira's mouth, she started hurling curses and threats at him. But the instant he slapped her mouth with the back of his gloved hand, her face turned red to ashen grey, drained of all color. She looked at him as if he was the grim reaper.

He smiled.

He was the fucking grim reaper.

Vash ignored Elendira's protests as she tried to justify her actions with lies like she had no choice but to kill Wolfwood and her pathetic attempt to point the blame on Gasback while citing her own innocence. But Vash wasn't the person he was for being swayed by such shallow lies.

He listened to her with delight. Free stand-up comedy. Then he turned to the glass wall and tried to imagine how your eyes might look now that you had realized that one of your daddy's mistresses was here.

Your eyes. They fascinated him the most, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Your sultry, slanted eyes always looked seductive without even trying. But the selling point wasn't the color, shape, or lashes; it was how they reflected your fear in the most fantastic way possible.

Vash knew one look at you was enough for any man to turn into an addicted sadist. And lucky for you, he was already one.

Your lips were pouty and pink, and they quivered as you cried, trapped between his arms, begging to die. You weren't the type of beauty that people saw lining the magazine rack, though you could easily make it on one of those covers with the help of your daddy's wealth. Sadly. You lost the chance and, instead of photoshoots, ended up in the middle of gunshots.

Vash didn't know if mankind had ever walked on the moon or if parallel universes existed. But what he did know was that you were something else entirely. There was a certain intangible quality about you that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He had seen a lot of beautiful women in his life. Fucked a lot, too. But there was something about you that captivated him like no other. It was as if a hurricane was at his back, pushing him towards you and leaving no room for resistance.

Your desperate sight had stirred something inexplicably dark in his chest, something black and evil and cruel. Dangerous, even, and he knew that he was about to do something terrible, something that would cross lines he would never be able to come back from. But there wasn't an ounce of him that gave a fuck. He was angry, pissed off at the world, and if you weren't capable of forcing your father to make a deadly mistake, then one way or another, you had to pay for his sins. The sins you claimed you didn't know about, but luckily, today was the day of judgment when all the secrets would be revealed.

Elendira's useless whisperings continued, and Vash wasn't surprised that she was so quick to pass off the blame to others. She seemed selfish, narcissistic, and a complete imbecile. In the short time he had taken her name out of Midvalley's mouth, he had discovered how loud, boisterous, and outspoken she was. She always tried to be the smartest person in the room and quickly escaped when things went wrong.

Vash had also heard through the grapevine that Elendira was known to spread her legs for powerful men, using her sexuality to seduce them and find their weaknesses.

Such a shame her pussy wasn't his type. Especially since he hadn't been in any holes since Nick's death.

Anyway. Vash didn't give two fucks about the game going on between her legs, but he knew that it meant she was a treasure trove of unspoken secrets that he wouldn't fucking mind unlocking.

“Whatever you think I did—”

"Don't insult me by questioning my knowledge," he cut in, his voice deadly calm. "You know me better than that."

The warning rang a bell in Elendira's mind. Her lips tightened into a white line, but she had enough sense to reestablish her fragile composure of confidence. She struggled to maintain a calm expression, with her fists clenched and shaking and sweat lining her hairline.

He could see the fear in her eyes. It could never match the perfection of yours.

She raised her head before him with her nose in the air. She wanted to die with her head held high.

How naïve.

She would bow at his feet, begging for forgiveness, and lips pressed so far into his boots till her teeth would leave imprints behind.

“Where is his body?” he asked, his voice cold and devoid of emotion—no interest in playing games.

She stared at Vash, her throat bobbing as she worked to swallow. "I wasn't told the location," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

He pulled out a chair and sat before her, his blue eyes boring holes into hers. “But you’re in contact with the man who has him,” he countered.

Elendira blinked, licking her lips to stall while she found the proper response. “I fulfilled the job. He transferred my percentage, and we cut ties.”

He knew she was hiding something; there was more to this story than she let on. He pursed his lips, the scars on his chest crinkling, nodded his head, and leaned toward her slowly, like a cheetah stalking its target. A trickle of satisfaction dripped into his bloodstream when she tensed, solidifying beneath his eyes. He had her right where he wanted. “And you’re telling me you cannot contact him? I find that hard to believe," he continued. "You're a resourceful woman, Elendira. I'm sure you can find a way to get in touch with him." With that, he leaned back in his chair and waited for her response, his eyes never leaving hers.

She swallowed and shook her head. “I haven't seen him since that day. It's been three months. Gasback disconnected his phone after the transfer went through. Probably to hide from you.”

Vash hummed, dragging his eyes up and down her form, noting her awkward stance and how her feet were angled inward. She was seconds away from pissing herself. “You knew me, Elendira. You knew you shouldn't provoke Saverems. I thought we had established this. You were never untouchable. So, why did you do it?”

"You killed my brother, so the deal was off," Elendira spat, her fury flashing in her irises.

Vash stilled, staring at Elendira as he processed her words. Years ago, when she was just starting to make a name for herself as a mercenary, Kni had made a deal with her. He promised not to harm her brother, and in return, she agreed to stay away from this family. It had taken kidnapping and torturing her brother to drive home the point, but she had kept her word. Until recently. The funny thing was Vash had never killed her brother.

“Excuse me?”

She blinked, her face gradually turning red. “You kill—”

“I heard what you fucking said,” he barked. “What made you think it was me?”

Elendira's face contorted in anger. "Because you fucking said it was," she bellowed, taking a shaky breath.

"Me?" He smirked and lunged in her face, causing her nose to bleed. He caught her by the collar of her jacket and jerked her close. “Explain, Elendira,” he snarled. “Because I didn’t fucking kill your brother. If I had, I would've killed both of you. We made a fucking deal, and I kept my word.”

She shook her head, breathing fire. “I have the records of you torturing him to death. He was yelling your name, begging you not to kill him!”

Vash's anger boiled over, his veins pulsing with fury. "Did it sound like my voice?" he demanded, his tone aggressive.

“Wha—I don’t know! I don’t have a goddamn recording of your voice to compare it to. All I know is that it sounded similar to yours.”

He nodded, letting her see in his eyes just how much she fucked up. It didn't take a genius to figure out who actually killed her brother.

“Did you bother confirming if it was me?”

“Oh, my bad! I’ll call you up next time,” she retorted.

Vash grinned savagely. “Are you telling me you’re this idiot, Elendira? Because if you're going to get revenge for a murder, then you better be sure about who actually fucking did it.”

She fumbled, her mouth agape as she realized the gravity of her actions. She had acted impulsively. She saw her brother dying a brutal death, made a poor judgment about who it was based on a single sentence, and sent Wolfwood to his demise.

Vash struggled to keep his anger in check, feeling a surge of fury rising inside him. It took all of his control to keep it at bay, just because he wanted to witness every moment of her downfall to ensure that justice would be served.

“You want to know who killed your brother, you brainless moll? The very man you let dick you down," he stated. "Gasback killed him, so you would betray my family and kill off Wolfwood. You fell right into his fucking trap and did all the dirty work for him.” He remained neutral, refusing to reveal any of his inner thoughts or emotions despite the seriousness of his words.

She shook her head in rejection. “How would he know about our deal and what Knives did to my brother years ago?”

Vash had always harbored suspicions about his twin's involvement in Nicholas's death, but he had refused to believe that Kni was capable of such a heinous act. No. His brother wouldn't cross this line. No.

His voice was sharp with frustration as he addressed Elendira. “I don’t know, Elendira, did your brother open his fat fucking mouth and flap it to anyone who would listen? Did you? Whining about how Kni kidnapped and threatened him. You tellin’ me neither of you didn’t go around bitching about it to anyone with ears?”

Her teeth clicked, confirming his presumption.

Vash's tone was biting as he spoke. “It’s not hard to find out about our deal when you don’t shut the fuck up about it,” he hissed, venom all over his words.

Elendira let out a sharp gasp as his hand closed around her throat, her feet scraping the tiles and nails clawing the arms of the fucking chair. He planned on taking this very slow with her, getting as much information as he could before he sent her down below, but maybe he should just get rid of her.  

Her voice was strained as she struggled to breathe under Vash's grip. "Wait, please, it was a mistake," she gasped, her words coming out in short bursts. She knew she needed to find a way to defuse the situation before it was too late. "Let's talk about this and see if we can work something out," she suggested, hoping to appeal to Vash's sense of reason.

He grinned at her with malice in his eyes. "Wanna bring Wolfwood back?" he asked, his voice laced with contempt. "But don't worry, Elendira. We have many things to discuss, or rather, I'll make sure to extract them from you," he added, his expression and tone stoic. "Now, it's time for you to tell me everything."

"I swear, I don't know anything!" Elendira lied through gritted teeth, her words barely audible through the pain. Her lipstick was smudged on her cheek, evidence of the brutal slaps she had endured so far. Even Vash couldn't deny the severity of the situation, and he paused momentarily to consider his next move.

Vash leaned forward and grabbed Elendira's hand. He slowly inserted the tip of his knife under her crimson nail and plucked it off with a sharp jerk. She screamed bloody murder, but the sorry piece of shit hadn't even felt the real pain yet.

“Try again,” he said evenly. She continued to deny knowing anything, lying through her veneers, so he ripped off another nail. She finally gave in when he positioned his knife under the third nail and lifted it. He wanted to laugh. The Rookie criminals would last longer with torture than she did.

“Okay, wait, wait!”

He paused, raising an eyebrow as he waited for her to continue. Her breathing was ragged, and tears ran down her face. After a moment of hesitation, she nervously licked her lips and began to confess. "Wolfwood... he found out about Gasback's illicit dealings and was trying to stop them. That's why Gasback wanted him gone. He asked me to take care of it, and I did. I wanted you to feel the same pain that I did."

A sharp pain stabbed the hole that used to be called his heart, and he doubled over in agony. His hands were about to clutch at his chest when he saw Livio coming closer. The silver-haired man's expression had transfixed as Elendira revealed her sin.

Vash shot Livio a warning look, silently commanding him to stand down before returning his gaze to Elendira. "Tell me about these deals," he said calmly, though a burning heat simmered beneath the surface. It took practiced control to keep his voice even.

"I—I don't know," she stammered, her voice choppy from the strain on her body. "Wolfwood had heard some rumors about the containers at the port. He was asking questions about them…" she trailed off, her words faltering as she struggled to speak. Finally, she forced out her next words. “He wanted to know what Gasback was smuggling.”

A growl rumbled in Vash's chest, but he wrestled it back down. His hand nearly trembled with the need to plunge this knife deep into her throat, but he resisted the urge. “What was the product? Coke? Meth? Or wait! Was Gasback interfering with our business? Had he gotten involved in the organ trade?”

She shook her head, a cruel smile spreading across her lips. "No, he wasn't trying to steal your legitimate business of butchering people for their organs," she sneered.

"Don't be disgusting, Elendira. You know we're better than this."

"Oh really? And how the hell you politely traffic organs?"

Vash knew there was little point in explaining the intricacies of their family business to a woman who was barely clinging to life. However, he was aware that you were watching from behind the glass mirror, someone who could potentially be swayed into revealing information about the dirty deeds of Gasback. With this in mind, Vash decided to reveal some truths, hoping that it would gain your trust and encourage you to share what you knew.

Vash clenched his jaw and let out a deep sigh. "We handle the organ extraction process before selling them," he explained, his voice heavy with resignation. "If the donors are already deceased, we purchase their bodies at an inflated price, remove the valuable organs, and dispose of the rest. Then we sell the organs on the market. If the donors are still alive, we send them home," he said, realizing Elendira was in no position to react. "We monitor the market, track what comes in and out, locate the product, set up deals, negotiate prices, and handle the money. Kni is responsible for removing and preserving the organs while I conduct the deals once the terms have been agreed upon. However, my top priority is to intercept humans being sacrificed for their organs and return them to their homes," he added, hoping his words would be enough for you.

“But you assholes do sell people’s organs?”

"Indeed, we do sell to individuals who provide a vital service to families in dire need," Vash agreed. "Many of our clients have been waiting for transplants for years or cannot afford the exorbitant healthcare costs in our current system. Though our business operates underground, we strive to ensure that the organs we sell go to deserving individuals who need them the most. The black market may be rife with evil, but not all of us who operate in it are wicked. It is necessary for us to appear as such, however, if we wish to continue helping those in need."

"If you claim that you only extract organs from the deceased, does that mean you only sell bones and skin? It doesn't seem like a particularly profitable business! How do you even do that?" Elendira challenged, her voice laced with skepticism. Her shrewd and inquisitive nature was unaffected by her weakened state. What a bitch!

Rollo and Livio exchanged a quick glance, silently communicating their confusion at Vash's decision to reveal so much information. In the midst of their reservations, they remained silent and attentive to their boss's speech. Vash arched a brow and continued, “The organs we sell are in high demand," he cleared out. "We painlessly put them to sleep.”

“For good,” she said, filling in what he didn’t say.

Vash nodded, his eyes flicking to Rollo and Livio as he tried to discern their thoughts. "Yes, it's true," he confirmed, his voice steady. "We do assist with consensual suicides. These people have a low quality of life, whether it's due to terminal illness, old age, or other mental health issues. They have chosen to donate their organs, and we help them do so painlessly. We sedate them deeply, extract the organs, and then they pass away peacefully. You happy now?" Vash's tone was somber but resolute as he spoke.

“And the money you fuckers get for their organs. Where does it go?”

“Depends on their wishes. Sometimes they ask for it to go to the family, and I honor the request. But in most cases, whether it’s because they are not on good terms with their family or they don’t have any at all, they don’t care what we do with it, as long as it’s helping someone.”

Elendira cocked her head. “So honorable! Then that's why Wolfwood wanted to save those girls.”

"What girls?" Vash asked, stressed for the first time.

She worked to swallow; her face pinched in pain as she struggled to answer. “I-I don’t know too much," she gasped. "I told you, I ha-hardly knew stuff! Gasback only mentioned something about Wolfwood wanting to stop a container from shipping, which would have caused a significant financial loss and—"

"I don't give a damn about Gasback's accounts!" Vash snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Tell me about the containers and the girls!" He picked up his knife again, dragging the tip against the web of skin between her two fingers. When she didn't come up with a new answer, he spread the knife and snipped the delicate flesh. She screamed, but the sound wasn't quite anguished enough. Not yet.

Elendira licked her lips, her eyes drooping with exhaustion. "Gasback was involved in the Skin Trade, and your boyfriend was too curious about saving the girls."

Vash's vision blurred with fury at the revelation. If he was being honest, he could hardly think straight, with every organ in his body seized by the agony of Nick dying because he had a kind heart that cared too much.

This was too much.

This pain.

Too much.

"Gasback killed him just because he found out about his goddamn business?" Vash roared. "He condemned an innocent man to torture and death because he knew —" He cracked at the end, fists balled tightly at his sides, and his body trembled with anger. He was falling apart at the seams, tears building in his vision.

She shook her head and whined, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Breathing in and out, Vash regained control slowly. He nodded, acknowledging the information that she provided. They both knew there was absolutely nothing she could say to atone for what she'd done.

In one swift motion, Vash flicked his knife, slicing off another nail. Elendira's scream echoed through the room but did little to abate the fury that crawled throughout his body. He felt a sick satisfaction at the thought of killing this woman, of hearing her tortured cries as she died. It would be his lullaby before he slept at night. Elendira's eyes shifted nervously, and her mouth flopped open, but she remained silent.

Vash positioned his knife under another nail, preparing to inflict more pain on Elendira when she finally spoke again. Blood was already dripping from her hand, but Vash had barely begun to make her bleed. He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet hers.

“Wait! I said, wait, goddammit!”

Vash cocked a brow at her again, urging her to continue.

“Gasback held auctions.” She tightened her lips, a pained expression on her face. “The girls were forced to wear obscene clothes and were exhibited on a stage."  She confirmed what they did to the women, and Vash made sure to have her clarify the details of those fairs to the last bits.

"What about now? Are the auctions still held?"

"No," Elendira explained that he didn't take any chances after what happened and got rid of all the evidence.

“Hm.” He clipped the skin between her pinky and ring finger.

She clenched her teeth, but it didn't prevent the scream from slipping through the cracks of her teeth. “God fucking dammit!” she burst, panting through the pain.

He was only keeping her alive long enough to get answers.

“Boss, can I take over now?" Livio asked impatiently from beside him. He was vibrating with the desire to avenge his childhood friend's death, and at that moment, Vash could relate to him more than anyone else in his household. They shared the same goal: to exact revenge on Nick's killer.

“I have a couple more things to get out of this dear lady first,” he conceded, nodding toward the woman tied to the chair.

As annihilation drew nearer, Elendira shouted desperately, "If you don't release me, I won't divulge anything else! Nothing!"

“You’re a pathetic woman. Once the pain becomes too much, you’ll tell me anything I want to know. You either die slow or quick,” Vash clarified and crouched down, getting eye level with her. He took out a big Pole Barn nail from his pant pocket and placed it against her throat. Her favorite tool for tormenting her victims. For nailing them to a cross. Vash was confident he would end her life by driving the nail through her throat while she was still alive.

“When did Wolfwood learn about Skin Trade?” Vash asked.

Elendira stuttered, her gaze shifting nervously between the nail and Vash's face. Vash responded with a smirk and pressed the nail further against her throat. Her eyes snapped back to his at the apparent threat. “Focus on me, darling,” he said darkly. “When did he learn about Gasback's shady business?”

Licking her lips, she asked, “What?”

“You killed him because he caught Gasback red-handed, right? How much time passed between Wolfwood's discovery and his murder?" Because Vash knew Nick would tell him about it. He would tell.

He knew the answer before she opened her fucking mouth and said it. The dimming of her eyes as she accepted that she was about to suffer a great deal more pain. “He died the night he found out,” she whispered.

Vash lost his composure for just a second, enough to snarl and pound the nail across her right earlobe. She screamed, her face red from the excruciating pain, but he was far from finished. He had much more in store for her.

“HE GAVE THE ORDER TO KILL HIM WITHOUT EVEN WAITING TO SEE IF HE'D EXPOSE HIM OR NOT? AND YOU COMPLIED?” he barked, losing control over the beast threatening to rip out his chest. When Elendira continued to groan in pain, he took off the nail and poised it right back over her eyelid, applying just enough pressure to break the skin but not enough to pierce her eyeball. Not yet.

“P-please,” she cried, sobs racking her throat. Snot dribbled from her nose and into her mouth, and all he saw was someone who was only sorry because she got caught. A woman who was too arrogant and too stupid to think she wouldn’t suffer the consequences for her actions. “I only did it ‘cause of my b-brother.”

The ache in his chest widened, devouring the last vestiges of his conscience. His soul had no place within a monster like himself. So, he got rid of it.

“He died alone,” he told her, his voice deepening with unbridled ache. Those pictures haunted him. "Can you even begin to fathom how much pain he must have endured?"

She shook her head, her legs trembling.

“It’s all I can think about,” he choked out in a whisper. “I’m plagued by the torture he must have borne—the pain and how he probably wanted to die. I can't stop thinking about how I failed him when he needed me the most. The loneliness and fear he must have experienced in his final moments torment me. I let him down when he needed me the most. And you know what's even more painful? I was in this damn house the whole time, completely unaware of what was happening. I thought I would see him before dinner, but instead, you people sent me those fucking photos. I wanted to die, and if I'm standing here right now, it's because I won't rest until I make that man pay!" Vash snatched her hand again and flicked off another nail, her answering scream doing nothing to quell his rage.

All he could see was the image of Nick's lifeless body in the photo. His grief consumed him so much that he could have chopped off his own fingers and wouldn't have even noticed. These people, they hurt his Nick. Scarred him. Made him bleed.

His blade sliced through her flesh and muscle, causing her to emit a bloodcurdling scream that surpassed even the most terrifying sounds in horror movies. The sound could only be born from the type of pain very few humans experienced. To him, it sounded like music, a symphony of pain. Was Wolfwood making the same sound when he was being tortured?

The blood gushed out, painting both Elendira and him in a deep shade of red. She gasped for air, preparing to unleash another scream that no one else would ever care about.

She looked like she was fading, so he roughly slapped her cheeks a few times. She grunted at him but kept her eyes open.

“Do you know how many men sat in this very chair before you?” He asked casually, glancing at her pitiful face.

“N-no,” she cried, dragging the note out in a sorrowful wail.

“Me neither,” he shrugged. “Lost count. But I do remember that I broke every single one of them.”

She squeezed her eyes shut when he leaned forward, not brave enough to face his tormentor. “But you’re the first to have broken me first, Elendira. I can admit that. You broke me into tiny pieces when you took Nicholas from me. Because of you, I’m no longer a man.”

He straightened his spine and continued, "Do you know what that means for you? It means that I have no trace of humanity left within me. No empathy. No guilt. Nothing. I could do this all fucking day, and even when your body gives out, I'll just bring you back again."

Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, but they had no effect on him. "I'm s-sorry. It was an honest mistake," she groaned in a feeble attempt to plead for mercy.

Vash laughed, the sound wet and humorless. "Did he have an accomplice? Someone from his family to cover for him?"

"Is this why you've kidnapped his daughter?" She sputtered out a wet chuckle. Bitch! "She has no value for him, useless just like the rest. He might even thank you for getting rid of her."

His stomach swirled, plummeting down his spine like a deflated basketball rolling down a staircase. You must be the unluckiest person on earth. He briefly glanced at the glass, then grabbed her other hand and clipped the skin between her pointer and middle finger, purely because he didn't appreciate her attitude. Not because of you. No. Not you.

Her chin trembled in pain, her body ready to give up. He had to be fast.

"Give me the names of everyone who was there that night."

Elendira hesitated, sensing that she would no longer hold any leverage if she confessed. In response, he dug the nail deeper into her eyelid to emphasize his point.

“I know you don’t care,” she forged on, noting the soulless look on his face. “But the second my crew finds out I’m dead, they’ll come after you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly.

Vash let out a slow breath and nodded. Things couldn't go any better.

“I-If you let me go, I can get you in,” she bartered desperately. “I’ll help you, and you can do whatever you want. Just as long as you let me live.”

"As you can see," he pointed to the corner of the room, "Midvalley and Hoppered are dead. I don't think the rest would be brave enough to stand against me." He let out a laugh. An angry one. A disturbed one. "Fucking names," he boomed. "Now, tell me their names."

She sniffled but gave him the names he needed to know, the names of the people who had stood by and watched as Nick was attacked without offering any help. The names were most likely aliases, but it was a start. He would hunt down every one of them until Gasback was forced out of hiding.

Fiddling with the nail in his hand, Vash refocused his attention on Elendira. "Do you know where they plan to transfer the girls?" he asked, his tone serious. Normally, he wouldn't have cared about such matters, but Nick had given his life to protect those girls, so it had become Vash's priority to fulfill his lover's final wish.

“No,” she admitted, her lip trembling. “They wouldn’t tell us until afterward.”

Vash nodded, lifted his hand, and forcefully pushed the nail deep into her eye socket. Her screams did little to alleviate the pit of dread and anger churning in his stomach.

 Elendira had played a massive role in the pain that infected Vash's veins, and that… that was just unforgivable. Un-survivable.

“Boss,” Livio called. “Please.”

Vash looked over at the silver-haired man with the bloody nail in his palm. The man looked a little nauseous but couldn't find it to care right now. “She killed Nick,” he said flatly.

Livio nodded. “She did. And I’m ready to take over now.”

Standing up, Vash yanked out the nail and took a step back from her.

Before coming to this room, Vash wanted to keep Elendira alive just to line her with the others they'd catch and test if he could shoot through all their heads at once, but Livio wanted her to swallow the same pill she'd forced down Nick's throat. While he wanted her to suffer as he did. To choke on the bitterness of having her life in someone else’s hands, just to have it thrown to the ground and fucking stomped on. Only a monster could create another monster. And that was exactly who he had become.

Elendira's agonized screams reverberated through the house. Not. Enough. He swiped at his nose and turned away, his hands trembling with the urge to continue driving the nail into her skull until it resembled a colander.

Livio cleared his throat. “Stay awake! We're not done with you.”

Vash turned towards the mirrored wall. The deep sadness etched on his face was palpable, his eyes heavy with unshed tears. It was as if a dark cloud had descended over him, casting a shadow over everything he did and said.

Did you witness his anguish? Would you continue to defend the man you called your father, knowing he had abandoned you and committed murder?

Today, you witnessed the depth of Vash's affection for his partner and how he had been taken from him in a senseless act of violence. You saw his grief, his anger, his despair, and his exhaustion. He revealed to you the heavy burden he had been carrying for a long time and that he was finally reaching the breaking point.

You just had to give him something, anything to hurt Gasback, and he would let you go.

A promise.

Vash heard the sound of skin being slapped and glanced back to see Livio roughly striking Elendira's cheek. Her head lolled to the side, and more groans escaped her throat.

"Please... show mercy," she whispered, her voice hoarse. But Vash knew he wouldn't be satisfied even if she begged until her voice was depleted. Livio's pain was too great, and he needed an outlet for his anger.

"Did you show mercy to Nico?" Livio's voice broke as he spoke. Tears filled his eyes, and it only fueled the flames in Vash's chest. Livio and Nick were like brothers, and because Nick was Vash's family, that made Livio family too.

Elendira swallowed, but words failed her for several moments. "It wasn't personal," she croaked. "I was only doing what Gasback told me to do."

"Oh, is that so?" Livio countered, his fist curling into a tight ball. Vash hoped he would use it, as he would only stop his man only to deliver a few punches of his own before letting him end her miserable life. "Did Gasback tell you to nail him to the fucking cross?"

“No, but—" she said and gulped, her last tries to survive. “L-look, I’m sorry for my share in this, but you have to understand that Gasback is crazy.”

When Vash stepped closer, not a shroud of understanding reflected back at her, she became more desperate. “Seriously! He'd have me if I didn’t do what he said."

“You chose to disrespect his dead body."

Elendira floundered, her mouth opening and closing as she searched for the right answer, or rather, the right lie. Livio's eyes were fixed on her as he held his hand out to Vash expectantly. Vash didn't look away from Elendira as he handed the barn nail to Livio, knowing precisely what he was asking for.

Livio didn't waste any time, didn't hesitate for a second. He just gripped it in a tight fist, the metal glinting off the tiled room's lights as he raised it above her and plunged it into her throat. The sharp metal cut through flesh and bone, silencing her pleas forever.

Her eyes widened into round discs as she stared at her reaper with disbelief. It was always disbelief as if they didn’t see it coming. Or maybe, they just couldn't accept the fact that they were actually dying.

People like Elendira, who had lived their lives so selfishly and with no regard for others' lives, were always the most desperate to live forever. However, they never understood that this was what made them so weak. The ones like Vash were the most deadly since they had no regard for their own lives. Nothing, not a single thing, would stop him from taking people down with him when he was going to hell.

*

There it was.

Your head, lying on the floor, cracked right open, your brain spilling out in every direction, and you wouldn't, you didn't, you couldn't even… You were sitting here, struck, numb, slightly dizzy. Horrified. Shocked to the core.

Scientists were liars.

This world was flat.

You knew it, too, because the truth had tossed you right off the edge, and it probably wouldn't matter if you even tried to climb back because you'd never be able to beat the gravity when the sins of the man you shared blood with were this heavy. The weight of his crimes had trapped you like a chain, and you couldn't escape the feeling that you were somehow complicit in his actions simply by virtue of being related to him. It was a burden you couldn't shake, drowning you in a sea of guilt.

Humanity was dead.

Your father was a human trafficker. He was involved in stealing and selling young girls to the highest bidders. And to make matters worse, he had played a role in the death of Vash's lover or something, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, the one who wanted to save some of those girls. A good man. Probably. You didn't know much about him, but from what you had heard.

Those men tortured him to a slow death by nailing him to a wooden cross, an inhumane punishment. But the cruelty didn't end there, as the twisted minds behind it had sent pictures of his dead body to this monster to confirm his death—a sickening display of power and brutality.

You remembered the pain in his eyes as he stared at the glass as if he could see you. As if he was waiting for you to do something, begging you to do something.

It wasn't a mirage.

In that brief moment, you had sensed a depth within him that belied the surface-level facade he had created. You could discern the pain and loneliness on his face, and you almost felt his emotions as though they were yours. There was an unspoken understanding between you, a connection that transcended words. It was as if you had known him for eons despite only meeting recently. But that moment had passed, and you couldn't ignore the damage he had done.

It may be that he deserved to suffer for his actions, for being the one who had to carry on without the other.

Bradd was staring at you.

You were still reeling from what you had just heard, unable to spit the chalk out of your mouth long enough to string a sentence together. “Considering what you heard," he said, rushing to speak now. "Do you still want to defend your father? I understand that he is your family, but—”

You stood up, the word "No" escaping your lips in a choked whisper. Your world seemed to be spinning out of control as you tripped sideways. "No" became a mantra, tumbling from your lips over and over again. In all this chaos, it was as if you were trying to convince yourself of something.

You stared at your feet and hands, feeling like the blot pressing down on your shoulders. The walls were closing in on you, and you wanted to scream and stumble toward the door, searching for an outlet to escape this nightmare that was your life. The reality of your fucked up family was like a punch to the gut; you didn't know how to process all the emotions swirling inside you. You felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of your own thoughts and feelings. All you wanted was to get away, to escape this prison of your own making and find some semblance of peace. But the door felt impossibly far away, and you didn't know if you had the strength to make it there.

“Ms. McFly—please—”

Hearing the last name, your heart almost stopped. You didn't want to carry his name, not after everything that had been revealed. You forced yourself to turn around to face Bradd, but his mouth fell closed when he met your eyes. His arm was outstretched toward you, trying to stop you from 10 feet away, but you felt like you were a million miles apart. You wanted to sob and laugh at the same time at the terrible hilarity of how the fuck your entire life had crumbled to pieces.

Bradd spoke in a gentle tone, addressing you as "Ms. McFly." He acknowledged the difficulty of the situation, recognizing that it might be hard to stomach the truth. He emphasized the importance of the information you could provide, stating that it would benefit a lot of victims in the long run. Even though this was a personal matter, he appealed to your sense of morality and urged you to help.

“Is this why,” you asked, your voice breaking. “Is this why he kidnapped me? Is this why he's keeping me here, beating me, humiliating me, forcing me to watch him joyfully torture others and spill their blood? How are you people any different than the ones you're slaughtering?” you demanded, your words biting. You were caught in a war between two sides, neither of which seemed to have any regard for the sanctity of human life.

Bradd's silence spoke volumes, and the unspoken words hung heavy. This fucking room was unstable, spinning too much, too fast, and you wanted to throw up.

“You don't like it here, too, do you?” Your voice was even shakier now, too close to tears. “I saw how you were trying to look away from them all the time and distract yourself with the phone, but your ears aren't deaf. You heard all the violence." Bradd was clearly uncomfortable, and you hoped you could appeal to his compassion. “You have to help me," you pleaded. "You have to help me. You know how fucked up he—"

“Ms. McFly, please—”

“DON'T CALL ME BY THAT NAME!" you shouted, your fingers trembling. "Just please answer the question.”

“All I heard was the hurtful truth,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “And yes! Certainly, I don't particularly appreciate how the twins, especially Vash, have turned out, but having known him for some time, I know the circumstances that shaped him into this person. You see yourself; sometimes, you must claw to survive in a predatory environment." He watched Vash talking to Livio through the window, not caring about standing in a bloodbath. "I've watched that boy grow up, and he trusts me enough to listen to my pieces of advice from time to time. So, I won't talk shit about him. The weight of what he has endured in the last months cannot be ignored. Wolfwood meant a lot to him. He was his everything and beyond. I think he was his salvation. I'd never seen him that happy since he lost his mother. He—"

“Oh, God, I—I can’t—” You tripped and covered your eyes with your palms. No wonder he was pissed when you insulted his mother. His dead mother, no less. Why the fuck you always had to be like this?

Your legs felt weak, your head still spinning, and your eyes blurred as if the surroundings were being washed of all its color. You were barely able to keep your balance when suddenly, you felt arms wrap around your waist, pulling you backward. The sudden touch startled you, and you struggled against the embrace.

“Are you okay?” Bradd asked, so urgently, “I need you to—”

“Let go of me.” Your voice was barely a breath. “I don't—I don't know—”

Bradd hesitated but walked back, raising his hands to show he wouldn't approach you without permission. He moved over to a chair pushed against the wall and carried it to a spot close but not too close to where you were standing. He sat down, propping his ankle on his knee, and leaned back, linking his hands on his knees.

You noticed Bradd nodding at you, offering a strained smile and allowing you to lean against the one-sided mirror that separated you from the harsh reality of what was going on on the other side. As you tried to steady yourself, you felt your legs give out, and you collapsed onto the cold floor, sliding down the glass. It hurt, but that wasn't why muffled tears flowed down your cheeks. Silence poured into the space.

It took a few moments for your breathing to stabilize. You closed your eyes, allowing your thoughts to drift as memories flooded your mind. Each memory felt like a jolt to the heart, reminding you of all the pain and trauma your father had caused you.

You knew him.

You always knew how he was.

You had incontrovertible evidence for his savagery.

Damn, you were even carrying some of them with you, etched to your skin, seared into your mind. It dawned on you that there were others, countless others, who had suffered at his hands as well. You had always believed his violence was limited just to you and your sister, but now you understood that there were so many.

How did you spend all these years in neglect? For fuck's sake! Perhaps you knew this all along but had put it aside in order to remain hopeful about the future.

After all, you were a victim too. What about your mom? After her death, was she able to find peace?

“I may be his daughter,” you finally said and hated yourself for saying it. “But I didn't know anything about his business.” Your thoughts were tangled in words that were not your own. You took a sharp breath, trying to clear your head, and clenched and unclenched your fists.

What a mess.

You tried to meet Brad'd eyes. You wanted him to see the truth in your gaze. You needed him to understand that you did not know of your father's involvement in criminal activities. However, he didn't look up or speak but remained lost in deep thoughts, tapping his foot too fast against the floor. Something was off.

After what felt like hours, Bradd's foot stopped tapping, but he still didn't meet your eyes. He covered his mouth with his left hand, then dropped it and cleared his throat. "You're telling me he kept his family out of his business?" he asked, facing you with a scrutinizing gaze. The intensity of his stare pinned you in place. He was trying to read you, figure you out, and decide whether he could trust you.

"I've never heard about these things before," you heard yourself whisper. "I swear—I didn't know about—"

"Are you sure?"

"What?"

"It’s a question. It’s a legitimate question," Bradd said, his tone serious. "I suggested bringing you here because Vash wanted answers you weren't eager to give. I thought if you saw the depths of the misery he can cause, you'd be more willing to cooperate. But here we are. You seem to be learning everything from us with nothing to offer in return." His words stung.

“I’m sorry, I really—”

"That's not even the only problem on the table," Bradd continued, his voice tinged with frustration. "Vash will be angry that this plan didn't work and want to take his revenge personally. He won't listen to me anymore, and I won't be able to do anything to calm him down. I know his brother can stop him, but that will cause new strife, and you know who will suffer the consequences?" He paused for a moment, then answered his own question. "You. He'll take it out on you."

The gravity of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your heart was pounding so hard you were surprised it wasn't bleeding. The fear and anxiety building inside you were almost too much to bear. You struggled to take deep breaths to calm yourself down, but it was difficult to shake the impending doom.

“So I’m wondering,” Bradd said, his gaze locked on you as he leaned forward, propping himself up. “If you know exactly what you're doing and you're a hell of a lot sneakier than you pretend to be, or if you really have no clue what you're doing and just have shitty luck. I haven't decided yet."

“What?” you gasped. “No!” Your eyes are wide, horrified, caught.

He leaned back and pressed his forefinger to his lips, contemplating his next move. "Do you want to spell out?" he asked, his voice soft but firm. "Or do you just want to get tied to that chair?" He pointed to the metal chair where Elendira's body had been left to bleed out. Vash, Livio, and the others had left the room, and you hadn't even realized from the horror gripping your throat.

“I swear, I don't—I n-never—” You had to bite back the words to blink back the tears. It was crippling, this feeling and not knowing how to prove your innocence. It was your entire life repeatedly replayed, with you constantly trying to convince people that you hadn't done anything wrong, that your father had hit you for no reason, and that you never intended for things to turn out this way.

But it never seemed to work out.

"I know nothing," you choked out, the tears flowing freely now. You felt disgusted with yourself, as if you had let everyone down by not being strong enough to resist or be useful. You had wanted so badly to protect your sister and make a difference, but now it seemed you had only succeeded in ruining and losing everything again.

You didn't even know how to tell him you weren't a liar. Because he might be right, maybe you should have tried harder, better to prove to the people around you just how sick your father was. Maybe then Wolfwood would live, and your life wouldn't be this miserable.

You heard Bradd sigh as he shifted in his seat, and you couldn't bring yourself to lift your eyes. "I had to ask," he said, his tone uncomfortable. "I'm sorry you're crying, but I'm not sorry for causing it. It's just my job to constantly think of ways to keep my circle of people out of danger from someone like you."

You looked up too fast. “But I’m not—I’m n-not trying to—”

"It means nothing," Bradd said, standing up from his seat. "You are not one of us but within our territories. It doesn't make you any different than a parasite." His words were harsh. So harsh.

Bradd knocked on the door three times, and you noticed two men standing behind it.

"I didn't want to be here in the first place! Why don't you let me go? " you asked, looking at Bradd. He avoided your gaze, staring at the wall or anything but you.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes, considering your question momentarily. Finally, he spoke. "There's no way out of here for you," he said, his discomfort evident. You remained rooted in place. You noticed how his eyes seemed too tired, too strained. He looked like he hadn't been eating enough and hadn't slept in weeks. He hesitated and licked his lips before pressing them tight before he spoke. “I’m sorry,” he added as two men entered the room.

They came toward you, your eyes pleading, but they grabbed your arms and lifted you off the floor. You struggled against them, but it was no use.

Every touch in this house was painful, and this was no exception. Because you were nothing here. Bradd's words confirmed how they saw you. A parasite. A fucking parasite that hadn't chosen to be here. They brought you here by force, but you guessed it didn't matter.

"What about my sister?" you asked, turning your head to see Bradd's face as they dragged you out of the room.

"She has no idea about anything!" you exclaimed, tears streaming down your face. You knew your sister was utterly innocent, and the thought of her being caught up in a situation like you was almost too much to bear. "Will she be safe?"

Bradd's hand hesitated on the doorknob. "She'll be alright." And the door closed behind.

*

"I don't want any liability here," Vash said, and his hands trembled slightly as he picked up the gun, his fingers wrapping tightly around the cool metal. He slid the firearm out with practiced ease, the bullets clinking against each other and filling the room. He counted them silently, checking each one for any imperfections or damage. Satisfied, he slid the firearm back into place with a soft click, his eyes trying hard not to leave the gun as he pulled back the slide and let it snap forward with a metallic clang.

Distraction.

He needed a distraction.

The torture wasn't enough.

He repeated the action several times, each time with a little more force until the sound echoed through the room like thunder. Finally, he flipped off the safety catch with a sharp flick of his thumb and took a deep breath.

Relax.

He needed to relax.

The alcohol wasn't enough.

"But you watched the tape yourself and heard her words. We're sure she doesn't know anything," Bradd declared and leaned casually against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Vash nervously checking his gun over and over and over again. His eyes flicked over the weapon with a cool detachment, his expression giving nothing away.

Vash completed his meticulous maintenance of the gun and turned to face Bradd. Though Vash appeared intense, he met Bradd's gaze with unflinching confidence. He had learned early on that hiding his emotions was critical to survive growing up with Kni, who tended to take away anything he grew too attached to.

With a far-off look in his eyes, his hand reached to the small glass on the table. He raised it to his lips and downed the whiskey in one smooth motion, the burn of it doing almost nothing to dull the pain in his heart. Immediately, he poured another shot.

Numb.

He needed to be numb.

The blood wasn't enough.

He brought the glass to his lips, hoping that the alcohol would offer some relief from the constant torment in his mind. Would drinking be enough to make him forget his brother's possible involvement in Nick's death? Would this shit somehow solve all his problems? The pain persisted even when he was drunk most of the time. The grief had remained unrelenting. His eyes were bloodshot, and nightmares were lullabying him to awakening.

Nothing could help him. No one could ease this suffering.

Setting the barely touched glass on the counter, he slumped back, defeated by the weight of his emotions. He glanced at his councilor's worried eyes.

"I didn't say she's lying, Bradd." He sighed. His face was twisted in distress, his brow furrowed, and his eyes closed tight. This headache was throbbing behind his eyelids. But this was nothing compared to the ache in his veins.

He did slaughter Nick's murderer. Hooray! But why the fuck he hadn't calmed down even a bit? How the hell should he find his peace of mind? The answer eluded him, and he was left alone to grapple with his demons.

"Then why do you wanna do that?" Bradd questioned and tilted his head to the side. He then started talking and talking and talking.

Vash's eyes were half-lidded and unfocused as he listened to him. His shoulders were hunched as if he was trying to shrink away from the conversation, and his fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the armrest. He sighed deeply every so often as if he couldn't quite muster the energy to keep up the pretense of interest.

"She…she has no use anymore." His speech was slow and slurred, betraying the fact that he had had a few too many shots, and his words seemed to come out in a lazy drawl. He seemed disinterested, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes, plotting something twisted in his mind.

"You're not thinking straight! How can you make a decision about her life in this state? What's wrong with you?" Bradd exclaimed, throwing his arms up in disbelief as he approached the couch. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"A lot of things are wrong about me. Where do you want me to start?" Vash leaned his head back and let out a quiet yawn. His hair was disheveled, and red circles were under his eyes and on the tip of his nose. Obviously, he had shed one or two tears, but no one would point it out. He had just learned why his boyfriend had been nailed to a cross like Jesus Christ. Let him be!

His shirt was untucked, and his holster loosened, giving him a slightly disreputable air. As he shifted in his seat, alcohol wafted off of him, mingling with the room's scent.

"You'll regret this, Vash," he said, sitting on the couch, looking away from the man before him.

Bradd's disgust was all over his face, and he couldn't blame him. He despised himself as much as Bradd did. Maybe even more.

Finally, Vash let out a loud sigh and leaned forward. "You really think I'll regret getting rid of someone who even her almighty family doesn't give a shit about?" His laughter bubbled up from deep within him, a wild and uncontrollable sound that echoed in the silent house. It was a high-pitched, almost manic sound punctuated by sharp gasps for air. He threw his head back and let out a series of cackles coming from somewhere beyond reason.

There was something almost frightening about him, as if he had lost all control and was careening towards some unknown edge. Finally, the laughter petered out, leaving him gasping for breath and wiping tears from his eyes. Tears that for sure weren't from happiness.

With his cheek resting on his hand and his eyes narrowing, he braced himself to ask the question tickling his mind. "Bradd, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Do you want to have her?" His eyes were deep-set and shadowed, holding a glint of wickedness that could make Bradd easily uneasy. The lopsided smirk on his face was almost mocking as if he enjoyed causing chaos and destruction.

Brad didn't even turn his head to look at him. "I think you're drunk," he said.

Grabbing his revolver, Vash stood up and stretched his body. "Is that a yes?" There was a cold detachment to his tone when he spoke as if he were discussing something trivial when his words were always intentionally chosen.

"No." A word with two letters was more than enough for now.

"Good," Vash said as he walked towards the corridor leading to the basement. "You won't miss her then." He was heading out when he heard Bradd called out to him, his voice cutting through the dead air with a sharpness that made him pause.

"She's just like you," Bradd said, and the words hit Vash like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened in shock as he struggled to comprehend the meaning behind them. What? No one could be like him, he thought. No one could have endured the same level of agony he had. Nonsenses!

As the shock began to give way to anger, he turned his head sharply, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. He quickened his steps, the sound echoing through the room as he stormed out the door. His movements were tense and purposeful as if trying to escape the weight of those words and the memories they stirred within him.

His face was set in a scowl, his jaw tight with anger and resentment. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were taut with hatred; his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

The words echoed through his mind, taunting him until he found himself in front of your room's door.

Don't think.

Just do it.

Click.

He turned the key, and as he stepped into the room, his gaze fell upon you, who was pacing across the room. You, a fragile thing, were like him? Stupidest joke Bradd could come up with.

He let out a sigh.

No hello.

No how are you.

No sorry for traumatizing you.

He raised his gun and pointed it at you in one swift motion.

You froze.

Fear immediately evident on your face.

Blood rushed down to his dick.

FUCK!

He was obsessed.

He was addicted.

It wouldn't matter how far he crossed if it meant he could indulge in your fear.

His mind had already been made up, the decision fortifying like granite in his brain.

He just wanted to touch you, feel your warmth for the last time.

He just wanted to hurt you, let you have the sweetest pleasure that was pain.

He was lying.

He just loved to see you cry.

It made him feel alive.

At that moment, your wandering eyes met his with a force that nearly caused him to buckle at the knees. The corners of your eyes rounded ever so slightly, conveying a deep animosity that seemed to mirror his hatred toward you.

And then your eyes landed on his finger holding the trigger, and he knew he needed to pull it before making a grave mistake.

Too late.

His eyes lingered on the way tears suited your features. It was as if you were born to cry for him as if it were your natural state. But then he remembered he hadn't seen any other emotions on your face since you had arrived, and the thought struck him.

For a brief moment, he hesitated, his resolve wobbling. But then he remembered why he was there —the seething hatred, the unbearable pain, the overwhelming rage. As he recalled the depth of his emotions, the emotions evaporated.

His cock was no longer in charge.

"There," he yelled and pointed with his gun. "Raise your hands and stand before that wall." His voice was low and menacing.

With trembling hands in the air, you stumbled backward, your legs giving up beneath you. Now you probably had realized what would happen to those deemed useless by him, that there was no escape from his grudge, no way out of this hell.

You surrendered to his will, and to his surprise, you didn't beg for your life, plead for mercy, or try to reason with him. Instead, you simply wept, your heart shattering within your chest as you faced the barrel of his gun.

You were such an obedient thing, weren't you?

He couldn't help but feel a sense of grudging respect for how docile you were acting today. A tamable brat. Such a shame your potential was going to be wasted. Because he couldn't keep up with this. There was something about you stirring him, annoying him. Something he wanted to get rid of and yet have it on his tongue.

He moved closer, too close to your body, closer than times before. For the last time, he said to himself.

"Cross your arms above your head," he ordered, his hot breath breezing your face as the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your chest, his sick grin spreading across his face. His other hand grabbed your wrists, causing him to lean more toward you. The smell of alcohol mingled with the acrid stench of gunpowder and cigarette smoke. But unlike you, your scent refused to be dominated by him.

Flowers.

Geraniums.

Red as your eyes.

Brave as your eyes.

Beautiful as your eyes.

Old, dusted, long-forgotten childhood memories.

Home.

A meaningless word that was scratching the surface, trying to be written again, to be spoken again, to be remembered again.

Home.

Home.

Home.

Home.

You.

Home.

Home.

Home.

You.

Home.

Home.

You.

Home.

You.

Home.

You.

You.

You.

You.

A jolt of shock coursed through his body, leaving him reeling and disoriented. The images and sensations were so vivid, so intense that he felt as though he had been transported back in time to a place he thought he had left behind forever. His mind raced as he struggled to make sense of the fragments of his past, piecing together a narrative that had long been buried and forgotten.

Why the fuck were you reminding him of something he couldn't have anymore?

You witch!

He came here with a simple plan: shoot your arms and legs, watch you suffer, and maybe empty a bullet in your brain if he felt merciful.

But he was drunk. So drunk.

And fate was a whore. An experienced one.

And you were here. Seconds away from feeling his stiff cock.

BLOODY HELL!

He realized he was lost in the labyrinth of unregulated thoughts, a disordered symphony that threatened to drive him crazy. This was a new territory for him. Undiscovered. How could he run out of this relentless trap? Should he surrender to the glistening tears gathering in the corner of your eyes? Or maybe he should just focus on the tightening grip of his hand around your wrists? 

Was he hurting you?

No. This couldn't be it because the touch of your soft breasts against his chest ignited a primal hunger within him, and the rhythm of your breaths, followed by the arch of your back, forced him to draw himself closer to your warmth.

Did you want this? 

What?

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Why was he thinking like this?

The contrast between his intentions and actions was crystal clear, but despite it all, he couldn't ignore the long-forgotten yearning that scratched the old wound hidden in his broken heart.

He tried to deceive himself by blaming alcohol for compelling these things to him, but alcohol had no voice, no authority. It remained as a silent partner in crime, unable to even free itself from its glassy prison.

Goddammit!

These were your desires Vash Saverem.

No!

He separated his lower body from you, not wanting you to sense the growing hardness as he tried to make sense of the situation. The futility of recent events had washed over him, dulling his brain cells and settling him into a kind of daze he hadn't been able to claw his way out of. He was tired of this. This, removing you process was taking longer than he had anticipated, and he was here because he needed to teach Gasback a lesson, but how could sending back your dead body doubled filled with Lead pills hurt him? The shitbag of a father hadn't given a damn about you, and he needed a solution for this goddamn problem, and he wanted to scream and find a way to breathe because he hadn't breathed in months, and he missed Nicholas too much, and had no idea how to continue without him and …

Come to me, Vash. Aren't you tired, Spikey? Isn’t it enough? I promise you'll be happier if you off a bullet in your palate. I miss you, too.

His shoulders tensed up in rhythm with his thoughts. He looked at you. Maybe you had the answers, but you were like a house of mirrors in a carnival — he couldn’t trust what he saw before him was real and who might be staring back at him from behind those mirrors. You were trouble. Not a good one, and he couldn't read your mind. Your gates kept him outside, making him stare down at your gorgeously pointed nose and beautiful lips, neck, and...

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He was overcome with a sense of self-loathing at his behavior. He deserved to be punched in the head for the way he had been acting. He wanted to take a step back, but his gaze inadvertently drifted down to your chest, and he caught sight of a scar peeking out from your clothing. The blemish was jagged and barely visible in the dim light, but it stood out to him like a beacon. For a moment, he was transfixed, wondering what had caused such a mark and what other secrets you might be hiding.

He frowned, and his eyes lingered on the scar, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew that scars often held tales of pain and suffering that were etched into a person's flesh. He wondered what story this scar had to tell.

If he was going to end you today, what difference would it make if he turned you inside out and dragged out whatever you had to hide?

As Vash raised the gun, the nozzle moved aside your collar, and there it was: multiple blotches gathered around. You started to wiggle yourself free from his grasp, but he tightened his grip on your wrists, pressing himself even closer to you. You winced, surely not wanting him to discover the new acres he had just landed on.

Say no to him and watch him name every inch of you as his property.

With his forehead on yours, his ominous breath on your face, his tight grip on your wrists, and his gun on your scars, he asked a question. “How do you have those scars?” His husky voice slid in between your silky tresses.

Your stonelike eyes animated with a flash of anger. You probably could understand this was not a question born of genuine concern for your well-being. There was no hint of it in his voice.

Vash also understood that because he'd already pretty much gathered what happened to you. Those were scars left from cigarette burns. So his question was guided purely by his desire to get you to say it with your own mouth. A way of forcibly getting you to open up to him, to give him something. Anything. To keep you alive. He wanted, no; he needed you to provide it for him.

But you didn’t. You kept quiet.

Again, he asked, “How do you have those scars?”

“None of your business,” you responded this time, your voice every bit as defiant and remote.

Vash felt his irritation rose tenfold. Turned out it was a very bad idea to question a kidnapped girl he had under this much-unresolved tension. His hands clenched around your wrists even tighter, and your slender hands began shaking while the suffocated veins on your hands bulged.

“Who did this to you?” he rephrased the question.

“Go to hell,” you spat, and he pressed himself more into you. You couldn’t hold back a cry this time as your eyesight darkened with the cloud of his strength.

“Who hurt you?” he asked, his lips smiling, his voice – anything but. Why were you this fiery? Why did touching you both hurt and soothe him?

“I hate you, Vash!” You spoke his name, his eyes still deeply searching yours, and the blood that had halted its flow through his veins began gushing like a waterfall. Something profound got punctured within him and started leaking from the tip of his cock when you pronounced his name with such tenderness, intimacy, and exclusivity. 

He almost smiled. “You said my name again.”

“You ordered me to, you monster!” You pressed your lips together, breathing and not breathing.

"And you obeyed," he said and tilted his head. His lips twitched. His eyes fell, and his lips drew in a tight breath. He dropped a gloved finger down the apple of your cheek.

"Your father did this to you, didn't he?" he whispered, too close to your eyes. You inched backward, but you were already pinned to the wall. Your throat bubbled as you gave up and accepted your fate.

He brushed his nose to the crown of your head and let you tremble silently, somehow knowing that you would rather die than speak a word.

Because he knew this shame.

As a child, he'd spent many hours hiding in dark corners, praying that his older brother wouldn't find him, hoping that he would be in a good mood and that things would be okay for once. But most of the time, Kni would scream and lash out, cutting him with a knife and seeming to enjoy watching him bleed.

For so long, he'd felt isolated and alone with the scars of his past until he learned he didn't get those scars because he was weak once. He had them because he simply was stronger than the one who tried to hurt him. He was stronger than Kni, and those scars on display were a testament to it.

Unbreakable.

He couldn't break you because you were already broken, just like him. Shattered. You already had those delicate, beautiful cracks on your heart that let the sun shine through them. Sharp edges that probably had cut you more than others.

How the fuck Bradd knew you this well?

With a deep sigh, he released your arms and lowered his gun. He stepped back and slowly returned the revolver to its holster. Your hands dropped to your sides, and with it did your guard. Your eyes suddenly had become bare, vulnerable, almost childlike. Innocent.

Seeing your defensiveness dissipate before his eyes, Vash adjusted your collar, helping you hide behind a thin piece of cloth if this would make you raise your head proudly again.

This wasn't a retreat.

No.

Just a temporary ceasefire.

Today was a hard day, right?

He turned his back to you, seeming to be lost in his thoughts, his mind preoccupied with everything that had happened. He took a few steps towards the door.

"Why don't you just kill me?" you called out, your tone tinged with sadness.

"I will," he said, turning his head to glance over his shoulder at you. "But for now, keeping you alive will piss off your dad more." He gave you a knowing wink before exiting the room, but not without one last warning: "Don't cause any trouble." With that, he locked the door behind him.

Leaning his back against the wall, Vash let out a deep sigh as if he had been holding his breath for far too long. His gaze drifted toward the basement ceiling, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed within him. It was as if a part of him that had been missing had finally been found, or a piece of him that he had carried for so long had been gone.

It was still too soon, but one day he would learn that when two broken people brought their pieces together, chances were they would never become whole without each other.

But he didn't know it.

He had felt cowardice, weakness, and strength. He'd known terror and indifference, self-hate and general disgust. He'd seen things that couldn't be unseen. And yet he'd known nothing like this beautiful, terrible, pleasant, paralyzing feeling that had filled his heart—since when he had a heart again? He felt crippled. Desperate and out of control. And it kept getting worse. Every second he felt sick. Empty and somehow aching. This new emotion was a heartless bastard. He was driving himself insane.

He expected to be disappointed for not killing you, but instead, he felt a strange sense of unease settling in his chest. Then his eyes fell on the bulge tightening his pants and shook his head. "Fucking whiskey," he cursed, blaming the booze.

Vash cracked his neck, releasing a shuddering breath. The irony. He was standing in the basement of his house, his dick still painfully pressed against his zipper.

Just as he decided to say fuck it—cheating on Nick by jacking off imagining her would be the least of his sins since he had gone—his phone vibrated in his pocket. He curled his hand into a tight fist, his muscles straining as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab his shaft.

He didn't think he had had blue balls like this since high school when Meryl Strife jacked him off in the locker room. It was the first time a girl touched his dick, and he didn’t even get to finish because the teacher, Roberto fucking De Niro, walked in before he could shoot his load off on her pretty face.

He answered the phone and brought it to his ear without even looking.

“Yeah?” he snapped, his frustration boiling to dangerous levels.

“Did I interrupt your fuck session?” Bradd crooned through the phone, his voice laced with mocking amusement.

He cracked his neck again, growling when his muscles didn't relieve him.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the P dramatically. He wanted to pop him in the face for it. “Bradd,” he said, his tone serious. He refused to touch his dick while on the phone with him. As much as he needed to lessen the pressure, Bradd’s voice would make him feel sick.

"You haven't forgotten tonight's meeting, right?" he said, and Vash smacked his palm to his forehead.

"I'm coming." Vash let out a sigh.

"Are you fucking her while talking to me?" Bradd said, and his laughter was the last thing he heard before hanging up the phone.

He adjusted his pants and continued his way upstairs.

Taglist: @julk4e - @lune010 - @beanibon - @emptybrain01 - @changingchances

[xxsycamore]

WEAKNESS OF A GOD

╰┈➤ Scien experiences the effects of neglecting a bothersome bodily need that he couldn't get rid of. Lucky for him, he has a maid who is always so ready to be at his service - not even waiting to hear what this is all about.

Scien Brofiise x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Master/Servant; Blow Jobs; Sexual Inexperience; Virginity; Choking; Come Eating; Praise Kink • wordcount: 2,409 • masterlist

a/n: This takes place fairly at the beginning of Scien's route, but still be wary of spoilers. After having my mind in the gutter throughout it, and now while playing the rest of the routes too... I just had to take a pause and get this out of my chest...

It's not long after the beginning of yet another day of being Scien Brofiise's maid when it happens.

"Ahhhh, how burdensome. I just can't work like this."

The sudden groan of frustration startles you, as you're used to Scien being completely silent while he works, ensuring nothing is breaking his concentration. You pause your ministrations of preparing a plate with the sandwiches you brought for him, turning to face him with concern written across your face.

"Was I being too loud? I'm sorry…"

"It's not about you. Just an annoying bodily function I've yet to find a way to get rid of. I've been putting off the research about this since it rarely bothers me. But when it does, it can be very irritating and long-lasting."

You let out a small hum in understanding, even though… you don't really understand. Scien is a genius; if whatever he's referring to is proving to be hard for him to tackle, then it must be something serious.

"Can I help somehow?"

The sharp rustling sound of paper announces him showing attention by lowering his study papers to meet your gaze. His eyes are as icy as you always remember them to be, his mouth relaxed in a slight frown which you often read as disapproval. It makes you instantly regret your humble suggestion - how can you be so foolish as to expect you can be of help where his diamond mind couldn't come up with a solution on its own?

"You're fast to offer your help as always. You haven't even heard what this is about."

"W-Well, I thought since I'm your maid…that would be my job. To help you out so you don't have to get distracted from your work…!"

Just as I feed you during the day and do things in your stead, you don't say out loud.

The corner of Scien's mouth lifts in a smirk.

"What a good maid I've picked. Come here."

The sudden praise catches you off-guard, as Scien rarely gives you any and especially not before you get the job done. It's almost as if you're starting to see some sudden shift in his aura that you've never seen before. Being around him for so long sharpened your senses to even subtle changes in his demeanor, but at the end of the day he remains too complex to be figured out. It prods at your curiosity, and like the good maid you've been called, you're quick to comply and stride to his side.

He's sitting at his desk this morning, not yet having resorted to using the couch or the floor for maximizing his comfort, likely due to doing more note-taking than reading at the moment. The sound of a chair dragging across the floor can be heard just in time as you arrive next to the desk, and your eyes dart down to see…

Scien having a more than noticeable hard-on tenting his white trousers.

Your mouth falls open and you hurry to shift your gaze away, bringing your hands in front of your mouth and face in an attempt to hide your embarrassing reaction to the even more embarrassing sight.

Scien doesn't as much as move a muscle to hide the obscure display or to soothe your panic. He treats this the same way he treats every other thing in your day-to-day interactions as a master and maid.

"What has gotten into you, are you some kind of a blushing maiden? Well, I suppose you are one, practically."

He puts his chin in his hand, tweaking his calculations as to how this piece of information affects what he's going to ask of you. He helps paint the picture for you, seeing how lost you are.

"As I said, this is just a normal bodily function. Even though I modified my body to remove such useless things that only manifest as an obstacle in the way of my work… It seems like the root of the cause is not an emotion per se. It has to do with hormone shifts that are highly unpredictable and hard to control. Both ignoring the problem and tending to it is a pain in the ass for me."

Scien adopts that mildly irritated look on his face that you've trained yourself at curing to your best extent, and despite the cataclysm going on inside your head, you pick up the pattern of logic in what he's saying. There's always solid logic behind what he's saying, you know better than to doubt him.

Going in that direction of thought, even if you're yet to lower your hands from where they cover your heated cheeks…

"What if someone else takes care of it for you?"

"Eureka. So you're not as virgin-minded as you appeared to be just a second ago."

His words send another wave of hot embarrassment through you, but this time it strangely nestles low in your belly. Your hands awkwardly fall to your sides, fingers twitching a little as if unsure of what to do next.

"Are you still willing to do this?"

Scien asks, and you recognize no traces of impending disappointment in his gaze. He asks you not as a maid, but as a woman.

Either way, the answer is yes.

The nodding of your head must have looked overexcited to him, because he lets out a small chuckle that makes your heart hammer in your chest.

"Well, a good starting point would be getting down on your knees."

Oh. He must have noticed your hesitation and is quick to give you directions… which you follow just as quickly, falling to your knees rather clumsily. You also failed to consider where you're best positioned for that task - namely, under his desk, if you want him to keep working comfortably on his research.

Scien seems not to mind the display of you crawling on all fours under the desk, if not being rather amused by it, judging by the way his eyes follow your every movement.

Out of every daze-inducing imagery that popped up in your head in the short duration of finding yourself where you currently are, the sight right in front of you right now is one you weren't prepared for. Being between the legs of Scien Brofiise as he nonchalantly works at bringing prosperity to your nation, making it look all so effortless as getting pleasured at the same time does little to distract him… you feel like you're servicing a God.

Seeing his hard bulge up close, you fight back your own shameless thoughts and hurry to get started. He must be aching with arousal by now, ignoring it for so long…

Before you can reach out and tackle the unfamiliar task of undoing a man's pants, a larger pair of hands come to interfere. To your surprise Scien does it in your stead, probably assuming that you'll struggle with that part too…

If anything, it only makes you more eager to prove your reliability. Your hands bump into Scien's but you don't let the accident dampen your confidence, as you prepare yourself mentally.

However, seeing his now freed cock is nothing you could've possibly be prepared for - even though you had a general idea of what his genitals are supposed to look like, Scien's size is…

"So big…"

"Did you say something, maid?"

Gulping down the lump in your throat, you shake your head before remembering Scien won't be able to see your non-verbal response, so you mumble something instead.

"It's nothing… please concentrate on your work, Scien."

The ambient noises of him working resume as if to confirm that this is indeed what he intended to do, and you have a moment to catch your breath. The twitching monster of a cock before you remains in its full-mast glory, demanding to be pleasured, and you know you should get to work.

Wrapping your hand around it curiously, you wonder what kind of motion would be best to start with. It seems like your single hand does a poor job of covering its whole length, so you try using your other hand as well. Curling your hands together back and forth slowly, you desperately wait for a sign, anything, that would indicate you're doing things correctly. If Scien experiences arousal, does that mean he experiences pleasure as well? Or would he just reach his climax without warning and then tell you to come out from under the desk once it's all over?

Scien doesn't know this, but you're actually a really bad maid. Instead of caring about his relief, you care for those dirty, selfish things…

You feel his hot flesh pulsing in your hands, and you take note of the reaction. Instead of massaging him, you try different movements, like pumping him, and he seems to like it better. But you're not sure how long you should do this. Scien is probably asking you to fellate him, and if the tiny bits of knowledge you possess about this are to be trusted, then you're supposed to take him in your…

Parting your lips, you find your mouth watering at the thought of inserting his cock inside it. Though there shouldn't be anything pleasurable for you in the act, this is somehow exciting. You wet your lips before preparing to take him in, feeling a bit intimidated by the task because of Scien's size.

As expected, only a small part of his cock can fit inside your mouth. You whimper around it, disappointed in yourself, wondering if this requires some kind of training. Remembering to use your hands as well, you caress the remaining part of his length while simultaneously sucking on his cock.

The sensation is… weird. It makes your head dizzy, to have something that big in your mouth, it also makes you feel full in an unexpected way. You're fairly sure this kind of stimulation serves as resembling intercourse, but you never thought much about the party that does the pleasuring in this act. If your mouth feels this full of Scien, would it be the same in your lower parts? Wouldn't he feel even bigger down there with how tight it is? Can you make him feel nice with your body just like you do with the suction of your mouth? Despite the large part of your focus falling on your upper half right now, the place between your legs screams in neglect like it never did before. You can all but feel your core clenching, and without realizing it, you sync the act of hollowing out your cheeks with it.

If Scien keeps having such troublesome bodily needs, would he be opposed to the idea of you seeking out better methods to help him out?

The thought makes you shiver, and you can't recognize yourself. The effect he has on you has made itself known since the very first day you met him, yet you failed to notice just when you got here, hoping for such perverse things.

And then you hear it - a moan.

"Ahh…"

At first, you don't believe your ears - even with the big mass of flesh in your mouth muffling your own sounds, you can barely keep them at bay, and thus making it easy to mistake it for your own. But the way it rolls out of his throat, hoarse and darkly, you're sure it was him.

With the need inside you set ablaze, you squeeze your legs together and begin pleasuring him with a new vigor, now confident that you're doing the right thing. You want to hear it more - Scien's blissful moans as he approaches his climax. The muscles of his legs are somehow stiffer now, as if he's at his limit, opening them a little wider to allow you to be between them more comfortably. The sound of his pen sliding on the paper goes from consistent and smooth to a rapid screech, as if he's scratching out a mistake, only to die out completely in the next moment, pen set down and rolling across the desk.

"You're doing a good job. Keep going."

There's something urgent in his voice, as if he's trying his hardest to guide you without letting out a broken moan, and it makes you whine around the cock inside your mouth. Knowing that you broke his concentration almost made you rethink your strategy at pleasuring him, so you're a bit surprised to hear him praising you for your job instead of scolding you. You don't need him to tell you twice; you keep your pace, moving your head up and down despite the saliva accumulating at the corners of your mouth and sliding down your chin. You're a bit messy for a maid, but anything that makes Scien happy is the right thing to do.

Eager to make him meet his climax, you don't realize how hard you try to take more of his length inside your mouth, until it's too late.

"Nghhh…!"

Not familiar with your own limits, the tip of Scien's cock hits the back of your throat, making your eyes fill with tears instantly. It seems like this served as the final push to send him over the edge, as Scien groans out some kind of profanity you've never heard before, and spills against your unguarded throat.

"Ahhh….mmm…"

His thick, salty spurts of cum make you choke as you fail to drink them down, and send you into a coughing fit.

While your eyes are tightly shut in an attempt to focus on calming yourself down, you register a delicate touch on your cheek.

You open your eyes to see Scien looking down at you with something akin to worry on his face, that morphs into a content smile the very moment your coughing fit passes. The warmth of his hand spilling through the black glove makes you melt, and you nuzzle into the caress shamelessly. Scien seems to not mind at all, and when you take a better look at his face, another pang of arousal rushes down to your nethers. You've never seen him like this; with his face reddened and his eyes darkened with lust. He's looking at you differently now, in a way he doesn't usually do.

You guess that even Gods have their weaknesses.

Smiling weakly with your teary eyes and with come smeared on your lips, you summon the last remains of your composure.

"You can now focus on your research, Scien!"

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran  @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @judejazza @lemeowade Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[sixth-light]

WoT 2x08 thoughts

WoT s2 really, I haven't got to blog the season like I would have wanted because (checks notes) everybody in this household has been sick for a month and counting (do not recommend). No order here, just things as I think of them, full series book spoilers possible:

They really did stick the landing on this season for me, as well as line everything up so neatly for next season. I think S2 is really going to reward a rewatch.

Particularly re:Lanfear. I literally choked when she walked up to Bayle Domon and started talking about the pieces of cuendillar she'd sold him. I know the Dark Prophecy is probably still legit because we flashed back to Ishamael reciting it as he released her BUT ALSO I am now imagining her lying on her bed surrounded by screwed-up drafts as she tries to make it sufficiently ominous.

The Forsaken shenanigans this season have just smashed it out of the park and we only had two of them. I presume we're going to highlight one or two a season for practical purposes (and ofc TSR/TFoH are the Moghedien-Nynaeve books) so I reckon next season we mostly get Moghedien and...I guess Asmodean if we're doing that plotline at all?

Man I so liked my "evil Seanchan/less evil Seanchan" theory but the way they ruthlessly killed off every named Seanchan character this episode (yes we didn't see Suroth and Alwhin's bodies, but that seemed pretty fatal, they explicitly did NOT show any ships getting away) says to me that they want to put that plotline on ice until the Corenne and Tuon arrive. It could still work but we'd have to introduce more Seanchan nobles to make it happen...or...they could make the whole Extremely Dysfunctional Imperial Family dynamic real by having one or more of Tuon's siblings tag along. That was a very tell-not-show element of the books and then rendered irrelevant by Semirhage murdering all of them at once.

Extremely out-there theory: the way they're focusing on Moghedien being 'insane' and having Lanfear refer to the rest of the Forsaken as 'the boys' and being visibly wary of Moggy...what if they merge Moghedien and Semirhage? After all, Moggy goes after the Sad Bracelets first even if Semirhage is the one who uses them...

THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP as that gifset going around demonstrates, this really was the theme of the season. I continue to love how much these kids love each other (and the lingering fear the show has planted that it won't matter, because look where Lews Therin and Ishamael and Lanfear ended up...). Totally bought that they would all just roll with running into each other like that when there was a clear and present threat.

Rand is still so much in his 'just trying to protect my friends' era, poor kiddo, we're going to see that get more and more worn away as the Pattern forces him into bigger and bigger confrontations.

MAT, goddamn, his story took a bit of time to get moving but looking back all the pieces are there. Everything about the knife-on-a-stick sequences was just. fjlkfsdjklfsadjlkfsd. Amazing foreshadowing AND a funny and effective piece of storytelling in the moment. Particularly enjoyed the use of the dagger to open the box with the Horn.

Re: Min's vision: I'm thinking that at some point next season someone will report back to her what actually happened and we're going to see an arc with her learning about her own power and realising that her visions can be partial or metaphorical.

Man I hope Egwene gets lots of nice things next season because this one has been (not unexpectedly) brutal. Completely on board with her killing Renna. I wonder if they're getting rid of the 'sparker/learner' distinction in the show, given what she said to Renna about sul'dam just being very weak in the Power. I also wonder what 'very weak' actually means coming from Egwene, who canonically in the show can hold up against a Forsaken for some length of time (another change I am fine with).

Fascinating to think about Perrin in 2x08, straight-up killing Geofram Bornhald for killing Hopper, vs Perrin in 1x08 deliberately choosing pacifism. I don't actually mind that they gave him some unquestionable culpability here; in the books it was always SO obvious he wasn't in the wrong that it felt silly.

Relatedly, I think what's going on with Nynaeve (to the extent that anything is, she certainly didn't suffer for screentime this season) is that like Perrin her PERSONAL plot actually stalls out around book 8-9 - they're slowburning her block storyline for the same reasons they're slowburning his Wolfbrother one, I reckon. I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't heal stilling until much later in the show than the equivalent of book 6.

I didn't even notice that we left all the White Tower-related plotlines behind entirely this episode until I got to writing this post. FASCINATED to see where we pick up with Verin, Alanna, Siuan, et al next season...not to mention Liandrin

I haven't even talked about Aviendha! She hasn't had a lot to do beyond be introduced/introduce the concept of the Maidens and the Car'a'carn but it was solid set-up for next season and in line with how much she actually had to do in TDR.

My one big lingering question for this season is whether Ingtar isn't a Darkfriend on the show or whether he IS and they decided that his verbal confession wouldn't happen/work in the show and left it as a subtextual easter egg for book readers. I think both positions are arguable from the text, I'm curious what the intent was.

[aquagirl1978]

Dreams and Memories Fade Away - Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

A/N: Part of the Spring Showers Spring Flowers event I am co-hosting with @violettduchess

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader (Gilbert's POV)

Prompt: rain showers + walk in the park, angst -> fluff

Tags: None - slight spoilers/references to his main route and recent story event

“I want you to teach me how to play chess.”

Gilbert looked up; your eyes determined as they met him. He waved a hand, gesturing to the open seat across from him, which you politely took. 

“Is this your way of spending more time with me, little rabbit?” he asked as he set the chessboard for a new game. 

“No, of course not,” you scoffed, rejecting his assumption. “It’s just, I have always wanted to learn how to play. And I see you so often here, playing.”

He smiled at you. Lies. But… the little rabbit had been paying attention to him and sought him out. Gilbert decided he would let you get away with this as it allowed him to spend more time with you. 

And perhaps get closer to you.

Once all the pieces were laid out on the board – the black pieces on his side, and white on yours – he placed a fingertip on the top of a pawn. “Do you know how this piece moves?” he asked.

And thus your chess lessons began. Gilbert as teacher was kind and patient, spending the afternoon with you, teaching you how each piece moved on the board before playing your first game. 

He watched with interest as you stared at the board, your finger hovering over a piece as you hesitated before making your move. 

“It gets easier the more you play.” 

“I don’t have anyone to play against,” you replied, too quick for Gilbert’s liking.

“You can play against me,” Gilbert offered. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

You pursed your lips, clearly considering his offer. “When?”

“How’s tomorrow?” Gilbert replied, noting the little rabbit didn’t deny their friendship.

*****

Sheets of rain covered the windows, clouding the view outside. Gilbert huffed a laugh as he took his finger off his piece, confident in his play. 

The little rabbit won’t be coming today, after all.

He studied the chessboard, analyzing what the next move his opponent would make. It was far more fun to play with the little rabbit.

*****

“I was surprised you didn’t want to play chess today.”

Gilbert tilted his head towards yours. “It finally stopped raining. I thought it would be nice to go outside.” He squeezed your clasped hand, your warmth radiating through his leather gloves. 

It’s easier to breathe outside. But the little rabbit doesn’t need to know that. 

“I see.” 

Gilbert noticed the way you looked at him, detecting a slight bit of wariness as you walked side by side. 

“Do you have gardens in Obsidian, Prince Gilbert?”

Why can’t the little rabbit call him Gil? Even just once. 

Gilbert paused in thought, the only sound his cane tapping against the stone pathway. “Our soil is poor. It is not suitable for sustaining gardens or farms.”

Even wearing a frown, the little rabbit looked beautiful amongst the roses of Rhodolite. So beautiful, it disgusted Gilbert so much he thought he would be ill.

“Excuse me,” Gilbert mumbled as he reached in his pocket and removed his handkerchief. He coughed into the fabric, more than he would have liked while in your presence. Wiping his mouth politely, he nonchalantly put the handkerchief away as if nothing had happened.

“Are you okay? That cough was pretty bad.”

“I’m fine,” Gilbert smiled.

If only you knew. But then he’d have to kill you.

*****

The little rabbit was never late. 

Gilbert brought the chess piece to his lips as he pondered where you might be. Setting the piece down in its spot, he reflected on the many games he played with you. 

Games he thought had an expiration date.

Maybe the little rabbit wasn’t coming.

Dreams and memories fade away – was that all this was? 

*****

“Sorry I’m late.” 

You collapsed into the seat across Gilbert, your cheeks slightly pink as if you had been running.

“It’s okay, you’re here now,” he replied with a smile as he began to set the pieces on the board for a new game. “I know you’d never forget our game.”

You reached out and took some of the pieces, helping Gilbert set the board. “I ran into Walter on my way here…”

Gilbert looked up at you, his smile now a frown, displeasure marring his beautiful face. 

There is only one who is permitted to examine him now. And it’s not Walter. 

He coughed, covering his mouth with his handkerchief. Your eyes met his, concern etched on your face.

Gilbert had seen this concern before. Many times.

“Should I be worried?” you asked softly.

Gilbert smiled; the little rabbit walked right into his trap. Leaning back in his chair, he let out a laugh. “No, not at all. But if you’d like to examine me, you’re more than welcome to do so.”

Your eyes went wide as he pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist like a vice. Gilbert closed his eyes like a cat being stroked as you brushed a finger across his forehead, checking his temperature. He smiled when you let out a sigh of relief, knowing you wouldn’t have found anything out of the ordinary.

Starved for your touch, he took your hands in his, greedily pressing your palms to his chest.He dropped his voice to a soft whisper, his words taking on a seductive edge, only meant for your ears.

“You really love me.”

“I do.” Your eyes reflected warmth and tenderness as you gazed into his rose-red eye. “I really do.”

“Good,” Gilbert said, rewarding you with a gentle kiss. “Then I encourage you to take your time with your examination.”

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @atelier-the-atelier @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @violettduchess @jet-ivory @bellerose-arcana @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @cilokgoang @scorchieart @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @midnightarxsia @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap

[incorrectfbaaquotes]

With JLA and Blue Box Press gifting us the first three chapters of A Fire in the Flesh today, it's time for your first friendly reminder that AFITF releases in 25 days on October 31st, 2023. This means a post to talk to the maybe one or two of you that might care what this blog will look like around that time.

This is what the "itinerary" looks like.

Starting now, October 6th to October 30th - posts featuring Flesh and Fire characters will be weaned. The tags #afitf spoilers and #a fire in the flesh spoilers will be used on any F&F related posts.

October 31st - For the next month, all posts related to the Flesh and Fire series will be stopped.

November 30th - The F&F freeze ends. #afitf spoilers and #a fire in the flesh spoilers will be in use once more on related posts.

At a yet undetermined date, though around another month, those tags will be phased out.

Once again, thank you all for joining me here. Remember to block your tags, be wary of social media, and I'll see you all again closer to release day!

[spotsandsocks]

WIP Wednesday

@thewolvesof1998 @heartbeatdiaz @prince-buck-diaz @honestlydarkprincess @panbuckley @wikiangela thank you 💕

This might be the last bit of the mate or die fic i share for a while don’t want to get into spoilers- hoping it will be finished soon. @ronordmann it’s got a title now ‘Tied to you from the start’

She spins, her eyes changing slightly as she fights the instinct to check him without permission.

“Did it get on you? The hand on his chest is firm, holding him away, walking them both backwards. Hen’s wary of it herself even though it can’t change her anymore.

He might as well tell her now. He admits the truth quietly with downcast eyes. “Yes.”

“Fuck.” She swears just as quietly. “Show me.”

Reluctantly he reveals his hand. She doesn’t touch the mark. He understands why. Habit, tradition, fear.

“When your next shot?”

He doesn’t want to say it out loud.

“Buck?”

“Tomorrow.”

She sighs, “Shit. We need to tell Bobby.” He says nothing and Hen knows him well enough to understand what that means

Remember no werewolves - anyone wanna guess what’s going on lmk 😂

No pressure tags for @monsterrae1 @shortsighted-owl @hippolotamus @spaceprincessem @thekristen999 @cowboy-buddie @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @elvensorceress @bekkachaos @like-the-rest-of-la @the-likesofus @alyxmastershipper @heartshapedvows @wildlife4life @fiona-fififi @megsvstheworld @buddierights @rogerzsteven

[your-talos-is-problematic]

WIP Wed-Nes-Day! (sung to the tune of hot to go)

Thank you to @skyrim-forever and @thequeenofthewinter for the tags! I loved both of your work. Tagging @trickstarbrave and @sylvienerevarine if y’all have anything you’re working on! No pressure as usual.

Here’s some post-canon Tilia/Karlach stuff! Big spoilers for one of Karlach’s endings, so be wary. I know there’s been a lot of BG3 content from me lately :P I am getting back into the groove of Afonya’s personality though so expect some more TES stuff soon. And hopefully the next I Won’t Ask You To Wait chapter soon, if I can get through my weird anxieties about it. Also, as usual, formatting is weird; double spacing between paragraphs means there’s going to be stuff there later.

————————————————————————

I poked her shoulder. “Karlach, I need to talk to you,” I said, gesturing with my tail towards the woods.

She tilted her head. “Actually talk, or…”

I laughed. “Actually talk.”

“Everything okay, princess?” she asked, looking a bit worried.

I dragged my fingers across the side of her head and smiled again. “It will be.” I kissed her cheek. “Finish your conversation. I’ll go get a drink.”

“Gale invited me- us- to come back to Waterdeep with him. He says he would have a job for me, and-“ I paused. I could feel her [confusion] through the air. I reached a hand up to touch her cheek. “I know you just came back here, and that it’s been your family’s home, but..” I wiped a tear from my eye. “But my parents live there. And I miss them so much.” I stopped fighting the tears. “They’re the closest thing I have to getting my home back.”

She fluttered her tentacles and stood up. “Should we tell Gale the good news?”

I followed her, but grabbed her wrist before she could float away. “Um… I might have… already told him yes.”

She laughed and whipped her head around to face me. “You did?” Luckily, she didn’t sound mad. Or very serious.

I pouted. “It was a heat of the moment thing. I was prepared to go back and turn him down if you said no.”

“Sure,” she laughed, ruffling my hair with her free hand. I poked her again and giggled.

[gothmiqote]

odds for the ship game -- for WoL/Estinien or your Azem ship!

gonna do wolstinien for this one & delegate the other one for hythazemet ~

under a cut because length lol & also ig heads up for spoilers of like. the whole plot kinda fhgjj idk things get mentioned that happen up to EW & also some not-safe content lmao

Is your muse a romantic? Do they dream of love and marriage?

Yes? Maybe? Kind of? Varha has this weirdly domestic side that she's actually pretty comfortable with (likely wouldn't appreciate having this pointed out, though), so there's potential for her to wander down this route of thoughts. Realistically though I think her attachment issues would end up freaking her out too badly to seriously consider anything legally permanent. That's not to say it's off the table in the future or anything, but it's a very distant notion & she's not going to come to the conclusion that she's also able to be the one who initiates.

(Another thing to factor in here is that neither of them are the type of people to would even be thinking of the 'let's sign this for tax purposes'-type scenarios. Varha is considerably better about money & related bureaucratic life things than Estinien 'lost his company credit card privileges in record time' Varlineau, but she still lacks any foresight around planning for her future beyond next week.)

She will react favourably to the type of romantic gestures he does do, though. Like he's not subjecting her to the objective torture of having someone go 'hey I wrote this song about you :)' before they publicly serenade you acapella style, thank the fucking Twelve for that, there's not a version of her that has a strong enough poker face to take it. She melts when he remembers small likes/dislikes or takes note of something she never even bothered to verbalize in the first place. She's not a shy person, she can flick the switch into an affectionate mood pretty damn quick with the right incentive, she's just maybe not the most in-touch with her emotions all the time & sometimes needs to be coaxed.

At the end of the day, she's pretty sure that Estinien is her person. When she says she feels content with him, it's the farthest thing from 'settling' despite the connotations of the phrase. She's perfected the art of putting up a more secure & confident front, but in truth, she's gone through the bulk of her life feeling transient in her own and temporary in the lives of people around her. As the Warrior of Light, she's not only good enough--she's capable of exceeding external expectations. As herself? Not as much. She hasn't quite outgrown the deep feeling of never being anyone's favourite, of constantly being the tag along with her siblings growing up. She tries too hard to be something loud & useful & fundamentally unforgettable, and it's a knife to her side every time she falls back into acting with that desire in mind.

Estinien has been one of an exceptionally small number of people who have never added to the feeling, intentionally or not. She's not sure if it's right to be attracted to someone for the way they make you feel, if it's something that feels that selfish (in her mind). But he's obstinate enough that she knows he wouldn't have bothered to even take the chance with her if he didn't want to be there. She thinks, oddly, that part of the reason she's able to believe his motivations is the fact that he spent so long with a deliberate distance between them. It left her with less time to perform, and less time to ruminate on her hidden self-worth problems. Whatever the reason, she knows that she's never felt this way with anyone else, and no one else has cared enough to even give her that time to explore that internally. The wariness she held towards herself was more or less melted away when she was faced with how good she actually felt for once. There's a reason she didn't mind when the verbalized declarations of love started slipping out after a few months.

Is your muse good at kissing? Are they experienced?

Very good kisser.

Most people tend to assume Varha's far more experienced than she actually is for this reason--in reality, she's had a relatively small number of sexual partners, she just thinks kissing is fun & generally won't take much convincing for making out. She's particularly prone to this after a couple drinks, and sharing is caring when she's not in a serious relationship. It's hot and intimate without the full commitment of getting naked with someone & cleaning off afterwards, and it helps that she's bringing a public + outdoor sex kink to the table--even if things don't escalate to that point, the need for privacy is pretty small.

The side of her brain that makes her give in to her more mischievous bastard impulses makes kissing her #1 type of foreplay. She's able to keep herself at a pretty consistent level of arousal for a prolonged period of time while watching her partner completely come undone when she slides her tongue into their mouth in all the right ways. This is a dangerous game to play with Estinien, who is well fucking aware she's being an insufferable tease & will happily delay her own gratification at his expense. Unless he decides to haul her off to escalate things properly, she's about to spend her immediate future doing everything she possibly can to wind him up with her lips & indulgently wandering hands.

Thancred is the only other Scion to have been on the receiving end of one of her infamously white-hot kisses. It was a one-time thing, fuelled by an unholy amount of wine but was nonetheless an enjoyable encounter. (She thinks she may or may not have also done the same with Y'shtola, but that one's a far foggier memory, and she's not 100% sure it actually happened. Y'shtola doesn't help in solving the mystery, but Varha suspects this is more about Y'shtola possessing the same bastard instincts she has, and she also doesn't remember much of anything.)

Overall, she's pretty lax as long as she clicks well with someone & they're willing.

Is your muse comfortable with public displays of affection? 

To a point.

She likes touching a lot. Before now, she actually spent a fair bit of time alone. Post-Calamity, pre-Scion Varha spent her time as a travelling mercenary of sorts, taking on a string of what was essentially risky contract work and never establishing roots anywhere. She's competent when it comes to working a room, which often gives the illusion that she has more friends than she actually does. In reality, she really didn't have anyone, and predictably this led to (unconscious) touch starvation. If she's got the green light from someone she considers a friend, she's content to lean against them or sit close. One might count the physical contact from fighting as some sort of mitigation here (and as far as I remember, it actually can release some of the same chemicals in your brain as positive touch so this probably isn't too far off), but even if that was the case, it wasn't anywhere near enough. While she occasionally did engage in casual sex, the potential emotional intimacy it could lead to (or even a facsimile of the feelings) made her too uncomfortable to take care of her lack of physicality that way, which unfortunately compounded her predicament.

After spending so much time living this way, it's something she unconsciously seeks now that she's got access to it. And while his own personal history doesn't exactly match her own, there are enough similarities in the isolation to put them on fairly even ground.

Varha's caveat for pda is that it has to feel natural. She's extremely averse to anything that reads as 'fake' or trying too hard to win her attention. Something can be very obviously demonstrative, but it can't feel forced, whether the act is platonic or romantic. For most of ARR, she was actually seen as someone who could be pretty distant & cool (not an incorrect read. The walls were very, very real at the time.), and it's unfortunate that it took something drastic like the Waking Sands massacre for them to start coming down ("Wait, these people actively like me? And were concerned?"-style revelations). Over time though, it became apparent that she was actually open to hugs and kind touches, she simply wasn't a) aware that this was a something available to her and b) aware that she wanted or even needed them. She's still pretty quick to fire off a witty remark before baring her heart to anyone (talking honestly is... another beast entirely, but she readily accepts hugs & finds herself willingly sharing too-small seating areas just for the novelty of body contact.

Romantic contact operates pretty similarly. Not that she'd subject herself to seeing someone who felt the need to do a whole song & dance about how in love with her they were, she's still damn glad that's not Estinien's style in the slightest. She likes easy things--holding hands, or leaning against him if they're standing (or he's sitting; that height difference forces creativity on occasion). Hell, she's even more than happy to make herself at home on his lap in casual settings without caring who might be around. They're both incredibly blasé about this sort of thing; any attempts at friendly teasing from the Scions when they became an official 'item' fell comically flat. You definitely won't be hearing any sappy confessions of affection, but it's so obvious that they automatically gravitate toward each other regardless of most social situations.

For his part, Estinien usually likes to have his hand at least resting on her in come capacity. He's got a few draconic quirks leftover from Nidhogg, and this can manifest in some slightly possessive tendencies. Honestly, she likes it. It's nowhere near a level where it would impede her freedoms, but enough to make her feel like he's actually proud of outwardly signalling how he feels about her. She loves how casually he does it; of course she can expect him to automatically draw an arm around her shoulders if she joins him on a seat, why would he think twice about drawing attention to the fact that they're together?

It's not that he needs to be on her at all times or anything, he just... deeply prefers it, that's all. It helps that she's pretty tactile. He's been known to just sort of appear at her side at social gatherings, especially if there's any sort of crowd around her. He's not really trying to be menacing about it, and if she was irritated by it, he is capable of loosening up & finding something else to do (it doesn't happen often, but there have been times when she's needed some breathing room for whatever reason). He definitely doesn't consider himself the clingy type, and if he occasionally orchestrates it so that the Scions somehow end up short a sofa cushion & she simply has to get comfortable in his lap for a casual evening gathering with friends, no one says a word.

He's also got a habit of making small adjustments to her person if she's close enough--fixing a slightly off-center necklace, moving a piece of loose hair, that sort of thing & it's almost always done without him really realizing. This one comes with more exclusivity; she doesn't typically tolerate fussing from anyone else. She'd find it annoying if it were someone else's hand, but when he does it, it has a borderline meditative quality. Once again, pointing this out will lead to an interaction that features both of them shrugging & looking at you like you've grown a second head. They're comfortable with each other and know where the boundaries are, no, they're not concerned about holding up any type of reputation, what an odd thing to say.

They've got no problem kissing in public either, but she finds that as her name & face start becoming more recognizable, people start to get more annoying about her personal life. Plus, while she loves outdoor sex & the risk of being caught, it sort of loses the excitement when the risk factor essentially morphs into a guarantee.

This falls apart when you get liquor involved. They know how to pace themselves, but they also both like to indulge, especially among friends. After a certain amount of wine, it's not uncommon to see his arm tighten around her waist as he starts to press his face into the crook of her neck, leaving kisses that steadily amp up in intensity while she tries to carry on a conversation. Sometimes she'll play the same game, but it's more likely that she simply gets more touchy, draping herself on him in increasingly suggestive ways until one of them finally decides it's time to bid everyone a good night.

Is your muse the big spoon or the little spoon?

Small spoon, which has more to do with how ridiculous she would feel in the opposite role.

Estinien is nearly two feet taller than Varha, despite the fact that she's actually considered relatively tall herself for a Miqo'te woman & usually wears some sort of heel, even if she's dressing for combat. She's tried to be the big spoon before, and it lasted maybe a solid ten minutes before she had to re-adjust. Also, twelve forbid he rolls on her arm in the middle of the night; waking up with pins & needles would be an understatement. He's not bulky, but he's still significantly larger (& by extension, heavier) than she is. So she typically ends up the little spoon--she's an excellent size for holding. He's pretty partial to using her thighs as a pillow during the occasional afternoon nap, dozing off while she runs her fingers through his hair.

In bed, they usually prefer some variation of him on his back and she just sort of figures herself out around him, or facing each other. She likes being able to tuck into his chest, facing away from the world with their arms around each other & legs tangled up under the sheets. He's a cuddler (no surprise there), and definitely sleeps significantly better when they share a bed.

On the other hand, she finds that the quality of her sleep dropped pretty drastically during SHB. Partly because of the cold empty bed, yes (they might not have actually openly laid out what they were to each other before her trip to the First, but they'd spent the night together "by accident" enough times before that to start developing habits), but because of the events she was experiencing. She was always prone to having some vivid dreams, and they got dialled up to eleven after, morphing into something legitimately terrifying. She's at least moderately grateful that she doesn't wake up screaming, but she does jolt awake pretty violently & getting back to sleep after can be a task. It's made significantly easier if she's got a warm, solid body to curl back into & someone who wakes up to make sure she's alright.

Is your muse attracted to any features in particular?

They're both on Team Ass in the ongoing ass vs. tits debate. Varha is pretty shameless about it too. Zero effort to hide any appreciation for the way his thighs flex in his leathers. She's less inclined towards giving verbal compliments, but her thoughts read pretty clearly on her face. Estinien has more decorum by a margin, and by that I mean he doesn't really do the frequent appreciative staring she does (though, there is a certain look he gets in his eye that signals a long night is on the horizon for her), but he will dole out some lightning-quick "compliments" in her ear, sometimes paired with a sneaky ass-grab.

Outside of that, he (of course) loves the entire expanse of her body, but he's consistently drawn to the general area of her neck/collarbones/breasts, the latter becoming more of a focal point after an impulsive decision to get both nipples pierced sometime after EW. It was a more than welcome surprise after being apart for a few months. She's got a (predictable but understandable) weakness for his hands. Skilled, strong instruments calloused & scarred from years of using a lance, she's memorized every crease & scar. Speaking of scars, it's probably another obvious choice, but she can't help wanting to run her fingers, lips & tongue over his. Estinien's collection is more impressive than hers, sporting reminders of Nidhogg on each arm, and they've become natural resting places in her explorations of him.

Have their partners been mostly male, mostly female, or evenly split? 

Varha can count her partners on both hands with fingers to spare at the end of her list. She's not unfamiliar with women, but her past encounters tend to skew male. It's less to do with any real preference and more just a reflection on who was willing & who had her attention at the time. Estinien's history is likely an inverse slant with a similar ratio.

Where is your muse most sensitive? 

Feel like most Miqo'te can probably count the base of the tail as an erogenous zone. She's not super complicated beyond that, though. Biting down on her trapezius will net a pretty intense reaction, but you can probably evoke something similar just by leaving the same type of marks elsewhere on her neck.

Would your muse ever tempt their partner, e.g. flirting, wearing tight/sexy clothing?

Yes, yes & yes. She typically likes to wear things that are short & show plenty of leg even if she's not trying to be a menace. Upping the ante & hiking up her skirt a bit more isn't a problem. She knows her body well, and knows that she's objectively attractive. She's aware of all the best angles for her backside (but likes to pretend she isn't posing whatsoever). She's surprisingly pretty good about not "borrowing" clothes that don't belong to her, but loves how she looks in lingerie & one of his button-ups. But nothing really beats the pure simplicity of entering a room fresh out of the bath & dropping her towel in his line of sight. She's comfortable being nude, so the nonchalance of the act is honestly more what gets him than anything else.

Flirting, in Varha's opinion, is probably one of the most entertaining pastimes known to civilization. She's quick with double-entendres & some pretty loaded implications. She's also fond of suggestive touches or 'conveniently' brushing up against him. Basically, if she sees an opening to make it known that she's angling for something, she'll take it.

Does your muse leave hickies? Do they ask for them?

She loves to be bitten. Which is fantastic, given that he very much likes to bite. It's never really been something she's asked for with words, and the first time he suck his teeth into the side of her neck was a chance taken without asking, but there was no question that it was something that really did it for her. It's also a good thing she enjoys seeing the bruising afterwards too; Estinien isn't particularly gentle about it (surprisingly this actually doesn't have anything to do with the Dragon-like qualities he still possesses--he's just always been that way).

She can definitely get a bit bitey herself, but it's not as much of a need for her like it is for him. She's more likely to leave nail marks behind instead of hickies, though this may be at least partially a product of their positioning from the size difference.

There's definitely a part of her that likes it when you can see the marks on her neck past her shirt collar. Her favourites are always in a spot where they just peek out enough to be spotted, but she's not going to complain if they're higher or lower. She also loves it when he marks up her hips and thighs in similar ways, although those usually stay entirely hidden from public view. It's more or less a given that she's going to have some visual evidence of him on her body any time they hook up.

Has your muse reached first/second/third base? Home run? 

Well. Based on the rest of the questions. Yes.

Would your muse ever send a sexual text message? Would they send pictures?

(I have no idea if this is even possible in-universe but let's pretend it is for the sake of speculation.)

Probably. Maybe nothing in writing--she would do a passable job if she tried, but it's not really her thing. Pictures, though? I can definitely see her taking the time to set up the timer on the phone & have a mini-boudoir shoot with herself for this exact reason. Like I said, she's aware of what she looks like and knows what parts of her body he enjoys. & everyone knows a picture is worth 1000 words. To be honest, it would probably get the message across faster than any written words. I do feel like this would definitely be a 'use with caution' move, though; it's not so much a tease as it would be considered an immediate invitation.

Is your muse the type to discuss their sex life or sexual prowess with others?

If it came up, she has no problems participating in a conversation. She's also comfortable answering select questions, but there's a limit. Varha won't be sitting there offering up intense details of her latest sexual encounter without notice. She's fine if people know she has sex & know who she's with, but doesn't really want to get into it past that. Basically yes, but also, it's literally no one's business.

How interested is your muse in sex and sexual activity?

Part of the reason she was fine with not having a ton of casual sex over the years comes from being content with just getting herself off between encounters. She's got maybe a slightly above-average sex drive, but that can be taken care of solo. She's responsive, though. Estinien has a significantly higher sex drive, & it doesn't take much for her to match that

asks.

[jotatetsuken]

Commitment Phobia

features: levi ackerman x gn!reader | WC: 3400

summary: due to many personal events, and events happening around you, you had started feeling wary of committing yourself to a relationship, until you met a certain someone.

warnings: dark content pretty much (so minors DNI), mention of abusive relationships, molestation attempts, divorce, death, trauma, injuries, self- indulgent AF, spoilers if you have not watched the anime or the OVA “No Regrets”

a/n: I’m backkkkk! Also, a belated happy birthday to humanity’s strongest soldier (it was on the 25th)!! yes yes i’m very late in posting but, i’m glad i’m getting this out fnfndndnd. i first saw him in a fanart reel, after which i learned that some of my friends were watching it. then, when i started watching, what got me attracted to him, was not his looks, not his battle skills, not the laurels he’s achieved, but the way he’s learned from his childhood and has become stronger in his mind. this chapter is based on a real-life experience i’m going through and writing about it keeping levi in mind really helped me. also i am crossposting this from quotev.

Tagging: @akaashi-todorki @bmthevick @sookisaurus @wakatshi @ofallthingswhythis @25-30-03 @romiyaro @whinestonecowgirl (taglist form)

It was just another day where you were undergoing training as a part of the Special Operations Squad of the Survey Corps under the leadership of Commander Erwin Smith and Squad Captain Levi Ackerman. All of you were preparing for the closing of Wall Rose with the secret weapon: Eren Yeager, in his Titan form. Unexpected, right? 

When you lived in Shiganshina inside the Wall Maria in the past, you had become friends with Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman, and Armin Arlert despite being 11 years older than them. You considered them to be your children and treasured them. Aside from being intelligent like Armin, brave like Eren, and skilled like Mikasa, you were also extroverted. It was clear that you did not hold back when it came to expressing your feelings. Your goal, like Armin’s, was to discover what life was like outside the walls. In your mind, this desire was a way to escape the harsh reality of your family situation. 

Having just started living in Shiganshina after moving from The Underground, your father started working in the coal trading business, your mother teaching history in one of the best schools in the Stohess District of Wall Sina, and your sister was a professional artist despite having undergone physical abuse from her previous marriage, the life you were living wasn’t a bed full of roses, but you liked to think it was because you could have it all, being the youngest child. 

There was one thing that kept bugging you, however. If you were to marry in the future, would your marriage last? In a world where your life could disappear in the blink of an eye, and you could lose people far sooner than you think, what’s to say that you’d be able to live a happy life with someone you loved?

Despite your parents’ disagreements, they eventually made up and became a stronger couple, but the experience still caused you to wince at confrontations in relationships. Also, because you lived in The Underground, you were subject to mockery from the elite, and different merchants frequently attempted to molest you, but you kicked them in their sensitive areas and ran, unaware they were looking for you, only to be killed the next day. Although you were compassionate with everyone, these thoughts clouded your head, making it difficult for you to fall in love. 

You didn’t have time to think of anything else though, because you witnessed Carla Yaeger being eaten alive by the Smiling Titan, as Hannes, one of the unit captains of the Garrison, dragged you along with Eren and Mikasa. It broke your heart to lose Carla, who you were close to because you were neighbors. But you ran back to the houses, leaving Hannes’ hand, to check on your family, who were in danger, except for your mother who was in Wall Sina, but she called to check in on all of you. You seemed to have lost your father, as you didn’t know where he was.

Your sister’s feet and hands were crushed by the crumbling walls, so you called Hannes, who introduced you to Rico Brzenska, one of the Garrison's team leaders, who led you to Grisha Yeager, Eren's father, who was a doctor. While he treated your sister’s wounds, he was unable to save her feet and certain fingers. In addition to bandaging them and giving her some medical supplies that would have normally been expensive for free, Grisha advised her to move to Wall Sina to be with her mother so she could recover more quickly. Despite your sister’s concern, you promised her that you would fight for your family’s safety, and that you would find your father's location, and you kissed your sister goodbye, telling her you would see her later.

Like Eren, you joined the Survey Corps to kill every one of the Titans, but you somehow had a hunch before that the Titans seemed humanlike so killing them mercilessly wouldn’t make sense, so you’d search around for the meaning behind the deaths of many. Having joined the Special Operations Squad of the 104th Survey Corps, you were amongst the quickest to learn, and you had the natural leadership skills, having later earned the trust of Erwin Smith, the Commander, and Levi Ackerman, the Squad Captain. 

You were also good at cooking, making sure that Sasha Blouse, one of your fellow cadets, got her first serving so that she wouldn't go hungry, and you were quick to control the commotion despite being one of the loudest. There was also something else that you made sure of. You told everyone to clean your quarters, telling them there’d be surprise inspections from the leadership team (usually just a lie to make sure the rooms were clean), failing which they’d receive punishment from the captain, and you’d have to keep an eye out for the troublemakers, Sasha, Connie Springer, and Jean Kirstein, to do their job well, even bribing Sasha with a delicious meal once she was done.

And the best part? You were hoping to catch Levi’s attention, not that you were doing all of this for him. It was your hope that he'd notice you at all, not only on a professional level, but also on a personal level, since you developed an infatuation for him when you saw him for the first time coming back from the 56th Expedition.

While everyone was looking at the Corps in awe and some with disgust when you first looked at Levi’s eyes, you saw pain, and your heart reached out to him. You saw him turn to you, noticing that you looked at him differently, with warmth in your eyes, and he left a small smile at you, indirectly thanking you for understanding him for what he was going through. 

Even though you were a cadet, you were close with Levi, Erwin, and Hange Zoë, one of the other Squad Leaders, having been able to tame your fellow soldiers and an innate desire to learn about the secrets like Erwin, to research stuff and be a crackhead like Hange, and mature and understanding like Levi. Like Levi, you had your fair share of a high number of solo kills. That was only because the need to kill the Titans drove you as they endangered your family and killed Carla and, later on, Grisha. You later learn that another Titan killed your father, but had sent multiple letters to your family in Wall Sina, leaving them with provisions and fortune enough to carry forward with their lives. 

The trust earned made Erwin promote you to a fellow Squad Captain along with Levi, who honestly was very delighted. He seemed to have an infatuation for you the moment he first saw you when he was coming back from the expedition, and even though you hung out with Hange a lot, researching the reason for the existence of the Titans, whenever she’d go overboard, you knew when to control her, reminding her to not put other soldiers’ lives at risk, causing Levi’s feelings to deepen over time. Although there was something that he could never understand about you. Why was it that, despite you being friendly with everyone, you looked like you had skeletons in your closet? Levi could trust you, so why couldn’t you trust him?

All those doubts were going to go away, when in the evening after the training session, you called Levi and told him to come to the rooftop of their headquarters for some tea. At nightfall, you were closing your eyes, praying to a God different from that of the Wallists, asking him to help you lay down the walls in your heart and open up to Levi, when you hear someone clearing their throat, revealing themselves to be Levi. He noticed that you’d prepared black tea for him, especially because he liked it. You also told him you liked your black tea with milk because that’s what you grew up drinking. That’s when you heard the most annoying response from Levi.

Levi snickers, clicking his tongue, “Tch. Black tea with milk. Why do you have to be so annoying with tea?” You respond, “Excuse me,” and playfully hit his arm. “It’s the one thing my parents loved to drink growing up. My father used to tell me stories of who he was before being sentenced to the Underground.” Levi, perplexed, inquired further, “What do you mean, who he was?” You responded, “My father’s not an Eldian by birth, but by marriage to my mother. He was not from Marley, either. He was somewhere from the Oriental.” Raising an eyebrow, he questioned, “Was he a part of the Azumabito clan?” You nervously chuckle, “Oh, no-no. But he lived nearby. That’s where he grew up drinking black tea with milk and now, I can’t drink it any other way.” You gave a soft smile, remembering the laughter that echoed in your house, only to now have been a distant memory. “Oh, boy,” Levi shook his head in disappointment. He saw you looking at the moon with sad eyes, and while with one hand, he was drinking tea, he put his other hand on yours. You left him a small smile, holding his hands after some time. 

A comfortable silence lingered between the two of you, which he broke by inquiring, “You miss them?” “Hmm?” Breaking out of your reverie, you turned to him, causing him to question, “Your family. Do you miss them?” Sighing, you respond, “Yes, Levi. I do. My mother and my sister are all I’ve got. I was closer to my father, though. His demise is still hurting me.” As Levi came a bit closer, he put his head on your lap, with his face turned to you, and said, “Well, I never had a father, per se. But I miss my mother. She may have done a lot of wrong things, but I’m grateful that she gave birth to me.” You then put the tea set to a side, subconsciously patting Levi’s head and then humming a tune that you grew up listening to.

“Are you, are you comin’ to the tree

Where I told you to run so we’d both be free?

Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree..”

You were ruffling Levi’s hair and humming in the presence of a full moon. You didn’t know why you were feeling this way for him. What started as an infatuation developed into a sense of respect and, eventually, love for him. While you were jealous of Petra following him around, you knew that his eyes were on you alone. You constantly worried about his safety, especially whether he’d make it back to you or not after every expedition, and whenever he came back, he would give you a pat on his head with a soft smile telling you, “I told you I’ll be back.”

In the blink of an eye, Levi felt something damp on his cheeks, and when he turned around, he saw you crying and looking at the moon. “Oi, brat,” he said as he turned his head to look up at you while his head was still lying on your lap. “Did some dust fall into your eyes or something? Your eyes are watering.” You attempt to wipe the tears from the corner of your eye, when you snapped jokingly, “Shut up, Levi. Sometimes you can be dense, you know.” Scoffing, he responded, “Me? Dense? Huh, please. All I was trying to do was lighten the mood." Levi and you softly smile at each other, as the soft wind blowing against your faces felt so calming when it was just the two of you. The squad captain then broke the silence by speaking to you softly, “What’s up, brat? Please talk to me.” You continue to tear up while silently holding his hands and looking at the moon. “I’m scared, Levi.” With a confused glance, he inquired, “Of what?”

You sighed and then responded, “Losing people. Letting them enter my life, only to lose them again. I don’t think it’s an extroverted or introverted thing at all. It’s just, the feeling is scary. I’m ready to give up my life if it means saving my family, my close friends,” then looking at Levi, “or you. You mean a lot, you know?” Levi’s eyes widened. He didn’t think that you felt strongly for anyone, let alone him. “Levi, I-”

“Shh,” he places a finger on your lips, interrupting you. He then gets up, with his back facing the moon and him facing you, and after wiping the tears off your face, he holds your hands, sighing. “I fear letting people in as well, brat, only to lose them, too. When Kenny abandoned me, that’s when I thought I wasn’t good enough. For anyone. For my mother, for Kenny, Farlan, Isabel, Erwin, Hange, or-”

“Me?” you completed his sentence, looking into Levi’s eyes, as he was stunned by the fact that you remembered. “I remember you telling me about how Farlan and Isabel passed away. It must have been really heartbreaking.” For a moment, he looked down on the ground and shook his head in dejection. “You do not know how I felt, (Y/N). It seemed like a wave of anger consumed me when I saw them. They were all I had. They made me feel special. Now, Erwin does, and you do, but I fear losing you more than Erwin. Is it wrong for me to feel this way?” You then cup his cheeks with your hands and tell him, “crazy, yes. But wrong, I’m not sure. I fear letting you in, even though I’m so irrevocably in..”

“Love with me? So am I, with you, I mean.” Levi’s confession shocks you, this was not how you expected the conversation to go. “I mean it, brat. Yes, you’re loud, you can be obnoxious, you’re like Four Eyes,” he rolled his eyes, causing you to giggle a bit, and he softly smiles, “but I adore you more, for many reasons. You’re unafraid to call out on people’s actions, although you’re close to Eren, Mikasa, and Armin and you feel the need to protect them, yet you choose me over them if I’m saying something that makes sense. But…” You sensed that he was going to ask you something so you completed it for him, “But? If this is about me not talking about my past, it’s not that I don’t want to talk about it. I just find it futile to relive the hurt, the pain, the creepy touches…” As you shudder in fear reminiscing the painful memories, the calmness in his eyes turned to anger as he pressed your hand hard as if he was going to crush it. “Did those bastards at The Underground try to…”

“Take advantage of me?” You nodded, “Yes. But I’d kick them and run away, only to find them being killed the next day instead. I still don’t know who did so, but I wanna thank them, you know?” Levi threw a knowing smile, not just because he noticed you seemed freer than before, but that you were finally going to learn the truth. “You can thank me for sure. I didn’t know that you were the one these merchants were hurting, but when I learned of the news, I felt I should take justice in my hands, and so I stole from them before killing them.” You were shocked and didn’t know what to say. Appalled at the lengths Levi went to protect people, it scared you he may turn into a ruthless soldier devoid of any feelings if he killed those merchants. 

You got up off the ledge of the roof, walking back, carefully passing the tea set beside you, and Levi was walking towards you, then looking at the tea set, with a surprised gaze, as if he’s seen the set somewhere before. He then was told to sit down and you continued to talk to him while he was looking at the tea set. “Levi, I remember meeting your mum around the time my family was in The Underground not knowing you were her son. She was very kind to me, and always brought me food to eat despite her having gone hungry on a couple of occasions. She may have looked sickly, but she’d sworn to look after you in any way possible. It was sad that what job she ended up taking was one of the most painful jobs ever. She’d given me this tea set to hold on to and said to give it to her son when he ends up getting to know me. Was your mother’s name Kuchel by any chance?”

Tears streamed down his cheeks, realizing that his mother will always be with him no matter what. Levi then looks at you and nods his head in agreement. You then hold his hands and talk to him, “Oh poor Levi. I’m so sorry for all the pain you went through. Both of us have had different backgrounds, but the pain is pain. It hurts the same no matter what.” He agreed with you, heaving a sigh of relief knowing that there was someone out there who loved him despite him carrying all this baggage.  “You know something? I’m afraid of committing myself to someone. What if they just love me for how I look and not for who I am? What if they just love me for how I perform in the training and in the battle and nothing more? What if I’m not good enough for them?”

Levi again places a finger on your lips, giving you permission to wipe his tears off his cheeks. He then cups your cheeks with his hands, brings them forwards, and gently kisses you. You can tell that he’s been wanting to kiss you, wantonly for eons now, but he’s taking his time, enveloping your lips with his, expressing his sheer love and desire to be with you, regardless of what the circumstances may seem. After what seemed like an eternity, both of you pull back and press your foreheads against each other, where Levi confesses, “why don’t you get it? You’re good enough for me. You don’t have to reveal everything about your life to me right now, but when I’m with you, I feel like I’ve known you for ages. I want you. I don’t say it all, because I’m scared of my feelings, but with you, it feels easy. I want you, brat. I’m so in love with you, that I need you to be by my side when we’re fighting the Titans. I’ve always been a loner, but ever since I met you, I don’t ever want to be alone again.”

Those gray eyes conveyed a level of honesty you hadn't seen for quite some time. Your mind raced as you tried to recall the last time someone expressed their love to you. His words seemed like a balm to the aching wounds of your heart. “Levi,” you softly called out, as he held your right hand and his other hand cupped your left cheek. “I’m not perfect. I’m not done going back to my family yet. I’m not done avenging my father’s demise yet. I can’t do this alone. If you really do love me…”

“(Y/N),” he softly calls out to you, “nothing’s going to stop me from loving you the way you are. I understand there are walls around your heart and I have them too. But, we’re going to have to work together to overcome them. I… love you. I hope you know that. Now that I know that you love me too, I’m going to tell you and show you all the more. Okay?” Both of you then end up in a warm embrace, for somewhere longer than twenty seconds, which, according to science, was enough, to build trust between the people hugging. You may have not known what the future brought, but you were certain that it brought with you someone that you’d hold close with all your might and that you’d give your best to not let him out of your sight. That’s when you decided to let him in your heart by saying, “Okay, my love.”

© Shyna 2022